CHAPTER IV--MR. SAPSEA
Accepting the Jackass as the type of self-sufficient stupidity andconceit--a custom, perhaps, like some few other customs, moreconventional than fair--then the purest jackass in Cloisterham is Mr.Thomas Sapsea, Auctioneer.
Mr. Sapsea 'dresses at' the Dean; has been bowed to for the Dean, inmistake; has even been spoken to in the street as My Lord, under theimpression that he was the Bishop come down unexpectedly, without hischaplain. Mr. Sapsea is very proud of this, and of his voice, and of hisstyle. He has even (in selling landed property) tried the experiment ofslightly intoning in his pulpit, to make himself more like what he takesto be the genuine ecclesiastical article. So, in ending a Sale by PublicAuction, Mr. Sapsea finishes off with an air of bestowing a benedictionon the assembled brokers, which leaves the real Dean--a modest and worthygentleman--far behind.
Mr. Sapsea has many admirers; indeed, the proposition is carried by alarge local majority, even including non-believers in his wisdom, that heis a credit to Cloisterham. He possesses the great qualities of beingportentous and dull, and of having a roll in his speech, and another rollin his gait; not to mention a certain gravely flowing action with hishands, as if he were presently going to Confirm the individual with whomhe holds discourse. Much nearer sixty years of age than fifty, with aflowing outline of stomach, and horizontal creases in his waistcoat;reputed to be rich; voting at elections in the strictly respectableinterest; morally satisfied that nothing but he himself has grown sincehe was a baby; how can dunder-headed Mr. Sapsea be otherwise than acredit to Cloisterham, and society?
Mr. Sapsea's premises are in the High-street, over against the Nuns'House. They are of about the period of the Nuns' House, irregularlymodernised here and there, as steadily deteriorating generations found,more and more, that they preferred air and light to Fever and the Plague.Over the doorway is a wooden effigy, about half life-size, representingMr. Sapsea's father, in a curly wig and toga, in the act of selling. Thechastity of the idea, and the natural appearance of the little finger,hammer, and pulpit, have been much admired.
Mr. Sapsea sits in his dull ground-floor sitting-room, giving first onhis paved back yard; and then on his railed-off garden. Mr. Sapsea has abottle of port wine on a table before the fire--the fire is an earlyluxury, but pleasant on the cool, chilly autumn evening--and ischaracteristically attended by his portrait, his eight-day clock, and hisweather-glass. Characteristically, because he would uphold himselfagainst mankind, his weather-glass against weather, and his clock againsttime.
By Mr. Sapsea's side on the table are a writing-desk and writingmaterials. Glancing at a scrap of manuscript, Mr. Sapsea reads it tohimself with a lofty air, and then, slowly pacing the room with histhumbs in the arm-holes of his waistcoat, repeats it from memory: sointernally, though with much dignity, that the word 'Ethelinda' is aloneaudible.
There are three clean wineglasses in a tray on the table. Hisserving-maid entering, and announcing 'Mr. Jasper is come, sir,' Mr.Sapsea waves 'Admit him,' and draws two wineglasses from the rank, asbeing claimed.
'Glad to see you, sir. I congratulate myself on having the honour ofreceiving you here for the first time.' Mr. Sapsea does the honours ofhis house in this wise.
'You are very good. The honour is mine and the self-congratulation ismine.'
'You are pleased to say so, sir. But I do assure you that it is asatisfaction to me to receive you in my humble home. And that is what Iwould not say to everybody.' Ineffable loftiness on Mr. Sapsea's partaccompanies these words, as leaving the sentence to be understood: 'Youwill not easily believe that your society can be a satisfaction to a manlike myself; nevertheless, it is.'
'I have for some time desired to know you, Mr. Sapsea.'
'And I, sir, have long known you by reputation as a man of taste. Let mefill your glass. I will give you, sir,' says Mr. Sapsea, filling hisown:
'When the French come over, May we meet them at Dover!'
This was a patriotic toast in Mr. Sapsea's infancy, and he is thereforefully convinced of its being appropriate to any subsequent era.
'You can scarcely be ignorant, Mr. Sapsea,' observes Jasper, watching theauctioneer with a smile as the latter stretches out his legs before thefire, 'that you know the world.'
'Well, sir,' is the chuckling reply, 'I think I know something of it;something of it.'
'Your reputation for that knowledge has always interested and surprisedme, and made me wish to know you. For Cloisterham is a little place.Cooped up in it myself, I know nothing beyond it, and feel it to be avery little place.'
'If I have not gone to foreign countries, young man,' Mr. Sapsea begins,and then stops:--'You will excuse me calling you young man, Mr. Jasper?You are much my junior.'
'By all means.'
'If I have not gone to foreign countries, young man, foreign countrieshave come to me. They have come to me in the way of business, and I haveimproved upon my opportunities. Put it that I take an inventory, or makea catalogue. I see a French clock. I never saw him before, in my life,but I instantly lay my finger on him and say "Paris!" I see some cupsand saucers of Chinese make, equally strangers to me personally: I put myfinger on them, then and there, and I say "Pekin, Nankin, and Canton."It is the same with Japan, with Egypt, and with bamboo and sandalwoodfrom the East Indies; I put my finger on them all. I have put my fingeron the North Pole before now, and said "Spear of Esquimaux make, for halfa pint of pale sherry!"'
'Really? A very remarkable way, Mr. Sapsea, of acquiring a knowledge ofmen and things.'
'I mention it, sir,' Mr. Sapsea rejoins, with unspeakable complacency,'because, as I say, it don't do to boast of what you are; but show howyou came to be it, and then you prove it.'
'Most interesting. We were to speak of the late Mrs. Sapsea.'
'We were, sir.' Mr. Sapsea fills both glasses, and takes the decanterinto safe keeping again. 'Before I consult your opinion as a man oftaste on this little trifle'--holding it up--'which is _but_ a trifle,and still has required some thought, sir, some little fever of the brow,I ought perhaps to describe the character of the late Mrs. Sapsea, nowdead three quarters of a year.'
Mr. Jasper, in the act of yawning behind his wineglass, puts down thatscreen and calls up a look of interest. It is a little impaired in itsexpressiveness by his having a shut-up gape still to dispose of, withwatering eyes.
'Half a dozen years ago, or so,' Mr. Sapsea proceeds, 'when I hadenlarged my mind up to--I will not say to what it now is, for that mightseem to aim at too much, but up to the pitch of wanting another mind tobe absorbed in it--I cast my eye about me for a nuptial partner.Because, as I say, it is not good for man to be alone.'
Mr. Jasper appears to commit this original idea to memory.
'Miss Brobity at that time kept, I will not call it the rivalestablishment to the establishment at the Nuns' House opposite, but Iwill call it the other parallel establishment down town. The world didhave it that she showed a passion for attending my sales, when they tookplace on half holidays, or in vacation time. The world did put it about,that she admired my style. The world did notice that as time flowed by,my style became traceable in the dictation-exercises of Miss Brobity'spupils. Young man, a whisper even sprang up in obscure malignity, thatone ignorant and besotted Churl (a parent) so committed himself as toobject to it by name. But I do not believe this. For is it likely thatany human creature in his right senses would so lay himself open to bepointed at, by what I call the finger of scorn?'
Mr. Jasper shakes his head. Not in the least likely. Mr. Sapsea, in agrandiloquent state of absence of mind, seems to refill his visitor'sglass, which is full already; and does really refill his own, which isempty.
'Miss Brobity's Being, young man, was deeply imbued with homage to Mind.She revered Mind, when launched, or, as I say, precipitated, on anextensive knowledge of the world. When I made my proposal, she did methe honour to be so overshadowed with a species of Awe, as to be able toarticulate on
ly the two words, "O Thou!" meaning myself. Her limpid blueeyes were fixed upon me, her semi-transparent hands were claspedtogether, pallor overspread her aquiline features, and, though encouragedto proceed, she never did proceed a word further. I disposed of theparallel establishment by private contract, and we became as nearly oneas could be expected under the circumstances. But she never could, andshe never did, find a phrase satisfactory to her perhaps-too-favourableestimate of my intellect. To the very last (feeble action of liver), sheaddressed me in the same unfinished terms.'
Mr. Jasper has closed his eyes as the auctioneer has deepened his voice.He now abruptly opens them, and says, in unison with the deepened voice'Ah!'--rather as if stopping himself on the extreme verge ofadding--'men!'
'I have been since,' says Mr. Sapsea, with his legs stretched out, andsolemnly enjoying himself with the wine and the fire, 'what you beholdme; I have been since a solitary mourner; I have been since, as I say,wasting my evening conversation on the desert air. I will not say that Ihave reproached myself; but there have been times when I have askedmyself the question: What if her husband had been nearer on a level withher? If she had not had to look up quite so high, what might thestimulating action have been upon the liver?'
Mr. Jasper says, with an appearance of having fallen into dreadfully lowspirits, that he 'supposes it was to be.'
'We can only suppose so, sir,' Mr. Sapsea coincides. 'As I say, Manproposes, Heaven disposes. It may or may not be putting the same thoughtin another form; but that is the way I put it.'
Mr. Jasper murmurs assent.
'And now, Mr. Jasper,' resumes the auctioneer, producing his scrap ofmanuscript, 'Mrs. Sapsea's monument having had full time to settle anddry, let me take your opinion, as a man of taste, on the inscription Ihave (as I before remarked, not without some little fever of the brow)drawn out for it. Take it in your own hand. The setting out of thelines requires to be followed with the eye, as well as the contents withthe mind.'
Mr. Jasper complying, sees and reads as follows:
ETHELINDA, Reverential Wife of MR. THOMAS SAPSEA, AUCTIONEER, VALUER, ESTATE AGENT, &c., OF THIS CITY. Whose Knowledge of the World, Though somewhat extensive, Never brought him acquainted with A SPIRIT More capable of LOOKING UP TO HIM. STRANGER, PAUSE And ask thyself the Question, CANST THOU DO LIKEWISE? If Not, WITH A BLUSH RETIRE.
Mr. Sapsea having risen and stationed himself with his back to the fire,for the purpose of observing the effect of these lines on the countenanceof a man of taste, consequently has his face towards the door, when hisserving-maid, again appearing, announces, 'Durdles is come, sir!' Hepromptly draws forth and fills the third wineglass, as being now claimed,and replies, 'Show Durdles in.'
'Admirable!' quoth Mr. Jasper, handing back the paper.
'You approve, sir?'
'Impossible not to approve. Striking, characteristic, and complete.'
The auctioneer inclines his head, as one accepting his due and giving areceipt; and invites the entering Durdles to take off that glass of wine(handing the same), for it will warm him.
Durdles is a stonemason; chiefly in the gravestone, tomb, and monumentway, and wholly of their colour from head to foot. No man is betterknown in Cloisterham. He is the chartered libertine of the place. Fametrumpets him a wonderful workman--which, for aught that anybody knows, hemay be (as he never works); and a wonderful sot--which everybody knows heis. With the Cathedral crypt he is better acquainted than any livingauthority; it may even be than any dead one. It is said that theintimacy of this acquaintance began in his habitually resorting to thatsecret place, to lock-out the Cloisterham boy-populace, and sleep offfumes of liquor: he having ready access to the Cathedral, as contractorfor rough repairs. Be this as it may, he does know much about it, and,in the demolition of impedimental fragments of wall, buttress, andpavement, has seen strange sights. He often speaks of himself in thethird person; perhaps, being a little misty as to his own identity, whenhe narrates; perhaps impartially adopting the Cloisterham nomenclature inreference to a character of acknowledged distinction. Thus he will say,touching his strange sights: 'Durdles come upon the old chap,' inreference to a buried magnate of ancient time and high degree, 'bystriking right into the coffin with his pick. The old chap gave Durdlesa look with his open eyes, as much as to say, "Is your name Durdles?Why, my man, I've been waiting for you a devil of a time!" And then heturned to powder.' With a two-foot rule always in his pocket, and amason's hammer all but always in his hand, Durdles goes continuallysounding and tapping all about and about the Cathedral; and whenever hesays to Tope: 'Tope, here's another old 'un in here!' Tope announces itto the Dean as an established discovery.
In a suit of coarse flannel with horn buttons, a yellow neckerchief withdraggled ends, an old hat more russet-coloured than black, and lacedboots of the hue of his stony calling, Durdles leads a hazy, gipsy sortof life, carrying his dinner about with him in a small bundle, andsitting on all manner of tombstones to dine. This dinner of Durdles'shas become quite a Cloisterham institution: not only because of his neverappearing in public without it, but because of its having been, oncertain renowned occasions, taken into custody along with Durdles (asdrunk and incapable), and exhibited before the Bench of justices at thetownhall. These occasions, however, have been few and far apart: Durdlesbeing as seldom drunk as sober. For the rest, he is an old bachelor, andhe lives in a little antiquated hole of a house that was never finished:supposed to be built, so far, of stones stolen from the city wall. Tothis abode there is an approach, ankle-deep in stone chips, resembling apetrified grove of tombstones, urns, draperies, and broken columns, inall stages of sculpture. Herein two journeymen incessantly chip, whileother two journeymen, who face each other, incessantly saw stone; dippingas regularly in and out of their sheltering sentry-boxes, as if they weremechanical figures emblematical of Time and Death.
To Durdles, when he had consumed his glass of port, Mr. Sapsea intruststhat precious effort of his Muse. Durdles unfeelingly takes out histwo-foot rule, and measures the lines calmly, alloying them withstone-grit.
'This is for the monument, is it, Mr. Sapsea?'
'The Inscription. Yes.' Mr. Sapsea waits for its effect on a commonmind.
'It'll come in to a eighth of a inch,' says Durdles. 'Your servant, Mr.Jasper. Hope I see you well.'
'How are you Durdles?'
'I've got a touch of the Tombatism on me, Mr. Jasper, but that I mustexpect.'
'You mean the Rheumatism,' says Sapsea, in a sharp tone. (He is nettledby having his composition so mechanically received.)
'No, I don't. I mean, Mr. Sapsea, the Tombatism. It's another sort fromRheumatism. Mr. Jasper knows what Durdles means. You get among themTombs afore it's well light on a winter morning, and keep on, as theCatechism says, a-walking in the same all the days of your life, and_you'll_ know what Durdles means.'
'It is a bitter cold place,' Mr. Jasper assents, with an antipatheticshiver.
'And if it's bitter cold for you, up in the chancel, with a lot of livebreath smoking out about you, what the bitterness is to Durdles, down inthe crypt among the earthy damps there, and the dead breath of the old'uns,' returns that individual, 'Durdles leaves you to judge.--Is this tobe put in hand at once, Mr. Sapsea?'
Mr. Sapsea, with an Author's anxiety to rush into publication, repliesthat it cannot be out of hand too soon.
'You had better let me have the key then,' says Durdles.
'Why, man, it is not to be put inside the monument!'
'Durdles knows where it's to be put, Mr. Sapsea; no man better. Ask 'erea man in Cloisterha
m whether Durdles knows his work.'
Mr. Sapsea rises, takes a key from a drawer, unlocks an iron safe letinto the wall, and takes from it another key.
'When Durdles puts a touch or a finish upon his work, no matter where,inside or outside, Durdles likes to look at his work all round, and seethat his work is a-doing him credit,' Durdles explains, doggedly.
The key proffered him by the bereaved widower being a large one, he slipshis two-foot rule into a side-pocket of his flannel trousers made for it,and deliberately opens his flannel coat, and opens the mouth of a largebreast-pocket within it before taking the key to place it in thatrepository.
'Why, Durdles!' exclaims Jasper, looking on amused, 'you are underminedwith pockets!'
'And I carries weight in 'em too, Mr. Jasper. Feel those!' producing twoother large keys.
'Hand me Mr. Sapsea's likewise. Surely this is the heaviest of thethree.'
'You'll find 'em much of a muchness, I expect,' says Durdles. 'They allbelong to monuments. They all open Durdles's work. Durdles keeps thekeys of his work mostly. Not that they're much used.'
'By the bye,' it comes into Jasper's mind to say, as he idly examines thekeys, 'I have been going to ask you, many a day, and have alwaysforgotten. You know they sometimes call you Stony Durdles, don't you?'
'Cloisterham knows me as Durdles, Mr. Jasper.'
'I am aware of that, of course. But the boys sometimes--'
'O! if you mind them young imps of boys--' Durdles gruffly interrupts.
'I don't mind them any more than you do. But there was a discussion theother day among the Choir, whether Stony stood for Tony;' clinking onekey against another.
('Take care of the wards, Mr. Jasper.')
'Or whether Stony stood for Stephen;' clinking with a change of keys.
('You can't make a pitch pipe of 'em, Mr. Jasper.')
'Or whether the name comes from your trade. How stands the fact?'
Mr. Jasper weighs the three keys in his hand, lifts his head from hisidly stooping attitude over the fire, and delivers the keys to Durdleswith an ingenuous and friendly face.
But the stony one is a gruff one likewise, and that hazy state of his isalways an uncertain state, highly conscious of its dignity, and prone totake offence. He drops his two keys back into his pocket one by one, andbuttons them up; he takes his dinner-bundle from the chair-back on whichhe hung it when he came in; he distributes the weight he carries, bytying the third key up in it, as though he were an Ostrich, and liked todine off cold iron; and he gets out of the room, deigning no word ofanswer.
Mr. Sapsea then proposes a hit at backgammon, which, seasoned with hisown improving conversation, and terminating in a supper of cold roastbeef and salad, beguiles the golden evening until pretty late. Mr.Sapsea's wisdom being, in its delivery to mortals, rather of the diffusethan the epigrammatic order, is by no means expended even then; but hisvisitor intimates that he will come back for more of the preciouscommodity on future occasions, and Mr. Sapsea lets him off for thepresent, to ponder on the instalment he carries away.
The Mystery of Edwin Drood Page 4