THE MYSTERIES OF LONDON.
THE
MYSTERIES OF LONDON.
BY
GEORGE W. M. REYNOLDS,
AUTHOR OF "PICKWICK ABROAD," "THE MODERN LITERATURE OF FRANCE,"
"ROBERT MACAIRE," ETC.
WITH NUMEROUS ILLUSTRATIONS
BY G. STIFF.
VOL. I.
LONDON:
GEORGE VICKERS, 3, CATHERINE STREET, STRAND.
MDCCCXLVI.
LONDON:
Printed by J. J. WILKINSON, "Bonner House," Seacoal Lane.
CONTENTS OF VOL. I.
PAGE
PROLOGUE 1
CHAPTER I.--The Old House in Smithfield 2
II.--The Mysteries of the Old House 4
III.--The Trap-Door 6
IV.--The Two Trees 7
V.--Eligible Acquaintances 11
VI.--Mrs. Arlington 14
VII.--The Boudoir 16
VIII.--The Conversation 19
IX.--A City Man.--Smithfield Scenes 20
X.--The Frail One's Narrative 24
XI.--"The Servants' Arms" 27
XII.--The Bank Notes 30
XIII.--The Hell 32
XIV.--The Station-House 35
XV.--The Police-Office 37
XVI.--The Beginning of Misfortunes 39
XVII.--A Den of Horrors 43
XVIII.--The Boozing-Ken 45
XIX.--Morning 50
XX.--The Villa 51
XXI.--Atrocity 54
XXII.--A Woman's Mind 55
XXIII.--The Old House in Smithfield again 58
XXIV.--Circumstantial Evidence 61
XXV.--The Enchantress 63
XXVI.--Newgate 67
XXVII.--The Republican and the Resurrection Man 69
XXVIII.--The Dungeon 71
XXIX.--The Black Chamber 75
XXX.--The 26th of November 78
XXXI.--Explanations 84
XXXII.--The Old Bailey 86
XXXIII.--Another Day at the Old Bailey 91
XXXIV.--The Lesson interrupted 93
XXXV.--Whitecross Street Prison 95
XXXVI.--The Execution 99
XXXVII.--The Lapse of Two Years 102
XXXVIII.--The Visit 105
XXXIX.--The Dream 109
XL.--The Speculation--An unwelcome Meeting 111
XLI.--Mr. Greenwood 115
XLII.--"The Dark House" 118
XLIII.--The Mummy 122
XLIV.--The Body-Snatchers 125
XLV.--The Fruitless Search 128
XLVI.--Richard and Isabella 131
XLVII.--Eliza Sydney 138
XLVIII.--Mr. Greenwood's Visitors 140
XLIX.--The Document 148
L.--The Drugged Wine-glass 151
LI.--Diana and Eliza 154
LII.--The Bed of Sickness 156
LIII.--Accusations and Explanations 158
LIV.--The Banker 162
LV.--Miserrima!! 167
LVI.--The Road to Ruin 171
LVII.--The Last Resource 176
LVIII.--New Year's Day 178
LIX.--The Royal Lovers 182
LX.--Revelations 185
LXI.--The "Boozing-Ken" once more 188
LXII.--The Resurrection Man's History 191
LXIII.--The Plot 197
LXIV.--The Counterplot 198
LXV.--The Wrongs and Crimes of the Poor 202
LXVI.--The Result of Markham's Enterprise 205
LXVII.--Scenes in Fashionable Life 207
LXVIII.--The Election 210
LXIX.--The "Whippers-in" 213
LXX.--The Image, the Picture, and the Statue 216
LXXI.--The House of Commons 219
LXXII.--The Black Chamber again 221
LXXIII.--Captain Dapper and Sir Cherry Bounce 224
LXXIV.--The Meeting 227
LXXV.--The Crisis 230
LXXVI.--Count Alteroni's Fifteen Thousand Pounds 233
LXXVII.--A Woman's Secret 235
LXXVIII.--Marian 237
LXXIX.--The Bill.--A Father 239
LXXX.--The Revelation 242
LXXXI.--The Mysterious Instructions 245
LXXXII.--The Medical Man 246
LXXXIII.--The Black Chamber again 248
LXXXIV.--The Second Examination.--Count Alteroni 250
LXXXV.--A Friend in Need 254
LXXXVI.--The Old Hag 256
LXXXVII.--The Professor of Mesmerism 260
LXXXVIII.--The Figurante 262
LXXXIX.--The Mysterious Letter 266
XC.--Markham's Occupations 268
XCI.--The Tragedy 274
XCII.--The Italian Valet 277
XCIII.--News from Castelcicala 282
XCIV.--The Home Office 285
XCV.--The Forger and the Adulteress 290
XCVI.--The Member of Parliament's Levee 293
XCVII.--Another's New Year's Day 296
XCVIII.--Dark Plots and Schemes 301
XCIX.--The Buffer's History 304
C.--The Mysteries of the Ground-floor Rooms 310
CI.--The Widow 312
CII.--The Reverend Visitor 314
CIII.--Hopes and Fears 317
CIV.--Female Courage 318
CV.--The Combat 321
CVI.--The Grave-digger 323
CVII.--A Discovery 326
CVIII.--The Exhumation 328
CIX.--The Stock-Broker 331
CX.--The Effects of a Trance 339
CXI.--A Scene at Mr. Chichester's House 340
CXII.--Viola 342
CXIII.--The Lovers 346
CXIV.--The Contents of the Packet 349
CXV.--The Treasure.--A New Idea 351
CXVI.--The Rattlesnake's History 353
CXVII.--The Rattlesnake 361
CXVIII.--The Two Maidens 364
CXIX.--Poor Ellen! 367
CXX.--The Father and Daughter 369
CXXI.--His Child! 371
CXXII.--A Change of Fortune 373
CXXIII.--Aristocratic Morals 375
CXXIV.--The Intrigues of a Demirep 377
CXXV.--The Reconciliation 380
CXXVI.--The Rector of Saint David's 382
CXXVII.--Blandishments 384
CXXVIII.--Temptation 387
CXXIX.--The Fall 389
CXXX.--Mental Struggles 391
CXXXI.--The Statue 394
CXXXII.--An Old Friend 396
CXXXIII.--Skilligalee's History 400
CXXXIV.--The Palace in the Holy Land 406
CXXXV.--The Proposal.--Unexpected Meetings 408
CXXXVI.--The Secret Tribunal 413
EPILOGUE 415
ILLUSTRATIONS TO VOL I.
For Woodcut on page 1 see page 3
For Woodcut on page 9 see page 15
For Woodcut on page 17 see page 17
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For Woodcut on page 33 see page 34
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For Woodcut on page 305 see page 309
For Woodcut on page 313 see page 314
For Woodcut on page 321 see page 322
For Woodcut on page 329 see page 330
For Woodcut on page 337 see page 338
For Woodcut on page 345 see page 349
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For Woodcut on page 361 see page 362
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For Woodcut on page 385 see page 386
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For Woodcut on page 409 see page 413
THE MYSTERIES OF LONDON.
[Illustration]
PROLOGUE.
Between the 10th and 13th centuries Civilisation withdrew from Egypt and
Syria, rested for a little space at Constantinople, and then passed away
to the western climes of Europe.
From that period these climes have been the grand laboratory in which
Civilisation has wrought out refinement in every art and every science,
and whence it has diffused its benefits over the earth. It has taught
commerce to plough the waves of every sea with the adventurous keel; it
has enabled handfuls of disciplined warriors to subdue the mighty
armaments of oriental princes; and its daring sons have planted its
banners amidst the eternal ice of the poles. It has cut down the
primitive forests of America; carried trade into the interior of Africa;
annihilated time and distance by the aid of steam; and now contemplates
how to force a passage through Suez and Panama.
The bounties of Civilisation are at present almost everywhere
recognised.
Nevertheless, for centuries has Civilisation established, and for
centuries will it maintain, its headquarters in the great cities of
Western Europe: and with Civilisation does Vice go hand-in-hand.
Amongst these cities there is one in which contrasts of a strange nature
exist. The most unbounded wealth is the neighbour of the most hideous
poverty; the most gorgeous pomp is placed in strong relief by the most
deplorable squalor; the most seducing luxury is only separated by a
narrow wall from the most appalling misery.
The crumbs which fall from the tables of the rich would appear delicious
viands to starving millions; and yet those millions obtain them not!
In that city there are in all districts five prominent buildings: the
church, in which the pious pray; the gin-palace, to which the wretched
poor resort to drown their sorrows; the pawnbroker's, where miserable
creatures pledge their raiment, and their children's raiment, even unto
the last rag, to obtain the means of purchasing food, and--alas! too
often--intoxicating drink; the prison, where the victims of a vitiated
condition of society expiate the crimes to which they have been driven
by starvation and despair; and the workhouse, to which the destitute,
the aged, and the friendless hasten to lay down their aching heads--and
die!
And, congregated together in one district of this city, in an assemblage
of palaces, whence emanate by night the delicious sounds of music;
within whose walls the foot treads upon rich carpets; whose sideboards
are covered with plate; whose cellars contain the choicest nectar of the
temperate and torrid zones; and whose inmates recline beneath velvet
canopies, feast at each meal upon the collated produce of four worlds,
and scarcely have to breathe a wish before they find it gratified.
Alas! how appalling are these contrasts!
And, as if to hide its infamy from the face of heaven, this city wears
upon its brow an everlasting cloud, which even the fresh fan of the
morning fails to disperse for a single hour each day!
And in one delicious spot of that mighty city--whose thousand towers
point upwards, from horizon to horizon, as an index of its boundless
magnitude--stands the dwelling of one before whom all knees bow, and
towards whose royal footstool none dares approach save with downcast
eyes and subdued voice. The entire world showers its bounties upon the
head of that favoured mortal; a nation of millions does homage to the
throne whereon that being is exalted. The dominion of this personage so
supremely blest extends over an empire on which the sun never sets--an
empire greater than Jenghiz Khan achieved or Mohammed conquered.
This is the parent of a mighty nation; and yet around that parent's seat
the children crave for bread!
Women press their little ones to their dried-up breasts in the agonies
of despair; young delicate creatures waste their energies in toil from
the dawn of day till long past the hour of midnight, perpetuating their
unavailing labour from the hour of the brilliant sun to that when the
dim candle sheds its light around the attic's naked walls; and even the
very pavement groans beneath the weight of grief which the poor are
doomed to drag over the rough places of this city of sad contrasts.
For in this city the daughter of the peer is nursed in enjoyments, and
passes through an uninterrupted avenue of felicity from the cradle to
the tomb; while the daughter of poverty opens her eyes at her birth upon
destitution in all its most appalling shapes, and at length sells her
virtue for a loaf of bread.
There are but two words known in the moral alphabet of this great city;
for all virtues are summed up in the one, and all vices in the other:
and those words are
WEALTH. | POVERTY.
Crime is abundant in this city: the lazar-house, the prison, the
brothel, and the dark alley, are rife with all kinds of enormity; in the
same way as the palace, the mansion, the clubhouse, the parliament, and
the parsonage, are each and all characterised by their different degrees
and shades of vice. But wherefore specify crime and vice by their real
names, since in this city of which we speak they are absorbed in the
multi-significant words--WEALTH and POVERTY?
Crimes borrow their comparative shade of enormity from the people who
perpetrate them: thus is it that the wealthy may commit all social
offences with impunity; while the poor are cast into dungeons and
coerced with chains, for only following at a humble distance in the
pathway of their lordly precedents.
From this city of strange contrasts branch off two roads, leading to two
points totally distinct the one from the other.
One winds its tortuous way through all the noisome dens, of crime,
chicanery, dissipation, and voluptuousness: the other meanders amidst
rugged rocks and wearisome acclivities, it is true, but on the wayside
are the resting-places of rectitude and virtue.
Along those roads two youths are journeying.
They have started from the same point; but one pursues the former path,
and the other the latter.
Both come from the city of fearful contrasts; and both follow the wheels
of fortune in different directions.
Where is that city of fearful contrasts?
Who are those youths that have thus entered upon paths so opposite the
one to the other?
And to what destinies do those separate roads conduct them?
CHAPTER I.
THE OLD HOUSE IN SMITHFIELD.
Our narrative opens at the commencement of July, 1831.
The night was dark and stormy. The sun had set behind huge piles of
dingy purple clouds, which, after losing the golden hue with which they
were for awhile tinged, became sombre and menacing. The blue portions of
the sky that here and there had appeared before the sunset, were now
rapidly covered over with those murky clouds which are the hiding-places
of the storm, and which seemed to roll themselves together in dense and
compact masses, ere they commenced the elemental war.
In the same manner do the earthly squadrons of cavalry and mighty
columns of infantry form themselves into one collected armament, that
the power of their onslaught may be the more terrific and irresistible.
That canopy of dark and threatening clouds was formed over London; and a
stifling heat, which there was not a breath of wind to allay or
mitigate, pervaded the streets of the great metropolis.
Everything portended an awful storm.
In the palace of the peer and the hovel of the artisan the windows were
thrown up; and at many, both men and women stood to contemplate the
scene--timid children crowding behind them.
The heat became more and more oppressive.
At length large drops of rain fell, at intervals of two or three inches
apart, upon the pavement.
And then a flash of lightning, like the forked tongue of one of those
fiery serpents of which we read in oriental tales of magic and
enchantment, darted forth from the black clouds overhead.
At an interval of a few seconds the roar of the thunder, reverberating
through the arches of heaven--now sinking, now exalting its fearful
tone, like the iron wheels of a chariot rolled over a road with patches
of uneven pavement here and there--stunned every ear, and struck terror
into many a heart--the innocent as well as the guilty.
It died away, like the chariot, in the distance; and then all was
solemnly still.
The interval of silence which succeeds the protracted thunder-clap is
appalling in the extreme.
A little while--and again the lightning illuminated the entire vault
above: and again the thunder, in unequal tones,--amongst which was one
resembling the rattling of many vast iron bars together,--awoke every
echo of the metropolis from north to south, and from east to west.
This time the dread interval of silence was suddenly interrupted by the
torrents of rain that now deluged the streets.
There was not a breath of air; and the rain fell as perpendicularly
straight as a line. But with it came a sense of freshness and of a pure
atmosphere, which formed an agreeable and cheering contrast to the
previously suffocating heat. It was like the spring of the oasis to the
wanderer in the burning desert.
But still the lightning played, and the thunder rolled, above.
At the first explosion of the storm, amidst the thousands of men and
women and children, who were seen hastening hither and thither, in all
directions, as if they were flying from the plague, was one person on
whose exterior none could gaze without being inspired with a mingled
sentiment of admiration and interest.
He was a youth, apparently not more than sixteen years of age, although
taller than boys usually are at that period of life. But the tenderness
of his years was divined by the extreme effeminacy and juvenile
loveliness of his countenance, which was as fair and delicate as that of
a young girl. His long luxuriant hair, of a beautiful light chestnut
colour, and here and there borrowing dark shades from the frequent
undulations in which it rolled, flowed not only over the collar of his
closely-buttoned blue frock coat, but also upon his shoulders. Its
extreme profusion, and the singular manner in which he wore it, were,
however, partially concealed by the breadth of the brim of his hat, that
was placed as it were entirely upon the back of his head, and, being
thus thrown off his countenance, revealed the high, intelligent, and
polished forehead above which that rich hair was carefully parted.
His frock coat, which was single-breasted, and buttoned up to the
throat, set off his symmetrical and elegant figure to the greatest
advantage. His shoulders were broad, but were characterised by that fine
fall or slope which is so much admired in the opposite sex. He wore
spurs upon the heels of his diminutive polished boots; and in his hand
he carried a light riding-whip. But he was upon foot and alone; and,
when the first flash of lightning dazzled his expressive hazel eyes, he
was hastily traversing the foul and filthy arena of Smithfield-market.
An imagination poetically inspired would suppose a similitude of a
beautiful flower upon a fetid manure heap.
He cast a glance, which may almost be termed one of affright, around;
and his cheek became flushed. He had evidently lost his way, and was
uncertain where to obtain an asylum against the coming storm.
The thunder burst above his head; and a momentary shudder passed over
his frame. He accosted a man to inquire his way; but the answer he
received was rude, and associated with a ribald joke.
He had not courage to demand a second time the information he sought;
but, with a species of haughty disdain at the threatening storm, and a
proud reliance upon himself, proceeded onwards at random.
He even slackened his pace: a contemptuous smile curled his lips, and
the glittering white teeth appeared as it were between two rose-leaves.
His chest, which was very prominent, rose up and down almost
convulsively; for it was evident that he endeavoured to master
conflicting feelings of vexation, alarm, and disgust--all produced by
the position in which he found himself.
To one so young, so delicate, and so frank in appearance, the mere fact
of losing his way by night in a disgusting neighbourhood, during an
impending storm, and insulted by a low-life ruffian, was not the mere
trifle which it would have been considered by the hardy and experienced
man of the world.
Not a public conveyance was to be seen; and the doors of all the houses
around appeared inhospitably closed: and every moment it seemed to grow
darker.
Accident conducted the interesting young stranger into that labyrinth of
narrow and dirty streets which lies in the immediate vicinity of the
north-western angle of Smithfield-market.
It was in this horrible neighbourhood that the youth was now wandering.
He was evidently shocked at the idea that human beings could dwell in
such fetid and unwholesome dens; for he gazed with wonder, disgust, and
alarm upon the houses on either side. It seemed as if he had never
beheld till now a labyrinth of dwellings whose very aspect appeared to
speak of hideous poverty and fearful crime.
Meantime the lightning flashed, and the thunder rolled; and at length
the rain poured down in torrents. Obeying a mechanical impulse, the
youth rushed up the steps of a house at the end of one of those dark,
narrow, and dirty streets the ominous appearance of which was every now
and then revealed to him by a light streaming from a narrow window, or
the glare of the lightning. The framework of the door projected
somewhat, and appeared to offer a partial protection from the rain. The
youth drew as closely up to it as possible; but to his surprise it
yielded behind him, and burst open. With difficulty he saved himself
from falling backwards into the passage with which the door
communicated.
Having recovered from the sudden alarm with which this incident had
inspired him, his next sentiment was one of pleasure to think that he
had thus found a more secure asylum against the tempest. He, however,
felt wearied--desperately wearied; and his was not a frame calculated to
bear up against the oppressive and crushing feeling of fatigue. He
determined to penetrate, amidst the profound darkness by which he was
surrounded, into the dwelling; thinking that if there were any inmates
they would not refuse him the accommodation of a chair; and if there
were none, he might find a seat upon the staircase.
He advanced along the passage, and groped about. His hand encountered
the lock of a door: he opened it, and entered a room. All was dark as
pitch. At that moment a flash of lightning, more than usually vivid and
prolonged, illuminated the entire scene. The glance which he cast around
was as rapid as the glare which made objects visible to him for a few
moments. He was in a room entirely empty; but in the middle of the
floor--only three feet from the spot where he stood--there was a large
square of jet blackness.
The lightning passed away: utter darkness again surrounded him; and he
was unable to ascertain what that black square, so well defined and
apparent upon the dirty floor, could be.
An indescribable sensation of fear crept over him; and the perspiration
broke out upon his forehead in large drops. His knees bent beneath him;
and, retreating a few steps, he leaned against the door-posts for
support.
He was alone--in an uninhabited house, in the midst of a horrible
neighbourhood; and all the fearful tales of midnight murders which he
had ever heard or read, rushed to his memory: then, by a strange but
natural freak of the fancy, those appalling deeds of blood and crime
were suddenly associated with that incomprehensible but ominous black
square upon the floor.
He was in the midst of this terrible waking dream--this more than ideal
nightmare--when hasty steps approached the front door from the street;
and, without stopping, entered the passage. The youth crept silently
towards the farther end, the perspiration oozing from every pore. He
felt the staircase with his hands; the footsteps advanced; and, light as
the fawn, he hurried up the stairs. So noiseless were his motions, that
his presence was not noticed by the new-comers, who in their turns also
ascended the staircase.
The youth reached a landing, and hastily felt for the doors of the rooms
with which it communicated. In another moment he was in a chamber, at
the back part of the house. He closed the door, and placed himself
against it with all his strength--forgetful, poor youth! that his
fragile form was unavailing, with all its power, against even the single
arm of a man of only ordinary strength.
Meantime the new-comers ascended the stairs.