Chapter 73

The Old Curiosity Shop

by Charles Dickens

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!