WHAT BEFELL Mr. PICKWICK WHEN HE GOTINTO THE FLEET; WHAT PRISONERS HE SAWTHERE, AND HOW HE PASSED THE NIGHTr. Tom Roker, the gentleman who had accompanied Mr.
Pickwick into the prison, turned sharp round to theright when he got to the bottom of the little flight ofsteps, and led the way, through an iron gate which stood open, andup another short flight of steps, into a long narrow gallery, dirtyand low, paved with stone, and very dimly lighted by a window ateach remote end.
‘This,’ said the gentleman, thrusting his hands into his pockets,and looking carelessly over his shoulder to Mr. Pickwick―‘thishere is the hall flight.’
‘Oh,’ replied Mr. Pickwick, looking down a dark and filthystaircase, which appeared to lead to a range of damp and gloomystone vaults1, beneath the ground, ‘and those, I suppose, are thelittle cellars where the prisoners keep their small quantities ofcoals. Unpleasant places to have to go down to; but veryconvenient, I dare say.’
‘Yes, I shouldn’t wonder if they was convenient,’ replied thegentleman, ‘seeing that a few people live there, pretty snug2. That’sthe Fair, that is.’
‘My friend,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘you don’t really mean to saythat human beings live down in those wretched dungeons3?’
‘Don’t I?’ replied Mr. Roker, with indignant astonishment4; ‘whyshouldn’t I?’
‘Live!―live down there!’ exclaimed Mr. Pickwick.
‘Live down there! Yes, and die down there, too, very often!’
replied Mr. Roker; ‘and what of that? Who’s got to say anythingagin it? Live down there! Yes, and a wery good place it is to live in,ain’t it?’
As Roker turned somewhat fiercely upon Mr. Pickwick insaying this, and moreover muttered in an excited fashion certainunpleasant invocations concerning his own eyes, limbs, andcirculating fluids, the latter gentleman deemed it advisable topursue the discourse5 no further. Mr. Roker then proceeded tomount another staircase, as dirty as that which led to the placewhich has just been the subject of discussion, in which ascent6 hewas closely followed by Mr. Pickwick and Sam.
‘There,’ said Mr. Roker, pausing for breath when they reachedanother gallery of the same dimensions as the one below, ‘this isthe coffee-room flight; the one above’s the third, and the one abovethat’s the top; and the room where you’re a-going to sleep to-nightis the warden’s room, and it’s this way―come on.’ Having said allthis in a breath, Mr. Roker mounted another flight of stairs withMr. Pickwick and Sam Weller following at his heels.
These staircases received light from sundry7 windows placed atsome little distance above the floor, and looking into a gravelledarea bounded by a high brick wall, with iron chevaux-de-frise atthe top. This area, it appeared from Mr. Roker’s statement, wasthe racket-ground; and it further appeared, on the testimony9 ofthe same gentleman, that there was a smaller area in that portionof the prison which was nearest Farringdon Street, denominatedand called ‘the Painted Ground,’ from the fact of its walls havingonce displayed the semblance10 of various men-of-war in full sail,and other artistical effects achieved in bygone times by someimprisoned draughtsman in his leisure hours.
Having communicated this piece of information, apparentlymore for the purpose of discharging his bosom13 of an importantfact, than with any specific view of enlightening Mr. Pickwick, theguide, having at length reached another gallery, led the way into asmall passage at the extreme end, opened a door, and disclosed anapartment of an appearance by no means inviting14, containingeight or nine iron bedsteads.
‘There,’ said Mr. Roker, holding the door open, and lookingtriumphantly round at Mr. Pickwick, ‘there’s a room!’
Mr. Pickwick’s face, however, betokened15 such a very triflingportion of satisfaction at the appearance of his lodging16, that Mr.
Roker looked, for a reciprocity of feeling, into the countenance17 ofSamuel Weller, who, until now, had observed a dignified18 silence.
‘There’s a room, young man,’ observed Mr. Roker.
‘I see it,’ replied Sam, with a placid19 nod of the head.
‘You wouldn’t think to find such a room as this in theFarringdon Hotel, would you?’ said Mr. Roker, with a complacentsmile.
To this Mr. Weller replied with an easy and unstudied closing ofone eye; which might be considered to mean, either that he wouldhave thought it, or that he would not have thought it, or that hehad never thought anything at all about it, as the observer’simagination suggested. Having executed this feat20, and reopenedhis eye, Mr. Weller proceeded to inquire which was the individualbedstead that Mr. Roker had so flatteringly described as an out-and-outer to sleep in.
‘That’s it,’ replied Mr. Roker, pointing to a very rusty21 one in acorner. ‘It would make any one go to sleep, that bedstead would,whether they wanted to or not.’
‘I should think,’ said Sam, eyeing the piece of furniture inquestion with a look of excessive disgust―‘I should think poppieswas nothing to it.’
‘Nothing at all,’ said Mr. Roker.
‘And I s’pose,’ said Sam, with a sidelong glance at his master, asif to see whether there were any symptoms of his determinationbeing shaken by what passed, ‘I s’pose the other gen’l’men assleeps here are gen’l’men.’
‘Nothing but it,’ said Mr. Roker. ‘One of ’em takes his twelvepints of ale a day, and never leaves off smoking even at his meals.’
‘He must be a first-rater,’ said Sam.
‘A1,’ replied Mr. Roker.
Nothing daunted22, even by this intelligence, Mr. Pickwicksmilingly announced his determination to test the powers of thenarcotic bedstead for that night; and Mr. Roker, after informinghim that he could retire to rest at whatever hour he thoughtproper, without any further notice or formality, walked off, leavinghim standing23 with Sam in the gallery.
It was getting dark; that is to say, a few gas jets were kindled24 inthis place which was never light, by way of compliment to theevening, which had set in outside. As it was rather warm, some ofthe tenants25 of the numerous little rooms which opened into thegallery on either hand, had set their doors ajar. Mr. Pickwickpeeped into them as he passed along, with great curiosity andinterest. Here, four or five great hulking fellows, just visiblethrough a cloud of tobacco smoke, were engaged in noisy andriotous conversation over half-emptied pots of beer, or playing atall-fours with a very greasy28 pack of cards. In the adjoining room,some solitary29 tenant26 might be seen poring, by the light of a feebletallow candle, over a bundle of soiled and tattered30 papers, yellowwith dust and dropping to pieces from age, writing, for thehundredth time, some lengthened31 statement of his grievances32, forthe perusal34 of some great man whose eyes it would never reach, orwhose heart it would never touch. In a third, a man, with his wifeand a whole crowd of children, might be seen making up a scantybed on the ground, or upon a few chairs, for the younger ones topass the night in. And in a fourth, and a fifth, and a sixth, and aseventh, the noise, and the beer, and the tobacco smoke, and thecards, all came over again in greater force than before.
In the galleries themselves, and more especially on the stair-cases, there lingered a great number of people, who came there,some because their rooms were empty and lonesome, othersbecause their rooms were full and hot; the greater part becausethey were restless and uncomfortable, and not possessed36 of thesecret of exactly knowing what to do with themselves. There weremany classes of people here, from the labouring man in his fustianjacket, to the broken-down spendthrift in his shawl dressing-gown,most appropriately out at elbows; but there was the same air aboutthem all―a kind of listless, jail-bird, careless swagger, avagabondish who’s-afraid sort of bearing, which is whollyindescribable in words, but which any man can understand in onemoment if he wish, by setting foot in the nearest debtors’ prison,and looking at the very first group of people he sees there, with thesame interest as Mr. Pickwick did.
‘It strikes me, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, leaning over the ironrail at the stair-head, ‘it strikes me, Sam, that imprisonment38 fordebt is scarcely any punishment at all.’
‘Think not, sir?’ inquired Mr. Weller.
‘You see how these fellows drink, and smoke, and roar,’ repliedMr. Pickwick. ‘It’s quite impossible that they can mind it much.’
‘Ah, that’s just the wery thing, sir,’ rejoined Sam, ‘they don’tmind it; it’s a reg’lar holiday to them―all porter and skittles. It’sthe t’other vuns as gets done over vith this sort o’ thing; themdown-hearted fellers as can’t svig avay at the beer, nor play atskittles neither; them as vould pay if they could, and gets low bybeing boxed up. I’ll tell you wot it is, sir; them as is always a-idlin’
in public-houses it don’t damage at all, and them as is alvays a-workin’ wen they can, it damages too much. “It’s unekal,” as myfather used to say wen his grog worn’t made half-and-half: “it’sunekal, and that’s the fault on it.”’
‘I think you’re right, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, after a fewmoments’ reflection, ‘quite right.’
‘P’raps, now and then, there’s some honest people as likes it,’
observed Mr. Weller, in a ruminative39 tone, ‘but I never heerd o’
one as I can call to mind, ’cept the little dirty-faced man in thebrown coat; and that was force of habit.’
‘And who was he?’ inquired Mr. Pickwick.
‘Wy, that’s just the wery point as nobody never know’d,’ repliedSam.
‘But what did he do?’
‘Wy, he did wot many men as has been much better know’d hasdone in their time, sir,’ replied Sam, ‘he run a match agin theconstable, and vun it.’
‘In other words, I suppose,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘he got into‘Just that, sir,’ replied Sam, ‘and in course o’ time he come herein consekens. It warn’t much―execution for nine pound nothin’,multiplied by five for costs; but hows’ever here he stopped forseventeen year. If he got any wrinkles in his face, they werestopped up vith the dirt, for both the dirty face and the brown coatwos just the same at the end o’ that time as they wos at thebeginnin’. He wos a wery peaceful, inoffendin’ little creetur, andwos alvays a-bustlin’ about for somebody, or playin’ rackets andnever vinnin’; till at last the turnkeys they got quite fond on him,and he wos in the lodge40 ev’ry night, a-chattering vith ’em, andtellin’ stories, and all that ’ere. Vun night he wos in there as usual,along vith a wery old friend of his, as wos on the lock, ven he saysall of a sudden, “I ain’t seen the market outside, Bill,” he says(Fleet Market wos there at that time)―“I ain’t seen the marketoutside, Bill,” he says, “for seventeen year.” “I know you ain’t,”
says the turnkey, smoking his pipe. “I should like to see it for aminit, Bill,” he says. “Wery probable,” says the turnkey, smokinghis pipe wery fierce, and making believe he warn’t up to wot thelittle man wanted. “Bill,” says the little man, more abrupt41 thanafore, “I’ve got the fancy in my head. Let me see the public streetsonce more afore I die; and if I ain’t struck with apoplexy, I’ll beback in five minits by the clock.” “And wot ’ud become o’ me if youwos struck with apoplexy?” said the turnkey. “Wy,” says the littlecreetur, “whoever found me, ’ud bring me home, for I’ve got mycard in my pocket, Bill,” he says, “No. 20, Coffee-room Flight”: andthat wos true, sure enough, for wen he wanted to make theacquaintance of any new-comer, he used to pull out a little limpcard vith them words on it and nothin’ else; in consideration ofvich, he vos alvays called Number Tventy. The turnkey takes afixed look at him, and at last he says in a solemn manner,“Tventy,” he says, “I’ll trust you; you Won’t get your old friendinto trouble.” “No, my boy; I hope I’ve somethin’ better behindhere,” says the little man; and as he said it he hit his little vesketwery hard, and then a tear started out o’ each eye, which wos weryextraordinary, for it wos supposed as water never touched his face.
He shook the turnkey by the hand; out he vent35―’
‘And never came back again,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘Wrong for vunce, sir,’ replied Mr. Weller, ‘for back he come,two minits afore the time, a-bilin’ with rage, sayin’ how he’d beennearly run over by a hackney-coach that he warn’t used to it; andhe was blowed if he wouldn’t write to the lord mayor. They gothim pacified43 at last; and for five years arter that, he never even somuch as peeped out o’ the lodge gate.’
‘At the expiration44 of that time he died, I suppose,’ said Mr.
Pickwick.
‘No, he didn’t, sir,’ replied Sam. ‘He got a curiosity to go andtaste the beer at a new public-house over the way, and it wos sucha wery nice parlour, that he took it into his head to go there everynight, which he did for a long time, always comin’ back reg’larabout a quarter of an hour afore the gate shut, which was all werysnug and comfortable. At last he began to get so precious jolly,that he used to forget how the time vent, or care nothin’ at allabout it, and he went on gettin’ later and later, till vun night hisold friend wos just a-shuttin’ the gate―had turned the key infact―wen he come up. “Hold hard, Bill,” he says. “Wot, ain’t youcome home yet, Tventy?’ says the turnkey, “I thought you wos in,long ago.” “No, I wasn’t,” says the little man, with a smile. “Well,then, I’ll tell you wot it is, my friend,” says the turnkey, openin’ thegate wery slow and sulky, “it’s my ’pinion as you’ve got into badcompany o’ late, which I’m wery sorry to see. Now, I don’t wish todo nothing harsh,” he says, “but if you can’t confine yourself tosteady circles, and find your vay back at reg’lar hours, as sure asyou’re a-standin’ there, I’ll shut you out altogether!” The little manwas seized vith a wiolent fit o’ tremblin’, and never vent outsidethe prison walls artervards!’
As Sam concluded, Mr. Pickwick slowly retraced45 his stepsdownstairs. After a few thoughtful turns in the Painted Ground,which, as it was now dark, was nearly deserted46, he intimated toMr. Weller that he thought it high time for him to withdraw for thenight; requesting him to seek a bed in some adjacent public-house,and return early in the morning, to make arrangements for theremoval of his master’s wardrobe from the George and Vulture.
This request Mr. Samuel Weller prepared to obey, with as good agrace as he could assume, but with a very considerable show ofreluctance nevertheless. He even went so far as to essay sundryineffectual hints regarding the expediency47 of stretching himself onthe gravel8 for that night; but finding Mr. Pickwick obstinately48 deafto any such suggestions, finally withdrew.
There is no disguising the fact that Mr. Pickwick felt very low-spirited and uncomfortable―not for lack of society, for the prisonwas very full, and a bottle of wine would at once have purchasedthe utmost good-fellowship of a few choice spirits, without anymore formal ceremony of introduction; but he was alone in thecoarse, vulgar crowd, and felt the depression of spirits and sinkingof heart, naturally consequent on the reflection that he was coopedand caged up, without a prospect49 of liberation. As to the idea ofreleasing himself by ministering to the sharpness of Dodson &Fogg, it never for an instant entered his thoughts.
In this frame of mind he turned again into the coffee-roomgallery, and walked slowly to and fro. The place was intolerablydirty, and the smell of tobacco smoke perfectly50 suffocating51. Therewas a perpetual slamming and banging of doors as the peoplewent in and out; and the noise of their voices and footsteps echoedand re-echoed through the passages constantly. A young woman,with a child in her arms, who seemed scarcely able to crawl, fromemaciation and misery52, was walking up and down the passage inconversation with her husband, who had no other place to see herin. As they passed Mr. Pickwick, he could hear the female sobbitterly; and once she burst into such a passion of grief, that shewas compelled to lean against the wall for support, while the mantook the child in his arms, and tried to soothe53 her.
Mr. Pickwick’s heart was really too full to bear it, and he wentupstairs to bed.
Now, although the warder’s room was a very uncomfortableone (being, in every point of decoration and convenience, severalhundred degrees inferior to the common infirmary of a countyjail), it had at present the merit of being wholly deserted save byMr. Pickwick himself. So, he sat down at the foot of his little ironbedstead, and began to wonder how much a year the warder madeout of the dirty room. Having satisfied himself, by mathematicalcalculation, that the apartment was about equal in annual value tothe freehold of a small street in the suburbs of London, he took towondering what possible temptation could have induced a dingy-looking fly that was crawling over his pantaloons, to come into aclose prison, when he had the choice of so many airy situations―acourse of meditation54 which led him to the irresistible55 conclusionthat the insect was insane. After settling this point, he began to beconscious that he was getting sleepy; whereupon he took hisnightcap out of the pocket in which he had had the precaution tostow it in the morning, and, leisurely56 undressing himself, got intobed and fell asleep.
‘Bravo! Heel over toe―cut and shuffle―pay away at it, Zephyr57!
I’m smothered58 if the opera house isn’t your proper hemisphere.
Keep it up! Hooray!’ These expressions, delivered in a mostboisterous tone, and accompanied with loud peals59 of laughter,roused Mr. Pickwick from one of those sound slumbers61 which,lasting in reality some half-hour, seem to the sleeper62 to have beenprotracted for three weeks or a month.
The voice had no sooner ceased than the room was shaken withsuch violence that the windows rattled63 in their frames, and thebedsteads trembled again. Mr. Pickwick started up, and remainedfor some minutes fixed42 in mute astonishment at the scene beforehim.
On the floor of the room, a man in a broad-skirted green coat,with corduroy knee-smalls and grey cotton stockings, wasperforming the most popular steps of a hornpipe, with a slang andburlesque caricature of grace and lightness, which, combined withthe very appropriate character of his costume, was inexpressiblyabsurd. Another man, evidently very drunk, who had probablybeen tumbled into bed by his companions, was sitting up betweenthe sheets, warbling as much as he could recollect64 of a comic song,with the most intensely sentimental65 feeling and expression; whilea third, seated on one of the bedsteads, was applauding bothperformers with the air of a profound connoisseur66, andencouraging them by such ebullitions of feeling as had alreadyroused Mr. Pickwick from his sleep.
This last man was an admirable specimen67 of a class of gentrywhich never can be seen in full perfection but in such places―theymay be met with, in an imperfect state, occasionally about stable-yards and Public-houses; but they never attain69 their full bloomexcept in these hot-beds, which would almost seem to beconsiderately provided by the legislature for the sole purpose ofrearing them.
He was a tall fellow, with an olive complexion70, long dark hair,and very thick bushy whiskers meeting under his chin. He woreno neckerchief, as he had been playing rackets all day, and hisOpen shirt collar displayed their full luxuriance. On his head hewore one of the common eighteenpenny French skull-caps, with agaudy tassel71 dangling72 therefrom, very happily in keeping with acommon fustian37 coat. His legs, which, being long, were afflictedwith weakness, graced a pair of Oxford-mixture trousers, made toshow the full symmetry of those limbs. Being somewhatnegligently braced73, however, and, moreover, but imperfectlybuttoned, they fell in a series of not the most graceful74 folds over apair of shoes sufficiently75 down at heel to display a pair of verysoiled white stockings. There was a rakish, vagabond smartness,and a kind of boastful rascality76, about the whole man, that wasworth a mine of gold.
This figure was the first to perceive that Mr. Pickwick waslooking on; upon which he winked77 to the Zephyr, and entreatedhim, with mock gravity, not to wake the gentleman. ‘Why, blessthe gentleman’s honest heart and soul!’ said the Zephyr, turninground and affecting the extremity78 of surprise; ‘the gentleman isawake. Hem27, Shakespeare! How do you do, sir? How is Mary andSarah, sir? and the dear old lady at home, sir? Will you have thekindness to put my compliments into the first little parcel you’resending that way, sir, and say that I would have sent ’em before,only I was afraid they might be broken in the wagon79, sir?’
‘Don’t overwhelm the gentlemen with ordinary civilities whenyou see he’s anxious to have something to drink,’ said thegentleman with the whiskers, with a jocose80 air. ‘Why don’t you askthe gentleman what he’ll take?’
‘Dear me, I quite forgot,’ replied the other. ‘What will you take,sir? Will you take port wine, sir, or sherry wine, sir? I canrecommend the ale, sir; or perhaps you’d like to taste the porter,sir? Allow me to have the felicity of hanging up your nightcap, sir.’
With this, the speaker snatched that article of dress from Mr.
Pickwick’s head, and fixed it in a twinkling on that of the drunkenman, who, firmly impressed with the belief that he was delightinga numerous assembly, continued to hammer away at the comicsong in the most melancholy81 strains imaginable.
Taking a man’s nightcap from his brow by violent means, andadjusting it on the head of an unknown gentleman, of dirtyexterior, however ingenious a witticism82 in itself, is unquestionablyone of those which come under the denomination83 of practicaljokes. Viewing the matter precisely84 in this light, Mr. Pickwick,without the slightest intimation of his purpose, sprang vigorouslyout of bed, struck the Zephyr so smart a blow in the chest as todeprive him of a considerable portion of the commodity whichsometimes bears his name, and then, recapturing his nightcap,boldly placed himself in an attitude of defence.
‘Now,’ said Mr. Pickwick, gasping85 no less from excitement thanfrom the expenditure86 of so much energy, ‘come on―both of you―both of you!’ With this liberal invitation the worthy87 gentlemancommunicated a revolving88 motion to his clenched89 fists, by way ofappalling his antagonists90 with a display of science.
It might have been Mr. Pickwick’s very unexpected gallantry,or it might have been the complicated manner in which he had gothimself out of bed, and fallen all in a mass upon the hornpipe man,that touched his adversaries91. Touched they were; for, instead ofthen and there making an attempt to commit man-slaughter, asMr. Pickwick implicitly92 believed they would have done, theypaused, stared at each other a short time, and finally laughedoutright.
‘Well, you’re a trump93, and I like you all the better for it,’ said theZephyr. ‘Now jump into bed again, or you’ll catch the rheumatics.
No malice94, I hope?’ said the man, extending a hand the size of theyellow clump95 of fingers which sometimes swings over a glover’sdoor.
‘Certainly not,’ said Mr. Pickwick, with great alacrity96; for, nowthat the excitement was over, he began to feel rather cool aboutthe legs.
‘Allow me the honour,’ said the gentleman with the whiskers,presenting his dexter hand, and aspirating the h.
‘With much pleasure, sir,’ said Mr. Pickwick; and havingexecuted a very long and solemn shake, he got into bed again.
‘My name is Smangle, sir,’ said the man with the whiskers.
‘Oh,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘Mine is Mivins,’ said the man in the stockings.
‘I am delighted to hear it, sir,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘Hem,’ coughed Mr. Smangle.
‘Did you speak, sir?’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘No, I did not, sir,’ said Mr. Smangle.
All this was very genteel and pleasant; and, to make mattersstill more comfortable, Mr. Smangle assured Mr. Pickwick a greatmany more times that he entertained a very high respect for thefeelings of a gentleman; which sentiment, indeed, did him infinitecredit, as he could be in no wise supposed to understand them.
‘Are you going through the court, sir?’ inquired Mr. Smangle.
‘Through the what?’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘Through the court―Portugal Street―the Court for Relief of―You know.’
‘Oh, no,’ replied Mr. Pickwick. ‘No, I am not.’
‘Going out, perhaps?’ suggested Mr. Mivins.
‘I fear not,’ replied Mr. Pickwick. ‘I refuse to pay some damages,and am here in consequence.’
‘Ah,’ said Mr. Smangle, ‘paper has been my ruin.’
‘A stationer, I presume, sir?’ said Mr. Pickwick innocently.
‘Stationer! No, no; confound and curse me! Not so low as that.
No trade. When I say paper, I mean bills.’
‘Oh, you use the word in that sense. I see,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘Damme! A gentleman must expect reverses,’ said Smangle. ‘Whatof that? Here am I in the Fleet Prison. Well; good. What then? I’mnone the worse for that, am I?’
‘Not a bit,’ replied Mr. Mivins. And he was quite right; for, so farfrom Mr. Smangle being any the worse for it, he was somethingthe better, inasmuch as to qualify himself for the place, he hadattained gratuitous97 possession of certain articles of jewellery,which, long before that, had found their way to the pawnbroker’s.
‘Well; but come,’ said Mr. Smangle; ‘this is dry work. Let’s rinseour mouths with a drop of burnt sherry; the last-comer shall standit, Mivins shall fetch it, and I’ll help to drink it. That’s a fair andgentlemanlike division of labour, anyhow. Curse me!’
Unwilling to hazard another quarrel, Mr. Pickwick gladlyassented to the proposition, and consigned98 the money to Mr.
Mivins, who, as it was nearly eleven o’clock, lost no time inrepairing to the coffee-room on his errand.
‘I say,’ whispered Smangle, the moment his friend had left theroom; ‘what did you give him?’
‘Half a sovereign,’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘He’s a devilish pleasant gentlemanly dog,’ said Mr. Smangle;―‘infernal pleasant. I don’t know anybody more so; but―‘ Here Mr.
Smangle stopped short, and shook his head dubiously99.
‘You don’t think there is any probability of his appropriatingthe money to his own use?’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘Oh, no! Mind, I don’t say that; I expressly say that he’s adevilish gentlemanly fellow,’ said Mr. Smangle. ‘But I think,perhaps, if somebody went down, just to see that he didn’t dip hisbeak into the jug100 by accident, or make some confounded mistakein losing the money as he came upstairs, it would be as well. Here,you sir, just run downstairs, and look after that gentleman, willyou?’
This request was addressed to a little timid-looking, nervousman, whose appearance bespoke101 great poverty, and who had beencrouching on his bedstead all this while, apparently12 stupefied bythe novelty of his situation.
‘You know where the coffee-room is,’ said Smangle; ‘just rundown, and tell that gentleman you’ve come to help him up with thejug. Or―stop―I’ll tell you what―I’ll tell you how we’ll do him,’
said Smangle, with a cunning look.
‘How?’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘Send down word that he’s to spend the change in cigars.
Capital thought. Run and tell him that; d’ye hear? They shan’t bewasted,’ continued Smangle, turning to Mr. Pickwick. ‘I’ll smoke’em.’
This manoeuvring was so exceedingly ingenious and, withal,performed with such immovable composure and coolness, that Mr.
Pickwick would have had no wish to disturb it, even if he had hadthe power. In a short time Mr. Mivins returned, bearing thesherry, which Mr. Smangle dispensed102 in two little cracked mugs;considerately remarking, with reference to himself, that agentleman must not be particular under such circumstances, andthat, for his part, he was not too proud to drink out of the jug. Inwhich, to show his sincerity103, he forthwith pledged the company ina draught11 which half emptied it.
An excellent understanding having been by these meanspromoted, Mr. Smangle proceeded to entertain his hearers with arelation of divers104 romantic adventures in which he had been fromtime to time engaged, involving various interesting anecdotes105 of athoroughbred horse, and a magnificent Jewess, both of surpassingbeauty, and much coveted106 by the nobility and gentry68 of thesekingdoms.
Long before these elegant extracts from the biography of agentleman were concluded, Mr. Mivins had betaken himself tobed, and had set in snoring for the night, leaving the timidstranger and Mr. Pickwick to the full benefit of Mr. Smangle’sexperiences.
Nor were the two last-named gentlemen as much edified107 asthey might have been by the moving passages narrated108. Mr.
Pickwick had been in a state of slumber60 for some time, when hehad a faint perception of the drunken man bursting out afreshwith the comic song, and receiving from Mr. Smangle a gentleintimation, through the medium of the water-jug, that hisaudience was not musically disposed. Mr. Pickwick then onceagain dropped off to sleep, with a confused consciousness that Mr.
Smangle was still engaged in relating a long story, the chief pointof which appeared to be that, on some occasion particularly statedand set forth33, he had ‘done’ a bill and a gentleman at the sametime.
收听单词发音 |
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vaults
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| n.拱顶( vault的名词复数 )；地下室；撑物跳高；墓穴 | |
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snug
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| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
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dungeons
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| n.地牢( dungeon的名词复数 ) | |
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4
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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5
discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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ascent
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| n.(声望或地位)提高；上升，升高；登高 | |
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7
sundry
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| adj.各式各样的，种种的 | |
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gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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9
testimony
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| n.证词；见证，证明 | |
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10
semblance
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| n.外貌，外表 | |
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11
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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12
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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13
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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14
inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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15
betokened
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| v.预示，表示( betoken的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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16
lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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17
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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18
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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19
placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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20
feat
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| n.功绩；武艺，技艺；adj.灵巧的，漂亮的，合适的 | |
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21
rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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22
daunted
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| 使（某人）气馁，威吓( daunt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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23
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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24
kindled
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| （使某物）燃烧，着火( kindle的过去式和过去分词 )； 激起（感情等）； 发亮，放光 | |
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25
tenants
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| n.房客( tenant的名词复数 )；佃户；占用者；占有者 | |
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tenant
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| n.承租人；房客；佃户；v.租借，租用 | |
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hem
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| n.贴边，镶边；vt.缝贴边；(in)包围，限制 | |
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28
greasy
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| adj. 多脂的，油脂的 | |
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29
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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30
tattered
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| adj.破旧的，衣衫破的 | |
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31
lengthened
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| （时间或空间）延长，伸长( lengthen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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32
grievances
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| n.委屈( grievance的名词复数 )；苦衷；不满；牢骚 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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34
perusal
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| n.细读，熟读；目测 | |
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35
vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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36
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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37
fustian
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| n.浮夸的；厚粗棉布 | |
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38
imprisonment
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| n.关押，监禁，坐牢 | |
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39
ruminative
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| adj.沉思的，默想的，爱反复思考的 | |
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40
lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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41
abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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42
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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43
pacified
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| 使（某人）安静( pacify的过去式和过去分词 )； 息怒； 抚慰； 在（有战争的地区、国家等）实现和平 | |
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44
expiration
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| n.终结，期满，呼气，呼出物 | |
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45
retraced
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| v.折回( retrace的过去式和过去分词 )；回忆；回顾；追溯 | |
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46
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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47
expediency
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| n.适宜；方便；合算；利己 | |
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48
obstinately
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| ad.固执地，顽固地 | |
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49
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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50
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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51
suffocating
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| a.使人窒息的 | |
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52
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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53
soothe
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| v.安慰；使平静；使减轻；缓和；奉承 | |
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54
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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55
irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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56
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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57
zephyr
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| n.和风，微风 | |
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58
smothered
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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59
peals
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| n.（声音大而持续或重复的）洪亮的响声( peal的名词复数 )；隆隆声；洪亮的钟声；钟乐v.（使）（钟等）鸣响，（雷等）发出隆隆声( peal的第三人称单数 ) | |
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60
slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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61
slumbers
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| 睡眠，安眠( slumber的名词复数 ) | |
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62
sleeper
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| n.睡眠者，卧车，卧铺 | |
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63
rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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64
recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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65
sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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66
connoisseur
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| n.鉴赏家，行家，内行 | |
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67
specimen
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| n.样本，标本 | |
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68
gentry
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| n.绅士阶级，上层阶级 | |
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69
attain
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| vt.达到，获得，完成 | |
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70
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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71
tassel
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| n.流苏，穗；v.抽穗， （玉米）长穗须 | |
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72
dangling
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| 悬吊着( dangle的现在分词 )； 摆动不定； 用某事物诱惑…； 吊胃口 | |
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73
braced
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| adj.拉牢的v.支住( brace的过去式和过去分词 )；撑牢；使自己站稳；振作起来 | |
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74
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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75
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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76
rascality
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| 流氓性，流氓集团 | |
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77
winked
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| v.使眼色( wink的过去式和过去分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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78
extremity
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| n.末端，尽头；尽力；终极；极度 | |
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79
wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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80
jocose
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| adj.开玩笑的，滑稽的 | |
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81
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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82
witticism
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| n.谐语，妙语 | |
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83
denomination
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| n.命名，取名，(度量衡、货币等的)单位 | |
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84
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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85
gasping
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| adj. 气喘的, 痉挛的 动词gasp的现在分词 | |
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86
expenditure
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| n.(时间、劳力、金钱等)支出；使用，消耗 | |
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87
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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88
revolving
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| adj.旋转的，轮转式的；循环的v.（使）旋转( revolve的现在分词 )；细想 | |
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89
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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90
antagonists
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| 对立[对抗] 者，对手，敌手( antagonist的名词复数 )； 对抗肌； 对抗药 | |
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91
adversaries
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| n.对手，敌手( adversary的名词复数 ) | |
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92
implicitly
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| adv. 含蓄地, 暗中地, 毫不保留地 | |
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93
trump
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| n.王牌，法宝；v.打出王牌，吹喇叭 | |
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94
malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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95
clump
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| n.树丛，草丛；vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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96
alacrity
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| n.敏捷，轻快，乐意 | |
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97
gratuitous
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| adj.无偿的，免费的；无缘无故的，不必要的 | |
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98
consigned
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| v.把…置于（令人不快的境地）( consign的过去式和过去分词 )；把…托付给；把…托人代售；丟弃 | |
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99
dubiously
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| adv.可疑地，怀疑地 | |
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100
jug
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| n.(有柄，小口，可盛水等的)大壶，罐，盂 | |
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101
bespoke
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| adj.（产品）订做的；专做订货的v.预定( bespeak的过去式 )；订（货）；证明；预先请求 | |
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102
dispensed
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| v.分配( dispense的过去式和过去分词 )；施与；配（药） | |
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103
sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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104
divers
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| adj.不同的；种种的 | |
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105
anecdotes
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| n.掌故，趣闻，轶事( anecdote的名词复数 ) | |
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106
coveted
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| adj.令人垂涎的；垂涎的，梦寐以求的v.贪求，觊觎(covet的过去分词)；垂涎；贪图 | |
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107
edified
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| v.开导，启发( edify的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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108
narrated
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| v.故事( narrate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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