The Pickwick Papers
recognition, on Mr. Tupman, which was enough to make the statue of
Bonaparte in the passage, unfold his arms, and clasp her within them.
The old lady was seated with customary state in the front parlour, but
she was rather cross, and, by consequence, most particularly deaf. She
never went out herself, and like a great many other old ladies of the
same stamp, she was apt to consider it an act of domestic treason, if
anybody else took the liberty of doing what she couldn’t. So, bless her
old soul, she sat as upright as she could, in her great chair, and
looked as fierce as might be--and that was benevolent after all.
‘Mother,’ said Wardle, ‘Mr. Pickwick. You recollect him?’
‘Never mind,’ replied the old lady, with great dignity. ‘Don’t trouble
Mr. Pickwick about an old creetur like me. Nobody cares about me now,
and it’s very nat’ral they shouldn’t.’ Here the old lady tossed her
head, and smoothed down her lavender-coloured silk dress with trembling
hands.
‘Come, come, ma’am,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘I can’t let you cut an old
friend in this way. I have come down expressly to have a long talk, and
another rubber with you; and we’ll show these boys and girls how to
dance a minuet, before they’re eight-and-forty hours older.’
The old lady was rapidly giving way, but she did not like to do it all
at once; so she only said, ‘Ah! I can’t hear him!’
‘Nonsense, mother,’ said Wardle. ‘Come, come, don’t be cross, there’s a
good soul. Recollect Bella; come, you must keep her spirits up, poor
girl.’
The good old lady heard this, for her lip quivered as her son said it.
But age has its little infirmities of temper, and she was not quite
brought round yet. So, she smoothed down the lavender-coloured dress
again, and turning to Mr. Pickwick said, ‘Ah, Mr. Pickwick, young people
was very different, when I was a girl.’
‘No doubt of that, ma’am,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘and that’s the reason why
I would make much of the few that have any traces of the old stock’--and
saying this, Mr. Pickwick gently pulled Bella towards him, and bestowing
a kiss upon her forehead, bade her sit down on the little stool at her
grandmother’s feet. Whether the expression of her countenance, as it was
raised towards the old lady’s face, called up a thought of old times, or
whether the old lady was touched by Mr. Pickwick’s affectionate good-
nature, or whatever was the cause, she was fairly melted; so she threw
herself on her granddaughter’s neck, and all the little ill-humour
evaporated in a gush of silent tears.
A happy party they were, that night. Sedate and solemn were the score of
rubbers in which Mr. Pickwick and the old lady played together;
uproarious was the mirth of the round table. Long after the ladies had
retired, did the hot elder wine, well qualified with brandy and spice,
go round, and round, and round again; and sound was the sleep and
pleasant were the dreams that followed. It is a remarkable fact that
those of Mr. Snodgrass bore constant reference to Emily Wardle; and that
the principal figure in Mr. Winkle’s visions was a young lady with black
eyes, and arch smile, and a pair of remarkably nice boots with fur round
the tops.
Mr. Pickwick was awakened early in the morning, by a hum of voices and a
pattering of feet, sufficient to rouse even the fat boy from his heavy
slumbers. He sat up in bed and listened. The female servants and female
visitors were running constantly to and fro; and there were such
multitudinous demands for hot water, such repeated outcries for needles
and thread, and so many half-suppressed entreaties of ‘Oh, do come and
tie me, there’s a dear!’ that Mr. Pickwick in his innocence began to
imagine that something dreadful must have occurred--when he grew more
awake, and remembered the wedding. The occasion being an important one,
he dressed himself with peculiar care, and descended to the breakfast-
room.
There were all the female servants in a bran new uniform of pink muslin
gowns with white bows in their caps, running about the house in a state
of excitement and agitation which it would be impossible to describe.
The old lady was dressed out in a brocaded gown, which had not seen the
light for twenty years, saving and excepting such truant rays as had
stolen through the chinks in the box in which it had been laid by,
during the whole time. Mr. Trundle was in high feather and spirits, but
a little nervous withal. The hearty old landlord was trying to look very
cheerful and unconcerned, but failing signally in the attempt. All the
girls were in tears and white muslin, except a select two or three, who
were being honoured with a private view of the bride and bridesmaids,
upstairs. All the Pickwickians were in most blooming array; and there
was a terrific roaring on the grass in front of the house, occasioned by
all the men, boys, and hobbledehoys attached to the farm, each of whom
had got a white bow in his button-hole, and all of whom were cheering
with might and main; being incited thereto, and stimulated therein by
the precept and example of Mr. Samuel Weller, who had managed to become
mighty popular already, and was as much at home as if he had been born
on the land.
A wedding is a licensed subject to joke upon, but there really is no
great joke in the matter after all;--we speak merely of the ceremony,
and beg it to be distinctly understood that we indulge in no hidden
sarcasm upon a married life. Mixed up with the pleasure and joy of the
occasion, are the many regrets at quitting home, the tears of parting
between parent and child, the consciousness of leaving the dearest and
kindest friends of the happiest portion of human life, to encounter its
cares and troubles with others still untried and little known--natural
feelings which we would not render this chapter mournful by describing,
and which we should be still more unwilling to be supposed to ridicule.
Let us briefly say, then, that the ceremony was performed by the old
clergyman, in the parish church of Dingley Dell, and that Mr. Pickwick’s
name is attached to the register, still preserved in the vestry thereof;
that the young lady with the black eyes signed her name in a very
unsteady and tremulous manner; that Emily’s signature, as the other
bridesmaid, is nearly illegible; that it all went off in very admirable
style; that the young ladies generally thought it far less shocking than
they had expected; and that although the owner of the black eyes and the
arch smile informed Mr. Wardle that she was sure she could never submit
to anything so dreadful, we have the very best reasons for thinking she
was mistaken. To all this, we may add, that Mr. Pickwick was the first
who saluted the bride, and that in so doing he threw over her neck a
rich gold watch and chain, which no mortal eyes but the jeweller’s had
ever beheld before. Then, the old church bell rang as gaily as it could,
and they all returned to breakfast.
‘Vere does the mince-pies go, young opium-eater?’ said Mr. Weller to the
fat boy, as he assisted in laying out such articles of consumption as
had not been duly arranged on the previous night.
The fat boy pointed to the destination of the pies.
‘Wery good,’ said Sam, ‘stick a bit o’ Christmas in ‘em. T’other dish
opposite. There; now we look compact and comfortable, as the father said
ven he cut his little boy’s head off, to cure him o’ squintin’.’
As Mr. Weller made the comparison, he fell back a step or two, to give
full effect to it, and surveyed the preparations with the utmost
satisfaction.
‘Wardle,’ said Mr. Pickwick, almost as soon as they were all seated, ‘a
glass of wine in honour of this happy occasion!’
‘I shall be delighted, my boy,’ said Wardle. ‘Joe--damn that boy, he’s
gone to sleep.’
No, I ain’t, sir,’ replied the fat boy, starting up from a remote
corner, where, like the patron saint of fat boys--the immortal Horner--
he had been devouring a Christmas pie, though not with the coolness and
deliberation which characterised that young gentleman’s proceedings.
‘Fill Mr. Pickwick’s glass.’
‘Yes, sir.’
The fat boy filled Mr. Pickwick’s glass, and then retired behind his
master’s chair, from whence he watched the play of the knives and forks,
and the progress of the choice morsels from the dishes to the mouths of
the company, with a kind of dark and gloomy joy that was most
impressive.
‘God bless you, old fellow!’ said Mr. Pickwick.
‘Same to you, my boy,’ replied Wardle; and they pledged each other,
heartily.
‘Mrs. Wardle,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘we old folks must have a glass of
wine together, in honour of this joyful event.’
The old lady was in a state of great grandeur just then, for she was
sitting at the top of the table in the brocaded gown, with her newly-
married granddaughter on one side, and Mr. Pickwick on the other, to do
the carving. Mr. Pickwick had not spoken in a very loud tone, but she
understood him at once, and drank off a full glass of wine to his long
life and happiness; after which the worthy old soul launched forth into
a minute and particular account of her own wedding, with a dissertation
on the fashion of wearing high-heeled shoes, and some particulars
concerning the life and adventures of the beautiful Lady Tollimglower,
deceased; at all of which the old lady herself laughed very heartily
indeed, and so did the young ladies too, for they were wondering among
themselves what on earth grandma was talking about. When they laughed,
the old lady laughed ten times more heartily, and said that these always
had been considered capital stories, which caused them all to laugh
again, and put the old lady into the very best of humours. Then the cake
was cut, and passed through the ring; the young ladies saved pieces to
put under their pillows to dream of their future husbands on; and a
great deal of blushing and merriment was thereby occasioned.
‘Mr. Miller,’ said Mr. Pickwick to his old acquaintance, the hard-headed
gentleman, ‘a glass of wine?’
‘With great satisfaction, Mr. Pickwick,’ replied the hard-headed
gentleman solemnly.
‘You’ll take me in?’ said the benevolent old clergyman.
‘And me,’ interposed his wife.
‘And me, and me,’ said a couple of poor relations at the bottom of the
table, who had eaten and drunk very heartily, and laughed at everything.
Mr. Pickwick expressed his heartfelt delight at every additional
suggestion; and his eyes beamed with hilarity and cheerfulness.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ said Mr. Pickwick, suddenly rising.
‘Hear, hear! Hear, hear! Hear, hear!’ cried Mr. Weller, in the
excitement of his feelings.
‘Call in all the servants,’ cried old Wardle, interposing to prevent the
public rebuke which Mr. Weller would otherwise most indubitably have
received from his master. ‘Give them a glass of wine each to drink the
toast in. Now, Pickwick.’
Amidst the silence of the company, the whispering of the women-servants,
and the awkward embarrassment of the men, Mr. Pickwick proceeded--
‘Ladies and gentlemen--no, I won’t say ladies and gentlemen, I’ll call
you my friends, my dear friends, if the ladies will allow me to take so
great a liberty--’
Here Mr. Pickwick was interrupted by immense applause from the ladies,
echoed by the gentlemen, during which the owner of the eyes was
distinctly heard to state that she could kiss that dear Mr. Pickwick.
Whereupon Mr. Winkle gallantly inquired if it couldn’t be done by
deputy: to which the young lady with the black eyes replied ‘Go away,’
and accompanied the request with a look which said as plainly as a look
could do, ‘if you can.’
‘My dear friends,’ resumed Mr. Pickwick, ‘I am going to propose the
health of the bride and bridegroom--God bless ‘em (cheers and tears). My
young friend, Trundle, I believe to be a very excellent and manly