The Old Curiosity Club discussion

Dear Curiosities,

This week, things are getting even more tangled up in some respects but seem to be falling into place in others. All in all, one has the impression that Dickens, whereas a master with most of the characters, is still finding himself struggling with the plot as he sends some of the familiar players offstage in order to introduce new ones. Let us therefore have our usual look at the individual chapters, starting with Chapter 41:

At first sight, and maybe even at second, it does not particularly contribute to the plot of the novel but pursues the minor episode concerning Mrs. Nickleby and her love-stricken neighbour, the “Gentleman in the Small-clothes”. It is quite obvious that the strangely-expressed attentions evinced by this gentleman flatter Mrs. Nickleby a lot, because

”[e]ven her black dress assumed something of a deadly-lively air from the jaunty style in which it was worn”,

a change our narrator comments upon with eloquent irony that barely conceals the moral censure he seems to feel towards Mrs. Nickleby:

”From being the outward tokens of respect and sorrow for the dead, they [he mourning garments, T.S.] become converted into signals of very slaughterous and killing designs upon the living.”

The narrative voice continues his judgmental attitude towards Mrs. Nickleby, as usual, in this chapter, which is quite peculiar a detail when you consider that Dickens apparently modelled Mrs. Nickleby, partly at least, upon his own mother. He must have borne that woman a certain grudge.

Upon another note, what do you think about the Victorian code of mores shining through the narrator’s comments and the reactions displayed by Nicholas and Kate? Quite obviously, getting married again – always taking for granted that the 12 months of mourning have elapsed – was nothing too unusual for a widow at that time. Why, however, seems it such an outrage in the case of Mrs. Nickleby? Nicholas was even averse to the mere idea from the very word go, without having set eyes on the mysterious neighbour. Did he not even refer to his mother’s age as one of the reasons why the whole idea must appear preposterous? How does all this strike you?

In the conversation between mother and daughter that opens our chapter, Mrs. Nickleby tries to defend the gentleman in the small-clothes against Nicholas’s contumely, which is probably also owing to the fact that the more illustrious, clever and distinguished that gentleman the more his attentions redound to her honour and praise. Considering this, it was quite tactless of Nicholas, who demands so much tact from others, to talk about his mother’s possible suitor in so belittling terms, wasn’t it?

The mother-daughter conversation also displays Smike’s tendency to prepare Kate’s side of their little summer-house in the garden with more special care and thoughtfulness than Mrs. Nickleby’s. Do you think that Smike has fallen in love with Kate? And if so, will this probably change the future relations between the young man and the Nickleby family?

The main part of the chapter, however, is taken up by the encounter Mrs. Nickleby and Kate have with the strange gentleman, who once more starts throwing vegetables into their garden to arouse their attention and to betoken his devotion. The gentleman’s tendency to jump very swiftly from one thought to another without the necessity of any logical relation between these thoughts does remind a bit of Mrs. Nickleby’s own way of going through life, but then the neighbour’s use of metaphor, his general grandiloquence and his capers behind, and sometimes even above, the garden wall clearly indicate that he is mentally ill, and still Mrs. Nickleby’s vanity does not allow her to realize this.

Are there other instances of vanity in this novel that make people blind to the obvious – simply because if they saw clearly, they would also have to accept some unpleasant truths about themselves?

Whereas Kate wants her mother to go inside with her, Mrs. Nickleby is titillated into prolonging the absurd interview until the merry gentleman is drawn away from the wall by a man who is obviously a keeper. This servant has something very interesting to say about the patient, who cannot resist making love to any woman he sees:

”’He’s a deal pleasanter without his senses than with ‘em. He was the crudest, wickedest, out-and-outerest old flint that ever drawed breath. […] I never come across such a vagabond, and my mate says the same. Broke his poor wife’s heart, turned his daughters out of doors, drove his sons into the streets—it was a blessing he went mad at last, through evil tempers, and covetousness, and selfishness, and guzzling, and drinking, or he’d have drove many others so. Hope for him, an old rip! There isn’t too much hope going, but I’ll bet a crown that what there is, is saved for more deserving chaps than him, anyhow.’”

Now, even if our chapter does not really contribute a lot to the main plot, what do you think about these words? Are they in any way meant as a comment on some of our main characters?

And is it funny or sad that even the appearance of the keeper does not open Mrs. Nickleby’s eyes to the mental illness of their neighbour but confirm her in her idea that there is a conspiracy afoot?

If we take a look back at Chapter 40, we find Nicholas’s love adventure ending in a comic situation as well. Is this just a coincidence, or does the narrator want to show us something about the Nicklebys, or about love and life as such?

Chapter 42 brings us back to the Browdies and Nicholas, who are enjoying themselves over a substantial meal in the Saracen’s Head, where Mr. Browdie has, before Nicholas’s arrival, indulged in what the narrator calls “flirtations with the eatables”. After Nicholas has sat himself down at the table, conviviality starts in a truly Dickensian fashion, and in the course of their conversation, Mr. Browdie tells his listeners how when Mr. Squeers had discovered Smike’s flight, he had led the schoolmaster up and down several garden paths, successfully diverting his attention from the real way Smike must have taken home, and also from his own part in the stratagem. Talking about many other things – e.g. who could be godfather to the Browdies’ first-born, if not Nicholas? –, they finally fall upon Fanny Squeers, who is visiting her father at Mr. Snawley’s and who will be fetched home by Mr. Browdie later in the evening. The arrangement was made because it allowed Nicholas to visit his old friends without Fanny’s knowledge, but as ill-luck would have it, just when the Browdies and Nicholas talk about Fanny in a rather playful and ironic way, especially about her prospects in marriage, the very Fury bursts into the room, with her father and her brother in her wake, and from what she says it is clear that she has been listening in on their conversation for a while.

Matters quickly come to a head, and it becomes clear that this is the final breach – or, as Fanny calls it in her excitement, “the hend”, between the two families. John Browdie had a hand in providing an escape for Smike, but still he would have kept up appearances of good neighbourhood with the Squeers for the sake of not making life too difficult – do you think this a good course of action in everyday life, or would it have been more honest to openly end all relations with the Squeers?

Be that as it may, the choice is no longer really his, and so all the particulars of Smike’s flight are made known to Mr. Squeers in the course of the ensuing quarrel. John Browdie names Squeers the mean-spirited, hypocritical scoundrel he is, living on starving the boys under his care, and the schoolmaster threatens to take his neighbour to the assizes for aiding and abetting in the kidnapping of Smike, a threat that Browdie simply laughs off as coming from one of the infamous Yorkshire schoolmasters.

Do you think the altercations between Fanny and ‘Tilda amusing, or are they simply fillers? And did you also, like I, waver between amusement about Squeers’s hypocrisy, especially with regard to young Wackford who has been feasting on the victuals, unobserved by all contestants but Squeers himself, on the one hand, and disgust with the callousness with which he exploits the children on the other hand?

Apart from that: Browdie’s reaction to Squeers’s threat makes it clear that he knows all too well what is really going on behind the walls of Dotheboys Hall – as probably most neighbours do. Why – I was asking myself – is not anyone of these people doing something about this shameful “schoolmaster” and his family? Were people really so indifferent to the sufferings of children at that time? I cannot really imagine because then Dickens’s depiction of the goings-on in these schools would not have caused any reaction, or would simply have been seen in the light of doubtfully amusing episodes. I feel we are again near a discussion as to the question whether Victorians saw Squeers and his family more in the light of scoundrels or of buffoons.

In Chapter 43 we learn how this memorable evening in the Saracen’s Head goes on after the Squeerses have withdrawn in their own noisy way. Noisy it remains, for in the course of the evening, Nicholas and his friends hear the sounds of a row downstairs in the guest-room, and what, of course, is more natural than to rush to where people seem to be engaged in an argument? In our case, the row was caused by a young man, roughly our protagonist’s own age, having beaten and thrown his shoes, into the bargain, at another young man because that latter has, as the first man testifies, spoken in a very unbecoming manner about the beauty and charms of a young lady who happens to be a personal acquaintance of the first young man’s.

History seems to be repeating itself – at least in Nicholas Nickleby. Is it wise on the part of the author to send a second Nicholas into the race? Will the two young men be foes or friends? And will we readers have difficulty in not mixing them up?

Nicholas does not hesitate to side with the young man standing, seeing that everyone in the room is against him, and then he witnesses how the young man uses his charm and his wit to win over the barmaid, who seems to have the run of the place and therefore be the most important ally. Does this behaviour of the young man not resemble Nicholas’s own feats of ingratiating himself with women like Miss La Creevy, Miss Snevellicci and Mrs. Kenwigs?

Nicholas soon realizes that the man defeated is none else but the insinuating youngster from the register-office, who has been ogling the nameless lady, and the other young man introduces himself as Frank Cheeryble, the nephew of the Cheeryble brothers. Now, what a coincidence, isn’t it??? Immediately, Nicholas begins to suspect that the young lady to whose defence Frank Cheeryble has rushed without so much as a thought – the absence of so much as a thought in most daily situations then does not seem to be a monopoly of Nicholas himself, mind! – must be the very self-same young lady Nicholas has met at the register-office and whom he has fallen in love with.

Now, will there be any sort of rivalry between Nicholas and Frank? And if yes, how will it be solved? It seems that unlike characters like Lord Verisopht and Sir Mulberry Hawk, Frank Cheeryble is a worthy young man and he also has his two uncles to back up his case, if needs be …

The chapter then brings all sorts of characters together, like an usher (as the title says), and it could have been composed by Mrs. Nickleby herself, for it is needlessly long-winded. Suffice it to say that the Charles Cheeryble and his nephew Frank one day call at Mrs. Nickleby’s new home, and that they spend a nice evening together, with Frank being sounded by Mrs. Nickleby on his alleged love-interest in Germany, whereas it seems obvious that Frank seems to feel attracted to Kate …

The chapter ends with a hint at Smike’s being very unhappy and in bitter despair at the close of the evening. – Is is that Smike realizes that there is some mutual attraction between Frank and Kate? How will this love triangle go on?

My last comment on Chapter 43 concerns Kate’s good sense. When her mother goes on and on about a tea-box or something like that she replies:

”’[W]hy do you say what I know you cannot seriously mean or think, or why be angry with me for being happy and content? You and Nicholas are left to me, we are together once again, and what regard can I have for a few trifling things of which we never feel the want? When I have seen all the misery and desolation that death can bring, and known the lonesome feeling of being solitary and alone in crowds, and all the agony of separation in grief and poverty when we most needed comfort and support from each other, can you wonder that I look upon this as a place of such delicious quiet and rest, that with you beside me I have nothing to wish for or regret? […]’”

Such a serious reply makes Mrs. Nickleby reflect upon her own behaviour towards her children and realize that after all, she might have been thinking a bit too much of herself only and taken for granted that Kate would not feel the unfairness of their sufferings as harshly as she.

Is this Dickens himself writing about his mother again? After all, it is, to my mind, the first instance of Mrs. Nickleby’s not behaving self-centredly and foolishly so far.

Our next chapter, Chapter 44, affects a complete change of scene, making us find ourselves in Ralph’s offices again. The chapter is introduced with some general reflexions on villains who put a veil of hypocrisy over their crimes and villains who do not, coming to the conclusion that Ralph is definitely of the latter ilk.

”Stem, unyielding, dogged, and impenetrable, Ralph cared for nothing in life, or beyond it, save the gratification of two passions, avarice, the first and predominant appetite of his nature, and hatred, the second. Affecting to consider himself but a type of all humanity, he was at little pains to conceal his true character from the world in general, and in his own heart he exulted over and cherished every bad design as it had birth. The only scriptural admonition that Ralph Nickleby heeded, in the letter, was ‘know thyself.’ He knew himself well, and choosing to imagine that all mankind were cast in the same mould, hated them; for, though no man hates himself, the coldest among us having too much self-love for that, yet, most men unconsciously judge the world from themselves, and it will be very generally found that those who sneer habitually at human nature, and affect to despise it, are among its worst and least pleasant samples.”

In short, Ralph is a very nasty piece of work, but then how does this picture of a man revelling in hatred and misanthropy fit in with Ralph’s softer spot for Kate? And when did Ralph start on his course as a mean-spirited shark? Even Ebenezer Scrooge was not born the skinflint as whom we meet him … What made Ralph such a bitter customer? – And if we classify villains, how would you classify Squeers and Sir Mulberry? What about Mr. Mantalini? Which one is the most calculating, which one the most hypocritical?

At his office, Ralph learns from Newman Noggs – who, by the way, seems to feel quite elevated by the news – that Sir Mulberry and Lord Verisopht have gone to France. Ralph, however, cannot understand how a man that has an account to settle with Nicholas, goes abroad instead of having his revenge – but then he trusts that, in the long run, Hawk’s desire for vengeance will make him come back to England. Still, Nicholas’s luck makes Ralph exclaim, somewhat at odds with his normal outlook on life: “’[…] What is even money to such Devil’s luck as this?’”

Why do you think our narrator has Sir Mulberry go to France? Has he run out of ideas as to how to carry on the Mulberry-Nicholas-thread and therefore is trying to get rid of a loose end? Ralph then goes out to see what the latest state of events at Mantalini’s is, but on his way there he has a strange meeting with a

“spare, dark, withered man, of about his own age, with a stooping body, and a very sinister face rendered more ill-favoured by hollow and hungry cheeks, deeply sunburnt, and thick black eyebrows, blacker in contrast with the perfect whiteness of his hair; roughly clothed in shabby garments, of a strange and uncouth make […]”.

In the course of their conversation it becomes clear that this man, a certain Mr. Brooker, was working as Ralph’s clerk when Ralph was not yet as firmly established in the business and not such a “big man” in his line of trade. Brooker was especially useful to Ralph because he was not over-honest and over-scrupulous, but when some arguments arose between master and clerk as to how much of a commission should be granted to the clerk after a particular business deal was concluded, Ralph had Brooker arrested for debts he still owed – and is still owing, as Ralph points out menacingly in their latest conversation – so that Brooker was indeed arrested for a time and seems to have come down in the world from that day on. Brooker insinuates that he has knowledge of something Ralph would definitely like to know (Brooker even says that it might well be worth half of Ralph’s fortune), whereas he would most probably also like other people not to know about this very thing. Ralph suspects a mere attempt at ordinary blackmail and disdainfully tells Brooker the following:

”’[…] I know the world, and the world knows me. Whatever you gleaned, or heard, or saw, when you served me, the world knows and magnifies already. You could tell it nothing that would surprise it—unless, indeed, it redounded to my credit or honour, and then it would scout you for a liar. And yet I don’t find business slack, or clients scrupulous. Quite the contrary. I am reviled or threatened every day by one man or another, […] but things roll on just the same, and I don’t grow poorer either.’”

What does this tell you about Ralph and his view of the world? Maybe, Ralph is even right in what he says here about society? – But, more to the point of the plot, what could it possibly be that Brooker knows and about which he says:

”’I can tell you of what you have lost by my act, what I only can restore, and what, if I die without restoring, dies with me, and never can be regained.’”

This really sounds mysterious, and it is probably high time Brooker had made his appearance in the novel and added some mystery element. What is Ralph’s secret? Be that as it may, Brooker’s mention of “those of your own name” brings back Nicholas to his mind and enrages him so much that he chases the former clerk away, bidding him to do his worst if he wants.

There now follows another Mantalini episode, but this time the oily fortune-hunter has probably lost his spell over his victim for all his attempts at winning her around prove futile. In fact, this is due to Miss Knag’s machinations. The elderly lady (!) realized that Mr. Mantalini’s influence on his wife would eventually cause the ruin of the business, which now runs under her name, and therefore Miss Knag had ferreted out some letters in which Mantalini divulged his true view of his spouse, calling her “old” and “ordinary”. These letters apparently broke his neck in that Madame Mantalini is going to fight for a separation from her husband, knowing full well that the property formally and legally belongs to Miss Knag now so that the law according to which a married woman has no legal property does not apply to her. Of course, it does apply to her, but to no real effect.

Leaving the scene, Ralph makes a mark behind Mantalini’s name in his little note-book, to the effect that he must have a close eye on the man whose financial downfall will be a mere matter of days or weeks.

Do the constant re-appearances of the Mantalini’s amuse you or do you find them rather repetitive? And do you think that Madame M. and Miss Knag will get on very well on their own? Does Mantalini’s downfall maybe foreshadow Sir Mulberry’s loss of influence over Verisopht? After all both Mantalini and Hawk are cadgers living on the blindness and vanity of their dupes.

Back at home, Ralph finds that Mr. Squeers and Mr. Snawley have arrived – according to a previously made arrangement – and he even goes to the expense of a cab in order to take them to the Nickleby home, a detail that exasperates Newman quite a lot. He tries to find a way of arriving there before the three men in order to warn his friends, but in vain. Instead he runs, by another strange coincidence – it would have been good to have made a list of all these coincidences! – into a man who could be no other but Mr. Brooker, and the two of them start having an interesting conversation, of whose details the reader is as yet left ignorant.

Chapter 45 takes us to the three villains’ destination, the house of Mrs. Nickleby, where the Browdies are being entertained as guests. It’s difficult to say why but our narrator, before going on with the story, falls into an excursion as to what had to be done in order to make Mrs. Nickleby accept the Browdies in her house and as to how that good lady tries to impress her guests with the remnants of her social status, but let us pass all this. – I really had the feeling here that Dickens had to fill some pages because it was just one or two chapters before that we had a similar setting.

Suffice it to say that Ralph, Squeers and Snawley barge into the cottage and into the merry company, where Snawley, in an absurd fashion, claims to be the father of Smike and to be willing to restore him to Squeers’s school. To the Nicklebys’ dismay, Mr. Snawley is in possession of diverse documents that appear to back up his claim beyond a serious doubt. Smike is so terrified at the thought of having to leave the Nicklebys that he starts crying and it does not take long before Nicholas and Squeers fall short of exchanging blows, i.e. Nicholas is close to handing them out whereas Squeers is, as usual, all hat and no cattle. In short, Smike’s terror determine Nicholas in refusing to give the boy up to his alleged father, despite all the documents that Snawley has brought. Ralph’s reaction is typical and unsettling; he says:

”’And trust me, sir, […] that I never supposed you would give him up to-night. Pride, obstinacy, reputation for fine feeling, were all against it. These must be brought down, sir, lowered, crushed, as they shall be soon. The protracted and wearing anxiety and expense of the law in its most oppressive form, its torture from hour to hour, its weary days and sleepless nights—with these I’ll prove you, and break your haughty spirit, strong as you deem it now. And when you make this house a hell, and visit these trials upon yonder wretched object (as you will; I know you), and those who think you now a young-fledged hero, we’ll go into old accounts between us two, and see who stands the debtor, and comes out best at last—even before the world.’”

It's interesting to see that even this early in his career, Dickens had the image of the English legal system as a gruelling, slow-working treadmill which grants little justice but demands high fees, in his mind. Is this the first hint at Bleak House even?

I also found it interesting to see what Ralph imputes to Nicholas as his motives for not surrendering Smike, namely “Pride, obstinacy, reputation for fine feeling”. Is it tactics that Ralph does not concede nobler motives to his enemy, or is it another sign of his inveterate meanness that he cannot even conceive of other people’s being motivated by anything else than mean thoughts?

Tristram wrote: "Why – I was asking myself – is not anyone of these people doing something about this shameful “schoolmaster” and his family? Were people really so indifferent to the sufferings of children at that time? I cannot really imagine because then Dickens’s depiction of the goings-on in these schools would not have caused any reaction, or would simply have been seen in the light of doubtfully amusing episodes. ..."

What could they do? If there were no laws against Squeers' treatment of the boys, and their parents/guardians willingly handed their children over to his care, there was really no recourse for well-meaning neighbors, except perhaps to slip them some bread from time to time.

It's the same now. In my search for a pet, I came across a horrible private "shelter". I learned that they're reported to the authorities frequently, but they provide the bare minimum of requirements for care, so they can't be touched, legally. We, at least, have social media and can spread the word that way, hopefully causing some positive change, but what could Browdie and others have done for those boys that wouldn't have gotten them in trouble with the law? Thank God Dickens had his platform, and could shine a light on places like this!

My personal musings at this juncture (no spoilers, just ruminations, as this is my first reading of NN): I can't help but think that Smike is going to be the key to this novel. He's been along for the ride nearly from the start, and yet we know nothing about him. For the most part, he's been an afterthought in this plot since leaving Yorkshire. Despite being in the best situation of his life, when he IS mentioned, he's melancholy (perhaps he's tired of idiots like Mantalini getting so much of the author's attention!). Like Bull's-Eye in OT, Smike is a faithful companion with no real story of his own. But just as Bull's-Eye ended up having a significant role in his story's denouement, I feel sure that somehow Smike is going to end up being the hub of this wheel. Otherwise, his presence has been unnecessary since being the catalyst of the fight between Nick and Squeers.

Mary Lou wrote: "We, at least, have social media and can spread the word that way, hopefully causing some positive change, but what could Browdie and others have done for those boys that wouldn't have gotten them in trouble with the law? Thank God Dickens had his platform, and could shine a light on places like this! "

It's interesting you should make this link between social media and Dickens, Mary Lou. I, too, think that what social media is today, a widely-read novel such as Nicholas Nickleby must have been for the Victorian readership. Probably, many contemporaries first became aware of the atrocities committed in Yorkshire schools through Dickens's descriptions. But why he should take the edge off these descriptions by using humour, is a question one might be in two minds about.

Mary Lou wrote: "(perhaps he's tired of idiots like Mantalini getting so much of the author's attention!). "

Are you also tired of Mantalini? I must confess I'd like to see the last of him.

Tristram wrote: Are you also tired of Mantalini? I must confess I'd like to see the last of him."

Yes. I'll go so far as to say I'm demd tired of him.

Chapter 41

What a perfect couple they make. All they need are handlers.

"The old Gentleman." I always wonder what old means during this era. He's old enough to have lost his reason, yet young enough to have climbed a wall.

Tristram wrote: "And is it funny or sad that even the appearance of the keeper does not open Mrs. Nickleby’s eyes to the mental illness of their neighbour but confirm her in her idea that there is a conspiracy afoot?"

Why would she recognize his behavior as odd, when she's as addled as he is? Perhaps that's Dickens' point.

Also, there's something primal, animalistic about offering food to someone whose pheromones attract you. Happens in the animal kingdom all the time.

Tristram wrote: " But why he should take the edge off these descriptions by using humour, is a question one might be in two minds about...."

A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down.

I'll switch off any show that's lecturing me about something, or those ads that show abused animals or starving children. I don't think people like to have the harsh realities of the world smack them in the face. Cushion it with a ripping good yarn and some humor, though, and it's a little less overwhelming.

A wonderful quote I made note of awhile back on this very issue:

What good is wisdom without joy? ... By joy I mean a vital love of life in both sorrow and gladness. The hungry can't eat your tears. The poor can't spend them. They are no comfort to the afflicted and they don't bring the wicked to justice. Everything useful that can be done in the world can be done in joy." Andrew Klavin

I hadn't thought of it at the time, but it's really quite Dickensian, isn't it?

Love that quote, Mary Lou.

While I find Mrs Nickleby annoying, I admit that the thought of her finding companionship and perhaps love is comforting. That her suitor is perhaps a bit off centre himself is fine with me. They would, no doubt, be happy together. Indeed, what fun it would be to anticipate how Dickens would develop their relationship.

Mary Lou wrote: "Tristram wrote: " But why he should take the edge off these descriptions by using humour, is a question one might be in two minds about...."

A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down.

I'll ..."

A wonderful quotation!

And yes, like you I tend to switch off any programme that is too directly aiming at shocking me for the sake of teaching me something or trying to make me change my mind or view in some other respect. I think I can now see the humour connected with Squeers in a different light.

Xan Shadowflutter wrote: "I always wonder what old means during this era. He's old enough to have lost his reason, yet young enough to have climbed a wall. "

That sounds like somebody my age, i.e between 47 and 48 ...

Some of my old friends from school are starting doing the stupidest things suddenly (as though they had lost their minds) but they are surely still able to climb walls and learn to ride motorbikes or start an affair with someone from work.

Can you? Climb a wall that is.

I'm listening to the audio and wondering how much time it took for the narrator to master John's voice -- to keep the dialect as strange as possible yet understandable (most of the time). Quite a feat.

Chapter 42

A delightful chapter and diversion from plot (maybe). I tip my hat to Timothy Pinkham for his readings of both John and Fanny. Well done.

As to should John have come clean with the Squeers from the beginning, I say no. We are all better off when the Squeers of this world are infiltrated by spies and betrayers.

Tristram wrote: "Dear Curiosities,

This week, things are getting even more tangled up in some respects but seem to be falling into place in others. All in all, one has the impression that Dickens, whereas a master..."

Tristram

Yes, love in its many guises has a central role in this chapter. I often wonder if chapters like these are meant for breathers for Dickens as he gets ready to forge ahead with the main plot. “Breathers” I guess is a better word than “filler.”

As for your question regarding love. Certainly the vegetable man and Mrs Nickleby form a humourous pair and are meant, I imagine, as a counterpoint to our more serious love pairings already established and perhaps to come. There are, come to think about it, many love pairings in NN.

As for the convention of waiting an appropriate time to marry after becoming a widow, and wearing black clothes first, and then transitioning to mute colours before rejoining the mainstream of society, it seems quaint and antiquated in our 21C world. Nevertheless, such conventions created some social stability.

Tristram wrote: "Chapter 42 brings us back to the Browdies and Nicholas, who are enjoying themselves over a substantial meal in the Saracen’s Head, where Mr. Browdie has, before Nicholas’s arrival, indulged in what..."

For me, there is nothing but disgust for the Squeers, both father and son. To literally steal the clothes and boots off the backs and feet of the new students for your son to wear is frightening. Squeers is grooming his son to think, act, and rejoice in the same actions. Smike is the emblem of all the downtrodden students. I shutter to think how another student at Dotheboys Hall was selected to be the new Smike.

The capture and subsequent escape of Smike was both dramatic and humourous. What it suggests to me is we are certainly not finished with the Smike-Squeers conflict. Squeers will not rest in his pursuit of Smike. The question is why is Squeers so seemingly obsessed with capturing Smike. Surely other students at Dotheboys Hall have died and Squeers would have not been upset in the least, except for the loss of income. Why then, such concern?

Smike’s capture and escape further confirms that Smike will continue to be an important part of the plot development. The question is why?

Tristram wrote: "In Chapter 43 we learn how this memorable evening in the Saracen’s Head goes on after the Squeerses have withdrawn in their own noisy way. Noisy it remains, for in the course of the evening, Nichol..."

I realize there is a school of thought that says one should not and must not read too much, if any, biography or autobiography into the text of an author’s work. That makes some sense to me, yet, with Dickens, he directly inserts names, places, events, and thinly disguised friends into the text. We know that Dickens carried the scars of Warren’s Blacking Factory silently within himself for years before he told Forster and select family members of his experience. There are direct references to Warren’s in more than one novel, including NN.

If we accept without much question that larger themes and motifs of a novelist’s work such as poverty, or a political point of view, or a social irritant, or a moral, or comments on lawyers or religious zealots come from an author’s own belief system, then why would we dismiss the idea that person “A” in a work of fiction is not loosely based on person “B” from an author’s personal life.

So, as to Mrs Nickleby being a recasting of Dickens’s mother I am always willing to seriously consider, and even accept, the possibility.

Heck, if I was a friend of Dickens I confess I would have read each of his novels hoping to find a character that was loosely based on me. I wonder if Dickens would have admitted to it, or just looked at me with a twinkle in his eye.

Tristram wrote: "Now, what a coincidence, isn’t it???

A wonderful coincidence, just knowing how much it bugs you makes it even better. :-)

Kim wrote: "Can you? Climb a wall that is."

I usually make other people go up walls ;-)

Mary Lou wrote: "It's the same now. In my search for a pet, I came across a horrible private "shelter". I learned that they're reported to the authorities frequently,"

That reminds me of a family story. My sister is soon to be divorced (hopefully, since it is an awful divorce), so her mother-in-law won't be our family for much longer, but for now I guess this is still a family story. She is quite an animal lover, over the top in my opinion. For example she has all kinds of birds as pets, like Dickens' raven I suppose, only in the form of parrots, and canaries, and things like that, but she doesn't believe birds should be in cages so they are just flying around the house, which is extremely annoying. Anyway, she went to a store one hot day, and seeing a dog in a car with the windows up broke the window and took the dog. She got in more trouble for that than the dog owner did.

Kim wrote: "Tristram wrote: "Now, what a coincidence, isn’t it???

A wonderful coincidence, just knowing how much it bugs you makes it even better. :-)"

That argument works in two ways, doesn't it? :-)

Chapter 41



The Gentleman Next Door Declares His Passion for Mrs. Nickleby

Chapter 41

Phiz

Commentary:

This first illustration for April 1839 involves a distinctly odd couple ill-suited by virtue of their age for the youthful rhetoric of passion, despite the physical "Pyramus and Thisbe" situation of the courtship scene. The garden interlude is all the more delightful in that Dickens bursts the idyllic bubble, first by having him shower the object of his affections with vegetables and then by having the elderly gentleman's "keepers" arrive in the nick of time to cut short the hyperbolic protestations of Mrs. Nickleby's lunatic suitor "in small clothes" (i. e., the fashion of the previous century). That the suitor is not to be taken seriously is signaled by his presence as merely an over-sized head in Phiz's illustration:

As Kate rose from her seat in some alarm [at the vegetables just discharged from the other side of the garden wall], and caught her mother's hand to run with her into the house, she felt herself rather retarded than assisted in her intention; and following the direction of Mrs. Nickleby's eyes, was quite terrified by the apparition of an old black velvet cap, which, by slow degrees, as if its wearer were ascending a ladder or pair of steps, rose above the wall dividing their garden from that of the next cottage (which, like their own, was a detached building), and was gradually followed by a very large head, and an old face in which were a pair of most extraordinary grey eyes: very wild, very wide open, and rolling in their sockets, with a dull languishing leering look, most ugly to behold.

"Mama!" cried Kate, really terrified for a moment, "why do you stop, why do you lose an instant? Mama, pray come in!" . . . .

"Queen of my soul," replied the stranger, folding his hands together, "this goblet sip!"

Nonsense, sir," said Mrs. Nickleby. "Kate, my love, pray be quiet."

"Won't you sip the goblet?" urged the stranger, with his head imploringly on one side, and his right hand on his breast. "Oh, do sip the goblet!"

Browne's caricatural method of character portrayal is perhaps most happily employed in the illustration of what must be considered a minor incident in the story, though it is one of the most memorable, and foreshadows Dickens' almost surreal comic inventiveness in later novels. The escaped madman in "The Gentleman next door declares his passion for Mrs. Nickleby" (ch. 41) is portrayed as a grotesque through the heavy use of etched lines on his face, and Mrs. Nickleby's simper is equally caricature. Further, the shapes of the vegetables he has thrown over the wall are more evidently phallic than anything short of a much more explicit text could convey. But Browne employs other modes as well. Kate appears once again as a simpering maiden out of a Keepsake book, while the two birds at upper left, touching be in the sky, comment amusingly on Mrs. Nickleby's self-delusion about her suitor's love for her. Finally, the handling of foliage is an example of a new pictorial richness in Browne's technique.

Concluded by standing on one leg, and repeating his favourite bellow with increased vehemence.

Chapter 41

Fred Barnard

Household Edition

Text Illustrated:

‘I have estates, ma’am,’ said the old gentleman, flourishing his right hand negligently, as if he made very light of such matters, and speaking very fast; ‘jewels, lighthouses, fish-ponds, a whalery of my own in the North Sea, and several oyster-beds of great profit in the Pacific Ocean. If you will have the kindness to step down to the Royal Exchange and to take the cocked-hat off the stoutest beadle’s head, you will find my card in the lining of the crown, wrapped up in a piece of blue paper. My walking-stick is also to be seen on application to the chaplain of the House of Commons, who is strictly forbidden to take any money for showing it. I have enemies about me, ma’am,’ he looked towards his house and spoke very low, ‘who attack me on all occasions, and wish to secure my property. If you bless me with your hand and heart, you can apply to the Lord Chancellor or call out the military if necessary—sending my toothpick to the commander-in-chief will be sufficient—and so clear the house of them before the ceremony is performed. After that, love, bliss and rapture; rapture, love and bliss. Be mine, be mine!’

Repeating these last words with great rapture and enthusiasm, the old gentleman put on his black velvet cap again, and looking up into the sky in a hasty manner, said something that was not quite intelligible concerning a balloon he expected, and which was rather after its time.

‘Be mine, be mine!’ repeated the old gentleman.

‘Kate, my dear,’ said Mrs. Nickleby, ‘I have hardly the power to speak; but it is necessary for the happiness of all parties that this matter should be set at rest for ever.’

‘Surely there is no necessity for you to say one word, mama?’ reasoned Kate.

‘You will allow me, my dear, if you please, to judge for myself,’ said Mrs Nickleby.

‘Be mine, be mine!’ cried the old gentleman.

‘It can scarcely be expected, sir,’ said Mrs. Nickleby, fixing her eyes modestly on the ground, ‘that I should tell a stranger whether I feel flattered and obliged by such proposals, or not. They certainly are made under very singular circumstances; still at the same time, as far as it goes, and to a certain extent of course’ (Mrs. Nickleby’s customary qualification), ‘they must be gratifying and agreeable to one’s feelings.’

‘Be mine, be mine,’ cried the old gentleman. ‘Gog and Magog, Gog and Magog. Be mine, be mine!’

‘It will be sufficient for me to say, sir,’ resumed Mrs. Nickleby, with perfect seriousness—‘and I’m sure you’ll see the propriety of taking an answer and going away—that I have made up my mind to remain a widow, and to devote myself to my children. You may not suppose I am the mother of two children—indeed many people have doubted it, and said that nothing on earth could ever make ‘em believe it possible—but it is the case, and they are both grown up. We shall be very glad to have you for a neighbour—very glad; delighted, I’m sure—but in any other character it’s quite impossible, quite. As to my being young enough to marry again, that perhaps may be so, or it may not be; but I couldn’t think of it for an instant, not on any account whatever. I said I never would, and I never will. It’s a very painful thing to have to reject proposals, and I would much rather that none were made; at the same time this is the answer that I determined long ago to make, and this is the answer I shall always give.’

These observations were partly addressed to the old gentleman, partly to Kate, and partly delivered in soliloquy. Towards their conclusion, the suitor evinced a very irreverent degree of inattention, and Mrs. Nickleby had scarcely finished speaking, when, to the great terror both of that lady and her daughter, he suddenly flung off his coat, and springing on the top of the wall, threw himself into an attitude which displayed his small-clothes and grey worsteds to the fullest advantage, and concluded by standing on one leg, and repeating his favourite bellow with increased vehemence.

"I say," said John, rather astounded for the moment, "Mak' theeself quite at whoam, will 'ee?"

Chapter 42

Fred Barnard

Household Edition

Text Illustrated:

‘Here’s a gen’l’man for you, sir,’ said the waiter, looking in.

‘A wa’at for me?’ cried John, as though he thought it must be a letter, or a parcel.

‘A gen’l’man, sir.’

‘Stars and garthers, chap!’ said John, ‘wa’at dost thou coom and say thot for? In wi’ ‘un.’

‘Are you at home, sir?’

‘At whoam!’ cried John, ‘I wish I wur; I’d ha tea’d two hour ago. Why, I told t’oother chap to look sharp ootside door, and tell ‘un d’rectly he coom, thot we war faint wi’ hoonger. In wi’ ‘un. Aha! Thee hond, Misther Nickleby. This is nigh to be the proodest day o’ my life, sir. Hoo be all wi’ ye? Ding! But, I’m glod o’ this!’

Quite forgetting even his hunger in the heartiness of his salutation, John Browdie shook Nicholas by the hand again and again, slapping his palm with great violence between each shake, to add warmth to the reception.

‘Ah! there she be,’ said John, observing the look which Nicholas directed towards his wife. ‘There she be—we shan’t quarrel about her noo—eh? Ecod, when I think o’ thot—but thou want’st soom’at to eat. Fall to, mun, fall to, and for wa’at we’re aboot to receive—’

No doubt the grace was properly finished, but nothing more was heard, for John had already begun to play such a knife and fork, that his speech was, for the time, gone.

‘I shall take the usual licence, Mr. Browdie,’ said Nicholas, as he placed a chair for the bride.

‘Tak’ whatever thou like’st,’ said John, ‘and when a’s gane, ca’ for more.’

Without stopping to explain, Nicholas kissed the blushing Mrs. Browdie, and handed her to her seat.

‘I say,’ said John, rather astounded for the moment, ‘mak’ theeself quite at whoam, will ‘ee?’

‘You may depend upon that,’ replied Nicholas; ‘on one condition.’

‘And wa’at may thot be?’ asked John.

‘That you make me a godfather the very first time you have occasion for one.’

‘Eh! d’ye hear thot?’ cried John, laying down his knife and fork. ‘A godfeyther! Ha! ha! ha! Tilly—hear till ‘un—a godfeyther! Divn’t say a word more, ye’ll never beat thot. Occasion for ‘un—a godfeyther! Ha! ha! ha!’

Never was man so tickled with a respectable old joke, as John Browdie was with this. He chuckled, roared, half suffocated himself by laughing large pieces of beef into his windpipe, roared again, persisted in eating at the same time, got red in the face and black in the forehead, coughed, cried, got better, went off again laughing inwardly, got worse, choked, had his back thumped, stamped about, frightened his wife, and at last recovered in a state of the last exhaustion and with the water streaming from his eyes, but still faintly ejaculating, ‘A godfeyther—a godfeyther, Tilly!’ in a tone bespeaking an exquisite relish of the sally, which no suffering could diminish.

Fell upon his face in a passion of bitter grief

Chapter 43

Fred Barnard

Household Edition

Text Illustrated:

At the tea-table there was plenty of conversation on a great variety of subjects, nor were there wanting jocose matters of discussion, such as they were; for young Mr. Cheeryble’s recent stay in Germany happening to be alluded to, old Mr. Cheeryble informed the company that the aforesaid young Mr. Cheeryble was suspected to have fallen deeply in love with the daughter of a certain German burgomaster. This accusation young Mr. Cheeryble most indignantly repelled, upon which Mrs. Nickleby slyly remarked, that she suspected, from the very warmth of the denial, there must be something in it. Young Mr. Cheeryble then earnestly entreated old Mr. Cheeryble to confess that it was all a jest, which old Mr. Cheeryble at last did, young Mr. Cheeryble being so much in earnest about it, that—as Mrs. Nickleby said many thousand times afterwards in recalling the scene—he ‘quite coloured,’ which she rightly considered a memorable circumstance, and one worthy of remark, young men not being as a class remarkable for modesty or self-denial, especially when there is a lady in the case, when, if they colour at all, it is rather their practice to colour the story, and not themselves.

After tea there was a walk in the garden, and the evening being very fine they strolled out at the garden-gate into some lanes and bye-roads, and sauntered up and down until it grew quite dark. The time seemed to pass very quickly with all the party. Kate went first, leaning upon her brother’s arm, and talking with him and Mr. Frank Cheeryble; and Mrs Nickleby and the elder gentleman followed at a short distance, the kindness of the good merchant, his interest in the welfare of Nicholas, and his admiration of Kate, so operating upon the good lady’s feelings, that the usual current of her speech was confined within very narrow and circumscribed limits. Smike (who, if he had ever been an object of interest in his life, had been one that day) accompanied them, joining sometimes one group and sometimes the other, as brother Charles, laying his hand upon his shoulder, bade him walk with him, or Nicholas, looking smilingly round, beckoned him to come and talk with the old friend who understood him best, and who could win a smile into his careworn face when none else could.

Pride is one of the seven deadly sins; but it cannot be the pride of a mother in her children, for that is a compound of two cardinal virtues—faith and hope. This was the pride which swelled Mrs. Nickleby’s heart that night, and this it was which left upon her face, glistening in the light when they returned home, traces of the most grateful tears she had ever shed.

There was a quiet mirth about the little supper, which harmonised exactly with this tone of feeling, and at length the two gentlemen took their leave. There was one circumstance in the leave-taking which occasioned a vast deal of smiling and pleasantry, and that was, that Mr. Frank Cheeryble offered his hand to Kate twice over, quite forgetting that he had bade her adieu already. This was held by the elder Mr. Cheeryble to be a convincing proof that he was thinking of his German flame, and the jest occasioned immense laughter. So easy is it to move light hearts.

In short, it was a day of serene and tranquil happiness; and as we all have some bright day—many of us, let us hope, among a crowd of others—to which we revert with particular delight, so this one was often looked back to afterwards, as holding a conspicuous place in the calendar of those who shared it.

Was there one exception, and that one he who needed to have been most happy?

Who was that who, in the silence of his own chamber, sunk upon his knees to pray as his first friend had taught him, and folding his hands and stretching them wildly in the air, fell upon his face in a passion of bitter grief?

Peter wrote: "Tristram wrote: "In Chapter 43 we learn how this memorable evening in the Saracen’s Head goes on after the Squeerses have withdrawn in their own noisy way. Noisy it remains, for in the course of th..."

I must confess that I am lazy when it comes to reading biographies but it surely helps to know about the author's life when reading his or her books. I mean you can probably understand a lot of what is going on in Jane Austen's book when you know how limited her own scope of action was in the life she lived in her day and age. The novels of Joseph Conrad, or especially Herman Melville are full of adventures experienced by those writers, and much of Trollope is seen in a more elucidating light if you remember how much he would have wanted to sit in Parliament. And reading Philip K. Dick is surely helped on when you know about the strange life that author had.

The list seems endless :-)

Mr. Mantalini Poisons Himself for the Seventh Time

Chapter 44

Phiz

Commentary:

Phiz and Boz continue to enjoy describing the domestic chaos of the Mantalinis, in particular, the emotional volatility of the dress-maker's handsome, spendthrift Italian husband, a characterization of the emotional makeup of Italians common enough in the England of the 1830s and 1840s, as were the artistic sensibilities of that nationality, suggested by the picture of the ballerina on the wall (right). Mr. Mantalini's elongated figure connects him to the book's other wastrels, Sir Mulberry Hawk and Lord Frederick Verisopht. To enhance the physical comedy, Phiz may have modelled the focal point of the scene, the fallen Mantalini, upon the traditional Renaissance Pieta, the lamentation of the women over the body of the dead Christ, just taken down from the cross. The poisoning scene is a mere comic relief from Ralph's plans of vengeance:

'Done what?' said Ralph, tartly, 'what d'ye mean?'

'I knew he would if he was drove to it' cried the girl. 'I said so all along.'

'Come here, you silly wench,' said Ralph, catching her by the wrist; 'and don't carry family matters to the neighbours, destroying the credit of the establishment. Come here; do you hear me, girl?'

Without any further expostulation, he led or rather pulled the frightened handmaid into the house, and shut the door; then bidding her walk upstairs before him, followed without ceremony.

Guided by the noise of a great many voices all talking together, and passing the girl in his impatience before they had ascended many steps, Ralph quickly reached the private sitting room, when he was rather amazed by the confused and inexplicable scene in which he suddenly found himself.

There were all the young lady-workers, some with bonnets and some without, in various attitudes expressive of alarm and consternation; some gathered round Madame Mantalini, who was in tears upon one chair; and others round Miss Knag, who was in opposition tears upon another; and others round Mr. Mantalini, who was perhaps the most striking figure in the whole group, for Mr. Mantalini's legs were extended at full length upon the floor, and his head and shoulders were supported by a very tall footman, who didn't seem to know what to do with them, and Mr. Mantalini's eyes were closed, and his face was pale, and his hair was comparatively straight, and his whiskers and moustache were limp, and his teeth were clenched, and he had a little bottle in his right hand, and a little teaspoon in his left, and his hands, arms, legs, and shoulders, were all stiff and powerless. And yet Madame Mantalini was not weeping upon the body, but was scolding violently upon her chair; and all this amidst a clamour of tongues, perfectly deafening, and which really appeared to have driven the unfortunate footman to the utmost verge of distraction.

'What is the matter here?' said Ralph, pressing forward.

"I am a most miserable and wretched outcast"

Chapter 44

Fred Barnard

Household Edition

Text Illustrated:

‘You would hardly have known me from my voice, I suppose, Mr. Nickleby?’ he said.

‘No,’ returned Ralph, bending a severe look upon him. ‘Though there is something in that, that I remember now.’

‘There is little in me that you can call to mind as having been there eight years ago, I dare say?’ observed the other.

‘Quite enough,’ said Ralph, carelessly, and averting his face. ‘More than enough.’

‘If I had remained in doubt about you, Mr. Nickleby,’ said the other, ‘this reception, and your manner, would have decided me very soon.’

‘Did you expect any other?’ asked Ralph, sharply.

‘No!’ said the man.

‘You were right,’ retorted Ralph; ‘and as you feel no surprise, need express none.’

‘Mr. Nickleby,’ said the man, bluntly, after a brief pause, during which he had seemed to struggle with an inclination to answer him by some reproach, ‘will you hear a few words that I have to say?’

‘I am obliged to wait here till the rain holds a little,’ said Ralph, looking abroad. ‘If you talk, sir, I shall not put my fingers in my ears, though your talking may have as much effect as if I did.’

‘I was once in your confidence—’ thus his companion began. Ralph looked round, and smiled involuntarily.

‘Well,’ said the other, ‘as much in your confidence as you ever chose to let anybody be.’

‘Ah!’ rejoined Ralph, folding his arms; ‘that’s another thing, quite another thing.’

‘Don’t let us play upon words, Mr. Nickleby, in the name of humanity.’

‘Of what?’ said Ralph.

‘Of humanity,’ replied the other, sternly. ‘I am hungry and in want. If the change that you must see in me after so long an absence—must see, for I, upon whom it has come by slow and hard degrees, see it and know it well—will not move you to pity, let the knowledge that bread; not the daily bread of the Lord’s Prayer, which, as it is offered up in cities like this, is understood to include half the luxuries of the world for the rich, and just as much coarse food as will support life for the poor—not that, but bread, a crust of dry hard bread, is beyond my reach today—let that have some weight with you, if nothing else has.’

‘If this is the usual form in which you beg, sir,’ said Ralph, ‘you have studied your part well; but if you will take advice from one who knows something of the world and its ways, I should recommend a lower tone; a little lower tone, or you stand a fair chance of being starved in good earnest.’

As he said this, Ralph clenched his left wrist tightly with his right hand, and inclining his head a little on one side and dropping his chin upon his breast, looked at him whom he addressed with a frowning, sullen face. The very picture of a man whom nothing could move or soften.

‘Yesterday was my first day in London,’ said the old man, glancing at his travel-stained dress and worn shoes.

‘It would have been better for you, I think, if it had been your last also,’ replied Ralph.

‘I have been seeking you these two days, where I thought you were most likely to be found,’ resumed the other more humbly, ‘and I met you here at last, when I had almost given up the hope of encountering you, Mr Nickleby.’

He seemed to wait for some reply, but Ralph giving him none, he continued:

‘I am a most miserable and wretched outcast, nearly sixty years old, and as destitute and helpless as a child of six.’

‘I am sixty years old, too,’ replied Ralph, ‘and am neither destitute nor helpless. Work. Don’t make fine play-acting speeches about bread, but earn it.’

‘How?’ cried the other. ‘Where? Show me the means. Will you give them to me—will you?’

‘I did once,’ replied Ralph, composedly; ‘you scarcely need ask me whether I will again.’

Kim wrote: "Anyway, she went to a store one hot day, and seeing a dog in a car with the windows up broke the window and took the dog. She got in more trouble for that than the dog owner did."

Breaking the window may have been a bit of an overreaction but I see the lady's point - esp. when the weather is very hot, as it probably was. Maybe, in order to avoid trouble, she should have called the police and made them break the window. Although, of course, it's more fun to do it oneself :-)

Mr. Snawley Enlarges on Parental Instinct

Chapter 45

Phiz

Commentary:

While Phiz continues to delight in the physical and character comedy of Snawley and Squeers, Dickens develops the plot secret surrounding Smike, unmasking Snawley as a compound of meanness, hypocrisy, and brutality through his own words and actions.

The large, tall, well-made figure on the right in this scene set in the Nicklebys' cottage is the valiant, noble-hearted Yorkshireman John Browdie; Smike and Snawley are the centre, the twin focal points of the letterpress and illustration; to the far left, leaning on a chair back, is Ralph Nickleby, whose forged papers attest to Smike's being Snawley's son. The disposition of the characters in the background, the shape of the room, and the principals in the foreground all suggest the somewhat theatrical nature of the composition.

"Got him! Oh, haven't I got him! Have I got him, though?" cried Mr. Snawley, scarcely able to believe it. "Yes, here he is, flesh and blood, flesh and blood."

"Vary little flesh," said John Browdie.

Mr. Snawley was too much occupied by his parental feelings to notice this remark; and, to assure himself more completely of the restoration of his child, tucked his head under his arm again, and kept it there.

"What was it," said Snawley, "that made me take such a strong interest in him, when that worthy instructor of youth brought him to my house? What was it that made me burn all over with a wish to chastise him severely for cutting away from his best friends, his pastors and masters?"

"It was parental instinct, sir," observed Squeers.

"That's what it was, sir," rejoined Snawley; "the elevated feeling, the feeling of the ancient Romans and Grecians, and of the beasts of the field and birds of the air, with the exception of rabbits and tom-cats, which sometimes devour their offspring. My heart yearned towards him. I could have — I don't know what I couldn't have done to him in the anger of a father."

Mr. Squeers executes an impromptu "Pas Seul"

Chapter 45

Fred Barnard

Household Edition


Text Illustrated:

‘You, sir,’ said Snawley, addressing the terrified Smike, ‘are an unnatural, ungrateful, unlovable boy. You won’t let me love you when I want to. Won’t you come home, won’t you?’

‘No, no, no,’ cried Smike, shrinking back.

‘He never loved nobody,’ bawled Squeers, through the keyhole. ‘He never loved me; he never loved Wackford, who is next door but one to a cherubim. How can you expect that he’ll love his father? He’ll never love his father, he won’t. He don’t know what it is to have a father. He don’t understand it. It an’t in him.’

Mr. Snawley looked steadfastly at his son for a full minute, and then covering his eyes with his hand, and once more raising his hat in the air, appeared deeply occupied in deploring his black ingratitude. Then drawing his arm across his eyes, he picked up Mr. Squeers’s hat, and taking it under one arm, and his own under the other, walked slowly and sadly out.

‘Your romance, sir,’ said Ralph, lingering for a moment, ‘is destroyed, I take it. No unknown; no persecuted descendant of a man of high degree; but the weak, imbecile son of a poor, petty tradesman. We shall see how your sympathy melts before plain matter of fact.’

‘You shall,’ said Nicholas, motioning towards the door.

‘And trust me, sir,’ added Ralph, ‘that I never supposed you would give him up tonight. Pride, obstinacy, reputation for fine feeling, were all against it. These must be brought down, sir, lowered, crushed, as they shall be soon. The protracted and wearing anxiety and expense of the law in its most oppressive form, its torture from hour to hour, its weary days and sleepless nights, with these I’ll prove you, and break your haughty spirit, strong as you deem it now. And when you make this house a hell, and visit these trials upon yonder wretched object (as you will; I know you), and those who think you now a young-fledged hero, we’ll go into old accounts between us two, and see who stands the debtor, and comes out best at last, even before the world.’

Ralph Nickleby withdrew. But Mr. Squeers, who had heard a portion of this closing address, and was by this time wound up to a pitch of impotent malignity almost unprecedented, could not refrain from returning to the parlour door, and actually cutting some dozen capers with various wry faces and hideous grimaces, expressive of his triumphant confidence in the downfall and defeat of Nicholas.

Having concluded this war-dance, in which his short trousers and large boots had borne a very conspicuous figure, Mr. Squeers followed his friends, and the family were left to meditate upon recent occurrences.

Kim wrote: ""I say," said John, rather astounded for the moment, "Mak' theeself quite at whoam, will 'ee?"

Chapter 42

Fred Barnard

Household Edition

Text Illustrated:

‘Here’s a gen’l’man for you, sir,’ sa..."

The vegetable lover of Mrs Nickleby and the newly-wed John Browdie offer two delightfully humourous looks at love in NN. The novel offers many light-hearted events to ease and counterbalance the horrors of Sir Mulberry Hawk’s pursuit of Kate or the warped marriage of the Squeers.

Kim wrote: "Fell upon his face in a passion of bitter grief

Chapter 43

Fred Barnard

Household Edition

Text Illustrated:

At the tea-table there was plenty of conversation on a great variety of subjects, no..."

This illustration by Barnard is very powerful. Smike’s position by his bedside, the dark plate, and the window to the left of the illustration form a perfect tone to compliment the letterpress.

Kim wrote: "Mr. Squeers executes an impromptu "Pas Seul"

Chapter 45

Fred Barnard

Household Edition


Text Illustrated:

‘You, sir,’ said Snawley, addressing the terrified Smike, ‘are an unnatural, ungratefu..."

Ralph Nickleby’s words of triumph spoken to Nicholas hover over this plate. Clearly, these two will meet again, and it will not be surprising if the next encounter is even more caustic than this one.

Snawley is Smike’s father? With Ralph in the room we know that something is amiss. How does Smike fit into the puzzle that is Ralph Nickleby?

I really like the John Browdie character, but I wish his speech was easier to understand. This part, when Nicholas suggested to be the godfather of the Browdie's first child, made me laugh out loud:

"Never was man so tickled with a respectable old joke, as John Browdie was with this. He chuckled, roared, half suffocated himself by laughing large pieces of beef into his windpipe, roared again, persisted in eating at the same time, got red in the face and black in the forehead, coughed, cried, got better, went off again laughing inwardly, got worse, choked, had his back thumped, stamped about, frightened his wife, and at last recovered in a state of the last exhaustion and with the water streaming from his eyes, but still faintly ejaculating, ‘A godfeyther—a godfeyther, Tilly!’ in a tone bespeaking an exquisite relish of the sally, which no suffering could diminish.

I also thought it was funny when Mantalini was on the floor playing dead, but lifted his head now and then to add to the conversation. He's not very good at playing dead.

I agree that the Mantalinis got boring/annoying after a while, but now that the wife wants a separation, I'm very curious what's going to happen to them. There was so much enabling and codependency in that relationship.

Yes, there is some development in the relationship between Madam Mantalini and her husband, and it is painfully slow, just as it would be in real life (in comparable circumstances). But then seeing how flattering it must be for Madam Mantalini to have those beautiful whisters and the demdly dashing man attached to them at her side, it is obvious that since vanity is the source of that "love", it will be a long-lived love affair.

I also had to chuckle at the moving father-son scene in Chapter 45, where Mr. Snawley seemingly assumes that just because he has sired a child, the child should love him no matter what treatment he received:

"'You, sir,' said Snawley, addressing the terrified Smike, "are an unnatural, ungrateful, unloveable boy. You won't let me love you when I want to. Won't you come home—won't you?'

'No, no, no,' cried Smike, shrinking back.

'He never loved nobody,' bawled Squeers, through the keyhole. 'He never loved me; he never loved Wackford, who is next door but one to a cherubim. How can you expect that he'll love his father? He'll never love his father, he won't. He don't know what it is to have a father. He don't understand it. It an't in him.'"

The blatant impertinence of those two men! It is, of all people, good and honest John Browdie who finds an apt retort to them:

"'This is a cruel thing,' said Snawley, looking to his friends for support. 'Do parents bring children into the world for this?'

'Do parents bring children into the world for thot?' said John Browdie bluntly, pointing, as he spoke, to Squeers."

Tristram wrote: "In Chapter 43 we learn how this memorable evening in the Saracen’s Head goes on after the Squeerses have withdrawn in their own noisy way. Noisy it remains, for in the course of the evening, Nichol..."

First, Tristram, thanks for the tongue-in-cheek sarcasm, and I say that hoping you're not reading it saying to yourself, tongue-in-cheek? What sarcasm?

It appears that, like in OT, London is indeed a tiny town where people who have met over the four corners of England can't help but fall over one another when visiting London. Amazing that.

But this is good, because it means we will again meet the theater performers who no doubt will move themselves and their tents into the Saracen by evening tomorrow. And this gives me an opportunity to reacquaint myself with two of my favorite characters, Miss Snevellicci and the the Terrible Phenom. Neither get sufficient credit. in my opinion.

This is my longwinded way of saying, of course, why should anyone be surprised that Nicholas would meet the Cherybill's nephew, Frank, at the Saracen Inn? We are not far from that Marx Brothers movie where the brothers try to fit every acquaintance they make on a cruise into their cabin room. I'm quite sure push will come to shove when the theater arrives and the Terrible Phenom tries to dance on top of everyone's head.

Tristram wrote: "And when did Ralph start on his course as a mean-spirited shark? "

There is mention of -- to paraphrase Tom Smothers of the Smothers Brothers fame here in the U.S. -- Mother always liking Ralph's brother best. Dad too. The neighbors also. It looks like Ralph didn't get the necessary bonding a child needs. His brother got all the charm, and ended up with Mrs. Nickleby.

Where better for Mr. Hawk to Spend Verisopht's money than in Paris?

Did I miss why Snawley and Ralph are going to the Nickleby's together? I mean I can guess, but was it mentioned?

Tristram wrote: "Chapter 45 takes us to the three villains’ destination, the house of Mrs. Nickleby, where the Browdies are being entertained as guests. It’s difficult to say why but our narrator, before going on w..."

Not sure what's going to happen, but the threat of the police reminds me of what I said earlier, that class and wealth often determine who the police believe. It will be interesting to see what happens. Ralph is wealthy, but his business is one people look down on. Meanwhile Nicholas works for the Cherybills.

So where does Snawley get placed on our list of evil dudes? Like a hit on the weekly music charts, he's jumped into the top 10 from nowhere.

Tristram wrote: "Kim wrote: "Can you? Climb a wall that is."

I usually make other people go up walls ;-)"

All this talk about climbing walls makes me wonder how the fencing's going.

Kim wrote: "Tristram wrote: "Now, what a coincidence, isn’t it???

A wonderful coincidence, just knowing how much it bugs you makes it even better. :-)"

Looks like even Dickens was feeling the coincidences were piling up a little too fast:

‘that those two young men should have met last night in that manner is, I say, a coincidence, a remarkable coincidence. Why, I don’t believe now,’ added Tim, taking off his spectacles, and smiling as with gentle pride, ‘that there’s such a place in all the world for coincidences as London is!’

‘I don’t know about that,’ said Mr. Frank; ‘but—’

‘Don’t know about it, Mr. Francis!’ interrupted Tim, with an obstinate air. ‘Well, but let us know. If there is any better place for such things, where is it?

Mary Lou wrote: "My personal musings at this juncture (no spoilers, just ruminations, as this is my first reading of NN): I can't help but think that Smike is going to be the key to this novel. He's been along for ..."

Speaking as an also-haven't-read, I was thinking last week Smike was going to die, but I like Mary Lou's theory that he'll be the hub on which the plot turns better.

Although I still don't see any Dickensian solution to him being in love with Kate except death. He doesn't seem like he's going to be able to sit contentedly by in the background while she falls in love with Francis.

Funny how a couple of installments back I was saying how odd the scarcity of romance was in this book, and now we're swimming in it!

Julie wrote: "Tristram wrote: "Kim wrote: "Can you? Climb a wall that is."

I usually make other people go up walls ;-)"

All this talk about climbing walls makes me wonder how the fencing's going."

We haven't heard anything about the fencing for a while have we? If I would guess why.........