Chapter XXXV

IN WHICH Mr. PICKWICK THINKS HE HAD

BETTER GO TO BATH; AND GOES

ACCORDINGLY

ut surely, my dear sir,' said little Perker, as he stood in

Mr. Pickwick's apartment on the morning after the

trial, 'surely you don't really mean―really and

seriously now, and irritation apart―that you won't pay these costs

and damages?'

'Not one halfpenny,' said Mr. Pickwick firmly; 'not one

halfpenny.'

'Hooroar for the principle, as the money-lender said ven he

vouldn't renew the bill,' observed Mr. Weller, who was clearing

away the breakfast-things.

'Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'have the goodness to step

downstairs.'

'Cert'nly, sir,' replied Mr. Weller; and acting on Mr. Pickwick's

gentle hint, Sam retired.

'No, Perker,' said Mr. Pickwick, with great seriousness of

manner, 'my friends here have endeavoured to dissuade me from

this determination, but without avail. I shall employ myself as

usual, until the opposite party have the power of issuing a legal

process of execution against me; and if they are vile enough to

avail themselves of it, and to arrest my person, I shall yield myself

up with perfect cheerfulness and content of heart. When can they

do this?'

'They can issue execution, my dear sir, for the amount of the

damages and taxed costs, next term,' replied Perker, 'just two

months hence, my dear sir.'

'Very good,' said Mr. Pickwick. 'Until that time, my dear fellow,

let me hear no more of the matter. And now,' continued Mr.

Pickwick, looking round on his friends with a good-humoured

smile, and a sparkle in the eye which no spectacles could dim or

conceal, 'the only question is, Where shall we go next?'

Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass were too much affected by

their friend's heroism to offer any reply. Mr. Winkle had not yet

sufficiently recovered the recollection of his evidence at the trial,

to make any observation on any subject, so Mr. Pickwick paused

in vain.

'Well,' said that gentleman, 'if you leave me to suggest our

destination, I say Bath. I think none of us have ever been there.'

Nobody had; and as the proposition was warmly seconded by

Perker, who considered it extremely probable that if Mr. Pickwick

saw a little change and gaiety he would be inclined to think better

of his determination, and worse of a debtor's prison, it was carried

unanimously" title="ad.一致同意的">unanimously; and Sam was at once despatched to the White Horse

Cellar, to take five places by the half-past seven o'clock coach, next

morning.

There were just two places to be had inside, and just three to be

had out; so Sam Weller booked for them all, and having exchanged

a few compliments with the booking-office clerk on the subject of a

pewter half-crown which was tendered him as a portion of his

'change,' walked back to the George and Vulture, where he was

pretty busily employed until bed-time in reducing clothes and

linen into the smallest possible compass, and exerting his

mechanical genius in constructing a variety of ingenious devices

for keeping the lids on boxes which had neither locks nor hinges.

The next was a very unpropitious morning for a journey―

muggy, damp, and drizzly. The horses in the stages that were

going out, and had come through the city, were smoking so, that

the outside passengers were invisible. The newspaper-sellers

looked moist, and smelled mouldy; the wet ran off the hats of the

orange-vendors as they thrust their heads into the coach windows,

and diluted the insides in a refreshing manner. The Jews with the

fifty-bladed penknives shut them up in despair; the men with the

pocket-books made pocket-books of them. Watch-guards and

toasting-forks were alike at a discount, and pencil-cases and

sponges were a drug in the market.

Leaving Sam Weller to rescue the luggage from the seven or

eight porters who flung themselves savagely upon it, the moment

the coach stopped, and finding that they were about twenty

minutes too early, Mr. Pickwick and his friends went for shelter

into the travellers' room―the last resource of human dejection.

The travellers' room at the White Horse Cellar is of course

uncomfortable; it would be no travellers' room if it were not. It is

the right-hand parlour, into which an aspiring kitchen fireplace

appears to have walked, accompanied by a rebellious poker, tongs,

and shovel. It is divided into boxes, for the solitaryconfinement of

travellers, and is furnished with a clock, a looking-glass, and a live

waiter, which latter article is kept in a small kennel for washing

glasses, in a corner of the apartment.

One of these boxes was occupied, on this particular occasion, by

a stern-eyed man of about five-and-forty, who had a bald and

glossy forehead, with a good deal of black hair at the sides and

back of his head, and large black whiskers. He was buttoned up to

the chin in a brown coat; and had a large sealskin travelling-cap,

and a greatcoat and cloak, lying on the seat beside him. He looked

up from his breakfast as Mr. Pickwick entered, with a fierce and

peremptory air, which was very dignified; and, having scrutinised

that gentleman and his companions to his entire satisfaction,

hummed a tune, in a manner which seemed to say that he rather

suspected somebody wanted to take advantage of him, but it

wouldn't do.

'Waiter,' said the gentleman with the whiskers.

'Sir?' replied a man with a dirty complexion, and a towel of the

same, emerging from the kennel before mentioned.

'Some more toast.'

'Yes, sir.'

'Buttered toast, mind,' said the gentleman fiercely.

'Directly, sir,' replied the waiter.

The gentleman with the whiskers hummed a tune in the same

manner as before, and pending the arrival of the toast, advanced

to the front of the fire, and, taking his coat tails under his arms,

looked at his boots and ruminated.

'I wonder whereabouts in Bath this coach puts up,' said Mr.

Pickwick, mildly addressing Mr. Winkle.

'Hum―eh―what's that?' said the strange man.

'I made an observation to my friend, sir,' replied Mr. Pickwick,

always ready to enter into conversation. 'I wondered at what

house the Bath coach put up. Perhaps you can inform me.'

'Are you going to Bath?' said the strange man.

'I am, sir,' replied Mr. Pickwick.

'And those other gentlemen?'

'They are going also,' said Mr. Pickwick.

'Not inside―I'll be damned if you're going inside,' said the

strange man.

'Not all of us,' said Mr. Pickwick.

'No, not all of you,' said the strange man emphatically. 'I've

taken two places. If they try to squeeze six people into an infernal

box that only holds four, I'll take a post-chaise and bring an action.

I've paid my fare. It won't do; I told the clerk when I took my

places that it wouldn't do. I know these things have been done. I

know they are done every day; but I never was done, and I never

will be. Those who know me best, best know it; crush me!' Here

the fierce gentleman rang the bell with great violence, and told the

waiter he'd better bring the toast in five seconds, or he'd know the

reason why.

'My good sir,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'you will allow me to observe

that this is a very unnecessary display of excitement. I have only

taken places inside for two.'

'I am glad to hear it,' said the fierce man. 'I withdraw my

expressions. I tender an apology. There's my card. Give me your

acquaintance.'

'With great pleasure, sir,' replied Mr. Pickwick. 'We are to be

fellow-travellers, and I hope we shall find each other's society

mutually agreeable.'

'I hope we shall,' said the fierce gentleman. 'I know we shall. I

like your looks; they please me. Gentlemen, your hands and

names. Know me.'

Of course, an interchange of friendly salutations followed this

gracious speech; and the fierce gentleman immediately proceeded

to inform the friends, in the same short, abrupt, jerking sentences,

that his name was Dowler; that he was going to Bath on pleasure;

that he was formerly in the army; that he had now set up in

business as a gentleman; that he lived upon the profits; and that

the individual for whom the second place was taken, was a

personage no less illustrious than Mrs. Dowler, his lady wife.

'She's a fine woman,' said Mr. Dowler. 'I am proud of her. I

have reason.'

'I hope I shall have the pleasure of judging,' said Mr. Pickwick,

with a smile. 'You shall,' replied Dowler. 'She shall know you. She

shall esteem you. I courted her under singular circumstances. I

won her through a rash vow. Thus. I saw her; I loved her; I

proposed; she refused me.―"You love another?"―"Spare my

blushes."―"I know him."―"You do."―"Very good; if he remains

here, I'll skin him."'

'Lord bless me!' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick involuntarily.

'Did you skin the gentleman, sir?' inquired Mr. Winkle, with a

very pale face.

'I wrote him a note, I said it was a painful thing. And so it was.'

'Certainly,' interposed Mr. Winkle.

'I said I had pledged my word as a gentleman to skin him. My

character was at stake. I had no alternative. As an officer in His

Majesty's service, I was bound to skin him. I regretted the

necessity, but it must be done. He was open to conviction. He saw

that the rules of the service were imperative. He fled. I married

her. Here's the coach. That's her head.'

As Mr. Dowler concluded, he pointed to a stage which had just

driven up, from the open window of which a rather pretty face in a

bright blue bonnet was looking among the crowd on the

pavement, most probably for the rash man himself. Mr. Dowler

paid his bill, and hurried out with his travelling cap, coat, and

cloak; and Mr. Pickwick and his friends followed to secure their

places. Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass had seated themselves at

the back part of the coach; Mr. Winkle had got inside; and Mr.

Pickwick was preparing to follow him, when Sam Weller came up

to his master, and whispering in his ear, begged to speak to him,

with an air of the deepest mystery.

'Well, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick, 'what's the matter now?'

'Here's rayther a rum go, sir,' replied Sam.

'What?' inquired Mr. Pickwick.

'This here, sir,' rejoined Sam. 'I'm wery much afeerd, sir, that

the properiator o' this here coach is a playin' some imperence vith

us.'

'How is that, Sam?' said Mr. Pickwick; 'aren't the names down

on the way-bill?'

'The names is not only down on the vay-bill, sir,' replied Sam,

'but they've painted vun on 'em up, on the door o' the coach.' As

Sam spoke, he pointed to that part of the coach door on which the

proprietor's name usually appears; and there, sure enough, in gilt

letters of a goodly size, was the magic name of PICKWICK!

'Dear me,' exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, quite staggered by the

coincidence; 'what a very extraordinary thing!'

'Yes, but that ain't all,' said Sam, again directing his master's

attention to the coach door; 'not content vith writin' up "Pick-

wick," they puts "Moses" afore it, vich I call addin' insult to injury,

as the parrot said ven they not only took him from his native land,

but made him talk the English langwidge arterwards.'

'It's odd enough, certainly, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick; 'but if we

stand talking here, we shall lose our places.'

'Wot, ain't nothin' to be done in consequence, sir?' exclaimed

Sam, perfectlyaghast at the coolness with which Mr. Pickwick

prepared to ensconce himself inside.

'Done!' said Mr. Pickwick. 'What should be done?'

'Ain't nobody to be whopped for takin' this here liberty, sir?'

said Mr. Weller, who had expected that at least he would have

been commissioned to challenge the guard and the coachman to a

pugilistic encounter on the spot.

'Certainly not,' replied Mr. Pickwick eagerly; 'not on any

account. Jump up to your seat directly.'

'I am wery much afeered,' muttered Sam to himself, as he

turned away, 'that somethin' queer's come over the governor, or

he'd never ha' stood this so quiet. I hope that 'ere trial hasn't

broke his spirit, but it looks bad, wery bad.' Mr. Weller shook his

head gravely; and it is worthy of remark, as an illustration of the

manner in which he took this circumstance to heart, that he did

not speak another word until the coach reached the Kensington

turnpike. Which was so long a time for him to remain taciturn,

that the fact may be considered wholly unprecedented.

Nothing worthy of special mention occurred during the

journey. Mr. Dowler related a variety of anecdotes, all illustrative

of his own personal prowess and desperation, and appealed to

Mrs. Dowler in corroboration thereof; when Mrs. Dowler

invariably brought in, in the form of an appendix, some

remarkable fact or circumstance which Mr. Dowler had forgotten,

or had perhaps through modesty, omitted; for the addenda in

every instance went to show that Mr. Dowler was even a more

wonderful fellow than he made himself out to be. Mr. Pickwick

and Mr. Winkle listened with great admiration, and at intervals

conversed with Mrs. Dowler, who was a very agreeable and

fascinating person. So, what between Mr. Dowler's stories, and

Mrs. Dowler's charms, and Mr. Pickwick's good-humour, and Mr.

Winkle's good listening, the insides contrived to be very

companionable all the way. The outsides did as outsides always

do. They were very cheerful and talkative at the beginning of

every stage, and very dismal and sleepy in the middle, and very

bright and wakeful again towards the end. There was one young

gentleman in an India-rubber cloak, who smoked cigars all day;

and there was another young gentleman in a parody upon a

greatcoat, who lighted a good many, and feeling obviously

unsettled after the second whiff, threw them away when he

thought nobody was looking at him. There was a third young man

on the box who wished to be learned in cattle; and an old one

behind, who was familiar with farming. There was a constant

succession of Christian names in smock-frocks and white coats,

who were invited to have a 'lift' by the guard, and who knew every

horse and hostler on the road and off it; and there was a dinner

which would have been cheap at half-a-crown a mouth, if any

moderate number of mouths could have eaten it in the time. And

at seven o'clock P.m. Mr. Pickwick and his friends, and Mr.

Dowler and his wife, respectivelyretired to their private sitting-

rooms at the White Hart Hotel, opposite the Great Pump Room,

Bath, where the waiters, from their costume, might be mistaken

for Westminster boys, only they destroy the illusion by behaving

themselves much better. Breakfast had scarcely been cleared

away on the succeeding morning, when a waiter brought in Mr.

Dowler's card, with a request to be allowed permission to

introduce a friend. Mr. Dowler at once followed up the livery" title="n.送交；分娩；交货">delivery of

the card, by bringing himself and the friend also.

The friend was a charming young man of not much more than

fifty, dressed in a very bright blue coat with resplendent buttons,

black trousers, and the thinnest possible pair of highly-polished

boots. A gold eye-glass was suspended from his neck by a short,

broad, black ribbon; a gold snuff-box was lightly clasped in his left

hand; gold rings innumerable glittered on his fingers; and a large

diamond pin set in gold glistened in his shirt frill. He had a gold

watch, and a gold curb chain with large gold seals; and he carried

a pliant ebony cane with a gold top. His linen was of the very

whitest, finest, and stiffest; his wig of the glossiest, blackest, and

curliest. His snuff was princes' mixture; his scent bouquet du roi.

His features were contracted into a perpetual smile; and his teeth

were in such perfect order that it was difficult at a small distance

to tell the real from the false.

'Mr. Pickwick,' said Mr. Dowler; 'my friend, Angelo Cyrus

Bantam, Esquire, M.C.; Bantam; Mr. Pickwick. Know each other.'

'Welcome to Ba-ath, sir. This is indeed an acquisition. Most

welcome to Ba-ath, sir. It is long―very long, Mr. Pickwick, since

you drank the waters. It appears an age, Mr. Pickwick. Re-

markable!'

Such were the expressions with which Angelo Cyrus Bantam,

Esquire, M.C., took Mr. Pickwick's hand; retaining it in his,

meantime, and shrugging up his shoulders with a constant

succession of bows, as if he really could not make up his mind to

the trial of letting it go again.

'It is a very long time since I drank the waters, certainly,'

replied Mr. Pickwick; 'for, to the best of my knowledge, I was

never here before.'

'Never in Ba-ath, Mr. Pickwick!' exclaimed the Grand Master,

letting the hand fall in astonishment. 'Never in Ba-ath! He! he! Mr.

Pickwick, you are a wag. Not bad, not bad. Good, good. He! he! he!

Re-markable!'

'To my shame, I must say that I am perfectly serious,' rejoined

Mr. Pickwick. 'I really never was here before.'

'Oh, I see,' exclaimed the Grand Master, looking extremely

pleased; 'yes, yes―good, good―better and better. You are the

gentleman of whom we have heard. Yes; we know you, Mr.

Pickwick; we know you.'

'The reports of the trial in those confounded papers,' thought

Mr. Pickwick. 'They have heard all about me.'

'You are the gentleman residing on Clapham Green,' resumed

Bantam, 'who lost the use of his limbs from imprudently taking

cold after port wine; who could not be moved in consequence of

acute suffering, and who had the water from the king's bath

bottled at one hundred and three degrees, and sent by wagon to

his bedroom in town, where he bathed, sneezed, and the same day

recovered. Very remarkable!'

Mr. Pickwick acknowledged the compliment which the

supposition implied, but had the self-denial to repudiate it,

notwithstanding; and taking advantage of a moment's silence on

the part of the M.C., begged to introduce his friends, Mr. Tupman,

Mr. Winkle, and Mr. Snodgrass. An introduction which

overwhelmed the M.C. with delight and honour.

'Bantam,' said Mr. Dowler, 'Mr. Pickwick and his friends are

strangers. They must put their names down. Where's the book?'

'The register of the distinguished visitors in Ba-ath will be at

the Pump Room this morning at two o'clock,' replied the M.C.

'Will you guide our friends to that splendid building, and enable

me to procure their autographs?'

'I will,' rejoined Dowler. 'This is a long call. It's time to go. I

shall be here again in an hour. Come.'

'This is a ball-night,' said the M.C., again taking Mr. Pickwick's

hand, as he rose to go. 'The ball-nights in Ba-ath are moments

snatched from paradise; rendered bewitching by music, beauty,

elegance, fashion, etiquette, and―and―above all, by the absence

of tradespeople, who are quite inconsistent with paradise, and who

have an amalgamation of themselves at the Guildhall every

fortnight, which is, to say the least, remarkable. Good-bye, good-

bye!' and protesting all the way downstairs that he was most

satisfied, and most delighted, and most overpowered, and most

flattered, Angelo Cyrus Bantam, Esquire, M.C., stepped into a very

elegantchariot that waited at the door, and rattled off.