Nicholas Nickleby
arranged in a semicircle round the new master, and he was soon listening
to their dull, drawling, hesitating recital of those stories of
engrossing interest which are to be found in the more antiquated
spelling-books.
In this exciting occupation, the morning lagged heavily on. At one
o’clock, the boys, having previously had their appetites thoroughly
taken away by stir-about and potatoes, sat down in the kitchen to some
hard salt beef, of which Nicholas was graciously permitted to take his
portion to his own solitary desk, to eat it there in peace. After this,
there was another hour of crouching in the schoolroom and shivering with
cold, and then school began again.
It was Mr. Squeer’s custom to call the boys together, and make a sort of
report, after every half-yearly visit to the metropolis, regarding the
relations and friends he had seen, the news he had heard, the letters he
had brought down, the bills which had been paid, the accounts which had
been left unpaid, and so forth. This solemn proceeding always took place
in the afternoon of the day succeeding his return; perhaps, because the
boys acquired strength of mind from the suspense of the morning, or,
possibly, because Mr. Squeers himself acquired greater sternness and
inflexibility from certain warm potations in which he was wont to
indulge after his early dinner. Be this as it may, the boys were
recalled from house-window, garden, stable, and cow-yard, and the school
were assembled in full conclave, when Mr. Squeers, with a small bundle of
papers in his hand, and Mrs. S. following with a pair of canes, entered
the room and proclaimed silence.
‘Let any boy speak a word without leave,’ said Mr. Squeers mildly, ‘and
I’ll take the skin off his back.’
This special proclamation had the desired effect, and a deathlike
silence immediately prevailed, in the midst of which Mr. Squeers went on
to say:
‘Boys, I’ve been to London, and have returned to my family and you, as
strong and well as ever.’
According to half-yearly custom, the boys gave three feeble cheers at
this refreshing intelligence. Such cheers! Sights of extra strength with
the chill on.
‘I have seen the parents of some boys,’ continued Squeers, turning over
his papers, ‘and they’re so glad to hear how their sons are getting on,
that there’s no prospect at all of their going away, which of course is
a very pleasant thing to reflect upon, for all parties.’
Two or three hands went to two or three eyes when Squeers said this, but
the greater part of the young gentlemen having no particular parents to
speak of, were wholly uninterested in the thing one way or other.
‘I have had disappointments to contend against,’ said Squeers, looking
very grim; ‘Bolder’s father was two pound ten short. Where is Bolder?’
‘Here he is, please sir,’ rejoined twenty officious voices. Boys are
very like men to be sure.
‘Come here, Bolder,’ said Squeers.
An unhealthy-looking boy, with warts all over his hands, stepped from
his place to the master’s desk, and raised his eyes imploringly to
Squeers’s face; his own, quite white from the rapid beating of his
heart.
‘Bolder,’ said Squeers, speaking very slowly, for he was considering, as
the saying goes, where to have him. ‘Bolder, if you father thinks that
because--why, what’s this, sir?’
As Squeers spoke, he caught up the boy’s hand by the cuff of his jacket,
and surveyed it with an edifying aspect of horror and disgust.
‘What do you call this, sir?’ demanded the schoolmaster, administering a
cut with the cane to expedite the reply.
‘I can’t help it, indeed, sir,’ rejoined the boy, crying. ‘They will
come; it’s the dirty work I think, sir--at least I don’t know what it
is, sir, but it’s not my fault.’
‘Bolder,’ said Squeers, tucking up his wristbands, and moistening
the palm of his right hand to get a good grip of the cane, ‘you’re an
incorrigible young scoundrel, and as the last thrashing did you no good,
we must see what another will do towards beating it out of you.’
With this, and wholly disregarding a piteous cry for mercy, Mr. Squeers
fell upon the boy and caned him soundly: not leaving off, indeed, until
his arm was tired out.
‘There,’ said Squeers, when he had quite done; ‘rub away as hard as you
like, you won’t rub that off in a hurry. Oh! you won’t hold that noise,
won’t you? Put him out, Smike.’
The drudge knew better from long experience, than to hesitate about
obeying, so he bundled the victim out by a side-door, and Mr. Squeers
perched himself again on his own stool, supported by Mrs. Squeers, who
occupied another at his side.
‘Now let us see,’ said Squeers. ‘A letter for Cobbey. Stand up, Cobbey.’
Another boy stood up, and eyed the letter very hard while Squeers made a
mental abstract of the same.
‘Oh!’ said Squeers: ‘Cobbey’s grandmother is dead, and his uncle John
has took to drinking, which is all the news his sister sends, except
eighteenpence, which will just pay for that broken square of glass. Mrs
Squeers, my dear, will you take the money?’
The worthy lady pocketed the eighteenpence with a most business-like
air, and Squeers passed on to the next boy, as coolly as possible.
‘Graymarsh,’ said Squeers, ‘he’s the next. Stand up, Graymarsh.’
Another boy stood up, and the schoolmaster looked over the letter as
before.
‘Graymarsh’s maternal aunt,’ said Squeers, when he had possessed himself
of the contents, ‘is very glad to hear he’s so well and happy, and sends
her respectful compliments to Mrs. Squeers, and thinks she must be an
angel. She likewise thinks Mr. Squeers is too good for this world; but
hopes he may long be spared to carry on the business. Would have sent
the two pair of stockings as desired, but is short of money, so forwards
a tract instead, and hopes Graymarsh will put his trust in Providence.
Hopes, above all, that he will study in everything to please Mr. and Mrs
Squeers, and look upon them as his only friends; and that he will love
Master Squeers; and not object to sleeping five in a bed, which no
Christian should. Ah!’ said Squeers, folding it up, ‘a delightful
letter. Very affecting indeed.’
It was affecting in one sense, for Graymarsh’s maternal aunt was
strongly supposed, by her more intimate friends, to be no other than his
maternal parent; Squeers, however, without alluding to this part of the
story (which would have sounded immoral before boys), proceeded with
the business by calling out ‘Mobbs,’ whereupon another boy rose, and
Graymarsh resumed his seat.
‘Mobbs’s step-mother,’ said Squeers, ‘took to her bed on hearing that he
wouldn’t eat fat, and has been very ill ever since. She wishes to know,
by an early post, where he expects to go to, if he quarrels with
his vittles; and with what feelings he could turn up his nose at the
cow’s-liver broth, after his good master had asked a blessing on it.
This was told her in the London newspapers--not by Mr. Squeers, for he is
too kind and too good to set anybody against anybody--and it has vexed
her so much, Mobbs can’t think. She is sorry to find he is discontented,
which is sinful and horrid, and hopes Mr. Squeers will flog him into
a happier state of mind; with which view, she has also stopped his
halfpenny a week pocket-money, and given a double-bladed knife with a
corkscrew in it to the Missionaries, which she had bought on purpose for
him.’
‘A sulky state of feeling,’ said Squeers, after a terrible pause, during
which he had moistened the palm of his right hand again, ‘won’t do.
Cheerfulness and contentment must be kept up. Mobbs, come to me!’
Mobbs moved slowly towards the desk, rubbing his eyes in anticipation
of good cause for doing so; and he soon afterwards retired by the
side-door, with as good cause as a boy need have.
Mr. Squeers then proceeded to open a miscellaneous collection of letters;
some enclosing money, which Mrs. Squeers ‘took care of;’ and others
referring to small articles of apparel, as caps and so forth, all of
which the same lady stated to be too large, or too small, and calculated
for nobody but young Squeers, who would appear indeed to have had most
accommodating limbs, since everything that came into the school fitted
him to a nicety. His head, in particular, must have been singularly
elastic, for hats and caps of all dimensions were alike to him.
This business dispatched, a few slovenly lessons were performed, and
Squeers retired to his fireside, leaving Nicholas to take care of the
boys in the school-room, which was very cold, and where a meal of bread
and cheese was served out shortly after dark.
There was a small stove at that corner of the room which was nearest
to the master’s desk, and by it Nicholas sat down, so depressed and
self-degraded by the consciousness of his position, that if death could
have come upon him at that time, he would have been almost happy to meet
it. The cruelty of which he had been an unwilling witness, the coarse
and ruffianly behaviour of Squeers even in his best moods, the filthy
place, the sights and sounds about him, all contributed to this state of
feeling; but when he recollected that, being there as an assistant,
he actually seemed--no matter what unhappy train of circumstances had
brought him to that pass--to be the aider and abettor of a system which
filled him with honest disgust and indignation, he loathed himself, and
felt, for the moment, as though the mere consciousness of his present
situation must, through all time to come, prevent his raising his head
again.
But, for the present, his resolve was taken, and the resolution he had
formed on the preceding night remained undisturbed. He had written to
his mother and sister, announcing the safe conclusion of his journey,
and saying as little about Dotheboys Hall, and saying that little as
cheerfully, as he possibly could. He hoped that by remaining where he
was, he might do some good, even there; at all events, others depended
too much on his uncle’s favour, to admit of his awakening his wrath just
then.
One reflection disturbed him far more than any selfish considerations
arising out of his own position. This was the probable destination of
his sister Kate. His uncle had deceived him, and might he not consign
her to some miserable place where her youth and beauty would prove a far
greater curse than ugliness and decrepitude? To a caged man, bound hand
and foot, this was a terrible idea--but no, he thought, his mother was
by; there was the portrait-painter, too--simple enough, but still living
in the world, and of it. He was willing to believe that Ralph Nickleby
had conceived a personal dislike to himself. Having pretty good reason,
by this time, to reciprocate it, he had no great difficulty in arriving
at this conclusion, and tried to persuade himself that the feeling
extended no farther than between them.
As he was absorbed in these meditations, he all at once encountered the
upturned face of Smike, who was on his knees before the stove, picking a
few stray cinders from the hearth and planting them on the fire. He
had paused to steal a look at Nicholas, and when he saw that he was
observed, shrunk back, as if expecting a blow.
‘You need not fear me,’ said Nicholas kindly. ‘Are you cold?’
‘N-n-o.’
‘You are shivering.’
‘I am not cold,’ replied Smike quickly. ‘I am used to it.’
There was such an obvious fear of giving offence in his manner, and he
was such a timid, broken-spirited creature, that Nicholas could not help
exclaiming, ‘Poor fellow!’
If he had struck the drudge, he would have slunk away without a word.
But, now, he burst into tears.
‘Oh dear, oh dear!’ he cried, covering his face with his cracked and
horny hands. ‘My heart will break. It will, it will.’
‘Hush!’ said Nicholas, laying his hand upon his shoulder. ‘Be a man; you