Лавка древностей / The Old Curiosity Shop

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The lady of the caravan alighted on the earth, and sat down upon the steps and called “George;” whereupon a man in a carter’s frock[66 - carter’s frock – извозчичья блуза] appeared.

“Yes, ma’am,” said George.

“How did you find the cold pie[67 - cold pie – паштет], George?”

“It wasn’t amiss, ma’am.”

“And the beer,” said the lady of the caravan, “is it passable, George?”

“It’s not bad, ma’am” George returned, “not bad at all.”

“We are not a heavy load, George?”

“That’s always what the ladies say,” replied the man. “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, 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 of the pair, mum!” said George.

After these words of George the lady offered the old man and the child to go forward in the caravan. Nell thanked her with unaffected earnestness. Their patroness then shut the door and sat herself down at an open window. So away they went, with a great noise of flapping and creaking and straining.

23

The lady of the caravan sat at one window in all the pride, and little Nell and her grandfather sat at the other in all the humility. At first the two travellers spoke little, and only in whispers, but as they grew more familiar with the place they conversed with greater freedom, and talked about the country through which they were passing, until the old man fell asleep. The lady of the caravan 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. The lady sat got up and 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.

“There, child,” she said, “read that.”

Nell walked down it, and read aloud, in enormous black letters, the inscription. “JARLEY’S WAX-WORK[68 - JARLEY’S WAX-WORK – Паноптикум Джарли].”

“Read it again,” said the lady, complacently.

“Jarley’s Wax-Work,” repeated Nell.

“That’s me,” said the lady. “I am Mrs. Jarley.”

Mrs. Jarley unfolded another scroll, where was the inscription, “One hundred figures the full size of life[69 - full size of life – в натуральную величину],” 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[70 - delight of the Nobility and Gentry – радость аристократии и дворянства]”, “The Royal Family are the patrons of Jarley.”

“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 classical. No low beatings, no jokings and squeakings like your precious Punches!”

“Is it here, ma’am?” asked Nell.

“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 in the other wans, and there it’ll be exhibited the day after tomorrow. You are going to the same town, and you’ll see it I dare say.”

“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 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!”

“We are poor people, ma’am,” returned Nell, “and are only wandering about. We have nothing to do; I wish we had.”

“You amaze me more and more,” said Mrs. Jarley. “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!”

She remained silent after this exclamation. Then she said:

“And yet you can read. And write too, I wonder?”

“Yes, ma’am,” said the child.

“Well, and what a thing that is,” returned Mrs. Jarley. “I can’t!”

Mrs. Jarley 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 summoned the driver to come under the window at which she was seated, held a long conversation with him in a low tone of voice, and then 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 granddaughter, master? If you do, I can make it. What do you say?”

“I can’t leave her,” answered the old man. “We can’t separate. What will become of me without her?”

“I think you can take care of yourself,” retorted Mrs. Jarley sharply.

“Pray do not speak harshly to him,” said the child in an earnest whisper. “We are very thankful to you, but neither of us could part from the other.”

Mrs. Jarley looked at the old man, who tenderly took Nell’s hand and detained it in his own.

“If you want to employ yourself,” said Mrs. Jarley, “there is much work for you, too: to dust the figures, and take the checks, and so forth. What I want your granddaughter for, is to point them out to the people. It’s not a common offer, bear in mind, it’s Jarley’s wax-work, remember. This is an opportunity which may never occur again! Now, child?” cried Mrs. Jarley, 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 let us have a bit of supper.”

24

The caravan came upon the paved streets of a town which were clear of passengers, and quiet, for it was by this time near midnight. 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 bore on its panel the great name of Jarley, and was employed in conveying from place to place the wax-work.

Nell decided to walk for a little while in the air. The moon was shining down upon the old gateway of the town; 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. There suddenly a man emerged from the black shade of the arch. She recognised him: it was ugly misshapen Quilp! The child withdrew into a dark corner, and saw him pass close to her. He had a stick in his hand, and he leant upon it, looked back directly, as it seemed, towards where she stood and beckoned.

To her? Oh no, thank God, not to her; there issued slowly forth from the arch another figure – a boy who carried on his back a trunk.

“Faster, fool!” cried Quilp, looking up at the old gateway, “faster!”

“It’s a dreadful heavy load, sir,” the boy pleaded. “I go very fast, indeed.”

“What?” retorted Quilp; “You creep, you dog, you crawl, like a worm. There are the chimes now, half-past twelve. Come on then, or I shall be too late. Faster, do you hear me? Faster!”

The boy made all the speed he could. Nell did not dare to move until they were out of sight.

25

Mrs. Jarley ordered the room to be cleared of all but herself and the child, and, sitting herself down in an arm-chair in the centre, gave Nell with a willow wand[71 - willow wand – ивовый прут] to point out the characters, and began to instruct her in her duty.

“That,” said Mrs. Jarley in her exhibition tone, as Nell touched a figure at the beginning of the platform, “is an unfortunate Maid of Honour[72 - Maid of Honour – фрейлина] in the Time of Queen Elizabeth, who died from pricking her finger in consequence of working upon a Sunday. Observe the blood which is trickling from her finger; also the gold-eyed needle[73 - gold-eyed needle – иголку с золотым ушком], with which she is at work.”

All this Nell repeated twice or thrice: pointing to the finger and the needle at the right times, and then passed on to the next.

“That, ladies and gentlemen,” said Mrs. Jarley, “is Jasper Packlemerton[74 - Jasper Packlemerton – Джаспер Пэклмертон], who courted and married fourteen wives, and destroyed them all, by tickling the soles of their feet when they were sleeping in the consciousness of innocence and virtue. When he was brought to the scaffold and asked if he was sorry for what he had done, he replied yes, he was sorry for having let them off so easy[75 - for having let them off so easy – что они так дёшево отделались]. Let this be a warning to all young ladies to be particular in the character of the gentlemen of their choice. Observe that his fingers are curled as if in the act of tickling, and that his face is represented with a wink.”

When Nell knew all about Mr. Packlemerton, and could say it without faltering, Mrs. Jarley passed on to the fat man, and then to the thin man, the tall man, the short man, the old lady who died of dancing at a hundred and thirty-two, the wild boy of the woods, the woman who poisoned fourteen families with pickled walnuts, and other historical characters and interesting but individuals.

Nell was very apt to remember them, and in a couple of hours she was in full possession of the history of the whole establishment, and perfectly competent to the enlightenment of visitors.

26

Mrs. Jarley had an inventive genius for attracting visitors to the exhibition. Little Nell was not forgotten. Although her duties were sufficiently laborious, Nell found the lady of the caravan a very kind person. Her grandfather too was well-treated and useful, but she had recollection of Quilp, and feared that he might return and one day suddenly encounter them.

Quilp indeed was a perpetual nightmare to the child, who was constantly haunted by a vision of his ugly face and stunted figure. She slept in the room where the wax-work figures were. Sometimes she recalled the old house and the window at which she used to sit alone; and then she thought of poor Kit and all his kindness, until the tears came into her eyes, and she wept and smiled together.

Often and anxiously at this silent hour, her thoughts reverted to her grandfather, and she wondered how much he remembered of their former life. He was very patient and willing, happy to execute any little task, and glad to be of use; but he was in the same listless state, with no prospect of improvement. He was a harmless old man, susceptible of tender love and regard for her, and of pleasant and painful impressions.

One evening, Nell and her grandfather went out to walk. They strolled a long distance. They took a footpath which struck through some pleasant fields, finally they reached the track, and stopped to rest.

The sky was dark and lowering, the wind began to moan in hollow murmurs. Large drops of rain soon began to fall. The old man and the child hurried along the high road, hoping to find some house in which they could seek a refuge from the storm. Soon they saw a solitary house. A man was standing at the door, he called lustily to them to enter.

“You had better stand by the fire here, and dry yourselves a bit! This is a public-house, The Valiant Soldier[76 - The Valiant Soldier – «Храбрый Вояка»].”

“Is this house called the Valiant Soldier, sir?” asked Nell.