After swallowing two or three glassfuls of spirits, Mr. Sikes condescended to take some notice of the young gentlemen; which gracious act led to a conversation in which the cause and manner of Oliver's capture were circumstantially detailed, with such alterations and improvements on the truth as to the Dodger appeared most advisable under the circumstances.
"I'm afraid," said the Jew, "that he may say something which will get us into trouble."
"That's very likely," returned Sikes with a malicious grin. "You're blowed upon, Fagin."
"And I'm afraid, you see," added the Jew, speaking as if he had not noticed the interruption, and regarding the other closely as he did so, – "I'm afraid that, if the game was up with us, it might be up with a good many more; and that it would come out rather worse for you than it would for me, my dear."
The man started, and turned fiercely round upon the Jew; but the old gentleman's shoulders were shrugged up to his ears, and his eyes were vacantly staring on the opposite wall.
There was a long pause. Every member of the respectable coterie appeared plunged in his own reflections, not excepting the dog, who by a certain malicious licking of his lips seemed to be meditating an attack upon the legs of the first gentleman or lady he might encounter in the street when he went out.
"Somebody must find out what's been done at the office," said Mr. Sikes in a much lower tone than he had taken since he came in.
The Jew nodded assent.
"If he hasn't peached, and is committed, there's no fear till he comes out again," said Mr. Sikes, "and then he must be taken care on. You must get hold of him, somehow."
Again the Jew nodded.
The prudence of this line of action, indeed, was obvious; but unfortunately there was one very strong objection to its being adopted; and this was, that the Dodger, and Charley Bates, and Fagin, and Mr. William Sikes, happened one and all to entertain a most violent and deeply-rooted antipathy to going near a police-office on any ground or pretext whatever.
How long they might have sat and looked at each other in a state of uncertainty not the most pleasant of its kind, it is difficult to say. It is not necessary to make any guesses on the subject, however; for the sudden entrance of the two young ladies whom Oliver had seen on a former occasion caused the conversation to flow afresh.
"The very thing!" said the Jew. "Bet will go; won't you, my dear?"
"Wheres?" inquired the young lady.
"Only just up to the office, my dear," said the Jew coaxingly.
It is due to the young lady to say that she did not positively affirm that she would not, but that she merely expressed an emphatic and earnest desire to be "jiggered" if she would; a polite and delicate evasion of the request, which shows the young lady to have been possessed of that natural good-breeding that cannot bear to inflict upon a fellow-creature the pain of a direct and pointed refusal.
The Jew's countenance fell, and he turned to the other young lady, who was gaily, not to say gorgeously attired, in a red gown, green boots, and yellow curl-papers.
"Nancy, my dear," said the Jew in a soothing manner, "what do you say?"
"That it won't do; so it's no use a trying it on, Fagin," replied Nancy.
"What do you mean by that?" said Mr. Sikes, looking up in a surly manner.
"What I say, Bill," replied the lady collectedly.
"Why, you're just the very person for it," reasoned Mr. Sikes: "nobody about here, knows anything of you."
"And as I don't want 'em to, neither," replied Miss Nancy in the same composed manner, "it's rayther more no than yes with me, Bill."
"She'll go, Fagin," said Sikes.
"No, she won't, Fagin," bawled Nancy.
"Yes she will, Fagin," said Sikes.
And Mr. Sikes was right. By dint of alternate threats, promises, and bribes, the engaging female in question was ultimately prevailed upon to undertake the commission. She was not indeed withheld by the same considerations as her agreeable friend, for, having very recently removed into the neighbourhood of Field-lane from the remote but genteel suburb of Ratcliffe, she was not under the same apprehension of being recognised by any of her numerous acquaintance.
Accordingly, with a clean white apron tied over the red gown, and the yellow curl-papers tucked up under a straw bonnet, – both articles of dress being provided from the Jew's inexhaustible stock, – Miss Nancy prepared to issue forth on her errand.
"Stop a minute, my dear," said the Jew, producing a little covered basket. "Carry that in one hand; it looks more respectable, my dear."
"Give her a door-key to carry in her t'other one, Fagin," said Sikes; "it looks real and genivine like."
"Yes, yes, my dear, so it does," said the Jew, hanging a large street-door key on the fore-finger of the young lady's right hand. "There; very good, – very good indeed, my dear," said the Jew, rubbing his hands.
"Oh, my brother! my poor, dear, sweet, innocent little brother!" exclaimed Miss Nancy, bursting into tears, and wringing the little basket and the street-door key in an agony of distress. "What has become of him! – where have they taken him to! Oh, do have pity, and tell me what's been done with the dear boy, gentlemen; do, gentlemen, if you please, gentlemen."
Having uttered these words in a most lamentable and heart-broken tone, to the immeasurable delight of her hearers, Miss Nancy paused, winked to the company, nodded smilingly round, and disappeared.
"Ah! she's a clever girl, my dears," said the Jew, turning to his young friends, and shaking his head gravely, as if in mute admonition to them to follow the bright example they had just beheld.
"She's a honor to her sex," said Mr. Sikes, filling his glass, and smiting the table with his enormous fist. "Here's her health, and wishing they was all like her!"
While these and many other encomiums were being passed on the accomplished Miss Nancy, that young lady made the best of her way to the police-office; whither, notwithstanding a little natural timidity consequent upon walking through the streets alone and unprotected, she arrived in perfect safety shortly afterwards.
Entering by the back way, she tapped softly with the key at one of the cell-doors and listened. There was no sound within, so she coughed and listened again. Still there was no reply, so she spoke.
"Nolly, dear?" murmured Nancy in a gentle voice; – "Nolly?"
There was nobody inside but a miserable shoeless criminal, who had been taken up for playing the flute, and who – the offence against society having been clearly proved – had been very properly committed by Mr. Fang to the House of Correction for one month, with the appropriate and amusing remark that since he had got so much breath to spare, it would be much more wholesomely expended on the treadmill than in a musical instrument. He made no answer, being occupied in mentally bewailing the loss of the flute, which had been confiscated for the use of the county; so Miss Nancy passed on to the next cell, and knocked there.
"Well," cried a faint and feeble voice.
"Is there a little boy here?" inquired Miss Nancy with a preliminary sob.
"No," replied the voice; "God forbid!"
This was a vagrant of sixty-five, who was going to prison for not playing the flute, or, in other words, for begging in the streets, and doing nothing for his livelihood. In the next cell was another man, who was going to the same prison for hawking tin saucepans without a licence, thereby doing something for his living in defiance of the Stamp-office.
But as neither of these criminals answered to the name of Oliver, or knew anything about him, Miss Nancy made straight up to the bluff officer in the striped waistcoat, and with the most piteous wailings and lamentations, rendered more piteous by a prompt and efficient use of the street-door key and the little basket, demanded her own dear brother.
"I haven't got him, my dear," said the old man.
"Where is he?" screamed Miss Nancy in a distracted manner.
"Why, the gentleman's got him," replied the officer.
"What gentleman? Oh, gracious heavins! what gentleman?" exclaimed Miss Nancy.
In reply to this incoherent questioning, the old man informed the deeply affected sister that Oliver had been taken ill in the office, and discharged in consequence of a witness having proved the robbery to have been committed by another boy not in custody; and that the prosecutor had carried him away in an insensible condition to his own residence, of and concerning which all the informant knew was, that it was somewhere at Pentonville, he having heard that word mentioned in the directions to the coachman.
In a dreadful state of doubt and uncertainty the agonised young woman staggered to the gate, and then, – exchanging her faltering gait for a good swift steady run, returned by the most devious and complicated route she could think of, to the domicile of the Jew.
Mr. Bill Sikes no sooner heard the account of the expedition delivered, than he very hastily called up the white dog, and, putting on his hat, expeditiously departed, without devoting any time to the formality of wishing the company good-morning.
"We must know where he is, my dears; he must be found," said the Jew, greatly excited. "Charley, do nothing but skulk about, till you bring home some news of him. Nancy, my dear, I must have him found: I trust to you, my dear, – to you and the Artful for every thing. Stay, stay," added the Jew, unlocking a drawer with a shaking hand; "there's money, my dears. I shall shut up this shop to-night: you'll know where to find me. Don't stop here a minute, – not an instant, my dears!"
With these words he pushed them from the room, and carefully double-locking and barring the door behind them, drew from its place of concealment the box which he had unintentionally disclosed to Oliver, and hastily proceeded to dispose the watches and jewellery beneath his clothing.
A rap at the door startled him in this occupation. "Who's there?" he cried in a shrill tone of alarm.
"Me!" replied the voice of the Dodger through the keyhole.
"What now?" cried the Jew impatiently.
"Is he to be kidnapped to the other ken, Nancy says?" inquired the Dodger cautiously.
"Yes," replied the Jew, "wherever she lays hands on him. Find him, find him out, that's all; and I shall know what to do next, never fear."
The boy murmured a reply of intelligence, and hurried down stairs after his companions.
"He has not peached so far," said the Jew as he pursued his occupation. "If he means to blab us among his new friends, we may stop his windpipe yet."
WHAT THOUGH WE WERE RIVALS OF YORE
A ROMANCE. BY HAYNES BAYLYI"What though we were rivals of yore,It seems you the victor have proved,Henceforth we are rivals no more,For I must forget I have loved.You tell me you wed her to-day,I thank you for telling the worst;Adieu then! to horse, and away! —But, hold! – let us drink her health first!II"Alas! I confess I was wrongTo cope with so charming a knight;Excelling in dance, and in song,Well-dress'd, debonnaire, and polite!So, putting all envy aside,I take a new flask from the shelf;Another full glass to the bride,And now a full glass to yourself.III"You'll drink a full bumper to me,So well I have borne my defeat?To the nymphs who the bridemaids will be,And to each of the friends you will meet.You are weary? – one glass to renew;You are dozing? – one glass to restore;You are sleeping? – proud rival, adieu!Excuse me for locking the door."IVThere's a fee in the hand of the priest!There's a kiss on the cheek of the bride!And the guest she expected the leastIs He who now sits by her side!Oh, well may the loiterer fail,His love is the grape of the Rhine;And the spirit most sure to prevailWas never the spirit of wine.LOVE IN THE CITY
TO THE PUBLICIn the prefatory observations I thought advisable to make when placing "Love in the City" before the world, I stated that my chief aim was the restoration of the drama to its pristine purity by avoiding those unnatural and superhuman agencies which modern writers have so extensively indulged in. Opposing myself thus, to innovation, I have ventured on one of the boldest changes in dramatic arrangement, by postponing the performance of the overture until the commencement of the second act. Having thus admitted my offending, I trust that, when the reasons which induced it are explained and understood, I shall have justified this daring step, and obtained a verdict of public acquittal.
Is there a frequenter of our theatres on a first night whose musical sensibilities have not been lacerated by the noise and tumult incidental to a crowded house? Let him achieve by desperate exertion a favourable place in the undress circle, – suppose the theatre crammed to the pigeon-holes, the orchestra already tuned, and every eye bent upon the leader, awaiting his premonitory tap; – then, when the nervous system should be quiescent, the ear open to receive delicious sounds, the heart ready to expand itself into harmonious ecstacy, – at that very moment of rapturous expectation has not his tranquillity been annihilated by pinching him in the ribs to acquaint him that he is "sitting on her boa!" While, from that "refugium peccatorum," the shilling gallery, infernal cries of "Down in the front!" "Music!" "Curse your pedigree!" "Hats off!" "How's your mother?" drown even the double-drums, and render the overture inaudible from the opening crash to the close.
"Some giggling daughter of the queen of love"
To remedy this nuisance, – to allow the excited feelings of an overcrowded house to subside sufficiently to enable the audience, by presenting them with the first act, to judge how far the music of the overture is adapted to the business of the stage, – these considerations have induced me thus to postpone its performance, and with what success the public will best decide.
Another, and a more agreeable duty, now devolves upon me, – to express my ardent thanks to all and every to whom this drama is in any way indebted for its brilliant and unparalleled success. To Messrs. Flight and Robson; the commanding officers of the Foot and Fusileer Guards; the King of the Two Sicilies; the Hereditary Prince of Coolavin; and his serene highness the Duke of Darmstadt, I am eternally grateful. To the performers, male and female, the composers, the orchestra at large, scene-painters and scene-shifters, prompters and property-men, box-keepers and check-takers, sentries and police, I present my heartfelt acknowledgements. And to the most crowded and fashionable audience that ever graced a metropolitan theatre, I shall only say, that the rapturous and reiterated plaudits bestowed upon this drama shall never fade from the recollection of their most devoted, very humble, too fortunate, and ever grateful servant,
The Author.July 1, 1837.
LOVE IN THE CITY;
OR, ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELLA MELODRAMATIC EXTRAVAGANZAAct IIGrand Overture, – composed jointly by Spohr, Haynes Bayly, Newkom, and Rossini, and performed by the largest orchestra ever collected in a European theatre, assisted by the Duke of Darmstadt's brass band, and the entire drums of the Foot and Fusileer Guards.
In the course of the overture the following novelties will be introduced.
A duet upon the double-drums with one stick only, by Mons. Tambourette, Member of the Legion of Honour, K.T.S., and drum-major to the King of the Two Sicilies.
Planxty Mac Swain, and "What have you got in your jug?" with brilliant variations for the Irish pipes, by Kalkbrenner, – Mr. Patrick Halligan, Minstrel in ordinary to the Prince of Coolavin.
A capriccio on the German flute, by a distinguished amateur, who has lost four fingers and a thumb.
A grand fantasia (Henry Hertz) on one piano by eight performers.
Director, Sir George Smart.
Conductor, on The Apollonicon, – lent to the lessee for that night only, – Mr. Purkis.
Leader, Mr. T. Cooke,
The overture having been twice encored, bell rings, and curtain draws upAct II. – Scene IA public-house, "Black Horse," in the Borough. A tap-room. Mags and Poppleton discovered drinking "heavy wet." Mags rather fresh, and Poppleton evidently the worse of liquor. Mags, after a long pull, deposits the pot upon the table.
Pop.– Now for your news, Mags.Mags. I told you, worthy Pop,That Stubs and Smith put keepers on the shop.Pop.– And how's our missus?Mags. Why, hearty, when last seenWith a Life-Guardsman, crossing Turnham-green.Pop.– And honest Snags?Mags (with emotion). Ah! would that epithet were true,Or I could keep the sad details from you!Snags is not honest!(Poppleton buttons his coat, and puts himself into a boxing attitude.)He has robb'd the till,And lost the money, betting at a mill!(Noise without. Door opens. Enter Young Clipclose hastily.)Mr. C.– What, Mags and Pop! the coves I wish'd to seeAbove all others. Curse my pedigree!Air —Mr. Clipclose.– ("I've been roaming.")I've been nabb'd, sirs, – I've been nabb'd, sirs, —And bundled off direct to jail,By the villains when they grabb'd, sirs,And now I'm out upon stag-bail.(Mr. C. seizes the pewter in his right hand.)Mr. C.– Is this good stout?Mags (feelingly). My honest master, quaff!You'll find it strengthening, real half-and-half.Air —Poppleton.– ("Here we go up, up, up.")Come, Bob, take a sup, sup, sup!Let the liquor your stiff neck slide down, boy;There's nothing like keeping steam up,When a man's at the worst, and done brown, boy.(Clipclose starts, looks anxiously at Mags.)Mr. C.– How's all at home, – I mean on Ludgate-hill, —And have you heard the winner of the mill?Mags (with considerable hesitation).– We all, alas! for Fortune's frowns seem fix'd on.Poor Jerry Scout is bundled off to Brixton;The shop's done up; and, for your lady wife,I fear she's joined the Guards, yclept "The Life;"On other things, barring the fight, I'm barren,And Owen Swift was beat by Barney Aaron.(Clipclose staggers across the room, and catches at the chimney-piece.)Mr. C.– My wife levanted, and the shop done up!Mags, hand the quart; I need another sup.Othello like, Bob's occupation's done;For I back'd Owen freely two to one.Like Antony at Actium, this fell dayStrips me of all, shop, cash, and lady gay.Would I had nerve to take myself away!Pop. (aside.) – I'll watch him close. Although his looks are placid,He'll take a dose, I fear, of prussic acid.(Enter Pot-boy.)Pot-boy.– Is there a gent call'd Mr. Clipclose here?
Mr. C.– I am that wretched man!(Slaps his forehead.)Pot-boy. Who pays the beer?Pop.– I.Pot-boy.– Here's a note. (To Mr. C.) Lord, but the man looks queer!(Mr. Clipclose reads it; jumps up, and whistles "Bobbing Joan.")QuartettoMagsMaster, are you mad?Mr. CNo; but I'm distractedPot-boyTimes are wery bad,PopAnd I in grief abstractedMagsOdds! he'll take his life!Mr. C. (kissing the billet.)Sweet note! thou'rt balm and manna!Mags to Pop. (who is reading it over Mr. C.'s shoulder.)Is it from his wife?Pop. (slaps his thigh.)No! from Miss Juliana!"Clipclose, when he reads it, rushes out; Mags after him. Poppleton attempts to follow, but is detained by pot-boy. He forks out tanner, and disappears. Solo —Apollonicon. Hurried music descriptive of three cabs: Clipclose in 793, at a rapid pace; Mags, 1659; Poppleton 1847, pursuing. Scene closes.
Scene IIThompson and Fearon's, Holborn; gin-palace at full work; company less select than numerous, and ladies and gentlemen taking "some'ut short" at the counter. Enter, in full uniform. Captain Connor; O'Toole and Blowhard in shell jackets. They call for a flash of lightning, touch glasses affectionately, and bolt the ruin. The captain stumps down for all.
Glee —Connor, O'Toole, and BlowhardCaptGin cures love, my boys, and gin cures the colic;O'TGin fits a man for fight, or fits him for a frolic;BlowCome, we'll have another go, then hey for any rollic!TrioCome, we'll have another go, and hey then for a rollic!Blow.– Lass! (to an attendant, whom he chucks under the chin,) some more jacky! Connor, do you still
Bend at the shrine of her on Ludgate-hill?OT. (contemptuously).– Zounds! a cit's helpmate. That would never do.One of us Guards, and one of taste like you.Capt.– Faith, honest Blowhard, and you, my pal, O'Toole,Tho' fond of flirting, yet your friend's no fool!Think ye that I could live upon my pay,And keep four wives on three and six a day?No. Let me have a monied mistress still,My El Dorado be a tradesman's till.Love fed by flimsies, is the love that thrives,And let the mercers keep the Guardsman's wives.O'T.– I see how matters stand, my trump; enough.Blow. (to O'T.) – He's wide awake, Tim. (To the Capt.) Con. you're up to snuff!Capt.– Come, one more round of jacky, and we part, —I, to the peerless lady of my heartIn Stamford-street; – to Knightsbridge barrack you;And mind don't split that I was out at Kew.(They take each another johnny, shake hands, and separate. The scene closes.)Scene IIIA drawing-room; doors in the flat; one opening into Miss Juliana Smashaway's boudoir, and the other to her bed-chamber. She is discovered standing at the window in a pensive attitude. She sighs heavily, and rubs her temples with "eau de Cologne."
Miss S.– He comes not – half-past four! Ah, fickle Connor!Is this thy plighted faith, and thrice-pledged honour?Was it for this, I waived a grocer's hand,And twice refused a counter in the Strand,Sent back an offer from a Tenth Hussar,And without warning left Soho bazaar,Rejected Griskin, that rich man of mutton;Shy'd Lincoln Stanhope, and cut Manners Sutton?(Sudden noise. Voices without.)1st voice.– Fare's sixteen-pence, and with one bob I'm shamm'd! Fork out the four-pence!
2nd voice. First I'd see you d – d!
(Door opens. Clipclose rushes in, and embraces Miss Smashaway.)Miss S. (with considerable spirit.) – Unhand me, fellow! Whence this bold intrusion?
I think I'll faint, I feel in such confusion.
Duet —Clipclose and Miss S.– ("Pray Goody.")Mr. COh, come, Juliana, lay aside your anger and surprise;One trifling kiss you'll scarcely miss, you know.I saw a ready pardon seal'd already in your eyes,Else, 'pon my soul! I scarce had ventur'd so.Miss STrue, sir; but you, sir,Should recollect what's due, sir,To one so young and innocentMr. CAs pretty Missus Ju – Oh, come, Miss S. do lay aside your anger and surprise;A trifling kiss you'll scarcely miss, you know.I saw a ready pardon seal'd already in your eyes,Else, 'pon my soul! I had not ventur'd so.(Cab stops suddenly at the door. Miss S. looks out alarmed. Loud knocking. Alarum.)Miss S.– Lost – lost for ever!Mr. C. Pray, madam, what's the matter?Miss S.– Heard ye no broadsword on the pavement clatter?Mr. C.– A broadsword! Zounds! My teeth begin to chatter!Miss S.– Where shall I hide him? – (Opens the chamber door.) – In, sir, or you 're dead.Mr. C.– Can nothing save me?Miss S. Creep beneath the bed.(Door opens. Mags peeps in.)Mags.– She's quite alone. Oh, happy Matthew Mags!
(Maid-servant enters.)Maid.– A chap's below who says he's Samuel Snags.Mags.– I'm a done man; for that 'ere cove will blow me.Miss S.– Follow me in, and I will safely stow ye.(Enter Snags.)Snags.– Divine Miss Smashaway, I humbly kneelTo plead a passion you can never feel;A smile will save, a frown as surely kill,One who for you has robb'd his master's till.Miss S.– Well, after that the man deserves some pity. —Knocking again! and here comes my maid Kitty.(Enter Maid.)Maid.– One Mr. Poppleton.Miss S. Was ever one so courted?Snags.– All's up with me; for life I'll be transported!Ma'am, could you save a lover?Miss S. Let me see.Oh, yes; the bed will surely cover three.(Puts Snags into bed-chamber. Enter Poppleton.)Pop.– Where is my charmer?