impossible, cut. Mr. Pickwick and Miss Bolo against Lady Snuphanuph
and Mrs. Colonel Wugsby. As the trump card was turned up, at the
commencement of the second deal, two young ladies hurried into the room,
and took their 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 the girls,
'what is it?' 'I came to ask, ma, whether I might dance with the
youngest Mr. Crawley,' whispered the prettier and younger of the two.
'Good God, Jane, how can you think of such things?' replied the mamma
indignantly. 'Haven't you repeatedly heard that his father has eight
hundred a year, which dies with him? I am ashamed 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 introduced to 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 be trusted. He's
immensely rich, my dear. Bless you!' With these words Mrs. Colonel
Wugsby kissed her eldest daughter most affectionately, 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, Miss Bolo looked a small
armoury of daggers; if he stopped to consider which was the right one,
Lady Snuphanuph would throw herself back in her chair, and smile with a
mingled glance of impatience and pity to Mrs. Colonel Wugsby, at which
Mrs. Colonel Wugsby would shrug up her shoulders, and cough, as much
as to say she wondered whether he ever would begin. Then, at the end
of every hand, Miss Bolo would inquire with a dismal countenance and
reproachful sigh, why Mr. Pickwick had not returned that diamond, or led
the club, or roughed the spade, or finessed the heart, or led through
the honour, or brought out the ace, or played up to the king, or some
such thing; and in reply to all these grave charges, Mr. Pickwick would
be wholly unable to plead any justification whatever, having by this
time forgotten all about the game. People came and looked on, too, which
made Mr. Pickwick nervous. Besides all this, there was a great deal of
distracting conversation near the table, between Angelo Bantam and the
two Misses Matinter, who, being single and singular, paid great court to
the Master of the Ceremonies, in the hope of getting a stray partner now
and then. All these things, combined with the noises and interruptions
of constant comings in and goings out, made Mr. Pickwick play rather
badly; the cards were against him, also; and when they left off at
ten minutes past 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 they had
scarcely ever spent a more pleasant evening, Mr. Pickwick accompanied
them to the White Hart, and having soothed his feelings with something
hot, went to bed, and to sleep, almost simultaneously.
CHAPTER XXXVI. 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, he
deemed it advisable to take private lodgings for himself and friends for
that period; and as a favourable opportunity offered for their securing,
on moderate terms, the upper portion of a house in the Royal Crescent,
which was larger than they required, Mr. and Mrs. Dowler offered to
relieve them of a bedroom and sitting-room. This proposition was at once
accepted, and in three days' time they were all located in their new
abode, when Mr. Pickwick began to drink the waters with the utmost
assiduity. Mr. Pickwick took them systematically. He drank a quarter of
a pint before breakfast, and then walked up a hill; and another quarter
of a pint after breakfast, and then walked 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 very much delighted, though they had not been previously aware that
there was anything the matter with him.
The Great Pump Room is a spacious saloon, ornamented with Corinthian
pillars, and a music-gallery, and a Tompion clock, and a statue of Nash,
and a golden inscription, to which all the water-drinkers should attend,
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 gets the water;
and there are a number of yellow-looking tumblers, out of which the
company get it; and it is a most edifying and satisfactory sight to
behold the perseverance and gravity with which they swallow it. There
are baths near at hand, in which a part of the company wash themselves;
and a band plays afterwards, to congratulate the remainder on their
having done so. There is another pump room, into which infirm ladies
and gentlemen are wheeled, in such an astonishing variety of chairs and
chaises, that any adventurous individual who goes in with the regular
number of toes, is in imminent danger of coming out without them; and
there is a third, into which the quiet people go, for it is less noisy
than either. There is an immensity of promenading, on crutches and
off, with sticks and without, and a great deal of conversation, and
liveliness, and pleasantry.
Every morning, the regular water-drinkers, Mr. Pickwick among the
number, met each other in the pump room, took their quarter of a
pint, and walked constitutionally. At the afternoon's promenade, Lord
Mutanhed, and the Honourable Mr. Crushton, the Dowager Lady Snuphanuph,
Mrs. Colonel Wugsby, and all the great people, and all the morning
water-drinkers, met in grand assemblage. After this, they walked out, or
drove out, or were pushed out in bath-chairs, and met one another again.
After this, the gentlemen went to the reading-rooms, and met divisions
of the mass. After this, they went home. If it were theatre-night,
perhaps they met at the theatre; if it were assembly-night, they met
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 in this
manner, making entries in his journal, his friends having retired 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; 'and Mr. 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 was thinking that if you
wanted 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. Pickwick
carefully 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 opened
the drawer of the inkstand to put it carefully away. There were a couple
of sheets of writing-paper, pretty closely written over, in the inkstand
drawer, and they were folded so, that the title, which was in a good
round hand, was fully disclosed to 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 burn up well by the time he finished; and drawing his chair nearer
the fire, read as follows--
THE TRUE LEGEND OF PRINCE BLADUD
'Less than two hundred years ago, on one of the public baths in this
city, 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 being
afflicted with leprosy, on his return from reaping a rich harvest
of knowledge in Athens, shunned the court of his royal father, and
consorted moodily with husbandman and pigs. Among the herd (so said the
legend) was a pig of grave and solemn 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 was
terrible, and whose bite was sharp. The young prince sighed deeply as
he looked upon the countenance of the majestic swine; he thought of his
royal father, and his eyes were bedewed with tears.
'This sagacious pig was fond of bathing in rich, moist mud. Not in
summer, as common pigs do now, to cool themselves, and did even in
those distant ages (which is a proof that the light of civilisation had
already begun to dawn, though feebly), but in the cold, sharp days of
winter. His coat was ever so sleek, and his complexion so clear, that
the prince resolved to essay the purifying qualities of the same water
that his friend resorted to. He made the trial. Beneath that black mud,
bubbled the hot springs of Bath. He washed, and was cured. Hastening
to his father's court, he paid his best respects, and returning quickly
hither, 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 at
too high a temperature, and the natural philosopher was no more! He was
succeeded 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, the
famous and renowned Lud Hudibras, king of Britain. He was a mighty
monarch. The earth shook when he walked--he was so very stout. His
people basked in the light of his countenance--it was so red and
glowing. He was, indeed, every inch a king. And there were a good
many inches of him, too, for although he was not very tall, he was a
remarkable size round, and the inches that he wanted in height, he made
up in circumference. If any degenerate monarch of modern times could be
in any way compared with him, I should say the venerable King Cole would
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 his
father's dominions until he was ten years old, and was then despatched,
in charge of a trusty messenger, to a finishing school at Athens; and
as there was no extra charge for remaining during the holidays, and no
notice required previous to the removal of a pupil, there he remained
for eight long years, at the expiration of which time, the king his
father sent the lord chamberlain over, to settle the bill, and to bring
him 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 a
fine young man, he perceived what a grand thing it would be to have
him married without delay, so that his children might be the means of
perpetuating the glorious race of Lud, down to the very latest ages of
the world. With this view, he sent a special embassy, composed of
great noblemen who had nothing particular to do, and wanted lucrative
employment, to a neighbouring king, and demanded his fair daughter in
marriage for his son; stating at the same time that he was anxious to be
on the most affectionate terms with his brother and friend, but that if
they couldn't agree in arranging this marriage, he should be under the
unpleasant necessity of invading his kingdom and putting his eyes out.
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 his goodness
and magnanimity, and that his daughter was quite ready to be married,
whenever Prince Bladud liked to come and fetch her.
'This answer no sooner reached Britain, than the whole nation was
transported with joy. Nothing was heard, on all sides, but the sounds of
feasting and revelry--except the chinking of money as it was paid in
by the people to the collector of the royal treasures, to defray the
expenses of the happy ceremony. It was upon this occasion that King Lud,
seated on the top of his throne in full council, rose, in the exuberance
of his feelings, and commanded the lord chief justice to order in the
richest wines and the court minstrels--an act of graciousness which has
been, through the ignorance of traditionary historians, attributed to
King Cole, in those celebrated lines in which his 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 a dishonest
exaltation of the virtues of King Cole.
'But, in the midst of all this festivity and rejoicing, there was one
individual present, who tasted not when the sparkling wines were poured
forth, and who danced not, when the minstrels played. This was no other
than Prince Bladud himself, in honour of whose happiness a whole
people were, at that very moment, straining alike their throats and
purse-strings. The truth was, that the prince, forgetting the undoubted
right of the minister for foreign affairs to fall in love on his behalf,
had, contrary to every precedent of policy and diplomacy, already fallen
