The Old Curiosity Shop

by Dickens, Charles

charge so tender? I am sure you mean well, but are you quite certain

  that you know how to execute such a trust as this? I am an old man,

  like you, and I am actuated by an old man's concern in all that is

  young and promising. Do you not think that what I have seen of you

  and this little creature to-night must have an interest not wholly free

  from pain?'

  'Sir,' rejoined the old man after a moment's silence.' I have no right

  to feel hurt at what you say. It is true that in many respects I am the

  child, and she the grown person--that you have seen already. But

  waking or sleeping, by night or day, in sickness or health, she is the

  one object of my care, and if you knew of how much care, you

  would look on me with different eyes, you would indeed. Ah! It's a

  weary life for an old man--a weary, weary life--but there is a great

  end to gain and that I keep before me.'

  Seeing that he was in a state of excitement and impatience, I turned

  to put on an outer coat which I had thrown off on entering the room,

  purposing to say no more. I was surprised to see the child standing

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  patiently by with a cloak upon her arm, and in her hand a hat, and

  stick.

  'Those are not mine, my dear,' said I.

  'No,' returned the child, 'they are grandfather's.'

  'But he is not going out to-night.'

  'Oh, yes, he is,' said the child, with a smile.

  'And what becomes of you, my pretty one?'

  'Me! I stay here of course. I always do.'

  I looked in astonishment towards the old man, but he was, or feigned

  to be, busied in the arrangement of his dress. From him I looked

  back to the slight gentle figure of the child. Alone! In that gloomy

  place all the long, dreary night.

  She evinced no consciousness of my surprise, but cheerfully helped

  the old man with his cloak, and when he was ready took a candle to

  light us out. Finding that we did not follow as she expected, she

  looked back with a smile and waited for us. The old man showed by

  his face that he plainly understood the cause of my hesitation, but he

  merely signed to me with an inclination of the head to pass out of the

  room before him, and remained silent. I had no resource but to comply.

  When we reached the door, the child setting down the candle, turned

  to say good night and raised her face to kiss me. Then she ran to the

  old man, who folded her in his arms and bade God bless her.

  'Sleep soundly, Nell,' he said in a low voice, 'and angels guard thy

  bed! Do not forget thy prayers, my sweet.'

  'No, indeed,' answered the child fervently, 'they make me feel so

  happy!'

  'That's well; I know they do; they should,' said the old man. 'Bless

  thee a hundred times! Early in the morning I shall be home.'

  'You'll not ring twice,' returned the child. 'The bell wakes me, even

  in the middle of a dream.'

  With this, they separated. The child opened the door (now guarded

  by a shutter which I had heard the boy put up before he left the

  house) and with another farewell whose clear and tender note I have

  recalled a thousand times, held it until we had passed out. The old

  man paused a moment while it was gently closed and fastened on the

  inside, and satisfied that this was done, walked on at a slow pace. At

  the street-corner he stopped, and regarding me with a troubled

  countenance said that our ways were widely different and that he

  must take his leave. I would have spoken, but summoning up more

  alacrity than might have been expected in one of his appearance, he

  hurried away. I could see that twice or thrice he looked back as if to

  ascertain if I were still watching him, or perhaps to assure himself

  that I was not following at a distance. The obscurity of the night

  favoured his disappearance, and his figure was soon beyond my

  sight.

  I remained standing on the spot where he had left me, unwilling to

  depart, and yet unknowing why I should loiter there. I looked

  wistfully into the street we had lately quitted, and after a time

  directed my steps that way. I passed and repassed the house, and

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  stopped and listened at the door; all was dark, and silent as the

  grave.

  Yet I lingered about, and could not tear myself away, thinking of all

  possible harm that might happen to the child--of fires and robberies

  and even murder--and feeling as if some evil must ensure if I turned

  my back upon the place. The closing of a door or window in the

  street brought me before the curiosity-dealer's once more; I crossed

  the road and looked up at the house to assure myself that the noise

  had not come from there. No, it was black, cold, and lifeless as

  before.

  There were few passengers astir; the street was sad and dismal, and

  pretty well my own. A few stragglers from the theatres hurried by,

  and now and then I turned aside to avoid some noisy drunkard as he

  reeled homewards, but these interruptions were not frequent and

  soon ceased. The clocks struck one. Still I paced up and down,

  promising myself that every time should be the last, and breaking

  faith with myself on some new plea as often as I did so.

  The more I thought of what the old man had said, and of his looks

  and bearing, the less I could account for what I had seen and heard. I

  had a strong misgiving that his nightly absence was for no good

  purpose. I had only come to know the fact through the innocence of

  the child, and though the old man was by at the time, and saw my

  undisguised surprise, he had preserved a strange mystery upon the

  subject and offered no word of explanation. These reflections

  naturally recalled again more strongly than before his haggard face,

  his wandering manner, his restless anxious looks. His affection for

  the child might not be inconsistent with villany of the worst kind;

  even that very affection was in itself an extraordinary contradiction,

  or how could he leave her thus? Disposed as I was to think badly of

  him, I never doubted that his love for her was real. I could not admit

  the thought, remembering what had passed between us, and the tone

  of voice in which he had called her by her name.

  'Stay here of course,' the child had said in answer to my question, 'I

  always do!' What could take him from home by night, and every

  night! I called up all the strange tales I had ever heard of dark and

  secret deeds committed in great towns and escaping detection for a

  long series of years; wild as many of these stories were, I could not

  find one adapted to this mystery, which only became the more

  impenetrable, in proportion as I sought to solve it.

  Occupied with such thoughts as these, and a crowd of others all

  tending to the same point, I continued to pace the street for two long

  hours; at length the rain began to descend heavily, and then over-powered

  by fatigue though no less interested than I had been at first,

  I engaged the nearest coach and so got home. A cheerful fire was

  blazing
on the hearth, the lamp burnt brightly, my clock received me

  with its old familiar welcome; everything was quiet, warm and

  cheering, and in happy contrast to the gloom and darkness I had quitted.

  But all that night, waking or in my sleep, the same thoughts recurred

  and the same images retained possession of my brain. I had ever

  before me the old dark murky rooms--the gaunt suits of mail with

  their ghostly silent air--the faces all awry, grinning from wood and

  stone--the dust and rust and worm that lives in wood--and alone in

  the midst of all this lumber and decay and ugly age, the beautiful

  child in her gentle slumber, smiling through her light and sunny dreams.

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  CHAPTER 2

  After combating, for nearly a week, the feeling which impelled me to

  revisit the place I had quitted under the circumstances already

  detailed, I yielded to it at length; and determining that this time I

  would present myself by the light of day, bent my steps thither early

  in the morning.

  I walked past the house, and took several turns in the street, with

  that kind of hesitation which is natural to a man who is conscious

  that the visit he is about to pay is unexpected, and may not be very

  acceptable. However, as the door of the shop was shut, and it did not

  appear likely that I should be recognized by those within, if I

  continued merely to pass up and down before it, I soon conquered

  this irresolution, and found myself in the Curiosity Dealer's

  warehouse.

  The old man and another person were together in the back part, and

  there seemed to have been high words between them, for their voices

  which were raised to a very high pitch suddenly stopped on my

  entering, and the old man advancing hastily towards me, said in a

  tremulous tone that he was very glad I had come.

  'You interrupted us at a critical moment,' said he, pointing to the

  man whom I had found in company with him; 'this fellow will

  murder me one of these days. He would have done so, long ago, if

  he had dared.'

  'Bah! You would swear away my life if you could,' returned the

  other, after bestowing a stare and a frown on me; 'we all know that!'

  'I almost think I could,' cried the old man, turning feebly upon him.

  'If oaths, or prayers, or words, could rid me of you, they should. I

  would be quit of you, and would be relieved if you were dead.'

  'I know it,' returned the other. 'I said so, didn't I? But neither oaths,

  or prayers, nor words, WILL kill me, and therefore I live, and mean

  to live.'

  'And his mother died!' cried the old man, passionately clasping his

  hands and looking upward; 'and this is Heaven's justice!'

  The other stood lunging with his foot upon a chair, and regarded him

  with a contemptuous sneer. He was a young man of one-and-twenty

  or thereabouts; well made, and certainly handsome, though the

  expression of his face was far from prepossessing, having in

  common with his manner and even his dress, a dissipated, insolent

  air which repelled one.

  'Justice or no justice,' said the young fellow, 'here I am and here I

  shall stop till such time as I think fit to go, unless you send for

  assistance to put me out--which you won't do, I know. I tell you

  again that I want to see my sister.'

  'YOUR sister!' said the old man bitterly.

  'Ah! You can't change the relationship,' returned the other. 'If you

  could, you'd have done it long ago. I want to see my sister, that you

  keep cooped up here, poisoning her mind with your sly secrets and

  pretending an affection for her that you may work her to death, and

  add a few scraped shillings every week to the money you can hardly

  count. I want to see her; and I will.'

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  'Here's a moralist to talk of poisoned minds! Here's a generous spirit

  to scorn scraped-up shillings!' cried the old man, turning from him

  to me. 'A profligate, sir, who has forfeited every claim not only

  upon those who have the misfortune to be of his blood, but upon

  society which knows nothing of him but his misdeeds. A liar too,' he

  added, in a lower voice as he drew closer to me, 'who knows how

  dear she is to me, and seeks to wound me even there, because there

  is a stranger nearby.'

  'Strangers are nothing to me, grandfather,' said the young fellow

  catching at the word, 'nor I to them, I hope. The best they can do, is

  to keep an eye to their business and leave me to mind. There's a

  friend of mine waiting outside, and as it seems that I may have to

  wait some time, I'll call him in, with your leave.'

  Saying this, he stepped to the door, and looking down the street

  beckoned several times to some unseen person, who, to judge from

  the air of impatience with which these signals were accompanied,

  required a great quantity of persuasion to induce him to advance. At

  length there sauntered up, on the opposite side of the way--with a

  bad pretense of passing by accident--a figure conspicuous for its dirty

  smartness, which after a great many frowns and jerks of the head, in

  resistence of the invitation, ultimately crossed the road and was

  brought into the shop.

  'There. It's Dick Swiveller,' said the young fellow, pushing him in.

  'Sit down, Swiveller.'

  'But is the old min agreeable?' said Mr Swiveller in an undertone.

  Mr Swiveller complied, and looking about him with a propritiatory

  smile, observed that last week was a fine week for the ducks, and

  this week was a fine week for the dust; he also observed that whilst

  standing by the post at the street-corner, he had observed a pig with

  a straw in his mouth issuing out of the tobacco-shop, from which

  appearance he augured that another fine week for the ducks was

  approaching, and that rain would certainly ensue. He furthermore

  took occasion to apologize for any negligence that might be

  perceptible in his dress, on the ground that last night he had had 'the

  sun very strong in his eyes'; by which expression he was understood

  to convey to his hearers in the most delicate manner possible, the

  information that he had been extremely drunk.

  'But what,' said Mr Swiveller with a sigh, 'what is the odds so long

  as the fire of soul is kindled at the taper of conwiviality, and the

  wing of friendship never moults a feather! What is the odds so long

  as the spirit is expanded by means of rosy wine, and the present

  moment is the least happiest of our existence!'

  'You needn't act the chairman here,' said his friend, half aside.

  'Fred!' cried Mr Swiveller, tapping his nose, 'a word to the wise is

  sufficient for them--we may be good and happy without riches, Fred.

  Say not another syllable. I know my cue; smart is the word. Only

  one little whisper, Fred--is the old min friendly?'

  'Never you mind,' repled his friend.

  'Right again, quite right,' said Mr Swiveller, 'caution is the word,

  and caution is the act.' with that, he winked as if in preservation of

  some deep secret, and
folding his arms and leaning back in his chair,

  looked up at the ceiling with profound gravity.

  It was perhaps not very unreasonable to suspect from what had

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  already passed, that Mr Swiveller was not quite recovered from the

  effects of the powerful sunlight to which he had made allusion; but if

  no such suspicion had been awakened by his speech, his wiry hair,

  dull eyes, and sallow face would still have been strong witnesses

  against him. His attire was not, as he had himself hinted, remarkable

  for the nicest arrangement, but was in a state of disorder which

  strongly induced the idea that he had gone to bed in it. It consisted of

  a brown body-coat with a great many brass buttons up the front and

  only one behind, a bright check neckerchief, a plaid waistcoat, soiled

  white trousers, and a very limp hat, worn with the wrong side

  foremost, to hide a hole in the brim. The breast of his coat was

  ornamented with an outside pocket from which there peeped forth the

  cleanest end of a very large and very ill-favoured handkerchief; his

  dirty wristbands were pulled on as far as possible and ostentatiously

  folded back over his cuffs; he displayed no gloves, and carried a

  yellow cane having at the top a bone hand with the semblance of a

  ring on its little finger and a black ball in its grasp. With all these

  personal advantages (to which may be added a strong savour of

  tobacco-smoke, and a prevailing greasiness of appearance) Mr

  Swiveller leant back in his chair with his eyes fixed on the ceiling,

  and occasionally pitching his voice to the needful key, obliged the

  company with a few bars of an intensely dismal air, and then, in the

  middle of a note, relapsed into his former silence.

  The old man sat himself down in a chair, and with folded hands,

  looked sometimes at his grandson and sometimes at his strange

  companion, as if he were utterly powerless and had no resource but

  to leave them to do as they pleased. The young man reclined against

  a table at no great distance from his friend, in apparent indifference

  to everything that had passed; and I--who felt the difficulty of any

  interference, notwithstanding that the old man had appealed to me,

  both by words and looks--made the best feint I could of being

  occupied in examining some of the goods that were disposed for sale,

  and paying very little attention to a person before me.