CHAPTER XIX.

THE MADHOUSE CELL.

When the porter of the madhouse went out to the coach, his first

impression was, that the boy, who was said to be insane, was dead--for

not even the jolting ride to Peckham had been sufficient to arouse him

to a consciousness of how he was situated; and there he lay still at the

bottom of the coach alike insensible to joy or sorrow.

"Is he dead?" said the man to the coachman.

"How should I know?" was the reply; "he may be or he may not, but I want

to know how long I am to wait here for my fare?"

"There is your money, be off with you. I can see now that the boy is all

right, for he breathes, although it's after an odd fashion that he does

so. I should rather think he has had a knock on the head, or something

of that kind."

As he spoke, he conveyed Tobias within the building, and the coachman,

since he had got his six shillings, feeling that he had no further

interest in the matter, drove away at once, and paid no more attention

to it whatever. When Sweeney Todd reached the door at the end of the

passage, he tapped at it with his knuckles, and a voice cried--

"Who knocks--who knocks? Curses on you all! Who knocks?"

Sweeney Todd did not make any verbal reply to this polite request, but

opening the door he walked into the apartment, which is one that really

deserves some description. It was a large room with a vaulted roof, and

in the centre was a superior oaken table, at which sat a man

considerably advanced in years, as was proclaimed by his grizzled locks

that graced the sides of his head, but whose herculean frame and robust

constitution had otherwise successfully resisted the assaults of time. A

lamp swung from the ceiling, which had a shade over the top of it, so

that it cast a tolerably bright glow upon the table below, which was

covered with books and papers, as well as glasses and bottles of

different kinds, which showed that the madhouse-keeper was, at all

events, as far as himself was concerned, not at all indifferent to

personal comfort. The walls, however, presented the most curious aspect,

for they were hung with a variety of tools and implements, which would

have puzzled any one not initiated into the matter even to guess at

their uses. These were, however, in point of fact, specimens of the

different kinds of machinery which were used for the purpose of coercing

the unhappy persons whose evil destiny made them members of that

establishment. Those were what is "called the good old times," when all

sorts of abuses flourished in perfection, and when the unhappy insane

were actually punished as if they were guilty of some great offence.

Yes, and worse than that were they punished, for a criminal who might

have injustice done to him by any who were in authority over him, could

complain, and if he got hold of a person of higher power, his complaints

might be listened to, but no one heeded what was said by the poor

maniac, whose bitterest accusations of his keepers, let their conduct be

what it might, was only listened to and set down as a further proof of

his mental disorder. This was indeed a most awful and sad state of

things, and, to the disgrace of this country, it is a social evil

allowed until very late years to continue in full force. Mr. Fogg, the

madhouse-keeper fixed his keen eyes from beneath his shaggy brows, upon

Sweeney Todd, as the latter entered his apartment, and then he said--

"Mr. Todd, I think, unless my memory deceives me."

"The same," said the barber, making a hideous face, "I believe I am not

easily forgotten."

"True," said Mr. Fogg, as he reached a book, the edge of which was cut

into a lot of little slips, on each of which was a capital letter, in

the order of the alphabet--"true, you are not easily forgotten, Mr.

Todd."

He then opened the book at the letter T, and read from it:--

"Mr. Sweeney Todd, Fleet-street, London, paid one year's keep and burial

of Thomas Simkins, aged 15, found dead in his bed, after a residence in

the asylum of 10 months and 4 days. I think, Mr. Todd, that was our last

little transaction; what can I do now for you, sir?"

"I am rather unfortunate," said Todd, "with my boys. I have got another

here, who has shown such decided symptoms of insanity, that it becomes

absolutely necessary to place him under your care."

"Indeed!--does he rave?"

"Why, yes he does, and it's the most absurd nonsense in the world that

he raves about; for, to hear him, one would really think that, instead

of being one of the most humane of men, I was, in point of fact, an

absolute murderer."

"A murderer, Mr. Todd!"

"Yes, a murderer--a murderer to all intents and purposes; could anything

be more absurd than such an accusation?--I, that have the milk of human

kindness flowing in every vein, and whose very appearance ought to be

sufficient to convince anybody at once of my kindness of disposition."

Sweeney Todd finished his speech by making such a hideous face, that the

madhouse-keeper could not for the life of him tell what to say to it;

and then there came one of those short, disagreeable laughs which Todd

would at times utter, which, somehow or other, never appeared exactly to

come from his mouth, but always made people look up at the walls and

ceiling of the apartment in which they were, in great doubt as to whence

the remarkable sound came.

"For how long," said the madhouse-keeper, "do you think this malady will

continue?"

"I will pay," said Sweeney Todd, as he leaned over the table, and looked

in the face of his questioner, "I will pay for twelve months; but I

don't think between you and I, that the case will last anything like so

long--I think he will die suddenly."

"I shouldn't wonder if he did. Some of our patients do die very

suddenly, and, somehow or other, we never know exactly how it happens;

but it must be some sort of fit, for they are found dead in the morning

in their beds, and then we bury them privately and quietly, without

troubling anybody about it at all, which is decidedly the best way,

because it saves a great annoyance to friends and relations, as well as

prevents any extra expense which otherwise might be foolishly gone to."

"You are wonderfully correct and considerate," said Todd, "and it's no

more than what I expected from you, or what any one might expect from a

person of your great experience, knowledge, and acquirements. I must

confess I am quite delighted to hear you talk in so elevated a strain."

"Why," said Mr. Fogg, with a strange leer upon his face, "we are forced

to make ourselves useful, like the rest of the community; and we could

not expect people to send their mad friends and relatives here, unless

we took good care that their ends and views were answered by so doing.

We make no remarks, and we ask no questions. Those are the principles

upon which we have conducted business so successfully and so long; those

are the principles upon which we shall continue to conduct it, and to

merit, we hope, the patronage of the British public."

"Unquestionably--most unquestionably."

"You may as well introduce me to your patient at once, Mr. Todd, for I

suppose, by this time, he has been brought into this house."

"Certainly, certainly--I shall have great pleasure in showing him to

you."

The madhouse-keeper rose, and so did Mr. Todd, and the former, pointing

to the bottles and glasses on the table, said--

"When this business is settled, we can have a friendly glass together."

To this proposition Sweeney Todd assented with a nod, and then they both

proceeded to what was called a reception-room in the asylum, and where

poor Tobias had been conveyed and laid upon a table, when he showed

slight symptoms of recovering from the state of insensibility into which

he had fallen, and a man was sluicing water on his face by the

assistance of a hearth broom occasionally dipped into a pailful of that

fluid.

"Quite young," said the madhouse-keeper, as he looked upon the pale and

interesting face of Tobias.

"Yes," said Sweeney Todd, "he is young--more's the pity--and, of course,

we deeply regret his present situation."

"Oh, of course, of course; but see, he opens his eyes, and will speak

directly."

"Rave, you mean, rave!" said Todd; "don't call it speaking, it is not

entitled to the name. Hush! listen to him."

"Where am I?" said Tobias, "where am I? Todd is a murderer--I denounce

him."

"You hear--you hear?" said Todd.

"Mad indeed," said the keeper.

"Oh, save me from him--save me from him!" said Tobias, fixing his eyes

upon Mr. Fogg. "Save me from him; it is my life he seeks because I know

his secrets. He is a murderer--and many a person comes into his shop,

who never leaves it again in life, if at all."

"You hear him?" said Todd. "Was there ever anybody so mad?"

[Illustration: Tobias In The Hands Of The Mad-House Keepers.]

"Desperately mad," said the keeper. "Come, come, young fellow, we shall

be under the necessity of putting you in a strait waistcoat if you go on

in that way. We must do it, for there is no help in such cases if we

don't."

Todd slunk back into the dark of the apartment, so that he was not seen,

and Tobias continued, in an imploring tone--

"I do not know who you are, sir, or where I am; but let me beg of you to

cause the house of Sweeney Todd, the barber, in Fleet-street, near St.

Dunstan's church, to be searched, and you will find that he is a

murderer. There are at least a hundred hats, quantities of walking

sticks, umbrellas, watches, and rings, all belonging to unfortunate

persons who, from time to time, have met with their deaths through him."

"How uncommonly mad!" said Mr. Fogg.

"No, no," said Tobias, "I am not mad. Why call me mad, when the truth or

falsehood of what I say can be ascertained so easily? Search his house,

and if those things be not found there, say that I am mad, and have but

dreamed of them. I do not know how he kills the people. That is a great

mystery to me yet; but that he does kill them, I have no doubt--I cannot

have a doubt."

"Watson!" cried the mad-house keeper. "Hilloa! here, Watson."

"I am here, sir," said the man, who had been dashing water upon poor

Tobias's face.

"You will take this lad, Watson, as he seems extremely feverish and

unsettled. You will take him and shave his head, Watson, and put a

strait waistcoat upon him, and let him be put in one of the dark, damp

cells. We must be careful of him, and too much light encourages delirium

and fever."

"Oh! no, no!" cried Tobias; "What have I done that I should be subjected

to such cruel treatment? what have I done that I should be placed in a

cell? If this be a madhouse, I am not mad. Oh! have mercy upon me!--have

mercy upon me!"

"You will give him nothing but bread and water, Watson; and the first

symptom of his recovery, which will produce better treatment, will be

his exonerating his master from what he has said about him; for he must

be mad so long as he continues to accuse such a gentleman as Mr. Todd of

such things; nobody but a mad man or a mad boy would think of it."

"Then," said Tobias, "I shall continue mad; for if it be madness to know

and aver that Sweeney Todd, the barber, of Fleet-street, is a murderer,

mad am I, for I know it, and aver it. It is true--it is true."

"Take him away, Watson, and do as I desired you. I begin to find that

the boy is a very dangerous character, and more viciously mad than

anybody we have had here for a considerable time."

The man named Watson seized upon Tobias, who again uttered a shriek

something similar to the one which had come from his lips when Sweeney

Todd clutched hold of him in his mother's room. But they were used to

such things in that madhouse, and cared little for them, so no one

heeded the cry in the least; but poor Tobias was carried to the door

half maddened in reality by the horrors that surrounded him. Just as he

was being conveyed out, Sweeney Todd stepped up to him, and putting his

mouth close to his ear, he whispered--

"Ha! ha! Tobias! how do you feel now? Do you think Sweeney Todd will be

hung, or will you die in the cell of a madhouse?"