第 七十三 章 · 第73章

The magic reel, which, rolling on before, has led the chronicler thus

far, now slackens in its pace, and stops. It lies before the goal; the

pursuit is at an end.

It remains but to dismiss the leaders of the little crowd who have

borne us company upon the road, and so to close the journey.

Foremost among them, smooth Sampson Brass and Sally, arm in arm, claim

our polite attention.

Mr Sampson, then, being detained, as already has been shown, by the

justice upon whom he called, and being so strongly pressed to protract

his stay that he could by no means refuse, remained under his

protection for a considerable time, during which the great attention of

his entertainer kept him so extremely close, that he was quite lost to

society, and never even went abroad for exercise saving into a small

paved yard. So well, indeed, was his modest and retiring temper

understood by those with whom he had to deal, and so jealous were they

of his absence, that they required a kind of friendly bond to be

entered into by two substantial housekeepers, in the sum of fifteen

hundred pounds a-piece, before they would suffer him to quit their

hospitable roof--doubting, it appeared, that he would return, if once

let loose, on any other terms. Mr Brass, struck with the humour of

this jest, and carrying out its spirit to the utmost, sought from his

wide connection a pair of friends whose joint possessions fell some

halfpence short of fifteen pence, and proffered them as bail--for that

was the merry word agreed upon both sides. These gentlemen being

rejected after twenty-four hours’ pleasantry, Mr Brass consented to

remain, and did remain, until a club of choice spirits called a Grand

jury (who were in the joke) summoned him to a trial before twelve other

wags for perjury and fraud, who in their turn found him guilty with a

most facetious joy,--nay, the very populace entered into the whim, and

when Mr Brass was moving in a hackney-coach towards the building where

these wags assembled, saluted him with rotten eggs and carcases of

kittens, and feigned to wish to tear him into shreds, which greatly

increased the comicality of the thing, and made him relish it the more,

no doubt.

To work this sportive vein still further, Mr Brass, by his counsel,

moved in arrest of judgment that he had been led to criminate himself,

by assurances of safety and promises of pardon, and claimed the

leniency which the law extends to such confiding natures as are thus

deluded. After solemn argument, this point (with others of a technical

nature, whose humorous extravagance it would be difficult to

exaggerate) was referred to the judges for their decision, Sampson

being meantime removed to his former quarters. Finally, some of the

points were given in Sampson’s favour, and some against him; and the

upshot was, that, instead of being desired to travel for a time in

foreign parts, he was permitted to grace the mother country under

certain insignificant restrictions.

These were, that he should, for a term of years, reside in a spacious

mansion where several other gentlemen were lodged and boarded at the

public charge, who went clad in a sober uniform of grey turned up with

yellow, had their hair cut extremely short, and chiefly lived on gruel

and light soup. It was also required of him that he should partake of

their exercise of constantly ascending an endless flight of stairs;

and, lest his legs, unused to such exertion, should be weakened by it,

that he should wear upon one ankle an amulet or charm of iron. These

conditions being arranged, he was removed one evening to his new abode,

and enjoyed, in common with nine other gentlemen, and two ladies, the

privilege of being taken to his place of retirement in one of Royalty’s

own carriages.

Over and above these trifling penalties, his name was erased and

blotted out from the roll of attorneys; which erasure has been always

held in these latter times to be a great degradation and reproach, and

to imply the commission of some amazing villany--as indeed it would

seem to be the case, when so many worthless names remain among its

better records, unmolested.

Of Sally Brass, conflicting rumours went abroad. Some said with

confidence that she had gone down to the docks in male attire, and had

become a female sailor; others darkly whispered that she had enlisted

as a private in the second regiment of Foot Guards, and had been seen

in uniform, and on duty, to wit, leaning on her musket and looking out

of a sentry-box in St James’s Park, one evening. There were many such

whispers as these in circulation; but the truth appears to be that,

after the lapse of some five years (during which there is no direct

evidence of her having been seen at all), two wretched people were more

than once observed to crawl at dusk from the inmost recesses of St

Giles’s, and to take their way along the streets, with shuffling steps

and cowering shivering forms, looking into the roads and kennels as

they went in search of refuse food or disregarded offal. These forms

were never beheld but in those nights of cold and gloom, when the

terrible spectres, who lie at all other times in the obscene

hiding-places of London, in archways, dark vaults and cellars, venture

to creep into the streets; the embodied spirits of Disease, and Vice,

and Famine. It was whispered by those who should have known, that

these were Sampson and his sister Sally; and to this day, it is said,

they sometimes pass, on bad nights, in the same loathsome guise, close

at the elbow of the shrinking passenger.

The body of Quilp being found--though not until some days had

elapsed--an inquest was held on it near the spot where it had been

washed ashore. The general supposition was that he had committed

suicide, and, this appearing to be favoured by all the circumstances of

his death, the verdict was to that effect. He was left to be buried

with a stake through his heart in the centre of four lonely roads.

It was rumoured afterwards that this horrible and barbarous ceremony

had been dispensed with, and that the remains had been secretly given

up to Tom Scott. But even here, opinion was divided; for some said Tom

dug them up at midnight, and carried them to a place indicated to him

by the widow. It is probable that both these stories may have had

their origin in the simple fact of Tom’s shedding tears upon the

inquest--which he certainly did, extraordinary as it may appear. He

manifested, besides, a strong desire to assault the jury; and being

restrained and conducted out of court, darkened its only window by

standing on his head upon the sill, until he was dexterously tilted

upon his feet again by a cautious beadle.

Being cast upon the world by his master’s death, he determined to go

through it upon his head and hands, and accordingly began to tumble for

his bread. Finding, however, his English birth an insurmountable

obstacle to his advancement in this pursuit (notwithstanding that his

art was in high repute and favour), he assumed the name of an Italian

image lad, with whom he had become acquainted; and afterwards tumbled

with extraordinary success, and to overflowing audiences.

Little Mrs Quilp never quite forgave herself the one deceit that lay so

heavy on her conscience, and never spoke or thought of it but with

bitter tears. Her husband had no relations, and she was rich. He had

made no will, or she would probably have been poor. Having married the

first time at her mother’s instigation, she consulted in her second

choice nobody but herself. It fell upon a smart young fellow enough;

and as he made it a preliminary condition that Mrs Jiniwin should be

thenceforth an out-pensioner, they lived together after marriage with no

more than the average amount of quarrelling, and led a merry life upon

the dead dwarf’s money.

Mr and Mrs Garland, and Mr Abel, went out as usual (except that there

was a change in their household, as will be seen presently), and in due

time the latter went into partnership with his friend the notary, on

which occasion there was a dinner, and a ball, and great extent of

dissipation. Unto this ball there happened to be invited the most

bashful young lady that was ever seen, with whom Mr Abel happened to

fall in love. HOW it happened, or how they found it out, or which of

them first communicated the discovery to the other, nobody knows. But

certain it is that in course of time they were married; and equally

certain it is that they were the happiest of the happy; and no less

certain it is that they deserved to be so. And it is pleasant to write

down that they reared a family; because any propagation of goodness and

benevolence is no small addition to the aristocracy of nature, and no

small subject of rejoicing for mankind at large.

The pony preserved his character for independence and principle down to

the last moment of his life; which was an unusually long one, and

caused him to be looked upon, indeed, as the very Old Parr of ponies.

He often went to and fro with the little phaeton between Mr Garland’s

and his son’s, and, as the old people and the young were frequently

together, had a stable of his own at the new establishment, into which

he would walk of himself with surprising dignity. He condescended to

play with the children, as they grew old enough to cultivate his

friendship, and would run up and down the little paddock with them like

a dog; but though he relaxed so far, and allowed them such small

freedoms as caresses, or even to look at his shoes or hang on by his

tail, he never permitted any one among them to mount his back or drive

him; thus showing that even their familiarity must have its limits, and

that there were points between them far too serious for trifling.

He was not unsusceptible of warm attachments in his later life, for

when the good bachelor came to live with Mr Garland upon the

clergyman’s decease, he conceived a great friendship for him, and

amiably submitted to be driven by his hands without the least

resistance. He did no work for two or three years before he died, but

lived in clover; and his last act (like a choleric old gentleman) was

to kick his doctor.

Mr Swiveller, recovering very slowly from his illness, and entering

into the receipt of his annuity, bought for the Marchioness a handsome

stock of clothes, and put her to school forthwith, in redemption of the

vow he had made upon his fevered bed. After casting about for some

time for a name which should be worthy of her, he decided in favour of

Sophronia Sphynx, as being euphonious and genteel, and furthermore

indicative of mystery. Under this title the Marchioness repaired, in

tears, to the school of his selection, from which, as she soon

distanced all competitors, she was removed before the lapse of many

quarters to one of a higher grade. It is but bare justice to Mr

Swiveller to say, that, although the expenses of her education kept him

in straitened circumstances for half a dozen years, he never slackened

in his zeal, and always held himself sufficiently repaid by the

accounts he heard (with great gravity) of her advancement, on his

monthly visits to the governess, who looked upon him as a literary

gentleman of eccentric habits, and of a most prodigious talent in

quotation.

In a word, Mr Swiveller kept the Marchioness at this establishment

until she was, at a moderate guess, full nineteen years of age--

good-looking, clever, and good-humoured; when he began to consider

seriously what was to be done next. On one of his periodical visits,

while he was revolving this question in his mind, the Marchioness came

down to him, alone, looking more smiling and more fresh than ever.

Then, it occurred to him, but not for the first time, that if she would

marry him, how comfortable they might be! So Richard asked her;

whatever she said, it wasn’t No; and they were married in good earnest

that day week. Which gave Mr Swiveller frequent occasion to remark at

divers subsequent periods that there had been a young lady saving up

for him after all.

A little cottage at Hampstead being to let, which had in its garden a

smoking-box, the envy of the civilised world, they agreed to become its

tenants, and, when the honey-moon was over, entered upon its

occupation. To this retreat Mr Chuckster repaired regularly every

Sunday to spend the day--usually beginning with breakfast--and here he

was the great purveyor of general news and fashionable intelligence.

For some years he continued a deadly foe to Kit, protesting that he had

a better opinion of him when he was supposed to have stolen the

five-pound note, than when he was shown to be perfectly free of the

crime; inasmuch as his guilt would have had in it something daring and

bold, whereas his innocence was but another proof of a sneaking and

crafty disposition. By slow degrees, however, he was reconciled to him

in the end; and even went so far as to honour him with his patronage,

as one who had in some measure reformed, and was therefore to be

forgiven. But he never forgot or pardoned that circumstance of the

shilling; holding that if he had come back to get another he would have

done well enough, but that his returning to work out the former gift

was a stain upon his moral character which no penitence or contrition

could ever wash away.

Mr Swiveller, having always been in some measure of a philosophic and

reflective turn, grew immensely contemplative, at times, in the

smoking-box, and was accustomed at such periods to debate in his own

mind the mysterious question of Sophronia’s parentage. Sophronia

herself supposed she was an orphan; but Mr Swiveller, putting various

slight circumstances together, often thought Miss Brass must know

better than that; and, having heard from his wife of her strange

interview with Quilp, entertained sundry misgivings whether that

person, in his lifetime, might not also have been able to solve the

riddle, had he chosen. These speculations, however, gave him no

uneasiness; for Sophronia was ever a most cheerful, affectionate, and

provident wife to him; and Dick (excepting for an occasional outbreak

with Mr Chuckster, which she had the good sense rather to encourage

than oppose) was to her an attached and domesticated husband. And they

played many hundred thousand games of cribbage together. And let it be

added, to Dick’s honour, that, though we have called her Sophronia, he

called her the Marchioness from first to last; and that upon every

anniversary of the day on which he found her in his sick room, Mr

Chuckster came to dinner, and there was great glorification.

The gamblers, Isaac List and Jowl, with their trusty confederate Mr

James Groves of unimpeachable memory, pursued their course with varying

success, until the failure of a spirited enterprise in the way of their

profession, dispersed them in various directions, and caused their

career to receive a sudden check from the long and strong arm of the

law. This defeat had its origin in the untoward detection of a new

associate--young Frederick Trent--who thus became the unconscious

instrument of their punishment and his own.

For the young man himself, he rioted abroad for a brief term, living by

his wits--which means by the abuse of every faculty that worthily

employed raises man above the beasts, and so degraded, sinks him far

below them. It was not long before his body was recognised by a

stranger, who chanced to visit that hospital in Paris where the drowned

are laid out to be owned; despite the bruises and disfigurements which

were said to have been occasioned by some previous scuffle. But the

stranger kept his own counsel until he returned home, and it was never

claimed or cared for.

The younger brother, or the single gentleman, for that designation is

more familiar, would have drawn the poor schoolmaster from his lone

retreat, and made him his companion and friend. But the humble village

teacher was timid of venturing into the noisy world, and had become

fond of his dwelling in the old churchyard. Calmly happy in his

school, and in the spot, and in the attachment of Her little mourner,

he pursued his quiet course in peace; and was, through the righteous

gratitude of his friend--let this brief mention suffice for that--a

POOR school-master no more.

That friend--single gentleman, or younger brother, which you will--had

at his heart a heavy sorrow; but it bred in him no misanthropy or

monastic gloom. He went forth into the world, a lover of his kind.

For a long, long time, it was his chief delight to travel in the steps

of the old man and the child (so far as he could trace them from her

last narrative), to halt where they had halted, sympathise where they

had suffered, and rejoice where they had been made glad. Those who had

been kind to them, did not escape his search. The sisters at the

school--they who were her friends, because themselves so

friendless--Mrs Jarley of the wax-work, Codlin, Short--he found them

all; and trust me, the man who fed the furnace fire was not forgotten.

Kit’s story having got abroad, raised him up a host of friends, and

many offers of provision for his future life. He had no idea at first

of ever quitting Mr Garland’s service; but, after serious remonstrance

and advice from that gentleman, began to contemplate the possibility of

such a change being brought about in time. A good post was procured

for him, with a rapidity which took away his breath, by some of the

gentlemen who had believed him guilty of the offence laid to his

charge, and who had acted upon that belief. Through the same kind

agency, his mother was secured from want, and made quite happy. Thus,

as Kit often said, his great misfortune turned out to be the source of

all his subsequent prosperity.

Did Kit live a single man all his days, or did he marry? Of course he

married, and who should be his wife but Barbara? And the best of it

was, he married so soon that little Jacob was an uncle, before the

calves of his legs, already mentioned in this history, had ever been

encased in broadcloth pantaloons,--though that was not quite the best

either, for of necessity the baby was an uncle too. The delight of

Kit’s mother and of Barbara’s mother upon the great occasion is past

all telling; finding they agreed so well on that, and on all other

subjects, they took up their abode together, and were a most harmonious

pair of friends from that time forth. And hadn’t Astley’s cause to

bless itself for their all going together once a quarter--to the

pit--and didn’t Kit’s mother always say, when they painted the outside,

that Kit’s last treat had helped to that, and wonder what the manager

would feel if he but knew it as they passed his house!

When Kit had children six and seven years old, there was a Barbara

among them, and a pretty Barbara she was. Nor was there wanting an

exact facsimile and copy of little Jacob, as he appeared in those

remote times when they taught him what oysters meant. Of course there

was an Abel, own godson to the Mr Garland of that name; and there was a

Dick, whom Mr Swiveller did especially favour. The little group would

often gather round him of a night and beg him to tell again that story

of good Miss Nell who died. This, Kit would do; and when they cried to

hear it, wishing it longer too, he would teach them how she had gone to

Heaven, as all good people did; and how, if they were good, like her,

they might hope to be there too, one day, and to see and know her as he

had done when he was quite a boy. Then, he would relate to them how

needy he used to be, and how she had taught him what he was otherwise

too poor to learn, and how the old man had been used to say ‘she always

laughs at Kit;’ at which they would brush away their tears, and laugh

themselves to think that she had done so, and be again quite merry.

He sometimes took them to the street where she had lived; but new

improvements had altered it so much, it was not like the same. The old

house had been long ago pulled down, and a fine broad road was in its

place. At first he would draw with his stick a square upon the ground

to show them where it used to stand. But he soon became uncertain of

the spot, and could only say it was thereabouts, he thought, and these

alterations were confusing.

Such are the changes which a few years bring about, and so do things

pass away, like a tale that is told!