The Life and Adventures of Nicholas Nickleby by Charles Dickens (books to read this summer txt) 📕

there it was. In one line by itself was an announcement of the first night of a new melodrama; in another line by itself was an announcement of the last six nights of an old one; a third line was devoted to the re-engagement of the unrivalled African Knife-swallower, who had kindly suffered himself to be prevailed upon to forego his country engagements for one week longer; a fourth line announced that Mr Snittle Timberry, having recovered from his late severe indisposition, would have the honour of appearing that evening; a fifth line said that there were ‘Cheers, Tears, and Laughter!’ every night; a sixth, that that was positively the last appearance of Mr Vincent Crummles of Provincial Celebrity.

‘Surely it must be the same man,’ thought Nicholas. ‘There can’t be two Vincent Crummleses.’

The better to settle this question he referred to the bill again, and finding that there was a Baron in the first piece, and that Roberto (his son) was enacted by one Master Crummles, and Spaletro (his nephew) by one Master Percy Crummles—THEIR last appearances— and that, incidental to the piece, was a characteristic dance by the characters, and a castanet pas seul by the Infant Phenomenon—HER last appearance—he no longer entertained any doubt; and presenting himself at the stage-door, and sending in a scrap of paper with ‘Mr Johnson’ written thereon in pencil, was presently conducted by a Robber, with a very large belt and buckle round his waist, and very large leather gauntlets on his hands, into the presence of his former manager.

Mr Crummles was unfeignedly glad to see him, and starting up from before a small dressing-glass, with one very bushy eyebrow stuck on crooked over his left eye, and the fellow eyebrow and the calf of one of his legs in his hand, embraced him cordially; at the same time observing, that it would do Mrs Crummles’s heart good to bid him goodbye before they went.

‘You were always a favourite of hers, Johnson,’ said Crummles, ‘always were from the first. I was quite easy in my mind about you from that first day you dined with us. One that Mrs Crummles took a fancy to, was sure to turn out right. Ah! Johnson, what a woman that is!’

‘I am sincerely obliged to her for her kindness in this and all other respects,’ said Nicholas. ‘But where are you going,’ that you talk about bidding goodbye?’

‘Haven’t you seen it in the papers?’ said Crummles, with some dignity.

‘No,’ replied Nicholas.

‘I wonder at that,’ said the manager. ‘It was among the varieties. I had the paragraph here somewhere—but I don’t know—oh, yes, here it is.’

So saying, Mr Crummles, after pretending that he thought he must have lost it, produced a square inch of newspaper from the pocket of the pantaloons he wore in private life (which, together with the plain clothes of several other gentlemen, lay scattered about on a kind of dresser in the room), and gave it to Nicholas to read:

‘The talented Vincent Crummles, long favourably known to fame as a country manager and actor of no ordinary pretensions, is about to cross the Atlantic on a histrionic expedition. Crummles is to be accompanied, we hear, by his lady and gifted family. We know no man superior to Crummles in his particular line of character, or one who, whether as a public or private individual, could carry with him the best wishes of a larger circle of friends. Crummles is certain to succeed.’

‘Here’s another bit,’ said Mr Crummles, handing over a still smaller scrap. ‘This is from the notices to correspondents, this one.’

Nicholas read it aloud. ‘“Philo-Dramaticus. Crummles, the country manager and actor, cannot be more than forty-three, or forty-four years of age. Crummles is NOT a Prussian, having been born at Chelsea.” Humph!’ said Nicholas, ‘that’s an odd paragraph.’

‘Very,’ returned Crummles, scratching the side of his nose, and looking at Nicholas with an assumption of great unconcern. ‘I can’t think who puts these things in. I didn’t.’

Still keeping his eye on Nicholas, Mr Crummles shook his head twice or thrice with profound gravity, and remarking, that he could not for the life of him imagine how the newspapers found out the things they did, folded up the extracts and put them in his pocket again.

‘I am astonished to hear this news,’ said Nicholas. ‘Going to America! You had no such thing in contemplation when I was with you.’

‘No,’ replied Crummles, ‘I hadn’t then. The fact is that Mrs Crummles—most extraordinary woman, Johnson.’ Here he broke off and whispered something in his ear.

‘Oh!’ said Nicholas, smiling. ‘The prospect of an addition to your family?’

‘The seventh addition, Johnson,’ returned Mr Crummles, solemnly. ‘I thought such a child as the Phenomenon must have been a closer; but it seems we are to have another. She is a very remarkable woman.’

‘I congratulate you,’ said Nicholas, ‘and I hope this may prove a phenomenon too.’

‘Why, it’s pretty sure to be something uncommon, I suppose,’ rejoined Mr Crummles. ‘The talent of the other three is principally in combat and serious pantomime. I should like this one to have a turn for juvenile tragedy; I understand they want something of that sort in America very much. However, we must take it as it comes. Perhaps it may have a genius for the tight-rope. It may have any sort of genius, in short, if it takes after its mother, Johnson, for she is an universal genius; but, whatever its genius is, that genius shall be developed.’

Expressing himself after these terms, Mr Crummles put on his other eyebrow, and the calves of his legs, and then put on his legs, which were of a yellowish flesh-colour, and rather soiled about the knees, from frequent going down upon those joints, in curses, prayers, last struggles, and other strong passages.

While the ex-manager completed his toilet, he informed Nicholas that as he should have a fair start in America from the proceeds of a tolerably good engagement which he had been fortunate enough to obtain, and as he and Mrs Crummles could scarcely hope to act for ever (not being immortal, except in the breath of Fame and in a figurative sense) he had made up his mind to settle there permanently, in the hope of acquiring some land of his own which would support them in their old age, and which they could afterwards bequeath to their children. Nicholas, having highly commended the resolution, Mr Crummles went on to impart such further intelligence relative to their mutual friends as he thought might prove interesting; informing Nicholas, among other things, that Miss Snevellicci was happily married to an affluent young wax-chandler who had supplied the theatre with candles, and that Mr Lillyvick didn’t dare to say his soul was his own, such was the tyrannical sway of Mrs Lillyvick, who reigned paramount and supreme.

Nicholas responded to this confidence on the part of Mr Crummles, by confiding to him his own name, situation, and prospects, and informing him, in as few general words as he could, of the circumstances which had led to their first acquaintance. After congratulating him with great heartiness on the improved state of his fortunes, Mr Crummles gave him to understand that next morning he and his were to start for Liverpool, where the vessel lay which was to carry them from the shores of England, and that if Nicholas wished to take a last adieu of Mrs Crummles, he must repair with him that night to a farewell supper, given in honour of the family at a neighbouring tavern; at which Mr Snittle Timberry would preside, while the honours of the vice-chair would be sustained by the African Swallower.

The room being by this time very warm and somewhat crowded, in consequence of the influx of four gentlemen, who had just killed each other in the piece under representation, Nicholas accepted the invitation, and promised to return at the conclusion of the performances; preferring the cool air and twilight out of doors to the mingled perfume of gas, orange-peel, and gunpowder, which pervaded the hot and glaring theatre.

He availed himself of this interval to buy a silver snuff-box—the best his funds would afford—as a token of remembrance for Mr Crummles, and having purchased besides a pair of earrings for Mrs Crummles, a necklace for the Phenomenon, and a flaming shirt-pin for each of the young gentlemen, he refreshed himself with a walk, and returning a little after the appointed time, found the lights out, the theatre empty, the curtain raised for the night, and Mr Crummles walking up and down the stage expecting his arrival.

‘Timberry won’t be long,’ said Mr Crummles. ‘He played the audience out tonight. He does a faithful black in the last piece, and it takes him a little longer to wash himself.’

‘A very unpleasant line of character, I should think?’ said Nicholas.

‘No, I don’t know,’ replied Mr Crummles; ‘it comes off easily enough, and there’s only the face and neck. We had a first-tragedy man in our company once, who, when he played Othello, used to black himself all over. But that’s feeling a part and going into it as if you meant it; it isn’t usual; more’s the pity.’

Mr Snittle Timberry now appeared, arm-in-arm with the African Swallower, and, being introduced to Nicholas, raised his hat half a foot, and said he was proud to know him. The Swallower said the same, and looked and spoke remarkably like an Irishman.

‘I see by the bills that you have been ill, sir,’ said Nicholas to Mr Timberry. ‘I hope you are none the worse for your exertions tonight?’

Mr Timberry, in reply, shook his head with a gloomy air, tapped his chest several times with great significancy, and drawing his cloak more closely about him, said, ‘But no matter, no matter. Come!’

It is observable that when people upon the stage are in any strait involving the very last extremity of weakness and exhaustion, they invariably perform feats of strength requiring great ingenuity and muscular power. Thus, a wounded prince or bandit chief, who is bleeding to death and too faint to move, except to the softest music (and then only upon his hands and knees), shall be seen to approach a cottage door for aid in such a series of writhings and twistings, and with such curlings up of the legs, and such rollings over and over, and such gettings up and tumblings down again, as could never be achieved save by a very strong man skilled in posture-making. And so natural did this sort of performance come to Mr Snittle Timberry, that on their way out of the theatre and towards the tavern where the supper was to be holden, he testified the severity of his recent indisposition and its wasting effects upon the nervous system, by a series of gymnastic performances which were the admiration of all witnesses.

‘Why this is indeed a joy I had not looked for!’ said Mrs Crummles, when Nicholas was presented.

‘Nor I,’ replied Nicholas. ‘It is by a mere chance that I have this opportunity of seeing you, although I would have made a great exertion to have availed myself of it.’

‘Here is one whom you know,’ said Mrs Crummles, thrusting forward the Phenomenon in a blue gauze frock, extensively flounced, and trousers of the same; ‘and here another—and another,’ presenting the Master Crummleses. ‘And how is your friend, the faithful Digby?’

‘Digby!’ said Nicholas, forgetting at the instant that this had been Smike’s theatrical name. ‘Oh yes. He’s quite—what am I saying?— he is very far from well.’

‘How!’ exclaimed Mrs Crummles, with a tragic recoil.

‘I fear,’ said Nicholas, shaking his head, and making an attempt to smile, ‘that your better-half would be more struck with him now than ever.’

‘What mean you?’ rejoined Mrs Crummles, in her