Writing in 1848, Charles Dickens declared that when "Nicholas
Nickleby" was begun in 1838 "there were then a good many-cheap
Yorkshire schools in existence. There are very few now." In
the preface to the completed book the author mentioned that
more than one Yorkshire schoolmaster laid claim to be the
original of Squeers, and he had reason to believe "one worthy
has actually consulted authorities learned in the law as to
his having good grounds on which to rest an action for libel."
But Squeers, as Dickens insisted, was the representative of a
class, and not an individual. The Brothers Cheeryble were "no
creations of the author's brain" Dickens also wrote; and in
consequence of this statement "hundreds upon hundreds of
letters from all sorts of people" poured in upon him to be
forwarded "to the originals of the Brothers Cheeryble." They
were the Brothers Grant, cotton-spinners, near Manchester.
"Nicholas Nickleby" was completed in October, 1839.
_I.--A Yorkshire Schoolmaster_
Mr. Nickleby, a country gentleman of small estate, having endeavoured to
increase his scanty fortune by speculation, found himself ruined; he
took to his bed (apparently resolved to keep that, at all events), and,
after embracing his wife and children, very soon departed this life. So
Mrs. Nickleby went to London to wait upon her brother-in-law, Mr. Ralph
Nickleby, and with her two children, Nicholas, then nineteen, and Kate,
a year or two younger, took lodgings in the Strand.
It was to these apartments that Ralph Nickleby, a hard, unscrupulous,
cunning money-lender, came on receipt of the widow's note.
"Are you willing to work, sir?" said Ralph, frowning at his nephew.
"Of course I am," replied Nicholas haughtily.
"Then see here," said his uncle. "This caught my eyes this morning, and
you may thank your stars for it."
With that Mr. Ralph Nickleby took a newspaper from his pocket and read
the following advertisement.
"_Education_.--At Mr. Wackford Squeers' Academy, Dotheboys Hall, at the
delightful village of Dotheboys, in Yorkshire, youths are boarded,
clothed, booked, furnished with pocket-money, instructed in all
languages living or dead, mathematics, orthography, geometry,
trigonometry, the use of the globes, algebra, single-stick (if
required), writing, arithmetic, fortification, and every other branch of
classic literature. Terms, twenty guineas per annum. No extras, no
vacations, and diet unparalleled. Mr. Squeers is in town, and attends
daily from one till four, at the Saracen's Head, Snow Hill. N.B.--An able
assistant wanted. Annual salary, £5, A Master of Arts would be
preferred."
"There!" said Ralph, folding the paper again. "Let him get that
situation and his fortune's made. If he don't like that, let him get one
for himself."
"I am ready to do anything you wish me," said Nicholas, starting gaily
up. "Let us try our fortune with Mr. Squeers at once; he can but
refuse."
"He won't do that," said Ralph. "He will be glad to have you on my
recommendation. Make yourself of use to him, and you'll rise to be a
partner in the establishment in no time."
Nicholas, having taken down the address of Mr. Wackford Squeers, the
uncle and nephew at once went forth in quest of that accomplished
gentleman.
"Perhaps you recollect me?" said Ralph, looking narrowly at the
schoolmaster, as the Saracen's Head.
"You paid me a small account at each of my half-yearly visits to town
for some years, I think, sir," replied Squeers, "for the parents of a
boy who, unfortunately----"
"Unfortunately died at Dotheboys Hall," said Ralph, finishing the
sentence. "And now let us come to business. You have advertised for an
assistant. Do you really want one?"
"Certainly," answered Squeers.
"Here he is!" said Ralph. "My nephew Nicholas, hot from school, is just
the man you want."
"I am afraid," said Squeers, perplexed with such an application from a
youth of Nicholas's figure--"I am afraid the young man won't suit me."
"I fear, sir," said Nicholas, "that you object to my youth, and to not
being a Master of Arts?"
"The absence of the college degree _is_ an objection." replied Squeers,
considerably puzzled by the contrast between the simplicity of the
nephew and the shrewdness of the uncle.
"Let me have two words with you," said Ralph. The two words were had
apart; in a couple of minutes Mr. Wackford Squeers' announced that Mr.
Nicholas Nickleby was from that moment installed in the office of first
assistant master at Dotheboys Hall.
"At eight o'clock to-morrow morning, Mr. Nickleby," said Squeers, "the
coach starts. You must be here at a quarter before, as we take some boys
with us."
"And your fare down I have paid," growled Ralph. "So you'll have nothing
to do but keep yourself warm."
_II.--At Dotheboys Hall_
"Past seven, Nickleby," said Mr. Squeers on the first morning after the
arrival at Dotheboys Hall. "Come, tumble up. Here's a pretty go, the
pump's froze. You can't wash yourself this morning, so you must be
content with giving yourself a dry polish till we break the ice in the
well, and can get a bucketful out for the boys."
Nicholas huddled on his clothes and followed Squeers across a yard to
the school-room.
"There," said the schoolmaster, as they stepped in together, "this is
our shop."
It was a bare and dirty room, the windows mostly stopped up with old
copybooks and paper, and Nicholas looked with dismay at the old rickety
desks and forms.
But the pupils!
Pale and haggard faces, lank and bony figures, boys of stunted growth,
and others whose long and meagre legs would hardly bear their stooping
bodies. Faces that told of young lives which from infancy had been one
horrible endurance of cruelty and neglect. Little faces that should have
been handsome, darkened with the scowl of sullen, dogged suffering. And
yet, painful as the scene was, it had its grotesque features.
Mrs. Squeers, wearing a beaver bonnet of some antiquity on the top of a
nightcap, stood at the desk, presiding over an immense basin of
brimstone and treacle. This compound she administered to each boy in
succession, using an enormous wooden spoon for the purpose.
"We purify the boys' blood now and then, Nickleby," said Squeers, when
the operation was over.
A meagre breakfast followed; and then Mr. Squeers made his way to his
desk, and called up the first class.
"This is the first class in English spelling and philosophy, Nickleby,"
said Squeers, beckoning Nicholas to stand beside him. "Now then, where's
the first boy?"
"Please, sir, he's cleaning the back parlour window."
"So he is, to be sure," replied Squeers. "We go upon the practical mode
of teaching, Nickleby; the regular education system. C-l-e-a-n, clean,
verb active, to make bright. W-i-n, win; d-e-r, winder, a casement. When
the boy knows this out of a book, he goes and does it. Where's the
second boy?"
"Please, sir, he's weeding the garden."
"So he is," said Squeers. B-o-t, bot; t-i-n, bottin; n-e-y, ney,
bottiney, noun substantive, a knowledge of plants. When he has learned
that bottiney means a knowledge of plants, he goes and knows 'em. That's
our system, Nickleby. Third boy, what's a horse?"
"A beast, sir," replied the boy.
"So it is," said Squeers. "A horse is a quadruped, and quadruped's Latin
for beast, as everybody that's gone through the grammar knows. As you're
perfect in that, go and look after _my_ horse, and rub him down well, or
I'll rub you down. The rest of the class go and draw water up, till
somebody tells you to leave off, for it's washing day to-morrow, and
they want the coppers filled."
The deficiencies of Mr. Squeers' scholastic methods were made up by
lavish punishments, and Nicholas was compelled to stand by every day and
see the unfortunate pupils of Dotheboys Hall beaten without mercy, and
know that he could do nothing to alleviate their misery.
In particular the plight of one poor boy, older than the rest, called
Smike, a drudge whom starvation and ill-treatment had rendered dull and
slow-witted, aroused all Nicholas's pity.
It was Smike who was the cause of Nicholas leaving Yorkshire.
Nicholas could endure the coarse and brutal language of Squeers, the
displeasure of Mrs. Squeers (who decided that the new usher was "a
proud, haughty, consequential, turned-up-nosed peacock," and that "she'd
bring his pride down"), and the petty indignities this lady could
inflict upon him. He bore with the bad food, dirty lodging, and daily
round of squalid misery in the school.
But there came a day when Smike, unable to face his tormentors any
longer, ran away. He was taken within four-and-twenty hours, and brought
back, bedabbled with mud and rain, haggard and worn--to all appearance
more dead than alive.
The work this unhappy drudge performed would have cost the establishment
some ten or twelve shillings a week in the way of wages, and Squeers,
who, as a matter of policy, made severe examples of all runaways from
Dotheboys Hall, prepared to take full vengeance on Smike.
At the first blow Smike uttered a shriek of pain, and Nicholas Nickleby
started up from his desk, and cried "Stop!" in a furious voice.
"Touch that boy at your peril. I will not stand by and see it done."
He had scarcely spoken, when Squeers, in a violent outbreak of wrath,
spat upon him, and struck him across the face with his cane.
All Nicholas's feelings of rage, scorn, and indignation were
concentrated into that moment, and, smarting at the blow, he sprang upon
the schoolmaster, wrested the weapon from him, and, pinning him by the
throat, beat the ruffian until he roared for mercy.
Mrs. Squeers, with many shrieks for aid, hung on to the tail of her
partner's coat, and tried to drag him from his infuriated adversary.
With the result that when Nicholas, having thrown all his remaining
strength into a half dozen finishing cuts, flung the schoolmaster from
him with all the force he could muster, Mrs. Squeers was precipitated
over an adjacent form; and Squeers, striking his head against it in his
descent, lay at full length on the ground, stunned and motionless.
Nicholas, assured that Squeers was only stunned, and not dead, left the
room, packed up his few clothes in a small leathern valise, marched
boldly out by the front door, and struck into the road for London.
_III.--Brighter Days for Nicholas_
After many adventures in the quest of fortune, Nicholas, who had spurned
all further connection with his uncle, stood one day outside a registry
office in London. And as he stood there looking at the various placards
in the window, an old gentleman, a sturdy old fellow in broad-skirted
blue coat, happened to stop too.
Nicholas caught the old gentleman's eye, and began to wonder whether the
stranger could by any possibility be looking for a clerk or secretary.
As the old gentleman moved away he noticed that Nicholas was about to
speak, and good-naturedly stood still.
"I was only going to say," said Nicholas, "that I hoped you had some
object in consulting those advertisements in the window."
"Ay, ay; what object now?" returned the old gentleman. "Did you think I
wanted a situation now, eh? I thought the same of you, at first, upon my
word I did."
"If you had thought so at last, too, sir, you would not have been far
from the truth," rejoined Nicholas. "The kindness of your face and
manner--both so unlike any I have ever seen--tempt me to speak in a way
I should never dream of doing to a stranger in this wilderness of
London."
"Wilderness! Yes, it is; it is. It was a wilderness to me once. I came
here barefoot--I have never forgotten it. What's the matter, how did it
all come about?" said the old man, laying his hand on the shoulder of
Nicholas, and walking him up the street. "In mourning, too, eh?" laying
his finger on the sleeve of his black coat.
"My father," replied Nicholas.
"Bad thing for a young man to lose his father. Widowed mother, perhaps?"
Nicholas nodded.
"Brothers and sisters, too, eh?"
"One sister."
"Poor thing, poor thing! You're a scholar too, I dare say. Education's a
great thing. I never had any. I admire it the more in others. A very
fine thing. Tell me more of your history, all of it. No impertinent
curiosity--no, no!"
There was something so earnest and guileless in the way this was said
that Nicholas could not resist it. So he told his story, and, at the
end, the old gentleman carried him straight off to the City, where they
emerged in a quiet, shady square. The old gentleman led the way into
some business premises, which had the inscription, "Cheeryble Brothers,"
on the doorpost, and stopped to speak to an elderly, large-faced clerk
in the counting-house.
"Is my brother in his room, Tim?" said Mr. Cheeryble.
"Yes, he is, sir," said the clerk.
What was the amazement of Nicholas when his conductor took him into a
room and presented him to another old gentleman, the very type and model
of himself--the same face and figure, the same clothes. Nobody could
have doubted their being twin brothers.
"Brother Ned," said Nicholas's friend, "here is a young friend of mine
that we must assist." Then brother Charles related what Nicholas had
told him. And, after that, and some conversation between the brothers,
Tim Linkinwater was called in, and brother Ned whispered a few words in
his ear.
"Tim," said brother Charles, "you understand that we have an intention
of taking this young gentleman into the counting-house."
Brother Ned remarked that Tim quite approved of it, and Tim, having
nodded, said, with resolution, "But I'm not coming an hour later in the
morning, you know. I'm not going to the country either. It's forty-four
years since I first kept the books of Cheeryble Brothers. I've opened
the safe all that time every morning at nine, and I've never slept out
of the back attic one single night. This ain't the first time you've
talked about superannuating me, Mr. Edwin and Mr. Charles; but, if you
please, we'll make it the last, and drop the subject for evermore."
With which words Tim Linkinwater stalked out, with the air of a man who
was thoroughly resolved not to be put down.
The brothers coughed.
"He must be done something with, brother Ned. We must, disregard his
scruples; he must be made a partner."
"Quite right, quite right, brother Charles. If he won't listen to
reason, we must do it against his will. But, in the meantime, we are
keeping our young friend, and the poor lady and her daughter will be
anxious for his return. So let us say good-bye for the present." And at
that the brothers hurried Nicholas out of the office, shaking hands with
him all the way.
That was the beginning of brighter days for Nicholas and for Mrs.
Nickleby and Kate. The brothers Cheeryble not only took Nicholas into
their office, but a small cottage at Bow, then quite out in the country,
was found for the widow and her children.
There never was such a week of discoveries and surprises as the first
week at that cottage. Every night when Nicholas came home, something new
had been found. One day it was a grape-vine, and another day it was a
boiler, and another day it was the key of the front parlour cupboard at
the bottom of the water-butt, and so on through a hundred items.
As for Nicholas's work in the counting-house, Tim Linkinwater was
satisfied with the young man the very first day.
Tim turned pale and stood watching with breathless anxiety when Nicholas
made his first entry in the books of Cheeryble Brothers, while the two
brothers looked on with smiling faces.
Presently the old clerk nodded his head, signifying "He'll do." But when
Nicholas stopped to refer to some other page, Tim Linkinwater, unable to
restrain his satisfaction any longer, descended from his stool, and
caught him rapturously by the hand.
"He has done it!" said Tim, looking round triumphantly at his employers.
"His capital 'B's' and 'D's' are exactly like mine; he dots his small
'i's' and crosses every 't.' There ain't such a young man in all London.
The City can't produce his equal. I challenge the City to do it!"
_IV.--The Brothers Cheeryble_
In course of time the brothers Cheeryble, in their frequent visits to
the cottage at Bow, often took with them their nephew Frank; and it also
happened that Miss Madeline Bray, a ward of the brothers, was taken to
the cottage to recover from a serious illness.
Nicholas, from the first time he had seen Madeline in the office of
Cheeryble Brothers, had fallen in love with her; but he decided that as
an honourable man no word of love must pass his lips. While Kate
Nickleby had been equally firm in declining to listen to any proposal
from Frank.
It was some time after Madeline had left the cottage, and Nicholas and
Kate had begun to try in good earnest to stifle their own regrets, and
to live for each other and for their mother, when there came one
evening, per Mr. Linkinwater, an invitation from the brothers to dinner
on the next day but one.
"You may depend on it that this means something besides dinner," said
Mrs. Nickleby solemnly.
When the great day arrived who should be there at the house of the
brothers but Frank and Madeline.
"Young men," said brother Charles, "shake hands."
"I need no bidding to do that," said Nicholas.
"Nor I," rejoined Frank, and the two young men clasped hands heartily.
The old gentleman took them aside.
"I wish to see you friends--close and firm friends. Frank, look here!
Mrs. Nickleby, will you come on the other side? This is a copy of the
will of Madeline's grandfather, bequeathing her the sum of £12,000. Now,
Frank, you were largely instrumental in recovering this document. The
fortune is but a small one, but we love Madeline. Will you become a
suitor for her hand?"
"No, sir. I interested myself in the recovery of that instrument,
believing that her hand was already pledged elsewhere. In this, it
seems, I judged hastily."
"As you always do, sir!" cried brother Charles. "How dare you think,
Frank, that we could have you marry for money? How dare you go and make
love to Mr. Nickleby's sister without telling us first, and letting us
speak for you. Mr. Nickleby, sir, Frank judged hastily, but he judged,
for once, correctly. Madeline's heart is occupied--give me your hand--it
is occupied by you and worthily. She chooses you, Mr. Nickleby, as we,
her dearest friends, would have her choose. Frank chooses as we would
have _him_ choose. He should have your sister's little hand, sir, if she
had refused it a score of times--ay, he should, and he shall! What? You
are the children of a worthy gentleman. The time was, sir, when my
brother Ned and I were two poor, simple-hearted boys, wandering almost
barefoot to seek bur fortunes. Oh, Ned, Ned, Ned, what a happy day this
is for you and me! If our poor mother had only lived to see us now, Ned,
how proud it would have made her dear heart at last!"
So Madeline gave her heart and fortune to Nicholas, and on the same day,
and at the same time, Kate became Mrs. Frank Cheeryble. Madeline's money
was invested in the firm of Cheeryble Brothers, in which Nicholas had
become a partner, and before many years elapsed the business was carried
on in the names of "Cheeryble and Nickleby."
Tim Linkinwater condescended, after much entreating and brow-beating, to
accept a share in the house; but he could never be prevailed upon to
suffer the publication of his name as partner, and always persisted in
the punctual and regular discharge of his clerkly duties.
The twin brothers retired. Who needs to be told that they were happy?
The first act of Nicholas, when he became a rich and prosperous
merchant, was to buy his father's old house. As time crept on, and there
came gradually about him a group of lovely children, it was altered and
enlarged; but no tree was rooted up, nothing with which there was any
association of bygone times was ever removed or changed. Mr. Squeers,
having come within the meshes of the law over some nefarious scheme of
Ralph Nickleby's, suffered transportation beyond the seas, and with his
disappearance Dotheboys Hall was broken up for good.
* * * * *