&c., would occupy a period for the twenty-four miles of some four hours, that is, say, from two to six o’clock. Boz, by his arrangement of the traffic, would seem to assume that a conveyance could be secured at any time of the day, for Mr. Pickwick conveniently found one the instant he so abruptly quitted Mrs. Leo Hunter’s, while Winkle and his friends just as conveniently found one immediately after breakfast. He appears to have been seven hours on the road. But the strong point on which all Ipswichians may rest secure is Mr. Pickwick’s statement to Mrs. Leo Hunter that Bury was “not many miles from here.”
But an even more convincing proof can be found in Jingle’s relation to Eatanswill. He came over from Bury to Mrs. Leo Hunter’s party, leaving his servant there, at the Hotel, and returned the same evening. The place must have been but a short way off, when he could go and return in the same day. Then what brought him to Eatanswill? We are told that at the time he was courting Miss Nupkins, the Mayor’s daughter; of course, he rushed over in the hope of meeting her at Mrs. Leo Hunter’s déjeûner. Everything, therefore, fits well together.
I thought of consulting the report of the House of Commons Committee on the Election Petition, and this confirmed my view. There great stress is laid on the Blue and Buff colours: in both the report and the novel it is mentioned that the constables’ staves were painted Blue. Boz makes Bob Sawyer say, in answer to Potts’ horrified enquiry “Not Buff, sir?” “Well I’m a kind of plaid at present—mixed colours”—something very like this he must have noticed in the Report. A constable, asked was his comrade, one Seagrave, Buff, answered, “well, half and half, I believe.” In the Report, voters were captured and put to bed at the White Horse; and Sam tells how he “pumped over” a number of voters at the same house. The very waiter, who received Mr. Pickwick so contemptuously, was examined by the Committee—his name was Henry Cowey—and he answered exactly like the waiter with the “fortnight’s napkin and the coeval stockings.” When asked “was not so-and-so’s appearance that of an intoxicated person?” the language seemed too much for him, rather, he took it to himself: “If I had been intoxicated, I could not have done my business.” This is quite in character.
Boz calls the inn at Eatanswill, “The Town Arms.” There was no such sign in all England at the time, as the Road Book shows. Why then would he call the White Horse by that name? The Town Arms of Ipswich have two white Sea Horses as supporters. This had certainly something to do with the matter.
Mr. Pott was surely a real personage: for “Boz,” who presently did not scruple to “takeoff” a living Yorkshire schoolmaster in a fashion that all his neighbours and friends recognised the original, would not draw back in the case of an editor. Indeed, it is plain that in all points Pott is truly an admirable figure, perfect in every point of view, and finished. In fact, Pott and Pell, in their way, are the two best pieces of work in the book. How admirable is the description; “a tall, thin man with a sandy-coloured head, inclined to baldness, and a face in which solemn importance was blended with a look of unfathomable profundity. He was dressed in a long, brown surtout, with a black cloth waistcoat and drab trousers. A double eye-glass dangled at his waistcoat, and on his head he wore a very low-crowned hat with a broad rim.” Every touch is delightful—although all is literal the literalness is all humour. As when Pott, to recreate his guest, Mr. Pickwick, told Jane to “go down into the office and bring me up the file of the Gazette for 1828. I’ll read you just a few of the leaders I wrote at that time upon the Buff job of appointing a new tollman to the turnpike here. I rather think they’ll amuse you.” This was rich enough, and he came back to the same topic towards the end of the book.
It will be remembered Mr. Pott went to Mrs. Leo Hunter’s Fête in the character of a Russian with a knout in his hand. No doubt the Gazette had its “eye on Russia” and like the famous Skibbereen Eagle had solemnly warned the Autocrat to that effect. It is, by the way, amusing to find that this organ, The Eagle to wit, which so increased the gaiety of the nation, has once more been warning the Autocrat, and in a vein that proves that “our filthy contemporary,” The Eatanswill Gazette, was no exaggerated picture. This is how The Eagle, in a late issue, speaks of the Russian occupation of Port Arthur:—“And once again that keen, fierce glance is cast in the direction of the grasping Muscovite; again, one of the foulest,
one of the vilest dynasties that has impiously trampled on the laws of God, and has violated every progressive aspiration the Almighty implanted in the human heart when He fashioned man in His own image, and breathed into his soul the breath of life, threatens, for the moment at least, to put back the hands of the clock that tells the progress of civilisation. The Emperor of all the Russias, this wicked enemy of the human race, has succeeded in raising his hideous flag on Port Arthur, and planting his iron heel and cloven hoof on the heathen Chinese—filthy, degenerate creatures, who, it must be admitted, are fitting companions for the tallow-eating, ‘knouting’ barbarian.”
III.—Nupkins and Magnus.
Who was intended by Nupkins, the intolerable Mayor of Ipswich? An odious being. We may wonder at “Boz’s” courage, for, of course, the existing Mayor of Ipswich might think that the satire was pointed at him. There can be little doubt, however, that Nupkins was drawn from a London Police Magistrate, and is, in fact, another portrait of the functionary whom he sketched specially for “Oliver Twist” under the name of Mr. Fang. Nupkins, however, is more in the comedy vein—ridiculed rather than gibbeted—than was Mr. Fang. We have only to compare the touches in both descriptions:
“I beg your pardon for interrupting you,” said Mr. Pickwick, “but before you proceed to act upon any opinion you may have formed, I must claim my right to be heard.”
“Hold your tongue,” said the magistrate, peremptorily.
“I must submit to you, sir—” said Mr. Pickwick.
“Hold your tongue, or I shall order an officer to remove you.”
“You may order your officers to do whatever you please, sir,” said Mr. Pickwick.