Чарльз Диккенс
The Old Curiosity Shop
The poor schoolmaster sat in the same place, holding the small cold hand in his, and chafing it. It was but the hand of a dead child. He felt that; and yet he chafed it still, and could not lay it down.
CHAPTER 26
Almost broken-hearted, Nell withdrew with the schoolmaster from the bedside and returned to his cottage. In the midst of her grief and tears she was yet careful to conceal their real cause from the old man, for the dead boy had been a grandchild, and left but one aged relative to mourn his premature decay.
She stole away to bed as quickly as she could, and when she was alone, gave free vent to the sorrow with which her breast was overcharged. But the sad scene she had witnessed, was not without its lesson of content and gratitude; of content with the lot which left her health and freedom; and gratitude that she was spared to the one relative and friend she loved, and to live and move in a beautiful world, when so many young creatures – as young and full of hope as she – were stricken down and gathered to their graves. How many of the mounds in that old churchyard where she had lately strayed, grew green above the graves of children! And though she thought as a child herself, and did not perhaps sufficiently consider to what a bright and happy existence those who die young are borne, and how in death they lose the pain of seeing others die around them, bearing to the tomb some strong affection of their hearts (which makes the old die many times in one long life), still she thought wisely enough, to draw a plain and easy moral from what she had seen that night, and to store it, deep in her mind.
Her dreams were of the little scholar: not coffined and covered up, but mingling with angels, and smiling happily. The sun darting his cheerful rays into the room, awoke her; and now there remained but to take leave of the poor schoolmaster and wander forth once more.
By the time they were ready to depart, school had begun. In the darkened room, the din of yesterday was going on again: a little sobered and softened down, perhaps, but only a very little, if at all. The schoolmaster rose from his desk and walked with them to the gate.
It was with a trembling and reluctant hand, that the child held out to him the money which the lady had given her at the races for her flowers: faltering in her thanks as she thought how small the sum was, and blushing as she offered it. But he bade her put it up, and stooping to kiss her cheek, turned back into his house.
They had not gone half-a-dozen paces when he was at the door again; the old man retraced his steps to shake hands, and the child did the same.
‘Good fortune and happiness go with you!’ said the poor schoolmaster. ‘I am quite a solitary man now. If you ever pass this way again, you’ll not forget the little village-school.’
‘We shall never forget it, sir,’ rejoined Nell; ‘nor ever forget to be grateful to you for your kindness to us.’
‘I have heard such words from the lips of children very often,’ said the schoolmaster, shaking his head, and smiling thoughtfully, ‘but they were soon forgotten. I had attached one young friend to me, the better friend for being young – but that’s over – God bless you!’
They bade him farewell very many times, and turned away, walking slowly and often looking back, until they could see him no more. At length they had left the village far behind, and even lost sight of the smoke among the trees. They trudged onward now, at a quicker pace, resolving to keep the main road, and go wherever it might lead them.
But main roads stretch a long, long way. With the exception of two or three inconsiderable clusters of cottages which they passed, without stopping, and one lonely road-side public-house where they had some bread and cheese, this highway had led them to nothing – late in the afternoon – and still lengthened out, far in the distance, the same dull, tedious, winding course, that they had been pursuing all day. As they had no resource, however, but to go forward, they still kept on, though at a much slower pace, being very weary and fatigued.
The afternoon had worn away into a beautiful evening, when they arrived at a point where the road made a sharp turn and struck across a common. On the border of this common, and close to the hedge which divided it from the cultivated fields, a caravan was drawn up to rest; upon which, by reason of its situation, they came so suddenly that they could not have avoided it if they would.
It was not a shabby, dingy, dusty cart, but a smart little house upon wheels, with white dimity curtains festooning the windows, and window-shutters of green picked out with panels of a staring red, in which happily-contrasted colours the whole concern shone brilliant. Neither was it a poor caravan drawn by a single donkey or emaciated horse, for a pair of horses in pretty good condition were released from the shafts and grazing on the frouzy grass. Neither was it a gipsy caravan, for at the open door (graced with a bright brass knocker) sat a Christian lady, stout and comfortable to look upon, who wore a large bonnet trembling with bows. And that it was not an unprovided or destitute caravan was clear from this lady’s occupation, which was the very pleasant and refreshing one of taking tea. The tea-things, including a bottle of rather suspicious character and a cold knuckle of ham, were set forth upon a drum, covered with a white napkin; and there, as if at the most convenient round-table in all the world, sat this roving lady, taking her tea and enjoying the prospect.
It happened that at that moment the lady of the caravan had her cup (which, that everything about her might be of a stout and comfortable kind, was a breakfast cup) to her lips, and that having her eyes lifted to the sky in her enjoyment of the full flavour of the tea, not unmingled possibly with just the slightest dash or gleam of something out of the suspicious bottle – but this is mere speculation and not distinct matter of history – it happened that being thus agreeably engaged, she did not see the travellers when they first came up. It was not until she was in the act of getting down the cup, and drawing a long breath after the exertion of causing its contents to disappear, that the lady of the caravan beheld an old man and a young child walking slowly by, and glancing at her proceedings with eyes of modest but hungry admiration.
‘Hey!’ cried the lady of the caravan, scooping the crumbs out of her lap and swallowing the same before wiping her lips. ‘Yes, to be sure – Who won the Helter-Skelter Plate, child?’
‘Won what, ma’am?’ asked Nell.
‘The Helter-Skelter Plate at the races, child – the plate that was run for on the second day.’
‘On the second day, ma’am?’
‘Second day! Yes, second day,’ repeated the lady with an air of impatience. ‘Can’t you say who won the Helter-Skelter Plate when you’re asked the question civilly?’
‘I don’t know, ma’am.’
‘Don’t know!’ repeated the lady of the caravan; ‘why, you were there. I saw you with my own eyes.’
Nell was not a little alarmed to hear this, supposing that the lady might be intimately acquainted with the firm of Short and Codlin; but what followed tended to reassure her.
‘And very sorry I was,’ said the lady of the caravan, ‘to see you in company with a Punch; a low, practical, wulgar wretch, that people should scorn to look at.’
‘I was not there by choice,’ returned the child; ‘we didn’t know our way, and the two men were very kind to us, and let us travel with them. Do you – do you know them, ma’am?’
‘Know ‘em, child!’ cried the lady of the caravan in a sort of shriek. ‘Know them! But you’re young and inexperienced, and that’s your excuse for asking sich a question. Do I look as if I know’d ‘em, does the caravan look as if it know’d ‘em?’
‘No, ma’am, no,’ said the child, fearing she had committed some grievous fault. ‘I beg your pardon.’
It was granted immediately, though the lady still appeared much ruffled and discomposed by the degrading supposition. The child then explained that they had left the races on the first day, and were travelling to the next town on that road, where they purposed to spend the night. As the countenance of the stout lady began to clear up, she ventured to inquire how far it was. The reply – which the stout lady did not come to, until she had thoroughly explained that she went to the races on the first day in a gig, and as an expedition of pleasure, and that her presence there had no connexion with any matters of business or profit – was, that the town was eight miles off.
This discouraging information a little dashed the child, who could scarcely repress a tear as she glanced along the darkening road. Her grandfather made no complaint, but he sighed heavily as he leaned upon his staff, and vainly tried to pierce the dusty distance.
The lady of the caravan was in the act of gathering her tea equipage together preparatory to clearing the table, but noting the child’s anxious manner she hesitated and stopped. The child curtseyed, thanked her for her information, and giving her hand to the old man had already got some fifty yards or so away, when the lady of the caravan called to her to return.
‘Come nearer, nearer still,’ said she, beckoning to her to ascend the steps. ‘Are you hungry, child?’
‘Not very, but we are tired, and it’s – it is a long way.’
‘Well, hungry or not, you had better have some tea,’ rejoined her new acquaintance. ‘I suppose you are agreeable to that, old gentleman?’
The grandfather humbly pulled off his hat and thanked her. The lady of the caravan then bade him come up the steps likewise, but the drum proving an inconvenient table for two, they descended again, and sat upon the grass, where she handed down to them the tea-tray, the bread and butter, the knuckle of ham, and in short everything of which she had partaken herself, except the bottle which she had already embraced an opportunity of slipping into her pocket.
‘Set ‘em out near the hind wheels, child, that’s the best place,’ said their friend, superintending the arrangements from above. ‘Now hand up the teapot for a little more hot water, and a pinch of fresh tea, and then both of you eat and drink as much as you can, and don’t spare anything; that’s all I ask of you.’
They might perhaps have carried out the lady’s wish, if it had been less freely expressed, or even if it had not been expressed at all. But as this direction relieved them from any shadow of delicacy or uneasiness, they made a hearty meal and enjoyed it to the utmost.
While they were thus engaged, the lady of the caravan alighted on the earth, and with her hands clasped behind her, and her large bonnet trembling excessively, walked up and down in a measured tread and very stately manner, surveying the caravan from time to time with an air of calm delight, and deriving particular gratification from the red panels and the brass knocker. When she had taken this gentle exercise for some time, she sat down upon the steps and called ‘George’; whereupon a man in a carter’s frock, who had been so shrouded in a hedge up to this time as to see everything that passed without being seen himself, parted the twigs that concealed him, and appeared in a sitting attitude, supporting on his legs a baking-dish and a half-gallon stone bottle, and bearing in his right hand a knife, and in his left a fork.
‘Yes, Missus,’ said George.
‘How did you find the cold pie, George?’
‘It warn’t amiss, mum.’
‘And the beer,’ said the lady of the caravan, with an appearance of being more interested in this question than the last; ‘is it passable, George?’
‘It’s more flatterer than it might be,’ George returned, ‘but it an’t so bad for all that.’
To set the mind of his mistress at rest, he took a sip (amounting in quantity to a pint or thereabouts) from the stone bottle, and then smacked his lips, winked his eye, and nodded his head. No doubt with the same amiable desire, he immediately resumed his knife and fork, as a practical assurance that the beer had wrought no bad effect upon his appetite.
The lady of the caravan looked on approvingly for some time, and then said,
‘Have you nearly finished?’
‘Wery nigh, mum.’ And indeed, after scraping the dish all round with his knife and carrying the choice brown morsels to his mouth, and after taking such a scientific pull at the stone bottle that, by degrees almost imperceptible to the sight, his head went further and further back until he lay nearly at his full length upon the ground, this gentleman declared himself quite disengaged, and came forth from his retreat.
‘I hope I haven’t hurried you, George,’ said his mistress, who appeared to have a great sympathy with his late pursuit.
‘If you have,’ returned the follower, wisely reserving himself for any favourable contingency that might occur, ‘we must make up for it next time, that’s all.’
‘We are not a heavy load, George?’
‘That’s always what the ladies say,’ replied the man, looking a long way round, as if he were appealing to Nature in general against such monstrous propositions. ‘If you see a woman a driving, you’ll always perceive that she never will keep her whip still; the horse can’t go fast enough for her. If cattle have got their proper load, you never can persuade a woman that they’ll not bear something more. What is the cause of this here?’
‘Would these two travellers make much difference to the horses, if we took them with us?’ asked his mistress, offering no reply to the philosophical inquiry, and pointing to Nell and the old man, who were painfully preparing to resume their journey on foot.
‘They’d make a difference in course,’ said George doggedly.
‘Would they make much difference?’ repeated his mistress. ‘They can’t be very heavy.’
‘The weight o’ the pair, mum,’ said George, eyeing them with the look of a man who was calculating within half an ounce or so, ‘would be a trifle under that of Oliver Cromwell.’
Nell was very much surprised that the man should be so accurately acquainted with the weight of one whom she had read of in books as having lived considerably before their time, but speedily forgot the subject in the joy of hearing that they were to go forward in the caravan, for which she thanked its lady with unaffected earnestness. She helped with great readiness and alacrity to put away the tea-things and other matters that were lying about, and, the horses being by that time harnessed, mounted into the vehicle, followed by her delighted grandfather. Their patroness then shut the door and sat herself down by her drum at an open window; and, the steps being struck by George and stowed under the carriage, away they went, with a great noise of flapping and creaking and straining, and the bright brass knocker, which nobody ever knocked at, knocking one perpetual double knock of its own accord as they jolted heavily along.
CHAPTER 27
When they had travelled slowly forward for some short distance, Nell ventured to steal a look round the caravan and observe it more closely. One half of it – that moiety in which the comfortable proprietress was then seated – was carpeted, and so partitioned off at the further end as to accommodate a sleeping-place, constructed after the fashion of a berth on board ship, which was shaded, like the little windows, with fair white curtains, and looked comfortable enough, though by what kind of gymnastic exercise the lady of the caravan ever contrived to get into it, was an unfathomable mystery. The other half served for a kitchen, and was fitted up with a stove whose small chimney passed through the roof. It held also a closet or larder, several chests, a great pitcher of water, and a few cooking-utensils and articles of crockery. These latter necessaries hung upon the walls, which, in that portion of the establishment devoted to the lady of the caravan, were ornamented with such gayer and lighter decorations as a triangle and a couple of well-thumbed tambourines.
The lady of the caravan sat at one window in all the pride and poetry of the musical instruments, and little Nell and her grandfather sat at the other in all the humility of the kettle and saucepans, while the machine jogged on and shifted the darkening prospect very slowly. At first the two travellers spoke little, and only in whispers, but as they grew more familiar with the place they ventured to converse with greater freedom, and talked about the country through which they were passing, and the different objects that presented themselves, until the old man fell asleep; which the lady of the caravan observing, invited Nell to come and sit beside her.
‘Well, child,’ she said, ‘how do you like this way of travelling?’
Nell replied that she thought it was very pleasant indeed, to which the lady assented in the case of people who had their spirits. For herself, she said, she was troubled with a lowness in that respect which required a constant stimulant; though whether the aforesaid stimulant was derived from the suspicious bottle of which mention has been already made or from other sources, she did not say.
‘That’s the happiness of you young people,’ she continued. ‘You don’t know what it is to be low in your feelings. You always have your appetites too, and what a comfort that is.’
Nell thought that she could sometimes dispense with her own appetite very conveniently; and thought, moreover, that there was nothing either in the lady’s personal appearance or in her manner of taking tea, to lead to the conclusion that her natural relish for meat and drink had at all failed her. She silently assented, however, as in duty bound, to what the lady had said, and waited until she should speak again.
Instead of speaking, however, she sat looking at the child for a long time in silence, and then getting up, brought out from a corner a large roll of canvas about a yard in width, which she laid upon the floor and spread open with her foot until it nearly reached from one end of the caravan to the other.
‘There, child,’ she said, ‘read that.’
Nell walked down it, and read aloud, in enormous black letters, the inscription, ‘JARLEY’S WAX-WORK.’
‘Read it again,’ said the lady, complacently.
‘Jarley’s Wax-Work,’ repeated Nell.
‘That’s me,’ said the lady. ‘I am Mrs Jarley.’
Giving the child an encouraging look, intended to reassure her and let her know, that, although she stood in the presence of the original Jarley, she must not allow herself to be utterly overwhelmed and borne down, the lady of the caravan unfolded another scroll, whereon was the inscription, ‘One hundred figures the full size of life,’ and then another scroll, on which was written, ‘The only stupendous collection of real wax-work in the world,’ and then several smaller scrolls with such inscriptions as ‘Now exhibiting within’ – ‘The genuine and only Jarley’ – ‘Jarley’s unrivalled collection’ – ‘Jarley is the delight of the Nobility and Gentry’ – ‘The Royal Family are the patrons of Jarley.’ When she had exhibited these leviathans of public announcement to the astonished child, she brought forth specimens of the lesser fry in the shape of hand-bills, some of which were couched in the form of parodies on popular melodies, as ‘Believe me if all Jarley’s wax-work so rare’ – ‘I saw thy show in youthful prime’ – ‘Over the water to Jarley;’ while, to consult all tastes, others were composed with a view to the lighter and more facetious spirits, as a parody on the favourite air of ‘If I had a donkey,’ beginning,
If I know’d a donkey wot wouldn’t go
To see Mrs JARLEY’S wax-work show,
Do you think I’d acknowledge him? Oh no no!
Then run to Jarley’s —
– besides several compositions in prose, purporting to be dialogues between the Emperor of China and an oyster, or the Archbishop of Canterbury and a dissenter on the subject of church-rates, but all having the same moral, namely, that the reader must make haste to Jarley’s, and that children and servants were admitted at half-price. When she had brought all these testimonials of her important position in society to bear upon her young companion, Mrs Jarley rolled them up, and having put them carefully away, sat down again, and looked at the child in triumph.
‘Never go into the company of a filthy Punch any more,’ said Mrs Jarley, ‘after this.’
‘I never saw any wax-work, ma’am,’ said Nell. ‘Is it funnier than Punch?’
‘Funnier!’ said Mrs Jarley in a shrill voice. ‘It is not funny at all.’
‘Oh!’ said Nell, with all possible humility.
‘It isn’t funny at all,’ repeated Mrs Jarley. ‘It’s calm and – what’s that word again – critical? – no – classical, that’s it – it’s calm and classical. No low beatings and knockings about, no jokings and squeakings like your precious Punches, but always the same, with a constantly unchanging air of coldness and gentility; and so like life, that if wax-work only spoke and walked about, you’d hardly know the difference. I won’t go so far as to say, that, as it is, I’ve seen wax-work quite like life, but I’ve certainly seen some life that was exactly like wax-work.’
‘Is it here, ma’am?’ asked Nell, whose curiosity was awakened by this description.
‘Is what here, child?’
‘The wax-work, ma’am.’
‘Why, bless you, child, what are you thinking of? How could such a collection be here, where you see everything except the inside of one little cupboard and a few boxes? It’s gone on in the other wans to the assembly-rooms, and there it’ll be exhibited the day after to-morrow. You are going to the same town, and you’ll see it I dare say. It’s natural to expect that you’ll see it, and I’ve no doubt you will. I suppose you couldn’t stop away if you was to try ever so much.’
‘I shall not be in the town, I think, ma’am,’ said the child.
‘Not there!’ cried Mrs Jarley. ‘Then where will you be?’
‘I – I – don’t quite know. I am not certain.’
‘You don’t mean to say that you’re travelling about the country without knowing where you’re going to?’ said the lady of the caravan. ‘What curious people you are! What line are you in? You looked to me at the races, child, as if you were quite out of your element, and had got there by accident.’
‘We were there quite by accident,’ returned Nell, confused by this abrupt questioning. ‘We are poor people, ma’am, and are only wandering about. We have nothing to do; – I wish we had.’
‘You amaze me more and more,’ said Mrs Jarley, after remaining for some time as mute as one of her own figures. ‘Why, what do you call yourselves? Not beggars?’
‘Indeed, ma’am, I don’t know what else we are,’ returned the child.
‘Lord bless me,’ said the lady of the caravan. ‘I never heard of such a thing. Who’d have thought it!’
She remained so long silent after this exclamation, that Nell feared she felt her having been induced to bestow her protection and conversation upon one so poor, to be an outrage upon her dignity that nothing could repair. This persuasion was rather confirmed than otherwise by the tone in which she at length broke silence and said,
‘And yet you can read. And write too, I shouldn’t wonder?’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ said the child, fearful of giving new offence by the confession.
‘Well, and what a thing that is,’ returned Mrs Jarley. ‘I can’t!’
Nell said ‘indeed’ in a tone which might imply, either that she was reasonably surprised to find the genuine and only Jarley, who was the delight of the Nobility and Gentry and the peculiar pet of the Royal Family, destitute of these familiar arts; or that she presumed so great a lady could scarcely stand in need of such ordinary accomplishments. In whatever way Mrs Jarley received the response, it did not provoke her to further questioning, or tempt her into any more remarks at the time, for she relapsed into a thoughtful silence, and remained in that state so long that Nell withdrew to the other window and rejoined her grandfather, who was now awake.
At length the lady of the caravan shook off her fit of meditation, and, summoning the driver to come under the window at which she was seated, held a long conversation with him in a low tone of voice, as if she were asking his advice on an important point, and discussing the pros and cons of some very weighty matter. This conference at length concluded, she drew in her head again, and beckoned Nell to approach.
‘And the old gentleman too,’ said Mrs Jarley; ‘for I want to have a word with him. Do you want a good situation for your grand-daughter, master? If you do, I can put her in the way of getting one. What do you say?’
‘I can’t leave her,’ answered the old man. ‘We can’t separate. What would become of me without her?’
‘I should have thought you were old enough to take care of yourself, if you ever will be,’ retorted Mrs Jarley sharply.
‘But he never will be,’ said the child in an earnest whisper. ‘I fear he never will be again. Pray do not speak harshly to him. We are very thankful to you,’ she added aloud; ‘but neither of us could part from the other if all the wealth of the world were halved between us.’
Mrs Jarley was a little disconcerted by this reception of her proposal, and looked at the old man, who tenderly took Nell’s hand and detained it in his own, as if she could have very well dispensed with his company or even his earthly existence. After an awkward pause, she thrust her head out of the window again, and had another conference with the driver upon some point on which they did not seem to agree quite so readily as on their former topic of discussion; but they concluded at last, and she addressed the grandfather again.
‘If you’re really disposed to employ yourself,’ said Mrs Jarley, ‘there would be plenty for you to do in the way of helping to dust the figures, and take the checks, and so forth. What I want your grand-daughter for, is to point ‘em out to the company; they would be soon learnt, and she has a way with her that people wouldn’t think unpleasant, though she does come after me; for I’ve been always accustomed to go round with visitors myself, which I should keep on doing now, only that my spirits make a little ease absolutely necessary. It’s not a common offer, bear in mind,’ said the lady, rising into the tone and manner in which she was accustomed to address her audiences; ‘it’s Jarley’s wax-work, remember. The duty’s very light and genteel, the company particularly select, the exhibition takes place in assembly-rooms, town-halls, large rooms at inns, or auction galleries. There is none of your open-air wagrancy at Jarley’s, recollect; there is no tarpaulin and sawdust at Jarley’s, remember. Every expectation held out in the handbills is realised to the utmost, and the whole forms an effect of imposing brilliancy hitherto unrivalled in this kingdom. Remember that the price of admission is only sixpence, and that this is an opportunity which may never occur again!’
Descending from the sublime when she had reached this point, to the details of common life, Mrs Jarley remarked that with reference to salary she could pledge herself to no specific sum until she had sufficiently tested Nell’s abilities, and narrowly watched her in the performance of her duties. But board and lodging, both for her and her grandfather, she bound herself to provide, and she furthermore passed her word that the board should always be good in quality, and in quantity plentiful.
Nell and her grandfather consulted together, and while they were so engaged, Mrs Jarley with her hands behind her walked up and down the caravan, as she had walked after tea on the dull earth, with uncommon dignity and self-esteem. Nor will this appear so slight a circumstance as to be unworthy of mention, when it is remembered that the caravan was in uneasy motion all the time, and that none but a person of great natural stateliness and acquired grace could have forborne to stagger.
‘Now, child?’ cried Mrs Jarley, coming to a halt as Nell turned towards her.
‘We are very much obliged to you, ma’am,’ said Nell, ‘and thankfully accept your offer.’
‘And you’ll never be sorry for it,’ returned Mrs Jarley. ‘I’m pretty sure of that. So as that’s all settled, let us have a bit of supper.’
In the meanwhile, the caravan blundered on as if it too had been drinking strong beer and was drowsy, and came at last upon the paved streets of a town which were clear of passengers, and quiet, for it was by this time near midnight, and the townspeople were all abed. As it was too late an hour to repair to the exhibition room, they turned aside into a piece of waste ground that lay just within the old town-gate, and drew up there for the night, near to another caravan, which, notwithstanding that it bore on the lawful panel the great name of Jarley, and was employed besides in conveying from place to place the wax-work which was its country’s pride, was designated by a grovelling stamp-office as a ‘Common Stage Waggon,’ and numbered too – seven thousand odd hundred – as though its precious freight were mere flour or coals!
This ill-used machine being empty (for it had deposited its burden at the place of exhibition, and lingered here until its services were again required) was assigned to the old man as his sleeping-place for the night; and within its wooden walls, Nell made him up the best bed she could, from the materials at hand. For herself, she was to sleep in Mrs Jarley’s own travelling-carriage, as a signal mark of that lady’s favour and confidence.
She had taken leave of her grandfather and was returning to the other waggon, when she was tempted by the coolness of the night to linger for a little while in the air. The moon was shining down upon the old gateway of the town, leaving the low archway very black and dark; and with a mingled sensation of curiosity and fear, she slowly approached the gate, and stood still to look up at it, wondering to see how dark, and grim, and old, and cold, it looked.
There was an empty niche from which some old statue had fallen or been carried away hundreds of years ago, and she was thinking what strange people it must have looked down upon when it stood there, and how many hard struggles might have taken place, and how many murders might have been done, upon that silent spot, when there suddenly emerged from the black shade of the arch, a man. The instant he appeared, she recognised him – Who could have failed to recognise, in that instant, the ugly misshapen Quilp!
