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- Чарльз Диккенс
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The
hour
and
the
place
were
both
favourable
to
contemplation
;
Mr
.
Pickwick
was
roused
by
the
church
clock
striking
twelve
.
The
first
stroke
of
the
hour
sounded
solemnly
in
his
ear
,
but
when
the
bell
ceased
the
stillness
seemed
insupportable
—
he
almost
felt
as
if
he
had
lost
a
companion
.
He
was
nervous
and
excited
;
and
hastily
undressing
himself
and
placing
his
light
in
the
chimney
,
got
into
bed
.
Every
one
has
experienced
that
disagreeable
state
of
mind
,
in
which
a
sensation
of
bodily
weariness
in
vain
contends
against
an
inability
to
sleep
.
It
was
Mr
.
Pickwick
’
s
condition
at
this
moment
:
he
tossed
first
on
one
side
and
then
on
the
other
;
and
perseveringly
closed
his
eyes
as
if
to
coax
himself
to
slumber
.
It
was
of
no
use
.
Whether
it
was
the
unwonted
exertion
he
had
undergone
,
or
the
heat
,
or
the
brandy
-
and
-
water
,
or
the
strange
bed
—
whatever
it
was
,
his
thoughts
kept
reverting
very
uncomfortably
to
the
grim
pictures
downstairs
,
and
the
old
stories
to
which
they
had
given
rise
in
the
course
of
the
evening
.
After
half
an
hour
’
s
tumbling
about
,
he
came
to
the
unsatisfactory
conclusion
,
that
it
was
of
no
use
trying
to
sleep
;
so
he
got
up
and
partially
dressed
himself
.
Anything
,
he
thought
,
was
better
than
lying
there
fancying
all
kinds
of
horrors
.
He
looked
out
of
the
window
—
it
was
very
dark
.
He
walked
about
the
room
—
it
was
very
lonely
.
He
had
taken
a
few
turns
from
the
door
to
the
window
,
and
from
the
window
to
the
door
,
when
the
clergyman
’
s
manuscript
for
the
first
time
entered
his
head
.
It
was
a
good
thought
.
if
it
failed
to
interest
him
,
it
might
send
him
to
sleep
.
He
took
it
from
his
coat
pocket
,
and
drawing
a
small
table
towards
his
bedside
,
trimmed
the
light
,
put
on
his
spectacles
,
and
composed
himself
to
read
.
It
was
a
strange
handwriting
,
and
the
paper
was
much
soiled
and
blotted
.
The
title
gave
him
a
sudden
start
,
too
;
and
he
could
not
avoid
casting
a
wistful
glance
round
the
room
.
Reflecting
on
the
absurdity
of
giving
way
to
such
feelings
,
however
,
he
trimmed
the
light
again
,
and
read
as
follows
:
—
A
MADMAN
’
S
MANUSCRIPT
‘
Yes
!
—
a
madman
’
s
!
How
that
word
would
have
struck
to
my
heart
,
many
years
ago
!
How
it
would
have
roused
the
terror
that
used
to
come
upon
me
sometimes
,
sending
the
blood
hissing
and
tingling
through
my
veins
,
till
the
cold
dew
of
fear
stood
in
large
drops
upon
my
skin
,
and
my
knees
knocked
together
with
fright
!
I
like
it
now
though
.
It
’
s
a
fine
name
.
Show
me
the
monarch
whose
angry
frown
was
ever
feared
like
the
glare
of
a
madman
’
s
eye
—
whose
cord
and
axe
were
ever
half
so
sure
as
a
madman
’
s
gripe
.
Ho
!
ho
!
It
’
s
a
grand
thing
to
be
mad
!
to
be
peeped
at
like
a
wild
lion
through
the
iron
bars
—
to
gnash
one
’
s
teeth
and
howl
,
through
the
long
still
night
,
to
the
merry
ring
of
a
heavy
chain
and
to
roll
and
twine
among
the
straw
,
transported
with
such
brave
music
.
Hurrah
for
the
madhouse
!
Oh
,
it
’
s
a
rare
place
!
‘
I
remember
days
when
I
was
afraid
of
being
mad
;
when
I
used
to
start
from
my
sleep
,
and
fall
upon
my
knees
,
and
pray
to
be
spared
from
the
curse
of
my
race
;
when
I
rushed
from
the
sight
of
merriment
or
happiness
,
to
hide
myself
in
some
lonely
place
,
and
spend
the
weary
hours
in
watching
the
progress
of
the
fever
that
was
to
consume
my
brain
.
I
knew
that
madness
was
mixed
up
with
my
very
blood
,
and
the
marrow
of
my
bones
!
that
one
generation
had
passed
away
without
the
pestilence
appearing
among
them
,
and
that
I
was
the
first
in
whom
it
would
revive
.
I
knew
it
must
be
so
:
that
so
it
always
had
been
,
and
so
it
ever
would
be
:
and
when
I
cowered
in
some
obscure
corner
of
a
crowded
room
,
and
saw
men
whisper
,
and
point
,
and
turn
their
eyes
towards
me
,
I
knew
they
were
telling
each
other
of
the
doomed
madman
;
and
I
slunk
away
again
to
mope
in
solitude
.
‘
I
did
this
for
years
;
long
,
long
years
they
were
.
The
nights
here
are
long
sometimes
—
very
long
;
but
they
are
nothing
to
the
restless
nights
,
and
dreadful
dreams
I
had
at
that
time
.
It
makes
me
cold
to
remember
them
.
Large
dusky
forms
with
sly
and
jeering
faces
crouched
in
the
corners
of
the
room
,
and
bent
over
my
bed
at
night
,
tempting
me
to
madness
.
They
told
me
in
low
whispers
,
that
the
floor
of
the
old
house
in
which
my
father
died
,
was
stained
with
his
own
blood
,
shed
by
his
own
hand
in
raging
madness
.
I
drove
my
fingers
into
my
ears
,
but
they
screamed
into
my
head
till
the
room
rang
with
it
,
that
in
one
generation
before
him
the
madness
slumbered
,
but
that
his
grandfather
had
lived
for
years
with
his
hands
fettered
to
the
ground
,
to
prevent
his
tearing
himself
to
pieces
.
I
knew
they
told
the
truth
—
I
knew
it
well
.
I
had
found
it
out
years
before
,
though
they
had
tried
to
keep
it
from
me
.
Ha
!
ha
!
I
was
too
cunning
for
them
,
madman
as
they
thought
me
.
‘
At
last
it
came
upon
me
,
and
I
wondered
how
I
could
ever
have
feared
it
.
I
could
go
into
the
world
now
,
and
laugh
and
shout
with
the
best
among
them
.
I
knew
I
was
mad
,
but
they
did
not
even
suspect
it
.
