But now we come to a very critical passage in Mr. Pickwick's case: one
that really destroyed any chance that he had. It really settled the
matter with the jury; and the worst was, the point was brought out
through the inefficiency of his own counsel.
But let us hear the episode, and see how the foolish Phunky muddled it.
Mr. Phunky rose for the purpose of getting something important out of
Mr. Winkle in cross-examination. Whether he did get anything
important out of him, will immediately appear.
[Picture: Mr. Phunky]
'I believe, Mr. Winkle,' said Mr. Phunky, 'that Mr. Pickwick is not a
young man?'
'Oh no,' replied Mr. Winkle, 'old enough to be my father.'
'You have told my learned friend that you have known Mr. Pickwick a
long time. Had you ever any reason to suppose or believe that he was
about to be married?'
'Oh no; certainly not;' replied Mr. Winkle with so much eagerness,
that Mr. Phunky ought to have got him out of the box with all
possible dispatch. Lawyers hold out that there are two kinds of
particularly bad witnesses, a reluctant witness, and a too willing
witness; it was Mr. Winkle's fate to figure in both characters.
'I will even go further than this, Mr. Winkle,' continued Mr. Phunky,
in a most smooth and complacent manner. 'Did you ever see any thing
in Mr. Pickwick's manner and conduct towards the opposite sex to
induce you to believe that he ever contemplated matrimony of late
years, in any case?'
'Oh no; certainly not,' replied Mr. Winkle.
'Has his behaviour, when females have been in the case, always been
that of a man, who having attained a pretty advanced period of life,
content with his own occupations and amusements, treats them only as
a father might his daughters?'
'Not the least doubt of it,' replied Mr. Winkle, in the fulness of
his heart. 'That is--yes--oh yes--certainly.'
'You have never known anything in his behaviour towards Mrs. Bardell,
or any other female, in the least degree suspicious?' said Mr.
Phunky, preparing to sit down, for Serjeant Snubbin was winking at
him.
'N--n--no,' replied Mr. Winkle, 'except on one trifling occasion,
which, I have no doubt, might be easily explained.'
Now, if the unfortunate Mr. Phunky had sat down when Serjeant Snubbin
winked at him, or if Serjeant Buzfuz had stopped this irregular
cross-examination at the outset (which he knew better than to do, for
observing Mr. Winkle's anxiety, and well knowing it would in all
probability, lead to something serviceable to him), this unfortunate
admission would not have been elicited. The moment the words fell
from Mr. Winkle's lips, Mr. Phunky sat down, and Serjeant Snubbin
rather hastily told him he might leave the box, which Mr. Winkle
prepared to do with great readiness, when Serjeant Buzfuz stopped
him.
'Stay, Mr. Winkle--stay,' said Serjeant Buzfuz, 'will your lordship
have the goodness to ask him, what this one instance of suspicious
behaviour towards females on the part of this gentlemen, who is old
enough to be his father, was?'
'You hear what the learned counsel says, Sir,' observed the Judge,
turning to the miserable and agonized Mr. Winkle. 'Describe the
occasion to which you refer.'
'My lord,' said Mr. Winkle, trembling with anxiety, 'I--I'd rather
not.'
And Winkle had to relate the whole Ipswich adventure of the doublebedded
room and the spinster lady.
It is surprising that Dodson and Fogg did not ferret out all about Mr.
Pickwick's adventure at the Great White Horse. Peter Magnus lived in
town and must have heard of the coming case; these things _do_ somehow
leak out, and he would have gladly volunteered the story, were it only to
spite the man. But further, Dodson and Fogg must have made all sorts of
enquiries into Mr. Pickwick's doings. Mrs. Bardell herself might have
heard something. The story was certainly in the Ipswich papers, for
there was the riot in the street, the appearance before the mayor, the
exposure of "Captain FitzMarshall"--a notable business altogether. What
a revelation in open court! Conceive Miss Witherfield called to depose
to Mr. Pickwick's midnight invasion. Mr. Pickwick himself might have
been called and put on the rack, this incident not concerning his breach
of promise. And supposing that the ubiquitous Jingle had heard of this
business and had gone to the solicitor's office to volunteer evidence,
and most useful evidence it would have been--to wit that Mr. Pickwick had
been caught in the garden of a young ladies' school and had alarmed the
house by his attempts to gain admission in the small hours! Jingle of
course, could not be permitted to testify to this, but he could put the
firm on the track. Mr. Pickwick's reputation could hardly have survived
these two revelations, and sweeping damages to the full amount would have
been the certain result.
This extraordinary adventure of Mr. Pickwick's at the Great White Horse
Inn, Ipswich, verifies Dodson's casual remark to him, that "he was either
a very designing or a most unfortunate man," circumstances being so
strong against him. As the story was brought out, in open court, owing
to the joint indiscretion of Phunky and Winkle, it will be best, in
justice to Mr. Pickwick, to give practically his account of the affair.
'Nobody sleeps in the other bed, of course,' said Mr. Pickwick.
'Oh no, sir.'
'Very good. Tell my servant to bring me up some hot water at
half-past eight in the morning, and that I shall not want him any
more to-night.'
'Yes, sir.'
And bidding Mr. Pickwick good-night, the chambermaid retired, and
left him alone.
Mr. Pickwick sat himself down in a chair before the fire, and fell
into a train of rambling meditations. First he thought of his
friends, and wondered when they would join him; _then his mind
reverted to Mrs. Martha Bardell_; and from that lady it wandered, by
a natural process, to the dingy counting-house of Dodson and Fogg.
From Dodson and Fogg's it flew off at tangent, to the very centre of
the history of the queer client; and then it came back to the Great
White Horse at Ipswich, with sufficient clearness to convince Mr.
Pickwick that he was falling asleep: so he aroused himself, and began
to undress, when he recollected he had left his watch on the table
down stairs. So as it was pretty late now, and he was unwilling to
ring his bell at that hour of the night, he slipped on his coat, of
which he had just divested himself, and taking the japanned
candlestick in his hand, walked quietly down stairs.
The more stairs Mr. Pickwick went down, the more stairs there seemed
to be to descend, and again and again, when Mr. Pickwick got into
some narrow passage, and began to congratulate himself on having
gained the ground-floor, did another flight of stairs appear before
his astonished eyes. At last he reached a stone hall, which he
remembered to have seen when he entered the house. Passage after
passage did he explore; room after room did he peep into; at length,
just as he was on the point of giving up the search in despair, he
opened the door of the identical room in which he had spent the
evening, and beheld his missing property on the table.
Mr. Pickwick seized the watch in triumph, and proceeded to retrace
his steps to his bed-chamber. If his progress downwards had been
attended with difficulties and uncertainty, his journey back, was
infinitely more perplexing. Rows of doors, garnished with boots of
every shape, make, and size, branched off in every possible
direction. A dozen times did he softly turn the handle of some
bedroom door, which resembled his own, when a gruff cry from within
of "Who the devil's that?" or "What do want here?" caused him to
steal away on tiptoe, with a perfectly marvellous celerity. He was
reduced to the verge of despair, when an open door attracted his
attention. He peeped in--right at last. There were the two beds,
whose situation he perfectly remembered, and the fire still burning.
His candle, not a long one when he first received it, had flickered
away in the drafts of air through which he had passed, and sunk into
the socket, just as he had closed the door after him. 'No matter,'
said Mr. Pickwick, 'I can undress myself just as well by the light of
the fire.'
The bedsteads stood, one each side of the door; and on the inner side
of each, was a little path, terminating in a rush-bottomed chair,
just wide enough to admit of a person's getting into, or out of bed,
on that side if he or she thought proper. Having carefully drawn the
curtains of his bed on the outside, Mr. Pickwick sat down on the
rush-bottomed chair, and leisurely divested himself of his shoes and
gaiters. He then took off and folded up, his coat, waistcoat, and
neck-cloth, and slowly drawing on his tasseled night-cap, secured it
firmly on his head, by tying beneath his chin, the strings which he
always had attached to that article of dress. It was at this moment
that the absurdity of his recent bewilderment struck upon his mind;
and throwing himself back in the rush-bottomed chair, Mr. Pickwick
laughed to himself so heartily, that it would have been quite
delightful to any man of well-constituted mind to have watched the
smiles which expanded his amiable features, as they shone forth, from
beneath the night-cap.
'It is the best idea,' said Mr. Pickwick to himself, smiling till he
almost cracked the night-cap strings--'It is the best idea, my losing
myself in this place, and wandering about those staircases, that I
ever heard of. Droll, droll, very droll.' Here Mr. Pickwick smiled
again, a broader smile than before, and was about to continue the
process of undressing, in the best possible humour, when he was
suddenly stopped by a most unexpected interruption; to wit, the
entrance into the room of some person with a candle, who, after
locking the door, advanced to the dressing table, and set down the
light upon it.
The smile that played upon Mr. Pickwick's features, was
instantaneously lost in a look of the most unbounded and
wonder-stricken surprise. The person, whoever it was, had come so
suddenly and with so little noise, that Mr. Pickwick had had no time
to call out, or oppose their entrance. Who could it be? A robber?
Some evil-minded person who had seen him come upstairs with a
handsome watch in his hand, perhaps. What was he to do!
The only way in which Mr. Pickwick could catch a glimpse of his
mysterious visitor with the least danger of being seen himself, was
by creeping on to the bed, and peeping out from between the curtains
on the opposite side. Keeping the curtains carefully closed with his
hand, so that nothing more of him could be seen than his face and
nightcap, and putting on his spectacles, he mustered up courage, and
looked out.
Mr. Pickwick almost fainted with horror and dismay. Standing before
the dressing glass, was a middle-aged lady in yellow curl-papers,
busily engaged in brushing what ladies call their "back hair."
However the unconscious middle-aged lady came into that room, it was
quite clear that she contemplated remaining there for the night; for
she had brought a rushlight and shade with her, which with
praiseworthy precaution against fire, she had stationed in a basin on
the floor, where it was glimmering away, like a gigantic lighthouse,
in a particularly small piece of water.
'Bless my soul,' thought Mr. Pickwick, 'what a dreadful thing!'
'Hem!' said the lady; and in went Mr. Pickwick's head with
automaton-like rapidity.
'I never met with anything so awful as this,'--thought poor Mr.
Pickwick, the cold perspiration starting in drops upon his nightcap.
'Never. This is fearful.'
It was quite impossible to resist the urgent desire to see what was
going forward. So out went Mr. Pickwick's head again. The prospect
was worse than before. The middle-aged lady had finished arranging
her hair; had carefully enveloped it, in a muslin nightcap with a
small plaited border, and was gazing pensively on the fire.
'This matter is growing alarming'--reasoned Mr. Pickwick with
himself. 'I can't allow things to go on in this way. By the
self-possession of that lady, it's clear to me that I must have come
into the wrong room. If I call out, she'll alarm the house, but if I
remain here, the consequences will be still more frightful.'
[Picture: The Double Bedded Room, Great White Horse, Ipswich]
Mr. Pickwick, it is quite unnecessary to say, was one of the most
modest and delicate-minded of mortals. The very idea of exhibiting
his nightcap to a lady, overpowered him, but he had tied those
confounded strings in a knot, and do what he would, he couldn't get
it off. The disclosure must be made. There was only one other way
of doing it. He shrunk behind the curtains, and called out very
loudly--
'Ha--hum.'
That the lady started at this unexpected sound was evident, by her
falling up against the rushlight shade; that she persuaded herself it
must have been the effect of imagination was equally clear, for when
Mr. Pickwick, under the impression that she had fainted away,
stone-dead from fright, ventured to peep out again, she was gazing
pensively on the fire as before.
'Most extraordinary female this,' thought Mr. Pickwick, popping in
again. 'Ha--hum.'
These last sounds, so like those in which, as legends inform us, the
ferocious giant Blunderbore was in the habit of expressing his
opinion that it was time to lay the cloth, were too distinctly
audible, to be again mistaken for the workings of fancy.
'Gracious Heaven!' said the middle-aged lady, 'what's that!'
'It's--it's--only a gentleman, Ma'am,' said Mr. Pickwick from behind
the curtains.
'A gentleman!' said the lady with a terrific scream.
'It's all over,' thought Mr. Pickwick.
'A strange man,' shrieked the lady. Another instant and the house
would be alarmed. Her garments rustled as she rushed towards the
door.
'Ma'am,'--said Mr. Pickwick, thrusting out his head, in the extremity
of desperation, 'Ma'am.'
Now although Mr. Pickwick was not actuated by any definite object in
putting out his head, it was instantaneously productive of a good
effect. The lady, as we have alreaded stated, was near the door.
She must pass it, to reach the staircase, and she would most
undoubtedly have done so by this time, had not the sudden apparition
of Mr. Pickwick's nightcap driven her back, into the remotest corner
of the apartment, where she stood, staring wildly at Mr. Pickwick,
while Mr. Pickwick, in his turn, stared wildly at her.
'Wretch,'--said the lady, covering her eyes with her hands, 'what do
you want here.'
'Nothing, Ma'am--nothing whatever, Ma'am,' said Mr. Pickwick,
earnestly.
'Nothing!' said the lady, looking up.
'Nothing, Ma'am, upon my honour,' said Mr. Pickwick, nodding his head
so energetically, that the tassel of his nightcap danced again. 'I
am almost ready to sink, Ma'am, beneath the confusion of addressing a
lady in my nightcap (here the lady hastily snatched off her's), but I
can't get it off, Ma'am (here Mr. Pickwick gave it a tremendous tug
in proof of the statment). It is evident to me, Ma'am, now, that I
have mistaken this bedroom for my own. I had not been here five
minutes, Ma'am, when you suddenly entered it.'
'If this improbable story be really true, Sir,'--said the lady,
sobbing violently, 'you will leave it instantly.'
'I will, Ma'am, with the greatest pleasure,' replied Mr. Pickwick.
'Instantly, Sir,' said the lady.
'Certainly, Ma'am,' interposed Mr. Pickwick very quickly.
'Certainly, Ma'am. I--I--am very sorry, Ma'am,' said Mr. Pickwick,
making his appearance at the bottom of the bed, 'to have been the
innocent occasion of this alarm and emotion; deeply sorry Ma'am.'
The lady pointed to the door. One excellent quality of Mr.
Pickwick's character was beautifully displayed at this moment, under
the most trying circumstances. Although he had hastily put on his
hat over his night cap, after the manner of the old patrol; although
he carried his shoes and gaiters in his hand, and his coat and
waistcoat over his arm, nothing could subdue his native politeness.
'I am exceedingly sorry, Ma'am,' said Mr. Pickwick, bowing very low.
'If you are, Sir, you will at once leave the room,' said the lady.
'Immediately, Ma'am; this instant, Ma'am,' said Mr. Pickwick, opening
the door, and dropping both his shoes with a loud crash in so doing.
'I trust Ma'am,' resumed Mr. Pickwick, gathering up his shoes, and
turning round to bow again, 'I trust, Ma'am, that my unblemished
character, and the devoted respect I entertain for your sex, will
plead as some slight excuse for this'--But before Mr. Pickwick could
conclude the sentence, the lady had thrust him into the passage, and
locked and bolted the door behind him.
Whatever grounds of self-congratulation Mr. Pickwick might have, for
having escaped so quietly from his late awkward situation, his
present position was by no means enviable. He was alone, in an open
passage, in a strange house, in the middle of the night, half
dressed; it was not to be supposed that he could find his way in
perfect darkness to a room which he had been wholly unable to
discover with a light, and if he made the slightest noise in his
fruitless attempts to do so, he stood every chance of being shot at,
and perhaps killed, by some wakeful traveller. He had no resource
but to remain where he was, until daylight appeared. So after
groping his way a few paces down the passage, and to his infinite
alarm, stumbling over several pairs of boots in so doing, Mr.
Pickwick crouched into a little recess in the wall, to wait for
morning, as philosophically as he might.
He was not destined, however, to undergo this additional trial of
patience: for he had not been long ensconced in his present
concealment when, to his unspeakable horror, a man, bearing a light,
appeared at the end of the passage. His horror was suddenly
converted into joy, however, when he recognized the form of his
faithful attendant. It was indeed Mr. Samuel Weller, who after
sitting up thus late, in conversation with the Boots, who was sitting
up for the mail, was now about to retire to rest.
Imagine this story told by Miss Witherfield in open court, with all its
details, the lady's narrative being coloured by the recollection that she
had lost a suitable husband owing to her adventure. Mr. Peter Magnus
would have deposed to Mr. Pickwick's extraordinary interest in the matter
of the proposal, and have added his suspicions on recalling Mr.
Pickwick's ambiguous declaration that he had come down to expose a
certain person--even one of his own sympathetic friends, who had
witnessed the scene with Mrs. Bardell, and recalled the Boarding House
incident, might murmur, "How odd that he is ever thus in pursuit of the
fair under suspicious circumstances? _could_ it be that after all?--What
if he had some previous knowledge of the lady, and secretly admired her,
and stung to fury at the notion of Mr. Peter Magnus marrying, had taken
this strange mode of declaring his passion?" Even the sagacious Sam,
devoted as he was to his master, was taken aback on meeting him in his
midnight wanderings.
'Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, suddenly appearing before him, 'Where's my
bedroom?'
Mr. Weller stared at his master with the most emphatic surprise; and
it was not until the question had been repeated three several times,
that he turned round, and led the way to the long-sought apartment.
'Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, as he got into bed, 'I have made one of the
most extraordinary mistakes to-night, that ever were heard of.'
'Werry likely, Sir,' replied Mr. Weller, drily.
'But of this I am determined, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'that if I
were to stop in this house for six months, I would never trust myself
about it alone, again.'
'That's the wery prudentest resolution as you could come to, Sir,'
replied Mr. Weller. 'You rayther want somebody to look arter you,
Sir, ven your judgment goes out a wisitin'.'
'What do you mean by that, Sam?' said Mr. Pickwick. He raised
himself in bed, and extended his hand, as if he were about to say
something more; but suddenly checking himself, turned round, and bade
his valet 'Good night.'
'Good night, Sir,' replied Mr. Weller. He paused when he got outside
the door--shook his head--walked on--stopped--snuffed the
candle--shook his head again--and finally proceeded slowly to his
chamber, apparently buried in the profoundest meditation.
It will be seen that Sam went near to being disrespectful in his
sceptical view of his master's story.
When Mrs. Sanders was examined, "the Court" put a few questions to her,
as to the customs of love-making among persons of her position. She had
"received love letters, like other ladies. In the course of their
correspondence Mr. Sanders had often called her a 'duck' but never
'chops' or 'tomato sauce.' He was particularly fond of ducks. Perhaps
if he had been as fond of chops and tomato sauce, he might have called
her that, as a term of affection."
Mrs. Sanders was clearly one of the same class as Mrs. Cluppins, and
chiefly deposed to the general impression in the neighbourhood that Mr.
Pickwick had "offered" for Mrs. Bardell. Tupman, Snodgrass and Sam were
also examined. Being friends of the defendant, they were from the outset
assumed to be "hostile" and treated accordingly. It may be doubted,
however, whether it is permissible to treat "your own witnesses" in this
rough fashion, until at least they have shown some overt signs of their
hostility, either by reserve, or an obvious determination to let as
little as possible be extracted from them. In such case, it is usual to
apply to the court for its sanction to deal with them by the severity of
cross examination.
When Sam entered the witness box, the Serjeant addressed him: "I believe
you are in the service of Mr. Pickwick, the Defendant in this case.
_Speak up_, _if you please_, _Mr. Weller_." Sam had not had time to say
anything, so the admonition might seem superfluous. But this is a
well-known device. Sam had been "briefed" to the Serjeant as a rather
dangerous witness--somewhat too wide awake. It was necessary therefore
to be short and summary with him. He thus conveyed to the jury that this
Sam was one whom he could address in this curt way, and who by his low,
uncertain accents might try to hide the truth. Sam, however,
disconcerted the plan by his prompt, ready answer, "I _mean_ to speak up,
sir." Sam, as we know, clearly brought out the Dodson and Fogg's
damaging assurance to Mrs. Bardell, that no costs should be charged to
her personally.
When the Plaintiff's case was closed, things did not look particularly
bright for Mr. Pickwick. It had been shown on the evidence of his own
friends that he had been surprised with his landlady in his arms; (2)
That he had been corresponding with her on most familiar terms--at least
Serjeant Buzfuz had made it appear so; (3) Language that _almost_
amounted to a proposal had been overheard; (4) And finally, it had been
revealed that the Defendant had been "caught" in a lady's bedroom, at an
Inn, at midnight! To answer which a "strong" case was absolutely
essential. This, we grieve to say, was not forthcoming.