Nicholas Nickleby
waiting there. Thus urged, the tragedian adjusted the cuff of his right
coat sleeve for the performance of the operation, and walked in a very
stately manner up to Nicholas, who suffered him to approach to within
the requisite distance, and then, without the smallest discomposure,
knocked him down.
Before the discomfited tragedian could raise his head from the boards,
Mrs. Lenville (who, as has been before hinted, was in an interesting
state) rushed from the rear rank of ladies, and uttering a piercing
scream threw herself upon the body.
‘Do you see this, monster? Do you see THIS?’ cried Mr. Lenville, sitting
up, and pointing to his prostrate lady, who was holding him very tight
round the waist.
‘Come,’ said Nicholas, nodding his head, ‘apologise for the insolent
note you wrote to me last night, and waste no more time in talking.’
‘Never!’ cried Mr. Lenville.
‘Yes--yes--yes!’ screamed his wife. ‘For my sake--for mine,
Lenville--forego all idle forms, unless you would see me a blighted
corse at your feet.’
‘This is affecting!’ said Mr. Lenville, looking round him, and drawing
the back of his hand across his eyes. ‘The ties of nature are strong.
The weak husband and the father--the father that is yet to be--relents.
I apologise.’
‘Humbly and submissively?’ said Nicholas.
‘Humbly and submissively,’ returned the tragedian, scowling upwards.
‘But only to save her,--for a time will come--’
‘Very good,’ said Nicholas; ‘I hope Mrs. Lenville may have a good one;
and when it does come, and you are a father, you shall retract it if you
have the courage. There. Be careful, sir, to what lengths your jealousy
carries you another time; and be careful, also, before you venture
too far, to ascertain your rival’s temper.’ With this parting advice
Nicholas picked up Mr. Lenville’s ash stick which had flown out of his
hand, and breaking it in half, threw him the pieces and withdrew, bowing
slightly to the spectators as he walked out.
The profoundest deference was paid to Nicholas that night, and the
people who had been most anxious to have his nose pulled in the morning,
embraced occasions of taking him aside, and telling him with great
feeling, how very friendly they took it that he should have treated that
Lenville so properly, who was a most unbearable fellow, and on whom they
had all, by a remarkable coincidence, at one time or other contemplated
the infliction of condign punishment, which they had only been
restrained from administering by considerations of mercy; indeed, to
judge from the invariable termination of all these stories, there never
was such a charitable and kind-hearted set of people as the male members
of Mr. Crummles’s company.
Nicholas bore his triumph, as he had his success in the little world of
the theatre, with the utmost moderation and good humour. The crestfallen
Mr. Lenville made an expiring effort to obtain revenge by sending a
boy into the gallery to hiss, but he fell a sacrifice to popular
indignation, and was promptly turned out without having his money back.
‘Well, Smike,’ said Nicholas when the first piece was over, and he had
almost finished dressing to go home, ‘is there any letter yet?’
‘Yes,’ replied Smike, ‘I got this one from the post-office.’
‘From Newman Noggs,’ said Nicholas, casting his eye upon the cramped
direction; ‘it’s no easy matter to make his writing out. Let me see--let
me see.’
By dint of poring over the letter for half an hour, he contrived to make
himself master of the contents, which were certainly not of a nature
to set his mind at ease. Newman took upon himself to send back the ten
pounds, observing that he had ascertained that neither Mrs. Nickleby nor
Kate was in actual want of money at the moment, and that a time might
shortly come when Nicholas might want it more. He entreated him not to
be alarmed at what he was about to say;--there was no bad news--they
were in good health--but he thought circumstances might occur, or were
occurring, which would render it absolutely necessary that Kate should
have her brother’s protection, and if so, Newman said, he would write to
him to that effect, either by the next post or the next but one.
Nicholas read this passage very often, and the more he thought of it
the more he began to fear some treachery upon the part of Ralph. Once
or twice he felt tempted to repair to London at all hazards without an
hour’s delay, but a little reflection assured him that if such a step
were necessary, Newman would have spoken out and told him so at once.
‘At all events I should prepare them here for the possibility of my
going away suddenly,’ said Nicholas; ‘I should lose no time in doing
that.’ As the thought occurred to him, he took up his hat and hurried to
the green-room.
‘Well, Mr. Johnson,’ said Mrs. Crummles, who was seated there in full
regal costume, with the phenomenon as the Maiden in her maternal arms,
‘next week for Ryde, then for Winchester, then for--’
‘I have some reason to fear,’ interrupted Nicholas, ‘that before you
leave here my career with you will have closed.’
‘Closed!’ cried Mrs. Crummles, raising her hands in astonishment.
‘Closed!’ cried Miss Snevellicci, trembling so much in her tights that
she actually laid her hand upon the shoulder of the manageress for
support.
‘Why he don’t mean to say he’s going!’ exclaimed Mrs. Grudden, making her
way towards Mrs. Crummles. ‘Hoity toity! Nonsense.’
The phenomenon, being of an affectionate nature and moreover excitable,
raised a loud cry, and Miss Belvawney and Miss Bravassa actually shed
tears. Even the male performers stopped in their conversation, and
echoed the word ‘Going!’ although some among them (and they had been
the loudest in their congratulations that day) winked at each other
as though they would not be sorry to lose such a favoured rival; an
opinion, indeed, which the honest Mr. Folair, who was ready dressed for
the savage, openly stated in so many words to a demon with whom he was
sharing a pot of porter.
Nicholas briefly said that he feared it would be so, although he could
not yet speak with any degree of certainty; and getting away as soon as
he could, went home to con Newman’s letter once more, and speculate upon
it afresh.
How trifling all that had been occupying his time and thoughts for many
weeks seemed to him during that sleepless night, and how constantly and
incessantly present to his imagination was the one idea that Kate in the
midst of some great trouble and distress might even then be looking--and
vainly too--for him!
CHAPTER 30
Festivities are held in honour of Nicholas, who suddenly withdraws
himself from the Society of Mr. Vincent Crummles and his Theatrical
Companions
Mr. Vincent Crummles was no sooner acquainted with the public
announcement which Nicholas had made relative to the probability of
his shortly ceasing to be a member of the company, than he evinced many
tokens of grief and consternation; and, in the extremity of his despair,
even held out certain vague promises of a speedy improvement not only in
the amount of his regular salary, but also in the contingent emoluments
appertaining to his authorship. Finding Nicholas bent upon quitting the
society--for he had now determined that, even if no further tidings came
from Newman, he would, at all hazards, ease his mind by repairing to
London and ascertaining the exact position of his sister--Mr. Crummles
was fain to content himself by calculating the chances of his coming
back again, and taking prompt and energetic measures to make the most of
him before he went away.
‘Let me see,’ said Mr. Crummles, taking off his outlaw’s wig, the better
to arrive at a cool-headed view of the whole case. ‘Let me see. This is
Wednesday night. We’ll have posters out the first thing in the morning,
announcing positively your last appearance for tomorrow.’
‘But perhaps it may not be my last appearance, you know,’ said Nicholas.
‘Unless I am summoned away, I should be sorry to inconvenience you by
leaving before the end of the week.’
‘So much the better,’ returned Mr. Crummles. ‘We can have positively
your last appearance, on Thursday--re-engagement for one night more, on
Friday--and, yielding to the wishes of numerous influential patrons, who
were disappointed in obtaining seats, on Saturday. That ought to bring
three very decent houses.’
‘Then I am to make three last appearances, am I?’ inquired Nicholas,
smiling.
‘Yes,’ rejoined the manager, scratching his head with an air of some
vexation; ‘three is not enough, and it’s very bungling and irregular
not to have more, but if we can’t help it we can’t, so there’s no use
in talking. A novelty would be very desirable. You couldn’t sing a comic
song on the pony’s back, could you?’
‘No,’ replied Nicholas, ‘I couldn’t indeed.’
‘It has drawn money before now,’ said Mr. Crummles, with a look of
disappointment. ‘What do you think of a brilliant display of fireworks?’
‘That it would be rather expensive,’ replied Nicholas, drily.
‘Eighteen-pence would do it,’ said Mr. Crummles. ‘You on the top of
a pair of steps with the phenomenon in an attitude; “Farewell!” on a
transparency behind; and nine people at the wings with a squib in each
hand--all the dozen and a half going off at once--it would be very
grand--awful from the front, quite awful.’
As Nicholas appeared by no means impressed with the solemnity of the
proposed effect, but, on the contrary, received the proposition in a
most irreverent manner, and laughed at it very heartily, Mr. Crummles
abandoned the project in its birth, and gloomily observed that they
must make up the best bill they could with combats and hornpipes, and so
stick to the legitimate drama.
For the purpose of carrying this object into instant execution, the
manager at once repaired to a small dressing-room, adjacent, where
Mrs. Crummles was then occupied in exchanging the habiliments of
a melodramatic empress for the ordinary attire of matrons in the
nineteenth century. And with the assistance of this lady, and the
accomplished Mrs. Grudden (who had quite a genius for making out bills,
being a great hand at throwing in the notes of admiration, and knowing
from long experience exactly where the largest capitals ought to go), he
seriously applied himself to the composition of the poster.
‘Heigho!’ sighed Nicholas, as he threw himself back in the prompter’s
chair, after telegraphing the needful directions to Smike, who had been
playing a meagre tailor in the interlude, with one skirt to his coat,
and a little pocket-handkerchief with a large hole in it, and a woollen
nightcap, and a red nose, and other distinctive marks peculiar to
tailors on the stage. ‘Heigho! I wish all this were over.’
‘Over, Mr. Johnson!’ repeated a female voice behind him, in a kind of
plaintive surprise.
‘It was an ungallant speech, certainly,’ said Nicholas, looking up to
see who the speaker was, and recognising Miss Snevellicci. ‘I would not
have made it if I had known you had been within hearing.’
‘What a dear that Mr. Digby is!’ said Miss Snevellicci, as the tailor
went off on the opposite side, at the end of the piece, with great
applause. (Smike’s theatrical name was Digby.)
‘I’ll tell him presently, for his gratification, that you said so,’
returned Nicholas.
‘Oh you naughty thing!’ rejoined Miss Snevellicci. ‘I don’t know though,
that I should much mind HIS knowing my opinion of him; with some other
people, indeed, it might be--’ Here Miss Snevellicci stopped, as though
waiting to be questioned, but no questioning came, for Nicholas was
thinking about more serious matters.
‘How kind it is of you,’ resumed Miss Snevellicci, after a short
silence, ‘to sit waiting here for him night after night, night after