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There is a cellar of vast extent, and of dim and sepulchral aspect--some
rough red tiles are laid upon the floor, and pieces of flint and large
jagged stones have been hammered into the earthen walls to strengthen
them; while here and there rough huge pillars made by beams of timber
rise perpendicularly from the floor, and prop large flat pieces of wood
against the ceiling, to support it. Here and there gleaming lights seem
to be peeping out from furnaces, and there is a strange hissing,
simmering sound going on, while the whole air is impregnated with a rich
and savoury vapour. This is Lovett's pie manufactory beneath the
pavement of Bell-yard and at this time a night-batch of some thousands
is being made for the purpose of being sent by carts the first thing in
the morning all over the suburbs of London. By the earliest dawn of day
a crowd of itinerant hawkers of pies would make their appearance,
carrying off a large quantity to regular customers who had them daily,
and no more thought of being without them, than of forbidding the
milkman or the baker to call at their residences. It will be seen and
understood, therefore, that the retail part of Mrs. Lovett's business,
which took place principally between the hours of twelve and one, was by
no means the most important or profitable portion of a concern which was
really of immense magnitude, and which brought in a large yearly income. To stand in the cellar when this immense manufacture of what, at first
sight, would appear such a trivial article was carried on, and to look
about as far as the eye could reach, was by no means to have a
sufficient idea of the extent of the place; for there were as many doors
in different directions and singular low-arched entrances to different
vaults, which all appeared as black as midnight, that one might almost
suppose the inhabitants of all the surrounding neighbourhood had, by
common consent given up their cellars to Lovett's pie factory. There is
but one miserable light, except the occasional fitful glare that comes
from the ovens where the pies are stewing, hissing, and spluttering in
their own luscious gravy. There is but one man, too, throughout all the
place, and he is sitting on a low three-legged stool in one corner, with
his head resting upon his hands, and gently rocking to and fro, as he
utters scarcely audible moans. He is but lightly clad; in fact, he seems
to have but little on him except a shirt and a pair of loose canvas
trousers. The sleeves of the former are turned up beyond his elbows, and
on his head he has a white night-cap. It seems astonishing that such a
man, even with the assistance of Mrs. Lovett, could make so many pies as
are required in a day; but then, system does wonders, and in those
cellars there are various mechanical contrivances for kneading the
dough, chopping up the meat, &c., which greatly reduced the labour. But
what a miserable object is that man--what a sad and soul-striken wretch
he looks! His face is pale and haggard, his eyes deeply sunken; and, as
he removes his hands from before his visage, and looks about him, a more
perfect picture of horror could not have been found. "I must leave to-night," he said, in coarse accents--"I must leave
to-night. I know too much--my brain is full of horrors. I have not slept
now for five nights, nor dare I eat anything but the raw flour. I will
leave to-night if they do not watch me too closely. Oh! if I could but
get into the streets--if I could but once again breathe the fresh air! Hush! what's that? I thought I heard a noise." He rose, and stood trembling and listening; but all was still, save the
simmering and hissing of the pies, and then he resumed his seat with a
deep sigh. "All the doors fastened upon me," he said, "what can it mean? It's very
horrible, and my heart dies within me. Six weeks only have I been
here--only six weeks. I was starving before I came. Alas, alas! how much
better to have starved! I should have been dead before now, and spared
all this agony." "Skinner!" cried a voice, and it was a female one--"Skinner, how long
will the ovens be?" "A quarter of an hour--a quarter of an hour, Mrs. Lovett. God help me!" "What is that you say?" "I said, God help me!--surely a man may say that without offence." A door slammed shut, and the miserable man was alone again. "How strangely," he said, "on this night my thoughts go back to early
days, and to what I once was. The pleasant scenes of my youth recur to
me. I see again the ivy-mantled porch, and the pleasant village green. I
hear again the merry ringing laughter of my playmates, and there, in my
mind's eye, appears to me the bubbling stream, and the ancient mill, the
old mansion-house, with its tall turrets, and its air of silent
grandeur. I hear the music of the birds, and the winds making rough
melody among the trees. 'Tis very strange that all those sights and
sounds should come back to me at such a time as this, as if just to
remind me what a wretch I am." He was silent for a few moments, during which he trembled with emotion;
then he spoke again, saying--

"Thus the forms of those whom I once knew, and many of whom have gone
already to the silent tomb, appear to come thronging round me. They bend
their eyes momentarily upon me, and, with settled expressions, show
acutely the sympathy they feel for me. I see her, too, who first, in my
bosom, lit up the flame of soft affection. I see her gliding past me
like the dim vision of a dream, indistinct, but beautiful; no more than
a shadow--and yet to me most palpable. What am I now--what am I now?" He resumed his former position, with his head resting upon his hands; he
rocked himself slowly to and fro, uttering those moans of a tortured
spirit, which we have before noticed. But see, one of the small arch
doors open, in the gloom of those vaults, and a man, in a stooping
posture, creeps in--a half-mask is upon his face, and he wears a cloak;
but both his hands are at liberty. In one of them he carries a
double-headed hammer, with a powerful handle, of about ten inches in
length. He has probably come out of a darker place than the one into
which he now so cautiously creeps, for he shades the light from his
eyes, as if it were suddenly rather too much for him, and then he looks
cautiously round the vault, until he sees the crouched-up figure of the
man whose duty it is to attend the ovens. From that moment he looks at
nothing else; but advances towards him, steadily and cautiously. It is
evident that great secresy is his object, for he is walking on his
stocking soles only; and it is impossible to hear the slightest sounds
of his foot-steps. Nearer and nearer he comes, so slowly, and yet so
surely, towards him, who still keeps up the low moaning sound,
indicative of mental anquish. Now he is close to him, and he bends over
him for a moment, with a look of fiendish malice.