The Pickwick Papers
He inquired within--he took the lodgings; and on the very next day he
entered into possession of them. This man was Pickwick--Pickwick, the
defendant.’
Serjeant Buzfuz, who had proceeded with such volubility that his face
was perfectly crimson, here paused for breath. The silence awoke Mr.
Justice Stareleigh, who immediately wrote down something with a pen
without any ink in it, and looked unusually profound, to impress the
jury with the belief that he always thought most deeply with his eyes
shut. Serjeant Buzfuz proceeded--
‘Of this man Pickwick I will say little; the subject presents but few
attractions; and I, gentlemen, am not the man, nor are you, gentlemen,
the men, to delight in the contemplation of revolting heartlessness, and
of systematic villainy.’
Here Mr. Pickwick, who had been writhing in silence for some time, gave
a violent start, as if some vague idea of assaulting Serjeant Buzfuz, in
the august presence of justice and law, suggested itself to his mind. An
admonitory gesture from Perker restrained him, and he listened to the
learned gentleman’s continuation with a look of indignation, which
contrasted forcibly with the admiring faces of Mrs. Cluppins and Mrs.
Sanders.
‘I say systematic villainy, gentlemen,’ said Serjeant Buzfuz, looking
through Mr. Pickwick, and talking _at_ him; ‘and when I say systematic
villainy, let me tell the defendant Pickwick, if he be in court, as I am
informed he is, that it would have been more decent in him, more
becoming, in better judgment, and in better taste, if he had stopped
away. Let me tell him, gentlemen, that any gestures of dissent or
disapprobation in which he may indulge in this court will not go down
with you; that you will know how to value and how to appreciate them;
and let me tell him further, as my Lord will tell you, gentlemen, that a
counsel, in the discharge of his duty to his client, is neither to be
intimidated nor bullied, nor put down; and that any attempt to do either
the one or the other, or the first, or the last, will recoil on the head
of the attempter, be he plaintiff or be he defendant, be his name
Pickwick, or Noakes, or Stoakes, or Stiles, or Brown, or Thompson.’
This little divergence from the subject in hand, had, of course, the
intended effect of turning all eyes to Mr. Pickwick. Serjeant Buzfuz,
having partially recovered from the state of moral elevation into which
he had lashed himself, resumed--
‘I shall show you, gentlemen, that for two years, Pickwick continued to
reside constantly, and without interruption or intermission, at Mrs.
Bardell’s house. I shall show you that Mrs. Bardell, during the whole of
that time, waited on him, attended to his comforts, cooked his meals,
looked out his linen for the washerwoman when it went abroad, darned,
aired, and prepared it for wear, when it came home, and, in short,
enjoyed his fullest trust and confidence. I shall show you that, on many
occasions, he gave halfpence, and on some occasions even sixpences, to
her little boy; and I shall prove to you, by a witness whose testimony
it will be impossible for my learned friend to weaken or controvert,
that on one occasion he patted the boy on the head, and, after inquiring
whether he had won any “_alley tors_” or “_commoneys_” lately (both of
which I understand to be a particular species of marbles much prized by
the youth of this town), made use of this remarkable expression, “How
should you like to have another father?” I shall prove to you,
gentlemen, that about a year ago, Pickwick suddenly began to absent
himself from home, during long intervals, as if with the intention of
gradually breaking off from my client; but I shall show you also, that
his resolution was not at that time sufficiently strong, or that his
better feelings conquered, if better feelings he has, or that the charms
and accomplishments of my client prevailed against his unmanly
intentions, by proving to you, that on one occasion, when he returned
from the country, he distinctly and in terms, offered her marriage:
previously, however, taking special care that there would be no witness
to their solemn contract; and I am in a situation to prove to you, on
the testimony of three of his own friends--most unwilling witnesses,
gentlemen--most unwilling witnesses--that on that morning he was
discovered by them holding the plaintiff in his arms, and soothing her
agitation by his caresses and endearments.’
A visible impression was produced upon the auditors by this part of the
learned Serjeant’s address. Drawing forth two very small scraps of
paper, he proceeded--
‘And now, gentlemen, but one word more. Two letters have passed between
these parties, letters which are admitted to be in the handwriting of
the defendant, and which speak volumes, indeed. The letters, too,
bespeak the character of the man. They are not open, fervent, eloquent
epistles, breathing nothing but the language of affectionate attachment.
They are covert, sly, underhanded communications, but, fortunately, far
more conclusive than if couched in the most glowing language and the
most poetic imagery--letters that must be viewed with a cautious and
suspicious eye--letters that were evidently intended at the time, by
Pickwick, to mislead and delude any third parties into whose hands they
might fall. Let me read the first: “Garraways, twelve o’clock. Dear Mrs.
B.--Chops and tomato sauce. Yours, _Pickwick_.” Gentlemen, what does
this mean? Chops and tomato sauce. Yours, Pickwick! Chops! Gracious
heavens! and tomato sauce! Gentlemen, is the happiness of a sensitive
and confiding female to be trifled away, by such shallow artifices as
these? The next has no date whatever, which is in itself suspicious.
“Dear Mrs. B., I shall not be at home till to-morrow. Slow coach.” And
then follows this very remarkable expression. “Don’t trouble yourself
about the warming-pan.” The warming-pan! Why, gentlemen, who _does
_trouble himself about a warming-pan? When was the peace of mind of man
or woman broken or disturbed by a warming-pan, which is in itself a
harmless, a useful, and I will add, gentlemen, a comforting article of
domestic furniture? Why is Mrs. Bardell so earnestly entreated not to
agitate herself about this warming-pan, unless (as is no doubt the case)
it is a mere cover for hidden fire--a mere substitute for some endearing
word or promise, agreeably to a preconcerted system of correspondence,
artfully contrived by Pickwick with a view to his contemplated
desertion, and which I am not in a condition to explain? And what does
this allusion to the slow coach mean? For aught I know, it may be a
reference to Pickwick himself, who has most unquestionably been a
criminally slow coach during the whole of this transaction, but whose
speed will now be very unexpectedly accelerated, and whose wheels,
gentlemen, as he will find to his cost, will very soon be greased by
you!’
Mr. Serjeant Buzfuz paused in this place, to see whether the jury smiled
at his joke; but as nobody took it but the greengrocer, whose
sensitiveness on the subject was very probably occasioned by his having
subjected a chaise-cart to the process in question on that identical
morning, the learned Serjeant considered it advisable to undergo a
slight relapse into the dismals before he concluded.
‘But enough of this, gentlemen,’ said Mr. Serjeant Buzfuz, ‘it is
difficult to smile with an aching heart; it is ill jesting when our
deepest sympathies are awakened. My client’s hopes and prospects are
ruined, and it is no figure of speech to say that her occupation is gone
indeed. The bill is down--but there is no tenant. Eligible single
gentlemen pass and repass--but there is no invitation for to inquire
within or without. All is gloom and silence in the house; even the voice
of the child is hushed; his infant sports are disregarded when his
mother weeps; his “alley tors” and his “commoneys” are alike neglected;
he forgets the long familiar cry of “knuckle down,” and at tip-cheese,
or odd and even, his hand is out. But Pickwick, gentlemen, Pickwick, the
ruthless destroyer of this domestic oasis in the desert of Goswell
Street--Pickwick who has choked up the well, and thrown ashes on the
sward--Pickwick, who comes before you to-day with his heartless tomato
sauce and warming-pans--Pickwick still rears his head with unblushing
effrontery, and gazes without a sigh on the ruin he has made. Damages,
gentlemen--heavy damages is the only punishment with which you can visit
him; the only recompense you can award to my client. And for those
damages she now appeals to an enlightened, a high-minded, a right-
feeling, a conscientious, a dispassionate, a sympathising, a
contemplative jury of her civilised countrymen.’ With this beautiful
peroration, Mr. Serjeant Buzfuz sat down, and Mr. Justice Stareleigh
woke up.
‘Call Elizabeth Cluppins,’ said Serjeant Buzfuz, rising a minute
afterwards, with renewed vigour.
The nearest usher called for Elizabeth Tuppins; another one, at a little
distance off, demanded Elizabeth Jupkins; and a third rushed in a
breathless state into King Street, and screamed for Elizabeth Muffins
till he was hoarse.
Meanwhile Mrs. Cluppins, with the combined assistance of Mrs. Bardell,
Mrs. Sanders, Mr. Dodson, and Mr. Fogg, was hoisted into the witness-
box; and when she was safely perched on the top step, Mrs. Bardell stood
on the bottom one, with the pocket-handkerchief and pattens in one hand,
and a glass bottle that might hold about a quarter of a pint of
smelling-salts in the other, ready for any emergency. Mrs. Sanders,
whose eyes were intently fixed on the judge’s face, planted herself
close by, with the large umbrella, keeping her right thumb pressed on
the spring with an earnest countenance, as if she were fully prepared to
put it up at a moment’s notice.
‘Mrs. Cluppins,’ said Serjeant Buzfuz, ‘pray compose yourself, ma’am.’
Of course, directly Mrs. Cluppins was desired to compose herself, she
sobbed with increased vehemence, and gave divers alarming manifestations
of an approaching fainting fit, or, as she afterwards said, of her
feelings being too many for her.
‘Do you recollect, Mrs. Cluppins,’ said Serjeant Buzfuz, after a few
unimportant questions--‘do you recollect being in Mrs. Bardell’s back
one pair of stairs, on one particular morning in July last, when she was
dusting Pickwick’s apartment?’
‘Yes, my Lord and jury, I do,’ replied Mrs. Cluppins.
‘Mr. Pickwick’s sitting-room was the first-floor front, I believe?’
‘Yes, it were, Sir,’ replied Mrs. Cluppins.
‘What were you doing in the back room, ma’am?’ inquired the little
judge.
‘My Lord and jury,’ said Mrs. Cluppins, with interesting agitation, ‘I
will not deceive you.’
‘You had better not, ma’am,’ said the little judge.
‘I was there,’ resumed Mrs. Cluppins, ‘unbeknown to Mrs. Bardell; I had
been out with a little basket, gentlemen, to buy three pound of red
kidney pertaties, which was three pound tuppence ha’penny, when I see
Mrs. Bardell’s street door on the jar.’
‘On the what?’ exclaimed the little judge.
‘Partly open, my Lord,’ said Serjeant Snubbin.
‘She said on the jar,’ said the little judge, with a cunning look.
‘It’s all the same, my Lord,’ said Serjeant Snubbin. The little judge
looked doubtful, and said he’d make a note of it. Mrs. Cluppins then
resumed--
‘I walked in, gentlemen, just to say good-mornin’, and went, in a
permiscuous manner, upstairs, and into the back room. Gentlemen, there
was the sound of voices in the front room, and--’
‘And you listened, I believe, Mrs. Cluppins?’ said Serjeant Buzfuz.
‘Beggin’ your pardon, Sir,’ replied Mrs. Cluppins, in a majestic manner,
‘I would scorn the haction. The voices was very loud, Sir, and forced
themselves upon my ear.’