Bardell v. Pickwick

by Percy Fitzgerald; Charles Dickens

And what was Mrs. Bardell like? One would imagine her a plump, buxom widow, “fat, fair, and forty,” with her dear little boy, “the only pledge of her deceased exciseman,” or say something between thirty and forty years old. Fortunately, two portraits have come down to us of the lady—one somewhat of this pattern, and depicting her, as she flung herself on Mr. Pickwick on that disastrous morning: the other—a swollen, dreadful thing, which must be a caricature of the literal presentment. Here we see a woman of gross, enormous proportions seated on the front bench and apparently weighing some thirteen or fourteen stone, with a vast coarse face. This is surely an unfair presentment of the worthy landlady; besides, Dodson and Fogg were too astute practitioners to imperil their chances by exhibiting to his Lordship and the Jury so ill-favoured a plaintiff. Indeed, we are told that they arranged a rather theatrical exhibition in this scene, with a view of creating an impression in their favour.

Many find pleasure in reading the Bookseller’s Catalogues, and a vast number are showered on me in the course of the year. But on one of these I always gaze with a special interest, and even tenderness. For it comes from one Herbert, who lives in Goswell Road. Only think, Goswell Road—erst Goswell Street, where just seventy years ago Mrs. Bardell was letting lodgings and Mr. Pickwick himself was lodging: and on the cover I read, furthur attraction, “Goswell Road, near the ‘Angel,’” whence the “stage” which took the party

to the “Spaniard” at Hampstead started! Sometimes I am drawn to the shop, crowded with books; but one’s thoughts stray away from the books into speculations as to which house it was. But the indications are most vague, though the eye settles on a decent range of shabby-looking faded tenements—two storeys high only—and which look like lodging houses. Some ingenious commentators have indeed ventured to identify the house itself, arguing from the very general description in the text.

We should note, however, Mr. Pickwick’s lack of caution. He came in the very next day, having apparently made no enquiries as to the landlady. Had he done so, he would have learned of the drunken exciseman who met his death by being knocked on the head with a quart pot. He might have heard of the friends, Cluppins, Raddle, etc., who seemed to have been charwomen or something of the sort; also that there was a sort of working man as a fellow lodger. Above all, that there was no servant in the house. All which boded ill, and made it likely that Mr. Pickwick would be the easy victim of some crafty scheme.

All went well until the unluckly morning in July, 1827, when Mr. Pickwick’s friends, coming to pay a morning call, and entering unexpectedly, surprised Mr. Pickwick with his landlady fainting in his arms in an hysterical condition. This was a very awkward business. The delinquent, however, did not at once grasp the situation, and could not “make head or tail of it, or what the lady meant.” His friends, however, had their doubts:

‘What is the matter?’ said the three tongue-tied Pickwickians.

‘I don’t know,’ replied Mr. Pickwick, pettishly. ‘Now, help me, lead this woman down stairs.’

‘Oh, I am better now,’ said Mrs. Bardell, faintly.

‘Let me lead you downstairs,’ said the ever gallant Mr. Tupman.

‘Thank you, sir—thank you?’ exclaimed Mrs. Bardell hysterically. And downstairs she was led accordingly, accompanied by her affectionate son.

‘I cannot conceive—’ said Mr. Pickwick, when his friend returned—‘I cannot conceive what has been the matter with that woman. I had merely announced to her my intention of keeping a man servant, when she fell into the extraordinary paroxysm in which you found her. Very extraordinary thing.’

‘Very,’ said his three friends.

‘Placed me in such an extremely awkward situation,’ continued Mr. Pickwick.

‘Very,’ was the reply of his followers, as they coughed slightly, and looked dubiously at each other.

This behaviour was not lost upon Mr. Pickwick. He remarked their incredulity. They evidently suspected him.

It may be reasonably supposed that Mr. Pickwick had not been very discreet, or sufficiently cautious in his general behaviour to his landlady. As we know, he was rather too effusive in his relations with the fair sex. One of his weaknesses was kissing. He would kiss everybody who was young or good-looking. His maxim was “Kiss early and kiss often.” Who can forget his systematic method of greeting the engaging Arabella? “He (1) took off his spectacles, (2) in great haste, and (3) taking both the young lady’s hands in his (4) kissed her (5) a great many times (6) perhaps a greater number of times than was absolutely necessary.” Old rogue! I have little doubt that on his return home from his tours he encircled the buxom figure of Mrs. Bardell—all of course in his own paternal and privileged way.

It should be borne in mind also that Mr. Pickwick was almost invariably drawn into his more serious scrapes and embarrassments by this devotion to the sex. The night in the boarding school garden—the affair with the spinster lady—his interview with Arabella from the top of the wall—his devotion to Mrs. Pott and Mrs. Dowler—and much more that we do not hear of, show that he was a gallant elderly gentleman. Oh, he was a “sly dog, he was.”