The Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club. Volume 2 of 2. Чарльз Диккенс
look at me, sir,” said the judge, sharply, in acknowledgment of the salute; “look at the jury.”
Mr. Winkle obeyed the mandate, and looked at the place where he thought it most probable the jury might be; for seeing anything in his then state of intellectual complication was wholly out of the question.
Mr. Winkle was then examined by Mr. Skimpin, who, being a promising young man of two or three and forty, was of course anxious to confuse a witness who was notoriously predisposed in favour of the other side, as much as he could.
“Now, sir,” said Mr. Skimpin, “have the goodness to let his Lordship and the jury know what your name is, will you?” and Mr. Skimpin inclined his head on one side to listen with great sharpness to the answer, and glanced at the jury meanwhile, as if to imply that he rather expected Mr. Winkle’s natural taste for perjury would induce him to give some name which did not belong to him.
“Winkle,” replied the witness.
“What’s your Christian name, sir?” angrily inquired the little judge.
“Nathaniel, sir.”
“Daniel, – any other name?”
“Nathaniel, sir – my Lord, I mean.”
“Nathaniel Daniel, or Daniel Nathaniel?”
“No, my Lord, only Nathaniel; not Daniel at all.”
“What did you tell me it was Daniel for, then, sir?” inquired the judge.
“I didn’t, my Lord,” replied Mr. Winkle.
“You did, sir,” replied the judge, with a severe frown. “How could I have got Daniel on my notes, unless you told me so, sir?”
This argument was, of course, unanswerable.
“Mr. Winkle has rather a short memory, my Lord,” interposed Mr. Skimpin, with another glance at the jury. “We shall find means to refresh it before we have quite done with him, I dare say.”
“You had better be careful, sir,” said the little judge, with a sinister look at the witness.
Poor Mr. Winkle bowed, and endeavoured to feign an easiness of manner which, in his then state of confusion, gave him rather the air of a disconcerted pickpocket.
“Now, Mr. Winkle,” said Mr. Skimpin, “attend to me, if you please, sir; and let me recommend you, for your own sake, to bear in mind his Lordship’s injunction to be careful. I believe you are a particular friend of Pickwick, the defendant, are you not?”
“I have known Mr. Pickwick now, as well as I recollect at this moment, nearly – ”
“Pray, Mr. Winkle, do not evade the question. Are you, or are you not, a particular friend of the defendant’s?”
“I was just about to say that – ”
“Will you, or will you not, answer my question, sir?”
“If you don’t answer the question you’ll be committed, sir,” interposed the little judge, looking over his note-book.
“Come, sir,” said Mr. Skimpin, “yes or no, if you please.”
“Yes, I am,” replied Mr. Winkle.
“Yes, you are. And why couldn’t you say that at once, sir? Perhaps you know the plaintiff, too? Eh, Mr. Winkle?”
“I don’t know her; I’ve seen her.”
“Oh, you don’t know her, but you’ve seen her? Now, have the goodness to tell the gentlemen of the jury what you mean by that, Mr. Winkle.”
“I mean that I am not intimate with her, but I have seen her when I went to call on Mr. Pickwick in Goswell Street.”
“How often have you seen her, sir?”
“How often?”
“Yes, Mr. Winkle, how often? I’ll repeat the question for you a dozen times if you require it, sir.” And the learned gentleman, with a firm and steady frown, placed his hands on his hips, and smiled suspiciously at the jury.
On this question there arose the edifying brow-beating, customary on such points. First of all, Mr. Winkle said it was quite impossible for him to say how many times he had seen Mrs. Bardell. Then he was asked if he had seen her twenty times, to which he replied, “Certainly, – more than that.” Then he was asked whether he hadn’t seen her a hundred times – whether he couldn’t swear that he had seen her more than fifty times – whether he didn’t know that he had seen her at least seventy-five times – and so forth; the satisfactory conclusion which was arrived at, at last, being, that he had better take care of himself, and mind what he was about. The witness having been by these means reduced to the requisite ebb of nervous perplexity, the examination was continued as follows:
“Pray Mr. Winkle, do you remember calling on the defendant Pickwick at these apartments in the plaintiff’s house in Goswell Street, on one particular morning, in the month of July last?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Were you accompanied on that occasion by a friend of the name of Tupman, and another of the name of Snodgrass?”
“Yes, I was.”
“Are they here?”
“Yes, they are,” replied Mr. Winkle, looking very earnestly towards the spot where his friends were stationed.
“Pray attend to me, Mr. Winkle, and never mind your friends,” said Mr. Skimpin, with another expressive look at the jury. “They must tell their stories without any previous consultation with you, if none has yet taken place (another look at the jury). Now, sir, tell the gentlemen of the jury what you saw on entering the defendant’s room, on this particular morning. Come; out with it, sir: we must have it, sooner or later.”
“The defendant, Mr. Pickwick, was holding the plaintiff in his arms, with his hands clasping her waist,” replied Mr. Winkle, with natural hesitation, “and the plaintiff appeared to have fainted away.”
“Did you hear the defendant say anything?”
“I heard him call Mrs. Bardell a good creature, and I heard him ask her to compose herself, for what a situation it was, if anybody should come, or words to that effect.”
“Now, Mr. Winkle, I have only one more question to ask you, and I beg you to bear in mind his lordship’s caution. Will you undertake to swear that Pickwick, the defendant, did not say on the occasion in question, ‘My dear Mrs. Bardell, you’re a good creature; compose yourself to this situation, for to this situation you must come,’ or words to that effect?”
“I didn’t understand him so, certainly,” said Mr. Winkle, astounded at this ingenious dove-tailing of the few words he had heard. “I was on the staircase, and couldn’t hear distinctly; the impression on my mind is – ”
“The gentlemen of the jury want none of the impressions on your mind, Mr. Winkle, which I fear would be of little service to honest, straightforward men,” interposed Mr. Skimpin. “You were on the staircase, and didn’t distinctly hear; but you will not swear that Mr. Pickwick did not make use of the expressions I have quoted? Do I understand that?”
“No, I will not,” replied Mr. Winkle; and down sat Mr. Skimpin with a triumphant countenance.
Mr. Pickwick’s case had not gone off in so particularly happy a manner, up to this point, that it could very well afford to have any additional suspicion cast upon it. But as it could afford to be placed in a rather better light, if possible, Mr. Phunky rose for the purpose of getting something important out of Mr. Winkle in cross-examination. Whether he did get anything important out of him will immediately appear.
“I believe, Mr. Winkle,” said Mr. Phunky, “that Mr. Pickwick is not a young man?”
“Oh no,” replied Mr. Winkle; “old enough to be my father.”
“You have told my learned friend that you have known Mr. Pickwick a long time. Had you ever any reason to suppose or believe that he was about