The Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club, v. 2 (of 2) Page 10

  CHAPTER VIII

  _The Chief Features of which, will be found to be an Authentic Version of the Legend of Prince Bladud, and a most extraordinary Calamity that befell Mr. Winkle_

  As Mr. Pickwick contemplated a stay of at least two months in Bath, hedeemed it advisable to take private lodgings for himself and friendsfor that period; and as a favourable opportunity offered for theirsecuring, on moderate terms, the upper portion of a house in the RoyalCrescent, which was larger than they required, Mr. and Mrs. Dowleroffered to relieve them of a bedroom and sitting-room. This propositionwas at once accepted, and in three days' time they were all locatedin their new abode, when Mr. Pickwick began to drink the waters withthe utmost assiduity. Mr. Pickwick took them systematically. He dranka quarter of a pint before breakfast, and then walked up a hill; andanother quarter of a pint after breakfast, and then walked down a hill;and after every fresh quarter of a pint, Mr. Pickwick declared, inthe most solemn and emphatic terms, that he felt a great deal better:whereat his friends were very much delighted, though they had not beenpreviously aware that there was anything the matter with him.

  The great pump-room is a spacious saloon, ornamented with Corinthianpillars, and a music gallery, and a Tompion clock, and a statue ofNash, and a golden inscription, to which all the water-drinkers shouldattend, for it appeals to them in the cause of a deserving charity.There is a large bar with a marble vase, out of which the pumper getsthe water; and there are a number of yellow-looking tumblers, out ofwhich the company get it; and it is a most edifying and satisfactorysight to behold the perseverance and gravity with which they swallowit. There are baths near at hand, in which a part of the company washthemselves; and a band plays afterwards, to congratulate the remainderon their having done so. There is another pump-room, into which infirmladies and gentlemen are wheeled, in such an astonishing variety ofchairs and chaises, that any adventurous individual who goes in withthe regular number of toes, is in imminent danger of coming out withoutthem; and there is a third, into which the quiet people go, for itis less noisy than either. There is an immensity of promenading,on crutches and off, with sticks and without, and a great deal ofconversation, and liveliness, and pleasantry.

  Every morning the regular water-drinkers, Mr. Pickwick among thenumber, met each other in the pump-room, took their quarter of apint, and walked constitutionally. At the afternoon's promenade, LordMutanhed, and the Honourable Mr. Crushton, the Dowager Lady Snuphanuph,Mrs. Colonel Wugsby, and all the great people, and all the morningwater-drinkers, met in grand assemblage. After this, they walked out,or drove out, or were pushed out in bath-chairs, and met one anotheragain. After this, the gentlemen went to the reading-rooms and metdivisions of the mass. After this, they went home. If it were theatrenight, 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 verypleasant routine, with perhaps a slight tinge of sameness.

  Mr. Pickwick was sitting up by himself, after a day spent in thismanner, making entries in his journal: his friends having retired tobed: 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; "and Mr.Dowler is good enough to say that he'll sit up for Mrs. Dowler, as theparty isn't expected to be over till late; so I was thinking if youwanted nothing more, Mr. Pickwick, I would 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 the book,wiped his pen on the bottom of the inside of his coat-tail, and openedthe drawer of the inkstand to put it carefully away. There were acouple of sheets of writing paper, pretty closely written over, in theinkstand drawer, and they were folded so that the title, which was ina good round hand, was fully disclosed to him. Seeing from this, thatit was no private document: and as it seemed to relate to Bath, and wasvery short: Mr. Pickwick unfolded it, lighted his bed-room candle thatit might burn up well by the time he finished; and drawing his chairnearer the fire, read as follows:

  THE TRUE LEGEND OF PRINCE BLADUD

  "Less than two hundred years agone, on one of the public baths in thiscity, there appeared an inscription in honour of its mighty founder,the renowned Prince Bladud. That inscription is now erased.

  "For many hundred years before that time, there had been handed down,from age to age, an old legend, that the illustrious Prince beingafflicted with leprosy, on his return from reaping a rich harvestof knowledge in Athens, shunned the court of his royal father, andconsorted moodily with husbandmen and pigs. Among the herd (so said thelegend) was a pig of grave and solemn countenance, with whom the Princehad a fellow feeling--for he too was wise--a pig of thoughtful andreserved demeanour; an animal superior to his fellows, whose grunt wasterrible, and whose bite was sharp. The young prince sighed deeply ashe looked upon the countenance of the majestic swine; he thought of hisroyal father, and his eyes were bedewed with tears.

  "This sagacious pig was fond of bathing in rich, moist mud. Not insummer, as common pigs do now, to cool themselves, and did even inthose distant ages (which is a proof that the light of civilisation hadalready begun to dawn, though feebly), but in the cold sharp days ofwinter. His coat was ever so sleek, and his complexion so clear, thatthe Prince resolved to essay the purifying qualities of the same waterthat his friend resorted to. He made the trial. Beneath that black mud,bubbled the hot springs of Bath. He washed, and was cured. Hastening tohis father's court, he paid his best respects, and returning quicklyhither, founded this city, and its famous baths.

  "He sought the pig with all the ardour of their early friendship--but,alas! the waters had been his death. He had imprudently taken a bath attoo high a temperature, and the natural philosopher was no more! He wassucceeded by Pliny, who also fell a victim to his thirst for knowledge.

  "This _was_ the legend. Listen to the true one.

  "A great many centuries since, there flourished in great state, thefamous and renowned Lud Hudibras, King of Britain. He was a mightymonarch. The earth shook when he walked: he was so very stout. Hispeople basked in the light of his countenance: it was so red andglowing. He was, indeed, every inch a king. And there were a goodmany inches of him too, for although he was not very tall, he was aremarkable size round, and the inches that he wanted in height he madeup in circumference. If any degenerate monarch of modern times couldbe in any way compared with him, I should say the venerable King Colewould be that illustrious potentate.

  "This good king had a queen, who eighteen years before, had had a son,who was called Bladud. He was sent to a preparatory seminary in hisfather's dominions until he was ten years old, and was then despatchedin charge of a trusty messenger, to a finishing school at Athens; andas there was no extra charge for remaining during the holidays, and nonotice required previous to the removal of a pupil, there he remainedfor eight long years, at the expiration of which time, the king hisfather sent the Lord Chamberlain over, to settle the bill, and to bringhim home: which, the Lord Chamberlain doing, was received with shouts,and pensioned immediately.

  "When King Lud saw the Prince his son, and found he had grown up such afine young man, he perceived at once what a grand thing it would be tohave him married without delay, so that his children might be the meansof perpetuating the glorious race of Lud, down to the very latest agesof the world. With this view, he sent a special embassy, composed ofgreat noblemen who had nothing particular to do, and wanted lucrativeemployment, to a neighbouring king, and demanded his fair daughter inmarriage for his son: stating at the same time that he was anxious tobe on the mo
st affectionate terms with his brother and friend, but thatif they couldn't agree in arranging this marriage, he should be underthe unpleasant necessity of invading his kingdom, and putting his eyesout. To this, the other king (who was the weaker of the two) replied,that he was very much obliged to his friend and brother for all hisgoodness and magnanimity, and that his daughter was quite ready to bemarried, whenever Prince Bladud liked to come and fetch her.

  "This answer no sooner reached Britain, than the whole nation weretransported with joy. Nothing was heard, on all sides, but the soundsof feasting and revelry,--except the chinking of money as it was paidin by the people to the collector of the Royal Treasures, to defraythe expenses of the happy ceremony. It was upon this occasion thatKing Lud, seated on the top of his throne in full council, rose, inthe exuberance of his feelings, and commanded the Lord Chief Justiceto order in the richest wines and the court minstrels: an act ofgraciousness which has been, through the ignorance of traditionaryhistorians, attributed to King Cole, in those celebrated lines in whichhis majesty is represented as--

  'Calling for his pipe, and calling for his pot, And calling for his fiddlers three.'

  Which is an obvious injustice to the memory of King Lud, and adishonest exaltation of the virtues of King Cole.

  "But in the midst of all this festivity and rejoicing, there wasone individual present who tasted not when the sparkling wines werepoured forth, and who danced not when the minstrels played. This wasno other than Prince Bladud himself, in honour of whose happiness awhole people were at that very moment straining alike their throatsand purse-strings. The truth was, that the Prince, forgetting theundoubted right of the minister for foreign affairs to fall in love onhis behalf, had, contrary to every precedent of policy and diplomacy,already fallen in love on his own account, and privately contractedhimself unto the fair daughter of a noble Athenian.

  "Here we have a striking example of one of the manifold advantages ofcivilisation and refinement. If the Prince had lived in later days, hemight at once have married the object of his father's choice, and thenset himself seriously to work, to relieve himself of the burden whichrested heavily upon him. He might have endeavoured to break her heartby a systematic course of insult and neglect; or, if the spirit of hersex, and a proud consciousness of her many wrongs, had upheld her underthis ill treatment, he might have sought to take her life, and so getrid of her effectually. But neither mode of relief suggested itself toPrince Bladud; so he solicited a private audience, and told his father.

  "It is an old prerogative of kings to govern everything but theirpassions. King Lud flew into a frightful rage, tossed his crown up tothe ceiling, and caught it again--for in those days kings kept theircrowns on their heads, and not in the Tower--stamped the ground, rappedhis forehead, wondered why his own flesh and blood rebelled againsthim, and, finally, calling in his guards, ordered the Prince away toinstant confinement in a lofty turret; a course of treatment which thekings of old very generally pursued towards their sons, when theirmatrimonial inclinations did not happen to point to the same quarter astheir own.

  "When Prince Bladud had been shut up in the lofty turret for thegreater part of a year, with no better prospect before his bodilyeyes than a stone wall, or before his mental vision than prolongedimprisonment, he naturally began to ruminate on a plan of escape,which, after months of preparation, he managed to accomplish;considerately leaving his dinner knife in the heart of his gaoler, lestthe poor fellow (who had a family) should be considered privy to hisflight, and punished accordingly by the infuriated king.

  "The monarch was frantic at the loss of his son. He knew not on whom tovent his grief and wrath, until fortunately bethinking himself of theLord Chamberlain who had brought him home, he struck off his pensionand his head together.

  "Meanwhile the young Prince, effectually disguised, wandered on footthrough his father's dominions, cheered and supported in all hishardships by sweet thoughts of the Athenian maid, who was the innocentcause of his weary trials. One day he stopped to rest in a countryvillage; and seeing that there were gay dances going forward on thegreen, and gay faces passing to and fro, ventured to inquire of areveller who stood near him, the reason for this rejoicing.

  "'Know you not, O stranger,' was the reply, 'of the recent proclamationof our gracious king?'

  "'Proclamation! No. What proclamation?' rejoined the Prince--for he hadtravelled along the bye and little-frequented ways and knew nothing ofwhat had passed upon the public roads, such as they were.

  "'Why,' replied the peasant, 'the foreign lady that our Prince wishedto wed, is married to a foreign noble of her own country; and the kingproclaims the fact, and a great public festival besides; for now, ofcourse, Prince Bladud will come back and marry the lady his fatherchose, who they say is as beautiful as the noonday sun. Your health,sir. God save the king!'

  "The Prince remained to hear no more. He fled from the spot, andplunged into the thickest recesses of a neighbouring wood. On, on, hewandered night and day: beneath the blazing sun, and the cold palemoon: through the dry heat of noon, and the damp cold of night: in thegrey light of morn, and the red glare of eve. So heedless was he oftime or object, that being bound for Athens, he wandered as far out ofhis way as Bath.

  "There was no city where Bath stands, then. There was no vestige ofhuman habitation, or sign of man's resort, to bear the name; but therewas the same noble country, the same broad expanse of hill and dale,the same beautiful channel stealing on, far away: the same loftymountains which, like the troubles of life, viewed at a distance, andpartially obscured by the bright mist of its morning, lose theirruggedness and asperity, and seem all ease and softness. Moved by thegentle beauty of the scene, the Prince sank upon the green turf, andbathed his swollen feet in his tears.

  "'Oh!' said the unhappy Bladud, clasping his hands, and mournfullyraising his eyes towards the sky, 'would that my wanderings might endhere! Would that these grateful tears, with which I now mourn hopemisplaced, and love despised, might flow in peace for ever!'

  "The wish was heard. It was in the time of the heathen deities, whoused occasionally to take people at their words, with a promptness, insome cases, extremely awkward. The ground opened beneath the Prince'sfeet; he sunk into the chasm; and instantaneously it closed upon hishead for ever, save where his hot tears welled up through the earth,and where they have continued to gush forth ever since.

  "It is observable that, to this day, large numbers of elderly ladiesand gentlemen who have been disappointed in procuring partners, andalmost as many young ones who are anxious to obtain them, repair,annually, to Bath to drink the waters, from which they derive muchstrength and comfort. This is most complimentary to the virtue ofPrince Bladud's tears, and strongly corroborative of the veracity ofthis legend."

  * * * * *

  Mr. Pickwick yawned several times, when he had arrived at the end ofthis little manuscript: carefully refolded, and replaced it in theinkstand drawer: and then, with a countenance expressive of the utmostweariness, lighted his chamber candle, and went upstairs to bed.

  He stopped at Mr. Dowler's door, according to custom, and knocked tosay good night.

  "Ah!" said Dowler, "going to bed? I wish I was. Dismal night. Windy;isn't it?"

  "Very," said Mr. Pickwick. "Good night."

  "Good night."

  Mr. Pickwick went to his bed-chamber, and Mr. Dowler resumed his seatbefore the fire, in fulfilment of his rash promise to sit up till hiswife came home.

  There are few things more worrying than sitting up for somebody,especially if that somebody be at a party. You cannot help thinking howquickly the time passes with them, which drags so heavily with you; andthe more you think of this, the more your hopes of their speedy arrivaldecline. Clocks tick so loud, too, when you are sitting up alone, andyou seem as if you had an under garment of cobwebs on. First, somethingtickles your right knee, and then the same sensation irritates yourleft. You have no sooner changed your position than it comes again
in the arms; when you have fidgeted your limbs into all sorts of oddshapes, you have a sudden relapse in the nose, which you rub as if torub it off--as there is no doubt you would, if you could. Eyes, too,are mere personal inconveniences; and the wick of one candle gets aninch and a half long, while you are snuffing the other. These, andvarious other little nervous annoyances, render sitting up for a lengthof time after everybody else has gone to bed, anything but a cheerfulamusement.

  This was just Mr. Dowler's opinion as he sat before the fire, andfelt honestly indignant with all the inhuman people at the party whowere keeping him up. He was not put into better humour either by thereflection that he had taken it into his head, early in the evening, tothink that he had got an ache there, and so stopped at home. At length,after several droppings asleep, and fallings forward towards the bars,and catchings backward soon enough to prevent being branded in theface, Mr. Dowler made up his mind that he would throw himself on thebed in the back room and _think_--not sleep, of course.

  "I'm a heavy sleeper," said Mr. Dowler, as he flung himself on thebed. "I must keep awake. I suppose I shall hear a knock here. Yes.I thought so. I can hear the watchman. There he goes. Fainter now,though. A little fainter. He's turning the corner. Ah!" When Mr. Dowlerarrived at this point, _he_ turned the corner at which he had been longhesitating, and fell fast asleep.

  Just as the clock struck three, there was blown into the crescent asedan-chair with Mrs. Dowler inside, borne by one short fat chairman,and one long thin one, who had much ado to keep their bodiesperpendicular: to say nothing of the chair. But on that high ground,and in the crescent, which the wind swept round and round, as if itwere going to tear the paving stones up, its fury was tremendous.They were very glad to set the chair down, and give a good round louddouble-knock at the street door.

  They waited some time, but nobody came.

  "Servants is in the arms o' Porpus, I think," said the short chairman,warming his hands at the attendant link-boy's torch.

  "I wish he'd give 'em a squeeze and wake 'em," observed the long one.

  "Knock again, will you, if you please," cried Mrs. Dowler from thechair. "Knock two or three times, if you please."

  The short man was quite willing to get the job over, as soon aspossible; so he stood on the step, and gave four or five most startlingdouble knocks, of eight or ten knocks a piece: while the long man wentinto the road, and looked up at the windows for a light.

  Nobody came. It was all as silent and dark as ever.

  "Dear me!" said Mrs. Dowler. "You must knock again, if you please."

  "Theer ain't a bell, is there, ma'am?" said the short chairman.

  "Yes, there is," interposed the link-boy, "I've been a ringing at itever so long."

  "It's only a handle," said Mrs. Dowler, "the wire's broken."

  "I wish the servants' heads wos," growled the long man.

  "I must trouble you to knock again, if you please," said Mrs. Dowlerwith the utmost politeness.

  The short man did knock again several times, without producing thesmallest effect. The tall man, growing very impatient, then relievedhim, and kept on perpetually knocking double knocks of two loud knockseach, like an insane postman.

  At length Mr. Winkle began to dream that he was at a club, and thatthe members being very refractory, the chairman was obliged to hammerthe table a good deal to preserve order; then he had a confused notionof an auction room where there were no bidders, and the auctioneer wasbuying everything in; and ultimately he began to think it just withinthe bounds of possibility that somebody might be knocking at the streetdoor. To make quite certain, however, he remained quiet in bed for tenminutes or so, and listened; and when he had counted two or three andthirty knocks, he felt quite satisfied, and gave himself a great dealof credit for being so wakeful.

  "Rap rap--rap rap--rap rap--ra, ra, ra, ra, ra, rap!" went the knocker.

  Mr. Winkle jumped out of bed, wondering very much what could possiblybe the matter, and hastily putting on his stockings and slippers,folded his dressing-gown round him, lighted a flat candle from therushlight that was burning in the fireplace, and hurried downstairs.

  "Here's somebody comin' at last, ma'am," said the short chairman.

  "I wish I wos behind him vith a bradawl," muttered the long one.

  "Who's there?" cried Mr. Winkle, undoing the chain.

  "Don't stop to ask questions, cast-iron head," replied the long man,with great disgust, taking it for granted that the inquirer was afootman; "but open the door."

  "Come, look sharp, timber eyelids," added the other encouragingly.

  Mr. Winkle, being half asleep, obeyed the command mechanically, openedthe door a little, and peeped out. The first thing he saw, was thered glare of the link-boy's torch. Startled by the sudden fear thatthe house might be on fire, he hastily threw the door wide open, andholding the candle above his head, stared eagerly before him, not quitecertain whether what he saw was a sedan-chair or a fire-engine. At thisinstant there came a violent gust of wind; the light was blown out; Mr.Winkle felt himself irresistibly impelled on to the steps; and the doorblew to, with a loud crash.

  "Well, young man, now you _have_ done it!" said the short chairman.

  Mr. Winkle, catching sight of a lady's face at the window of the sedan,turned hastily round, plied the knocker with all his might and main,and called frantically upon the chairman to take the chair away again.

  "Take it away, take it away!" cried Mr. Winkle. "Here's somebody comingout of another house; put me into the chair. Hide me! Do something withme!"

  All this time he was shivering with cold; and every time he raisedhis hand to the knocker, the wind took the dressing-gown in a mostunpleasant manner.

  "The people are coming down the crescent now. There are ladies with'em; cover me up with something. Stand before me!" roared Mr. Winkle.But the chairmen were too much exhausted with laughing to afford himthe slightest assistance, and the ladies were every moment approachingnearer and nearer.

  Mr. Winkle gave a last hopeless knock; the ladies were only a few doorsoff. He threw away the extinguished candle, which, all this time, hehad held above his head, and fairly bolted into the sedan-chair whereMrs. Dowler was.

  Now, Mrs. Craddock had heard the knocking and the voices at last; andonly waiting to put something smarter on her head than her night-cap,ran down into the front drawing-room to make sure that it was the rightparty. Throwing up the window sash as Mr. Winkle was rushing into thechair, she no sooner caught sight of what was going forward below, thanshe raised a vehement and dismal shriek, and implored Mr. Dowler to getup directly, for his wife was running away with another gentleman.

  Upon this, Mr. Dowler bounced off the bed as abruptly as an india-rubberball, and rushing into the front room, arrived at one window just asMr. Pickwick threw up the other; when the first object that met thegaze of both, was Mr. Winkle bolting into the sedan-chair.

  "Watchman," shouted Dowler furiously; "stop him--hold him--keep himtight--shut him in, till I come down. I'll cut his throat--give me aknife--from ear to ear, Mrs. Craddock--I will!" And breaking from theshrieking landlady, and from Mr. Pickwick, the indignant husband seizeda small supper-knife, and tore into the street.

  But Mr. Winkle didn't wait for him. He no sooner heard the horriblethreat of the valorous Dowler, than he bounced out of the sedan, quiteas quickly as he had bounced in, and throwing off his slippers intothe road, took to his heels and tore round the crescent, hotly pursuedby Dowler and the watchman. He kept ahead; the door was open as hecame round the second time; he rushed in, slammed it in Dowler's face,mounted to his bed-room, locked the door, piled a washhand-stand, chestof drawers, and table against it, and packed up a few necessaries readyfor flight with the first ray of morning.

  _Mr. Winkle took to his heels and tore round theCrescent._]

  Dowler came up to the outside of the door; avowed, through the keyhole,his steadfast determination of cutting Mr. Winkle's throat next day;and, after a great confusion of voices in the drawi
ng-room, amidstwhich that of Mr. Pickwick was distinctly heard endeavouring to makepeace, the inmates dispersed to their several bed-chambers, and all wasquite once more.

  It is not unlikely that the inquiry may be made, where Mr. Weller was,all this time? We will state where he was, in the next chapter.