Nicholas Nickleby
‘No, sir, not to make her Mrs. Lillyvick,’ replied the collector.
‘Actresses, sir, always keep their maiden names--that’s the regular
thing--but I’m going to marry her; and the day after tomorrow, too.’
‘I congratulate you, sir,’ said Nicholas.
‘Thank you, sir,’ replied the collector, buttoning his waistcoat. ‘I
shall draw her salary, of course, and I hope after all that it’s nearly
as cheap to keep two as it is to keep one; that’s a consolation.’
‘Surely you don’t want any consolation at such a moment?’ observed
Nicholas.
‘No,’ replied Mr. Lillyvick, shaking his head nervously: ‘no--of course
not.’
‘But how come you both here, if you’re going to be married, Mr
Lillyvick?’ asked Nicholas.
‘Why, that’s what I came to explain to you,’ replied the collector of
water-rate. ‘The fact is, we have thought it best to keep it secret from
the family.’
‘Family!’ said Nicholas. ‘What family?’
‘The Kenwigses of course,’ rejoined Mr. Lillyvick. ‘If my niece and the
children had known a word about it before I came away, they’d have gone
into fits at my feet, and never have come out of ‘em till I took an oath
not to marry anybody--or they’d have got out a commission of lunacy, or
some dreadful thing,’ said the collector, quite trembling as he spoke.
‘To be sure,’ said Nicholas. ‘Yes; they would have been jealous, no
doubt.’
‘To prevent which,’ said Mr. Lillyvick, ‘Henrietta Petowker (it
was settled between us) should come down here to her friends, the
Crummleses, under pretence of this engagement, and I should go down to
Guildford the day before, and join her on the coach there, which I did,
and we came down from Guildford yesterday together. Now, for fear you
should be writing to Mr. Noggs, and might say anything about us, we have
thought it best to let you into the secret. We shall be married from the
Crummleses’ lodgings, and shall be delighted to see you--either before
church or at breakfast-time, which you like. It won’t be expensive,
you know,’ said the collector, highly anxious to prevent any
misunderstanding on this point; ‘just muffins and coffee, with perhaps a
shrimp or something of that sort for a relish, you know.’
‘Yes, yes, I understand,’ replied Nicholas. ‘Oh, I shall be most
happy to come; it will give me the greatest pleasure. Where’s the lady
stopping--with Mrs. Crummles?’
‘Why, no,’ said the collector; ‘they couldn’t very well dispose of
her at night, and so she is staying with an acquaintance of hers, and
another young lady; they both belong to the theatre.’
‘Miss Snevellicci, I suppose?’ said Nicholas.
‘Yes, that’s the name.’
‘And they’ll be bridesmaids, I presume?’ said Nicholas.
‘Why,’ said the collector, with a rueful face, ‘they WILL have four
bridesmaids; I’m afraid they’ll make it rather theatrical.’
‘Oh no, not at all,’ replied Nicholas, with an awkward attempt to
convert a laugh into a cough. ‘Who may the four be? Miss Snevellicci of
course--Miss Ledrook--’
‘The--the phenomenon,’ groaned the collector.
‘Ha, ha!’ cried Nicholas. ‘I beg your pardon, I don’t know what I’m
laughing at--yes, that’ll be very pretty--the phenomenon--who else?’
‘Some young woman or other,’ replied the collector, rising; ‘some other
friend of Henrietta Petowker’s. Well, you’ll be careful not to say
anything about it, will you?’
‘You may safely depend upon me,’ replied Nicholas. ‘Won’t you take
anything to eat or drink?’
‘No,’ said the collector; ‘I haven’t any appetite. I should think it was
a very pleasant life, the married one, eh?’
‘I have not the least doubt of it,’ rejoined Nicholas.
‘Yes,’ said the collector; ‘certainly. Oh yes. No doubt. Good night.’
With these words, Mr. Lillyvick, whose manner had exhibited through the
whole of this interview a most extraordinary compound of precipitation,
hesitation, confidence and doubt, fondness, misgiving, meanness, and
self-importance, turned his back upon the room, and left Nicholas to
enjoy a laugh by himself if he felt so disposed.
Without stopping to inquire whether the intervening day appeared to
Nicholas to consist of the usual number of hours of the ordinary length,
it may be remarked that, to the parties more directly interested in the
forthcoming ceremony, it passed with great rapidity, insomuch that when
Miss Petowker awoke on the succeeding morning in the chamber of Miss
Snevellicci, she declared that nothing should ever persuade her that
that really was the day which was to behold a change in her condition.
‘I never will believe it,’ said Miss Petowker; ‘I cannot really. It’s
of no use talking, I never can make up my mind to go through with such a
trial!’
On hearing this, Miss Snevellicci and Miss Ledrook, who knew perfectly
well that their fair friend’s mind had been made up for three or four
years, at any period of which time she would have cheerfully undergone
the desperate trial now approaching if she could have found any
eligible gentleman disposed for the venture, began to preach comfort and
firmness, and to say how very proud she ought to feel that it was in her
power to confer lasting bliss on a deserving object, and how necessary
it was for the happiness of mankind in general that women should possess
fortitude and resignation on such occasions; and that although for their
parts they held true happiness to consist in a single life, which
they would not willingly exchange--no, not for any worldly
consideration--still (thank God), if ever the time SHOULD come, they
hoped they knew their duty too well to repine, but would the rather
submit with meekness and humility of spirit to a fate for which
Providence had clearly designed them with a view to the contentment and
reward of their fellow-creatures.
‘I might feel it was a great blow,’ said Miss Snevellicci, ‘to break
up old associations and what-do-you-callems of that kind, but I would
submit, my dear, I would indeed.’
‘So would I,’ said Miss Ledrook; ‘I would rather court the yoke than
shun it. I have broken hearts before now, and I’m very sorry for it: for
it’s a terrible thing to reflect upon.’
‘It is indeed,’ said Miss Snevellicci. ‘Now Led, my dear, we must
positively get her ready, or we shall be too late, we shall indeed.’
This pious reasoning, and perhaps the fear of being too late, supported
the bride through the ceremony of robing, after which, strong tea and
brandy were administered in alternate doses as a means of strengthening
her feeble limbs and causing her to walk steadier.
‘How do you feel now, my love?’ inquired Miss Snevellicci.
‘Oh Lillyvick!’ cried the bride. ‘If you knew what I am undergoing for
you!’
‘Of course he knows it, love, and will never forget it,’ said Miss
Ledrook.
‘Do you think he won’t?’ cried Miss Petowker, really showing great
capability for the stage. ‘Oh, do you think he won’t? Do you think
Lillyvick will always remember it--always, always, always?’
There is no knowing in what this burst of feeling might have ended, if
Miss Snevellicci had not at that moment proclaimed the arrival of the
fly, which so astounded the bride that she shook off divers alarming
symptoms which were coming on very strong, and running to the glass
adjusted her dress, and calmly declared that she was ready for the
sacrifice.
She was accordingly supported into the coach, and there ‘kept up’ (as
Miss Snevellicci said) with perpetual sniffs of SAL VOLATILE and sips
of brandy and other gentle stimulants, until they reached the manager’s
door, which was already opened by the two Master Crummleses, who
wore white cockades, and were decorated with the choicest and most
resplendent waistcoats in the theatrical wardrobe. By the combined
exertions of these young gentlemen and the bridesmaids, assisted by the
coachman, Miss Petowker was at length supported in a condition of much
exhaustion to the first floor, where she no sooner encountered the
youthful bridegroom than she fainted with great decorum.
‘Henrietta Petowker!’ said the collector; ‘cheer up, my lovely one.’
Miss Petowker grasped the collector’s hand, but emotion choked her
utterance.
‘Is the sight of me so dreadful, Henrietta Petowker?’ said the
collector.
‘Oh no, no, no,’ rejoined the bride; ‘but all the friends--the darling
friends--of my youthful days--to leave them all--it is such a shock!’
With such expressions of sorrow, Miss Petowker went on to enumerate the
dear friends of her youthful days one by one, and to call upon such of
them as were present to come and embrace her. This done, she remembered
that Mrs. Crummles had been more than a mother to her, and after that,
that Mr. Crummles had been more than a father to her, and after that,
that the Master Crummleses and Miss Ninetta Crummles had been more
than brothers and sisters to her. These various remembrances being each
accompanied with a series of hugs, occupied a long time, and they were
obliged to drive to church very fast, for fear they should be too late.
The procession consisted of two flys; in the first of which were Miss
Bravassa (the fourth bridesmaid), Mrs. Crummles, the collector, and Mr
Folair, who had been chosen as his second on the occasion. In the other
were the bride, Mr. Crummles, Miss Snevellicci, Miss Ledrook, and the
phenomenon. The costumes were beautiful. The bridesmaids were quite
covered with artificial flowers, and the phenomenon, in particular,
was rendered almost invisible by the portable arbour in which she was
enshrined. Miss Ledrook, who was of a romantic turn, wore in her breast
the miniature of some field-officer unknown, which she had purchased, a
great bargain, not very long before; the other ladies displayed several
dazzling articles of imitative jewellery, almost equal to real, and Mrs
Crummles came out in a stern and gloomy majesty, which attracted the
admiration of all beholders.
But, perhaps the appearance of Mr. Crummles was more striking and
appropriate than that of any member of the party. This gentleman, who
personated the bride’s father, had, in pursuance of a happy and original
conception, ‘made up’ for the part by arraying himself in a theatrical
wig, of a style and pattern commonly known as a brown George, and
moreover assuming a snuff-coloured suit, of the previous century, with
grey silk stockings, and buckles to his shoes. The better to support
his assumed character he had determined to be greatly overcome, and,
consequently, when they entered the church, the sobs of the affectionate
parent were so heart-rending that the pew-opener suggested the propriety
of his retiring to the vestry, and comforting himself with a glass of
water before the ceremony began.
The procession up the aisle was beautiful. The bride, with the four
bridesmaids, forming a group previously arranged and rehearsed; the
collector, followed by his second, imitating his walk and gestures to
the indescribable amusement of some theatrical friends in the gallery;
Mr. Crummles, with an infirm and feeble gait; Mrs. Crummles advancing with
that stage walk, which consists of a stride and a stop alternately--it
was the completest thing ever witnessed. The ceremony was very quickly
disposed of, and all parties present having signed the register (for
which purpose, when it came to his turn, Mr. Crummles carefully wiped and
put on an immense pair of spectacles), they went back to breakfast in
high spirits. And here they found Nicholas awaiting their arrival.
‘Now then,’ said Crummles, who had been assisting Mrs. Grudden in the
preparations, which were on a more extensive scale than was quite
agreeable to the collector. ‘Breakfast, breakfast.’
No second invitation was required. The company crowded and squeezed
themselves at the table as well as they could, and fell to, immediately:
Miss Petowker blushing very much when anybody was looking, and eating