Chapter 45

by Charles Dickens

　　Containing Matter of a surprising Kind'As we gang awa' fra' Lunnun tomorrow neeght, and as I dinnot knowthat I was e'er so happy in a' my days, Misther Nickleby, Ding! butI will tak' anoother glass to our next merry meeting!'So said John Browdie, rubbing his hands with great joyousness, andlooking round him with a ruddy shining face, quite in keeping withthe declaration.The time at which John found himself in this enviable condition wasthe same evening to which the last chapter bore reference; the placewas the cottage; and the assembled company were Nicholas, MrsNickleby, Mrs Browdie, Kate Nickleby, and Smike.A very merry party they had been. Mrs Nickleby, knowing of herson's obligations to the honest Yorkshireman, had, after some demur,yielded her consent to Mr and Mrs Browdie being invited out to tea;in the way of which arrangement, there were at first sundrydifficulties and obstacles, arising out of her not having had anopportunity of 'calling' upon Mrs Browdie first; for although MrsNickleby very often observed with much complacency (as mostpunctilious people do), that she had not an atom of pride orformality about her, still she was a great stickler for dignity andceremonies; and as it was manifest that, until a call had been made,she could not be (politely speaking, and according to the laws ofsociety) even cognisant of the fact of Mrs Browdie's existence, shefelt her situation to be one of peculiar delicacy and difficulty.'The call must originate with me, my dear,' said Mrs Nickleby,'that's indispensable. The fact is, my dear, that it's necessarythere should be a sort of condescension on my part, and that Ishould show this young person that I am willing to take notice ofher. There's a very respectable-looking young man,' added MrsNickleby, after a short consideration, 'who is conductor to one ofthe omnibuses that go by here, and who wears a glazed hat--yoursister and I have noticed him very often--he has a wart upon hisnose, Kate, you know, exactly like a gentleman's servant.''Have all gentlemen's servants warts upon their noses, mother?'asked Nicholas.'Nicholas, my dear, how very absurd you are,' returned his mother;'of course I mean that his glazed hat looks like a gentleman'sservant, and not the wart upon his nose; though even that is not soridiculous as it may seem to you, for we had a footboy once, who hadnot only a wart, but a wen also, and a very large wen too, and hedemanded to have his wages raised in consequence, because he foundit came very expensive. Let me see, what was I--oh yes, I know.The best way that I can think of would be to send a card, and mycompliments, (I've no doubt he'd take 'em for a pot of porter,) bythis young man, to the Saracen with Two Necks. If the waiter tookhim for a gentleman's servant, so much the better. Then all MrsBrowdie would have to do would be to send her card back by thecarrier (he could easily come with a double knock), and there's anend of it.''My dear mother,' said Nicholas, 'I don't suppose suchunsophisticated people as these ever had a card of their own, orever will have.''Oh that, indeed, Nicholas, my dear,' returned Mrs Nickleby, 'that'sanother thing. If you put it upon that ground, why, of course, Ihave no more to say, than that I have no doubt they are very goodsort of persons, and that I have no kind of objection to theircoming here to tea if they like, and shall make a point of beingvery civil to them if they do.'The point being thus effectually set at rest, and Mrs Nickleby dulyplaced in the patronising and mildly-condescending position whichbecame her rank and matrimonial years, Mr and Mrs Browdie wereinvited and came; and as they were very deferential to Mrs Nickleby,and seemed to have a becoming appreciation of her greatness, andwere very much pleased with everything, the good lady had more thanonce given Kate to understand, in a whisper, that she thought theywere the very best-meaning people she had ever seen, and perfectlywell behaved.And thus it came to pass, that John Browdie declared, in the parlourafter supper, to wit, and twenty minutes before eleven o'clock p.m.,that he had never been so happy in all his days.Nor was Mrs Browdie much behind her husband in this respect, forthat young matron, whose rustic beauty contrasted very prettily withthe more delicate loveliness of Kate, and without suffering by thecontrast either, for each served as it were to set off and decoratethe other, could not sufficiently admire the gentle and winningmanners of the young lady, or the engaging affability of the elderone. Then Kate had the art of turning the conversation to subjectsupon which the country girl, bashful at first in strange company,could feel herself at home; and if Mrs Nickleby was not quite sofelicitous at times in the selection of topics of discourse, or ifshe did seem, as Mrs Browdie expressed it, 'rather high in hernotions,' still nothing could be kinder, and that she tookconsiderable interest in the young couple was manifest from the verylong lectures on housewifery with which she was so obliging as toentertain Mrs Browdie's private ear, which were illustrated byvarious references to the domestic economy of the cottage, in which(those duties falling exclusively upon Kate) the good lady had aboutas much share, either in theory or practice, as any one of thestatues of the Twelve Apostles which embellish the exterior of StPaul's Cathedral.'Mr Browdie,' said Kate, addressing his young wife, 'is the best-humoured, the kindest and heartiest creature I ever saw. If I wereoppressed with I don't know how many cares, it would make me happyonly to look at him.''He does seem indeed, upon my word, a most excellent creature,Kate,' said Mrs Nickleby; 'most excellent. And I am sure that atall times it will give me pleasure--really pleasure now--to haveyou, Mrs Browdie, to see me in this plain and homely manner. Wemake no display,' said Mrs Nickleby, with an air which seemed toinsinuate that they could make a vast deal if they were so disposed;'no fuss, no preparation; I wouldn't allow it. I said, "Kate, mydear, you will only make Mrs Browdie feel uncomfortable, and howvery foolish and inconsiderate that would be!" ''I am very much obliged to you, I am sure, ma'am,' returned MrsBrowdie, gratefully. 'It's nearly eleven o'clock, John. I amafraid we are keeping you up very late, ma'am.''Late!' cried Mrs Nickleby, with a sharp thin laugh, and one littlecough at the end, like a note of admiration expressed. 'This isquite early for us. We used to keep such hours! Twelve, one, two,three o'clock was nothing to us. Balls, dinners, card-parties!Never were such rakes as the people about where we used to live. Ioften think now, I am sure, that how we ever could go through withit is quite astonishing, and that is just the evil of having a largeconnection and being a great deal sought after, which I wouldrecommend all young married people steadily to resist; though ofcourse, and it's perfectly clear, and a very happy thing too, Ithink, that very few young married people can be exposed to suchtemptations. There was one family in particular, that used to liveabout a mile from us--not straight down the road, but turning sharpoff to the left by the turnpike where the Plymouth mail ran over thedonkey--that were quite extraordinary people for giving the mostextravagant parties, with artificial flowers and champagne, andvariegated lamps, and, in short, every delicacy of eating anddrinking that the most singular epicure could possibly require. Idon't think that there ever were such people as those Peltiroguses.You remember the Peltiroguses, Kate?'Kate saw that for the ease and comfort of the visitors it was hightime to stay this flood of recollection, so answered that sheentertained of the Peltiroguses a most vivid and distinctremembrance; and then said that Mr Browdie had half promised, earlyin the evening, that he would sing a Yorkshire song, and that shewas most impatient that he should redeem his promise, because shewas sure it would afford her mama more amusement and pleasure thanit was possible to express.Mrs Nickleby confirming her daughter with the best possible grace--for there was patronage in that too, and a kind of implication thatshe had a discerning taste in such matters, and was something of acritic--John Browdie proceeded to consider the words of some north-country ditty, and to take his wife's recollection respecting thesame. This done, he made divers ungainly movements in his chair,and singling out one particular fly on the ceiling from the otherflies there asleep, fixed his eyes upon him, and began to roar ameek sentiment (supposed to be uttered by a gentle swain fast piningaway with love and despair) in a voice of thunder.At the end of the first verse, as though some person without hadwaited until then to make himself audible, was heard a loud andviolent knocking at the street-door; so loud and so violent, indeed,that the ladies started as by one accord, and John Browdie stopped.'It must be some mistake,' said Nicholas, carelessly. 'We knownobody who would come here at this hour.'Mrs Nickleby surmised, however, that perhaps the counting-house wasburnt down, or perhaps 'the Mr Cheerybles' had sent to take Nicholasinto partnership (which certainly appeared highly probable at thattime of night), or perhaps Mr Linkinwater had run away with theproperty, or perhaps Miss La Creevy was taken in, or perhaps--But a hasty exclamation from Kate stopped her abruptly in herconjectures, and Ralph Nickleby walked into the room.'Stay,' said Ralph, as Nicholas rose, and Kate, making her waytowards him, threw herself upon his arm. 'Before that boy says aword, hear me.'Nicholas bit his lip and shook his head in a threatening manner, butappeared for the moment unable to articulate a syllable. Kate clungcloser to his arm, Smike retreated behind them, and John Browdie,who had heard of Ralph, and appeared to have no great difficulty inrecognising him, stepped between the old man and his young friend,as if with the intention of preventing either of them from advancinga step further.'Hear me, I say,' said Ralph, 'and not him.''Say what thou'st gotten to say then, sir,' retorted John; 'and tak'care thou dinnot put up angry bluid which thou'dst betther try toquiet.''I should know you,' said Ralph, 'by your tongue; and him' (pointingto Smike) 'by his looks.''Don't speak to him,' said Nicholas, recovering his voice. 'I willnot have it. I will not hear him. I do not know that man. Icannot breathe the air that he corrupts. His presence is an insultto my sister. It is shame to see him. I will not bear it.''Stand!' cried John, laying his heavy hand upon his chest.'Then let him instantly retire,' said Nicholas, struggling. 'I amnot going to lay hands upon him, but he shall withdraw. I will nothave him here. John, John Browdie, is this my house, am I a child?If he stands there,' cried Nicholas, burning with fury, 'looking socalmly upon those who know his black and dastardly heart, he'lldrive me mad.'To all these exclamations John Browdie answered not a word, but heretained his hold upon Nicholas; and when he was silent again,spoke.'There's more to say and hear than thou think'st for,' said John.'I tell'ee I ha' gotten scent o' thot already. Wa'at be thatshadow ootside door there? Noo, schoolmeasther, show thyself, mun;dinnot be sheame-feaced. Noo, auld gen'l'man, let's haveschoolmeasther, coom.'Hearing this adjuration, Mr Squeers, who had been lingering in thepassage until such time as it should be expedient for him to enterand he could appear with effect, was fain to present himself in asomewhat undignified and sneaking way; at which John Browdie laughedwith such keen and heartfelt delight, that even Kate, in all thepain, anxiety, and surprise of the scene, and though the tears werein her eyes, felt a disposition to join him.'Have you done enjoying yourself, sir?' said Ralph, at length.'Pratty nigh for the prasant time, sir,' replied John.'I can wait,' said Ralph. 'Take your own time, pray.'Ralph waited until there was a perfect silence, and then turning toMrs Nickleby, but directing an eager glance at Kate, as if moreanxious to watch his effect upon her, said:'Now, ma'am, listen to me. I don't imagine that you were a party toa very fine tirade of words sent me by that boy of yours, because Idon't believe that under his control, you have the slightest will ofyour own, or that your advice, your opinion, your wants, yourwishes, anything which in nature and reason (or of what use is yourgreat experience?) ought to weigh with him, has the slightestinfluence or weight whatever, or is taken for a moment intoaccount.'Mrs Nickleby shook her head and sighed, as if there were a good dealin that, certainly.'For this reason,' resumed Ralph, 'I address myself to you, ma'am.For this reason, partly, and partly because I do not wish to bedisgraced by the acts of a vicious stripling whom I was obliged todisown, and who, afterwards, in his boyish majesty, feigns to--ha!ha!--to disown me, I present myself here tonight. I have anothermotive in coming: a motive of humanity. I come here,' said Ralph,looking round with a biting and triumphant smile, and gloating anddwelling upon the words as if he were loath to lose the pleasure ofsaying them, 'to restore a parent his child. Ay, sir,' hecontinued, bending eagerly forward, and addressing Nicholas, as hemarked the change of his countenance, 'to restore a parent hischild; his son, sir; trepanned, waylaid, and guarded at every turnby you, with the base design of robbing him some day of any littlewretched pittance of which he might become possessed.''In that, you know you lie,' said Nicholas, proudly.'In this, I know I speak the truth. I have his father here,'retorted Ralph.'Here!' sneered Squeers, stepping forward. 'Do you hear that?Here! Didn't I tell you to be careful that his father didn't turnup and send him back to me? Why, his father's my friend; he's tocome back to me directly, he is. Now, what do you say--ehcome--what do you say to that--an't you sorry you took so muchtrouble for nothing? an't you? an't you?''You bear upon your body certain marks I gave you,' said Nicholas,looking quietly away, 'and may talk in acknowledgment of them asmuch as you please. You'll talk a long time before you rub themout, Mr Squeers.'The estimable gentleman last named cast a hasty look at the table,as if he were prompted by this retort to throw a jug or bottle atthe head of Nicholas, but he was interrupted in this design (if suchdesign he had) by Ralph, who, touching him on the elbow, bade himtell the father that he might now appear and claim his son.This being purely a labour of love, Mr Squeers readily complied, andleaving the room for the purpose, almost immediately returned,supporting a sleek personage with an oily face, who, bursting fromhim, and giving to view the form and face of Mr Snawley, madestraight up to Smike, and tucking that poor fellow's head under hisarm in a most uncouth and awkward embrace, elevated his broad-brimmed hat at arm's length in the air as a token of devoutthanksgiving, exclaiming, meanwhile, 'How little did I think of thishere joyful meeting, when I saw him last! Oh, how little did Ithink it!''Be composed, sir,' said Ralph, with a gruff expression of sympathy,'you have got him now.''Got him! Oh, haven't I got him! Have I got him, though?' cried MrSnawley, scarcely able to believe it. 'Yes, here he is, flesh andblood, flesh and blood.''Vary little flesh,' said John Browdie.Mr Snawley was too much occupied by his parental feelings to noticethis remark; and, to assure himself more completely of therestoration of his child, tucked his head under his arm again, andkept it there.'What was it,' said Snawley, 'that made me take such a stronginterest in him, when that worthy instructor of youth brought him tomy house? What was it that made me burn all over with a wish tochastise him severely for cutting away from his best friends, hispastors and masters?''It was parental instinct, sir,' observed Squeers.'That's what it was, sir,' rejoined Snawley; 'the elevated feeling,the feeling of the ancient Romans and Grecians, and of the beasts ofthe field and birds of the air, with the exception of rabbits andtom-cats, which sometimes devour their offspring. My heart yearnedtowards him. I could have--I don't know what I couldn't have doneto him in the anger of a father.''It only shows what Natur is, sir,' said Mr Squeers. 'She's rum 'un,is Natur.''She is a holy thing, sir,' remarked Snawley.'I believe you,' added Mr Squeers, with a moral sigh. 'I shouldlike to know how we should ever get on without her. Natur,' said MrSqueers, solemnly, 'is more easier conceived than described. Ohwhat a blessed thing, sir, to be in a state of natur!'Pending this philosophical discourse, the bystanders had been quitestupefied with amazement, while Nicholas had looked keenly fromSnawley to Squeers, and from Squeers to Ralph, divided between hisfeelings of disgust, doubt, and surprise. At this juncture, Smikeescaping from his father fled to Nicholas, and implored him, in mostmoving terms, never to give him up, but to let him live and diebeside him.'If you are this boy's father,' said Nicholas, 'look at the wreck heis, and tell me that you purpose to send him back to that loathsomeden from which I brought him.''Scandal again!' cried Squeers. 'Recollect, you an't worth powderand shot, but I'll be even with you one way or another.''Stop,' interposed Ralph, as Snawley was about to speak. 'Let uscut this matter short, and not bandy words here with hare-brainedprofligates. This is your son, as you can prove. And you, MrSqueers, you know this boy to be the same that was with you for somany years under the name of Smike. Do you?''Do I!' returned Squeers. 'Don't I?''Good,' said Ralph; 'a very few words will be sufficient here. Youhad a son by your first wife, Mr Snawley?''I had,' replied that person, 'and there he stands.''We'll show that presently,' said Ralph. 'You and your wife wereseparated, and she had the boy to live with her, when he was a yearold. You received a communication from her, when you had livedapart a year or two, that the boy was dead; and you believed it?''Of course I did!' returned Snawley. 'Oh the joy of--''Be rational, sir, pray,' said Ralph. 'This is business, andtransports interfere with it. This wife died a year and a half ago,or thereabouts--not more--in some obscure place, where she washousekeeper in a family. Is that the case?''That's the case,' replied Snawley.'Having written on her death-bed a letter or confession to you,about this very boy, which, as it was not directed otherwise than inyour name, only reached you, and that by a circuitous course, a fewdays since?''Just so,' said Snawley. 'Correct in every particular, sir.''And this confession,' resumed Ralph, 'is to the effect that hisdeath was an invention of hers to wound you--was a part of a systemof annoyance, in short, which you seem to have adopted towards eachother--that the boy lived, but was of weak and imperfect intellect--that she sent him by a trusty hand to a cheap school in Yorkshire--that she had paid for his education for some years, and then, beingpoor, and going a long way off, gradually deserted him, for whichshe prayed forgiveness?'Snawley nodded his head, and wiped his eyes; the first slightly, thelast violently.'The school was Mr Squeers's,' continued Ralph; 'the boy was leftthere in the name of Smike; every description was fully given, datestally exactly with Mr Squeers's books, Mr Squeers is lodging withyou at this time; you have two other boys at his school: youcommunicated the whole discovery to him, he brought you to me as theperson who had recommended to him the kidnapper of his child; and Ibrought you here. Is that so?''You talk like a good book, sir, that's got nothing in its insidebut what's the truth,' replied Snawley.'This is your pocket-book,' said Ralph, producing one from his coat;'the certificates of your first marriage and of the boy's birth, andyour wife's two letters, and every other paper that can supportthese statements directly or by implication, are here, are they?''Every one of 'em, sir.''And you don't object to their being looked at here, so that thesepeople may be convinced of your power to substantiate your claim atonce in law and reason, and you may resume your control over yourown son without more delay. Do I understand you?''I couldn't have understood myself better, sir.''There, then,' said Ralph, tossing the pocket-book upon the table.'Let them see them if they like; and as those are the originalpapers, I should recommend you to stand near while they are beingexamined, or you may chance to lose some.'With these words Ralph sat down unbidden, and compressing his lips,which were for the moment slightly parted by a smile, folded hisarms, and looked for the first time at his nephew.Nicholas, stung by the concluding taunt, darted an indignant glanceat him; but commanding himself as well as he could, entered upon aclose examination of the documents, at which John Browdie assisted.There was nothing about them which could be called in question. Thecertificates were regularly signed as extracts from the parishbooks, the first letter had a genuine appearance of having beenwritten and preserved for some years, the handwriting of the secondtallied with it exactly, (making proper allowance for its havingbeen written by a person in extremity,) and there were several othercorroboratory scraps of entries and memoranda which it was equallydifficult to question.'Dear Nicholas,' whispered Kate, who had been looking anxiously overhis shoulder, 'can this be really the case? Is this statementtrue?''I fear it is,' answered Nicholas. 'What say you, John?''John scratched his head and shook it, but said nothing at all.'You will observe, ma'am,' said Ralph, addressing himself to MrsNickleby, 'that this boy being a minor and not of strong mind, wemight have come here tonight, armed with the powers of the law, andbacked by a troop of its myrmidons. I should have done so, ma'am,unquestionably, but for my regard for the feelings of yourself, andyour daughter.''You have shown your regard for her feelings well,' said Nicholas,drawing his sister towards him.'Thank you,' replied Ralph. 'Your praise, sir, is commendation,indeed.''Well,' said Squeers, 'what's to be done? Them hackney-coach horseswill catch cold if we don't think of moving; there's one of 'em asneezing now, so that he blows the street door right open. What'sthe order of the day? Is Master Snawley to come along with us?''No, no, no,' replied Smike, drawing back, and clinging to Nicholas.'No. Pray, no. I will not go from you with him. No, no.''This is a cruel thing,' said Snawley, looking to his friends forsupport. 'Do parents bring children into the world for this?''Do parents bring children into the world for thot?' said JohnBrowdie bluntly, pointing, as he spoke, to Squeers.'Never you mind,' retorted that gentleman, tapping his nosederisively.'Never I mind!' said John, 'no, nor never nobody mind, say'st thou,schoolmeasther. It's nobody's minding that keeps sike men as thouafloat. Noo then, where be'est thou coomin' to? Dang it, dinnotcoom treadin' ower me, mun.'Suiting the action to the word, John Browdie just jerked his elbowinto the chest of Mr Squeers who was advancing upon Smike; with somuch dexterity that the schoolmaster reeled and staggered back uponRalph Nickleby, and being unable to recover his balance, knockedthat gentleman off his chair, and stumbled heavily upon him.This accidental circumstance was the signal for some very decisiveproceedings. In the midst of a great noise, occasioned by theprayers and entreaties of Smike, the cries and exclamations of thewomen, and the vehemence of the men, demonstrations were made ofcarrying off the lost son by violence. Squeers had actuallybegun to haul him out, when Nicholas (who, until then, had beenevidently undecided how to act) took him by the collar, and shakinghim so that such teeth as he had, chattered in his head, politelyescorted him to the room-door, and thrusting him into the passage,shut it upon him.'Now,' said Nicholas to the other two, 'have the goodness to followyour friend.''I want my son,' said Snawley.'Your son,' replied Nicholas, 'chooses for himself. He chooses toremain here, and he shall.''You won't give him up?' said Snawley.'I would not give him up against his will, to be the victim of suchbrutality as that to which you would consign him,' replied Nicholas,'if he were a dog or a rat.''Knock that Nickleby down with a candlestick,' cried Mr Squeers,through the keyhole, 'and bring out my hat, somebody, will you,unless he wants to steal it.''I am very sorry, indeed,' said Mrs Nickleby, who, with Mrs Browdie,had stood crying and biting her fingers in a corner, while Kate(very pale, but perfectly quiet) had kept as near her brother as shecould. 'I am very sorry, indeed, for all this. I really don't knowwhat would be best to do, and that's the truth. Nicholas ought tobe the best judge, and I hope he is. Of course, it's a hard thingto have to keep other people's children, though young Mr Snawley iscertainly as useful and willing as it's possible for anybody to be;but, if it could be settled in any friendly manner--if old MrSnawley, for instance, would settle to pay something certain for hisboard and lodging, and some fair arrangement was come to, so that weundertook to have fish twice a week, and a pudding twice, or adumpling, or something of that sort--I do think that it might bevery satisfactory and pleasant for all parties.'This compromise, which was proposed with abundance of tears andsighs, not exactly meeting the point at issue, nobody took anynotice of it; and poor Mrs Nickleby accordingly proceeded toenlighten Mrs Browdie upon the advantages of such a scheme, and theunhappy results flowing, on all occasions, from her not beingattended to when she proffered her advice.'You, sir,' said Snawley, addressing the terrified Smike, 'are anunnatural, ungrateful, unlovable boy. You won't let me love youwhen I want to. Won't you come home, won't you?''No, no, no,' cried Smike, shrinking back.'He never loved nobody,' bawled Squeers, through the keyhole. 'Henever loved me; he never loved Wackford, who is next door but one toa cherubim. How can you expect that he'll love his father? He'llnever love his father, he won't. He don't know what it is to have afather. He don't understand it. It an't in him.'Mr Snawley looked steadfastly at his son for a full minute, and thencovering his eyes with his hand, and once more raising his hat inthe air, appeared deeply occupied in deploring his black ingratitude.Then drawing his arm across his eyes, he picked up Mr Squeers's hat,and taking it under one arm, and his own under the other, walkedslowly and sadly out.'Your romance, sir,' said Ralph, lingering for a moment, 'isdestroyed, I take it. No unknown; no persecuted descendant of a manof high degree; but the weak, imbecile son of a poor, pettytradesman. We shall see how your sympathy melts before plain matterof fact.''You shall,' said Nicholas, motioning towards the door.'And trust me, sir,' added Ralph, 'that I never supposed you wouldgive him up tonight. Pride, obstinacy, reputation for fine feeling,were all against it. These must be brought down, sir, lowered,crushed, as they shall be soon. The protracted and wearing anxietyand expense of the law in its most oppressive form, its torture fromhour to hour, its weary days and sleepless nights, with these I'llprove you, and break your haughty spirit, strong as you deem it now.And when you make this house a hell, and visit these trials uponyonder wretched object (as you will; I know you), and those whothink you now a young-fledged hero, we'll go into old accountsbetween us two, and see who stands the debtor, and comes out best atlast, even before the world.'Ralph Nickleby withdrew. But Mr Squeers, who had heard a portion ofthis closing address, and was by this time wound up to a pitch ofimpotent malignity almost unprecedented, could not refrain fromreturning to the parlour door, and actually cutting some dozencapers with various wry faces and hideous grimaces, expressive ofhis triumphant confidence in the downfall and defeat of Nicholas.Having concluded this war-dance, in which his short trousers andlarge boots had borne a very conspicuous figure, Mr Squeers followedhis friends, and the family were left to meditate upon recentoccurrences.