Nicholas Nickleby
I’ll not part with a halfpenny--nor would I to save you from rotting.
And remember this, ‘scape-gallows,’ said Ralph, menacing him with
his hand, ‘that if we meet again, and you so much as notice me by one
begging gesture, you shall see the inside of a jail once more, and
tighten this hold upon me in intervals of the hard labour that vagabonds
are put to. There’s my answer to your trash. Take it.’
With a disdainful scowl at the object of his anger, who met his eye
but uttered not a word, Ralph walked away at his usual pace, without
manifesting the slightest curiosity to see what became of his late
companion, or indeed once looking behind him. The man remained on the
same spot with his eyes fixed upon his retreating figure until it was
lost to view, and then drawing his arm about his chest, as if the damp
and lack of food struck coldly to him, lingered with slouching steps by
the wayside, and begged of those who passed along.
Ralph, in no-wise moved by what had lately passed, further than as he
had already expressed himself, walked deliberately on, and turning out
of the Park and leaving Golden Square on his right, took his way through
some streets at the west end of the town until he arrived in that
particular one in which stood the residence of Madame Mantalini. The
name of that lady no longer appeared on the flaming door-plate, that of
Miss Knag being substituted in its stead; but the bonnets and dresses
were still dimly visible in the first-floor windows by the decaying
light of a summer’s evening, and excepting this ostensible alteration in
the proprietorship, the establishment wore its old appearance.
‘Humph!’ muttered Ralph, drawing his hand across his mouth with a
connoisseur-like air, and surveying the house from top to bottom; ‘these
people look pretty well. They can’t last long; but if I know of their
going in good time, I am safe, and a fair profit too. I must keep them
closely in view; that’s all.’
So, nodding his head very complacently, Ralph was leaving the spot, when
his quick ear caught the sound of a confused noise and hubbub of voices,
mingled with a great running up and down stairs, in the very house
which had been the subject of his scrutiny; and while he was hesitating
whether to knock at the door or listen at the keyhole a little longer, a
female servant of Madame Mantalini’s (whom he had often seen) opened
it abruptly and bounced out, with her blue cap-ribbons streaming in the
air.
‘Hallo here. Stop!’ cried Ralph. ‘What’s the matter? Here am I. Didn’t
you hear me knock?’
‘Oh! Mr. Nickleby, sir,’ said the girl. ‘Go up, for the love of Gracious.
Master’s been and done it again.’
‘Done what?’ said Ralph, tartly; ‘what d’ye mean?’
‘I knew he would if he was drove to it,’ cried the girl. ‘I said so all
along.’
‘Come here, you silly wench,’ said Ralph, catching her by the wrist;
‘and don’t carry family matters to the neighbours, destroying the credit
of the establishment. Come here; do you hear me, girl?’
Without any further expostulation, he led or rather pulled the
frightened handmaid into the house, and shut the door; then bidding her
walk upstairs before him, followed without more ceremony.
Guided by the noise of a great many voices all talking together, and
passing the girl in his impatience, before they had ascended many steps,
Ralph quickly reached the private sitting-room, when he was rather
amazed by the confused and inexplicable scene in which he suddenly found
himself.
There were all the young-lady workers, some with bonnets and some
without, in various attitudes expressive of alarm and consternation;
some gathered round Madame Mantalini, who was in tears upon one chair;
and others round Miss Knag, who was in opposition tears upon another;
and others round Mr. Mantalini, who was perhaps the most striking figure
in the whole group, for Mr. Mantalini’s legs were extended at full length
upon the floor, and his head and shoulders were supported by a very
tall footman, who didn’t seem to know what to do with them, and Mr
Mantalini’s eyes were closed, and his face was pale and his hair was
comparatively straight, and his whiskers and moustache were limp, and
his teeth were clenched, and he had a little bottle in his right hand,
and a little tea-spoon in his left; and his hands, arms, legs, and
shoulders, were all stiff and powerless. And yet Madame Mantalini was
not weeping upon the body, but was scolding violently upon her chair;
and all this amidst a clamour of tongues perfectly deafening, and which
really appeared to have driven the unfortunate footman to the utmost
verge of distraction.
‘What is the matter here?’ said Ralph, pressing forward.
At this inquiry, the clamour was increased twenty-fold, and an
astounding string of such shrill contradictions as ‘He’s poisoned
himself’--‘He hasn’t’--‘Send for a doctor’--‘Don’t’--‘He’s dying’--‘He
isn’t, he’s only pretending’--with various other cries, poured forth
with bewildering volubility, until Madame Mantalini was seen to address
herself to Ralph, when female curiosity to know what she would say,
prevailed, and, as if by general consent, a dead silence, unbroken by a
single whisper, instantaneously succeeded.
‘Mr. Nickleby,’ said Madame Mantalini; ‘by what chance you came here, I
don’t know.’
Here a gurgling voice was heard to ejaculate, as part of the wanderings
of a sick man, the words ‘Demnition sweetness!’ but nobody heeded
them except the footman, who, being startled to hear such awful tones
proceeding, as it were, from between his very fingers, dropped his
master’s head upon the floor with a pretty loud crash, and then, without
an effort to lift it up, gazed upon the bystanders, as if he had done
something rather clever than otherwise.
‘I will, however,’ continued Madame Mantalini, drying her eyes, and
speaking with great indignation, ‘say before you, and before everybody
here, for the first time, and once for all, that I never will supply
that man’s extravagances and viciousness again. I have been a dupe and a
fool to him long enough. In future, he shall support himself if he
can, and then he may spend what money he pleases, upon whom and how he
pleases; but it shall not be mine, and therefore you had better pause
before you trust him further.’
Thereupon Madame Mantalini, quite unmoved by some most pathetic
lamentations on the part of her husband, that the apothecary had not
mixed the prussic acid strong enough, and that he must take another
bottle or two to finish the work he had in hand, entered into a
catalogue of that amiable gentleman’s gallantries, deceptions,
extravagances, and infidelities (especially the last), winding up with
a protest against being supposed to entertain the smallest remnant
of regard for him; and adducing, in proof of the altered state of her
affections, the circumstance of his having poisoned himself in private
no less than six times within the last fortnight, and her not having
once interfered by word or deed to save his life.
‘And I insist on being separated and left to myself,’ said Madame
Mantalini, sobbing. ‘If he dares to refuse me a separation, I’ll have
one in law--I can--and I hope this will be a warning to all girls who
have seen this disgraceful exhibition.’
Miss Knag, who was unquestionably the oldest girl in company, said with
great solemnity, that it would be a warning to HER, and so did the
young ladies generally, with the exception of one or two who appeared to
entertain some doubts whether such whispers could do wrong.
‘Why do you say all this before so many listeners?’ said Ralph, in a low
voice. ‘You know you are not in earnest.’
‘I AM in earnest,’ replied Madame Mantalini, aloud, and retreating
towards Miss Knag.
‘Well, but consider,’ reasoned Ralph, who had a great interest in the
matter. ‘It would be well to reflect. A married woman has no property.’
‘Not a solitary single individual dem, my soul,’ and Mr. Mantalini,
raising himself upon his elbow.
‘I am quite aware of that,’ retorted Madame Mantalini, tossing her head;
‘and I have none. The business, the stock, this house, and everything in
it, all belong to Miss Knag.’
‘That’s quite true, Madame Mantalini,’ said Miss Knag, with whom her
late employer had secretly come to an amicable understanding on this
point. ‘Very true, indeed, Madame Mantalini--hem--very true. And I never
was more glad in all my life, that I had strength of mind to resist
matrimonial offers, no matter how advantageous, than I am when I think
of my present position as compared with your most unfortunate and most
undeserved one, Madame Mantalini.’
‘Demmit!’ cried Mr. Mantalini, turning his head towards his wife. ‘Will
it not slap and pinch the envious dowager, that dares to reflect upon
its own delicious?’
But the day of Mr. Mantalini’s blandishments had departed. ‘Miss
Knag, sir,’ said his wife, ‘is my particular friend;’ and although Mr
Mantalini leered till his eyes seemed in danger of never coming back to
their right places again, Madame Mantalini showed no signs of softening.
To do the excellent Miss Knag justice, she had been mainly instrumental
in bringing about this altered state of things, for, finding by daily
experience, that there was no chance of the business thriving, or even
continuing to exist, while Mr. Mantalini had any hand in the expenditure,
and having now a considerable interest in its well-doing, she had
sedulously applied herself to the investigation of some little matters
connected with that gentleman’s private character, which she had so well
elucidated, and artfully imparted to Madame Mantalini, as to open her
eyes more effectually than the closest and most philosophical reasoning
could have done in a series of years. To which end, the accidental
discovery by Miss Knag of some tender correspondence, in which Madame
Mantalini was described as ‘old’ and ‘ordinary,’ had most providentially
contributed.
However, notwithstanding her firmness, Madame Mantalini wept very
piteously; and as she leant upon Miss Knag, and signed towards the door,
that young lady and all the other young ladies with sympathising faces,
proceeded to bear her out.
‘Nickleby,’ said Mr. Mantalini in tears, ‘you have been made a witness
to this demnition cruelty, on the part of the demdest enslaver and
captivator that never was, oh dem! I forgive that woman.’
‘Forgive!’ repeated Madame Mantalini, angrily.
‘I do forgive her, Nickleby,’ said Mr. Mantalini. ‘You will blame me, the
world will blame me, the women will blame me; everybody will laugh,
and scoff, and smile, and grin most demnebly. They will say, “She had a
blessing. She did not know it. He was too weak; he was too good; he was
a dem’d fine fellow, but he loved too strong; he could not bear her to
be cross, and call him wicked names. It was a dem’d case, there never
was a demder.” But I forgive her.’
With this affecting speech Mr. Mantalini fell down again very flat, and
lay to all appearance without sense or motion, until all the females
had left the room, when he came cautiously into a sitting posture, and
confronted Ralph with a very blank face, and the little bottle still in
one hand and the tea-spoon in the other.
‘You may put away those fooleries now, and live by your wits again,’
said Ralph, coolly putting on his hat.
‘Demmit, Nickleby, you’re not serious?’
‘I seldom joke,’ said Ralph. ‘Good-night.’
‘No, but Nickleby--’ said Mantalini.
‘I am wrong, perhaps,’ rejoined Ralph. ‘I hope so. You should know best.
Good-night.’
Affecting not to hear his entreaties that he would stay and advise with
him, Ralph left the crest-fallen Mr. Mantalini to his meditations, and
left the house quietly.
‘Oho!’ he said, ‘sets the wind that way so soon? Half knave and half