Nicholas Nickleby
respects,’ said Nicholas. ‘But where are you going, that you talk about
bidding goodbye?’
‘Haven’t you seen it in the papers?’ said Crummles, with some dignity.
‘No,’ replied Nicholas.
‘I wonder at that,’ said the manager. ‘It was among the varieties. I had
the paragraph here somewhere--but I don’t know--oh, yes, here it is.’
So saying, Mr. Crummles, after pretending that he thought he must have
lost it, produced a square inch of newspaper from the pocket of the
pantaloons he wore in private life (which, together with the plain
clothes of several other gentlemen, lay scattered about on a kind of
dresser in the room), and gave it to Nicholas to read:
‘The talented Vincent Crummles, long favourably known to fame as a
country manager and actor of no ordinary pretensions, is about to cross
the Atlantic on a histrionic expedition. Crummles is to be accompanied,
we hear, by his lady and gifted family. We know no man superior to
Crummles in his particular line of character, or one who, whether as a
public or private individual, could carry with him the best wishes of a
larger circle of friends. Crummles is certain to succeed.’
‘Here’s another bit,’ said Mr. Crummles, handing over a still smaller
scrap. ‘This is from the notices to correspondents, this one.’
Nicholas read it aloud. ‘“Philo-Dramaticus. Crummles, the country
manager and actor, cannot be more than forty-three, or forty-four
years of age. Crummles is NOT a Prussian, having been born at Chelsea.”
Humph!’ said Nicholas, ‘that’s an odd paragraph.’
‘Very,’ returned Crummles, scratching the side of his nose, and looking
at Nicholas with an assumption of great unconcern. ‘I can’t think who
puts these things in. I didn’t.’
Still keeping his eye on Nicholas, Mr. Crummles shook his head twice or
thrice with profound gravity, and remarking, that he could not for the
life of him imagine how the newspapers found out the things they did,
folded up the extracts and put them in his pocket again.
‘I am astonished to hear this news,’ said Nicholas. ‘Going to America!
You had no such thing in contemplation when I was with you.’
‘No,’ replied Crummles, ‘I hadn’t then. The fact is that Mrs
Crummles--most extraordinary woman, Johnson.’ Here he broke off and
whispered something in his ear.
‘Oh!’ said Nicholas, smiling. ‘The prospect of an addition to your
family?’
‘The seventh addition, Johnson,’ returned Mr. Crummles, solemnly. ‘I
thought such a child as the Phenomenon must have been a closer; but it
seems we are to have another. She is a very remarkable woman.’
‘I congratulate you,’ said Nicholas, ‘and I hope this may prove a
phenomenon too.’
‘Why, it’s pretty sure to be something uncommon, I suppose,’ rejoined
Mr. Crummles. ‘The talent of the other three is principally in combat and
serious pantomime. I should like this one to have a turn for juvenile
tragedy; I understand they want something of that sort in America very
much. However, we must take it as it comes. Perhaps it may have a genius
for the tight-rope. It may have any sort of genius, in short, if it
takes after its mother, Johnson, for she is an universal genius; but,
whatever its genius is, that genius shall be developed.’
Expressing himself after these terms, Mr. Crummles put on his other
eyebrow, and the calves of his legs, and then put on his legs, which
were of a yellowish flesh-colour, and rather soiled about the knees,
from frequent going down upon those joints, in curses, prayers, last
struggles, and other strong passages.
While the ex-manager completed his toilet, he informed Nicholas that as
he should have a fair start in America from the proceeds of a tolerably
good engagement which he had been fortunate enough to obtain, and as
he and Mrs. Crummles could scarcely hope to act for ever (not being
immortal, except in the breath of Fame and in a figurative sense) he had
made up his mind to settle there permanently, in the hope of acquiring
some land of his own which would support them in their old age, and
which they could afterwards bequeath to their children. Nicholas, having
highly commended the resolution, Mr. Crummles went on to impart such
further intelligence relative to their mutual friends as he thought
might prove interesting; informing Nicholas, among other things, that
Miss Snevellicci was happily married to an affluent young wax-chandler
who had supplied the theatre with candles, and that Mr. Lillyvick didn’t
dare to say his soul was his own, such was the tyrannical sway of Mrs
Lillyvick, who reigned paramount and supreme.
Nicholas responded to this confidence on the part of Mr. Crummles, by
confiding to him his own name, situation, and prospects, and informing
him, in as few general words as he could, of the circumstances which
had led to their first acquaintance. After congratulating him with great
heartiness on the improved state of his fortunes, Mr. Crummles gave him
to understand that next morning he and his were to start for Liverpool,
where the vessel lay which was to carry them from the shores of England,
and that if Nicholas wished to take a last adieu of Mrs. Crummles, he
must repair with him that night to a farewell supper, given in honour of
the family at a neighbouring tavern; at which Mr. Snittle Timberry would
preside, while the honours of the vice-chair would be sustained by the
African Swallower.
The room being by this time very warm and somewhat crowded, in
consequence of the influx of four gentlemen, who had just killed
each other in the piece under representation, Nicholas accepted
the invitation, and promised to return at the conclusion of the
performances; preferring the cool air and twilight out of doors to the
mingled perfume of gas, orange-peel, and gunpowder, which pervaded the
hot and glaring theatre.
He availed himself of this interval to buy a silver snuff-box--the best
his funds would afford--as a token of remembrance for Mr. Crummles,
and having purchased besides a pair of ear-rings for Mrs. Crummles, a
necklace for the Phenomenon, and a flaming shirt-pin for each of the
young gentlemen, he refreshed himself with a walk, and returning a
little after the appointed time, found the lights out, the theatre
empty, the curtain raised for the night, and Mr. Crummles walking up and
down the stage expecting his arrival.
‘Timberry won’t be long,’ said Mr. Crummles. ‘He played the audience out
tonight. He does a faithful black in the last piece, and it takes him a
little longer to wash himself.’
‘A very unpleasant line of character, I should think?’ said Nicholas.
‘No, I don’t know,’ replied Mr. Crummles; ‘it comes off easily enough,
and there’s only the face and neck. We had a first-tragedy man in our
company once, who, when he played Othello, used to black himself all
over. But that’s feeling a part and going into it as if you meant it; it
isn’t usual; more’s the pity.’
Mr. Snittle Timberry now appeared, arm-in-arm with the African Swallower,
and, being introduced to Nicholas, raised his hat half a foot, and said
he was proud to know him. The Swallower said the same, and looked and
spoke remarkably like an Irishman.
‘I see by the bills that you have been ill, sir,’ said Nicholas to Mr
Timberry. ‘I hope you are none the worse for your exertions tonight?’
Mr. Timberry, in reply, shook his head with a gloomy air, tapped his
chest several times with great significancy, and drawing his cloak more
closely about him, said, ‘But no matter, no matter. Come!’
It is observable that when people upon the stage are in any strait
involving the very last extremity of weakness and exhaustion, they
invariably perform feats of strength requiring great ingenuity and
muscular power. Thus, a wounded prince or bandit chief, who is bleeding
to death and too faint to move, except to the softest music (and then
only upon his hands and knees), shall be seen to approach a cottage
door for aid in such a series of writhings and twistings, and with
such curlings up of the legs, and such rollings over and over, and such
gettings up and tumblings down again, as could never be achieved save
by a very strong man skilled in posture-making. And so natural did this
sort of performance come to Mr. Snittle Timberry, that on their way out
of the theatre and towards the tavern where the supper was to be holden,
he testified the severity of his recent indisposition and its wasting
effects upon the nervous system, by a series of gymnastic performances
which were the admiration of all witnesses.
‘Why this is indeed a joy I had not looked for!’ said Mrs. Crummles, when
Nicholas was presented.
‘Nor I,’ replied Nicholas. ‘It is by a mere chance that I have this
opportunity of seeing you, although I would have made a great exertion
to have availed myself of it.’
‘Here is one whom you know,’ said Mrs. Crummles, thrusting forward the
Phenomenon in a blue gauze frock, extensively flounced, and trousers
of the same; ‘and here another--and another,’ presenting the Master
Crummleses. ‘And how is your friend, the faithful Digby?’
‘Digby!’ said Nicholas, forgetting at the instant that this had been
Smike’s theatrical name. ‘Oh yes. He’s quite--what am I saying?--he is
very far from well.’
‘How!’ exclaimed Mrs. Crummles, with a tragic recoil.
‘I fear,’ said Nicholas, shaking his head, and making an attempt to
smile, ‘that your better-half would be more struck with him now than
ever.’
‘What mean you?’ rejoined Mrs. Crummles, in her most popular manner.
‘Whence comes this altered tone?’
‘I mean that a dastardly enemy of mine has struck at me through him, and
that while he thinks to torture me, he inflicts on him such agonies of
terror and suspense as--You will excuse me, I am sure,’ said Nicholas,
checking himself. ‘I should never speak of this, and never do, except to
those who know the facts, but for a moment I forgot myself.’
With this hasty apology Nicholas stooped down to salute the Phenomenon,
and changed the subject; inwardly cursing his precipitation, and very
much wondering what Mrs. Crummles must think of so sudden an explosion.
That lady seemed to think very little about it, for the supper being by
this time on table, she gave her hand to Nicholas and repaired with a
stately step to the left hand of Mr. Snittle Timberry. Nicholas had the
honour to support her, and Mr. Crummles was placed upon the chairman’s
right; the Phenomenon and the Master Crummleses sustained the vice.
The company amounted in number to some twenty-five or thirty, being
composed of such members of the theatrical profession, then engaged or
disengaged in London, as were numbered among the most intimate friends
of Mr. and Mrs. Crummles. The ladies and gentlemen were pretty equally
balanced; the expenses of the entertainment being defrayed by the
latter, each of whom had the privilege of inviting one of the former as
his guest.
It was upon the whole a very distinguished party, for independently of
the lesser theatrical lights who clustered on this occasion round
Mr. Snittle Timberry, there was a literary gentleman present who had
dramatised in his time two hundred and forty-seven novels as fast as
they had come out--some of them faster than they had come out--and who
WAS a literary gentleman in consequence.
This gentleman sat on the left hand of Nicholas, to whom he was
introduced by his friend the African Swallower, from the bottom of the
table, with a high eulogium upon his fame and reputation.
‘I am happy to know a gentleman of such great distinction,’ said
Nicholas, politely.
‘Sir,’ replied the wit, ‘you’re very welcome, I’m sure. The honour is
reciprocal, sir, as I usually say when I dramatise a book. Did you ever
hear a definition of fame, sir?’
‘I have heard several,’ replied Nicholas, with a smile. ‘What is yours?’