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CHAPTER 73
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 roofódoubting, 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 bailófor 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,ónay, 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 villanyóas 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 foundóthough not until some days had elapsedóan 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 inquestówhich 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 ageó 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 dayóusually beginning with breakfastóand 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 *** (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 ***'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 associateóyoung Frederick Trentówho
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 witsówhich
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 friendólet this brief mention suffice
for thatóa POOR school-master no more.
That friendósingle gentleman, or younger brother, which you willóhad 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 schoolóthey who were her friends, because themselves so friendlessóMrs Jarley
of the wax-work, Codlin, Shortóhe 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,óthough 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 quarteróto the pitóand 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 ***, 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!