Containing Matter of a surprising Kind.
‘A s we gang awa’ fra’ Lunnun tomorrow neeght, and as Idinnot know that I was e’er so happy in a’ my days,Misther Nickleby, Ding! but I will tak’ anoother glass toour next merry meeting!’
So said John Browdie, rubbing his hands with great joyousness,and looking round him with a ruddy shining face, quite in keepingwith the declaration.
The time at which John found himself in this enviable conditionwas the same evening to which the last chapter bore reference; theplace was the cottage; and the assembled company were Nicholas,Mrs Nickleby, Mrs Browdie, Kate Nickleby, and Smike.
A very merry party they had been. Mrs Nickleby, knowing ofher son’s obligations to the honest Yorkshireman, had, after somedemur, yielded her consent to Mr and Mrs Browdie being invitedout to tea; in the way of which arrangement, there were at firstsundry difficulties and obstacles, arising out of her not having hadan opportunity of ‘calling’ upon Mrs Browdie first; for althoughMrs Nickleby very often observed with much complacency (asmost punctilious1 people do), that she had not an atom of pride orformality about her, still she was a great stickler2 for dignity andceremonies; and as it was manifest that, until a call had beenmade, she could not be (politely speaking, and according to thelaws of society) even cognisant of the fact of Mrs Browdie’sexistence, she felt her situation to be one of peculiar3 delicacy4 and difficulty.
‘The call must originate with me, my dear,’ said Mrs Nickleby,‘that’s indispensable. The fact is, my dear, that it’s necessary thereshould be a sort of condescension5 on my part, and that I shouldshow this young person that I am willing to take notice of her.
There’s a very respectable-looking young man,’ added MrsNickleby, after a short consideration, ‘who is conductor to one ofthe omnibuses that go by here, and who wears a glazed6 hat—yoursister and I have noticed him very often—he has a wart7 upon hisnose, Kate, you know, exactly like a gentleman’s servant.’
‘Have all gentlemen’s servants warts8 upon their noses, mother?’
asked Nicholas.
‘Nicholas, my dear, how very absurd you are,’ returned hismother; ‘of course I mean that his glazed hat looks like agentleman’s servant, and not the wart upon his nose; though eventhat is not so ridiculous as it may seem to you, for we had a footboyonce, who had not only a wart, but a wen also, and a very largewen too, and he demanded to have his wages raised inconsequence, because he found it came very expensive. Let mesee, what was I—oh yes, I know. The best way that I can think ofwould be to send a card, and my compliments, (I’ve no doubt he’dtake ’em for a pot of porter,) by this young man, to the Saracenwith Two Necks. If the waiter took him for a gentleman’s servant,so much the better. Then all Mrs Browdie would have to do wouldbe to send her card back by the carrier (he could easily come witha double knock), and there’s an end of it.’
‘My dear mother,’ said Nicholas, ‘I don’t suppose suchunsophisticated people as these ever had a card of their own, orever will have.’
‘Oh that, indeed, Nicholas, my dear,’ returned Mrs Nickleby,‘that’s another thing. If you put it upon that ground, why, ofcourse, I have no more to say, than that I have no doubt they arevery good sort of persons, and that I have no kind of objection totheir coming here to tea if they like, and shall make a point ofbeing very civil to them if they do.’
The point being thus effectually set at rest, and Mrs Nicklebyduly placed in the patronising and mildly-condescending positionwhich became her rank and matrimonial years, Mr and MrsBrowdie were invited and came; and as they were very deferentialto Mrs Nickleby, and seemed to have a becoming appreciation9 ofher greatness, and were very much pleased with everything, thegood lady had more than once given Kate to understand, in awhisper, that she thought they were the very best-meaning peopleshe had ever seen, and perfectly10 well behaved.
And thus it came to pass, that John Browdie declared, in theparlour after supper, to wit, and twenty minutes before eleveno’clock p.m., that he had never been so happy in all his days.
Nor was Mrs Browdie much behind her husband in thisrespect, for that young matron, whose rustic11 beauty contrastedvery prettily12 with the more delicate loveliness of Kate, and withoutsuffering by the contrast either, for each served as it were to set offand decorate the other, could not sufficiently13 admire the gentleand winning manners of the young lady, or the engaging affabilityof the elder one. Then Kate had the art of turning the conversationto subjects upon which the country girl, bashful at first in strangecompany, could feel herself at home; and if Mrs Nickleby was notquite so felicitous14 at times in the selection of topics of discourse15, orif she did seem, as Mrs Browdie expressed it, ‘rather high in her notions,’ still nothing could be kinder, and that she tookconsiderable interest in the young couple was manifest from thevery long lectures on housewifery with which she was so obligingas to entertain Mrs Browdie’s private ear, which were illustratedby various references to the domestic economy of the cottage, inwhich (those duties falling exclusively upon Kate) the good ladyhad about as much share, either in theory or practice, as any oneof the statues of the Twelve Apostles which embellish16 the exteriorof St Paul’s Cathedral.
‘Mr Browdie,’ said Kate, addressing his young wife, ‘is the best-humoured, the kindest and heartiest17 creature I ever saw. If I wereoppressed with I don’t know how many cares, it would make mehappy only to look at him.’
‘He does seem indeed, upon my word, a most excellentcreature, Kate,’ said Mrs Nickleby; ‘most excellent. And I am surethat at all times it will give me pleasure—really pleasure now—tohave you, Mrs Browdie, to see me in this plain and homelymanner. We make no display,’ said Mrs Nickleby, with an airwhich seemed to insinuate18 that they could make a vast deal if theywere so disposed; ‘no fuss, no preparation; I wouldn’t allow it. Isaid, “Kate, my dear, you will only make Mrs Browdie feeluncomfortable, and how very foolish and inconsiderate that wouldbe!” ‘‘I am very much obliged to you, I am sure, ma’am,’ returnedMrs Browdie, gratefully. ‘It’s nearly eleven o’clock, John. I amafraid we are keeping you up very late, ma’am.’
‘Late!’ cried Mrs Nickleby, with a sharp thin laugh, and onelittle cough at the end, like a note of admiration20 expressed. ‘This isquite early for us. We used to keep such hours! Twelve, one, two, three o’clock was nothing to us. Balls, dinners, card-parties! Neverwere such rakes as the people about where we used to live. I oftenthink now, I am sure, that how we ever could go through with it isquite astonishing, and that is just the evil of having a largeconnection and being a great deal sought after, which I wouldrecommend all young married people steadily21 to resist; though ofcourse, and it’s perfectly clear, and a very happy thing too, I think,that very few young married people can be exposed to suchtemptations. There was one family in particular, that used to liveabout a mile from us—not straight down the road, but turningsharp off to the left by the turnpike where the Plymouth mail ranover the donkey—that were quite extraordinary people for givingthe most extravagant22 parties, with artificial flowers andchampagne, and variegated23 lamps, and, in short, every delicacy ofeating and drinking that the most singular epicure24 could possiblyrequire. I don’t think that there ever were such people as thosePeltiroguses. You remember the Peltiroguses, Kate?’
Kate saw that for the ease and comfort of the visitors it washigh time to stay this flood of recollection, so answered that sheentertained of the Peltiroguses a most vivid and distinctremembrance; and then said that Mr Browdie had half promised,early in the evening, that he would sing a Yorkshire song, and thatshe was most impatient that he should redeem25 his promise,because she was sure it would afford her mama more amusementand pleasure than it was possible to express.
Mrs Nickleby confirming her daughter with the best possiblegrace—for there was patronage26 in that too, and a kind ofimplication that she had a discerning taste in such matters, andwas something of a critic—John Browdie proceeded to consider the words of some north-country ditty, and to take his wife’srecollection respecting the same. This done, he made diversungainly movements in his chair, and singling out one particularfly on the ceiling from the other flies there asleep, fixed27 his eyesupon him, and began to roar a meek28 sentiment (supposed to beuttered by a gentle swain fast pining away with love and despair)in a voice of thunder.
At the end of the first verse, as though some person without hadwaited until then to make himself audible, was heard a loud andviolent knocking at the street-door; so loud and so violent, indeed,that the ladies started as by one accord, and John Browdiestopped.
‘It must be some mistake,’ said Nicholas, carelessly. ‘We knownobody who would come here at this hour.’
Mrs Nickleby surmised29, however, that perhaps the countinghouse was burnt down, or perhaps ‘the Mr Cheerybles’ had sent totake Nicholas into partnership30 (which certainly appeared highlyprobable at that time of night), or perhaps Mr Linkinwater hadrun away with the property, or perhaps Miss La Creevy was takenin, or perhaps—But a hasty exclamation31 from Kate stopped her abruptly32 in herconjectures, and Ralph Nickleby walked into the room.
‘Stay,’ said Ralph, as Nicholas rose, and Kate, making her waytowards him, threw herself upon his arm. ‘Before that boy says aword, hear me.’
Nicholas bit his lip and shook his head in a threatening manner,but appeared for the moment unable to articulate a syllable33. Kateclung closer to his arm, Smike retreated behind them, and JohnBrowdie, who had heard of Ralph, and appeared to have no great difficulty in recognising him, stepped between the old man and hisyoung friend, as if with the intention of preventing either of themfrom advancing a step further.
‘Hear me, I say,’ said Ralph, ‘and not him.’
‘Say what thou’st gotten to say then, sir,’ retorted John; ‘andtak’ care thou dinnot put up angry bluid which thou’dst betthertry to quiet.’
‘I should know you,’ said Ralph, ‘by your tongue; and him’
(pointing to Smike) ‘by his looks.’
‘Don’t speak to him,’ said Nicholas, recovering his voice. ‘I willnot have it. I will not hear him. I do not know that man. I cannotbreathe the air that he corrupts34. His presence is an insult to mysister. It is shame to see him. I will not bear it.’
‘Stand!’ cried John, laying his heavy hand upon his chest.
‘Then let him instantly retire,’ said Nicholas, struggling. ‘I amnot going to lay hands upon him, but he shall withdraw. I will nothave him here. John, John Browdie, is this my house, am I achild? If he stands there,’ cried Nicholas, burning with fury,‘looking so calmly upon those who know his black and dastardlyheart, he’ll drive me mad.’
To all these exclamations35 John Browdie answered not a word,but he retained his hold upon Nicholas; and when he was silentagain, spoke36.
‘There’s more to say and hear than thou think’st for,’ said John.
‘I tell’ee I ha’ gotten scent37 o’ thot already. Wa’at be that shadowootside door there? Noo, schoolmeasther, show thyself, mun;dinnot be sheame-feaced. Noo, auld38 gen’l’man, let’s haveschoolmeasther, coom.’
Hearing this adjuration39, Mr Squeers, who had been lingering in the passage until such time as it should be expedient40 for him toenter and he could appear with effect, was fain to present himselfin a somewhat undignified and sneaking41 way; at which JohnBrowdie laughed with such keen and heartfelt delight, that evenKate, in all the pain, anxiety, and surprise of the scene, andthough the tears were in her eyes, felt a disposition42 to join him.
‘Have you done enjoying yourself, sir?’ said Ralph, at length.
‘Pratty nigh for the prasant time, sir,’ replied John.
‘I can wait,’ said Ralph. ‘Take your own time, pray.’
Ralph waited until there was a perfect silence, and then turningto Mrs Nickleby, but directing an eager glance at Kate, as if moreanxious to watch his effect upon her, said:
‘Now, ma’am, listen to me. I don’t imagine that you were a partyto a very fine tirade43 of words sent me by that boy of yours, becauseI don’t believe that under his control, you have the slightest will ofyour own, or that your advice, your opinion, your wants, yourwishes, anything which in nature and reason (or of what use isyour great experience?) ought to weigh with him, has the slightestinfluence or weight whatever, or is taken for a moment intoaccount.’
Mrs Nickleby shook her head and sighed, as if there were agood deal in that, certainly.
‘For this reason,’ resumed Ralph, ‘I address myself to you,ma’am. For this reason, partly, and partly because I do not wish tobe disgraced by the acts of a vicious stripling whom I was obligedto disown, and who, afterwards, in his boyish majesty44, feigns45 to—ha! ha!—to disown me, I present myself here tonight. I haveanother motive46 in coming: a motive of humanity. I come here,’ saidRalph, looking round with a biting and triumphant47 smile, and gloating and dwelling48 upon the words as if he were loath49 to losethe pleasure of saying them, ‘to restore a parent his child. Ay, sir,’
he continued, bending eagerly forward, and addressing Nicholas,as he marked the change of his countenance50, ‘to restore a parenthis child; his son, sir; trepanned, waylaid51, and guarded at everyturn by you, with the base design of robbing him some day of anylittle wretched pittance52 of which he might become possessed53.’
‘In that, you know you lie,’ said Nicholas, proudly.
‘In this, I know I speak the truth. I have his father here,’
retorted Ralph.
‘Here!’ sneered54 Squeers, stepping forward. ‘Do you hear that?
Here! Didn’t I tell you to be careful that his father didn’t turn upand send him back to me? Why, his father’s my friend; he’s tocome back to me directly, he is. Now, what do you say—eh!—now—come—what do you say to that—an’t you sorry you took somuch trouble for nothing? an’t you? an’t you?’
‘You bear upon your body certain marks I gave you,’ saidNicholas, looking quietly away, ‘and may talk in acknowledgmentof them as much as you please. You’ll talk a long time before yourub them out, Mr Squeers.’
The estimable gentleman last named cast a hasty look at thetable, as if he were prompted by this retort to throw a jug55 or bottleat the head of Nicholas, but he was interrupted in this design (ifsuch design he had) by Ralph, who, touching56 him on the elbow,bade him tell the father that he might now appear and claim hisson.
This being purely57 a labour of love, Mr Squeers readilycomplied, and leaving the room for the purpose, almostimmediately returned, supporting a sleek58 personage with an oily face, who, bursting from him, and giving to view the form and faceof Mr Snawley, made straight up to Smike, and tucking that poorfellow’s head under his arm in a most uncouth59 and awkwardembrace, elevated his broad-brimmed hat at arm’s length in theair as a token of devout60 thanksgiving, exclaiming, meanwhile,‘How little did I think of this here joyful61 meeting, when I saw himlast! Oh, how little did I think it!’
‘Be composed, sir,’ said Ralph, with a gruff expression ofsympathy, ‘you have got him now.’
‘Got him! Oh, haven’t I got him! Have I got him, though?’ criedMr Snawley, scarcely able to believe it. ‘Yes, here he is, flesh andblood, flesh and blood.’
‘Vary little flesh,’ said John Browdie.
Mr Snawley was too much occupied by his parental62 feelings tonotice this remark; and, to assure himself more completely of therestoration of his child, tucked his head under his arm again, andkept it there.
‘What was it,’ said Snawley, ‘that made me take such a stronginterest in him, when that worthy63 instructor64 of youth brought himto my house? What was it that made me burn all over with a wishto chastise65 him severely66 for cutting away from his best friends, hispastors and masters?’
‘It was parental instinct, sir,’ observed Squeers.
‘That’s what it was, sir,’ rejoined Snawley; ‘the elevated feeling,the feeling of the ancient Romans and Grecians, and of the beastsof the field and birds of the air, with the exception of rabbits andtom-cats, which sometimes devour67 their offspring. My heartyearned towards him. I could have—I don’t know what I couldn’thave done to him in the anger of a father.’
‘It only shows what Natur is, sir,’ said Mr Squeers. ‘She’s rum’un, is Natur.’
‘She is a holy thing, sir,’ remarked Snawley.
‘I believe you,’ added Mr Squeers, with a moral sigh. ‘I shouldlike to know how we should ever get on without her. Natur,’ saidMr Squeers, solemnly, ‘is more easier conceived than described.
Oh what a blessed thing, sir, to be in a state of natur!’
Pending this philosophical68 discourse, the bystanders had beenquite stupefied with amazement69, while Nicholas had looked keenlyfrom Snawley to Squeers, and from Squeers to Ralph, dividedbetween his feelings of disgust, doubt, and surprise. At thisjuncture, Smike escaping from his father fled to Nicholas, andimplored him, in most moving terms, never to give him up, but tolet him live and die beside him.
‘If you are this boy’s father,’ said Nicholas, ‘look at the wreck70 heis, and tell me that you purpose to send him back to thatloathsome den71 from which I brought him.’
‘Scandal again!’ cried Squeers. ‘Recollect, you an’t worthpowder and shot, but I’ll be even with you one way or another.’
‘Stop,’ interposed Ralph, as Snawley was about to speak. ‘Letus cut this matter short, and not bandy words here with harebrained profligates. This is your son, as you can prove. And you,Mr Squeers, you know this boy to be the same that was with youfor so many years under the name of Smike. Do you?’
‘Do I!’ returned Squeers. ‘Don’t I?’
‘Good,’ said Ralph; ‘a very few words will be sufficient here.
You had a son by your first wife, Mr Snawley?’
‘I had,’ replied that person, ‘and there he stands.’
‘We’ll show that presently,’ said Ralph. ‘You and your wife were separated, and she had the boy to live with her, when he was ayear old. You received a communication from her, when you hadlived apart a year or two, that the boy was dead; and you believedit?’
‘Of course I did!’ returned Snawley. ‘Oh the joy of—’
‘Be rational, sir, pray,’ said Ralph. ‘This is business, andtransports interfere72 with it. This wife died a year and a half ago, orthereabouts—not more—in some obscure place, where she washousekeeper in a family. Is that the case?’
‘That’s the case,’ replied Snawley.
‘Having written on her death-bed a letter or confession73 to you,about this very boy, which, as it was not directed otherwise than inyour name, only reached you, and that by a circuitous74 course, afew days since?’
‘Just so,’ said Snawley. ‘Correct in every particular, sir.’
‘And this confession,’ resumed Ralph, ‘is to the effect that hisdeath was an invention of hers to wound you—was a part of asystem of annoyance75, in short, which you seem to have adoptedtowards each other—that the boy lived, but was of weak andimperfect intellect—that she sent him by a trusty hand to a cheapschool in Yorkshire—that she had paid for his education for someyears, and then, being poor, and going a long way off, graduallydeserted him, for which she prayed forgiveness?’
Snawley nodded his head, and wiped his eyes; the first slightly,the last violently.
‘The school was Mr Squeers’s,’ continued Ralph; ‘the boy wasleft there in the name of Smike; every description was fully19 given,dates tally76 exactly with Mr Squeers’s books, Mr Squeers is lodgingwith you at this time; you have two other boys at his school: you communicated the whole discovery to him, he brought you to meas the person who had recommended to him the kidnapper78 of hischild; and I brought you here. Is that so?’
‘You talk like a good book, sir, that’s got nothing in its insidebut what’s the truth,’ replied Snawley.
‘This is your pocket-book,’ said Ralph, producing one from hiscoat; ‘the certificates of your first marriage and of the boy’s birth,and your wife’s two letters, and every other paper that can supportthese statements directly or by implication, are here, are they?’
‘Every one of ’em, sir.’
‘And you don’t object to their being looked at here, so that thesepeople may be convinced of your power to substantiate79 your claimat once in law and reason, and you may resume your control overyour own son without more delay. Do I understand you?’
‘I couldn’t have understood myself better, sir.’
‘There, then,’ said Ralph, tossing the pocket-book upon thetable. ‘Let them see them if they like; and as those are the originalpapers, I should recommend you to stand near while they arebeing examined, or you may chance to lose some.’
With these words Ralph sat down unbidden, and compressinghis lips, which were for the moment slightly parted by a smile,folded his arms, and looked for the first time at his nephew.
Nicholas, stung by the concluding taunt80, darted81 an indignantglance at him; but commanding himself as well as he could,entered upon a close examination of the documents, at which JohnBrowdie assisted. There was nothing about them which could becalled in question. The certificates were regularly signed asextracts from the parish books, the first letter had a genuineappearance of having been written and preserved for some years, the handwriting of the second tallied82 with it exactly, (makingproper allowance for its having been written by a person inextremity,) and there were several other corroboratory83 scraps84 ofentries and memoranda85 which it was equally difficult to question.
‘Dear Nicholas,’ whispered Kate, who had been lookinganxiously over his shoulder, ‘can this be really the case? Is thisstatement true?’
‘I fear it is,’ answered Nicholas. ‘What say you, John?’
‘John scratched his head and shook it, but said nothing at all.
‘You will observe, ma’am,’ said Ralph, addressing himself toMrs Nickleby, ‘that this boy being a minor86 and not of strong mind,we might have come here tonight, armed with the powers of thelaw, and backed by a troop of its myrmidons. I should have doneso, ma’am, unquestionably, but for my regard for the feelings ofyourself, and your daughter.’
‘You have shown your regard for her feelings well,’ saidNicholas, drawing his sister towards him.
‘Thank you,’ replied Ralph. ‘Your praise, sir, is commendation,indeed.’
‘Well,’ said Squeers, ‘what’s to be done? Them hackney-coachhorses will catch cold if we don’t think of moving; there’s one of’em a sneezing now, so that he blows the street door right open.
What’s the order of the day? Is Master Snawley to come alongwith us?’
‘No, no, no,’ replied Smike, drawing back, and clinging toNicholas.
‘No. Pray, no. I will not go from you with him. No, no.’
‘This is a cruel thing,’ said Snawley, looking to his friends forsupport. ‘Do parents bring children into the world for this?’
‘Do parents bring children into the world for thot?’ said JohnBrowdie bluntly, pointing, as he spoke, to Squeers.
‘Never you mind,’ retorted that gentleman, tapping his nosederisively.
‘Never I mind!’ said John, ‘no, nor never nobody mind, say’stthou, schoolmeasther. It’s nobody’s minding that keeps sike menas thou afloat. Noo then, where be’est thou coomin’ to? Dang it,dinnot coom treadin’ ower me, mun.’
Suiting the action to the word, John Browdie just jerked hiselbow into the chest of Mr Squeers who was advancing uponSmike; with so much dexterity87 that the schoolmaster reeled andstaggered back upon Ralph Nickleby, and being unable to recoverhis balance, knocked that gentleman off his chair, and stumbledheavily upon him.
This accidental circumstance was the signal for some verydecisive proceedings88. In the midst of a great noise, occasioned bythe prayers and entreaties89 of Smike, the cries and exclamations ofthe women, and the vehemence90 of the men, demonstrations91 weremade of carrying off the lost son by violence. Squeers had actuallybegun to haul him out, when Nicholas (who, until then, had beenevidently undecided how to act) took him by the collar, andshaking him so that such teeth as he had, chattered92 in his head,politely escorted him to the room-door, and thrusting him into thepassage, shut it upon him.
‘Now,’ said Nicholas to the other two, ‘have the goodness tofollow your friend.’
‘I want my son,’ said Snawley.
‘Your son,’ replied Nicholas, ‘chooses for himself. He chooses toremain here, and he shall.’
‘You won’t give him up?’ said Snawley.
‘I would not give him up against his will, to be the victim ofsuch brutality93 as that to which you would consign94 him,’ repliedNicholas, ‘if he were a dog or a rat.’
‘Knock that Nickleby down with a candlestick,’ cried MrSqueers, through the keyhole, ‘and bring out my hat, somebody,will you, unless he wants to steal it.’
‘I am very sorry, indeed,’ said Mrs Nickleby, who, with MrsBrowdie, had stood crying and biting her fingers in a corner, whileKate (very pale, but perfectly quiet) had kept as near her brotheras she could. ‘I am very sorry, indeed, for all this. I really don’tknow what would be best to do, and that’s the truth. Nicholasought to be the best judge, and I hope he is. Of course, it’s a hardthing to have to keep other people’s children, though young MrSnawley is certainly as useful and willing as it’s possible foranybody to be; but, if it could be settled in any friendly manner—ifold Mr Snawley, for instance, would settle to pay somethingcertain for his board and lodging77, and some fair arrangement wascome to, so that we undertook to have fish twice a week, and apudding twice, or a dumpling, or something of that sort—I dothink that it might be very satisfactory and pleasant for all parties.’
This compromise, which was proposed with abundance of tearsand sighs, not exactly meeting the point at issue, nobody took anynotice of it; and poor Mrs Nickleby accordingly proceeded toenlighten Mrs Browdie upon the advantages of such a scheme,and the unhappy results flowing, on all occasions, from her notbeing attended to when she proffered95 her advice.
‘You, sir,’ said Snawley, addressing the terrified Smike, ‘are anunnatural, ungrateful, unlovable boy. You won’t let me love you when I want to. Won’t you come home, won’t you?’
‘No, no, no,’ cried Smike, shrinking back.
‘He never loved nobody,’ bawled96 Squeers, through the keyhole.
‘He never loved me; he never loved Wackford, who is next doorbut one to a cherubim. How can you expect that he’ll love hisfather? He’ll never love his father, he won’t. He don’t know what itis to have a father. He don’t understand it. It an’t in him.’
Mr Snawley looked steadfastly97 at his son for a full minute, andthen covering his eyes with his hand, and once more raising hishat in the air, appeared deeply occupied in deploring98 his blackingratitude. Then drawing his arm across his eyes, he picked upMr Squeers’s hat, and taking it under one arm, and his own underthe other, walked slowly and sadly out.
‘Your romance, sir,’ said Ralph, lingering for a moment, ‘isdestroyed, I take it. No unknown; no persecuted99 descendant of aman of high degree; but the weak, imbecile son of a poor, pettytradesman. We shall see how your sympathy melts before plainmatter of fact.’
‘You shall,’ said Nicholas, motioning towards the door.
‘And trust me, sir,’ added Ralph, ‘that I never supposed youwould give him up tonight. Pride, obstinacy100, reputation for finefeeling, were all against it. These must be brought down, sir,lowered, crushed, as they shall be soon. The protracted101 andwearing anxiety and expense of the law in its most oppressiveform, its torture from hour to hour, its weary days and sleeplessnights, with these I’ll prove you, and break your haughty102 spirit,strong as you deem it now. And when you make this house a hell,and visit these trials upon yonder wretched object (as you will; Iknow you), and those who think you now a young-fledged hero, we’ll go into old accounts between us two, and see who stands thedebtor, and comes out best at last, even before the world.’
Ralph Nickleby withdrew. But Mr Squeers, who had heard aportion of this closing address, and was by this time wound up to apitch of impotent malignity103 almost unprecedented104, could notrefrain from returning to the parlour door, and actually cuttingsome dozen capers105 with various wry106 faces and hideous107 grimaces,expressive of his triumphant confidence in the downfall and defeatof Nicholas.
Having concluded this war-dance, in which his short trousersand large boots had borne a very conspicuous108 figure, Mr Squeersfollowed his friends, and the family were left to meditate109 uponrecent occurrences.
收听单词发音 |
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punctilious
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stickler
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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delicacy
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condescension
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glazed
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| adj.光滑的，像玻璃的；上过釉的；呆滞无神的v.装玻璃( glaze的过去式)；上釉于，上光；（目光）变得呆滞无神 | |
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wart
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warts
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| n.疣( wart的名词复数 )；肉赘；树瘤；缺点 | |
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appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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rustic
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| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
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prettily
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| adv.优美地；可爱地 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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14
felicitous
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| adj.恰当的，巧妙的；n.恰当，贴切 | |
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15
discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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embellish
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| v.装饰，布置；给…添加细节，润饰 | |
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heartiest
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| 亲切的( hearty的最高级 )； 热诚的； 健壮的； 精神饱满的 | |
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18
insinuate
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| vt.含沙射影地说，暗示 | |
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19
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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22
extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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23
variegated
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| adj.斑驳的，杂色的 | |
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24
epicure
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| n.行家，美食家 | |
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25
redeem
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| v.买回，赎回，挽回，恢复，履行（诺言等） | |
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patronage
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| n.赞助，支援，援助；光顾，捧场 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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28
meek
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| adj.温顺的，逆来顺受的 | |
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29
surmised
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| v.臆测，推断( surmise的过去式和过去分词 )；揣测；猜想 | |
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30
partnership
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| n.合作关系，伙伴关系 | |
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31
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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32
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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33
syllable
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| n.音节；vt.分音节 | |
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34
corrupts
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| （使）败坏( corrupt的第三人称单数 )； （使）腐化； 引起（计算机文件等的）错误； 破坏 | |
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35
exclamations
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| n.呼喊( exclamation的名词复数 )；感叹；感叹语；感叹词 | |
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36
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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37
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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auld
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| adj.老的，旧的 | |
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39
adjuration
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| n.祈求，命令 | |
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40
expedient
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| adj.有用的，有利的；n.紧急的办法，权宜之计 | |
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41
sneaking
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| a.秘密的，不公开的 | |
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42
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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43
tirade
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| n.冗长的攻击性演说 | |
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majesty
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| n.雄伟，壮丽，庄严，威严；最高权威，王权 | |
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feigns
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| 假装，伪装( feign的第三人称单数 )； 捏造（借口、理由等） | |
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46
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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48
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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49
loath
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| adj.不愿意的；勉强的 | |
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50
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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51
waylaid
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| v.拦截，拦路( waylay的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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52
pittance
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| n.微薄的薪水，少量 | |
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53
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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54
sneered
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| 讥笑，冷笑( sneer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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55
jug
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| n.(有柄，小口，可盛水等的)大壶，罐，盂 | |
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56
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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57
purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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58
sleek
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| adj.光滑的，井然有序的；v.使光滑，梳拢 | |
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59
uncouth
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| adj.无教养的，粗鲁的 | |
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60
devout
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| adj.虔诚的，虔敬的，衷心的 (n.devoutness) | |
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61
joyful
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| adj.欢乐的，令人欢欣的 | |
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62
parental
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| adj.父母的；父的；母的 | |
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63
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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64
instructor
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| n.指导者，教员，教练 | |
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65
chastise
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| vt.责骂，严惩 | |
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severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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67
devour
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| v.吞没；贪婪地注视或谛听，贪读；使着迷 | |
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68
philosophical
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| adj.哲学家的，哲学上的，达观的 | |
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69
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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70
wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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71
den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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73
confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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74
circuitous
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| adj.迂回的路的，迂曲的，绕行的 | |
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75
annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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76
tally
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| n.计数器，记分，一致，测量；vt.计算，记录，使一致；vi.计算，记分，一致 | |
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77
lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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78
kidnapper
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| n.绑架者，拐骗者 | |
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79
substantiate
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| v.证实；证明...有根据 | |
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80
taunt
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| n.辱骂，嘲弄；v.嘲弄 | |
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81
darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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82
tallied
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| v.计算，清点( tally的过去式和过去分词 )；加标签（或标记）于；（使）符合；（使）吻合 | |
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83
corroboratory
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| adj.确定的，证实的 | |
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84
scraps
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| 油渣 | |
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85
memoranda
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| n. 备忘录, 便条 名词memorandum的复数形式 | |
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86
minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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87
dexterity
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| n.(手的)灵巧，灵活 | |
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88
proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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89
entreaties
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| n.恳求，乞求( entreaty的名词复数 ) | |
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90
vehemence
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| n.热切；激烈；愤怒 | |
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91
demonstrations
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| 证明( demonstration的名词复数 )； 表明； 表达； 游行示威 | |
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92
chattered
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| （人）喋喋不休( chatter的过去式 )； 唠叨； （牙齿）打战； （机器）震颤 | |
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93
brutality
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| n.野蛮的行为，残忍，野蛮 | |
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94
consign
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| vt.寄售（货品），托运，交托，委托 | |
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proffered
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| v.提供，贡献，提出( proffer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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96
bawled
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| v.大叫，大喊( bawl的过去式和过去分词 )；放声大哭；大声叫出；叫卖（货物） | |
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97
steadfastly
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| adv.踏实地，不变地；岿然；坚定不渝 | |
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98
deploring
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| v.悲叹，痛惜，强烈反对( deplore的现在分词 ) | |
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99
persecuted
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| （尤指宗教或政治信仰的）迫害(~sb. for sth.)( persecute的过去式和过去分词 )； 烦扰，困扰或骚扰某人 | |
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100
obstinacy
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| n.顽固；（病痛等）难治 | |
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101
protracted
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| adj.拖延的；延长的v.拖延“protract”的过去式和过去分词 | |
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102
haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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103
malignity
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| n.极度的恶意，恶毒；（病的）恶性 | |
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104
unprecedented
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| adj.无前例的，新奇的 | |
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105
capers
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| n.开玩笑( caper的名词复数 )；刺山柑v.跳跃，雀跃( caper的第三人称单数 ) | |
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106
wry
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| adj.讽刺的；扭曲的 | |
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107
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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108
conspicuous
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| adj.明眼的，惹人注目的；炫耀的，摆阔气的 | |
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109
meditate
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| v.想，考虑，（尤指宗教上的）沉思，冥想 | |
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