Chapter 8

by Charles Dickens

　　Of the Internal Economy of Dotheboys HallA ride of two hundred and odd miles in severe weather, is one of thebest softeners of a hard bed that ingenuity can devise. Perhaps itis even a sweetener of dreams, for those which hovered over therough couch of Nicholas, and whispered their airy nothings in hisear, were of an agreeable and happy kind. He was making his fortunevery fast indeed, when the faint glimmer of an expiring candle shonebefore his eyes, and a voice he had no difficulty in recognising aspart and parcel of Mr Squeers, admonished him that it was time torise.'Past seven, Nickleby,' said Mr Squeers.'Has morning come already?' asked Nicholas, sitting up in bed.'Ah! that has it,' replied Squeers, 'and ready iced too. Now,Nickleby, come; tumble up, will you?'Nicholas needed no further admonition, but 'tumbled up' at once, andproceeded to dress himself by the light of the taper, which MrSqueers carried in his hand.'Here's a pretty go,' said that gentleman; 'the pump's froze.''Indeed!' said Nicholas, not much interested in the intelligence.'Yes,' replied Squeers. 'You can't wash yourself this morning.''Not wash myself!' exclaimed Nicholas.'No, not a bit of it,' rejoined Squeers tartly. 'So you must becontent with giving yourself a dry polish till we break the ice inthe well, and can get a bucketful out for the boys. Don't standstaring at me, but do look sharp, will you?'Offering no further observation, Nicholas huddled on his clothes.Squeers, meanwhile, opened the shutters and blew the candle out;when the voice of his amiable consort was heard in the passage,demanding admittance.'Come in, my love,' said Squeers.Mrs Squeers came in, still habited in the primitive night-jacketwhich had displayed the symmetry of her figure on the previousnight, and further ornamented with a beaver bonnet of someantiquity, which she wore, with much ease and lightness, on the topof the nightcap before mentioned.'Drat the things,' said the lady, opening the cupboard; 'I can'tfind the school spoon anywhere.''Never mind it, my dear,' observed Squeers in a soothing manner;'it's of no consequence.''No consequence, why how you talk!' retorted Mrs Squeers sharply;'isn't it brimstone morning?''I forgot, my dear,' rejoined Squeers; 'yes, it certainly is. Wepurify the boys' bloods now and then, Nickleby.''Purify fiddlesticks' ends,' said his lady. 'Don't think, youngman, that we go to the expense of flower of brimstone and molasses,just to purify them; because if you think we carry on the businessin that way, you'll find yourself mistaken, and so I tell youplainly.''My dear,' said Squeers frowning. 'Hem!''Oh! nonsense,' rejoined Mrs Squeers. 'If the young man comes to bea teacher here, let him understand, at once, that we don't want anyfoolery about the boys. They have the brimstone and treacle, partlybecause if they hadn't something or other in the way of medicinethey'd be always ailing and giving a world of trouble, and partlybecause it spoils their appetites and comes cheaper than breakfastand dinner. So, it does them good and us good at the same time, andthat's fair enough I'm sure.'Having given this explanation, Mrs Squeers put her head into thecloset and instituted a stricter search after the spoon, in which MrSqueers assisted. A few words passed between them while they werethus engaged, but as their voices were partially stifled by thecupboard, all that Nicholas could distinguish was, that Mr Squeerssaid what Mrs Squeers had said, was injudicious, and that MrsSqueers said what Mr Squeers said, was 'stuff.'A vast deal of searching and rummaging ensued, and it provingfruitless, Smike was called in, and pushed by Mrs Squeers, and boxedby Mr Squeers; which course of treatment brightening his intellects,enabled him to suggest that possibly Mrs Squeers might have thespoon in her pocket, as indeed turned out to be the case. As MrsSqueers had previously protested, however, that she was quitecertain she had not got it, Smike received another box on the earfor presuming to contradict his mistress, together with a promise ofa sound thrashing if he were not more respectful in future; so thathe took nothing very advantageous by his motion.'A most invaluable woman, that, Nickleby,' said Squeers when hisconsort had hurried away, pushing the drudge before her.'Indeed, sir!' observed Nicholas.'I don't know her equal,' said Squeers; 'I do not know her equal.That woman, Nickleby, is always the same--always the same bustling,lively, active, saving creetur that you see her now.'Nicholas sighed involuntarily at the thought of the agreeabledomestic prospect thus opened to him; but Squeers was, fortunately,too much occupied with his own reflections to perceive it.'It's my way to say, when I am up in London,' continued Squeers,'that to them boys she is a mother. But she is more than a motherto them; ten times more. She does things for them boys, Nickleby,that I don't believe half the mothers going, would do for their ownsons.''I should think they would not, sir,' answered Nicholas.Now, the fact was, that both Mr and Mrs Squeers viewed the boys inthe light of their proper and natural enemies; or, in other words,they held and considered that their business and profession was toget as much from every boy as could by possibility be screwed out ofhim. On this point they were both agreed, and behaved in unisonaccordingly. The only difference between them was, that Mrs Squeerswaged war against the enemy openly and fearlessly, and that Squeerscovered his rascality, even at home, with a spice of his habitualdeceit; as if he really had a notion of someday or other being ableto take himself in, and persuade his own mind that he was a verygood fellow.'But come,' said Squeers, interrupting the progress of some thoughtsto this effect in the mind of his usher, 'let's go to theschoolroom; and lend me a hand with my school-coat, will you?'Nicholas assisted his master to put on an old fustian shooting-jacket, which he took down from a peg in the passage; and Squeers,arming himself with his cane, led the way across a yard, to a doorin the rear of the house.'There,' said the schoolmaster as they stepped in together; 'this isour shop, Nickleby!'It was such a crowded scene, and there were so many objects toattract attention, that, at first, Nicholas stared about him, reallywithout seeing anything at all. By degrees, however, the placeresolved itself into a bare and dirty room, with a couple ofwindows, whereof a tenth part might be of glass, the remainder beingstopped up with old copy-books and paper. There were a couple oflong old rickety desks, cut and notched, and inked, and damaged, inevery possible way; two or three forms; a detached desk for Squeers;and another for his assistant. The ceiling was supported, like thatof a barn, by cross-beams and rafters; and the walls were so stainedand discoloured, that it was impossible to tell whether they hadever been touched with paint or whitewash.But the pupils--the young noblemen! How the last faint traces ofhope, the remotest glimmering of any good to be derived from hisefforts in this den, faded from the mind of Nicholas as he looked indismay around! Pale and haggard faces, lank and bony figures,children with the countenances of old men, deformities with ironsupon their limbs, boys of stunted growth, and others whose longmeagre legs would hardly bear their stooping bodies, all crowded onthe view together; there were the bleared eye, the hare-lip, thecrooked foot, and every ugliness or distortion that told ofunnatural aversion conceived by parents for their offspring, or ofyoung lives which, from the earliest dawn of infancy, had been onehorrible endurance of cruelty and neglect. There were little faceswhich should have been handsome, darkened with the scowl of sullen,dogged suffering; there was childhood with the light of its eyequenched, its beauty gone, and its helplessness alone remaining;there were vicious-faced boys, brooding, with leaden eyes, likemalefactors in a jail; and there were young creatures on whom thesins of their frail parents had descended, weeping even for themercenary nurses they had known, and lonesome even in theirloneliness. With every kindly sympathy and affection blasted in itsbirth, with every young and healthy feeling flogged and starveddown, with every revengeful passion that can fester in swollenhearts, eating its evil way to their core in silence, what anincipient Hell was breeding here!And yet this scene, painful as it was, had its grotesque features,which, in a less interested observer than Nicholas, might haveprovoked a smile. Mrs Squeers stood at one of the desks, presidingover an immense basin of brimstone and treacle, of which deliciouscompound she administered a large instalment to each boy insuccession: using for the purpose a common wooden spoon, which mighthave been originally manufactured for some gigantic top, and whichwidened every young gentleman's mouth considerably: they being allobliged, under heavy corporal penalties, to take in the whole of thebowl at a gasp. In another corner, huddled together forcompanionship, were the little boys who had arrived on the precedingnight, three of them in very large leather breeches, and two in oldtrousers, a something tighter fit than drawers are usually worn; atno great distance from these was seated the juvenile son and heir ofMr Squeers--a striking likeness of his father--kicking, with greatvigour, under the hands of Smike, who was fitting upon him a pair ofnew boots that bore a most suspicious resemblance to those which theleast of the little boys had worn on the journey down--as the littleboy himself seemed to think, for he was regarding the appropriationwith a look of most rueful amazement. Besides these, there was along row of boys waiting, with countenances of no pleasantanticipation, to be treacled; and another file, who had just escapedfrom the infliction, making a variety of wry mouths indicative ofanything but satisfaction. The whole were attired in such motley,ill-assorted, extraordinary garments, as would have beenirresistibly ridiculous, but for the foul appearance of dirt,disorder, and disease, with which they were associated.'Now,' said Squeers, giving the desk a great rap with his cane,which made half the little boys nearly jump out of their boots, 'isthat physicking over?''Just over,' said Mrs Squeers, choking the last boy in her hurry,and tapping the crown of his head with the wooden spoon to restorehim. 'Here, you Smike; take away now. Look sharp!'Smike shuffled out with the basin, and Mrs Squeers having called upa little boy with a curly head, and wiped her hands upon it, hurriedout after him into a species of wash-house, where there was a smallfire and a large kettle, together with a number of little woodenbowls which were arranged upon a board.Into these bowls, Mrs Squeers, assisted by the hungry servant,poured a brown composition, which looked like diluted pincushionswithout the covers, and was called porridge. A minute wedge ofbrown bread was inserted in each bowl, and when they had eaten theirporridge by means of the bread, the boys ate the bread itself, andhad finished their breakfast; whereupon Mr Squeers said, in a solemnvoice, 'For what we have received, may the Lord make us trulythankful!'--and went away to his own.Nicholas distended his stomach with a bowl of porridge, for much thesame reason which induces some savages to swallow earth--lest theyshould be inconveniently hungry when there is nothing to eat.Having further disposed of a slice of bread and butter, allotted tohim in virtue of his office, he sat himself down, to wait forschool-time.He could not but observe how silent and sad the boys all seemed tobe. There was none of the noise and clamour of a schoolroom; noneof its boisterous play, or hearty mirth. The children sat crouchingand shivering together, and seemed to lack the spirit to move about.The only pupil who evinced the slightest tendency towards locomotionor playfulness was Master Squeers, and as his chief amusement was totread upon the other boys' toes in his new boots, his flow ofspirits was rather disagreeable than otherwise.After some half-hour's delay, Mr Squeers reappeared, and the boystook their places and their books, of which latter commodity theaverage might be about one to eight learners. A few minutes havingelapsed, during which Mr Squeers looked very profound, as if he hada perfect apprehension of what was inside all the books, and couldsay every word of their contents by heart if he only chose to takethe trouble, that gentleman called up the first class.Obedient to this summons there ranged themselves in front of theschoolmaster's desk, half-a-dozen scarecrows, out at knees andelbows, one of whom placed a torn and filthy book beneath hislearned eye.'This is the first class in English spelling and philosophy,Nickleby,' said Squeers, beckoning Nicholas to stand beside him.'We'll get up a Latin one, and hand that over to you. Now, then,where's the first boy?''Please, sir, he's cleaning the back-parlour window,' said thetemporary head of the philosophical class.'So he is, to be sure,' rejoined Squeers. 'We go upon the practicalmode of teaching, Nickleby; the regular education system. C-l-e-a-n, clean, verb active, to make bright, to scour. W-i-n, win, d-e-r,der, winder, a casement. When the boy knows this out of book, hegoes and does it. It's just the same principle as the use of theglobes. Where's the second boy?''Please, sir, he's weeding the garden,' replied a small voice.'To be sure,' said Squeers, by no means disconcerted. 'So he is.B-o-t, bot, t-i-n, tin, bottin, n-e-y, ney, bottinney, nounsubstantive, a knowledge of plants. When he has learned thatbottinney means a knowledge of plants, he goes and knows 'em.That's our system, Nickleby: what do you think of it?''It's very useful one, at any rate,' answered Nicholas.'I believe you,' rejoined Squeers, not remarking the emphasis of hisusher. 'Third boy, what's horse?''A beast, sir,' replied the boy.'So it is,' said Squeers. 'Ain't it, Nickleby?''I believe there is no doubt of that, sir,' answered Nicholas.'Of course there isn't,' said Squeers. 'A horse is a quadruped, andquadruped's Latin for beast, as everybody that's gone through thegrammar knows, or else where's the use of having grammars at all?''Where, indeed!' said Nicholas abstractedly.'As you're perfect in that,' resumed Squeers, turning to the boy,'go and look after my horse, and rub him down well, or I'll rub youdown. The rest of the class go and draw water up, till somebodytells you to leave off, for it's washing-day tomorrow, and they wantthe coppers filled.'So saying, he dismissed the first class to their experiments inpractical philosophy, and eyed Nicholas with a look, half cunningand half doubtful, as if he were not altogether certain what hemight think of him by this time.'That's the way we do it, Nickleby,' he said, after a pause.Nicholas shrugged his shoulders in a manner that was scarcelyperceptible, and said he saw it was.'And a very good way it is, too,' said Squeers. 'Now, just takethem fourteen little boys and hear them some reading, because, youknow, you must begin to be useful. Idling about here won't do.'Mr Squeers said this, as if it had suddenly occurred to him, eitherthat he must not say too much to his assistant, or that hisassistant did not say enough to him in praise of the establishment.The children were arranged in a semicircle round the new master, andhe was soon listening to their dull, drawling, hesitating recital ofthose stories of engrossing interest which are to be found in themore antiquated spelling-books.In this exciting occupation, the morning lagged heavily on. At oneo'clock, the boys, having previously had their appetites thoroughlytaken away by stir-about and potatoes, sat down in the kitchen tosome hard salt beef, of which Nicholas was graciously permitted totake his portion to his own solitary desk, to eat it there in peace.After this, there was another hour of crouching in the schoolroomand shivering with cold, and then school began again.It was Mr Squeer's custom to call the boys together, and make a sortof report, after every half-yearly visit to the metropolis,regarding the relations and friends he had seen, the news he hadheard, the letters he had brought down, the bills which had beenpaid, the accounts which had been left unpaid, and so forth. Thissolemn proceeding always took place in the afternoon of the daysucceeding his return; perhaps, because the boys acquired strengthof mind from the suspense of the morning, or, possibly, because MrSqueers himself acquired greater sternness and inflexibility fromcertain warm potations in which he was wont to indulge after hisearly dinner. Be this as it may, the boys were recalled from house-window, garden, stable, and cow-yard, and the school were assembledin full conclave, when Mr Squeers, with a small bundle of papers inhis hand, and Mrs S. following with a pair of canes, entered theroom and proclaimed silence.'Let any boy speak a word without leave,' said Mr Squeers mildly,'and I'll take the skin off his back.'This special proclamation had the desired effect, and a deathlikesilence immediately prevailed, in the midst of which Mr Squeers wenton to say:'Boys, I've been to London, and have returned to my family and you,as strong and well as ever.'According to half-yearly custom, the boys gave three feeble cheersat this refreshing intelligence. Such cheers! Sights of extrastrength with the chill on.'I have seen the parents of some boys,' continued Squeers, turningover his papers, 'and they're so glad to hear how their sons aregetting on, that there's no prospect at all of their going away,which of course is a very pleasant thing to reflect upon, for allparties.'Two or three hands went to two or three eyes when Squeers said this,but the greater part of the young gentlemen having no particularparents to speak of, were wholly uninterested in the thing one wayor other.'I have had diappointments to contend against,' said Squeers,looking very grim; 'Bolder's father was two pound ten short. Whereis Bolder?''Here he is, please sir,' rejoined twenty officious voices. Boysare very like men to be sure.'Come here, Bolder,' said Squeers.An unhealthy-looking boy, with warts all over his hands, steppedfrom his place to the master's desk, and raised his eyes imploringlyto Squeers's face; his own, quite white from the rapid beating ofhis heart.'Bolder,' said Squeers, speaking very slowly, for he wasconsidering, as the saying goes, where to have him. 'Bolder, if youfather thinks that because--why, what's this, sir?'As Squeers spoke, he caught up the boy's hand by the cuff of hisjacket, and surveyed it with an edifying aspect of horror anddisgust.'What do you call this, sir?' demanded the schoolmaster,administering a cut with the cane to expedite the reply.'I can't help it, indeed, sir,' rejoined the boy, crying. 'Theywill come; it's the dirty work I think, sir--at least I don't knowwhat it is, sir, but it's not my fault.''Bolder,' said Squeers, tucking up his wristbands, and moisteningthe palm of his right hand to get a good grip of the cane, 'you'rean incorrigible young scoundrel, and as the last thrashing did youno good, we must see what another will do towards beating it out ofyou.'With this, and wholly disregarding a piteous cry for mercy, MrSqueers fell upon the boy and caned him soundly: not leaving off,indeed, until his arm was tired out.'There,' said Squeers, when he had quite done; 'rub away as hard asyou like, you won't rub that off in a hurry. Oh! you won't holdthat noise, won't you? Put him out, Smike.'The drudge knew better from long experience, than to hesitate aboutobeying, so he bundled the victim out by a side-door, and Mr Squeersperched himself again on his own stool, supported by Mrs Squeers,who occupied another at his side.'Now let us see,' said Squeers. 'A letter for Cobbey. Stand up,Cobbey.'Another boy stood up, and eyed the letter very hard while Squeersmade a mental abstract of the same.'Oh!' said Squeers: 'Cobbey's grandmother is dead, and his uncleJohn has took to drinking, which is all the news his sister sends,except eighteenpence, which will just pay for that broken square ofglass. Mrs Squeers, my dear, will you take the money?'The worthy lady pocketed the eighteenpence with a most business-likeair, and Squeers passed on to the next boy, as coolly as possible.'Graymarsh,' said Squeers, 'he's the next. Stand up, Graymarsh.'Another boy stood up, and the schoolmaster looked over the letter asbefore.'Graymarsh's maternal aunt,' said Squeers, when he had possessedhimself of the contents, 'is very glad to hear he's so well andhappy, and sends her respectful compliments to Mrs Squeers, andthinks she must be an angel. She likewise thinks Mr Squeers is toogood for this world; but hopes he may long be spared to carry on thebusiness. Would have sent the two pair of stockings as desired, butis short of money, so forwards a tract instead, and hopes Graymarshwill put his trust in Providence. Hopes, above all, that he willstudy in everything to please Mr and Mrs Squeers, and look upon themas his only friends; and that he will love Master Squeers; and notobject to sleeping five in a bed, which no Christian should. Ah!'said Squeers, folding it up, 'a delightful letter. Very affectingindeed.'It was affecting in one sense, for Graymarsh's maternal aunt wasstrongly supposed, by her more intimate friends, to be no other thanhis maternal parent; Squeers, however, without alluding to this partof the story (which would have sounded immoral before boys),proceeded with the business by calling out 'Mobbs,' whereuponanother boy rose, and Graymarsh resumed his seat.'Mobbs's step-mother,' said Squeers, 'took to her bed on hearingthat he wouldn't eat fat, and has been very ill ever since. Shewishes to know, by an early post, where he expects to go to, if hequarrels with his vittles; and with what feelings he could turn uphis nose at the cow's-liver broth, after his good master had asked ablessing on it. This was told her in the London newspapers--not byMr Squeers, for he is too kind and too good to set anybody againstanybody--and it has vexed her so much, Mobbs can't think. She issorry to find he is discontented, which is sinful and horrid, andhopes Mr Squeers will flog him into a happier state of mind; withwhich view, she has also stopped his halfpenny a week pocket-money,and given a double-bladed knife with a corkscrew in it to theMissionaries, which she had bought on purpose for him.''A sulky state of feeling,' said Squeers, after a terrible pause,during which he had moistened the palm of his right hand again,'won't do. Cheerfulness and contentment must be kept up. Mobbs,come to me!'Mobbs moved slowly towards the desk, rubbing his eyes inanticipation of good cause for doing so; and he soon afterwardsretired by the side-door, with as good cause as a boy need have.Mr Squeers then proceeded to open a miscellaneous collection ofletters; some enclosing money, which Mrs Squeers 'took care of;' andothers referring to small articles of apparel, as caps and so forth,all of which the same lady stated to be too large, or too small, andcalculated for nobody but young Squeers, who would appear indeed tohave had most accommodating limbs, since everything that came intothe school fitted him to a nicety. His head, in particular, musthave been singularly elastic, for hats and caps of all dimensionswere alike to him.This business dispatched, a few slovenly lessons were performed, andSqueers retired to his fireside, leaving Nicholas to take care ofthe boys in the school-room, which was very cold, and where a meal ofbread and cheese was served out shortly after dark.There was a small stove at that corner of the room which was nearestto the master's desk, and by it Nicholas sat down, so depressed andself-degraded by the consciousness of his position, that if deathcould have come upon him at that time, he would have been almosthappy to meet it. The cruelty of which he had been an unwillingwitness, the coarse and ruffianly behaviour of Squeers even in hisbest moods, the filthy place, the sights and sounds about him, allcontributed to this state of feeling; but when he recollected that,being there as an assistant, he actually seemed--no matter whatunhappy train of circumstances had brought him to that pass--to bethe aider and abettor of a system which filled him with honestdisgust and indignation, he loathed himself, and felt, for themoment, as though the mere consciousness of his present situationmust, through all time to come, prevent his raising his head again.But, for the present, his resolve was taken, and the resolution hehad formed on the preceding night remained undisturbed. He hadwritten to his mother and sister, announcing the safe conclusion ofhis journey, and saying as little about Dotheboys Hall, and sayingthat little as cheerfully, as he possibly could. He hoped that byremaining where he was, he might do some good, even there; at allevents, others depended too much on his uncle's favour, to admit ofhis awakening his wrath just then.One reflection disturbed him far more than any selfishconsiderations arising out of his own position. This was theprobable destination of his sister Kate. His uncle had deceivedhim, and might he not consign her to some miserable place where heryouth and beauty would prove a far greater curse than ugliness anddecrepitude? To a caged man, bound hand and foot, this was aterrible idea--but no, he thought, his mother was by; there was theportrait-painter, too--simple enough, but still living in the world,and of it. He was willing to believe that Ralph Nickleby hadconceived a personal dislike to himself. Having pretty good reason,by this time, to reciprocate it, he had no great difficulty inarriving at this conclusion, and tried to persuade himself that thefeeling extended no farther than between them.As he was absorbed in these meditations, he all at once encounteredthe upturned face of Smike, who was on his knees before the stove,picking a few stray cinders from the hearth and planting them on thefire. He had paused to steal a look at Nicholas, and when he sawthat he was observed, shrunk back, as if expecting a blow.'You need not fear me,' said Nicholas kindly. 'Are you cold?''N-n-o.''You are shivering.''I am not cold,' replied Smike quickly. 'I am used to it.'There was such an obvious fear of giving offence in his manner, andhe was such a timid, broken-spirited creature, that Nicholas couldnot help exclaiming, 'Poor fellow!'If he had struck the drudge, he would have slunk away without aword. But, now, he burst into tears.'Oh dear, oh dear!' he cried, covering his face with his cracked andhorny hands. 'My heart will break. It will, it will.''Hush!' said Nicholas, laying his hand upon his shoulder. 'Be aman; you are nearly one by years, God help you.''By years!' cried Smike. 'Oh dear, dear, how many of them! Howmany of them since I was a little child, younger than any that arehere now! Where are they all!''Whom do you speak of?' inquired Nicholas, wishing to rouse the poorhalf-witted creature to reason. 'Tell me.''My friends,' he replied, 'myself--my--oh! what sufferings mine havebeen!''There is always hope,' said Nicholas; he knew not what to say.'No,' rejoined the other, 'no; none for me. Do you remember the boythat died here?''I was not here, you know,' said Nicholas gently; 'but what of him?''Why,' replied the youth, drawing closer to his questioner's side,'I was with him at night, and when it was all silent he cried nomore for friends he wished to come and sit with him, but began tosee faces round his bed that came from home; he said they smiled,and talked to him; and he died at last lifting his head to kissthem. Do you hear?''Yes, yes,' rejoined Nicholas.'What faces will smile on me when I die!' cried his companion,shivering. 'Who will talk to me in those long nights! They cannotcome from home; they would frighten me, if they did, for I don'tknow what it is, and shouldn't know them. Pain and fear, pain andfear for me, alive or dead. No hope, no hope!'The bell rang to bed: and the boy, subsiding at the sound into hisusual listless state, crept away as if anxious to avoid notice. Itwas with a heavy heart that Nicholas soon afterwards--no, notretired; there was no retirement there--followed--to his dirty andcrowded dormitory.