Dick Swiveller and the Marchioness Page #2

"Dick Swiveller and the Marchioness" is a novella by Charles Dickens, originally included in "The Old Curiosity Shop." The story follows the whimsical yet poignant relationship between the lovable and somewhat bumbling Dick Swiveller and the innocent, sweet-natured Marchioness. Dick, an imaginative and carefree character, finds himself navigating the challenges of his life while protecting and caring for the vulnerable Marchioness, who is often caught in difficult circumstances. Their friendship unfolds in a blend of humor and pathos, showcasing Dickens's signature ability to highlight the struggles of the downtrodden and the importance of kindness and compassion in a harsh world.

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humility, receiving it haughtily, drinking from it thirstily, and
smacking his lips fiercely.

The small servant, who was not so well acquainted with theatrical
customs as Mr. Swiveller (having indeed never seen a play or heard one
spoken of, except by some chance through chinks of doors and in other
forbidden places), was rather alarmed by demonstrations so strange in
their nature, and showed her concern so plainly in her looks that Mr.
Swiveller felt it necessary to change his brigand manner for one more
suitable to private life, as he asked:

"Do they often go where glory waits 'em, and leave you here?"

"Oh, yes; I believe they do," returned the small servant. "Miss Sally's
such a one-er for that, she is."

"Such a what?" said Dick.

"Such a one-er," returned the Marchioness.

After a moment's reflection, Mr. Swiveller determined to forego his
responsible duty of setting her right and to suffer her to talk on, as
it was evident that her tongue was loosened by the purl and her
opportunities for conversation were not so frequent as to render a
momentary check of little consequence.

"They sometimes go to see Mr. Quilp," said the small servant with a
shrewd look; "they go to a good many places, bless you."

"Is Mr. Brass a wunner?" said Dick.

"Not half what Miss Sally is, he isn't," replied the small servant,
shaking her head. "Bless you, he'd never do anything without her."

"Oh! He wouldn't, wouldn't he?" said Dick.

"Miss Sally keeps him in such order," said the small servant; "he always
asks her advice, he does; and he catches it sometimes. Bless you, you
wouldn't believe how much he catches it."

"I suppose," said Dick, "that they consult together a good deal, and
talk about a great many people--about me, for instance sometimes, eh,
Marchioness?"

The Marchioness nodded amazingly.

"Do they speak of me in a friendly manner?" said Mr. Swiveller.

The Marchioness changed the motion of her head, which had not yet left
off nodding, and suddenly began to shake it from side to side so hard as
to threaten breaking her neck.

"Humph!" Dick muttered. "Would it be any breach of confidence,
Marchioness, to relate what they say of the humble individual who has
now the honor to----?"

"Miss Sally says you're a funny chap," replied his friend.

"Well, Marchioness," said Mr. Swiveller, "that's not uncomplimentary.
Merriment, Marchioness, is not a bad or degrading quality. Old King Cole
was himself a merry old soul, if we may put any faith in the pages of
history."

"But she says," pursued his companion, "that you ain't to be trusted."

"Why, really, Marchioness," said Mr. Swiveller thoughtfully; "several
ladies and gentlemen--not exactly professional persons, but
tradespeople, ma'am, tradespeople--have made the same remark. The person
who keeps the hotel over the way inclined strongly to that opinion
to-night when I ordered him to prepare the banquet. It's a popular
prejudice, Marchioness; and yet I am sure I don't know why, for I have
been trusted in my time to a considerable amount, and I can safely say
that I never forsook my trust until it deserted me--never. Mr. Brass is
of the same opinion, I suppose?"

His friend nodded again, with a cunning look which seemed to hint that
Mr. Brass held stronger opinions on the subject than his sister; and
seeming to recollect herself, added imploringly, "But don't you ever
tell upon me, or I shall be beat to death."

"Marchioness," said Mr. Swiveller, rising, "the word of a gentleman is
as good as his bond--sometimes better; as in the present case, where his
bond might prove but a doubtful sort of security. I am your friend, and
I hope we shall play many more rubbers together in the same saloon. But,
Marchioness," added Richard, stopping on his way to the door, and
wheeling slowly round upon the small servant, who was following with the
candle, "it occurs to me that you must be in the constant habit of
airing your eye at keyholes, to know all this."

"I only wanted," replied the trembling Marchioness, "to know where the
key of the safe was hid; that was all; and I wouldn't have taken much,
if I had found it--only enough to squench my hunger."

"You didn't find it, then?" said Dick. "But of course you didn't, or
you'd be plumper. Good-night, Marchioness. Fare thee well, and if
forever, then forever fare thee well--and put up the chain, Marchioness,
in case of accidents."

With this parting word, Mr. Swiveller came out from the house; and
feeling that he had by this time taken quite as much to drink as
promised to be good for his constitution (purl being a rather strong and
heady compound), wisely resolved to betake himself to his lodgings, and
to bed at once. Homeward he went therefore; and his apartments (for he
still spoke of his one little room as "apartments") being at no great
distance from the office, he was soon seated in his own bed-chamber,
where, having pulled off one boot and forgotten the other, he fell into
deep thought.

"This Marchioness," said Mr. Swiveller, folding his arms, "is a very
extraordinary person--surrounded by mysteries, ignorant of the taste of
beer, unacquainted with her own name (which is less remarkable), and
taking a limited view of society through the keyholes of doors--can
these things be her destiny, or has some unknown person started an
opposition to the decrees of fate? It is a most amazing staggerer!"

When his meditations had attained this satisfactory point, he became
aware of his remaining boot, of which, with great solemnity, he
proceeded to divest himself; shaking his head with exceeding gravity all
the time, and sighing deeply.

"These rubbers," said Mr. Swiveller, putting on his nightcap in exactly
the same style as he wore his hat, "remind me of the matrimonial
fireside. My old girl, Chegg's wife, plays cribbage; all-fours alike.
She rings the changes on 'em now. From sport to sport they hurry her, to
banish her regrets, and when they win a smile from her, they think that
she forgets--but she don't. By this time, I should say," added Richard,
getting his left cheek into profile, and looking complacently at the
reflection of a very little scrap of whisker in the looking-glass; "by
this time, I should say, the iron has entered into her soul. It serves
her right."

Mr. Swiveller, it must be said had been at one time somewhat in love
with a young lady: but she had left his love and married a Mr. Cheggs.

Melting from this stern and harsh into the tender and pathetic mood, Mr.
Swiveller groaned a little, walked wildly up and down, and even made a
show of tearing his hair, which, however, he thought better of, and
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