Chapter 4

by Charles Dickens

　　Nicholas and his Uncle (to secure the Fortune without loss of time)wait upon Mr Wackford Squeers, the Yorkshire SchoolmasterSnow Hill! What kind of place can the quiet townspeople who see thewords emblazoned, in all the legibility of gilt letters and darkshading, on the north-country coaches, take Snow Hill to be? Allpeople have some undefined and shadowy notion of a place whose nameis frequently before their eyes, or often in their ears. What avast number of random ideas there must be perpetually floatingabout, regarding this same Snow Hill. The name is such a good one.Snow Hill--Snow Hill too, coupled with a Saracen's Head: picturingto us by a double association of ideas, something stern and rugged!A bleak desolate tract of country, open to piercing blasts andfierce wintry storms--a dark, cold, gloomy heath, lonely by day, andscarcely to be thought of by honest folks at night--a place whichsolitary wayfarers shun, and where desperate robbers congregate;--this, or something like this, should be the prevalent notion of SnowHill, in those remote and rustic parts, through which the Saracen'sHead, like some grim apparition, rushes each day and night withmysterious and ghost-like punctuality; holding its swift andheadlong course in all weathers, and seeming to bid defiance to thevery elements themselves.The reality is rather different, but by no means to be despisednotwithstanding. There, at the very core of London, in the heart ofits business and animation, in the midst of a whirl of noise andmotion: stemming as it were the giant currents of life that flowceaselessly on from different quarters, and meet beneath its walls:stands Newgate; and in that crowded street on which it frowns sodarkly--within a few feet of the squalid tottering houses--upon thevery spot on which the vendors of soup and fish and damaged fruitare now plying their trades--scores of human beings, amidst a roarof sounds to which even the tumult of a great city is as nothing,four, six, or eight strong men at a time, have been hurriedviolently and swiftly from the world, when the scene has beenrendered frightful with excess of human life; when curious eyes haveglared from casement and house-top, and wall and pillar; and when,in the mass of white and upturned faces, the dying wretch, in hisall-comprehensive look of agony, has met not one--not one--that borethe impress of pity or compassion.Near to the jail, and by consequence near to Smithfield also, andthe Compter, and the bustle and noise of the city; and just on thatparticular part of Snow Hill where omnibus horses going eastwardseriously think of falling down on purpose, and where horses inhackney cabriolets going westward not unfrequently fall by accident,is the coach-yard of the Saracen's Head Inn; its portal guarded bytwo Saracens' heads and shoulders, which it was once the pride andglory of the choice spirits of this metropolis to pull down atnight, but which have for some time remained in undisturbedtranquillity; possibly because this species of humour is nowconfined to St James's parish, where door knockers are preferred asbeing more portable, and bell-wires esteemed as convenienttoothpicks. Whether this be the reason or not, there they are,frowning upon you from each side of the gateway. The inn itselfgarnished with another Saracen's Head, frowns upon you from the topof the yard; while from the door of the hind boot of all the redcoaches that are standing therein, there glares a small Saracen'sHead, with a twin expression to the large Saracens' Heads below, sothat the general appearance of the pile is decidedly of theSaracenic order.When you walk up this yard, you will see the booking-office on yourleft, and the tower of St Sepulchre's church, darting abruptly upinto the sky, on your right, and a gallery of bedrooms on bothsides. Just before you, you will observe a long window with thewords 'coffee-room' legibly painted above it; and looking out ofthat window, you would have seen in addition, if you had gone at theright 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 agreenish grey, and in shape resembling the fan-light of a streetdoor. The blank side of his face was much wrinkled and puckered up,which gave him a very sinister appearance, especially when hesmiled, at which times his expression bordered closely on thevillainous. 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 wasabout two or three and fifty, and a trifle below the middle size; hewore a white neckerchief with long ends, and a suit of scholasticblack; but his coat sleeves being a great deal too long, and histrousers a great deal too short, he appeared ill at ease in hisclothes, and as if he were in a perpetual state of astonishment atfinding 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 suitthe angles of the partition. In a corner of the seat, was a verysmall deal trunk, tied round with a scanty piece of cord; and on thetrunk was perched--his lace-up half-boots and corduroy trousersdangling in the air--a diminutive boy, with his shoulders drawn upto his ears, and his hands planted on his knees, who glanced timidlyat the schoolmaster, from time to time, with evident dread andapprehension.'Half-past three,' muttered Mr Squeers, turning from the window, andlooking sulkily at the coffee-room clock. 'There will be nobodyhere today.'Much vexed by this reflection, Mr Squeers looked at the little boyto see whether he was doing anything he could beat him for. As hehappened 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 tookdown ten boys; ten twenties is two hundred pound. I go back ateight o'clock tomorrow morning, and have got only three--threeoughts is an ought--three twos is six--sixty pound. What's come ofall the boys? what's parents got in their heads? what does it allmean?'Here the little boy on the top of the trunk gave a violent sneeze.'Halloa, sir!' growled the schoolmaster, turning round. 'What'sthat, sir?''Nothing, please sir,' replied the little boy.'Nothing, sir!' exclaimed Mr Squeers.'Please sir, I sneezed,' rejoined the boy, trembling till the littletrunk 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 boyscrewed 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 oneside 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,' saidMr Squeers, 'and then I'll give you the rest. Will you hold thatnoise, sir?''Ye--ye--yes,' sobbed the little boy, rubbing his face very hardwith 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, anduttered with a savage aspect, the little boy rubbed his face harder,as if to keep the tears back; and, beyond alternately sniffing andchoking, gave no further vent to his emotions.'Mr Squeers,' said the waiter, looking in at this juncture; 'here'sa gentleman asking for you at the bar.''Show the gentleman in, Richard,' replied Mr Squeers, in a softvoice. '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 fiercewhisper, when the stranger entered. Affecting not to see him, MrSqueers feigned to be intent upon mending a pen, and offeringbenevolent 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 heartburst, and your very eyes come out of your head with crying, what isit? Nothing; less than nothing. You are leaving your friends, butyou will have a father in me, my dear, and a mother in Mrs Squeers.At the delightful village of Dotheboys, near Greta Bridge inYorkshire, where youth are boarded, clothed, booked, washed,furnished with pocket-money, provided with all necessaries--''It is the gentleman,' observed the stranger, stopping theschoolmaster in the rehearsal of his advertisement. 'Mr Squeers, Ibelieve, sir?''The same, sir,' said Mr Squeers, with an assumption of extremesurprise.'The gentleman,' said the stranger, 'that advertised in the Timesnewspaper?''--Morning Post, Chronicle, Herald, and Advertiser, regarding theAcademy called Dotheboys Hall at the delightful village ofDotheboys, near Greta Bridge in Yorkshire,' added Mr Squeers. 'Youcome on business, sir. I see by my young friends. How do you do,my little gentleman? and how do you do, sir?' With this salutationMr Squeers patted the heads of two hollow-eyed, small-boned littleboys, whom the applicant had brought with him, and waited forfurther communications.'I am in the oil and colour way. My name is Snawley, sir,' said thestranger.Squeers inclined his head as much as to say, 'And a remarkablypretty name, too.'The stranger continued. 'I have been thinking, Mr Squeers, ofplacing my two boys at your school.''It is not for me to say so, sir,' replied Mr Squeers, 'but I don'tthink you could possibly do a better thing.''Hem!' said the other. 'Twenty pounds per annewum, I believe, MrSqueers?''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 hadnever considered the proposition before. 'Let me see; four fives istwenty, double that, and deduct the--well, a pound either way shallnot 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'tconsider the boys' appetites at our establishment.' This wasstrictly true; they did not.'Every wholesome luxury, sir, that Yorkshire can afford,' continuedSqueers; 'every beautiful moral that Mrs Squeers can instil; every--in short, every comfort of a home that a boy could wish for, will betheirs, Mr Snawley.''I should wish their morals to be particularly attended to,' said MrSnawley.'I am glad of that, sir,' replied the schoolmaster, drawing himselfup. '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. 'Iasked 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 wordswith you in the next box?''By all means,' rejoined Squeers with a grin. 'My dears, will youspeak to your new playfellow a minute or two? That is one of myboys, sir. Belling his name is,--a Taunton boy that, sir.''Is he, indeed?' rejoined Mr Snawley, looking at the poor littleurchin as if he were some extraordinary natural curiosity.'He goes down with me tomorrow, sir,' said Squeers. 'That's hisluggage that he is a sitting upon now. Each boy is required tobring, sir, two suits of clothes, six shirts, six pair of stockings,two nightcaps, two pocket-handkerchiefs, two pair of shoes, twohats, 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 beensomething in the manner in which they were said, to attractattention; for the schoolmaster and his companion looked steadily ateach other for a few seconds, and then exchanged a very meaningsmile. Snawley was a sleek, flat-nosed man, clad in sombregarments, and long black gaiters, and bearing in his countenance anexpression of much mortification and sanctity; so, his smilingwithout any obvious reason was the more remarkable.'Up to what age do you keep boys at your school then?' he asked atlength.'Just as long as their friends make the quarterly payments to myagent in town, or until such time as they run away,' repliedSqueers. '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 oneeye. 'They ain't.''I thought they might be,' said Squeers, coolly. 'We have a goodmany of them; that boy's one.''Him in the next box?' said Snawley.Squeers nodded in the affirmative; his companion took another peepat the little boy on the trunk, and, turning round again, looked asif 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 wantedto speak to me?''Yes,' replied Snawley. 'The fact is, I am not their father, MrSqueers. I'm only their father-in-law.''Oh! Is that it?' said the schoolmaster. 'That explains it atonce. I was wondering what the devil you were going to send them toYorkshire for. Ha! ha! Oh, I understand now.''You see I have married the mother,' pursued Snawley; 'it'sexpensive keeping boys at home, and as she has a little money in herown right, I am afraid (women are so very foolish, Mr Squeers) thatshe 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, andwaving his hand.'And this,' resumed Snawley, 'has made me anxious to put them tosome school a good distance off, where there are no holidays--noneof those ill-judged coming home twice a year that unsettlechildren's minds so--and where they may rough it a little--youcomprehend?''The payments regular, and no questions asked,' said Squeers,nodding his head.'That's it, exactly,' rejoined the other. 'Morals strictly attendedto, 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 sohappy, and hope they may never be sent for,' rejoined Squeers.'Nothing could be better,' said the father-in-law, rubbing hishands.'Then, as we understand each other,' said Squeers, 'will you allowme to ask you whether you consider me a highly virtuous, exemplary,and well-conducted man in private life; and whether, as a personwhose business it is to take charge of youth, you place thestrongest confidence in my unimpeachable integrity, liberality,religious principles, and ability?''Certainly I do,' replied the father-in-law, reciprocating theschoolmaster'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 doingbusiness, and that's what I like.'Having entered Mr Snawley's address, the schoolmaster had next toperform the still more agreeable office of entering the receipt ofthe first quarter's payment in advance, which he had scarcelycompleted, 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, presentinghimself, closely followed by Nicholas. 'There was an advertisementof yours in the papers this morning?''There was, sir. This way, if you please,' said Squeers, who had bythis time got back to the box by the fire-place. 'Won't you beseated?''Why, I think I will,' replied Ralph, suiting the action to theword, and placing his hat on the table before him. 'This is mynephew, sir, Mr Nicholas Nickleby.''How do you do, sir?' said Squeers.Nicholas bowed, said he was very well, and seemed very muchastonished at the outward appearance of the proprietor of DotheboysHall: as indeed he was.'Perhaps you recollect me?' said Ralph, looking narrowly at theschoolmaster.'You paid me a small account at each of my half-yearly visits totown, 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 thesentence.'I remember very well, sir,' rejoined Squeers. 'Ah! Mrs Squeers,sir, was as partial to that lad as if he had been her own; theattention, sir, that was bestowed upon that boy in his illness! Drytoast and warm tea offered him every night and morning when hecouldn't swallow anything--a candle in his bedroom on the very nighthe died--the best dictionary sent up for him to lay his head upon--Idon't regret it though. It is a pleasant thing to reflect that onedid one's duty by him.'Ralph smiled, as if he meant anything but smiling, and looked roundat 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 onthe floor, who had been staring at each other without uttering aword, and writhing their bodies into most remarkable contortions,according to the custom of little boys when they first becomeacquainted. 'This gentleman, sir, is a parent who is kind enough tocompliment me upon the course of education adopted at DotheboysHall, which is situated, sir, at the delightful village ofDotheboys, 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,' repliedSqueers.'And in the matter of fact besides,' interrupted Mr Snawley. 'Ifeel bound to assure you, sir, and I am proud to have thisopportunity of assuring you, that I consider Mr Squeers a gentlemanhighly virtuous, exemplary, well conducted, and--''I make no doubt of it, sir,' interrupted Ralph, checking thetorrent of recommendation; 'no doubt of it at all. Suppose we cometo business?''With all my heart, sir,' rejoined Squeers. '"Never postponebusiness," is the very first lesson we instil into our commercialpupils. Master Belling, my dear, always remember that; do youhear?''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 theculprit. 'You and I will perform a little business on our privateaccount 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 hopeeasily 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 nothingfermenting in his pocket, is just the man you want.''I am afraid,' said Squeers, perplexed with such an application froma youth of Nicholas's figure, 'I am afraid the young man won't suitme.''Yes, he will,' said Ralph; 'I know better. Don't be cast down,sir; you will be teaching all the young noblemen in Dotheboys Hallin less than a week's time, unless this gentleman is more obstinatethan I take him to be.''I fear, sir,' said Nicholas, addressing Mr Squeers, 'that youobject 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 bythe contrast between the simplicity of the nephew and the worldlymanner of the uncle, than by the incomprehensible allusion to theyoung noblemen under his tuition.'Look here, sir,' said Ralph; 'I'll put this matter in its truelight 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 ahobbledehoy, or whatever you like to call him, of eighteen ornineteen, or thereabouts,' said Ralph.'That I see,' observed the schoolmaster.'So do I,' said Mr Snawley, thinking it as well to back his newfriend occasionally.'His father is dead, he is wholly ignorant of the world, has noresources whatever, and wants something to do,' said Ralph. 'Irecommend him to this splendid establishment of yours, as an openingwhich will lead him to fortune if he turns it to proper account. Doyou see that?''Everybody must see that,' replied Squeers, half imitating the sneerwith 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, hardmanner. 'If any caprice of temper should induce him to cast asidethis golden opportunity before he has brought it to perfection, Iconsider myself absolved from extending any assistance to his motherand sister. Look at him, and think of the use he may be to you inhalf-a-dozen ways! Now, the question is, whether, for some time tocome at all events, he won't serve your purpose better than twentyof 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 anod 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 WackfordSqueers announced that Mr Nicholas Nickleby was, from that moment,thoroughly nominated to, and installed in, the office of firstassistant master at Dotheboys Hall.'Your uncle's recommendation has done it, Mr Nickleby,' saidWackford 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 thesebookworms are.''At eight o'clock tomorrow morning, Mr Nickleby,' said Squeers, 'thecoach starts. You must be here at a quarter before, as we takethese boys with us.''Certainly, sir,' said Nicholas.'And your fare down, I have paid,' growled Ralph. 'So, you'll havenothing to do but keep yourself warm.'Here was another instance of his uncle's generosity! Nicholas felthis unexpected kindness so much, that he could scarcely find wordsto thank him; indeed, he had not found half enough, when they tookleave of the schoolmaster, and emerged from the Saracen's Headgateway.'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 thiskindness.''Take care you don't,' replied his uncle. 'You had better go homenow, and pack up what you have got to pack. Do you think you couldfind your way to Golden Square first?''Certainly,' said Nicholas. 'I can easily inquire.''Leave these papers with my clerk, then,' said Ralph, producing asmall parcel, 'and tell him to wait till I come home.'Nicholas cheerfully undertook the errand, and bidding his worthyuncle an affectionate farewell, which that warm-hearted oldgentleman acknowledged by a growl, hastened away to execute hiscommission.He found Golden Square in due course; Mr Noggs, who had stepped outfor a minute or so to the public-house, was opening the door with alatch-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 thegoodness 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 thenceinto the official pantry at the end of it, where he thrust him intoa chair, and mounting upon his high stool, sat, with his armshanging, straight down by his sides, gazing fixedly upon him, asfrom a tower of observation.'There is no answer,' said Nicholas, laying the parcel on a tablebeside him.Newman said nothing, but folding his arms, and thrusting his headforward so as to obtain a nearer view of Nicholas's face, scannedhis features closely.'No answer,' said Nicholas, speaking very loud, under the impressionthat Newman Noggs was deaf.Newman placed his hands upon his knees, and, without uttering asyllable, continued the same close scrutiny of his companion's face.This was such a very singular proceeding on the part of an utterstranger, and his appearance was so extremely peculiar, thatNicholas, who had a sufficiently keen sense of the ridiculous, couldnot refrain from breaking into a smile as he inquired whether MrNoggs had any commands for him.Noggs shook his head and sighed; upon which Nicholas rose, andremarking that he required no rest, bade him good-morning.It was a great exertion for Newman Noggs, and nobody knows to thisday how he ever came to make it, the other party being whollyunknown to him, but he drew a long breath and actually said, outloud, without once stopping, that if the young gentleman did notobject to tell, he should like to know what his uncle was going todo for him.Nicholas had not the least objection in the world, but on thecontrary was rather pleased to have an opportunity of talking on thesubject which occupied his thoughts; so, he sat down again, and (hissanguine imagination warming as he spoke) entered into a fervent andglowing description of all the honours and advantages to be derivedfrom his appointment at that seat of learning, Dotheboys Hall.'But, what's the matter--are you ill?' said Nicholas, suddenlybreaking off, as his companion, after throwing himself into avariety of uncouth attitudes, thrust his hands under the stool, andcracked his finger-joints as if he were snapping all the bones inhis hands.Newman Noggs made no reply, but went on shrugging his shoulders andcracking his finger-joints; smiling horribly all the time, andlooking steadfastly at nothing, out of the tops of his eyes, in amost ghastly manner.At first, Nicholas thought the mysterious man was in a fit, but, onfurther consideration, decided that he was in liquor, under whichcircumstances he deemed it prudent to make off at once. He lookedback when he had got the street-door open. Newman Noggs was stillindulging in the same extraordinary gestures, and the cracking ofhis fingers sounded louder that ever.