The String of Pearls; Or, The Barber of Fleet Street. A Domestic Romance.
"You are getting dissatisfied, and therefore it becomes necessary to
explain to you your real position, which is simply this:--You are a
prisoner, and were such from the first moment that you set foot where
you now are; and you will find, unless you are resolved upon sacrificing
your life, that your best plan will be to quietly give into the
circumstances in which you find yourself placed. Without going into any
argument or details upon the subject, it is sufficient to inform you
that so long as you continue to make the pies, you will be safe; but if
you refuse, then the first time you are caught asleep your throat will
be cut."
This document was so much to the purpose, and really had so little of
verbosity about it, that it was extremely difficult to doubt its
sincerity. It dropped from the half-paralysed hands of that man, who, in
the depth of his distress, and urged on by great necessity, had accepted
a situation that he would have given worlds to escape from, had he been
possessed of them.
"Gracious Heaven!" he exclaimed, "and am I then indeed condemned to such
a slavery? Is it possible, that even in the heart of London, I am a
prisoner, and without the means of resisting the most frightful threats
that are uttered against me? Surely, surely this must be all a dream! It
is too terrific to be true!"
He sat down upon that low stool where his predecessor had sat before,
receiving his death-wound from the assassin who had glided in behind
him, and dealt him that crashing blow, whose only mercy was that it had
at once deprived the victim of existence. He could have wept bitterly,
wept as he there sat, for he thought over days long passed away, of
opportunities let go by with the heedless laugh of youth; he thought
over all the chances and fortunes of his life, and now to find himself
the miserable inhabitant of a cellar, condemned to a mean and
troublesome employment, without even the liberty of leaving that, to
starve if he chose, upon pain of death--a frightful death, which had
been threatened him, was indeed torment! No wonder that at times he felt
himself unnerved, and that a child might have conquered him, while at
other moments such a feeling of despair would come across him, that he
called aloud upon his enemies to make their appearance, and give him at
least the chance of a struggle for his life.
"If I am to die," he cried, "let me die with some weapon in my hand, as
a brave man ought, and I will not complain, for there is little indeed
in life now which should induce me to cling to it; but I will not be
murdered in the dark."
He sprang to his feet, and rushing up to the door, which opened from the
house into the vaults, he made a violent and desperate effort to shake
it. But such a contingency as this had surely been looked forward to and
provided against, for the door was of amazing strength, and most
effectually resisted all his efforts, so that the result of his
endeavours was but to exhaust himself, and he staggered back, panting
and despairing, to the seat he had so recently left. Then he heard a
voice, and upon looking up he saw that the small square opening in the
upper part of the door, through which he had been before addressed, was
open, and a face there appeared, but it was not the face of Mrs. Lovett.
On the contrary, it was a large and hideous male physiognomy, and the
voice that came from it was croaking and harsh, sounding most
unmusically upon the ears of the unfortunate man who was thus made a
victim to Mrs. Lovett's pie popularity.
"Continue at your work," said the voice, "or death will be your portion
as soon as sleep overcomes you, and you sink exhausted to that repose
which you will never awaken from, except to feel the pangs of death, and
to be conscious that you are weltering in your blood. Continue at your
work, and you will escape all this--neglect it, and your doom is
sealed."
"What have I done that I should be made such a victim of? Let me go, and
I will swear never to divulge the fact that I have been in these vaults,
so I cannot disclose any of their secrets, even if knew them."
"Make pies," said the voice, "eat them, and be happy. How many a man
would envy your position--withdrawn from all the struggles of existence,
amply provided with board and lodging, and engaged in a pleasant and
delightful occupation; it is astonishing how you can be dissatisfied!"
Bang! went the little square orifice at the top of the door, and the
voice was heard no more. The jeering mockery of those tones, however,
still lingered upon the ear of the unhappy prisoner, and he clasped his
head in his hands with a fearful impression upon his brain that he
surely must be going mad.
"He will drive me to insanity," he cried; "already I feel a sort of
slumber stealing over me for want of exercise, and the confined air of
these vaults hinder me from taking regular repose; but now, if I close
an eye, I shall expect to find the assassin's knife at my throat."
He sat for some time longer, and not even the dread he had of sleep
could prevent a drowsiness creeping across his faculties, and this
weariness would not be shaken off by any ordinary means, until at length
he sprang to his feet, and shaking himself roughly, like one determined
to be wide awake, he said to himself, mournfully--
"I must do their bidding or die; hope may be a delusion here, but I
cannot altogether abandon it, and not until its faintest image has
departed from my breast can I lie down to sleep and say--Let death come
in any shape it may, it is welcome."
With a desperate and despairing energy he set about replenishing the
furnaces of the oven, and, when he had got them all in a good state, he
commenced manufacturing a batch of one hundred pies, which, when he had
finished and placed upon the tray, and set the machine in motion which
conducted them up to the shop, he considered to be a sort of price paid
for his continued existence, and flinging himself upon the ground, he
fell into a deep slumber.
CHAPTER XXI.
THE NIGHT AT THE MADHOUSE.
When Sweeney Todd had, with such diabolical want of feeling, whispered
the few words of mockery which we have recorded in Tobias's ear, when he
was carried out of Mr. Fogg's reception-room to be taken to a cell, the
villanous barber drew back and indulged in rather a longer laugh than
usual.
"Mr. Todd," said Fogg, "I find that you still retain your habit of
merriment; but yours ain't the most comfortable laugh in the world, and
we seldom hear anything equal to it, even from one of our cells."
"No!" said Sweeney Todd, "I don't suppose you do, and for my part I
never heard of a cell laughing yet."
"Oh! you know what I mean, Mr. Todd, well enough."
"That may be," said Todd, "but it would be just as well to say it for
all that. I think, however, as I came in you said something about
refreshment?"
"I certainly did; and, if you will honour me by stepping back to my
room, I think I can offer you, Mr. Todd, a glass of as nice wine as the
king himself could put on his table, if he were any judge of that
commodity, which I am inclined to think he is not."
"What do you expect," said Sweeney Todd, "that such an idiot should be a
judge of?--but I shall have great pleasure in tasting your wine, for I
have no hesitation in saying that my work to-night has made me thirsty."
At this moment a shriek was heard, and Sweeney Todd shrank away from the
door.
"Oh! it's nothing, it's nothing," said Mr. Fogg; "if you had resided
here as long as I have, you would get accustomed to now and then hearing
a slight noise. The worst of it is, when half a dozen of the mad fellows
get shrieking against each other in the middle of the night. Then, I
grant, it is a little annoying."
"What do you do with them?"
"We send in one of the keepers with the lash, and soon put a stop to
that. We are forced to keep the upper hand of them, or else we should
have no rest. Hark! do you not hear that fellow now?--he is generally
pretty quiet, but he has taken it into his head to be outrageous to-day;
but one of my men will soon put a stop to that. This way, Mr. Todd, if
you please, and as we don't often meet, I think when we do we ought to
have a social glass."
Sweeney Todd made several horrible faces as he followed the
madhouse-keeper, and he looked as if it would have given him quite as
much pleasure, and no doubt it would, to brain that individual, as to
drink his wine, although probably he would have preferred doing the
latter process first, and executing the former afterwards, and at his
leisure. They soon reached the room which was devoted to the use of Mr.
Fogg and his friends, and which contained the many little curiosities in
the way of madhouse discipline that were in that age considered
indispensable in such establishments. Mr. Fogg moved away with his hands
a great number of the books and papers which were on the table, so as to
leave a vacant space, and then drawing the cork of a bottle, he filled
himself a large glass of its contents, and invited Sweeney Todd to do
the same, who was by no means slow in following his example. While these
two villains are carousing, and caring nothing for the scenes of misery
with which they are surrounded, poor Tobias, in conformity with the
orders that had been issued with regard to him, was conveyed along a
number of winding passages, and down several staircases, towards the
cells of the establishment. In vain he struggled to get free from his
captor--as well might a hare have struggled in the fangs of a wolf--nor
were his cries at all heeded; although, now and then, the shrieks he
uttered were terrible to hear, and enough to fill any one with dismay.
"I am not mad," said he, "indeed I am not mad--let me go, and I will say
nothing--not one word shall ever pass my lips regarding Mr. Todd--let me
go, oh, let me go, and I will pray for you as long as I live."
Mr. Watson whistled a lively tune.
"If I promise--if I swear to tell nothing, Mr. Todd will not wish me
kept here--all he wants is my silence, and I will take any oath he
likes. Speak to him for me, I implore you, and let me go."
Mr. Watson commenced the second part of his lively tune, and by that
time he reached a door, which he unlocked, and then, setting down Tobias
upon the threshold, he gave him a violent kick, which flung him down two
steps on to the stone floor of a miserable cell, from the roof of which
continual moisture was dripping, the only accommodation it possessed
being a truss of damp straw flung into one corner.
"There," said Mr. Watson, "my lad, you can stay there and make yourself
comfortable till somebody comes to shave your head, and after that you
will find yourself quite a gentleman."
"Mercy! mercy--have mercy upon me!"
"Mercy!--what the devil do you mean by mercy? Well, that's a good joke;
but I can tell you, you have come to the wrong shop for that; we don't
keep it in stock here, and if we wanted ever so little of it, we should
have to go somewhere else for it."
Mr. Watson laughed so much at his own joke, that he felt quite amiable,
and told Tobias that if he were perfectly quiet, and said "thank you"
for everything, he wouldn't put him on the strait waistcoat, although
Mr. Fogg had ordered it; "for," added Mr. Watson, "so far as that goes,
I don't care a straw what Mr. Fogg says, or what he does; he can't do
without me, damn him! because I know too many of his secrets."
Tobias made no answer to this promise, but he lay upon his back on the
floor of the cell wringing his hands despairingly, and feeling that
almost already the very atmosphere of that place seemed pregnant with