Nicholas Nickleby
imploringly on one side, and his right hand on his breast. ‘Oh, do sip
the goblet!’
‘I shall not consent to do anything of the kind, sir,’ said Mrs
Nickleby. ‘Pray, begone.’
‘Why is it,’ said the old gentleman, coming up a step higher, and
leaning his elbows on the wall, with as much complacency as if he were
looking out of window, ‘why is it that beauty is always obdurate,
even when admiration is as honourable and respectful as mine?’ Here he
smiled, kissed his hand, and made several low bows. ‘Is it owing to the
bees, who, when the honey season is over, and they are supposed to
have been killed with brimstone, in reality fly to Barbary and lull the
captive Moors to sleep with their drowsy songs? Or is it,’ he added,
dropping his voice almost to a whisper, ‘in consequence of the statue
at Charing Cross having been lately seen, on the Stock Exchange
at midnight, walking arm-in-arm with the Pump from Aldgate, in a
riding-habit?’
‘Mama,’ murmured Kate, ‘do you hear him?’
‘Hush, my dear!’ replied Mrs. Nickleby, in the same tone of voice, ‘he
is very polite, and I think that was a quotation from the poets. Pray,
don’t worry me so--you’ll pinch my arm black and blue. Go away, sir!’
‘Quite away?’ said the gentleman, with a languishing look. ‘Oh! quite
away?’
‘Yes,’ returned Mrs. Nickleby, ‘certainly. You have no business here.
This is private property, sir; you ought to know that.’
‘I do know,’ said the old gentleman, laying his finger on his nose, with
an air of familiarity, most reprehensible, ‘that this is a sacred and
enchanted spot, where the most divine charms’--here he kissed his hand
and bowed again--‘waft mellifluousness over the neighbours’ gardens, and
force the fruit and vegetables into premature existence. That fact I am
acquainted with. But will you permit me, fairest creature, to ask
you one question, in the absence of the planet Venus, who has gone
on business to the Horse Guards, and would otherwise--jealous of your
superior charms--interpose between us?’
‘Kate,’ observed Mrs. Nickleby, turning to her daughter, ‘it’s very
awkward, positively. I really don’t know what to say to this gentleman.
One ought to be civil, you know.’
‘Dear mama,’ rejoined Kate, ‘don’t say a word to him, but let us run
away as fast as we can, and shut ourselves up till Nicholas comes home.’
Mrs. Nickleby looked very grand, not to say contemptuous, at this
humiliating proposal; and, turning to the old gentleman, who had watched
them during these whispers with absorbing eagerness, said:
‘If you will conduct yourself, sir, like the gentleman I should
imagine you to be, from your language and--and--appearance, (quite the
counterpart of your grandpapa, Kate, my dear, in his best days,) and
will put your question to me in plain words, I will answer it.’
If Mrs. Nickleby’s excellent papa had borne, in his best days, a
resemblance to the neighbour now looking over the wall, he must have
been, to say the least, a very queer-looking old gentleman in his
prime. Perhaps Kate thought so, for she ventured to glance at his living
portrait with some attention, as he took off his black velvet cap,
and, exhibiting a perfectly bald head, made a long series of bows, each
accompanied with a fresh kiss of the hand. After exhausting himself,
to all appearance, with this fatiguing performance, he covered his head
once more, pulled the cap very carefully over the tips of his ears, and
resuming his former attitude, said,
‘The question is--’
Here he broke off to look round in every direction, and satisfy himself
beyond all doubt that there were no listeners near. Assured that there
were not, he tapped his nose several times, accompanying the action with
a cunning look, as though congratulating himself on his caution; and
stretching out his neck, said in a loud whisper,
‘Are you a princess?’
‘You are mocking me, sir,’ replied Mrs. Nickleby, making a feint of
retreating towards the house.
‘No, but are you?’ said the old gentleman.
‘You know I am not, sir,’ replied Mrs. Nickleby.
‘Then are you any relation to the Archbishop of Canterbury?’ inquired
the old gentleman with great anxiety, ‘or to the Pope of Rome? Or the
Speaker of the House of Commons? Forgive me, if I am wrong, but I was
told you were niece to the Commissioners of Paving, and daughter-in-law
to the Lord Mayor and Court of Common Council, which would account for
your relationship to all three.’
‘Whoever has spread such reports, sir,’ returned Mrs. Nickleby, with some
warmth, ‘has taken great liberties with my name, and one which I am sure
my son Nicholas, if he was aware of it, would not allow for an instant.
The idea!’ said Mrs. Nickleby, drawing herself up, ‘niece to the
Commissioners of Paving!’
‘Pray, mama, come away!’ whispered Kate.
‘“Pray mama!” Nonsense, Kate,’ said Mrs. Nickleby, angrily, ‘but that’s
just the way. If they had said I was niece to a piping bullfinch, what
would you care? But I have no sympathy,’ whimpered Mrs. Nickleby. ‘I
don’t expect it, that’s one thing.’
‘Tears!’ cried the old gentleman, with such an energetic jump, that
he fell down two or three steps and grated his chin against the
wall. ‘Catch the crystal globules--catch ‘em--bottle ‘em up--cork ‘em
tight--put sealing wax on the top--seal ‘em with a cupid--label ‘em
“Best quality”--and stow ‘em away in the fourteen binn, with a bar of
iron on the top to keep the thunder off!’
Issuing these commands, as if there were a dozen attendants all actively
engaged in their execution, he turned his velvet cap inside out, put it
on with great dignity so as to obscure his right eye and three-fourths
of his nose, and sticking his arms a-kimbo, looked very fiercely at a
sparrow hard by, till the bird flew away, when he put his cap in his
pocket with an air of great satisfaction, and addressed himself with
respectful demeanour to Mrs. Nickleby.
‘Beautiful madam,’ such were his words, ‘if I have made any mistake with
regard to your family or connections, I humbly beseech you to pardon me.
If I supposed you to be related to Foreign Powers or Native Boards,
it is because you have a manner, a carriage, a dignity, which you will
excuse my saying that none but yourself (with the single exception
perhaps of the tragic muse, when playing extemporaneously on the barrel
organ before the East India Company) can parallel. I am not a youth,
ma’am, as you see; and although beings like you can never grow old, I
venture to presume that we are fitted for each other.’
‘Really, Kate, my love!’ said Mrs. Nickleby faintly, and looking another
way.
‘I have estates, ma’am,’ said the old gentleman, flourishing his right
hand negligently, as if he made very light of such matters, and speaking
very fast; ‘jewels, lighthouses, fish-ponds, a whalery of my own in the
North Sea, and several oyster-beds of great profit in the Pacific Ocean.
If you will have the kindness to step down to the Royal Exchange and
to take the cocked-hat off the stoutest beadle’s head, you will find my
card in the lining of the crown, wrapped up in a piece of blue paper. My
walking-stick is also to be seen on application to the chaplain of
the House of Commons, who is strictly forbidden to take any money for
showing it. I have enemies about me, ma’am,’ he looked towards his house
and spoke very low, ‘who attack me on all occasions, and wish to secure
my property. If you bless me with your hand and heart, you can apply to
the Lord Chancellor or call out the military if necessary--sending my
toothpick to the commander-in-chief will be sufficient--and so clear the
house of them before the ceremony is performed. After that, love, bliss
and rapture; rapture, love and bliss. Be mine, be mine!’
Repeating these last words with great rapture and enthusiasm, the old
gentleman put on his black velvet cap again, and looking up into the
sky in a hasty manner, said something that was not quite intelligible
concerning a balloon he expected, and which was rather after its time.
‘Be mine, be mine!’ repeated the old gentleman.
‘Kate, my dear,’ said Mrs. Nickleby, ‘I have hardly the power to speak;
but it is necessary for the happiness of all parties that this matter
should be set at rest for ever.’
‘Surely there is no necessity for you to say one word, mama?’ reasoned
Kate.
‘You will allow me, my dear, if you please, to judge for myself,’ said
Mrs. Nickleby.
‘Be mine, be mine!’ cried the old gentleman.
‘It can scarcely be expected, sir,’ said Mrs. Nickleby, fixing her eyes
modestly on the ground, ‘that I should tell a stranger whether I feel
flattered and obliged by such proposals, or not. They certainly are made
under very singular circumstances; still at the same time, as far as
it goes, and to a certain extent of course’ (Mrs. Nickleby’s customary
qualification), ‘they must be gratifying and agreeable to one’s
feelings.’
‘Be mine, be mine,’ cried the old gentleman. ‘Gog and Magog, Gog and
Magog. Be mine, be mine!’
‘It will be sufficient for me to say, sir,’ resumed Mrs. Nickleby, with
perfect seriousness--‘and I’m sure you’ll see the propriety of taking
an answer and going away--that I have made up my mind to remain a widow,
and to devote myself to my children. You may not suppose I am the mother
of two children--indeed many people have doubted it, and said that
nothing on earth could ever make ‘em believe it possible--but it is the
case, and they are both grown up. We shall be very glad to have you for
a neighbour--very glad; delighted, I’m sure--but in any other character
it’s quite impossible, quite. As to my being young enough to marry
again, that perhaps may be so, or it may not be; but I couldn’t think
of it for an instant, not on any account whatever. I said I never would,
and I never will. It’s a very painful thing to have to reject proposals,
and I would much rather that none were made; at the same time this is
the answer that I determined long ago to make, and this is the answer I
shall always give.’
These observations were partly addressed to the old gentleman, partly to
Kate, and partly delivered in soliloquy. Towards their conclusion, the
suitor evinced a very irreverent degree of inattention, and Mrs. Nickleby
had scarcely finished speaking, when, to the great terror both of that
lady and her daughter, he suddenly flung off his coat, and springing on
the top of the wall, threw himself into an attitude which displayed his
small-clothes and grey worsteds to the fullest advantage, and concluded
by standing on one leg, and repeating his favourite bellow with
increased vehemence.
While he was still dwelling on the last note, and embellishing it with
a prolonged flourish, a dirty hand was observed to glide stealthily and
swiftly along the top of the wall, as if in pursuit of a fly, and then
to clasp with the utmost dexterity one of the old gentleman’s ankles.
This done, the companion hand appeared, and clasped the other ankle.
Thus encumbered the old gentleman lifted his legs awkwardly once or
twice, as if they were very clumsy and imperfect pieces of machinery,
and then looking down on his own side of the wall, burst into a loud
laugh.
‘It’s you, is it?’ said the old gentleman.
‘Yes, it’s me,’ replied a gruff voice.
‘How’s the Emperor of Tartary?’ said the old gentleman.
‘Oh! he’s much the same as usual,’ was the reply. ‘No better and no
worse.’
‘The young Prince of China,’ said the old gentleman, with much interest.
‘Is he reconciled to his father-in-law, the great potato salesman?’
‘No,’ answered the gruff voice; ‘and he says he never will be, that’s
more.’
‘If that’s the case,’ observed the old gentleman, ‘perhaps I’d better
come down.’
‘Well,’ said the man on the other side, ‘I think you had, perhaps.’