Mr. PICKWICK JOURNEYS TO IPSWICH ANDMEETS WITH A ROMANTIC ADVENTURE WITHA MIDDLE-AGED2 LADY IN YELLOWCURL-PAPERShat ’ere your governor’s luggage, Sammy?’ inquired Mr.
Weller of his affectionate son, as he entered the yard ofthe Bull Inn, Whitechapel, with a travelling-bag and asmall portmanteau.
‘You might ha’ made a worser guess than that, old feller,’
replied Mr. Weller the younger, setting down his burden in theyard, and sitting himself down upon it afterwards. ‘The governorhisself’ll be down here presently.’
‘He’s a-cabbin’ it, I suppose?’ said the father.
‘Yes, he’s a havin’ two mile o’ danger at eight-pence,’ respondedthe son. ‘How’s mother-in-law this mornin’?’
‘Queer, Sammy, queer,’ replied the elder Mr. Weller, withimpressive gravity. ‘She’s been gettin’ rayther in the Methodisticalorder lately, Sammy; and she is uncommon3 pious4, to be sure.
She’s too good a creetur for me, Sammy. I feel I don’t deserve her.’
‘Ah,’ said Mr. Samuel. ‘that’s wery self-denyin’ o’ you.’
‘Wery,’ replied his parent, with a sigh. ‘She’s got hold o’ someinwention for grown-up people being born again, Sammy―thenew birth, I think they calls it. I should wery much like to see thatsystem in haction, Sammy. I should wery much like to see yourmother-in-law born again. Wouldn’t I put her out to nurse!’
‘What do you think them women does t’other day,’ continuedMr. Weller, after a short pause, during which he had significantlystruck the side of his nose with his forefinger5 some half-dozentimes. ‘What do you think they does, t’other day, Sammy?’
‘Don’t know,’ replied Sam, ‘what?’
‘Goes and gets up a grand tea drinkin’ for a feller they callstheir shepherd,’ said Mr. Weller. ‘I was a-standing6 starin’ in at thepictur shop down at our place, when I sees a little bill about it;“tickets half-a-crown. All applications to be made to thecommittee. Secretary, Mrs. Weller”; and when I got home therewas the committee a-sittin’ in our back parlour. Fourteen women;I wish you could ha’ heard ’em, Sammy. There they was, a-passin’
resolutions, and wotin’ supplies, and all sorts o’ games. Well, whatwith your mother-in-law a-worrying me to go, and what with mylooking for’ard to seein’ some queer starts if I did, I put my namedown for a ticket; at six o’clock on the Friday evenin’ I dressesmyself out wery smart, and off I goes with the old ’ooman, and upwe walks into a fust-floor where there was tea-things for thirty,and a whole lot o’ women as begins whisperin’ to one another, andlookin’ at me, as if they’d never seen a rayther stout7 gen’l’m’n ofeight-and-fifty afore. By and by, there comes a great bustledownstairs, and a lanky8 chap with a red nose and a whiteneckcloth rushes up, and sings out, “Here’s the shepherd a-coming to wisit his faithful flock;” and in comes a fat chap in black,vith a great white face, a-smilin’ avay like clockwork. Such goin’son, Sammy! “The kiss of peace,” says the shepherd; and then hekissed the women all round, and ven he’d done, the man vith thered nose began. I was just a-thinkin’ whether I hadn’t better begintoo―’specially as there was a wery nice lady a-sittin’ next me―venin comes the tea, and your mother-in-law, as had been makin’ thekettle bile downstairs. At it they went, tooth and nail. Such aprecious loud hymn9, Sammy, while the tea was a brewing10; such agrace, such eatin’ and drinkin’! I wish you could ha’ seen theshepherd walkin’ into the ham and muffins. I never see such achap to eat and drink―never. The red-nosed man warn’t by nomeans the sort of person you’d like to grub by contract, but he wasnothin’ to the shepherd. Well; arter the tea was over, they sanganother hymn, and then the shepherd began to preach: and werywell he did it, considerin’ how heavy them muffins must have liedon his chest. Presently he pulls up, all of a sudden, and hollers out,“Where is the sinner; where is the mis’rable sinner?” Upon which,all the women looked at me, and began to groan11 as if they was a-dying. I thought it was rather sing’ler, but howsoever, I saysnothing. Presently he pulls up again, and lookin’ wery hard at me,says, “Where is the sinner; where is the mis’rable sinner?” and allthe women groans12 again, ten times louder than afore. I got rathersavage at this, so I takes a step or two for’ard and says, “Myfriend,” says I, “did you apply that ’ere obserwation to me?” ‘Steadof beggin’ my pardon as any gen’l’m’n would ha’ done, he got moreabusive than ever:―called me a wessel, Sammy―a wessel ofwrath―and all sorts o’ names. So my blood being reg’larly up, Ifirst gave him two or three for himself, and then two or three moreto hand over to the man with the red nose, and walked off. I wishyou could ha’ heard how the women screamed, Sammy, ven theypicked up the shepherd from underneath13 the table―Hollo! here’sthe governor, the size of life.’
As Mr. Weller spoke14, Mr. Pickwick dismounted from a cab, andentered the yard. ‘Fine mornin’, sir,’ said Mr. Weller, senior.
‘Beautiful indeed,’ replied Mr. Pickwick.
‘Beautiful indeed,’ echoes a red-haired man with an inquisitivenose and green spectacles, who had unpacked15 himself from a cabat the same moment as Mr. Pickwick. ‘Going to Ipswich, sir?’
‘I am,’ replied Mr. Pickwick.
‘Extraordinary coincidence. So am I.’
Mr. Pickwick bowed.
‘Going outside?’ said the red-haired man. Mr. Pickwick bowedagain.
‘Bless my soul, how remarkable16―I am going outside, too,’ saidthe red-haired man; ‘we are positively17 going together.’ And thered-haired man, who was an important-looking, sharp-nosed,mysterious-spoken personage, with a bird-like habit of giving hishead a jerk every time he said anything, smiled as if he had madeone of the strangest discoveries that ever fell to the lot of humanwisdom.
‘I am happy in the prospect18 of your company, sir,’ said Mr.
Pickwick.
‘Ah,’ said the new-comer, ‘it’s a good thing for both of us, isn’tit? Company, you see―company―is―is―it’s a very differentthing from solitude―ain’t it?’
‘There’s no denying that ’ere,’ said Mr. Weller, joining in theconversation, with an affable smile. ‘That’s what I call a self-evident proposition, as the dog’s-meat man said, when thehousemaid told him he warn’t a gentleman.’
‘Ah,’ said the red-haired man, surveying Mr. Weller from headto foot with a supercilious19 look. ‘Friend of yours, sir?’
‘Not exactly a friend,’ replied Mr. Pickwick, in a low tone. ‘Thefact is, he is my servant, but I allow him to take a good manyliberties; for, between ourselves, I flatter myself he is an original,and I am rather proud of him.’
‘Ah,’ said the red-haired man, ‘that, you see, is a matter of taste.
I am not fond of anything original; I don’t like it; don’t see thenecessity for it. What’s your name, sir?’
‘Here is my card, sir,’ replied Mr. Pickwick, much amused bythe abruptness20 of the question, and the singular manner of thestranger.
‘Ah,’ said the red-haired man, placing the card in his pocket-book, ‘Pickwick; very good. I like to know a man’s name, it savesso much trouble. That’s my card, sir. Magnus, you will perceive,sir―Magnus is my name. It’s rather a good name, I think, sir.’
‘A very good name, indeed,’ said Mr. Pickwick, wholly unable torepress a smile.
‘Yes, I think it is,’ resumed Mr. Magnus. ‘There’s a good namebefore it, too, you will observe. Permit me, sir―if you hold thecard a little slanting21, this way, you catch the light upon the up-stroke. There―Peter Magnus―sounds well, I think, sir.’
‘Very,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘Curious circumstance about those initials, sir,’ said Mr.
Magnus. ‘You will observe―P.M.―post meridian22. In hasty notesto intimate acquaintance, I sometimes sign myself “Afternoon.” Itamuses my friends very much, Mr. Pickwick.’
‘It is calculated to afford them the highest gratification, I shouldconceive,’ said Mr. Pickwick, rather envying the ease with whichMr. Magnus’s friends were entertained.
‘Now, gen’l’m’n,’ said the hostler, ‘coach is ready, if you please.’
‘Is all my luggage in?’ inquired Mr. Magnus.
‘All right, sir.’
‘Is the red bag in?’
‘All right, sir.’
‘And the striped bag?’
‘Fore boot, sir.’
‘And the brown-paper parcel?’
‘Under the seat, sir.’
‘And the leather hat-box?’
‘They’re all in, sir.’
‘Now, will you get up?’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘Excuse me,’ replied Magnus, standing on the wheel. ‘Excuseme, Mr. Pickwick. I cannot consent to get up, in this state ofuncertainty. I am quite satisfied from that man’s manner, that theleather hat-box is not in.’
The solemn protestations of the hostler being whollyunavailing, the leather hat-box was obliged to be raked up fromthe lowest depth of the boot, to satisfy him that it had been safelypacked; and after he had been assured on this head, he felt asolemn presentiment24, first, that the red bag was mislaid, and nextthat the striped bag had been stolen, and then that the brown-paper parcel ‘had come untied25.’ At length when he had receivedocular demonstration26 of the groundless nature of each and everyof these suspicions, he consented to climb up to the roof of thecoach, observing that now he had taken everything off his mind,he felt quite comfortable and happy.
‘You’re given to nervousness, ain’t you, sir?’ inquired Mr.
Weller, senior, eyeing the stranger askance, as he mounted to hisplace.
‘Yes; I always am rather about these little matters,’ said thestranger, ‘but I am all right now―quite right.’
‘Well, that’s a blessin’, said Mr. Weller. ‘Sammy, help yourmaster up to the box; t’other leg, sir, that’s it; give us your hand,sir. Up with you. You was a lighter27 weight when you was a boy,sir.’
‘True enough, that, Mr. Weller,’ said the breathless Mr.
Pickwick good-humouredly, as he took his seat on the box besidehim.
‘Jump up in front, Sammy,’ said Mr. Weller. ‘Now Villam, run’em out. Take care o’ the archvay, gen’l’m’n. “Heads,” as thepieman says. That’ll do, Villam. Let ’em alone.’ And away went thecoach up Whitechapel, to the admiration28 of the whole populationof that pretty densely30 populated quarter.
‘Not a wery nice neighbourhood, this, sir,’ said Sam, with atouch of the hat, which always preceded his entering intoconversation with his master.
‘It is not indeed, Sam,’ replied Mr. Pickwick, surveying thecrowded and filthy31 street through which they were passing.
‘It’s a wery remarkable circumstance, sir,’ said Sam, ‘thatpoverty and oysters32 always seem to go together.’
‘I don’t understand you, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘What I mean, sir,’ said Sam, ‘is, that the poorer a place is, thegreater call there seems to be for oysters. Look here, sir; here’s aoyster-stall to every half-dozen houses. The street’s lined vith ’em.
Blessed if I don’t think that ven a man’s wery poor, he rushes outof his lodgings33, and eats oysters in reg’lar desperation.’
‘To be sure he does,’ said Mr. Weller, senior; ‘and it’s just thesame vith pickled salmon34!’
‘Those are two very remarkable facts, which never occurred tome before,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘The very first place we stop at, I’llmake a note of them.’
By this time they had reached the turnpike at Mile End; aprofound silence prevailed until they had got two or three milesfarther on, when Mr. Weller, senior, turning suddenly to Mr.
Pickwick, said―‘Wery queer life is a pike-keeper’s, sir.’
‘A what?’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘A pike-keeper.’
‘What do you mean by a pike-keeper?’ inquired Mr. PeterMagnus.
‘The old ’un means a turnpike-keeper, gen’l’m’n,’ observed Mr.
Samuel Weller, in explanation.
‘Oh,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘I see. Yes; very curious life. Veryuncomfortable.’
‘They’re all on ’em men as has met vith some disappointment inlife,’ said Mr. Weller, senior.
‘Ay, ay,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘Yes. Consequence of vich, they retires from the world, andshuts themselves up in pikes; partly with the view of beingsolitary, and partly to rewenge themselves on mankind by takin’
tolls.’
‘Dear me,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘I never knew that before.’
‘Fact, sir,’ said Mr. Weller; ‘if they was gen’l’m’n, you’d call ’emmisanthropes, but as it is, they only takes to pike-keepin’.’
With such conversation, possessing the inestimable charm ofblending amusement with instruction, did Mr. Weller beguile35 thetediousness of the journey, during the greater part of the day.
Topics of conversation were never wanting, for even when anypause occurred in Mr. Weller’s loquacity36, it was abundantlysupplied by the desire evinced by Mr. Magnus to make himselfacquainted with the whole of the personal history of his fellow-travellers, and his loudly-expressed anxiety at every stage,respecting the safety and well-being37 of the two bags, the leatherhat-box, and the brown-paper parcel.
In the main street of Ipswich, on the left-hand side of the way, ashort distance after you have passed through the open spacefronting the Town Hall, stands an inn known far and wide by theappellation of the Great White Horse, rendered the moreconspicuous by a stone statue of some rampacious animal withflowing mane and tail, distantly resembling an insane cart-horse,which is elevated above the principal door. The Great White Horseis famous in the neighbourhood, in the same degree as a prize ox,or a county-paper-chronicled turnip38, or unwieldy pig―for itsenormous size. Never was such labyrinths39 of uncarpeted passages,such clusters of mouldy, ill-lighted rooms, such huge numbers ofsmall dens29 for eating or sleeping in, beneath any one roof, as arecollected together between the four walls of the Great White Horseat Ipswich.
It was at the door of this overgrown tavern41 that the Londoncoach stopped, at the same hour every evening; and it was fromthis same London coach that Mr. Pickwick, Sam Weller, and Mr.
Peter Magnus dismounted, on the particular evening to which thischapter of our history bears reference.
‘Do you stop here, sir?’ inquired Mr. Peter Magnus, when thestriped bag, and the red bag, and the brown-paper parcel, and theleather hat-box, had all been deposited in the passage. ‘Do youstop here, sir?’
‘I do,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘Dear me,’ said Mr. Magnus, ‘I never knew anything like theseextraordinary coincidences. Why, I stop here too. I hope we dinetogether?’
‘With pleasure,’ replied Mr. Pickwick. ‘I am not quite certainwhether I have any friends here or not, though. Is there anygentleman of the name of Tupman here, waiter?’
A corpulent man, with a fortnight’s napkin under his arm, andcoeval stockings on his legs, slowly desisted from his occupation ofstaring down the street, on this question being put to him by Mr.
Pickwick; and, after minutely inspecting that gentleman’sappearance, from the crown of his hat to the lowest button of hisgaiters, replied emphatically―‘No!’
‘Nor any gentleman of the name of Snodgrass?’ inquired Mr.
Pickwick.
‘No!’
‘Nor Winkle?’
‘No!’
‘My friends have not arrived to-day, sir,’ said Mr. Pickwick. ‘Wewill dine alone, then. Show us a private room, waiter.’
On this request being preferred, the corpulent mancondescended to order the boots to bring in the gentlemen’sluggage; and preceding them down a long, dark passage, usheredthem into a large, badly-furnished apartment, with a dirty grate, inwhich a small fire was making a wretched attempt to be cheerful,but was fast sinking beneath the dispiriting influence of the place.
After the lapse44 of an hour, a bit of fish and a steak was served upto the travellers, and when the dinner was cleared away, Mr.
Pickwick and Mr. Peter Magnus drew their chairs up to the fire,and having ordered a bottle of the worst possible port wine, at thehighest possible price, for the good of the house, drank brandy-and-water for their own.
Mr. Peter Magnus was naturally of a very communicativedisposition, and the brandy-and-water operated with wonderfuleffect in warming into life the deepest hidden secrets of his bosom45.
After sundry46 accounts of himself, his family, his connections, hisfriends, his jokes, his business, and his brothers (most talkativemen have a great deal to say about their brothers), Mr. PeterMagnus took a view of Mr. Pickwick through his colouredspectacles for several minutes, and then said, with an air ofmodesty―‘And what do you think―what do you think, Mr. Pickwick―Ihave come down here for?’
‘Upon my word,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘it is wholly impossible forme to guess; on business, perhaps.’
‘Partly right, sir,’ replied Mr. Peter Magnus, ‘but partly wrongat the same time; try again, Mr. Pickwick.’
‘Really,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘I must throw myself on your mercy,to tell me or not, as you may think best; for I should never guess, ifI were to try all night.’
‘Why , then, he-he-he!’ said Mr. Peter Magnus, with a bashfultitter, ‘what should you think, Mr. Pickwick, if I had come downhere to make a proposal, sir, eh? He, he, he!’
‘Think! That you are very likely to succeed,’ replied Mr.
Pickwick, with one of his beaming smiles. ‘Ah!’ said Mr. Magnus.
‘But do you really think so, Mr. Pickwick? Do you, though?’
‘Certainly,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘No; but you’re joking, though.’
‘I am not, indeed.’
‘Why, then,’ said Mr. Magnus, ‘to let you into a little secret, Ithink so too. I don’t mind telling you, Mr. Pickwick, although I’mdreadful jealous by nature―horrid―that the lady is in this house.’
Here Mr. Magnus took off his spectacles, on purpose to wink42, andthen put them on again.
‘That’s what you were running out of the room for, beforedinner, then, so often,’ said Mr. Pickwick archly.
‘Hush! Yes, you’re right, that was it; not such a fool as to seeher, though.’
‘No!’
‘No; wouldn’t do, you know, after having just come off ajourney. Wait till to-morrow, sir; double the chance then. Mr.
Pickwick, sir, there is a suit of clothes in that bag, and a hat in thatbox, which, I expect, in the effect they will produce, will beinvaluable to me, sir.’
‘Indeed!’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘Yes; you must have observed my anxiety about them to-day. Ido not believe that such another suit of clothes, and such a hat,could be bought for money, Mr. Pickwick.’
Mr. Pickwick congratulated the fortunate owner of theirresistible garments on their acquisition; and Mr. Peter Magnusremained a few moments apparently47 absorbed in contemplation.
‘She’s a fine creature,’ said Mr. Magnus.
‘Is she?’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘Very,’ said Mr. Magnus. ‘very. She lives about twenty milesfrom here, Mr. Pickwick. I heard she would be here to-night andall to-morrow forenoon, and came down to seize the opportunity. Ithink an inn is a good sort of a place to propose to a single womanin, Mr. Pickwick. She is more likely to feel the loneliness of hersituation in travelling, perhaps, than she would be at home. Whatdo you think, Mr. Pickwick?’
‘I think it is very probable,’ replied that gentleman.
‘I beg your pardon, Mr. Pickwick,’ said Mr. Peter Magnus, ‘but Iam naturally rather curious; what may you have come down herefor?’
‘On a far less pleasant errand, sir,’ replied Mr. Pickwick, thecolour mounting to his face at the recollection. ‘I have come downhere, sir, to expose the treachery and falsehood of an individual,upon whose truth and honour I placed implicit48 reliance.’
‘Dear me,’ said Mr. Peter Magnus, ‘that’s very unpleasant. It is alady, I presume? Eh? ah! Sly, Mr. Pickwick, sly. Well, Mr.
Pickwick, sir, I wouldn’t probe your feelings for the world. Painfulsubjects, these, sir, very painful. Don’t mind me, Mr. Pickwick, ifyou wish to give vent1 to your feelings. I know what it is to be jilted,sir; I have endured that sort of thing three or four times.’
‘I am much obliged to you, for your condolence on what youpresume to be my melancholy49 case,’ said Mr. Pickwick, windingup his watch, and laying it on the table, ‘but―’
‘No, no,’ said Mr. Peter Magnus, ‘not a word more; it’s a painfulsubject. I see, I see. What’s the time, Mr. Pickwick?’
‘Past twelve.’
‘Dear me, it’s time to go to bed. It will never do, sitting here. Ishall be pale to-morrow, Mr. Pickwick.’
At the bare notion of such a calamity50, Mr. Peter Magnus rangthe bell for the chambermaid; and the striped bag, the red bag, theleathern hat-box, and the brown-paper parcel, having beenconveyed to his bedroom, he retired52 in company with a japannedcandlestick, to one side of the house, while Mr. Pickwick, andanother japanned candlestick, were conducted through amultitude of tortuous53 windings54, to another.
‘This is your room, sir,’ said the chambermaid.
‘Very well,’ replied Mr. Pickwick, looking round him. It was atolerably large double-bedded room, with a fire; upon the whole, amore comfortable-looking apartment than Mr. Pickwick’s shortexperience of the accommodations of the Great White Horse hadled him to expect.
‘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 athalf-past eight in the morning, and that I shall not want him anymore to-night.’
‘Yes, sir,’ and bidding Mr. Pickwick good-night, thechambermaid retired, and left him alone.
Mr. Pickwick sat himself down in a chair before the fire, and fellinto a train of rambling55 meditations57. First he thought of hisfriends, and wondered when they would join him; then his mindreverted to Mrs. Martha Bardell; and from that lady it wandered,by a natural process, to the dingy58 counting-house of Dodson &Fogg. From Dodson & Fogg’s it flew off at a tangent, to the verycentre of the history of the queer client; and then it came back tothe Great White Horse at Ipswich, with sufficient clearness toconvince Mr. Pickwick that he was falling asleep. So he rousedhimself, and began to undress, when he recollected40 he had left hiswatch on the table downstairs.
Now this watch was a special favourite with Mr. Pickwick,having been carried about, beneath the shadow of his waistcoat,for a greater number of years than we feel called upon to state atpresent. The possibility of going to sleep, unless it were tickinggently beneath his pillow, or in the watch-pocket over his head,had never entered Mr. Pickwick’s brain. So as it was pretty latenow, and he was unwilling59 to ring his bell at that hour of the night,he slipped on his coat, of which he had just divested60 himself, andtaking the japanned candlestick in his hand, walked quietlydownstairs. The more stairs Mr. Pickwick went down, the morestairs there seemed to be to descend43, and again and again, whenMr. Pickwick got into some narrow passage, and began tocongratulate himself on having gained the ground-floor, didanother flight of stairs appear before his astonished eyes. At lasthe reached a stone hall, which he remembered to have seen whenhe entered the house. Passage after passage did he explore; roomafter room did he peep into; at length, as he was on the point ofgiving up the search in despair, he opened the door of the identicalroom in which he had spent the evening, and beheld61 his missingproperty on the table.
Mr. Pickwick seized the watch in triumph, and proceeded toretrace his steps to his bedchamber. If his progress downward hadbeen attended with difficulties and uncertainty23, his journey backwas infinitely62 more perplexing. Rows of doors, garnished63 withboots of every shape, make, and size, branched off in everypossible direction. A dozen times did he softly turn the handle ofsome bedroom door which resembled his own, when a gruff cryfrom within of ‘Who the devil’s that?’ or ‘What do you want here?’
caused him to steal away, on tiptoe, with a perfectly64 marvellouscelerity. He was reduced to the verge65 of despair, when an opendoor attracted his attention. He peeped in. Right at last! Therewere the two beds, whose situation he perfectly remembered, andthe fire still burning. His candle, not a long one when he firstreceived it, had flickered66 away in the drafts of air through whichhe had passed and sank into the socket67 as he closed the door afterhim. ‘No matter,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘I can undress myself just aswell by the light of the fire.’
The bedsteads stood one on each side of the door; and on theinner side of each was a little path, terminating in a rush-bottomedchair, just wide enough to admit of a person’s getting into or out ofbed, on that side, if he or she thought proper. Having carefullydrawn the curtains of his bed on the outside, Mr. Pickwick satdown on the rush-bottomed chair, and leisurely68 divested himselfof his shoes and gaiters. He then took off and folded up his coat,waistcoat, and neckcloth, and slowly drawing on his tassellednightcap, secured it firmly on his head, by tying beneath his chinthe strings70 which he always had attached to that article of dress. Itwas at this moment that the absurdity71 of his recent bewildermentstruck upon his mind. Throwing himself back in the rush-bottomed chair, Mr. Pickwick laughed to himself so heartily72, that itwould have been quite delightful73 to any man of well-constitutedmind to have watched the smiles that expanded his amiablefeatures as they shone forth74 from beneath the nightcap.
‘It is the best idea,’ said Mr. Pickwick to himself, smiling till healmost cracked the nightcap strings―‘it is the best idea, my losingmyself in this place, and wandering about these staircases, that Iever heard of. Droll75, droll, very droll.’ Here Mr. Pickwick smiledagain, a broader smile than before, and was about to continue theprocess of undressing, in the best possible humour, when he wassuddenly stopped by a most unexpected interruption: to wit, theentrance into the room of some person with a candle, who, afterlocking the door, advanced to the dressing-table, and set down thelight upon it.
The smile that played on Mr. Pickwick’s features wasinstantaneously lost in a look of the most unbounded and wonder-stricken surprise. The person, whoever it was, had come in sosuddenly and with so little noise, that Mr. Pickwick had had notime to call out, or oppose their entrance. Who could it be? Arobber? Some evil-minded person who had seen him comeupstairs with a handsome watch in his hand, perhaps. What washe to do?
The only way in which Mr. Pickwick could catch a glimpse ofhis mysterious visitor with the least danger of being seen himself,was by creeping on to the bed, and peeping out from between thecurtains on the opposite side. To this manoeuvre76 he accordinglyresorted. Keeping the curtains carefully closed with his hand, sothat nothing more of him could be seen than his face and nightcap,and putting on his spectacles, he mustered77 up courage and lookedout.
Mr. Pickwick almost fainted with horror and dismay. Standingbefore 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 thatroom, it was quite clear that she contemplated78 remaining there forthe night; for she had brought a rushlight and shade with her,which, with praiseworthy precaution against fire, she hadstationed in a basin on the floor, where it was glimmering79 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 withautomaton-like rapidity.
‘I never met with anything so awful as this,’ thought poor Mr.
Pickwick, the cold perspiration80 starting in drops upon hisnightcap. ‘Never. This is fearful.’
It was quite impossible to resist the urgent desire to see whatwas going forward. So out went Mr. Pickwick’s head again. Theprospect was worse than before. The middle-aged lady hadfinished arranging her hair; had carefully enveloped81 it in a muslinnightcap with a small plaited border; and was gazing pensively82 onthe fire.
‘This matter is growing alarming,’ reasoned Mr. Pickwick withhimself. ‘I can’t allow things to go on in this way. By the self-possession of that lady, it is clear to me that I must have come intothe wrong room. If I call out she’ll alarm the house; but if I remainhere the consequences will be still more frightful83.’ Mr. Pickwick, itis quite unnecessary to say, was one of the most modest anddelicate-minded of mortals. The very idea of exhibiting hisnightcap to a lady overpowered him, but he had tied thoseconfounded strings in a knot, and, do what he would, he couldn’tget it off. The disclosure must be made. There was only one otherway of doing it. He shrunk behind the curtains, and called out veryloudly―‘Ha-hum!’
That the lady started at this unexpected sound was evident, byher falling up against the rushlight shade; that she persuadedherself it must have been the effect of imagination was equallyclear, for when Mr. Pickwick, under the impression that she hadfainted away stone-dead with 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 ferocious84 giant Blunderbore was in the habit of expressing hisopinion that it was time to lay the cloth, were too distinctly audibleto 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, frombehind the curtains.
‘A gentleman!’ said the lady, with a terrific scream.
‘It’s all over!’ thought Mr. Pickwick.
‘A strange man!’ shrieked85 the lady. Another instant and thehouse would be alarmed. Her garments rustled86 as she rushedtowards the door.
‘Ma’am,’ said Mr. Pickwick, thrusting out his head. in theextremity of his desperation, ‘ma’am!’
Now, although Mr. Pickwick was not actuated by any definiteobject in putting out his head, it was instantaneously productive ofa good effect. The lady, as we have already stated, was near thedoor. She must pass it, to reach the staircase, and she would mostundoubtedly have done so by this time, had not the suddenapparition of Mr. Pickwick’s nightcap driven her back into theremotest corner of the apartment, where she stood staring wildlyat Mr. Pickwick, while Mr. Pickwick in his turn stared wildly ather.
‘Wretch,’ said the lady, covering her eyes with her hands, ‘whatdo you want here?’
‘Nothing, ma’am; nothing whatever, ma’am,’ said Mr. Pickwickearnestly.
‘Nothing!’ said the lady, looking up.
‘Nothing, ma’am, upon my honour,’ said Mr. Pickwick, noddinghis head so energetically, that the tassel69 of his nightcap dancedagain. ‘I am almost ready to sink, ma’am, beneath the confusion ofaddressing a lady in my nightcap (here the lady hastily snatchedoff hers), but I can’t get it off, ma’am (here Mr. Pickwick gave it atremendous tug87, in proof of the statement). It is evident to me,ma’am, now, that I have mistaken this bedroom for my own. I hadnot 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 theinnocent occasion of this alarm and emotion; deeply sorry, ma’am.’
The lady pointed88 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 Puton his hat over his nightcap, after the manner of the old patrol;although he carried his shoes and gaiters in his hand, and his coatand waistcoat over his arm; nothing could subdue89 his nativepoliteness.
‘I am exceedingly sorry, ma’am,’ said Mr. Pickwick, bowingvery 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 crash in sodoing.
‘I trust, ma’am,’ resumed Mr. Pickwick, gathering90 up his shoes,and turning round to bow again―‘I trust, ma’am, that myunblemished character, and the devoted91 respect I entertain foryour sex, will plead as some slight excuse for this―’ But beforeMr. Pickwick could conclude the sentence, the lady had thrust himinto the passage, and locked and bolted the door behind him.
Whatever grounds of self-congratulation Mr. Pickwick mighthave for having escaped so quietly from his late awkwardsituation, his present position was by no means enviable. He wasalone, in an open passage, in a strange house in the middle of thenight, half dressed; it was not to be supposed that he could find hisway in perfect darkness to a room which he had been whollyunable to discover with a light, and if he made the slightest noisein his fruitless attempts to do so, he stood every chance of beingshot at, and perhaps killed, by some wakeful traveller. He had noresource but to remain where he was until daylight appeared. Soafter groping his way a few paces down the passage, and, to hisinfinite alarm, stumbling over several pairs of boots in so doing,Mr. Pickwick crouched92 into a little recess93 in the wall, to wait formorning, as philosophically94 as he might.
He was not destined95, however, to undergo this additional trialof patience; for he had not been long ensconced in his presentconcealment when, to his unspeakable horror, a man, bearing alight, appeared at the end of the passage. His horror was suddenlyconverted into joy, however, when he recognised the form of hisfaithful attendant. It was indeed Mr. Samuel Weller, who aftersitting up thus late, in conversation with the boots, who was sittingup for the mail, was now about to retire to rest.
‘Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, suddenly appearing before him,‘where’s my bedroom?’
Mr. Weller stared at his master with the most emphaticsurprise; and it was not until the question had been repeated threeseveral 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 ofthe most extraordinary mistakes to-night, that ever were heard of.’
‘Wery likely, sir,’ replied Mr. Weller drily.
‘But of this I am determined96, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick; ‘that if Iwere to stop in this house for six months, I would never trustmyself 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 arteryou, sir, when your judgment97 goes out a wisitin’.’
‘What do you mean by that, Sam?’ said Mr. Pickwick. He raisedhimself in bed, and extended his hand, as if he were about to saysomething more; but suddenly checking himself, turned round,and bade his valet ‘Good-night.’
‘Good-night, sir,’ replied Mr. Weller. He paused when he gotoutside the door―shook his head―walked on―stopped―snuffedthe candle―shook his head again―and finally proceeded slowly tohis chamber51, apparently buried in the profoundest meditation56.
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vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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forefinger
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| n.食指 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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lanky
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| adj.瘦长的 | |
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hymn
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌 | |
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brewing
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| n. 酿造, 一次酿造的量 动词brew的现在分词形式 | |
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groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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groans
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| n.呻吟，叹息( groan的名词复数 )；呻吟般的声音v.呻吟( groan的第三人称单数 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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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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unpacked
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| v.从（包裹等）中取出（所装的东西），打开行李取出( unpack的过去式和过去分词 )；拆包；解除…的负担；吐露（心事等） | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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supercilious
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| adj.目中无人的，高傲的；adv.高傲地；n.高傲 | |
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abruptness
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| n. 突然，唐突 | |
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slanting
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| 倾斜的，歪斜的 | |
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meridian
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| adj.子午线的；全盛期的 | |
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uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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presentiment
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| n.预感，预觉 | |
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untied
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| 松开，解开( untie的过去式和过去分词 )； 解除，使自由； 解决 | |
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demonstration
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| n.表明，示范，论证，示威 | |
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lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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dens
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| n.牙齿，齿状部分；兽窝( den的名词复数 )；窝点；休息室；书斋 | |
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densely
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| ad.密集地；浓厚地 | |
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filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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oysters
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| 牡蛎( oyster的名词复数 ) | |
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lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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salmon
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| n.鲑，大马哈鱼，橙红色的 | |
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beguile
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| vt.欺骗，消遣 | |
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loquacity
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| n.多话，饶舌 | |
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well-being
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| n.安康，安乐，幸福 | |
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turnip
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| n.萝卜，芜菁 | |
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labyrinths
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| 迷宫( labyrinth的名词复数 )； （文字，建筑）错综复杂的 | |
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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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tavern
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| n.小旅馆，客栈；小酒店 | |
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wink
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| n.眨眼，使眼色，瞬间；v.眨眼，使眼色，闪烁 | |
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descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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lapse
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| n.过失，流逝，失效，抛弃信仰，间隔；vi.堕落，停止，失效，流逝；vt.使失效 | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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sundry
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| adj.各式各样的，种种的 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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implicit
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| a.暗示的，含蓄的，不明晰的，绝对的 | |
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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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calamity
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| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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tortuous
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| adj.弯弯曲曲的，蜿蜒的 | |
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windings
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| （道路、河流等）蜿蜒的，弯曲的( winding的名词复数 )； 缠绕( wind的现在分词 )； 卷绕； 转动（把手） | |
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rambling
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| adj.[建]凌乱的，杂乱的 | |
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meditation
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| n.熟虑，（尤指宗教的）默想，沉思，（pl.）冥想录 | |
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meditations
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| 默想( meditation的名词复数 )； 默念； 沉思； 冥想 | |
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dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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divested
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| v.剥夺( divest的过去式和过去分词 )；脱去（衣服）；2。从…取去…；1。（给某人）脱衣服 | |
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beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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garnished
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| v.给（上餐桌的食物）加装饰( garnish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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flickered
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| （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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socket
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| n.窝，穴，孔，插座，插口 | |
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leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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tassel
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| n.流苏，穗；v.抽穗， （玉米）长穗须 | |
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strings
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| n.弦 | |
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absurdity
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| n.荒谬，愚蠢；谬论 | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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droll
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| adj.古怪的，好笑的 | |
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manoeuvre
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| n.策略，调动；v.用策略，调动 | |
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mustered
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| v.集合，召集，集结（尤指部队）( muster的过去式和过去分词 )；（自他人处）搜集某事物；聚集；激发 | |
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contemplated
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| adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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glimmering
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| n.微光，隐约的一瞥adj.薄弱地发光的v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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perspiration
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| n.汗水；出汗 | |
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81
enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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pensively
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| adv.沉思地，焦虑地 | |
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frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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ferocious
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| adj.凶猛的，残暴的，极度的，十分强烈的 | |
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shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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87
tug
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| v.用力拖(或拉)；苦干；n.拖；苦干；拖船 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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subdue
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| vt.制服，使顺从，征服；抑制，克制 | |
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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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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crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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recess
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| n.短期休息，壁凹（墙上装架子，柜子等凹处） | |
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philosophically
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| adv.哲学上；富有哲理性地；贤明地；冷静地 | |
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destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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