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
fellow; and his wife I know to be a very amiable and lovely girl, well
qualified to transfer to another sphere of action the happiness which
for twenty years she has diffused around her, in her father's house.
(Here, the fat boy burst forth into stentorian blubberings, and was
led forth by the coat collar, by Mr. Weller.) I wish,' added Mr.
Pickwick--'I wish I was young enough to be her sister's husband
(cheers), but, failing that, I am happy to be old enough to be her
father; for, being so, I shall not be suspected of any latent designs
when I say, that I admire, esteem, and love them both (cheers and sobs).
The bride's father, our good friend there, is a noble person, and I
am proud to know him (great uproar). He is a kind, excellent,
independent-spirited, fine-hearted, hospitable, liberal man
(enthusiastic shouts from the poor relations, at all the adjectives;
and especially at the two last). That his daughter may enjoy all
the happiness, even he can desire; and that he may derive from the
contemplation of her felicity all the gratification of heart and peace
of mind which he so well deserves, is, I am persuaded, our united wish.
So, let us drink their healths, and wish them prolonged life, and every
blessing!'
Mr. Pickwick concluded amidst a whirlwind of applause; and once more
were the lungs of the supernumeraries, under Mr. Weller's command,
brought into active and efficient operation. Mr. Wardle proposed Mr.
Pickwick; Mr. Pickwick proposed the old lady. Mr. Snodgrass proposed
Mr. Wardle; Mr. Wardle proposed Mr. Snodgrass. One of the poor relations
proposed Mr. Tupman, and the other poor relation proposed Mr. Winkle;
all was happiness and festivity, until the mysterious disappearance of
both the poor relations beneath the table, warned the party that it was
time to adjourn.
At dinner they met again, after a five-and-twenty mile walk, undertaken
by the males at Wardle's recommendation, to get rid of the effects of
the wine at breakfast. The poor relations had kept in bed all day, with
the view of attaining the same happy consummation, but, as they had been
unsuccessful, they stopped there. Mr. Weller kept the domestics in a
state of perpetual hilarity; and the fat boy divided his time into small
alternate allotments of eating and sleeping.
The dinner was as hearty an affair as the breakfast, and was quite as
noisy, without the tears. Then came the dessert and some more toasts.
Then came the tea and coffee; and then, the ball.
The best sitting-room at Manor Farm was a good, long, dark-panelled room
with a high chimney-piece, and a capacious chimney, up which you could
have driven one of the new patent cabs, wheels and all. At the upper end
of the room, seated in a shady bower of holly and evergreens were the
two best fiddlers, and the only harp, in all Muggleton. In all sorts
of recesses, and on all kinds of brackets, stood massive old silver
candlesticks with four branches each. The carpet was up, the candles
burned bright, the fire blazed and crackled on the hearth, and merry
voices and light-hearted laughter rang through the room. If any of the
old English yeomen had turned into fairies when they died, it was just
the place in which they would have held their revels.
If anything could have added to the interest of this agreeable scene, it
would have been the remarkable fact of Mr. Pickwick's appearing without
his gaiters, for the first time within the memory of his oldest friends.
'You mean to dance?' said Wardle.
'Of course I do,' replied Mr. Pickwick. 'Don't you see I am dressed
for the purpose?' Mr. Pickwick called attention to his speckled silk
stockings, and smartly tied pumps.
'YOU in silk stockings!' exclaimed Mr. Tupman jocosely.
'And why not, sir--why not?' said Mr. Pickwick, turning warmly upon
him. 'Oh, of course there is no reason why you shouldn't wear them,'
responded Mr. Tupman.
'I imagine not, sir--I imagine not,' said Mr. Pickwick, in a very
peremptory tone.
Mr. Tupman had contemplated a laugh, but he found it was a serious
matter; so he looked grave, and said they were a pretty pattern.
'I hope they are,' said Mr. Pickwick, fixing his eyes upon his friend.
'You see nothing extraordinary in the stockings, AS stockings, I trust,
Sir?'
'Certainly not. Oh, certainly not,' replied Mr. Tupman. He walked away;
and Mr. Pickwick's countenance resumed its customary benign expression.
'We are all ready, I believe,' said Mr. Pickwick, who was stationed with
the old lady at the top of the dance, and had already made four false
starts, in his excessive anxiety to commence.
'Then begin at once,' said Wardle. 'Now!'
Up struck the two fiddles and the one harp, and off went Mr. Pickwick
into hands across, when there was a general clapping of hands, and a cry
of 'Stop, stop!'
'What's the matter?' said Mr. Pickwick, who was only brought to, by
the fiddles and harp desisting, and could have been stopped by no other
earthly power, if the house had been on fire. 'Where's Arabella Allen?'
cried a dozen voices.
'And Winkle?'added Mr. Tupman.
'Here we are!' exclaimed that gentleman, emerging with his pretty
companion from the corner; as he did so, it would have been hard to tell
which was the redder in the face, he or the young lady with the black
eyes.
'What an extraordinary thing it is, Winkle,' said Mr. Pickwick, rather
pettishly, 'that you couldn't have taken your place before.'
'Not at all extraordinary,' said Mr. Winkle.
'Well,' said Mr. Pickwick, with a very expressive smile, as his eyes
rested on Arabella, 'well, I don't know that it WAS extraordinary,
either, after all.'
However, there was no time to think more about the matter, for the
fiddles and harp began in real earnest. Away went Mr. Pickwick--hands
across--down the middle to the very end of the room, and half-way up the
chimney, back again to the door--poussette everywhere--loud stamp on the
ground--ready for the next couple--off again--all the figure over once
more--another stamp to beat out the time--next couple, and the next, and
the next again--never was such going; at last, after they had reached
the bottom of the dance, and full fourteen couple after the old lady
had retired in an exhausted state, and the clergyman's wife had been
