Pickwickian Studies Part 9

"See this great man condescending to our frivolous tastes," and his host had noted it in a flattering way. "You mean to dance?" But Tupman did not look at it in this respectful way--he made a joke of it! "_You_ in silk stockings." This was insolent to the grave, great man and philosopher, so he turned sharply on his familiar: "And why not, sir--why not?" This with warmth. The foolish Tupman, still inclined to be jocose, said, "Oh, of course, there is no reason why you shouldn't wear them"--a most awkward speech--as who should say, "This is a free country--a man can wear a night cap in public if he chooses." "I imagine not, sir--I imagine not," said Mr. Pickwick, in a _very peremptory_ tone.

Mr. Tupman had contemplated a laugh, but he found it was a serious matter, so he looked grave, and said _they were a pretty pattern_. How natural is all this! And still more so his leader's reply. "I hope they are," he said, fixing his eyes upon his friend, "You see nothing extraordinary in the stockings, _as_ stockings, I trust, sir." The frightened Tupman said, "Certainly not, Oh, certainly not," and walked away. Mr. Pickwick's face resumed its customary benign expression. This little picture of weakness in an eminent man is characteristic. For observe, when Tupman showed the folly of wearing a "two inch tail" to the brigand's coat, Mr. Pickwick was furious, told him he was too old and too fat; but when someone remarks on _his_ silk stockings he gets deeply offended. His vanity is touched, there should have been no remark, or, at least, only of admiration. He was, in fact, one of those flattered and spoiled personages who cannot see any harm in their doing what they reprove in others. Many a really great character is weak in this direction. Observe the disingenuousness of the great man; he knew, perfectly, that Tupman noticed nothing odd in the stockings, "_as_ stockings," he meant the oddity of his wearing them at all, and he had said so, plainly. But, ignoring this, the great man chose to a.s.sume that he was insolently reflecting on their pattern as outlandish. With his despotic pressure, he forced him to say they were of a "pretty pattern,"

and thus vindicated his authority.

V.--Violent a.s.saults, Shooting, &c

Duelling, imprisonment for debt, intoxication, elopements, are, perhaps, the most striking social incidents in "Pickwick" that have disappeared and become all but antiquarian in their character. Yet another, almost as curious, was the ready recourse to physical force or violence--fistic correction as it might be termed. A gentleman of quiet, restrained habit, like Mr. Pickwick, was prepared, in case of call, either to threaten or execute summary chastis.e.m.e.nt on anyone who offended him. The police or magistrates seemed not to have been thought of, for the victim would not think of appealing to either--all which seems strange to us nowadays. At the Review even, the soldiers coolly overthrew Mr. Pickwick and his friends who had got in their way. Winkle was maltreated so severely that the blood streamed from his nose; this would not now be tolerated. When Jingle affronted the great man by calling his friend "Tuppy," Mr. Pickwick, we are told, "hurled the inkstand madly forward and followed it up himself." This hurling of things at offenders was a common incident, particularly in quarrels at table, when the decanter was frequently so used, or a gla.s.s of wine thrown in the face. After the adventure at the Boarding School, Mr. Pickwick "indented his pillow with a tremendous blow," and announced that, if he met Jingle again, he would "inflict personal chastis.e.m.e.nt on him"; while Sam declared that he would bring "real water" into Job's eyes. Old Lobbs, in the story, was going to throttle Pipkin. Mrs. Potts insisted that the editor of _The Independent_ should be horsewhipped. More extraordinary still, old Weller, at a quiet tea-meeting, a.s.saulted the Shepherd, giving him "two or three for himself, and two or three more to hand over to the man with the red nose." Everyone set themselves right in this way and, it is clear, knew how to use their "bunch of fives." Nor were there any summonses or police courts afterwards; the incident was closed. Sam, attempting to rescue his master at Ipswich, knocked down the "specials"

right and left, knocking down some for others to lie upon, yet he was only fined two pounds for the first a.s.sault and three for the second--now he would have been sent to jail under a severe sentence. Mrs. Raddle insisted that her husband should get up and knock every one of the guests down stairs, while Jack Hopkins offered to go upstairs and "pitch into the landlord." At the Brick Lane meeting, Brother Stiggins, intoxicated, knocked Brother Tadger down the stairs, while old Weller violently a.s.saulted Stiggins. At Bath, Dowler hunted Winkle round the Crescent, threatening to cut his throat; and at Bristol, when the terrified Winkle tried to ring the bell, Dowler fancied that he was going to strike him.

At Bristol, Ben Allen flourished the poker, threatening his sister's rival, and when Mr. Pickwick sent Sam to capture Winkle, he instructed him to knock him down even, if he resisted; this direction was given with all seriousness. "If he attempts to run away from you, _knock him down_, or lock him up, you have my full authority, Sam." The despotism of this amiable man was truly extraordinary, he ruled his "followers" with a rod of iron. That such should be exercised, or accepted even by the reader, is a note of the time. It was, however, only a logical consequence of the other summary methods.

The altercation between Mr. Pickwick and his other "follower," Tupman, arising out of the "two-inch tail" question, was on the same lines. For the affront of being called fat and old the latter scientifically turned up his cuffs and announced that he would inflict summary chastis.e.m.e.nt on his leader. Mr. Pickwick met him with a cordial "come on," throwing himself into a pugilistic att.i.tude, supposed by the two bystanders to have been intended as a posture of defence. This seems to have been accepted as a natural incident, though it was deprecated. In the Fleet Prison, when Mr. Pickwick's nightcap was s.n.a.t.c.hed off, he retorted with a smart blow, and again invited everyone, "all of you," to "come on." When the coachmen attended Sam to the Fleet, walking eight abreast, they had to leave behind one of the party "to fight a ticket porter, it being arranged that his friends should call for him as they came back." Even in a moment of agitation--as when Ben Allen learned that his sister had "bolted," his impulse was to rush at Martin the groom and throttle him; the latter, in return, "felling the medical student to the ground." Then we have the extraordinary and realistic combat between Pott and Slurk in the kitchen of the "Saracen's Head," Towcester--the one armed with a shovel, the other with a carpet bag--and old Weller's chastis.e.m.e.nt of Stiggins. In short, this system of chastis.e.m.e.nt on the spot, it is clear, was a necessary equipment, and everybody, high and low, was understood to be ready to secure satisfaction for himself by the aid of violence. No doubt this was a consequence of the duel which was, of course, to be had recourse to only as the last resort.

When the wretched Jingle, and the still more wretched Job met Mr.

Pickwick in the Fleet, and the latter, giving money, had said, "Take that, sir," the author adds, "Take what? . . . As the world runs, it ought to have been a sound, hearty cuff, for Mr. Pickwick had been duped, deceived, &c." Thus, Boz thought, as of course, that this was the suitable method of treatment in such cases. "Must we tell the truth?" he goes on; "it was a piece of money." The unconsciousness of all this is very striking.

VI.--Winkle and Snodgra.s.s

It has always seemed a matter of astonishment to me how such a creature as Winkle should have won the fair Arabella. Every act of this man was a deception--he could not help pretence, or, shall we say it boldly, lying.

His duel was a series of tricks--his shooting, skating, etc., all a sham.

Even when found out as an impostor before all the keepers and others, we find him impudently saying, "I'll tell you what I shall do _to get up my shooting again_." The fellow never had any shooting to get up. But the mere habit of untruth was ingrained in the man. His undignified race, in a dressing-gown, round the Crescent was no doubt concealed from Arabella--she would never have got over that! As a display of cowardice it was only matched by his hypocritical a.s.sumption of courage before Dowler when he found he could a.s.sume it safely. He deceived his father and Mr. Pickwick as to his marriage, and dropped on his knees to the latter to beg pardon. How mean, too, was his behaviour to Mrs. Pott in the difficulty with her husband. But nothing could shake the interest of the fair Arabella in her lover, even his ignominious and public treatment by Mr. Pickwick at the skating exhibition. How _can_ we account for it.

But Boz knew the female nature well, and here is the explanation: Winkle had been "out"--had figured in a duel with a real officer in the army.

There was no mistake about _that_--gone out, too, in what appeared a chivalrous manner to save the honour of the club. At least it had the appearance of all that (though here was another falsehood). This had been told to all--no doubt by Winkle himself--many times over. Nothing could enfeeble that, it seemed heroic, and covered all other _laches_.

Neither did it lose in _his_ telling of it.

The most ridiculous feature surely in the man was his costume--meant to be of a sporting complexion--which he never abandoned: green shooting coat, plaid neckchief, and closely fitting drabs. When he returned from his honeymoon, he was still in this uniform.

We may a.s.sume, however, that this points to a custom of the time: that the sportsman was _always_ a sportsman. Even at the club meeting, at a poorish room in a tavern, he must carry on the fiction that he has just come back from a day's sporting, for there on the floor, conspicuous, are the fowling piece, game bag, fishing rod, &c.

Snodgra.s.s was another incapable and quite uninteresting--a person whom we would not care to know. He posed as a poet and, to this end, wore, even at the club, "a mysterious blue cloak, with a canine skin collar"; imagine this of a warm evening--May 12--in a stuffy room in Huggin Lane!

He must, however, live up to his character, at all hazards.

Snodgra.s.s and his verses, and his perpetual "note book," must have made him a bore of the first water. How could the charming Emily have selected him. He, too, had some of Winkle's craft. He had been entertained cordially and hospitably by old Wardle, and repaid him by stealing his daughter's affections in a very underhand way, actually plotting to run away with her.

There was something rather ignominious in his detection at Osborne's Hotel. He is a very colourless being. As to his being a Poet, it would seem to be that he merely gave himself out for one and persuaded his friends that he was such. His remarks at the "Peac.o.c.k" are truly sapient: "Show me the man that says anything against women, as women, and _I boldly declare he is not a man_!" Which is matched by Mr. Winkle's answer to the charge of his being "a serpent": "Prove it," said Mr.

Winkle, warmly. It is to be suspected that the marriage with the amiable Emily was not a success. The author throws out a hint to that effect: "Mr Snodgra.s.s, being occasionally abstracted and melancholy, is to this day reputed a great poet among his acquaintance, though we do not find he has ever written anything to encourage the belief." In other words he was carrying on the old Pickwick game of "Humbug." So great an intellect had quite thrown itself away on poor Emily--even his abstraction and melancholy. How natural too that he should "hang on" to his father-in- law "and establish himself close to Dingly Dell"--to "sponge,"

probably--while he made a sham of farming; for are we not told that he purchased and cultivated a small farm--"_more for occupation than profit_"--thus again making believe. Poor Emily!

I lately looked through the swollen pages of the monster London Directory to find how many of the Pickwickian names were in common use. There was not a single Snodgra.s.s, though there was one Winkel, and one "Winkle and Co." in St. Mary Axe. There was one Tupman, a Court dressmaker--no Nupkins, but some twenty Magnuses, and not a single Pickwick. There were, however, some twenty-four Wellers.

CHAPTER XV.--DULWICH

I.--Mr. Pickwick's Diversions

Mr. Pickwick, as we know, retired to end his days at peaceful Dulwich--placid and tranquil as his own amiable heart. It is as certain as though we had been living there and had seen all that was going on, that he became universally popular, and quite a personage in the place.

Everyone was sure to meet him taking his afternoon walk along the rural lanes, or making his way to the Greyhound, where he was often found of an evening--possibly every evening. This Greyhound, an old-fashioned and somewhat antique house, though not mentioned in the story, is linked to it by implication; for to settle at Dulwich and ignore the Greyhound was a thing that could not be. There is a Pickwickian tone--or was, rather, for it is now levelled--about the place, and Boz himself used to frequent it, belonging to a sort of dining club that met down there.

Such a paper as say the _Dulwich Observer_ would make much account of a man like Mr. Pickwick; all his movements would be chronicled, and anyone that chooses to bid Sarah or Mary "bring up the file for the year of Mr.

Pickwick's residence," must find innumerable entries. Let us supply a few of these imaginative extracts:

MR. PICKWICK AT THE OPENING OF THE DULWICH LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC a.s.sOCIATION.

A meeting of this admirable and thriving society--which, as our readers know, was founded by Mr. Pickwick--was held on Sat.u.r.day, at the Greyhound Inn, where this learned and popular gentleman read a special paper on Ralph Alleyne and his celebrated college at Dulwich.

There was a large attendance. Mr. Pickwick stated that he had long been making researches into the Alleyne pedigree, and had made an astonishing discovery--Alleyne, he found, was the family of the Allens! A very dear and intimate friend of his own--a high member of the medical profession--with whom he had spent some of the pleasantest hours of his whole life, and who was now following his practice in India, also bore the name of Allen--Benjamin Allen! It will be said that there was not much in this; there were many Allens about, and, in the world generally (loud laughter); but what will be said when, on carelessly turning over the old rate-books, he came on this startling fact? That at the beginning of the century his old friend's grandfather actually occupied a small house on Tulse Hill, not five minutes' walk from the college (loud applause). He saw, they saw the significance of this. Following up the clue, he next found that this gentleman was a person of literary tastes--and, mark this, often went into town to scientific meetings and to the theatres (loud applause).

Further, he had discovered one or two very "oldest inhabitants" (a laugh) who had known this very Benjamin Allen, the grandfather, and who could not recall anything precise about him: but all agreed, and they should further mark this, that he had the air and bearing of a man of theatrical tastes, and that "it was as likely as not"--to use their very words--"that he belonged to the family of Ralph Allen"

(applause). The learned gentleman then proceeded to work out his clever theory with much ingenuity, and, at the end, left "not a shadow of a shade of a doubt" in the minds of his hearers in general, and in his own mind in particular, that this Dr. Benjamin Allen--of the East Indies--was the lineal descendant of our own Ralph Allen. We have, however, with regret to add, that this evening did not pa.s.s over so harmoniously as it could be desired. As soon as Mr. Pickwick had sat down and discussion was invited--Mr. Pickwick, however, saying that there was really nothing to discuss, as no one knew the facts but himself--a visitor from Town, who had been introduced at his own request by one of the members, stood up, will it be believed, to _attack_ Mr. Pickwick and his paper! It transpired that this intruder's name was Blotton, a person in the haberdashery line, and that he came from somewhere in the neighbourhood of Huggin Lane. He said that all they had been listening to was simple moonshine. (_No_!

_No_!) But Yes! Yes! Had they ever heard of a river in Monmouth and another in Macedon? There was an Allen some hundred years ago--and a Ben Allen now alive in India. What rubbish was this? ("_Shame_"

cries of "_put him out_"). Where was the connection, he asked. Some old dotard or dodderer, they were told, said so. The doddering in the case was not confined to that individual. Here Mr. Pickwick rose, and, with much heat, told the intruder to sit down. He would not hear him; he ought to be ashamed of himself. "Would you believe it," went on Mr. Pickwick, "this is a person who was actually _expelled_--yes, expelled--from a club--the well-known Pickwick Club of which I was the founder. Let him deny it if he dare." Here the individual called out "Bill Stumps! Tell 'em about that." "I will not tell 'em, sir," said Mr. Pickwick, warmly; "they know it too well. It shall be known as long as my name is known and when this person is consigned to the gutter whence he came." "It's all Humbug," said Mr. Blotton, "humbug you were and humbug you ever will be." Here Dr. Pettigrew, our excellent local pract.i.tioner, interposed, "Gentlemen, gentlemen," he said; "is this to go on; are we to listen to this low abuse?" A number of persons closing round Blotton succeeded in ejecting him from the room, and this truly painful incident closed.

VISITORS AT THE DELL.

During the past week, Mr. Pickwick has been entertaining a series of visitors--among others, Mr. Wardle, of Manor Farm, Muggleton, Kent, with Miss Wardle, his sister--the heroine of a most romantic story communicated to us by Mr. Weller, though we are not privileged to lift the veil from this interesting episode. But suffice it to say that it comprised an elopement and exciting chase, in which Mr. Pickwick, with his usual gallantry, took part. The estrangement which necessarily followed between brother and sister has long since been happily healed. Mr. Perker, the eminent London solicitor--Mr. Pickwick's "guide, philosopher and friend"--has also been staying at the Dell.

HUMOROUS ADVENTURE.

Our readers will be entertained by the following droll contretemps which befel our deservedly popular fellow-citizen, as we may call him, Mr. Pickwick. As our readers know, the Annual Charity Dinner took place at the Greyhound, on Tuesday, Mr. Pickwick being in the chair, and making many of his happiest speeches during the course of which he related many curious details about himself and his life. The party did not break up till a late hour--nearly eleven o'clock. A fly--a special one, as usual--had been retained to take Mr. Pickwick home, but as the trusted Hobson, who invariably attends Mr. Pickwick on such occasions, had another engagement, a stranger was procured from Camberwell. Mr. Pickwick was placed in the vehicle not, as he says, without misgivings, and, as he admits, fell fast asleep. He was driven home--as he fancied. On arriving, the coachman had much difficulty in making himself heard. Mr. Pickwick entered the house, still scarcely aroused, and turning into the study, sank into an armchair, and once more fell into a slumber. He was presently aroused, he says, by voices, and found himself surrounded by strange faces and figures in various states of _deshabille_. The head of the house, the well-known Mr. Gibson, who had been roused from his slumbers, on the maid, Mary Perkes, giving the alarm that robbers were in the house, had rushed down in his trousers only; the man-servant ditto; the young ladies in anything they could find. Mr. Pickwick describes his alarm as he found these faces round him, and, not unnaturally, conceived the idea that robbers had broken into _his_ house, and that his was in their power! A humorous imbroglio followed. He instantly rushed to secure the poker, and, flourishing it round his head, cried out repeatedly, "Keep off! every one of you!

or I'll brain the first man that comes near me!" Fortunately, the respected man-servant, who had been many years with Mr. Gibson, and had met Mr. Weller, at once recognized Mr. Weller's master, and said: "Why, its Mr. Pickwick! ain't it? Don't you know _this_ ain't your own house, sir." The truth then all flashed upon him. Mr. Pickwick relates that he became so tickled with the odd humour of his situation that he fell into his chair in convulsions of laughter, and laughed long and loudly, for many minutes. The more he laughed, the more Mr.

Gibson laughed. At last, all was explained, and the amusing scene ended by a room being hastily got ready for Mr. Pickwick (for the cabman had gone away). No one was more amused, or indeed, more pleased, at these "mistakes of a night" than Mr. Gibson, who always tells the story with infinite drollery. Mr. Pickwick takes all the blame on himself, declaring, as he says his old friend Winkle used to say: "_It wasn't the wine_, _but the salmon_."

ATTEMPTED ROBBERY AT MR. PICKWICK'S HOUSE.

Last night, we are sorry to learn, a very daring attempt was made to rob the mansion of our much esteemed resident, Mr. Pickwick. The Dell, as our readers know, is a substantial dwelling-house, standing in its own grounds, and comparatively unprotected. The family, consists of the owner, his housekeeper, Mrs. Purdy, and his faithful servant, Mr. Samuel Weller, whose pleasant humour is well-known, and who is deservedly popular in Dulwich. Nothing was noticed until about two o'clock in the morning, when, as Mr. Weller has informed us, he was awakened by a low, grinding sound, which, in his quaint style, he says reminded him "a fellow in _quad_ a-filing his irons." With much prompt.i.tude he rose and, loosening the dog, proceeded in the direction of the sounds; the villains, however, became alarmed, and Mr. Weller was just in time to see them, as he says, "a-cuttin' their lucky" over the garden wall. Much sympathy is expressed for the worthy and deservedly esteemed Mr. Pickwick, and for the outrage done to his feelings.

FETE AT MR. PICKWICK'S.

On Thursday last, this amiable and always benevolent gentleman, who, it is known, takes the deepest interest in the stage, invited all the brethren of the college to a dinner, after which, he threw open his grounds to all his acquaintances, indeed, to all Dulwich. The banquet was of a sumptuous character, and was provided from the Greyhound.