The Pickwick Papers
CHAPTER XLIII. SHOWING HOW MR. SAMUEL WELLER GOT INTO DIFFICULTIES
In a lofty room, ill-lighted and worse ventilated, situated in Portugal
Street, Lincoln’s Inn Fields, there sit nearly the whole year round,
one, two, three, or four gentlemen in wigs, as the case may be, with
little writing-desks before them, constructed after the fashion of those
used by the judges of the land, barring the French polish. There is a
box of barristers on their right hand; there is an enclosure of
insolvent debtors on their left; and there is an inclined plane of most
especially dirty faces in their front. These gentlemen are the
Commissioners of the Insolvent Court, and the place in which they sit,
is the Insolvent Court itself.
It is, and has been, time out of mind, the remarkable fate of this court
to be, somehow or other, held and understood, by the general consent of
all the destitute shabby-genteel people in London, as their common
resort, and place of daily refuge. It is always full. The steams of beer
and spirits perpetually ascend to the ceiling, and, being condensed by
the heat, roll down the walls like rain; there are more old suits of
clothes in it at one time, than will be offered for sale in all
Houndsditch in a twelvemonth; more unwashed skins and grizzly beards
than all the pumps and shaving-shops between Tyburn and Whitechapel
could render decent, between sunrise and sunset.
It must not be supposed that any of these people have the least shadow
of business in, or the remotest connection with, the place they so
indefatigably attend. If they had, it would be no matter of surprise,
and the singularity of the thing would cease. Some of them sleep during
the greater part of the sitting; others carry small portable dinners
wrapped in pocket-handkerchiefs or sticking out of their worn-out
pockets, and munch and listen with equal relish; but no one among them
was ever known to have the slightest personal interest in any case that
was ever brought forward. Whatever they do, there they sit from the
first moment to the last. When it is heavy, rainy weather, they all come
in, wet through; and at such times the vapours of the court are like
those of a fungus-pit.
A casual visitor might suppose this place to be a temple dedicated to
the Genius of Seediness. There is not a messenger or process-server
attached to it, who wears a coat that was made for him; not a tolerably
fresh, or wholesome-looking man in the whole establishment, except a
little white-headed apple-faced tipstaff, and even he, like an ill-
conditioned cherry preserved in brandy, seems to have artificially dried
and withered up into a state of preservation to which he can lay no
natural claim. The very barristers’ wigs are ill-powdered, and their
curls lack crispness.
But the attorneys, who sit at a large bare table below the
commissioners, are, after all, the greatest curiosities. The
professional establishment of the more opulent of these gentlemen,
consists of a blue bag and a boy; generally a youth of the Jewish
persuasion. They have no fixed offices, their legal business being
transacted in the parlours of public-houses, or the yards of prisons,
whither they repair in crowds, and canvass for customers after the
manner of omnibus cads. They are of a greasy and mildewed appearance;
and if they can be said to have any vices at all, perhaps drinking and
cheating are the most conspicuous among them. Their residences are
usually on the outskirts of ‘the Rules,’ chiefly lying within a circle
of one mile from the obelisk in St. George’s Fields. Their looks are not
prepossessing, and their manners are peculiar.
Mr. Solomon Pell, one of this learned body, was a fat, flabby, pale man,
in a surtout which looked green one minute, and brown the next, with a
velvet collar of the same chameleon tints. His forehead was narrow, his
face wide, his head large, and his nose all on one side, as if Nature,
indignant with the propensities she observed in him in his birth, had
given it an angry tweak which it had never recovered. Being short-necked
and asthmatic, however, he respired principally through this feature;
so, perhaps, what it wanted in ornament, it made up in usefulness.
‘I’m sure to bring him through it,’ said Mr. Pell.
‘Are you, though?’ replied the person to whom the assurance was pledged.
‘Certain sure,’ replied Pell; ‘but if he’d gone to any irregular
practitioner, mind you, I wouldn’t have answered for the consequences.’
‘Ah!’ said the other, with open mouth.
‘No, that I wouldn’t,’ said Mr. Pell; and he pursed up his lips,
frowned, and shook his head mysteriously.
Now, the place where this discourse occurred was the public-house just
opposite to the Insolvent Court; and the person with whom it was held
was no other than the elder Mr. Weller, who had come there, to comfort
and console a friend, whose petition to be discharged under the act, was
to be that day heard, and whose attorney he was at that moment
consulting.
‘And vere is George?’ inquired the old gentleman.
Mr. Pell jerked his head in the direction of a back parlour, whither Mr.
Weller at once repairing, was immediately greeted in the warmest and
most flattering manner by some half-dozen of his professional brethren,
in token of their gratification at his arrival. The insolvent gentleman,
who had contracted a speculative but imprudent passion for horsing long
stages, which had led to his present embarrassments, looked extremely
well, and was soothing the excitement of his feelings with shrimps and
porter.
The salutation between Mr. Weller and his friends was strictly confined
to the freemasonry of the craft; consisting of a jerking round of the
right wrist, and a tossing of the little finger into the air at the same
time. We once knew two famous coachmen (they are dead now, poor fellows)
who were twins, and between whom an unaffected and devoted attachment
existed. They passed each other on the Dover road, every day, for
twenty-four years, never exchanging any other greeting than this; and
yet, when one died, the other pined away, and soon afterwards followed
him!
‘Vell, George,’ said Mr. Weller senior, taking off his upper coat, and
seating himself with his accustomed gravity. ‘How is it? All right
behind, and full inside?’
‘All right, old feller,’ replied the embarrassed gentleman.
‘Is the gray mare made over to anybody?’ inquired Mr. Weller anxiously.
George nodded in the affirmative.
‘Vell, that’s all right,’ said Mr. Weller. ‘Coach taken care on, also?’
‘Con-signed in a safe quarter,’ replied George, wringing the heads off
half a dozen shrimps, and swallowing them without any more ado.
‘Wery good, wery good,’ said Mr. Weller. ‘Alvays see to the drag ven you
go downhill. Is the vay-bill all clear and straight for’erd?’
‘The schedule, sir,’ said Pell, guessing at Mr. Weller’s meaning, ‘the
schedule is as plain and satisfactory as pen and ink can make it.’
Mr. Weller nodded in a manner which bespoke his inward approval of these
arrangements; and then, turning to Mr. Pell, said, pointing to his
friend George--
‘Ven do you take his cloths off?’
‘Why,’ replied Mr. Pell, ‘he stands third on the opposed list, and I
should think it would be his turn in about half an hour. I told my clerk
to come over and tell us when there was a chance.’
Mr. Weller surveyed the attorney from head to foot with great
admiration, and said emphatically--
‘And what’ll you take, sir?’
‘Why, really,’ replied Mr. Pell, ‘you’re very--. Upon my word and
honour, I’m not in the habit of--. It’s so very early in the morning,
that, actually, I am almost--. Well, you may bring me threepenn’orth of
rum, my dear.’
The officiating damsel, who had anticipated the order before it was
given, set the glass of spirits before Pell, and retired.
‘Gentlemen,’ said Mr. Pell, looking round upon the company, ‘success to
your friend! I don’t like to boast, gentlemen; it’s not my way; but I
can’t help saying, that, if your friend hadn’t been fortunate enough to
fall into hands that--But I won’t say what I was going to say.
Gentlemen, my service to you.’ Having emptied the glass in a twinkling,
Mr. Pell smacked his lips, and looked complacently round on the
assembled coachmen, who evidently regarded him as a species of divinity.
‘Let me see,’ said the legal authority. ‘What was I a-saying,
gentlemen?’
‘I think you was remarkin’ as you wouldn’t have no objection to another
o’ the same, Sir,’ said Mr. Weller, with grave facetiousness.
‘Ha, ha!’ laughed Mr. Pell. ‘Not bad, not bad. A professional man, too!
At this time of the morning, it would be rather too good a--Well, I
don’t know, my dear--you may do that again, if you please. Hem!’
This last sound was a solemn and dignified cough, in which Mr. Pell,
observing an indecent tendency to mirth in some of his auditors,
considered it due to himself to indulge.
‘The late Lord Chancellor, gentlemen, was very fond of me,’ said Mr.
Pell.
‘And wery creditable in him, too,’ interposed Mr. Weller.
‘Hear, hear,’ assented Mr. Pell’s client. ‘Why shouldn’t he be?
‘Ah! Why, indeed!’ said a very red-faced man, who had said nothing yet,
and who looked extremely unlikely to say anything more. ‘Why shouldn’t
he?’
A murmur of assent ran through the company.
‘I remember, gentlemen,’ said Mr. Pell, ‘dining with him on one
occasion; there was only us two, but everything as splendid as if twenty
people had been expected--the great seal on a dumb-waiter at his right
hand, and a man in a bag-wig and suit of armour guarding the mace with a
drawn sword and silk stockings--which is perpetually done, gentlemen,
night and day; when he said, “Pell,” he said, “no false delicacy, Pell.
You’re a man of talent; you can get anybody through the Insolvent Court,
Pell; and your country should be proud of you.” Those were his very
words. “My Lord,” I said, “you flatter me.”--“Pell,” he said, “if I do,
I’m damned.”’
‘Did he say that?’ inquired Mr. Weller.
‘He did,’ replied Pell.
‘Vell, then,’ said Mr. Weller, ‘I say Parliament ought to ha’ took it
up; and if he’d been a poor man, they would ha’ done it.’
‘But, my dear friend,’ argued Mr. Pell, ‘it was in confidence.’
‘In what?’ said Mr. Weller.
‘In confidence.’
‘Oh! wery good,’ replied Mr. Weller, after a little reflection. ‘If he
damned hisself in confidence, o’ course that was another thing.’
‘Of course it was,’ said Mr. Pell. ‘The distinction’s obvious, you will
perceive.’
‘Alters the case entirely,’ said Mr. Weller. ‘Go on, Sir.’
No, I will not go on, Sir,’ said Mr. Pell, in a low and serious tone.
‘You have reminded me, Sir, that this conversation was private--private
and confidential, gentlemen. Gentlemen, I am a professional man. It may
be that I am a good deal looked up to, in my profession--it may be that
I am not. Most people know. I say nothing. Observations have already
been made, in this room, injurious to the reputation of my noble friend.
You will excuse me, gentlemen; I was imprudent. I feel that I have no
right to mention this matter without his concurrence. Thank you, Sir;
thank you.’ Thus delivering himself, Mr. Pell thrust his hands into his
pockets, and, frowning grimly around, rattled three halfpence with
terrible determination.
This virtuous resolution had scarcely been formed, when the boy and the
blue bag, who were inseparable companions, rushed violently into the
room, and said (at least the boy did, for the blue bag took no part in
the announcement) that the case was coming on directly. The intelligence
was no sooner received than the whole party hurried across the street,
and began to fight their way into court--a preparatory ceremony, which
has been calculated to occupy, in ordinary cases, from twenty-five
minutes to thirty.