Nicholas seeks to employ himself in a New Capacity, and being
unsuccessful, accepts an engagement as Tutor in a Private Family
The first care of Nicholas, next morning, was, to look after some room
in which, until better times dawned upon him, he could contrive to
exist, without trenching upon the hospitality of Newman Noggs, who would
have slept upon the stairs with pleasure, so that his young friend was
accommodated.
The vacant apartment to which the bill in the parlour window bore
reference, appeared, on inquiry, to be a small back-room on the second
floor, reclaimed from the leads, and overlooking a soot-bespeckled
prospect of tiles and chimney-pots. For the letting of this portion of
the house from week to week, on reasonable terms, the parlour lodger was
empowered to treat; he being deputed by the landlord to dispose of
the rooms as they became vacant, and to keep a sharp look-out that the
lodgers didn’t run away. As a means of securing the punctual discharge
of which last service he was permitted to live rent-free, lest he should
at any time be tempted to run away himself.
Of this chamber, Nicholas became the tenant; and having hired a few
common articles of furniture from a neighbouring broker, and paid
the first week’s hire in advance, out of a small fund raised by the
conversion of some spare clothes into ready money, he sat himself down
to ruminate upon his prospects, which, like the prospect outside his
window, were sufficiently confined and dingy. As they by no means
improved on better acquaintance, and as familiarity breeds contempt, he
resolved to banish them from his thoughts by dint of hard walking. So,
taking up his hat, and leaving poor Smike to arrange and rearrange the
room with as much delight as if it had been the costliest palace, he
betook himself to the streets, and mingled with the crowd which thronged
them.
Although a man may lose a sense of his own importance when he is a mere
unit among a busy throng, all utterly regardless of him, it by no means
follows that he can dispossess himself, with equal facility, of a very
strong sense of the importance and magnitude of his cares. The unhappy
state of his own affairs was the one idea which occupied the brain of
Nicholas, walk as fast as he would; and when he tried to dislodge it by
speculating on the situation and prospects of the people who surrounded
him, he caught himself, in a few seconds, contrasting their condition
with his own, and gliding almost imperceptibly back into his old train
of thought again.
Occupied in these reflections, as he was making his way along one of the
great public thoroughfares of London, he chanced to raise his eyes to
a blue board, whereon was inscribed, in characters of gold, ‘General
Agency Office; for places and situations of all kinds inquire within.’
It was a shop-front, fitted up with a gauze blind and an inner door;
and in the window hung a long and tempting array of written placards,
announcing vacant places of every grade, from a secretary’s to a
foot-boy’s.
Nicholas halted, instinctively, before this temple of promise, and ran
his eye over the capital-text openings in life which were so profusely
displayed. When he had completed his survey he walked on a little way,
and then back, and then on again; at length, after pausing irresolutely
several times before the door of the General Agency Office, he made up
his mind, and stepped in.
He found himself in a little floor-clothed room, with a high desk railed
off in one corner, behind which sat a lean youth with cunning eyes and a
protruding chin, whose performances in capital-text darkened the window.
He had a thick ledger lying open before him, and with the fingers of his
right hand inserted between the leaves, and his eyes fixed on a very
fat old lady in a mob-cap--evidently the proprietress of the
establishment--who was airing herself at the fire, seemed to be only
waiting her directions to refer to some entries contained within its
rusty clasps.
As there was a board outside, which acquainted the public that
servants-of-all-work were perpetually in waiting to be hired from ten
till four, Nicholas knew at once that some half-dozen strong young
women, each with pattens and an umbrella, who were sitting upon a form
in one corner, were in attendance for that purpose: especially as the
poor things looked anxious and weary. He was not quite so certain of the
callings and stations of two smart young ladies who were in conversation
with the fat lady before the fire, until--having sat himself down in a
corner, and remarked that he would wait until the other customers had
been served--the fat lady resumed the dialogue which his entrance had
interrupted.
‘Cook, Tom,’ said the fat lady, still airing herself as aforesaid.
‘Cook,’ said Tom, turning over some leaves of the ledger. ‘Well!’
‘Read out an easy place or two,’ said the fat lady.
‘Pick out very light ones, if you please, young man,’ interposed a
genteel female, in shepherd’s-plaid boots, who appeared to be the
client.
‘“Mrs. Marker,”’ said Tom, reading, ‘“Russell Place, Russell Square;
offers eighteen guineas; tea and sugar found. Two in family, and see
very little company. Five servants kept. No man. No followers.”’
‘Oh Lor!’ tittered the client. ‘THAT won’t do. Read another, young man,
will you?’
‘“Mrs. Wrymug,”’ said Tom, ‘“Pleasant Place, Finsbury. Wages, twelve
guineas. No tea, no sugar. Serious family--“’
‘Ah! you needn’t mind reading that,’ interrupted the client.
‘“Three serious footmen,”’ said Tom, impressively.
‘Three? did you say?’ asked the client in an altered tone.
‘Three serious footmen,’ replied Tom. ‘“Cook, housemaid, and nursemaid;
each female servant required to join the Little Bethel Congregation
three times every Sunday--with a serious footman. If the cook is more
serious than the footman, she will be expected to improve the footman;
if the footman is more serious than the cook, he will be expected to
improve the cook.”’
‘I’ll take the address of that place,’ said the client; ‘I don’t know
but what it mightn’t suit me pretty well.’
‘Here’s another,’ remarked Tom, turning over the leaves. ‘“Family of Mr
Gallanbile, MP. Fifteen guineas, tea and sugar, and servants allowed
to see male cousins, if godly. Note. Cold dinner in the kitchen on the
Sabbath, Mr. Gallanbile being devoted to the Observance question. No
victuals whatever cooked on the Lord’s Day, with the exception of dinner
for Mr. and Mrs. Gallanbile, which, being a work of piety and necessity,
is exempted. Mr. Gallanbile dines late on the day of rest, in order to
prevent the sinfulness of the cook’s dressing herself.”’
‘I don’t think that’ll answer as well as the other,’ said the client,
after a little whispering with her friend. ‘I’ll take the other
direction, if you please, young man. I can but come back again, if it
don’t do.’
Tom made out the address, as requested, and the genteel client,
having satisfied the fat lady with a small fee, meanwhile, went away
accompanied by her friend.
As Nicholas opened his mouth, to request the young man to turn to letter
S, and let him know what secretaryships remained undisposed of, there
came into the office an applicant, in whose favour he immediately
retired, and whose appearance both surprised and interested him.
This was a young lady who could be scarcely eighteen, of very slight and
delicate figure, but exquisitely shaped, who, walking timidly up to the
desk, made an inquiry, in a very low tone of voice, relative to some
situation as governess, or companion to a lady. She raised her veil, for
an instant, while she preferred the inquiry, and disclosed a countenance
of most uncommon beauty, though shaded by a cloud of sadness, which, in
one so young, was doubly remarkable. Having received a card of reference
to some person on the books, she made the usual acknowledgment, and
glided away.
She was neatly, but very quietly attired; so much so, indeed, that it
seemed as though her dress, if it had been worn by one who imparted
fewer graces of her own to it, might have looked poor and shabby. Her
attendant--for she had one--was a red-faced, round-eyed, slovenly girl,
who, from a certain roughness about the bare arms that peeped from under
her draggled shawl, and the half-washed-out traces of smut and
blacklead which tattooed her countenance, was clearly of a kin with the
servants-of-all-work on the form: between whom and herself there had
passed various grins and glances, indicative of the freemasonry of the
craft.
This girl followed her mistress; and, before Nicholas had recovered from
the first effects of his surprise and admiration, the young lady was
gone. It is not a matter of such complete and utter improbability as
some sober people may think, that he would have followed them out,
had he not been restrained by what passed between the fat lady and her
book-keeper.
‘When is she coming again, Tom?’ asked the fat lady.
‘Tomorrow morning,’ replied Tom, mending his pen.
‘Where have you sent her to?’ asked the fat lady.
‘Mrs. Clark’s,’ replied Tom.
‘She’ll have a nice life of it, if she goes there,’ observed the fat
lady, taking a pinch of snuff from a tin box.
Tom made no other reply than thrusting his tongue into his cheek,
and pointing the feather of his pen towards Nicholas--reminders which
elicited from the fat lady an inquiry, of ‘Now, sir, what can we do for
YOU?’
Nicholas briefly replied, that he wanted to know whether there was any
such post to be had, as secretary or amanuensis to a gentleman.
‘Any such!’ rejoined the mistress; ‘a-dozen-such. An’t there, Tom?’
‘I should think so,’ answered that young gentleman; and as he said it,
he winked towards Nicholas, with a degree of familiarity which he,
no doubt, intended for a rather flattering compliment, but with which
Nicholas was most ungratefully disgusted.
Upon reference to the book, it appeared that the dozen secretaryships
had dwindled down to one. Mr. Gregsbury, the great member of parliament,
of Manchester Buildings, Westminster, wanted a young man, to keep his
papers and correspondence in order; and Nicholas was exactly the sort of
young man that Mr. Gregsbury wanted.
‘I don’t know what the terms are, as he said he’d settle them himself
with the party,’ observed the fat lady; ‘but they must be pretty good
ones, because he’s a member of parliament.’
Inexperienced as he was, Nicholas did not feel quite assured of the
force of this reasoning, or the justice of this conclusion; but without
troubling himself to question it, he took down the address, and resolved
to wait upon Mr. Gregsbury without delay.
‘I don’t know what the number is,’ said Tom; ‘but Manchester Buildings
isn’t a large place; and if the worst comes to the worst it won’t take
you very long to knock at all the doors on both sides of the way till
you find him out. I say, what a good-looking gal that was, wasn’t she?’
‘What girl?’ demanded Nicholas, sternly.
‘Oh yes. I know--what gal, eh?’ whispered Tom, shutting one eye, and
cocking his chin in the air. ‘You didn’t see her, you didn’t--I say,
don’t you wish you was me, when she comes tomorrow morning?’
Nicholas looked at the ugly clerk, as if he had a mind to reward his
admiration of the young lady by beating the ledger about his ears,
but he refrained, and strode haughtily out of the office; setting at
defiance, in his indignation, those ancient laws of chivalry, which not
only made it proper and lawful for all good knights to hear the praise
of the ladies to whom they were devoted, but rendered it incumbent upon
them to roam about the world, and knock at head all such matter-of-fact
and un-poetical characters, as declined to exalt, above all the earth,
damsels whom they had never chanced to look upon or hear of--as if that
were any excuse!
Thinking no longer of his own misfortunes, but wondering what could
be those of the beautiful girl he had seen, Nicholas, with many wrong
turns, and many inquiries, and almost as many misdirections, bent his
steps towards the place whither he had been directed.
Within the precincts of the ancient city of Westminster, and within
half a quarter of a mile of its ancient sanctuary, is a narrow and dirty
region, the sanctuary of the smaller members of Parliament in modern
days. It is all comprised in one street of gloomy lodging-houses, from
whose windows, in vacation-time, there frown long melancholy rows of
bills, which say, as plainly as did the countenances of their occupiers,
ranged on ministerial and opposition benches in the session which
slumbers with its fathers, ‘To Let’, ‘To Let’. In busier periods of the
year these bills disappear, and the houses swarm with legislators. There
are legislators in the parlours, in the first floor, in the second, in
the third, in the garrets; the small apartments reek with the breath of
deputations and delegates. In damp weather, the place is rendered close,
by the steams of moist acts of parliament and frouzy petitions; general
postmen grow faint as they enter its infected limits, and shabby figures
in quest of franks, flit restlessly to and fro like the troubled ghosts
of Complete Letter-writers departed. This is Manchester Buildings; and
here, at all hours of the night, may be heard the rattling of latch-keys
in their respective keyholes: with now and then--when a gust of wind
sweeping across the water which washes the Buildings’ feet, impels the
sound towards its entrance--the weak, shrill voice of some young member
practising tomorrow’s speech. All the livelong day, there is a grinding
of organs and clashing and clanging of little boxes of music; for
Manchester Buildings is an eel-pot, which has no outlet but its awkward
mouth--a case-bottle which has no thoroughfare, and a short and narrow
neck--and in this respect it may be typical of the fate of some few
among its more adventurous residents, who, after wriggling themselves
into Parliament by violent efforts and contortions, find that it, too,
is no thoroughfare for them; that, like Manchester Buildings, it leads
to nothing beyond itself; and that they are fain at last to back out, no
wiser, no richer, not one whit more famous, than they went in.
Into Manchester Buildings Nicholas turned, with the address of the great
Mr. Gregsbury in his hand. As there was a stream of people pouring into
a shabby house not far from the entrance, he waited until they had made
their way in, and then making up to the servant, ventured to inquire if
he knew where Mr. Gregsbury lived.
The servant was a very pale, shabby boy, who looked as if he had slept
underground from his infancy, as very likely he had. ‘Mr. Gregsbury?’
said he; ‘Mr. Gregsbury lodges here. It’s all right. Come in!’
Nicholas thought he might as well get in while he could, so in he
walked; and he had no sooner done so, than the boy shut the door, and
made off.
This was odd enough: but what was more embarrassing was, that all along
the passage, and all along the narrow stairs, blocking up the window,
and making the dark entry darker still, was a confused crowd of
persons with great importance depicted in their looks; who were, to all
appearance, waiting in silent expectation of some coming event. From
time to time, one man would whisper to his neighbour, or a little group
would whisper together, and then the whisperers would nod fiercely to
each other, or give their heads a relentless shake, as if they were bent
upon doing something very desperate, and were determined not to be put
off, whatever happened.
As a few minutes elapsed without anything occurring to explain this
phenomenon, and as he felt his own position a peculiarly uncomfortable
one, Nicholas was on the point of seeking some information from the man
next him, when a sudden move was visible on the stairs, and a voice was
heard to cry, ‘Now, gentleman, have the goodness to walk up!’
So far from walking up, the gentlemen on the stairs began to walk down
with great alacrity, and to entreat, with extraordinary politeness, that
the gentlemen nearest the street would go first; the gentlemen nearest
the street retorted, with equal courtesy, that they couldn’t think of
such a thing on any account; but they did it, without thinking of it,
inasmuch as the other gentlemen pressing some half-dozen (among whom was
Nicholas) forward, and closing up behind, pushed them, not merely up the
stairs, but into the very sitting-room of Mr. Gregsbury, which they were
thus compelled to enter with most unseemly precipitation, and without
the means of retreat; the press behind them, more than filling the
apartment.
‘Gentlemen,’ said Mr. Gregsbury, ‘you are welcome. I am rejoiced to see
you.’
For a gentleman who was rejoiced to see a body of visitors, Mr. Gregsbury
looked as uncomfortable as might be; but perhaps this was occasioned by
senatorial gravity, and a statesmanlike habit of keeping his feelings
under control. He was a tough, burly, thick-headed gentleman, with a
loud voice, a pompous manner, a tolerable command of sentences with no
meaning in them, and, in short, every requisite for a very good member
indeed.
‘Now, gentlemen,’ said Mr. Gregsbury, tossing a great bundle of papers
into a wicker basket at his feet, and throwing himself back in his chair
with his arms over the elbows, ‘you are dissatisfied with my conduct, I
see by the newspapers.’
‘Yes, Mr. Gregsbury, we are,’ said a plump old gentleman in a violent
heat, bursting out of the throng, and planting himself in the front.
‘Do my eyes deceive me,’ said Mr. Gregsbury, looking towards the speaker,
‘or is that my old friend Pugstyles?’
‘I am that man, and no other, sir,’ replied the plump old gentleman.
‘Give me your hand, my worthy friend,’ said Mr. Gregsbury. ‘Pugstyles, my
dear friend, I am very sorry to see you here.’
‘I am very sorry to be here, sir,’ said Mr. Pugstyles; ‘but your conduct,
Mr. Gregsbury, has rendered this deputation from your constituents
imperatively necessary.’
‘My conduct, Pugstyles,’ said Mr. Gregsbury, looking round upon the
deputation with gracious magnanimity--‘my conduct has been, and ever
will be, regulated by a sincere regard for the true and real interests
of this great and happy country. Whether I look at home, or abroad;
whether I behold the peaceful industrious communities of our island
home: her rivers covered with steamboats, her roads with locomotives,
her streets with cabs, her skies with balloons of a power and magnitude
hitherto unknown in the history of aeronautics in this or any other
nation--I say, whether I look merely at home, or, stretching my
eyes farther, contemplate the boundless prospect of conquest and
possession--achieved by British perseverance and British valour--which
is outspread before me, I clasp my hands, and turning my eyes to the
broad expanse above my head, exclaim, “Thank Heaven, I am a Briton!”’
The time had been, when this burst of enthusiasm would have been cheered
to the very echo; but now, the deputation received it with chilling
coldness. The general impression seemed to be, that as an explanation
of Mr. Gregsbury’s political conduct, it did not enter quite enough into
detail; and one gentleman in the rear did not scruple to remark aloud,
that, for his purpose, it savoured rather too much of a ‘gammon’
tendency.
‘The meaning of that term--gammon,’ said Mr. Gregsbury, ‘is unknown
to me. If it means that I grow a little too fervid, or perhaps even
hyperbolical, in extolling my native land, I admit the full justice of
the remark. I AM proud of this free and happy country. My form dilates,
my eye glistens, my breast heaves, my heart swells, my bosom burns, when
I call to mind her greatness and her glory.’
‘We wish, sir,’ remarked Mr. Pugstyles, calmly, ‘to ask you a few
questions.’
‘If you please, gentlemen; my time is yours--and my country’s--and my
country’s--’ said Mr. Gregsbury.
This permission being conceded, Mr. Pugstyles put on his spectacles, and
referred to a written paper which he drew from his pocket; whereupon
nearly every other member of the deputation pulled a written paper from
HIS pocket, to check Mr. Pugstyles off, as he read the questions.
This done, Mr. Pugstyles proceeded to business.
‘Question number one.--Whether, sir, you did not give a voluntary pledge
previous to your election, that in event of your being returned, you
would immediately put down the practice of coughing and groaning in
the House of Commons. And whether you did not submit to be coughed and
groaned down in the very first debate of the session, and have since
made no effort to effect a reform in this respect? Whether you did not
also pledge yourself to astonish the government, and make them shrink in
their shoes? And whether you have astonished them, and made them shrink
in their shoes, or not?’
‘Go on to the next one, my dear Pugstyles,’ said Mr. Gregsbury.
‘Have you any explanation to offer with reference to that question,
sir?’ asked Mr. Pugstyles.
‘Certainly not,’ said Mr. Gregsbury.
The members of the deputation looked fiercely at each other, and
afterwards at the member. ‘Dear Pugstyles’ having taken a very long
stare at Mr. Gregsbury over the tops of his spectacles, resumed his list
of inquiries.
‘Question number two.--Whether, sir, you did not likewise give a
voluntary pledge that you would support your colleague on every
occasion; and whether you did not, the night before last, desert him
and vote upon the other side, because the wife of a leader on that other
side had invited Mrs. Gregsbury to an evening party?’
‘Go on,’ said Mr. Gregsbury.
‘Nothing to say on that, either, sir?’ asked the spokesman.
‘Nothing whatever,’ replied Mr. Gregsbury. The deputation, who had
only seen him at canvassing or election time, were struck dumb by his
coolness. He didn’t appear like the same man; then he was all milk and
honey; now he was all starch and vinegar. But men ARE so different at
different times!
‘Question number three--and last,’ said Mr. Pugstyles, emphatically.
‘Whether, sir, you did not state upon the hustings, that it was your
firm and determined intention to oppose everything proposed; to divide
the house upon every question, to move for returns on every subject,
to place a motion on the books every day, and, in short, in your own
memorable words, to play the very devil with everything and everybody?’
With this comprehensive inquiry, Mr. Pugstyles folded up his list of
questions, as did all his backers.
Mr. Gregsbury reflected, blew his nose, threw himself further back in
his chair, came forward again, leaning his elbows on the table, made a
triangle with his two thumbs and his two forefingers, and tapping his
nose with the apex thereof, replied (smiling as he said it), ‘I deny
everything.’
At this unexpected answer, a hoarse murmur arose from the deputation;
and the same gentleman who had expressed an opinion relative to the
gammoning nature of the introductory speech, again made a monosyllabic
demonstration, by growling out ‘Resign!’ Which growl being taken up by
his fellows, swelled into a very earnest and general remonstrance.
‘I am requested, sir, to express a hope,’ said Mr. Pugstyles, with a
distant bow, ‘that on receiving a requisition to that effect from a
great majority of your constituents, you will not object at once to
resign your seat in favour of some candidate whom they think they can
better trust.’
To this, Mr. Gregsbury read the following reply, which, anticipating the
request, he had composed in the form of a letter, whereof copies had
been made to send round to the newspapers.
‘MY DEAR MR PUGSTYLES,
‘Next to the welfare of our beloved island--this great and free and
happy country, whose powers and resources are, I sincerely believe,
illimitable--I value that noble independence which is an Englishman’s
proudest boast, and which I fondly hope to bequeath to my children,
untarnished and unsullied. Actuated by no personal motives, but moved
only by high and great constitutional considerations; which I will not
attempt to explain, for they are really beneath the comprehension of
those who have not made themselves masters, as I have, of the intricate
and arduous study of politics; I would rather keep my seat, and intend
doing so.
‘Will you do me the favour to present my compliments to the constituent
body, and acquaint them with this circumstance?
‘With great esteem, ‘My dear Mr. Pugstyles, ‘&c.&c.’
‘Then you will not resign, under any circumstances?’ asked the
spokesman.
Mr. Gregsbury smiled, and shook his head.
‘Then, good-morning, sir,’ said Pugstyles, angrily.
‘Heaven bless you!’ said Mr. Gregsbury. And the deputation, with many
growls and scowls, filed off as quickly as the narrowness of the
staircase would allow of their getting down.
The last man being gone, Mr. Gregsbury rubbed his hands and chuckled, as
merry fellows will, when they think they have said or done a more than
commonly good thing; he was so engrossed in this self-congratulation,
that he did not observe that Nicholas had been left behind in the shadow
of the window-curtains, until that young gentleman, fearing he might
otherwise overhear some soliloquy intended to have no listeners, coughed
twice or thrice, to attract the member’s notice.
‘What’s that?’ said Mr. Gregsbury, in sharp accents.
Nicholas stepped forward, and bowed.
‘What do you do here, sir?’ asked Mr. Gregsbury; ‘a spy upon my privacy!
A concealed voter! You have heard my answer, sir. Pray follow the
deputation.’
‘I should have done so, if I had belonged to it, but I do not,’ said
Nicholas.
‘Then how came you here, sir?’ was the natural inquiry of Mr. Gregsbury,
MP. ‘And where the devil have you come from, sir?’ was the question
which followed it.
‘I brought this card from the General Agency Office, sir,’ said
Nicholas, ‘wishing to offer myself as your secretary, and understanding
that you stood in need of one.’
‘That’s all you have come for, is it?’ said Mr. Gregsbury, eyeing him in
some doubt.
Nicholas replied in the affirmative.
‘You have no connection with any of those rascally papers have you?’
said Mr. Gregsbury. ‘You didn’t get into the room, to hear what was going
forward, and put it in print, eh?’
‘I have no connection, I am sorry to say, with anything at present,’
rejoined Nicholas,--politely enough, but quite at his ease.
‘Oh!’ said Mr. Gregsbury. ‘How did you find your way up here, then?’
Nicholas related how he had been forced up by the deputation.
‘That was the way, was it?’ said Mr. Gregsbury. ‘Sit down.’
Nicholas took a chair, and Mr. Gregsbury stared at him for a long time,
as if to make certain, before he asked any further questions, that there
were no objections to his outward appearance.
‘You want to be my secretary, do you?’ he said at length.
‘I wish to be employed in that capacity, sir,’ replied Nicholas.
‘Well,’ said Mr. Gregsbury; ‘now what can you do?’
‘I suppose,’ replied Nicholas, smiling, ‘that I can do what usually
falls to the lot of other secretaries.’
‘What’s that?’ inquired Mr. Gregsbury.
‘What is it?’ replied Nicholas.
‘Ah! What is it?’ retorted the member, looking shrewdly at him, with his
head on one side.
‘A secretary’s duties are rather difficult to define, perhaps,’ said
Nicholas, considering. ‘They include, I presume, correspondence?’
‘Good,’ interposed Mr. Gregsbury.
‘The arrangement of papers and documents?’
‘Very good.’
‘Occasionally, perhaps, the writing from your dictation; and possibly,
sir,’ said Nicholas, with a half-smile, ‘the copying of your speech
for some public journal, when you have made one of more than usual
importance.’
‘Certainly,’ rejoined Mr. Gregsbury. ‘What else?’
‘Really,’ said Nicholas, after a moment’s reflection, ‘I am not able, at
this instant, to recapitulate any other duty of a secretary, beyond the
general one of making himself as agreeable and useful to his employer
as he can, consistently with his own respectability, and without
overstepping that line of duties which he undertakes to perform, and
which the designation of his office is usually understood to imply.’
Mr. Gregsbury looked fixedly at Nicholas for a short time, and then
glancing warily round the room, said in a suppressed voice:
‘This is all very well, Mr--what is your name?’
‘Nickleby.’
‘This is all very well, Mr. Nickleby, and very proper, so far as it
goes--so far as it goes, but it doesn’t go far enough. There are other
duties, Mr. Nickleby, which a secretary to a parliamentary gentleman must
never lose sight of. I should require to be crammed, sir.’
‘I beg your pardon,’ interposed Nicholas, doubtful whether he had heard
aright.
‘--To be crammed, sir,’ repeated Mr. Gregsbury.
‘May I beg your pardon again, if I inquire what you mean, sir?’ said
Nicholas.
‘My meaning, sir, is perfectly plain,’ replied Mr. Gregsbury with a
solemn aspect. ‘My secretary would have to make himself master of the
foreign policy of the world, as it is mirrored in the newspapers; to run
his eye over all accounts of public meetings, all leading articles,
and accounts of the proceedings of public bodies; and to make notes
of anything which it appeared to him might be made a point of, in any
little speech upon the question of some petition lying on the table, or
anything of that kind. Do you understand?’
‘I think I do, sir,’ replied Nicholas.
‘Then,’ said Mr. Gregsbury, ‘it would be necessary for him to make
himself acquainted, from day to day, with newspaper paragraphs on
passing events; such as “Mysterious disappearance, and supposed suicide
of a potboy,” or anything of that sort, upon which I might found a
question to the Secretary of State for the Home Department. Then, he
would have to copy the question, and as much as I remembered of the
answer (including a little compliment about independence and good
sense); and to send the manuscript in a frank to the local paper, with
perhaps half-a-dozen lines of leader, to the effect, that I was always
to be found in my place in parliament, and never shrunk from the
responsible and arduous duties, and so forth. You see?’
Nicholas bowed.
‘Besides which,’ continued Mr. Gregsbury, ‘I should expect him, now and
then, to go through a few figures in the printed tables, and to pick
out a few results, so that I might come out pretty well on timber duty
questions, and finance questions, and so on; and I should like him to
get up a few little arguments about the disastrous effects of a return
to cash payments and a metallic currency, with a touch now and then
about the exportation of bullion, and the Emperor of Russia, and bank
notes, and all that kind of thing, which it’s only necessary to talk
fluently about, because nobody understands it. Do you take me?’
‘I think I understand,’ said Nicholas.
‘With regard to such questions as are not political,’ continued Mr
Gregsbury, warming; ‘and which one can’t be expected to care a curse
about, beyond the natural care of not allowing inferior people to be as
well off as ourselves--else where are our privileges?--I should wish
my secretary to get together a few little flourishing speeches, of a
patriotic cast. For instance, if any preposterous bill were brought
forward, for giving poor grubbing devils of authors a right to their own
property, I should like to say, that I for one would never consent to
opposing an insurmountable bar to the diffusion of literature among THE
PEOPLE,--you understand?--that the creations of the pocket, being man’s,
might belong to one man, or one family; but that the creations of the
brain, being God’s, ought as a matter of course to belong to the people
at large--and if I was pleasantly disposed, I should like to make a joke
about posterity, and say that those who wrote for posterity should be
content to be rewarded by the approbation OF posterity; it might take
with the house, and could never do me any harm, because posterity can’t
be expected to know anything about me or my jokes either--do you see?’
‘I see that, sir,’ replied Nicholas.
‘You must always bear in mind, in such cases as this, where our
interests are not affected,’ said Mr. Gregsbury, ‘to put it very strong
about the people, because it comes out very well at election-time; and
you could be as funny as you liked about the authors; because I believe
the greater part of them live in lodgings, and are not voters. This is
a hasty outline of the chief things you’d have to do, except waiting in
the lobby every night, in case I forgot anything, and should want fresh
cramming; and, now and then, during great debates, sitting in the
front row of the gallery, and saying to the people about--‘You see that
gentleman, with his hand to his face, and his arm twisted round the
pillar--that’s Mr. Gregsbury--the celebrated Mr. Gregsbury,’--with any
other little eulogium that might strike you at the moment. And for
salary,’ said Mr. Gregsbury, winding up with great rapidity; for he was
out of breath--‘and for salary, I don’t mind saying at once in round
numbers, to prevent any dissatisfaction--though it’s more than I’ve been
accustomed to give--fifteen shillings a week, and find yourself. There!’
With this handsome offer, Mr. Gregsbury once more threw himself back in
his chair, and looked like a man who had been most profligately liberal,
but is determined not to repent of it notwithstanding.
‘Fifteen shillings a week is not much,’ said Nicholas, mildly.
‘Not much! Fifteen shillings a week not much, young man?’ cried Mr
Gregsbury. ‘Fifteen shillings a--’
‘Pray do not suppose that I quarrel with the sum, sir,’ replied
Nicholas; ‘for I am not ashamed to confess, that whatever it may be in
itself, to me it is a great deal. But the duties and responsibilities
make the recompense small, and they are so very heavy that I fear to
undertake them.’
‘Do you decline to undertake them, sir?’ inquired Mr. Gregsbury, with his
hand on the bell-rope.
‘I fear they are too great for my powers, however good my will may be,
sir,’ replied Nicholas.
‘That is as much as to say that you had rather not accept the place,
and that you consider fifteen shillings a week too little,’ said Mr
Gregsbury, ringing. ‘Do you decline it, sir?’
‘I have no alternative but to do so,’ replied Nicholas.
‘Door, Matthews!’ said Mr. Gregsbury, as the boy appeared.
‘I am sorry I have troubled you unnecessarily, sir,’ said Nicholas.
‘I am sorry you have,’ rejoined Mr. Gregsbury, turning his back upon him.
‘Door, Matthews!’
‘Good-morning, sir,’ said Nicholas.
‘Door, Matthews!’ cried Mr. Gregsbury.
The boy beckoned Nicholas, and tumbling lazily downstairs before him,
opened the door, and ushered him into the street. With a sad and pensive
air, he retraced his steps homewards.
Smike had scraped a meal together from the remnant of last night’s
supper, and was anxiously awaiting his return. The occurrences of the
morning had not improved Nicholas’s appetite, and, by him, the dinner
remained untasted. He was sitting in a thoughtful attitude, with the
plate which the poor fellow had assiduously filled with the choicest
morsels, untouched, by his side, when Newman Noggs looked into the room.
‘Come back?’ asked Newman.
‘Yes,’ replied Nicholas, ‘tired to death: and, what is worse, might have
remained at home for all the good I have done.’
‘Couldn’t expect to do much in one morning,’ said Newman.
‘Maybe so, but I am sanguine, and did expect,’ said Nicholas, ‘and am
proportionately disappointed.’ Saying which, he gave Newman an account
of his proceedings.
‘If I could do anything,’ said Nicholas, ‘anything, however slight,
until Ralph Nickleby returns, and I have eased my mind by confronting
him, I should feel happier. I should think it no disgrace to work,
Heaven knows. Lying indolently here, like a half-tamed sullen beast,
distracts me.’
‘I don’t know,’ said Newman; ‘small things offer--they would pay the
rent, and more--but you wouldn’t like them; no, you could hardly be
expected to undergo it--no, no.’
‘What could I hardly be expected to undergo?’ asked Nicholas, raising
his eyes. ‘Show me, in this wide waste of London, any honest means by
which I could even defray the weekly hire of this poor room, and see if
I shrink from resorting to them! Undergo! I have undergone too much,
my friend, to feel pride or squeamishness now. Except--’ added Nicholas
hastily, after a short silence, ‘except such squeamishness as is common
honesty, and so much pride as constitutes self-respect. I see little
to choose, between assistant to a brutal pedagogue, and toad-eater to a
mean and ignorant upstart, be he member or no member.’
‘I hardly know whether I should tell you what I heard this morning, or
not,’ said Newman.
‘Has it reference to what you said just now?’ asked Nicholas.
‘It has.’
‘Then in Heaven’s name, my good friend, tell it me,’ said Nicholas. ‘For
God’s sake consider my deplorable condition; and, while I promise to
take no step without taking counsel with you, give me, at least, a vote
in my own behalf.’
Moved by this entreaty, Newman stammered forth a variety of most
unaccountable and entangled sentences, the upshot of which was, that
Mrs. Kenwigs had examined him, at great length that morning, touching
the origin of his acquaintance with, and the whole life, adventures, and
pedigree of, Nicholas; that Newman had parried these questions as
long as he could, but being, at length, hard pressed and driven into a
corner, had gone so far as to admit, that Nicholas was a tutor of
great accomplishments, involved in some misfortunes which he was not at
liberty to explain, and bearing the name of Johnson. That Mrs. Kenwigs,
impelled by gratitude, or ambition, or maternal pride, or maternal love,
or all four powerful motives conjointly, had taken secret conference
with Mr. Kenwigs, and had finally returned to propose that Mr. Johnson
should instruct the four Miss Kenwigses in the French language as spoken
by natives, at the weekly stipend of five shillings, current coin of
the realm; being at the rate of one shilling per week, per each Miss
Kenwigs, and one shilling over, until such time as the baby might be
able to take it out in grammar.
‘Which, unless I am very much mistaken,’ observed Mrs. Kenwigs in making
the proposition, ‘will not be very long; for such clever children, Mr
Noggs, never were born into this world, I do believe.’
‘There,’ said Newman, ‘that’s all. It’s beneath you, I know; but I
thought that perhaps you might--’
‘Might!’ cried Nicholas, with great alacrity; ‘of course I shall. I
accept the offer at once. Tell the worthy mother so, without delay, my
dear fellow; and that I am ready to begin whenever she pleases.’
Newman hastened, with joyful steps, to inform Mrs. Kenwigs of his
friend’s acquiescence, and soon returning, brought back word that they
would be happy to see him in the first floor as soon as convenient;
that Mrs. Kenwigs had, upon the instant, sent out to secure a second-hand
French grammar and dialogues, which had long been fluttering in the
sixpenny box at the bookstall round the corner; and that the family,
highly excited at the prospect of this addition to their gentility,
wished the initiatory lesson to come off immediately.
And here it may be observed, that Nicholas was not, in the ordinary
sense of the word, a young man of high spirit. He would resent an
affront to himself, or interpose to redress a wrong offered to another,
as boldly and freely as any knight that ever set lance in rest; but he
lacked that peculiar excess of coolness and great-minded selfishness,
which invariably distinguish gentlemen of high spirit. In truth, for our
own part, we are disposed to look upon such gentleman as being rather
incumbrances than otherwise in rising families: happening to be
acquainted with several whose spirit prevents their settling down to
any grovelling occupation, and only displays itself in a tendency to
cultivate moustachios, and look fierce; and although moustachios and
ferocity are both very pretty things in their way, and very much to be
commended, we confess to a desire to see them bred at the owner’s proper
cost, rather than at the expense of low-spirited people.
Nicholas, therefore, not being a high-spirited young man according to
common parlance, and deeming it a greater degradation to borrow, for the
supply of his necessities, from Newman Noggs, than to teach French to
the little Kenwigses for five shillings a week, accepted the offer with
the alacrity already described, and betook himself to the first floor
with all convenient speed.
Here, he was received by Mrs. Kenwigs with a genteel air, kindly intended
to assure him of her protection and support; and here, too, he found Mr
Lillyvick and Miss Petowker; the four Miss Kenwigses on their form of
audience; and the baby in a dwarf porter’s chair with a deal tray before
it, amusing himself with a toy horse without a head; the said horse
being composed of a small wooden cylinder, not unlike an Italian iron,
supported on four crooked pegs, and painted in ingenious resemblance of
red wafers set in blacking.
‘How do you do, Mr. Johnson?’ said Mrs. Kenwigs. ‘Uncle--Mr. Johnson.’
‘How do you do, sir?’ said Mr. Lillyvick--rather sharply; for he had not
known what Nicholas was, on the previous night, and it was rather an
aggravating circumstance if a tax collector had been too polite to a
teacher.
‘Mr. Johnson is engaged as private master to the children, uncle,’ said
Mrs. Kenwigs.
‘So you said just now, my dear,’ replied Mr. Lillyvick.
‘But I hope,’ said Mrs. Kenwigs, drawing herself up, ‘that that will not
make them proud; but that they will bless their own good fortune,
which has born them superior to common people’s children. Do you hear,
Morleena?’
‘Yes, ma,’ replied Miss Kenwigs.
‘And when you go out in the streets, or elsewhere, I desire that you
don’t boast of it to the other children,’ said Mrs. Kenwigs; ‘and that if
you must say anything about it, you don’t say no more than “We’ve got a
private master comes to teach us at home, but we ain’t proud, because ma
says it’s sinful.” Do you hear, Morleena?’
‘Yes, ma,’ replied Miss Kenwigs again.
‘Then mind you recollect, and do as I tell you,’ said Mrs. Kenwigs.
‘Shall Mr. Johnson begin, uncle?’
‘I am ready to hear, if Mr. Johnson is ready to commence, my dear,’ said
the collector, assuming the air of a profound critic. ‘What sort of
language do you consider French, sir?’
‘How do you mean?’ asked Nicholas.
‘Do you consider it a good language, sir?’ said the collector; ‘a pretty
language, a sensible language?’
‘A pretty language, certainly,’ replied Nicholas; ‘and as it has a name
for everything, and admits of elegant conversation about everything, I
presume it is a sensible one.’
‘I don’t know,’ said Mr. Lillyvick, doubtfully. ‘Do you call it a
cheerful language, now?’
‘Yes,’ replied Nicholas, ‘I should say it was, certainly.’
‘It’s very much changed since my time, then,’ said the collector, ‘very
much.’
‘Was it a dismal one in your time?’ asked Nicholas, scarcely able to
repress a smile.
‘Very,’ replied Mr. Lillyvick, with some vehemence of manner. ‘It’s the
war time that I speak of; the last war. It may be a cheerful language.
I should be sorry to contradict anybody; but I can only say that I’ve
heard the French prisoners, who were natives, and ought to know how to
speak it, talking in such a dismal manner, that it made one miserable to
hear them. Ay, that I have, fifty times, sir--fifty times!’
Mr. Lillyvick was waxing so cross, that Mrs. Kenwigs thought it expedient
to motion to Nicholas not to say anything; and it was not until Miss
Petowker had practised several blandishments, to soften the excellent
old gentleman, that he deigned to break silence by asking,
‘What’s the water in French, sir?’
‘L’EAU,’ replied Nicholas.
‘Ah!’ said Mr. Lillyvick, shaking his head mournfully, ‘I thought as
much. Lo, eh? I don’t think anything of that language--nothing at all.’
‘I suppose the children may begin, uncle?’ said Mrs. Kenwigs.
‘Oh yes; they may begin, my dear,’ replied the collector,
discontentedly. ‘I have no wish to prevent them.’
This permission being conceded, the four Miss Kenwigses sat in a row,
with their tails all one way, and Morleena at the top: while Nicholas,
taking the book, began his preliminary explanations. Miss Petowker
and Mrs. Kenwigs looked on, in silent admiration, broken only by the
whispered assurances of the latter, that Morleena would have it all by
heart in no time; and Mr. Lillyvick regarded the group with frowning and
attentive eyes, lying in wait for something upon which he could open a
fresh discussion on the language.