Lounging near the doors, and in remote corners, were variousknots of silly young men, displaying various varieties of puppyismand stupidity; amusing all sensible people near them with theirfolly and conceit; and happily thinking themselves the objects ofgeneral admiration--a wise and merciful dispensation which nogood man will quarrel with.

And lastly, seated on some of the back benches, where they hadalready taken up their positions for the evening, were diversunmarried ladies past their grand climacteric, who, not dancingbecause there were no partners for them, and not playing cardslest they should be set down as irretrievably single, were in thefavourable situation of being able to abuse everybody withoutreflecting on themselves. In short, they could abuse everybody,because everybody was there. It was a scene of gaiety, glitter, andshow; of richly-dressed people, handsome mirrors, chalkedfloors, girandoles and wax-candles; and in all parts of the scene,gliding from spot to spot in silent softness, bowing obsequiouslyto this party, nodding familiarly to that, and smiling complacentlyon all, was the sprucely-attired person of Angelo Cyrus Bantam,Esquire, the Master of the Ceremonies.

'Stop in the tea-room. Take your sixpenn'orth. Then lay on hotwater, and call it tea. Drink it,' said Mr. Dowler, in a loud voice,directing Mr. Pickwick, who advanced at the head of the littleparty, with Mrs. Dowler on his arm. Into the tea-room Mr.Pickwick turned; and catching sight of him, Mr. Bantam corkscrewedhis way through the crowd and welcomed him with ecstasy.

'My dear Sir, I am highly honoured. Ba-ath is favoured.Mrs. Dowler, you embellish the rooms. I congratulate you onyour feathers. Re-markable!'

'Anybody here?' inquired Dowler suspiciously.

'Anybody! The ELITE of Ba-ath. Mr. Pickwick, do you see theold lady in the gauze turban?'

'The fat old lady?' inquired Mr. Pickwick innocently.

'Hush, my dear sir--nobody's fat or old in Ba-ath. That's theDowager Lady Snuphanuph.'

'Is it, indeed?' said Mr. Pickwick.

'No less a person, I assure you,' said the Master of the Ceremonies.'Hush. Draw a little nearer, Mr. Pickwick. You see thesplendidly-dressed young man coming this way?'

'The one with the long hair, and the particularly small forehead?'inquired Mr. Pickwick.

'The same. The richest young man in Ba-ath at this moment.Young Lord Mutanhed.'

'You don't say so?' said Mr. Pickwick.

'Yes. You'll hear his voice in a moment, Mr. Pickwick. He'llspeak to me. The other gentleman with him, in the red under-waistcoat and dark moustache, is the Honourable Mr. Crushton,his bosom friend. How do you do, my Lord?'

'Veway hot, Bantam,' said his Lordship.

'It IS very warm, my Lord,' replied the M.C.

'Confounded,' assented the Honourable Mr. Crushton.

'Have you seen his Lordship's mail-cart, Bantam?' inquired theHonourable Mr. Crushton, after a short pause, during whichyoung Lord Mutanhed had been endeavouring to stare Mr.Pickwick out of countenance, and Mr. Crushton had beenreflecting what subject his Lordship could talk about best.

'Dear me, no,' replied the M.C.'A mail-cart! What an excellentidea. Re-markable!'

'Gwacious heavens!' said his Lordship, 'I thought evewebodyhad seen the new mail-cart; it's the neatest, pwettiest, gwacefullestthing that ever wan upon wheels. Painted wed, with acweam piebald.'

'With a real box for the letters, and all complete,' said theHonourable Mr. Crushton.

'And a little seat in fwont, with an iwon wail, for the dwiver,'added his Lordship. 'I dwove it over to Bwistol the othermorning, in a cwimson coat, with two servants widing a quarterof a mile behind; and confound me if the people didn't wush outof their cottages, and awest my pwogwess, to know if I wasn'tthe post. Glorwious--glorwious!'

At this anecdote his Lordship laughed very heartily, as did thelisteners, of course. Then, drawing his arm through that of theobsequious Mr. Crushton, Lord Mutanhed walked away.

'Delightful young man, his Lordship,' said the Master ofthe Ceremonies.

'So I should think,' rejoined Mr. Pickwick drily.

The dancing having commenced, the necessary introductionshaving been made, and all preliminaries arranged, AngeloBantam rejoined Mr. Pickwick, and led him into the card-room.

Just at the very moment of their entrance, the Dowager LadySnuphanuph and two other ladies of an ancient and whist-likeappearance, were hovering over an unoccupied card-table; andthey no sooner set eyes upon Mr. Pickwick under the convoy ofAngelo Bantam, than they exchanged glances with each other,seeing that he was precisely the very person they wanted, to makeup the rubber.

'My dear Bantam,' said the Dowager Lady Snuphanuphcoaxingly, 'find us some nice creature to make up this table;there's a good soul.' Mr. Pickwick happened to be lookinganother way at the moment, so her Ladyship nodded her headtowards him, and frowned expressively.

'My friend Mr. Pickwick, my Lady, will be most happy, I amsure, remarkably so,' said the M.C., taking the hint. 'Mr. Pickwick,Lady Snuphanuph--Mrs. Colonel Wugsby--Miss Bolo.'

Mr. Pickwick bowed to each of the ladies, and, finding escapeimpossible, cut. Mr. Pickwick and Miss Bolo against LadySnuphanuph and Mrs. Colonel Wugsby.As the trump card was turned up, at the commencement of thesecond deal, two young ladies hurried into the room, and tooktheir stations on either side of Mrs. Colonel Wugsby's chair,where they waited patiently until the hand was over.

'Now, Jane,' said Mrs. Colonel Wugsby, turning to one of thegirls, 'what is it?''I came to ask, ma, whether I might dance with the youngestMr. Crawley,' whispered the prettier and younger of the two.

'Good God, Jane, how can you think of such things?' repliedthe mamma indignantly. 'Haven't you repeatedly heard that hisfather has eight hundred a year, which dies with him? I amashamed of you. Not on any account.'

'Ma,' whispered the other, who was much older than her sister,and very insipid and artificial, 'Lord Mutanhed has been introducedto me. I said I thought I wasn't engaged, ma.'

'You're a sweet pet, my love,' replied Mrs. Colonel Wugsby,tapping her daughter's cheek with her fan, 'and are always to betrusted. He's immensely rich, my dear. Bless you!' With thesewords Mrs. Colonel Wugsby kissed her eldest daughter mostaffectionately, and frowning in a warning manner upon the other,sorted her cards.

Poor Mr. Pickwick! he had never played with three thorough-paced female card-players before. They were so desperately sharp,that they quite frightened him. If he played a wrong card, MissBolo looked a small armoury of daggers; if he stopped to considerwhich was the right one, Lady Snuphanuph would throwherself back in her chair, and smile with a mingled glance ofimpatience and pity to Mrs. Colonel Wugsby, at which Mrs.Colonel Wugsby would shrug up her shoulders, and cough, asmuch as to say she wondered whether he ever would begin.Then, at the end of every hand, Miss Bolo would inquire with adismal countenance and reproachful sigh, why Mr. Pickwick hadnot returned that diamond, or led the club, or roughed the spade,or finessed the heart, or led through the honour, or brought outthe ace, or played up to the king, or some such thing; and inreply to all these grave charges, Mr. Pickwick would be whollyunable to plead any justification whatever, having by this timeforgotten all about the game. People came and looked on, too,which made Mr. Pickwick nervous. Besides all this, there was agreat deal of distracting conversation near the table, betweenAngelo Bantam and the two Misses Matinter, who, being singleand singular, paid great court to the Master of the Ceremonies, inthe hope of getting a stray partner now and then. All these things,combined with the noises and interruptions of constant comingsin and goings out, made Mr. Pickwick play rather badly; thecards were against him, also; and when they left off at ten minutespast eleven, Miss Bolo rose from the table considerably agitated,and went straight home, in a flood of tears and a sedan-chair.

Being joined by his friends, who one and all protested that theyhad scarcely ever spent a more pleasant evening, Mr. Pickwickaccompanied them to the White Hart, and having soothed hisfeelings with something hot, went to bed, and to sleep, almostsimultaneously.

CHAPTER XXXVITHE CHIEF FEATURES OF WHICH WILL BE FOUND TO BEAN AUTHENTIC VERSION OF THE LEGEND OF PRINCEBLADUD, AND A MOST EXTRAORDINARY CALAMITY THATBEFELL Mr. WINKLE

As Mr. Pickwick contemplated a stay of at least two months inBath, he deemed it advisable to take private lodgings for himselfand friends for that period; and as a favourable opportunityoffered for their securing, on moderate terms, the upper portionof a house in the Royal Crescent, which was larger than theyrequired, Mr. and Mrs. Dowler offered to relieve them of abedroom and sitting-room. This proposition was at onceaccepted, and in three days' time they were all located in theirnew abode, when Mr. Pickwick began to drink the waters with theutmost assiduity. Mr. Pickwick took them systematically. Hedrank a quarter of a pint before breakfast, and then walked up ahill; and another quarter of a pint after breakfast, and thenwalked down a hill; and, after every fresh quarter of a pint,Mr. Pickwick declared, in the most solemn and emphatic terms,that he felt a great deal better; whereat his friends were verymuch delighted, though they had not been previously aware thatthere was anything the matter with him.

The Great Pump Room is a spacious saloon, ornamented withCorinthian pillars, and a music-gallery, and a Tompion clock,and a statue of Nash, and a golden inscription, to which all thewater-drinkers should attend, for it appeals to them in the causeof a deserving charity. There is a large bar with a marble vase,out of which the pumper gets the water; and there are a numberof yellow-looking tumblers, out of which the company get it;and it is a most edifying and satisfactory sight to behold theperseverance and gravity with which they swallow it. There arebaths near at hand, in which a part of the company wash themselves;and a band plays afterwards, to congratulate the remainderon their having done so. There is another pump room, into whichinfirm ladies and gentlemen are wheeled, in such an astonishingvariety of chairs and chaises, that any adventurous individualwho goes in with the regular number of toes, is in imminent dangerof coming out without them; and there is a third, into which the quietpeople go, for it is less noisy than either. There is an immensity ofpromenading, on crutches and off, with sticks and without, and agreat deal of conversation, and liveliness, and pleasantry.

Every morning, the regular water-drinkers, Mr. Pickwickamong the number, met each other in the pump room, took theirquarter of a pint, and walked constitutionally. At the afternoon'spromenade, Lord Mutanhed, and the Honourable Mr. Crushton,the Dowager Lady Snuphanuph, Mrs. Colonel Wugsby, andall the great people, and all the morning water-drinkers, met ingrand assemblage. After this, they walked out, or drove out, orwere pushed out in bath-chairs, and met one another again. Afterthis, the gentlemen went to the reading-rooms, and met divisionsof the mass. After this, they went home. If it were theatre-night,perhaps they met at the theatre; if it were assembly-night, theymet at the rooms; and if it were neither, they met the next day.A very pleasant routine, with perhaps a slight tinge of sameness.

Mr. Pickwick was sitting up by himself, after a day spent inthis manner, making entries in his journal, his friends havingretired to bed, when he was roused by a gentle tap at the room door.

'Beg your pardon, Sir,' said Mrs. Craddock, the landlady,peeping in; 'but did you want anything more, sir?'

'Nothing more, ma'am,' replied Mr. Pickwick.

'My young girl is gone to bed, Sir,' said Mrs. Craddock; 'andMr. Dowler is good enough to say that he'll sit up for Mrs.Dowler, as the party isn't expected to be over till late; so I wasthinking that if you wanted nothing more, Mr. Pickwick, Iwould go to bed.'

'By all means, ma'am,' replied Mr. Pickwick.'Wish you good-night, Sir,' said Mrs. Craddock.

'Good-night, ma'am,' rejoined Mr. Pickwick.

Mrs. Craddock closed the door, and Mr. Pickwick resumed his writing.

In half an hour's time the entries were concluded. Mr. Pickwickcarefully rubbed the last page on the blotting-paper, shut up thebook, wiped his pen on the bottom of the inside of his coat tail,and opened the drawer of the inkstand to put it carefully away.There were a couple of sheets of writing-paper, pretty closelywritten over, in the inkstand drawer, and they were folded so,that the title, which was in a good round hand, was fully disclosedto him. Seeing from this, that it was no private document;and as it seemed to relate to Bath, and was very short: Mr. Pick-wick unfolded it, lighted his bedroom candle that it might burnup well by the time he finished; and drawing his chair nearer thefire, read as follows--

THE TRUE LEGEND OF PRINCE BLADUD

'Less than two hundred years ago, on one of the public bathsin this city, there appeared an inscription in honour of its mightyfounder, the renowned Prince Bladud. That inscription is now erased.

'For many hundred years before that time, there had beenhanded down, from age to age, an old legend, that the illustriousprince being afflicted with leprosy, on his return from reaping arich harvest of knowledge in Athens, shunned the court of hisroyal father, and consorted moodily with husbandman and pigs.Among the herd (so said the legend) was a pig of grave andsolemn countenance, with whom the prince had a fellow-feeling--for he too was wise--a pig of thoughtful and reserved demeanour;an animal superior to his fellows, whose grunt wasterrible, and whose bite was sharp. The young prince sigheddeeply as he looked upon the countenance of the majestic swine;he thought of his royal father, and his eyes were bedewed with tears.

Title: The Pickwick Papers
Author: Charles Dickens
Viewed 229882 times

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