Chương Chương 33 · 第33章

As the course of this tale requires that we should become acquainted,

somewhere hereabouts, with a few particulars connected with the

domestic economy of Mr Sampson Brass, and as a more convenient place

than the present is not likely to occur for that purpose, the historian

takes the friendly reader by the hand, and springing with him into the

air, and cleaving the same at a greater rate than ever Don Cleophas

Leandro Perez Zambullo and his familiar travelled through that pleasant

region in company, alights with him upon the pavement of Bevis Marks.

The intrepid aeronauts alight before a small dark house, once the

residence of Mr Sampson Brass.

In the parlour window of this little habitation, which is so close upon

the footway that the passenger who takes the wall brushes the dim glass

with his coat sleeve--much to its improvement, for it is very dirty--in

this parlour window in the days of its occupation by Sampson Brass,

there hung, all awry and slack, and discoloured by the sun, a curtain

of faded green, so threadbare from long service as by no means to

intercept the view of the little dark room, but rather to afford a

favourable medium through which to observe it accurately. There was

not much to look at. A rickety table, with spare bundles of papers,

yellow and ragged from long carriage in the pocket, ostentatiously

displayed upon its top; a couple of stools set face to face on opposite

sides of this crazy piece of furniture; a treacherous old chair by the

fire-place, whose withered arms had hugged full many a client and

helped to squeeze him dry; a second-hand wig box, used as a depository

for blank writs and declarations and other small forms of law, once the

sole contents of the head which belonged to the wig which belonged to

the box, as they were now of the box itself; two or three common books

of practice; a jar of ink, a pounce box, a stunted hearth-broom, a

carpet trodden to shreds but still clinging with the tightness of

desperation to its tacks--these, with the yellow wainscot of the walls,

the smoke-discoloured ceiling, the dust and cobwebs, were among the

most prominent decorations of the office of Mr Sampson Brass.

But this was mere still-life, of no greater importance than the plate,

‘BRASS, Solicitor,’ upon the door, and the bill, ‘First floor to let to

a single gentleman,’ which was tied to the knocker. The office

commonly held two examples of animated nature, more to the purpose of

this history, and in whom it has a stronger interest and more

particular concern.

Of these, one was Mr Brass himself, who has already appeared in these

pages. The other was his clerk, assistant, housekeeper, secretary,

confidential plotter, adviser, intriguer, and bill of cost increaser,

Miss Brass--a kind of amazon at common law, of whom it may be desirable

to offer a brief description.

Miss Sally Brass, then, was a lady of thirty-five or thereabouts, of a

gaunt and bony figure, and a resolute bearing, which if it repressed

the softer emotions of love, and kept admirers at a distance, certainly

inspired a feeling akin to awe in the breasts of those male strangers

who had the happiness to approach her. In face she bore a striking

resemblance to her brother, Sampson--so exact, indeed, was the likeness

between them, that had it consorted with Miss Brass’s maiden modesty

and gentle womanhood to have assumed her brother’s clothes in a frolic

and sat down beside him, it would have been difficult for the oldest

friend of the family to determine which was Sampson and which Sally,

especially as the lady carried upon her upper lip certain reddish

demonstrations, which, if the imagination had been assisted by her

attire, might have been mistaken for a beard. These were, however, in

all probability, nothing more than eyelashes in a wrong place, as the

eyes of Miss Brass were quite free from any such natural

impertinencies. In complexion Miss Brass was sallow--rather a dirty

sallow, so to speak--but this hue was agreeably relieved by the healthy

glow which mantled in the extreme tip of her laughing nose. Her voice

was exceedingly impressive--deep and rich in quality, and, once heard,

not easily forgotten. Her usual dress was a green gown, in colour not

unlike the curtain of the office window, made tight to the figure, and

terminating at the throat, where it was fastened behind by a peculiarly

large and massive button. Feeling, no doubt, that simplicity and

plainness are the soul of elegance, Miss Brass wore no collar or

kerchief except upon her head, which was invariably ornamented with a

brown gauze scarf, like the wing of the fabled vampire, and which,

twisted into any form that happened to suggest itself, formed an easy

and graceful head-dress.

Such was Miss Brass in person. In mind, she was of a strong and

vigorous turn, having from her earliest youth devoted herself with

uncommon ardour to the study of law; not wasting her speculations upon

its eagle flights, which are rare, but tracing it attentively through

all the slippery and eel-like crawlings in which it commonly pursues

its way. Nor had she, like many persons of great intellect, confined

herself to theory, or stopped short where practical usefulness begins;

inasmuch as she could ingross, fair-copy, fill up printed forms with

perfect accuracy, and, in short, transact any ordinary duty of the

office down to pouncing a skin of parchment or mending a pen. It is

difficult to understand how, possessed of these combined attractions,

she should remain Miss Brass; but whether she had steeled her heart

against mankind, or whether those who might have wooed and won her,

were deterred by fears that, being learned in the law, she might have

too near her fingers’ ends those particular statutes which regulate

what are familiarly termed actions for breach, certain it is that she

was still in a state of celibacy, and still in daily occupation of her

old stool opposite to that of her brother Sampson. And equally certain

it is, by the way, that between these two stools a great many people

had come to the ground.

One morning Mr Sampson Brass sat upon his stool copying some legal

process, and viciously digging his pen deep into the paper, as if he

were writing upon the very heart of the party against whom it was

directed; and Miss Sally Brass sat upon her stool making a new pen

preparatory to drawing out a little bill, which was her favourite

occupation; and so they sat in silence for a long time, until Miss

Brass broke silence.

‘Have you nearly done, Sammy?’ said Miss Brass; for in her mild and

feminine lips, Sampson became Sammy, and all things were softened down.

‘No,’ returned her brother. ‘It would have been all done though, if

you had helped at the right time.’

‘Oh yes, indeed,’ cried Miss Sally; ‘you want my help, don’t you?--YOU,

too, that are going to keep a clerk!’

‘Am I going to keep a clerk for my own pleasure, or because of my own

wish, you provoking rascal!’ said Mr Brass, putting his pen in his

mouth, and grinning spitefully at his sister. ‘What do you taunt me

about going to keep a clerk for?’

It may be observed in this place, lest the fact of Mr Brass calling a

lady a rascal, should occasion any wonderment or surprise, that he was

so habituated to having her near him in a man’s capacity, that he had

gradually accustomed himself to talk to her as though she were really a

man. And this feeling was so perfectly reciprocal, that not only did

Mr Brass often call Miss Brass a rascal, or even put an adjective

before the rascal, but Miss Brass looked upon it as quite a matter of

course, and was as little moved as any other lady would be by being

called an angel.

‘What do you taunt me, after three hours’ talk last night, with going

to keep a clerk for?’ repeated Mr Brass, grinning again with the pen in

his mouth, like some nobleman’s or gentleman’s crest. ‘Is it my fault?’

‘All I know is,’ said Miss Sally, smiling drily, for she delighted in

nothing so much as irritating her brother, ‘that if every one of your

clients is to force us to keep a clerk, whether we want to or not, you

had better leave off business, strike yourself off the roll, and get

taken in execution, as soon as you can.’

‘Have we got any other client like him?’ said Brass. ‘Have we got

another client like him now--will you answer me that?’

‘Do you mean in the face!’ said his sister.

‘Do I mean in the face!’ sneered Sampson Brass, reaching over to take

up the bill-book, and fluttering its leaves rapidly. ‘Look

here--Daniel Quilp, Esquire--Daniel Quilp, Esquire--Daniel Quilp,

Esquire--all through. Whether should I take a clerk that he

recommends, and says, “this is the man for you,” or lose all this, eh?’

Miss Sally deigned to make no reply, but smiled again, and went on with

her work.

‘But I know what it is,’ resumed Brass after a short silence. ‘You’re

afraid you won’t have as long a finger in the business as you’ve been

used to have. Do you think I don’t see through that?’

‘The business wouldn’t go on very long, I expect, without me,’ returned

his sister composedly. ‘Don’t you be a fool and provoke me, Sammy, but

mind what you’re doing, and do it.’

Sampson Brass, who was at heart in great fear of his sister, sulkily

bent over his writing again, and listened as she said:

‘If I determined that the clerk ought not to come, of course he

wouldn’t be allowed to come. You know that well enough, so don’t talk

nonsense.’

Mr Brass received this observation with increased meekness, merely

remarking, under his breath, that he didn’t like that kind of joking,

and that Miss Sally would be ‘a much better fellow’ if she forbore to

aggravate him. To this compliment Miss Sally replied, that she had a

relish for the amusement, and had no intention to forego its

gratification. Mr Brass not caring, as it seemed, to pursue the

subject any further, they both plied their pens at a great pace, and

there the discussion ended.

While they were thus employed, the window was suddenly darkened, as by

some person standing close against it. As Mr Brass and Miss Sally

looked up to ascertain the cause, the top sash was nimbly lowered from

without, and Quilp thrust in his head.

‘Hallo!’ he said, standing on tip-toe on the window-sill, and looking

down into the room. ‘Is there anybody at home? Is there any of the

Devil’s ware here? Is Brass at a premium, eh?’

‘Ha, ha, ha!’ laughed the lawyer in an affected ecstasy. ‘Oh, very

good, Sir! Oh, very good indeed! Quite eccentric! Dear me, what

humour he has!’

‘Is that my Sally?’ croaked the dwarf, ogling the fair Miss Brass. ‘Is

it Justice with the bandage off her eyes, and without the sword and

scales? Is it the Strong Arm of the Law? Is it the Virgin of Bevis?’

‘What an amazing flow of spirits!’ cried Brass. ‘Upon my word, it’s

quite extraordinary!’

‘Open the door,’ said Quilp, ‘I’ve got him here. Such a clerk for you,

Brass, such a prize, such an ace of trumps. Be quick and open the

door, or if there’s another lawyer near and he should happen to look

out of window, he’ll snap him up before your eyes, he will.’

It is probable that the loss of the phoenix of clerks, even to a rival

practitioner, would not have broken Mr Brass’s heart; but, pretending

great alacrity, he rose from his seat, and going to the door, returned,

introducing his client, who led by the hand no less a person than Mr

Richard Swiveller.

‘There she is,’ said Quilp, stopping short at the door, and wrinkling

up his eyebrows as he looked towards Miss Sally; ‘there is the woman I

ought to have married--there is the beautiful Sarah--there is the

female who has all the charms of her sex and none of their weaknesses.

Oh Sally, Sally!’

To this amorous address Miss Brass briefly responded ‘Bother!’

‘Hard-hearted as the metal from which she takes her name,’ said Quilp.

‘Why don’t she change it--melt down the brass, and take another name?’

‘Hold your nonsense, Mr Quilp, do,’ returned Miss Sally, with a grim

smile. ‘I wonder you’re not ashamed of yourself before a strange young

man.’

‘The strange young man,’ said Quilp, handing Dick Swiveller forward,

‘is too susceptible himself not to understand me well. This is Mr

Swiveller, my intimate friend--a gentleman of good family and great

expectations, but who, having rather involved himself by youthful

indiscretion, is content for a time to fill the humble station of a

clerk--humble, but here most enviable. What a delicious atmosphere!’

If Mr Quilp spoke figuratively, and meant to imply that the air

breathed by Miss Sally Brass was sweetened and rarefied by that dainty

creature, he had doubtless good reason for what he said. But if he

spoke of the delights of the atmosphere of Mr Brass’s office in a

literal sense, he had certainly a peculiar taste, as it was of a close

and earthy kind, and, besides being frequently impregnated with strong

whiffs of the second-hand wearing apparel exposed for sale in Duke’s

Place and Houndsditch, had a decided flavour of rats and mice, and a

taint of mouldiness. Perhaps some doubts of its pure delight presented

themselves to Mr Swiveller, as he gave vent to one or two short abrupt

sniffs, and looked incredulously at the grinning dwarf.

‘Mr Swiveller,’ said Quilp, ‘being pretty well accustomed to the

agricultural pursuits of sowing wild oats, Miss Sally, prudently

considers that half a loaf is better than no bread. To be out of

harm’s way he prudently thinks is something too, and therefore he

accepts your brother’s offer. Brass, Mr Swiveller is yours.’

‘I am very glad, Sir,’ said Mr Brass, ‘very glad indeed. Mr Swiveller,

Sir, is fortunate enough to have your friendship. You may be very

proud, Sir, to have the friendship of Mr Quilp.’

Dick murmured something about never wanting a friend or a bottle to

give him, and also gasped forth his favourite allusion to the wing of

friendship and its never moulting a feather; but his faculties appeared

to be absorbed in the contemplation of Miss Sally Brass, at whom he

stared with blank and rueful looks, which delighted the watchful dwarf

beyond measure. As to the divine Miss Sally herself, she rubbed her

hands as men of business do, and took a few turns up and down the

office with her pen behind her ear.

‘I suppose,’ said the dwarf, turning briskly to his legal friend, ‘that

Mr Swiveller enters upon his duties at once? It’s Monday morning.’

‘At once, if you please, Sir, by all means,’ returned Brass.

‘Miss Sally will teach him law, the delightful study of the law,’ said

Quilp; ‘she’ll be his guide, his friend, his companion, his Blackstone,

his Coke upon Littleton, his Young Lawyer’s Best Companion.’

‘He is exceedingly eloquent,’ said Brass, like a man abstracted, and

looking at the roofs of the opposite houses, with his hands in his

pockets; ‘he has an extraordinary flow of language. Beautiful, really.’

‘With Miss Sally,’ Quilp went on, ‘and the beautiful fictions of the

law, his days will pass like minutes. Those charming creations of the

poet, John Doe and Richard Roe, when they first dawn upon him, will

open a new world for the enlargement of his mind and the improvement of

his heart.’

‘Oh, beautiful, beautiful! Beau-ti-ful indeed!’ cried Brass. ‘It’s a

treat to hear him!’

‘Where will Mr Swiveller sit?’ said Quilp, looking round.

‘Why, we’ll buy another stool, sir,’ returned Brass. ‘We hadn’t any

thoughts of having a gentleman with us, sir, until you were kind enough

to suggest it, and our accommodation’s not extensive. We’ll look about

for a second-hand stool, sir. In the meantime, if Mr Swiveller will

take my seat, and try his hand at a fair copy of this ejectment, as I

shall be out pretty well all the morning--’

‘Walk with me,’ said Quilp. ‘I have a word or two to say to you on

points of business. Can you spare the time?’

‘Can I spare the time to walk with you, sir? You’re joking, sir,

you’re joking with me,’ replied the lawyer, putting on his hat. ‘I’m

ready, sir, quite ready. My time must be fully occupied indeed, sir,

not to leave me time to walk with you. It’s not everybody, sir, who

has an opportunity of improving himself by the conversation of Mr

Quilp.’

The dwarf glanced sarcastically at his brazen friend, and, with a short

dry cough, turned upon his heel to bid adieu to Miss Sally. After a

very gallant parting on his side, and a very cool and gentlemanly sort

of one on hers, he nodded to Dick Swiveller, and withdrew with the

attorney.

Dick stood at the desk in a state of utter stupefaction, staring with

all his might at the beauteous Sally, as if she had been some curious

animal whose like had never lived. When the dwarf got into the street,

he mounted again upon the window-sill, and looked into the office for a

moment with a grinning face, as a man might peep into a cage. Dick

glanced upward at him, but without any token of recognition; and long

after he had disappeared, still stood gazing upon Miss Sally Brass,

seeing or thinking of nothing else, and rooted to the spot.

Miss Brass being by this time deep in the bill of costs, took no notice

whatever of Dick, but went scratching on, with a noisy pen, scoring

down the figures with evident delight, and working like a steam-engine.

There stood Dick, gazing now at the green gown, now at the brown

head-dress, now at the face, and now at the rapid pen, in a state of

stupid perplexity, wondering how he got into the company of that

strange monster, and whether it was a dream and he would ever wake. At

last he heaved a deep sigh, and began slowly pulling off his coat.

Mr Swiveller pulled off his coat, and folded it up with great

elaboration, staring at Miss Sally all the time; then put on a blue

jacket with a double row of gilt buttons, which he had originally

ordered for aquatic expeditions, but had brought with him that morning

for office purposes; and, still keeping his eye upon her, suffered

himself to drop down silently upon Mr Brass’s stool. Then he underwent

a relapse, and becoming powerless again, rested his chin upon his hand,

and opened his eyes so wide, that it appeared quite out of the question

that he could ever close them any more.

When he had looked so long that he could see nothing, Dick took his

eyes off the fair object of his amazement, turned over the leaves of

the draft he was to copy, dipped his pen into the inkstand, and at

last, and by slow approaches, began to write. But he had not written

half-a-dozen words when, reaching over to the inkstand to take a fresh

dip, he happened to raise his eyes. There was the intolerable brown

head-dress--there was the green gown--there, in short, was Miss Sally

Brass, arrayed in all her charms, and more tremendous than ever.

This happened so often, that Mr Swiveller by degrees began to feel

strange influences creeping over him--horrible desires to annihilate

this Sally Brass--mysterious promptings to knock her head-dress off and

try how she looked without it. There was a very large ruler on the

table; a large, black, shining ruler. Mr Swiveller took it up and

began to rub his nose with it.

From rubbing his nose with the ruler, to poising it in his hand and

giving it an occasional flourish after the tomahawk manner, the

transition was easy and natural. In some of these flourishes it went

close to Miss Sally’s head; the ragged edges of the head-dress

fluttered with the wind it raised; advance it but an inch, and that

great brown knot was on the ground: yet still the unconscious maiden

worked away, and never raised her eyes.

Well, this was a great relief. It was a good thing to write doggedly

and obstinately until he was desperate, and then snatch up the ruler

and whirl it about the brown head-dress with the consciousness that he

could have it off if he liked. It was a good thing to draw it back,

and rub his nose very hard with it, if he thought Miss Sally was going

to look up, and to recompense himself with more hardy flourishes when

he found she was still absorbed. By these means Mr Swiveller calmed

the agitation of his feelings, until his applications to the ruler

became less fierce and frequent, and he could even write as many as

half-a-dozen consecutive lines without having recourse to it--which was

a great victory.