Nicholas and his uncle (to secure the fortune without loss of
time) wait upon Mr Wackford Squeers, the Yorkshire schoolmaster
SNOW HILL! What kind of place can the quiet townspeople who see the words
emblazoned, in all the legibility of gilt letters and dark shading, on the
north-country coaches, take Snow Hill to be? All people have some undefined and
shadowy notion of a place whose name is frequently before their eyes, or often
in their ears. What a vast number of random ideas there must be perpetually
floating about, regarding this same Snow Hill. The name is such a good one. Snow
Hill -- Snow Hill too, coupled with a Saracen's Head: picturing to us by a
double association of ideas, something stern and rugged! A bleak desolate tract
of country, open to piercing blasts and fierce wintry storms -- a dark, cold,
gloomy heath, lonely by day, and scarcely to be thought of by honest folks at
night -- a place which solitary wayfarers shun, and where desperate robbers
congregate; -- this, or something like this, should be the prevalent notion of
Snow Hill, in those remote and rustic parts, through which the Saracen's Head,
like some grim apparition, rushes each day and night with mysterious and
ghost-like punctuality; holding its swift and headlong course in all weathers,
and seeming to bid defiance to the very elements themselves.
The reality is rather different, but by no means to be despised
notwithstanding. There, at the very core of London, in the heart of its business
and animation, in the midst of a whirl of noise and motion: stemming as it were
the giant currents of life that flow ceaselessly on from different quarters, and
meet beneath its walls: stands Newgate; and in that crowded street on which it
frowns so darkly -- within a few feet of the squalid tottering houses -- upon
the very spot on which the vendors of soup and fish and damaged fruit are now
plying their trades -- scores of human beings, amidst a roar of sounds to which
even the tumult of a great city is as nothing, four, six, or eight strong men at
a time, have been hurried violently and swiftly from the world, when the scene
has been rendered frightful with excess of human life; when curious eyes have
glared from casement and house-top, and wall and pillar; and when, in the mass
of white and upturned faces, the dying wretch, in his all-comprehensive look of
agony, has met not one -- not one -- that bore the impress of pity or
compassion.
Near to the gaol, and by consequence near to Smithfield also, and the Compter,
and the bustle and noise of the City; and just on that particular part of Snow
Hill where omnibus horses going eastward seriously think of falling down on
purpose, and where horses in hackney cabriolets going westward not unfrequently
fall by accident, is the coach-yard of the Saracen's Head Inn; its portal
guarded by two Saracens' heads and shoulders, which it was once the pride and
glory of the choice spirits of this metropolis to pull down at night, but which
have for some time remained in undisturbed tranquillity; possibly because this
species of humour is now confined to St James's parish, where door knockers are
preferred as being more portable, and bell-wires esteemed as convenient
toothpicks. Whether this be the reason or not, there they are, frowning upon you
from each side of the gateway. The inn itself garnished with another Saracen's
Head, frowns upon you from the top of the yard; while from the door of the hind
boot of all the red coaches that are standing therein, there glares a small
Saracen's Head, with a twin expression to the large Saracens' Heads below, so
that the general appearance of the pile is decidedly of the Saracenic order.
When you walk up this yard, you will see the booking-office on your left, and
the tower of St Sepulchre's church, darting abruptly up into the sky, on your
right, and a gallery of bedrooms on both sides. Just before you, you will
observe a long window with the words `coffee-room' legibly painted above it; and
looking out of that window, you would have seen in addition, if you had gone at
the right time, Mr Wackford Squeers with his hands in his pockets.
Mr Squeers's appearance was not prepossessing. He had but one eye, and the
popular prejudice runs in favour of two. The eye he had, was unquestionably
useful, but decidedly not ornamental: being of a greenish grey, and in shape
resembling the fan-light of a street-door. The blank side of his face was much
wrinkled and puckered up, which gave him a very sinister appearance, especially
when he smiled, at which times his expression bordered closely on the
villainous. His hair was very flat and shiny, save at the ends, where it was
brushed stiffly up from a low protruding forehead, which assorted well with his
harsh voice and coarse manner. He was about two or three and fifty, and a trifle
below the middle size; he wore a white neckerchief with long ends, and a suit of
scholastic black; but his coat sleeves being a great deal too long, and his
trousers a great deal too short, he appeared ill at ease in his clothes, and as
if he were in a perpetual state of astonishment at finding himself so
respectable.
Mr Squeers was standing in a box by one of the coffee-room fire-places,
fitted with one such table as is usually seen in coffee-rooms, and two of
extraordinary shapes and dimensions made to suit the angles of the partition. In
a corner of the seat, was a very small deal trunk, tied round with a scanty
piece of cord; and on the trunk was perched -- his lace-up half-boots and
corduroy trousers dangling in the air -- a diminutive boy, with his shoulders
drawn up to his ears, and his hands planted on his knees, who glanced timidly at
the schoolmaster, from time to time, with evident dread and apprehension.
`Half-past three,' muttered Mr Squeers, turning from the window, and looking
sulkily at the coffee-room clock. `There will be nobody here today.'
Much vexed by this reflection, Mr Squeers looked at the little boy to see
whether he was doing anything he could beat him for. As he happened not to be
doing anything at all, he merely boxed his ears, and told him not to do it
again.
`At Midsummer,' muttered Mr Squeers, resuming his complaint, `I took down ten
boys; ten twenties is two hundred pound. I go back at eight o'clock tomorrow
morning, and have got only three -- three oughts is an ought -- three twos is
six -- sixty pound. What's come of all the boys? what's parents got in their
heads? what does it all mean?'
Here the little boy on the top of the trunk gave a violent sneeze.
`Halloa, sir!' growled the schoolmaster, turning round. `What's that, sir?'
`Nothing, please sir,' replied the little boy.
`Nothing, sir!' exclaimed Mr Squeers.
`Please sir, I sneezed,' rejoined the boy, trembling till the little trunk
shook under him.
`Oh! sneezed, did you?' retorted Mr Squeers. `Then what did you say "nothing"
for, sir?'
In default of a better answer to this question, the little boy screwed a
couple of knuckles into each of his eyes and began to cry, wherefore Mr Squeers
knocked him off the trunk with a blow on one side of the face, and knocked him
on again with a blow on the other.
`Wait till I get you down into Yorkshire, my young gentleman,' said Mr
Squeers, `and then I'll give you the rest. Will you hold that noise, sir?'
`Ye -- ye -- yes,' sobbed the little boy, rubbing his face very hard with the
Beggar's Petition in printed calico.
`Then do so at once, sir,' said Squeers. `Do you hear?'
As this admonition was accompanied with a threatening gesture, and uttered
with a savage aspect, the little boy rubbed his face harder, as if to keep the
tears back; and, beyond alternately sniffing and choking, gave no further vent
to his emotions.
`Mr Squeers,' said the waiter, looking in at this juncture; `here's a
gentleman asking for you at the bar.'
`Show the gentleman in, Richard,' replied Mr Squeers, in a soft voice. `Put
your handkerchief in your pocket, you little scoundrel, or I'll murder you when
the gentleman goes.'
The schoolmaster had scarcely uttered these words in a fierce whisper, when
the stranger entered. Affecting not to see him, Mr Squeers feigned to be intent
upon mending a pen, and offering benevolent advice to his youthful pupil.
`My dear child,' said Mr Squeers, `all people have their trials. This early
trial of yours that is fit to make your little heart burst, and your very eyes
come out of your head with crying, what is it? Nothing; less than nothing. You
are leaving your friends, but you will have a father in me, my dear, and a
mother in Mrs Squeers. At the delightful village of Dotheboys, near Greta Bridge
in Yorkshire, where youth are boarded, clothed, booked, washed, furnished with
pocket-money, provided with all necessaries --'
`It is the gentleman,' observed the stranger, stopping the schoolmaster in
the rehearsal of his advertisement. `Mr Squeers, I believe, sir?'
`The same, sir,' said Mr Squeers, with an assumption of extreme surprise.
`The gentleman,' said the stranger, `that advertised in the Times newspaper?'
`-- Morning Post, Chronicle, Herald, and Advertiser, regarding the Academy
called Dotheboys Hall at the delightful village of Dotheboys, near Greta Bridge
in Yorkshire,' added Mr Squeers. `You come on business, sir. I see by my young
friends. How do you do, my little gentleman? and how do you do, sir?' With this
salutation Mr Squeers patted the heads of two hollow-eyed, small-boned little
boys, whom the applicant had brought with him, and waited for further
communications.
`I am in the oil and colour way. My name is Snawley, sir,' said the stranger.
Squeers inclined his head as much as to say, `And a remarkably pretty name,
too.'
The stranger continued. `I have been thinking, Mr Squeers, of placing my two
boys at your school.'
`It is not for me to say so, sir,' replied Mr Squeers, `but I don't think you
could possibly do a better thing.'
`Hem!' said the other. `Twenty pounds per annewum, I believe, Mr Squeers?'
`Guineas,' rejoined the schoolmaster, with a persuasive smile.
`Pounds for two, I think, Mr Squeers,' said Mr Snawley, solemnly.
`I don't think it could be done, sir,' replied Squeers, as if he had never
considered the proposition before. `Let me see; four fives is twenty, double
that, and deduct the -- well, a pound either way shall not stand betwixt us. You
must recommend me to your connection, sir, and make it up that way.'
`They are not great eaters,' said Mr Snawley.
`Oh! that doesn't matter at all,' replied Squeers. `We don't consider the
boys' appetites at our establishment.' This was strictly true; they did not.
`Every wholesome luxury, sir, that Yorkshire can afford,' continued Squeers;
`every beautiful moral that Mrs Squeers can instil; every -- in short, every
comfort of a home that a boy could wish for, will be theirs, Mr Snawley.'
`I should wish their morals to be particularly attended to,' said Mr Snawley.
`I am glad of that, sir,' replied the schoolmaster, drawing himself up. `They
have come to the right shop for morals, sir.'
`You are a moral man yourself,' said Mr Snawley.
`I rather believe I am, sir,' replied Squeers.
`I have the satisfaction to know you are, sir,' said Mr Snawley. `I asked one
of your references, and he said you were pious.'
`Well, sir, I hope I am a little in that line,' replied Squeers.
`I hope I am also,' rejoined the other. `Could I say a few words with you in
the next box?'
`By all means,' rejoined Squeers with a grin. `My dears, will you speak to
your new playfellow a minute or two? That is one of my boys, sir. Belling his
name is, -- a Taunton boy that, sir.'
`Is he, indeed?' rejoined Mr Snawley, looking at the poor little urchin as if
he were some extraordinary natural curiosity.
`He goes down with me tomorrow, sir,' said Squeers. `That's his luggage that
he is a sitting upon now. Each boy is required to bring, sir, two suits of
clothes, six shirts, six pair of stockings, two nightcaps, two
pocket-handkerchiefs, two pair of shoes, two hats, and a razor.'
`A razor!' exclaimed Mr Snawley, as they walked into the next box. `What
for?'
`To shave with,' replied Squeers, in a slow and measured tone.
There was not much in these three words, but there must have been something
in the manner in which they were said, to attract attention; for the
schoolmaster and his companion looked steadily at each other for a few seconds,
and then exchanged a very meaning smile. Snawley was a sleek, flat-nosed man,
clad in sombre garments, and long black gaiters, and bearing in his countenance
an expression of much mortification and sanctity; so, his smiling without any
obvious reason was the more remarkable.
`Up to what age do you keep boys at your school then?' he asked at length.
`Just as long as their friends make the quarterly payments to my agent in
town, or until such time as they run away,' replied Squeers. `Let us understand
each other; I see we may safely do so. What are these boys; -- natural
children?'
`No,' rejoined Snawley, meeting the gaze of the schoolmaster's one eye. `They
ain't.'
`I thought they might be,' said Squeers, coolly. `We have a good many of
them; that boy's one.'
`Him in the next box?' said Snawley.
Squeers nodded in the affirmative; his companion took another peep at the
little boy on the trunk, and, turning round again, looked as if he were quite
disappointed to see him so much like other boys, and said he should hardly have
thought it.
`He is,' cried Squeers. `But about these boys of yours; you wanted to speak
to me?'
`Yes,' replied Snawley. `The fact is, I am not their father, Mr Squeers. I'm
only their father-in-law.'
`Oh! Is that it?' said the schoolmaster. `That explains it at once. I was
wondering what the devil you were going to send them to Yorkshire for. Ha! ha!
Oh, I understand now.'
`You see I have married the mother,' pursued Snawley; `it's expensive keeping
boys at home, and as she has a little money in her own right, I am afraid (women
are so very foolish, Mr Squeers) that she might be led to squander it on them,
which would be their ruin, you know.'
`I see,' returned Squeers, throwing himself back in his chair, and waving his
hand.
`And this,' resumed Snawley, `has made me anxious to put them to some school
a good distance off, where there are no holidays -- none of those ill-judged
coming home twice a year that unsettle children's minds so -- and where they may
rough it a little -- you comprehend?'
`The payments regular, and no questions asked,' said Squeers, nodding his
head.
`That's it, exactly,' rejoined the other. `Morals strictly attended to,
though.'
`Strictly,' said Squeers.
`Not too much writing home allowed, I suppose?' said the father-in-law,
hesitating.
`None, except a circular at Christmas, to say they never were so happy, and
hope they may never be sent for,' rejoined Squeers.
`Nothing could be better,' said the father-in-law, rubbing his hands.
`Then, as we understand each other,' said Squeers, `will you allow me to ask
you whether you consider me a highly virtuous, exemplary, and well-conducted man
in private life; and whether, as a person whose business it is to take charge of
youth, you place the strongest confidence in my unimpeachable integrity,
liberality, religious principles, and ability?'
`Certainly I do,' replied the father-in-law, reciprocating the schoolmaster's
grin.
`Perhaps you won't object to say that, if I make you a reference?'
`Not the least in the world.'
`That's your sort!' said Squeers, taking up a pen; `this is doing business,
and that's what I like.'
Having entered Mr Snawley's address, the schoolmaster had next to perform the
still more agreeable office of entering the receipt of the first quarter's
payment in advance, which he had scarcely completed, when another voice was
heard inquiring for Mr Squeers.
`Here he is,' replied the schoolmaster; `what is it?'
`Only a matter of business, sir,' said Ralph Nickleby, presenting himself,
closely followed by Nicholas. `There was an advertisement of yours in the papers
this morning?'
`There was, sir. This way, if you please,' said Squeers, who had by this time
got back to the box by the fire-place. `Won't you be seated?'
`Why, I think I will,' replied Ralph, suiting the action to the word, and
placing his hat on the table before him. `This is my nephew, sir, Mr Nicholas
Nickleby.'
`How do you do, sir?' said Squeers.
Nicholas bowed, said he was very well, and seemed very much astonished at the
outward appearance of the proprietor of Dotheboys Hall: as indeed he was.
`Perhaps you recollect me?' said Ralph, looking narrowly at the schoolmaster.
`You paid me a small account at each of my half-yearly visits to town, for
some years, I think, sir,' replied Squeers.
`I did,' rejoined Ralph.
`For the parents of a boy named Dorker, who unfortunately --'
`-- Unfortunately died at Dotheboys Hall,' said Ralph, finishing the
sentence.
`I remember very well, sir,' rejoined Squeers. `Ah! Mrs Squeers, sir, was as
partial to that lad as if he had been her own; the attention, sir, that was
bestowed upon that boy in his illness! Dry toast and warm tea offered him every
night and morning when he couldn't swallow anything -- a candle in his bedroom
on the very night he died -- the best dictionary sent up for him to lay his head
upon -- I don't regret it though. It is a pleasant thing to reflect that one did
one's duty by him.'
Ralph smiled, as if he meant anything but smiling, and looked round at the
strangers present.
`These are only some pupils of mine,' said Wackford Squeers, pointing to the
little boy on the trunk and the two little boys on the floor, who had been
staring at each other without uttering a word, and writhing their bodies into
most remarkable contortions, according to the custom of little boys when they
first become acquainted. `This gentleman, sir, is a parent who is kind enough to
compliment me upon the course of education adopted at Dotheboys Hall, which is
situated, sir, at the delightful village of Dotheboys, near Greta Bridge in
Yorkshire, where youth are boarded, clothed, booked, washed, furnished with
pocket-money --'
`Yes, we know all about that, sir,' interrupted Ralph, testily. `It's in the
advertisement.'
`You are very right, sir; it is in the advertisement,' replied Squeers.
`And in the matter of fact besides,' interrupted Mr Snawley. `I feel bound to
assure you, sir, and I am proud to have this opportunity of assuring you, that I
consider Mr Squeers a gentleman highly virtuous, exemplary, well conducted, and
--'
`I make no doubt of it, sir,' interrupted Ralph, checking the torrent of
recommendation; `no doubt of it at all. Suppose we come to business?'
`With all my heart, sir,' rejoined Squeers. `"Never postpone business," is
the very first lesson we instil into our commercial pupils. Master Belling, my
dear, always remember that; do you hear?'
`Yes, sir,' repeated Master Belling.
`He recollects what it is, does he?' said Ralph.
`Tell the gentleman,' said Squeers.
`"Never,"' repeated Master Belling.
`Very good,' said Squeers; `go on.'
`"Never,"' repeated Master Belling again.
`Very good indeed,' said Squeers. `Yes.'
`P,' suggested Nicholas, good-naturedly.
`Perform -- business!' said Master Belling. `Never -- perform -- business!'
`Very well, sir,' said Squeers, darting a withering look at the culprit. `You
and I will perform a little business on our private account by-and-by.'
`And just now,' said Ralph, `we had better transact our own, perhaps.'
`If you please,' said Squeers.
`Well,' resumed Ralph, `it's brief enough; soon broached; and I hope easily
concluded. You have advertised for an able assistant, sir?'
`Precisely so,' said Squeers.
`And you really want one?'
`Certainly,' answered Squeers.
`Here he is!' said Ralph. `My nephew Nicholas, hot from school, with
everything he learnt there, fermenting in his head, and nothing fermenting in
his pocket, 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.'
`Yes, he will,' said Ralph; `I know better. Don't be cast down, sir; you will
be teaching all the young noblemen in Dotheboys Hall in less than a week's time,
unless this gentleman is more obstinate than I take him to be.'
`I fear, sir,' said Nicholas, addressing Mr Squeers, `that you object to my
youth, and to my not being a Master of Arts?'
`The absence of a college degree is an objection,' replied Squeers, looking
as grave as he could, and considerably puzzled, no less by the contrast between
the simplicity of the nephew and the worldly manner of the uncle, than by the
incomprehensible allusion to the young noblemen under his tuition.
`Look here, sir,' said Ralph; `I'll put this matter in its true light in two
seconds.'
`If you'll have the goodness,' rejoined Squeers.
`This is a boy, or a youth, or a lad, or a young man, or a hobbledehoy, or
whatever you like to call him, of eighteen or nineteen, or thereabouts,' said
Ralph.
`That I see,' observed the schoolmaster.
`So do I,' said Mr Snawley, thinking it as well to back his new friend
occasionally.
`His father is dead, he is wholly ignorant of the world, has no resources
whatever, and wants something to do,' said Ralph. `I recommend him to this
splendid establishment of yours, as an opening which will lead him to fortune if
he turns it to proper account. Do you see that?'
`Everybody must see that,' replied Squeers, half imitating the sneer with
which the old gentleman was regarding his unconscious relative.
`I do, of course,' said Nicholas, eagerly.
`He does, of course, you observe,' said Ralph, in the same dry, hard manner.
`If any caprice of temper should induce him to cast aside this golden
opportunity before he has brought it to perfection, I consider myself absolved
from extending any assistance to his mother and sister. Look at him, and think
of the use he may be to you in half-a-dozen ways! Now, the question is, whether,
for some time to come at all events, he won't serve your purpose better than
twenty of the kind of people you would get under ordinary circumstances. Isn't
that a question for consideration?'
`Yes, it is,' said Squeers, answering a nod of Ralph's head with a nod of his
own.
`Good,' rejoined Ralph. `Let me have two words with you.'
The two words were had apart; in a couple of minutes Mr Wackford Squeers
announced that Mr Nicholas Nickleby was, from that moment, thoroughly nominated
to, and installed in, the office of first assistant master at Dotheboys Hall.
`Your uncle's recommendation has done it, Mr Nickleby,' said Wackford
Squeers.
Nicholas, overjoyed at his success, shook his uncle's hand warmly, and could
almost have worshipped Squeers upon the spot.
`He is an odd-looking man,' thought Nicholas. `What of that? Porson was an
odd-looking man, and so was Doctor Johnson; all these bookworms are.'
`At eight o'clock tomorrow morning, Mr Nickleby,' said Squeers, `the coach
starts. You must be here at a quarter before, as we take these boys with us.'
`Certainly, sir,' said Nicholas.
`And your fare down, I have paid,' growled Ralph. `So, you'll have nothing to
do but keep yourself warm.'
Here was another instance of his uncle's generosity! Nicholas felt his
unexpected kindness so much, that he could scarcely find words to thank him;
indeed, he had not found half enough, when they took leave of the schoolmaster,
and emerged from the Saracen's Head gateway.
`I shall be here in the morning to see you fairly off,' said Ralph. `No
skulking!'
`Thank you, sir,' replied Nicholas; `I never shall forget this kindness.'
`Take care you don't,' replied his uncle. `You had better go home now, and
pack up what you have got to pack. Do you think you could find your way to
Golden Square first?'
`Certainly,' said Nicholas. `I can easily inquire.'
`Leave these papers with my clerk, then,' said Ralph, producing a small
parcel, `and tell him to wait till I come home.'
Nicholas cheerfully undertook the errand, and bidding his worthy uncle an
affectionate farewell, which that warm-hearted old gentleman acknowledged by a
growl, hastened away to execute his commission.
He found Golden Square in due course; Mr Noggs, who had stepped out for a
minute or so to the public-house, was opening the door with a latch-key, as he
reached the steps.
`What's that?' inquired Noggs, pointing to the parcel.
`Papers from my uncle,' replied Nicholas; `and you're to have the goodness to
wait till he comes home, if you please.'
`Uncle!' cried Noggs.
`Mr Nickleby,' said Nicholas in explanation.
`Come in,' said Newman.
Without another word he led Nicholas into the passage, and thence into the
official pantry at the end of it, where he thrust him into a chair, and mounting
upon his high stool, sat, with his arms hanging, straight down by his sides,
gazing fixedly upon him, as from a tower of observation.
`There is no answer,' said Nicholas, laying the parcel on a table beside him.
Newman said nothing, but folding his arms, and thrusting his head forward so
as to obtain a nearer view of Nicholas's face, scanned his features closely.
`No answer,' said Nicholas, speaking very loud, under the impression that
Newman Noggs was deaf.
Newman placed his hands upon his knees, and, without uttering a syllable,
continued the same close scrutiny of his companion's face.
This was such a very singular proceeding on the part of an utter stranger,
and his appearance was so extremely peculiar, that Nicholas, who had a
sufficiently keen sense of the ridiculous, could not refrain from breaking into
a smile as he inquired whether Mr Noggs had any commands for him.
Noggs shook his head and sighed; upon which Nicholas rose, and remarking that
he required no rest, bade him good-morning.
It was a great exertion for Newman Noggs, and nobody knows to this day how he
ever came to make it, the other party being wholly unknown to him, but he drew a
long breath and actually said, out loud, without once stopping, that if the
young gentleman did not object to tell, he should like to know what his uncle
was going to do for him.
Nicholas had not the least objection in the world, but on the contrary was
rather pleased to have an opportunity of talking on the subject which occupied
his thoughts; so, he sat down again, and (his sanguine imagination warming as he
spoke) entered into a fervent and glowing description of all the honours and
advantages to be derived from his appointment at that seat of learning,
Dotheboys Hall.
`But, what's the matter--are you ill?' said Nicholas, suddenly breaking off,
as his companion, after throwing himself into a variety of uncouth attitudes,
thrust his hands under the stool, and cracked his finger-joints as if he were
snapping all the bones in his hands.
Newman Noggs made no reply, but went on shrugging his shoulders and cracking
his finger-joints; smiling horribly all the time, and looking steadfastly at
nothing, out of the tops of his eyes, in a most ghastly manner.
At first, Nicholas thought the mysterious man was in a fit, but, on further
consideration, decided that he was in liquor, under which circumstances he
deemed it prudent to make off at once. He looked back when he had got the
street-door open. Newman Noggs was still indulging in the same extraordinary
gestures, and the cracking of his fingers sounded louder that ever.
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