The Mystery of Edwin Drood by Charles Dickens, Matthew Pearl Read Free Book Online Page A

sir,” Mr.
Sapsea coincides. “As I say, Man proposes, Heaven disposes. It may or may not
be putting the same thought in another form; but that is the way I put it.”
     
  Mr. Jasper murmurs assent.
     
  “And now, Mr. Jasper,” resumes the
auctioneer, producing his scrap of manuscript, “Mrs. Sapsea's monument having
had full time to settle and dry, let me take your opinion, as a man of taste,
on the inscription I have (as I before remarked, not without some little fever
of the brow) drawn out for it. Take it in your own hand. The setting out of the
lines requires to be followed with the eye, as well as the contents with the
mind.”
     
  Mr. Jasper complying, sees and reads as
follows:
     
   
     
  ETHELINDA, Reverential Wife of MR.
THOMAS SAPSEA, AUCTIONEER, VALUER, ESTATE AGENT, &c., OF THIS CITY. Whose
Knowledge of the World, Though somewhat extensive, Never brought him acquainted
with A SPIRIT More capable of LOOKING UP TO HIM. STRANGER, PAUSE And ask
thyself the Question, CANST THOU DO LIKEWISE? If Not, WITH A BLUSH RETIRE.
     
   
     
  Mr. Sapsea having risen and stationed
himself with his back to the fire, for the purpose of observing the effect of
these lines on the countenance of a man of taste, consequently has his face
towards the door, when his serving-maid, again appearing, announces, “Durdles
is come, sir!” He promptly draws forth and fills the third wineglass, as being
now claimed, and replies, “Show Durdles in.”
     
  “Admirable!” quoth Mr. Jasper, handing
back the paper.
     
  “You approve, sir?”
     
  “Impossible not to approve. Striking,
characteristic, and complete.”
     
  The auctioneer inclines his head, as one
accepting his due and giving a receipt; and invites the entering Durdles to
take off that glass of wine (handing the same), for it will warm him.
     
  Durdles is a stonemason; chiefly in the
gravestone, tomb, and monument way, and wholly of their colour from head to
foot. No man is better known in Cloisterham. He is the chartered libertine of
the place. Fame trumpets him a wonderful workman—which, for aught that anybody
knows, he may be (as he never works); and a wonderful sot—which everybody knows
he is. With the Cathedral crypt he is better acquainted than any living
authority; it may even be than any dead one. It is said that the intimacy of
this acquaintance began in his habitually resorting to that secret place, to
lock-out the Cloisterham boy-populace, and sleep off fumes of liquor: he having
ready access to the Cathedral, as contractor for rough repairs. Be this as it
may, he does know much about it, and, in the demolition of impedimental
fragments of wall, buttress, and pavement, has seen strange sights. He often
speaks of himself in the third person; perhaps, being a little misty as to his
own identity, when he narrates; perhaps impartially adopting the Cloisterham
nomenclature in reference to a character of acknowledged distinction. Thus he
will say, touching his strange sights: “Durdles come upon the old chap,” in
reference to a buried magnate of ancient time and high degree, “by striking
right into the coffin with his pick. The old chap gave Durdles a look with his
open eyes, as much as to say, “Is your name Durdles? Why, my man, I've been
waiting for you a devil of a time!” And then he turned to powder.” With a two-foot
rule always in his pocket, and a mason's hammer all but always in his hand,
Durdles goes continually sounding and tapping all about and about the
Cathedral; and whenever he says to Tope: “Tope, here's another old “un in
here!” Tope announces it to the Dean as an established discovery.
     
  In a suit of coarse flannel with horn
buttons, a yellow neckerchief with draggled ends, an old hat more
russet-coloured than black, and laced boots of the hue of his stony calling,
Durdles leads a hazy, gipsy sort of life, carrying his dinner about with him in
a small bundle, and sitting on all manner