Mr. Dickens's graphic description of the Court of Chancery, in his new
work, _Bleak House_, contains the following sketch:
"Standing on a seat at the side of the hall, ... is a little mad
old woman in a squeezed bonnet, who is always in court ...
expecting some incomprehensible judgment to be given in her
favour. Some say she really is, or was, a party to a suit: but no
one knows for certain, because no one cares. She carries some
small litter in a reticule which she calls her documents:
principally consisting of paper matches and dry lavender."
There is a diminutive creature, somewhat answering to this description,
who limps on a stick and one leg that is shorter than the other, all the
early morning in the still courts of the Temple; and seems to be waiting
the result of some consultation, before she reappears, as is her wont,
in Westminster Hall. Whether this person suggested the victim of _Bleak
House_, is a question of no moment. The story commonly told of her is a
very similar one, namely, that she was ruined and crazed, like Peter
Peebles, by the slow torture of a law-suit. Is anything known of her
real history?
What were the fortunes and fate of a poor female lunatic, who was called
_Rouge et noir_, from her crape sables and painted cheeks; and who used
to loiter every day about the Royal Exchange at four o'clock; and seemed
to depend for subsistence upon the stray bounty of the "money-changers?"
It was said that she had a brother who was hanged for forgery, and that
this drove her mad.
About thirty years ago, there might be heard any morning in the smaller
streets of "the city," a cry of "dolls' bedsteads," from a lean lame man
on a crutch; who wore an apron, and carried miniature bedsteads for
sale. Of this man it was generally reported, that he was implicated in
the Cato Street conspiracy, and turned king's evidence.
Charles Lamb describes a character, whom it is also impossible to
forget:
"A well-known figure, or part of the figure of a man, who used to
guide his upper half over the pavements of London, wheeling along
with most ingenious celerity upon a machine of wood.... He was of
a robust make, with a florid sailor-like complexion, and his head
was bare to the storm and sunshine.... The accident which brought
him low, took place during the riots of 1780."
Is this all that is known of this half-giant?
When the old Houses of Parliament were standing, there used to be at one
of the entrances a dwarf, long past middle age, who persisted in
offering his services as a guide. His countenance was full of grave
wisdom, quite Socratic in expression; but, I believe, he was an idiot.
Does anything of interest attach to the remembrance of him?
And, lastly, not to "stretch the line out to the crack of doom," what
became of Billy Waters? Do these street heroes die the death of common
men--in bed, and with friends near them; or do they generally find their
fate at last in the workhouse or the gaol; and get buried no one knows
when, or by whom, or where?
I cannot agree with Mr. Dickens, that "no one knows for certain" about
such persons, "_because_ no one cares." Indeed, Mr. D.'s philosophy and
practice are at variance in this matter. He makes his own sketch of "the
little mad old woman," because he feels that it will interest. How much
more would the original, could we get at it! But the truth is, these
people are as mysterious as the fireman's dog. They "come like shadows,
so depart:" leaving behind them on many minds ineffaceable impressions.
Indeed, some of us could confess with shame, that the feathered cocked
hat and fiddle of Billy Waters had survived the memory of a thousand
things of real importance: which could hardly be, were there not some
psychological force in these street characters--an inexplicable interest
and attraction.