Male Friendship Theme Analysis

Mr Pickwick observed (says the Secretary) that fame was dear to the heart of every man. Poetic fame was dear to the heart of his friend Snodgrass, the fame of conquest was equally dear to his friend Tupman; and the desire of earning fame, in the sports of the field, the air, and the water, was uppermost in the breast of his friend Winkle. He (Mr Pickwick) would not deny, that he was influenced by human passions, and human feelings, (cheers) – possibly by human weaknesses – (loud cries of “No”); but this he would say, that if ever the fire of self-importance broke out in his bosom the desire to benefit the human race in preference, effectually quenched it. The praise of mankind was his Swing; philanthropy was his insurance office. (Vehement cheering.)

‘You have seen much trouble, Sir,’ said Mr Pickwick, compassionately.

‘I have,’ said the dismal man, hurriedly; ‘I have. More than those who see me now would believe possible.’ He paused for an instant, and then said, abruptly,

‘Did it ever strike you, on such a morning as this, that drowning would be happiness and peace?’

‘God bless me, no!’ replied Mr Pickwick, edging a little from the balustrade, as the possibility of the dismal man’s tipping him over, by way of experiment, occurred to him rather forcibly.

‘I have thought so, often,’ said the dismal man, without noticing the action. ‘The calm, cool water seems to me to murmur an invitation to repose and rest. A bound, a splash, a brief struggle; there is an eddy for an instant, it gradually subsides into a gentle ripple; the waters have closed above your head, and the world has closed upon your miseries and misfortunes for ever.’

It was a remarkable coincidence perhaps, but it was nevertheless a fact, that Mr Jingle within five minutes after his arrival at Manor Farm on the preceding night, had inwardly resolved to lay siege to the heart of the spinster aunt, without delay. He had observation enough to see, that his off-hand manner was by no means disagreeable to the fair object of his attack; and he had more than a strong suspicion that she possessed that most desirable of all requisites, a small independence. The imperative necessity of ousting his rival by some means or other, flashed quickly upon him, and he immediately resolved to adopt certain proceedings tending to that end and object, without a moment’s delay. Fielding tells us that man is fire, and woman tow, and the Prince of Darkness sets a light to ’em. Mr Jingle knew that young men, to spinster aunts, are as lighted gas to gunpowder, and he determined to essay the effect of an explosion without loss of time.

‘That depends – ’ said Mrs Bardell, approaching the duster very near to Mr Pickwick’s elbow, which was planted on the table; ‘that depends a good deal upon the person, you know, Mr Pickwick; and whether it’s a saving and careful person, Sir.’

‘That’s very true,’ said Mr Pickwick, ‘but the person I have in my eye (here he looked very hard at Mrs Bardell) I think possesses these qualities; and has, moreover, a considerable knowledge of the world, and a great deal of sharpness, Mrs Bardell; which may be of material use to me.’

‘La, Mr Pickwick,’ said Mrs Bardell; the crimson rising to her cap-border again.

‘I do,’ said Mr Pickwick, growing energetic, as was his wont in speaking of a subject which interested him, ‘I do, indeed; and to tell you the truth, Mrs Bardell, I have made up my mind.’

‘Dear me, Sir,’ exclaimed Mrs Bardell.’

‘We were trespassing, it seems,’ said Wardle.

‘I don’t care,’ said Mr Pickwick, ‘I’ll bring the action.’

‘No, you won’t,’ said Wardle.

‘I will, by – ’ but as there was a humorous expression in Wardle’s face, Mr Pickwick checked himself, and said – ‘Why not?’

‘Because,’ said old Wardle, half-bursting with laughter, ‘because they might turn round on some of us, and say we had taken too much cold punch.’

Do what he would, a smile would come into Mr Pickwick’s face; the smile extended into a laugh, the laugh into a roar, and the roar became general. So, to keep up their good humour, they stopped at the first road-side tavern they came to, and ordered a glass of brandy and water all round, with a magnum of extra strength, for Mr Samuel Weller.’

‘Our invariable custom,’ replied Mr Wardle. ‘Every body sits down with us on Christmas eve, as you see them now – servants and all; and here we wait till the clock strikes twelve, to usher Christmas in, and while away the time with forfeits and old stories. Trundle, my boy, rake up the fire.’

Mr Pickwick felt a great deal too much touched by the warmth of Sam’s attachment, to be able to exhibit any manifestation of anger or displeasure at the precipitate course he had adopted, in voluntarily consigning himself to a debtors’ prison for an indefinite period. The only point on which he persevered in demanding any explanation, was, the name of Sam’s detaining creditor, but this Mr Weller as perseveringly withheld.

At three o’clock that afternoon, Mr Pickwick took a last look at his little room, and made his way as well as he could, through the throng of debtors who pressed eagerly forward to shake him by the hand, until he reached the lodge steps. He turned here to look about him, and his eye lightened as he did so. In all the crowd of wan emaciated faces, he saw not one which was not the happier for his sympathy and charity.

In compliance with this unceremonious invitation, Jingle and Job walked into the room, but, seeing Mr Pickwick, stopped short in some confusion.

‘Well,’ said Perker, ‘don’t you know that gentleman?’

‘Good reason to,’ replied Jingle, stepping forward. ‘Mr Pickwick – deepest obligations – life preserver – made a man of me – you shall never repent it, Sir.’

‘I am happy to hear you say so,’ said Mr Pickwick. ‘You look much better.’

It is the fate of most men who mingle with the world, and attain even the prime of life, to make many real friends, and lose them in the course of nature. It is the fate of all authors or chroniclers to create imaginary friends, and lose them in the course of art. Nor is this the full extent of their misfortunes; for they are required to furnish an account of them besides.

Mr Pickwick is somewhat infirm now; but he retains all his former juvenility of spirit, and may still be frequently seen, contemplating the pictures in the Dulwich Gallery, or enjoying a walk about the pleasant neighbourhood on a fine day. He is known by all the poor people about, who never fail to take their hats off, as he passes, with great respect. The children idolise him, and so indeed does the whole neighbourhood. Every year he repairs to a large family merry-making at Mr Wardle’s; on this, as on all other occasions, he is invariably attended by the faithful Sam, between whom and his master there exists a steady and reciprocal attachment which nothing but death will sever.