Nicholas Nickleby
rushlight shades when one stopped all night, and sit up and look through
the little holes like Christians--Jane Dibabs, SHE married a man who was
a great deal older than herself, and WOULD marry him, notwithstanding
all that could be said to the contrary, and she was so fond of him that
nothing was ever equal to it. There was no fuss made about Jane Dibabs,
and her husband was a most honourable and excellent man, and everybody
spoke well of him. Then why should there by any fuss about this
Magdalen?’
‘Her husband is much older; he is not her own choice; his character is
the very reverse of that which you have just described. Don’t you see a
broad destinction between the two cases?’ said Kate.
To this, Mrs. Nickleby only replied that she durst say she was very
stupid, indeed she had no doubt she was, for her own children almost as
much as told her so, every day of her life; to be sure she was a little
older than they, and perhaps some foolish people might think she ought
reasonably to know best. However, no doubt she was wrong; of course she
was; she always was, she couldn’t be right, she couldn’t be expected
to be; so she had better not expose herself any more; and to all Kate’s
conciliations and concessions for an hour ensuing, the good lady gave no
other replies than Oh, certainly, why did they ask HER?, HER opinion
was of no consequence, it didn’t matter what SHE said, with many other
rejoinders of the same class.
In this frame of mind (expressed, when she had become too resigned
for speech, by nods of the head, upliftings of the eyes, and little
beginnings of groans, converted, as they attracted attention, into short
coughs), Mrs. Nickleby remained until Nicholas and Kate returned with the
object of their solicitude; when, having by this time asserted her own
importance, and becoming besides interested in the trials of one
so young and beautiful, she not only displayed the utmost zeal and
solicitude, but took great credit to herself for recommending the course
of procedure which her son had adopted: frequently declaring, with an
expressive look, that it was very fortunate things were AS they were:
and hinting, that but for great encouragement and wisdom on her own
part, they never could have been brought to that pass.
Not to strain the question whether Mrs. Nickleby had or had not any great
hand in bringing matters about, it is unquestionable that she had strong
ground for exultation. The brothers, on their return, bestowed such
commendations on Nicholas for the part he had taken, and evinced so
much joy at the altered state of events and the recovery of their young
friend from trials so great and dangers so threatening, that, as she
more than once informed her daughter, she now considered the fortunes of
the family ‘as good as’ made. Mr. Charles Cheeryble, indeed, Mrs. Nickleby
positively asserted, had, in the first transports of his surprise and
delight, ‘as good as’ said so. Without precisely explaining what this
qualification meant, she subsided, whenever she mentioned the subject,
into such a mysterious and important state, and had such visions of
wealth and dignity in perspective, that (vague and clouded though they
were) she was, at such times, almost as happy as if she had really been
permanently provided for, on a scale of great splendour.
The sudden and terrible shock she had received, combined with the great
affliction and anxiety of mind which she had, for a long time, endured,
proved too much for Madeline’s strength. Recovering from the state of
stupefaction into which the sudden death of her father happily plunged
her, she only exchanged that condition for one of dangerous and active
illness. When the delicate physical powers which have been sustained
by an unnatural strain upon the mental energies and a resolute
determination not to yield, at last give way, their degree of
prostration is usually proportionate to the strength of the effort which
has previously upheld them. Thus it was that the illness which fell
on Madeline was of no slight or temporary nature, but one which, for a
time, threatened her reason, and--scarcely worse--her life itself.
Who, slowly recovering from a disorder so severe and dangerous, could
be insensible to the unremitting attentions of such a nurse as gentle,
tender, earnest Kate? On whom could the sweet soft voice, the light
step, the delicate hand, the quiet, cheerful, noiseless discharge of
those thousand little offices of kindness and relief which we feel so
deeply when we are ill, and forget so lightly when we are well--on whom
could they make so deep an impression as on a young heart stored with
every pure and true affection that women cherish; almost a stranger to
the endearments and devotion of its own sex, save as it learnt them from
itself; and rendered, by calamity and suffering, keenly susceptible of
the sympathy so long unknown and so long sought in vain? What wonder
that days became as years in knitting them together! What wonder,
if with every hour of returning health, there came some stronger and
sweeter recognition of the praises which Kate, when they recalled old
scenes--they seemed old now, and to have been acted years ago--would
lavish on her brother! Where would have been the wonder, even, if those
praises had found a quick response in the breast of Madeline, and if,
with the image of Nicholas so constantly recurring in the features of
his sister that she could scarcely separate the two, she had sometimes
found it equally difficult to assign to each the feelings they had first
inspired, and had imperceptibly mingled with her gratitude to Nicholas,
some of that warmer feeling which she had assigned to Kate?
‘My dear,’ Mrs. Nickleby would say, coming into the room with an
elaborate caution, calculated to discompose the nerves of an invalid
rather more than the entry of a horse-soldier at full gallop; ‘how do
you find yourself tonight? I hope you are better.’
‘Almost well, mama,’ Kate would reply, laying down her work, and taking
Madeline’s hand in hers.
‘Kate!’ Mrs. Nickleby would say, reprovingly, ‘don’t talk so loud’ (the
worthy lady herself talking in a whisper that would have made the blood
of the stoutest man run cold in his veins).
Kate would take this reproof very quietly, and Mrs. Nickleby, making
every board creak and every thread rustle as she moved stealthily about,
would add:
‘My son Nicholas has just come home, and I have come, according to
custom, my dear, to know, from your own lips, exactly how you are; for
he won’t take my account, and never will.’
‘He is later than usual to-night,’ perhaps Madeline would reply. ‘Nearly
half an hour.’
‘Well, I never saw such people in all my life as you are, for time, up
here!’ Mrs. Nickleby would exclaim in great astonishment; ‘I declare I
never did! I had not the least idea that Nicholas was after his time,
not the smallest. Mr. Nickleby used to say--your poor papa, I am speaking
of, Kate my dear--used to say, that appetite was the best clock in the
world, but you have no appetite, my dear Miss Bray, I wish you had, and
upon my word I really think you ought to take something that would give
you one. I am sure I don’t know, but I have heard that two or three
dozen native lobsters give an appetite, though that comes to the same
thing after all, for I suppose you must have an appetite before you can
take ‘em. If I said lobsters, I meant oysters, but of course it’s all
the same, though really how you came to know about Nicholas--’
‘We happened to be just talking about him, mama; that was it.’
‘You never seem to me to be talking about anything else, Kate, and upon
my word I am quite surprised at your being so very thoughtless. You
can find subjects enough to talk about sometimes, and when you know how
important it is to keep up Miss Bray’s spirits, and interest her, and
all that, it really is quite extraordinary to me what can induce you to
keep on prose, prose, prose, din, din, din, everlastingly, upon the same
theme. You are a very kind nurse, Kate, and a very good one, and I know
you mean very well; but I will say this--that if it wasn’t for me, I
really don’t know what would become of Miss Bray’s spirits, and so I
tell the doctor every day. He says he wonders how I sustain my own, and
I am sure I very often wonder myself how I can contrive to keep up as I
do. Of course it’s an exertion, but still, when I know how much
depends upon me in this house, I am obliged to make it. There’s nothing
praiseworthy in that, but it’s necessary, and I do it.’
With that, Mrs. Nickleby would draw up a chair, and for some
three-quarters of an hour run through a great variety of distracting
topics in the most distracting manner possible; tearing herself away,
at length, on the plea that she must now go and amuse Nicholas while
he took his supper. After a preliminary raising of his spirits with the
information that she considered the patient decidedly worse, she would
further cheer him up by relating how dull, listless, and low-spirited
Miss Bray was, because Kate foolishly talked about nothing else but him
and family matters. When she had made Nicholas thoroughly comfortable
with these and other inspiriting remarks, she would discourse at length
on the arduous duties she had performed that day; and, sometimes, be
moved to tears in wondering how, if anything were to happen to herself,
the family would ever get on without her.
At other times, when Nicholas came home at night, he would be
accompanied by Mr. Frank Cheeryble, who was commissioned by the brothers
to inquire how Madeline was that evening. On such occasions (and they
were of very frequent occurrence), Mrs. Nickleby deemed it of particular
importance that she should have her wits about her; for, from certain
signs and tokens which had attracted her attention, she shrewdly
suspected that Mr. Frank, interested as his uncles were in Madeline, came
quite as much to see Kate as to inquire after her; the more especially
as the brothers were in constant communication with the medical man,
came backwards and forwards very frequently themselves, and received a
full report from Nicholas every morning. These were proud times for Mrs
Nickleby; never was anybody half so discreet and sage as she, or half
so mysterious withal; and never were there such cunning generalship, and
such unfathomable designs, as she brought to bear upon Mr. Frank, with
the view of ascertaining whether her suspicions were well founded:
and if so, of tantalising him into taking her into his confidence and
throwing himself upon her merciful consideration. Extensive was the
artillery, heavy and light, which Mrs. Nickleby brought into play for the
furtherance of these great schemes; various and opposite the means which
she employed to bring about the end she had in view. At one time, she
was all cordiality and ease; at another, all stiffness and frigidity.
Now, she would seem to open her whole heart to her unhappy victim; the
next time they met, she would receive him with the most distant and
studious reserve, as if a new light had broken in upon her, and,
guessing his intentions, she had resolved to check them in the bud; as
if she felt it her bounden duty to act with Spartan firmness, and at
once and for ever to discourage hopes which never could be realised.
At other times, when Nicholas was not there to overhear, and Kate was
upstairs busily tending her sick friend, the worthy lady would throw out
dark hints of an intention to send her daughter to France for three or
four years, or to Scotland for the improvement of her health impaired by
her late fatigues, or to America on a visit, or anywhere that threatened
a long and tedious separation. Nay, she even went so far as to hint,
obscurely, at an attachment entertained for her daughter by the son of