Лавка древностей / The Old Curiosity Shop. Чарльз Диккенс

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.”

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      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.

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      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] 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] 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], 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], 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]. 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.

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      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].”

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