NICHOLAS NICKLEBY (Illustrated). Charles Dickens

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      ‘Sit down, my dear,’ said the gentleman: first staring Miss Nickleby out of countenance, and then grinning in delight at the achievement. ‘This cursed high room takes one’s breath away. These infernal sky parlours—I’m afraid I must move, Nickleby.’

      ‘I would, by all means,’ replied Ralph, looking bitterly round.

      ‘What a demd rum fellow you are, Nickleby,’ said the gentleman, ‘the demdest, longest-headed, queerest-tempered old coiner of gold and silver ever was—demmit.’

      Having complimented Ralph to this effect, the gentleman rang the bell, and stared at Miss Nickleby until it was answered, when he left off to bid the man desire his mistress to come directly; after which, he began again, and left off no more until Madame Mantalini appeared.

      The dressmaker was a buxom person, handsomely dressed and rather good-looking, but much older than the gentleman in the Turkish trousers, whom she had wedded some six months before. His name was originally Muntle; but it had been converted, by an easy transition, into Mantalini: the lady rightly considering that an English appellation would be of serious injury to the business. He had married on his whiskers; upon which property he had previously subsisted, in a genteel manner, for some years; and which he had recently improved, after patient cultivation by the addition of a moustache, which promised to secure him an easy independence: his share in the labours of the business being at present confined to spending the money, and occasionally, when that ran short, driving to Mr. Ralph Nickleby to procure discount—at a percentage—for the customers’ bills.

      ‘My life,’ said Mr. Mantalini, ‘what a demd devil of a time you have been!’

      ‘I didn’t even know Mr. Nickleby was here, my love,’ said Madame Mantalini.

      ‘Then what a doubly demd infernal rascal that footman must be, my soul,’ remonstrated Mr. Mantalini.

      ‘My dear,’ said Madame, ‘that is entirely your fault.’

      ‘My fault, my heart’s joy?’

      ‘Certainly,’ returned the lady; ‘what can you expect, dearest, if you will not correct the man?’

      ‘Correct the man, my soul’s delight!’

      ‘Yes; I am sure he wants speaking to, badly enough,’ said Madame, pouting.

      ‘Then do not vex itself,’ said Mr. Mantalini; ‘he shall be horse-whipped till he cries out demnebly.’ With this promise Mr. Mantalini kissed Madame Mantalini, and, after that performance, Madame Mantalini pulled Mr Mantalini playfully by the ear: which done, they descended to business.

      ‘Now, ma’am,’ said Ralph, who had looked on, at all this, with such scorn as few men can express in looks, ‘this is my niece.’

      ‘Just so, Mr. Nickleby,’ replied Madame Mantalini, surveying Kate from head to foot, and back again. ‘Can you speak French, child?’

      ‘Yes, ma’am,’ replied Kate, not daring to look up; for she felt that the eyes of the odious man in the dressing-gown were directed towards her.

      ‘Like a demd native?’ asked the husband.

      Miss Nickleby offered no reply to this inquiry, but turned her back upon the questioner, as if addressing herself to make answer to what his wife might demand.

      ‘We keep twenty young women constantly employed in the establishment,’ said Madame.

      ‘Indeed, ma’am!’ replied Kate, timidly.

      ‘Yes; and some of ‘em demd handsome, too,’ said the master.

      ‘Mantalini!’ exclaimed his wife, in an awful voice.

      ‘My senses’ idol!’ said Mantalini.

      ‘Do you wish to break my heart?’

      ‘Not for twenty thousand hemispheres populated with—with—with little ballet-dancers,’ replied Mantalini in a poetical strain.

      ‘Then you will, if you persevere in that mode of speaking,’ said his wife. ‘What can Mr. Nickleby think when he hears you?’

      ‘Oh! Nothing, ma’am, nothing,’ replied Ralph. ‘I know his amiable nature, and yours,—mere little remarks that give a zest to your daily intercourse—lovers’ quarrels that add sweetness to those domestic joys which promise to last so long—that’s all; that’s all.’

      If an iron door could be supposed to quarrel with its hinges, and to make a firm resolution to open with slow obstinacy, and grind them to powder in the process, it would emit a pleasanter sound in so doing, than did these words in the rough and bitter voice in which they were uttered by Ralph. Even Mr. Mantalini felt their influence, and turning affrighted round, exclaimed: ‘What a demd horrid croaking!’

      ‘You will pay no attention, if you please, to what Mr. Mantalini says,’ observed his wife, addressing Miss Nickleby.

      ‘I do not, ma’am,’ said Kate, with quiet contempt.

      ‘Mr. Mantalini knows nothing whatever about any of the young women,’ continued Madame, looking at her husband, and speaking to Kate. ‘If he has seen any of them, he must have seen them in the street, going to, or returning from, their work, and not here. He was never even in the room. I do not allow it. What hours of work have you been accustomed to?’

      ‘I have never yet been accustomed to work at all, ma’am,’ replied Kate, in a low voice.

      ‘For which reason she’ll work all the better now,’ said Ralph, putting in a word, lest this confession should injure the negotiation.

      ‘I hope so,’ returned Madame Mantalini; ‘our hours are from nine to nine, with extra work when we’re very full of business, for which I allow payment as overtime.’

      Kate bowed her head, to intimate that she heard, and was satisfied.

      ‘Your meals,’ continued Madame Mantalini, ‘that is, dinner and tea, you will take here. I should think your wages would average from five to seven shillings a week; but I can’t give you any certain information on that point, until I see what you can do.’

      Kate bowed her head again.

      ‘If you’re ready to come,’ said Madame Mantalini, ‘you had better begin on Monday morning at nine exactly, and Miss Knag the forewoman shall then have directions to try you with some easy work at first. Is there anything more, Mr. Nickleby?’

      ‘Nothing more, ma’am,’ replied Ralph, rising.

      ‘Then I believe that’s all,’ said the lady. Having arrived at this natural conclusion, she looked at the door, as if she wished to be gone, but hesitated notwithstanding, as though unwilling to leave to Mr. Mantalini the sole honour of showing them downstairs. Ralph relieved her from her perplexity by taking his departure without delay: Madame Mantalini making many gracious inquiries why he never came to see them; and Mr. Mantalini anathematising the stairs with great volubility as he followed them down, in the hope of inducing Kate to look round,—a hope, СКАЧАТЬ