The Life And Adventures Of Nicholas Nickleby

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'Yes, ma,' replied Miss Kenwigs.

'And when you go out in the streets, or elsewhere, I desire that you
don't boast of it to the other children,' said Mrs Kenwigs; 'and that if
you must say anything about it, you don't say no more than "We've got a
private master comes to teach us at home, but we ain't proud, because ma
says it's sinful." Do you hear, Morleena?'

'Yes, ma,' replied Miss Kenwigs again.

'Then mind you recollect, and do as I tell you,' said Mrs Kenwigs.
'Shall Mr Johnson begin, uncle?'

'I am ready to hear, if Mr Johnson is ready to commence, my dear,' said
the collector, assuming the air of a profound critic. 'What sort of
language do you consider French, sir?'

'How do you mean?' asked Nicholas.

'Do you consider it a good language, sir?' said the collector; 'a pretty
language, a sensible language?'

'A pretty language, certainly,' replied Nicholas; 'and as it has a name
for everything, and admits of elegant conversation about everything, I
presume it is a sensible one.'

'I don't know,' said Mr Lillyvick, doubtfully. 'Do you call it a
cheerful language, now?'

'Yes,' replied Nicholas, 'I should say it was, certainly.'

'It's very much changed since my time, then,' said the collector, 'very
much.'

'Was it a dismal one in your time?' asked Nicholas, scarcely able to
repress a smile.

'Very,' replied Mr Lillyvick, with some vehemence of manner. 'It's the
war time that I speak of; the last war. It may be a cheerful language.
I should be sorry to contradict anybody; but I can only say that I've
heard the French prisoners, who were natives, and ought to know how to
speak it, talking in such a dismal manner, that it made one miserable to
hear them. Ay, that I have, fifty times, sir--fifty times!'

Mr Lillyvick was waxing so cross, that Mrs Kenwigs thought it expedient
to motion to Nicholas not to say anything; and it was not until Miss
Petowker had practised several blandishments, to soften the excellent
old gentleman, that he deigned to break silence by asking,

'What's the water in French, sir?'

'L'EAU,' replied Nicholas.

'Ah!' said Mr Lillyvick, shaking his head mournfully, 'I thought as
much. Lo, eh? I don't think anything of that language--nothing at all.'

'I suppose the children may begin, uncle?' said Mrs Kenwigs.

'Oh yes; they may begin, my dear,' replied the collector,
discontentedly. 'I have no wish to prevent them.'

This permission being conceded, the four Miss Kenwigses sat in a row,
with their tails all one way, and Morleena at the top: while Nicholas,
taking the book, began his preliminary explanations. Miss Petowker
and Mrs Kenwigs looked on, in silent admiration, broken only by the
whispered assurances of the latter, that Morleena would have it all by
heart in no time; and Mr Lillyvick regarded the group with frowning and
attentive eyes, lying in wait for something upon which he could open a
fresh discussion on the language.



CHAPTER 17

Follows the Fortunes of Miss Nickleby


It was with a heavy heart, and many sad forebodings which no effort
could banish, that Kate Nickleby, on the morning appointed for the
commencement of her engagement with Madame Mantalini, left the city when
its clocks yet wanted a quarter of an hour of eight, and threaded her
way alone, amid the noise and bustle of the streets, towards the west
end of London.

At this early hour many sickly girls, whose business, like that of the
poor worm, is to produce, with patient toil, the finery that bedecks
the thoughtless and luxurious, traverse our streets, making towards the
scene of their daily labour, and catching, as if by stealth, in their
hurried walk, the only gasp of wholesome air and glimpse of sunlight
which cheer their monotonous existence during the long train of hours
that make a working day. As she drew nigh to the more fashionable
quarter of the town, Kate marked many of this class as they passed by,
hurrying like herself to their painful occupation, and saw, in their
unhealthy looks and feeble gait, but too clear an evidence that her
misgivings were not wholly groundless.

She arrived at Madame Mantalini's some minutes before the appointed
hour, and after walking a few times up and down, in the hope that some
other female might arrive and spare her the embarrassment of stating her
business to the servant, knocked timidly at the door: which, after some
delay, was opened by the footman, who had been putting on his striped
jacket as he came upstairs, and was now intent on fastening his apron.

'Is Madame Mantalini in?' faltered Kate.

'Not often out at this time, miss,' replied the man in a tone which
rendered "Miss," something more offensive than "My dear."

'Can I see her?' asked Kate.

'Eh?' replied the man, holding the door in his hand, and honouring the
inquirer with a stare and a broad grin, 'Lord, no.'

'I came by her own appointment,' said Kate; 'I am--I am--to be employed
here.'

'Oh! you should have rung the worker's bell,' said the footman, touching
the handle of one in the door-post. 'Let me see, though, I forgot--Miss
Nickleby, is it?'

'Yes,' replied Kate.

'You're to walk upstairs then, please,' said the man. 'Madame Mantalini
wants to see you--this way--take care of these things on the floor.'

Cautioning her, in these terms, not to trip over a heterogeneous litter
of pastry-cook's trays, lamps, waiters full of glasses, and piles of
rout seats which were strewn about the hall, plainly bespeaking a late
party on the previous night, the man led the way to the second story,
and ushered Kate into a back-room, communicating by folding-doors
with the apartment in which she had first seen the mistress of the
establishment.

'If you'll wait here a minute,' said the man, 'I'll tell her presently.'
Having made this promise with much affability, he retired and left Kate
alone.

There was not much to amuse in the room; of which the most attractive
feature was, a half-length portrait in oil, of Mr Mantalini, whom the
artist had depicted scratching his head in an easy manner, and thus
displaying to advantage a diamond ring, the gift of Madame Mantalini
before her marriage. There was, however, the sound of voices in
conversation in the next room; and as the conversation was loud and the
partition thin, Kate could not help discovering that they belonged to Mr
and Mrs Mantalini.

'If you will be odiously, demnebly, outrIgeously jealous, my soul,' said
Mr Mantalini, 'you will be very miserable--horrid miserable--demnition
miserable.' And then, there was a sound as though Mr Mantalini were
sipping his coffee.

'I AM miserable,' returned Madame Mantalini, evidently pouting.

'Then you are an ungrateful, unworthy, demd unthankful little fairy,'
said Mr Mantalini.

'I am not,' returned Madame, with a sob.

'Do not put itself out of humour,' said Mr Mantalini, breaking an egg.
'It is a pretty, bewitching little demd countenance, and it should not
be out of humour, for it spoils its loveliness, and makes it cross and
gloomy like a frightful, naughty, demd hobgoblin.'

'I am not to be brought round in that way, always,' rejoined Madame,
sulkily.

'It shall be brought round in any way it likes best, and not brought
round at all if it likes that better,' retorted Mr Mantalini, with his
egg-spoon in his mouth.

'It's very easy to talk,' said Mrs Mantalini.

'Not so easy when one is eating a demnition egg,' replied Mr Mantalini;
'for the yolk runs down the waistcoat, and yolk of egg does not match
any waistcoat but a yellow waistcoat, demmit.'

'You were flirting with her during the whole night,' said Madame
Mantalini, apparently desirous to lead the conversation back to the
point from which it had strayed.

'No, no, my life.'

'You were,' said Madame; 'I had my eye upon you all the time.'

'Bless the little winking twinkling eye; was it on me all the time!'
cried Mantalini, in a sort of lazy rapture. 'Oh, demmit!'

'And I say once more,' resumed Madame, 'that you ought not to waltz with
anybody but your own wife; and I will not bear it, Mantalini, if I take
poison first.'

'She will not take poison and have horrid pains, will she?' said
Mantalini; who, by the altered sound of his voice, seemed to have moved
his chair, and taken up his position nearer to his wife. 'She will not
take poison, because she had a demd fine husband who might have married
two countesses and a dowager--'

'Two countesses,' interposed Madame. 'You told me one before!'

'Two!' cried Mantalini. 'Two demd fine women, real countesses and
splendid fortunes, demmit.'

'And why didn't you?' asked Madame, playfully.

'Why didn't I!' replied her husband. 'Had I not seen, at a morning
concert, the demdest little fascinator in all the world, and while that
little fascinator is my wife, may not all the countesses and dowagers in
England be--'

Mr Mantalini did not finish the sentence, but he gave Madame Mantalini
a very loud kiss, which Madame Mantalini returned; after which, there
seemed to be some more kissing mixed up with the progress of the
breakfast.

'And what about the cash, my existence's jewel?' said Mantalini, when
these endearments ceased. 'How much have we in hand?'

'Very little indeed,' replied Madame.

'We must have some more,' said Mantalini; 'we must have some discount
out of old Nickleby to carry on the war with, demmit.'

'You can't want any more just now,' said Madame coaxingly.

'My life and soul,' returned her husband, 'there is a horse for sale
at Scrubbs's, which it would be a sin and a crime to lose--going, my
senses' joy, for nothing.'

'For nothing,' cried Madame, 'I am glad of that.'

'For actually nothing,' replied Mantalini. 'A hundred guineas down will
buy him; mane, and crest, and legs, and tail, all of the demdest beauty.
I will ride him in the park before the very chariots of the rejected
countesses. The demd old dowager will faint with grief and rage; the
other two will say "He is married, he has made away with himself, it
is a demd thing, it is all up!" They will hate each other demnebly, and
wish you dead and buried. Ha! ha! Demmit.'

Madame Mantalini's prudence, if she had any, was not proof against these
triumphal pictures; after a little jingling of keys, she observed that
she would see what her desk contained, and rising for that purpose,
opened the folding-door, and walked into the room where Kate was seated.

'Dear me, child!' exclaimed Madame Mantalini, recoiling in surprise.
'How came you here?'

'Child!' cried Mantalini, hurrying in. 'How came--eh!--oh--demmit, how
d'ye do?'

'I have been waiting, here some time, ma'am,' said Kate, addressing
Madame Mantalini. 'The servant must have forgotten to let you know that
I was here, I think.'

'You really must see to that man,' said Madame, turning to her husband.
'He forgets everything.'

'I will twist his demd nose off his countenance for leaving such a very
pretty creature all alone by herself,' said her husband.

'Mantalini,' cried Madame, 'you forget yourself.'

'I don't forget you, my soul, and never shall, and never can,' said
Mantalini, kissing his wife's hand, and grimacing aside, to Miss
Nickleby, who turned away.

Appeased by this compliment, the lady of the business took some papers
from her desk which she handed over to Mr Mantalini, who received them
with great delight. She then requested Kate to follow her, and after
several feints on the part of Mr Mantalini to attract the young lady's
attention, they went away: leaving that gentleman extended at full
length on the sofa, with his heels in the air and a newspaper in his
hand.

Madame Mantalini led the way down a flight of stairs, and through a
passage, to a large room at the back of the premises where were a number
of young women employed in sewing, cutting out, making up, altering, and
various other processes known only to those who are cunning in the arts
of millinery and dressmaking. It was a close room with a skylight, and
as dull and quiet as a room need be.

On Madame Mantalini calling aloud for Miss Knag, a short, bustling,
over-dressed female, full of importance, presented herself, and all the
young ladies suspending their operations for the moment, whispered
to each other sundry criticisms upon the make and texture of Miss
Nickleby's dress, her complexion, cast of features, and personal
appearance, with as much good breeding as could have been displayed by
the very best society in a crowded ball-room.

'Oh, Miss Knag,' said Madame Mantalini, 'this is the young person I
spoke to you about.'

Miss Knag bestowed a reverential smile upon Madame Mantalini, which
she dexterously transformed into a gracious one for Kate, and said that
certainly, although it was a great deal of trouble to have young people
who were wholly unused to the business, still, she was sure the young
person would try to do her best--impressed with which conviction she
(Miss Knag) felt an interest in her, already.

'I think that, for the present at all events, it will be better for
Miss Nickleby to come into the show-room with you, and try things on for
people,' said Madame Mantalini. 'She will not be able for the present to
be of much use in any other way; and her appearance will--'

'Suit very well with mine, Madame Mantalini,' interrupted Miss Knag. 'So
it will; and to be sure I might have known that you would not be long in
finding that out; for you have so much taste in all those matters, that
really, as I often say to the young ladies, I do not know how, when, or
where, you possibly could have acquired all you know--hem--Miss Nickleby
and I are quite a pair, Madame Mantalini, only I am a little darker than
Miss Nickleby, and--hem--I think my foot may be a little smaller. Miss
Nickleby, I am sure, will not be offended at my saying that, when she
hears that our family always have been celebrated for small feet ever
since--hem--ever since our family had any feet at all, indeed, I think.
I had an uncle once, Madame Mantalini, who lived in Cheltenham, and
had a most excellent business as a tobacconist--hem--who had such small
feet, that they were no bigger than those which are usually joined to
wooden legs--the most symmetrical feet, Madame Mantalini, that even you
can imagine.'

'They must have had something of the appearance of club feet, Miss
Knag,' said Madame.

'Well now, that is so like you,' returned Miss Knag, 'Ha! ha! ha! Of
club feet! Oh very good! As I often remark to the young ladies, "Well
I must say, and I do not care who knows it, of all the ready
humour--hem--I ever heard anywhere"--and I have heard a good deal; for
when my dear brother was alive (I kept house for him, Miss Nickleby), we
had to supper once a week two or three young men, highly celebrated
in those days for their humour, Madame Mantalini--"Of all the ready
humour," I say to the young ladies, "I ever heard, Madame Mantalini's
is the most remarkable--hem. It is so gentle, so sarcastic, and yet so
good-natured (as I was observing to Miss Simmonds only this morning),
that how, or when, or by what means she acquired it, is to me a mystery
indeed."'

Here Miss Knag paused to take breath, and while she pauses it may be
observed--not that she was marvellously loquacious and marvellously
deferential to Madame Mantalini, since these are facts which require no
comment; but that every now and then, she was accustomed, in the torrent
of her discourse, to introduce a loud, shrill, clear 'hem!' the import
and meaning of which, was variously interpreted by her acquaintance;
some holding that Miss Knag dealt in exaggeration, and introduced the
monosyllable when any fresh invention was in course of coinage in her
brain; others, that when she wanted a word, she threw it in to gain
time, and prevent anybody else from striking into the conversation. It
may be further remarked, that Miss Knag still aimed at youth, although
she had shot beyond it, years ago; and that she was weak and vain, and
one of those people who are best described by the axiom, that you may
trust them as far as you can see them, and no farther.

'You'll take care that Miss Nickleby understands her hours, and so
forth,' said Madame Mantalini; 'and so I'll leave her with you. You'll
not forget my directions, Miss Knag?'

Miss Knag of course replied, that to forget anything Madame Mantalini
had directed, was a moral impossibility; and that lady, dispensing a
general good-morning among her assistants, sailed away.

'Charming creature, isn't she, Miss Nickleby?' said Miss Knag, rubbing
her hands together.

'I have seen very little of her,' said Kate. 'I hardly know yet.'

'Have you seen Mr Mantalini?' inquired Miss Knag.

'Yes; I have seen him twice.'

'Isn't HE a charming creature?'

'Indeed he does not strike me as being so, by any means,' replied Kate.

'No, my dear!' cried Miss Knag, elevating her hands. 'Why, goodness
gracious mercy, where's your taste? Such a fine tall, full-whiskered
dashing gentlemanly man, with such teeth and hair, and--hem--well now,
you DO astonish me.'

'I dare say I am very foolish,' replied Kate, laying aside her bonnet;
'but as my opinion is of very little importance to him or anyone else,
I do not regret having formed it, and shall be slow to change it, I
think.'

'He is a very fine man, don't you think so?' asked one of the young
ladies.

'Indeed he may be, for anything I could say to the contrary,' replied
Kate.

'And drives very beautiful horses, doesn't he?' inquired another.

'I dare say he may, but I never saw them,' answered Kate.

'Never saw them!' interposed Miss Knag. 'Oh, well! There it is at
once you know; how can you possibly pronounce an opinion about a
gentleman--hem--if you don't see him as he turns out altogether?'

There was so much of the world--even of the little world of the country
girl--in this idea of the old milliner, that Kate, who was anxious, for
every reason, to change the subject, made no further remark, and left
Miss Knag in possession of the field.

After a short silence, during which most of the young people made a
closer inspection of Kate's appearance, and compared notes respecting
it, one of them offered to help her off with her shawl, and the
offer being accepted, inquired whether she did not find black very
uncomfortable wear.

'I do indeed,' replied Kate, with a bitter sigh.

'So dusty and hot,' observed the same speaker, adjusting her dress for
her.

Kate might have said, that mourning is sometimes the coldest wear which
mortals can assume; that it not only chills the breasts of those it
clothes, but extending its influence to summer friends, freezes up their
sources of good-will and kindness, and withering all the buds of promise
they once so liberally put forth, leaves nothing but bared and rotten
hearts exposed. There are few who have lost a friend or relative
constituting in life their sole dependence, who have not keenly felt
this chilling influence of their sable garb. She had felt it acutely,
and feeling it at the moment, could not quite restrain her tears.

'I am very sorry to have wounded you by my thoughtless speech,' said
her companion. 'I did not think of it. You are in mourning for some near
relation?'

'For my father,' answered Kate.

'For what relation, Miss Simmonds?' asked Miss Knag, in an audible
voice.

'Her father,' replied the other softly.

'Her father, eh?' said Miss Knag, without the slightest depression of
her voice. 'Ah! A long illness, Miss Simmonds?'

'Hush,' replied the girl; 'I don't know.'

'Our misfortune was very sudden,' said Kate, turning away, 'or I might
perhaps, at a time like this, be enabled to support it better.'

There had existed not a little desire in the room, according to
invariable custom, when any new 'young person' came, to know who Kate
was, and what she was, and all about her; but, although it might
have been very naturally increased by her appearance and emotion, the
knowledge that it pained her to be questioned, was sufficient to repress
even this curiosity; and Miss Knag, finding it hopeless to attempt
extracting any further particulars just then, reluctantly commanded
silence, and bade the work proceed.

In silence, then, the tasks were plied until half-past one, when a baked
leg of mutton, with potatoes to correspond, were served in the kitchen.
The meal over, and the young ladies having enjoyed the additional
relaxation of washing their hands, the work began again, and was again
performed in silence, until the noise of carriages rattling through the
streets, and of loud double knocks at doors, gave token that the day's
work of the more fortunate members of society was proceeding in its
turn.

One of these double knocks at Madame Mantalini's door, announced
the equipage of some great lady--or rather rich one, for there is
occasionally a distinction between riches and greatness--who had come
with her daughter to approve of some court-dresses which had been a long
time preparing, and upon whom Kate was deputed to wait, accompanied by
Miss Knag, and officered of course by Madame Mantalini.

Kate's part in the pageant was humble enough, her duties being limited
to holding articles of costume until Miss Knag was ready to try them on,
and now and then tying a string, or fastening a hook-and-eye. She
might, not unreasonably, have supposed herself beneath the reach of any
arrogance, or bad humour; but it happened that the lady and daughter
were both out of temper that day, and the poor girl came in for
her share of their revilings. She was awkward--her hands were
cold--dirty--coarse--she could do nothing right; they wondered how
Madame Mantalini could have such people about her; requested they might
see some other young woman the next time they came; and so forth.

So common an occurrence would be hardly deserving of mention, but for
its effect. Kate shed many bitter tears when these people were gone,
and felt, for the first time, humbled by her occupation. She had, it is
true, quailed at the prospect of drudgery and hard service; but she had
felt no degradation in working for her bread, until she found herself
exposed to insolence and pride. Philosophy would have taught her that
the degradation was on the side of those who had sunk so low as to
display such passions habitually, and without cause: but she was too
young for such consolation, and her honest feeling was hurt. May not the
complaint, that common people are above their station, often take its
rise in the fact of UNcommon people being below theirs?

In such scenes and occupations the time wore on until nine o'clock, when
Kate, jaded and dispirited with the occurrences of the day, hastened
from the confinement of the workroom, to join her mother at the street
corner, and walk home:--the more sadly, from having to disguise her real
feelings, and feign to participate in all the sanguine visions of her
companion.

'Bless my soul, Kate,' said Mrs Nickleby; 'I've been thinking all day
what a delightful thing it would be for Madame Mantalini to take you
into partnership--such a likely thing too, you know! Why, your poor
dear papa's cousin's sister-in-law--a Miss Browndock--was taken into
partnership by a lady that kept a school at Hammersmith, and made her
fortune in no time at all. I forget, by-the-bye, whether that Miss
Browndock was the same lady that got the ten thousand pounds prize in
the lottery, but I think she was; indeed, now I come to think of it, I
am sure she was. "Mantalini and Nickleby", how well it would sound!--and
if Nicholas has any good fortune, you might have Doctor Nickleby, the
head-master of Westminster School, living in the same street.'

'Dear Nicholas!' cried Kate, taking from her reticule her brother's
letter from Dotheboys Hall. 'In all our misfortunes, how happy it makes
me, mama, to hear he is doing well, and to find him writing in such
good spirits! It consoles me for all we may undergo, to think that he is
comfortable and happy.'

Poor Kate! she little thought how weak her consolation was, and how soon
she would be undeceived.



CHAPTER 18

Miss Knag, after doting on Kate Nickleby for three whole Days, makes
up her Mind to hate her for evermore. The Causes which led Miss Knag to
form this Resolution


There are many lives of much pain, hardship, and suffering, which,
having no stirring interest for any but those who lead them, are
disregarded by persons who do not want thought or feeling, but who
pamper their compassion and need high stimulants to rouse it.

There are not a few among the disciples of charity who require, in their
vocation, scarcely less excitement than the votaries of pleasure in
theirs; and hence it is that diseased sympathy and compassion are every
day expended on out-of-the-way objects, when only too many demands upon
the legitimate exercise of the same virtues in a healthy state, are
constantly within the sight and hearing of the most unobservant person
alive. In short, charity must have its romance, as the novelist or
playwright must have his. A thief in fustian is a vulgar character,
scarcely to be thought of by persons of refinement; but dress him in
green velvet, with a high-crowned hat, and change the scene of his
operations, from a thickly-peopled city, to a mountain road, and you
shall find in him the very soul of poetry and adventure. So it is with
the one great cardinal virtue, which, properly nourished and exercised,
leads to, if it does not necessarily include, all the others. It must
have its romance; and the less of real, hard, struggling work-a-day life
there is in that romance, the better.