CHAPTER 1

Introduces all the Rest

There once lived, in a sequestered part of the county of Devonshire, one
Mr. Godfrey Nickleby: a worthy gentleman, who, taking it into his head
rather late in life that he must get married, and not being young enough
or rich enough to aspire to the hand of a lady of fortune, had wedded an
old flame out of mere attachment, who in her turn had taken him for the
same reason. Thus two people who cannot afford to play cards for money,
sometimes sit down to a quiet game for love.

Some ill-conditioned persons who sneer at the life-matrimonial, may
perhaps suggest, in this place, that the good couple would be better
likened to two principals in a sparring match, who, when fortune is low
and backers scarce, will chivalrously set to, for the mere pleasure
of the buffeting; and in one respect indeed this comparison would hold
good; for, as the adventurous pair of the Fives’ Court will afterwards
send round a hat, and trust to the bounty of the lookers-on for the
means of regaling themselves, so Mr. Godfrey Nickleby and HIS partner,
the honeymoon being over, looked out wistfully into the world, relying
in no inconsiderable degree upon chance for the improvement of their
means. Mr. Nickleby’s income, at the period of his marriage, fluctuated
between sixty and eighty pounds PER ANNUM.

There are people enough in the world, Heaven knows! and even in London
(where Mr. Nickleby dwelt in those days) but few complaints prevail, of
the population being scanty. It is extraordinary how long a man may look
among the crowd without discovering the face of a friend, but it is no
less true. Mr. Nickleby looked, and looked, till his eyes became sore
as his heart, but no friend appeared; and when, growing tired of the
search, he turned his eyes homeward, he saw very little there to relieve
his weary vision. A painter who has gazed too long upon some glaring
colour, refreshes his dazzled sight by looking upon a darker and more
sombre tint; but everything that met Mr. Nickleby’s gaze wore so black
and gloomy a hue, that he would have been beyond description refreshed
by the very reverse of the contrast.

At length, after five years, when Mrs. Nickleby had presented her husband
with a couple of sons, and that embarrassed gentleman, impressed with
the necessity of making some provision for his family, was seriously
revolving in his mind a little commercial speculation of insuring his
life next quarter-day, and then falling from the top of the Monument by
accident, there came, one morning, by the general post, a black-bordered
letter to inform him how his uncle, Mr. Ralph Nickleby, was dead, and
had left him the bulk of his little property, amounting in all to five
thousand pounds sterling.

As the deceased had taken no further notice of his nephew in his
lifetime, than sending to his eldest boy (who had been christened after
him, on desperate speculation) a silver spoon in a morocco case, which,
as he had not too much to eat with it, seemed a kind of satire upon his
having been born without that useful article of plate in his mouth,
Mr. Godfrey Nickleby could, at first, scarcely believe the tidings thus
conveyed to him. On examination, however, they turned out to be strictly
correct. The amiable old gentleman, it seemed, had intended to leave
the whole to the Royal Humane Society, and had indeed executed a will to
that effect; but the Institution, having been unfortunate enough, a few
months before, to save the life of a poor relation to whom he paid a
weekly allowance of three shillings and sixpence, he had, in a fit of
very natural exasperation, revoked the bequest in a codicil, and left it
all to Mr. Godfrey Nickleby; with a special mention of his indignation,
not only against the society for saving the poor relation’s life, but
against the poor relation also, for allowing himself to be saved.

With a portion of this property Mr. Godfrey Nickleby purchased a small
farm, near Dawlish in Devonshire, whither he retired with his wife and
two children, to live upon the best interest he could get for the rest
of his money, and the little produce he could raise from his land. The
two prospered so well together that, when he died, some fifteen years
after this period, and some five after his wife, he was enabled to
leave, to his eldest son, Ralph, three thousand pounds in cash, and
to his youngest son, Nicholas, one thousand and the farm, which was as
small a landed estate as one would desire to see.

These two brothers had been brought up together in a school at Exeter;
and, being accustomed to go home once a week, had often heard, from
their mother’s lips, long accounts of their father’s sufferings in his
days of poverty, and of their deceased uncle’s importance in his days
of affluence: which recitals produced a very different impression on
the two: for, while the younger, who was of a timid and retiring
disposition, gleaned from thence nothing but forewarnings to shun the
great world and attach himself to the quiet routine of a country life,
Ralph, the elder, deduced from the often-repeated tale the two great
morals that riches are the only true source of happiness and power, and
that it is lawful and just to compass their acquisition by all means
short of felony. ‘And,’ reasoned Ralph with himself, ‘if no good came
of my uncle’s money when he was alive, a great deal of good came of it
after he was dead, inasmuch as my father has got it now, and is saving
it up for me, which is a highly virtuous purpose; and, going back to the
old gentleman, good DID come of it to him too, for he had the pleasure
of thinking of it all his life long, and of being envied and courted
by all his family besides.’ And Ralph always wound up these mental
soliloquies by arriving at the conclusion, that there was nothing like
money.

Not confining himself to theory, or permitting his faculties to rust,
even at that early age, in mere abstract speculations, this promising
lad commenced usurer on a limited scale at school; putting out at good
interest a small capital of slate-pencil and marbles, and gradually
extending his operations until they aspired to the copper coinage of
this realm, in which he speculated to considerable advantage. Nor did
he trouble his borrowers with abstract calculations of figures, or
references to ready-reckoners; his simple rule of interest being all
comprised in the one golden sentence, ‘two-pence for every half-penny,’
which greatly simplified the accounts, and which, as a familiar precept,
more easily acquired and retained in the memory than any known rule
of arithmetic, cannot be too strongly recommended to the notice of
capitalists, both large and small, and more especially of money-brokers
and bill-discounters. Indeed, to do these gentlemen justice, many of
them are to this day in the frequent habit of adopting it, with eminent
success.

In like manner, did young Ralph Nickleby avoid all those minute and
intricate calculations of odd days, which nobody who has worked sums
in simple-interest can fail to have found most embarrassing, by
establishing the one general rule that all sums of principal and
interest should be paid on pocket-money day, that is to say, on
Saturday: and that whether a loan were contracted on the Monday, or on
the Friday, the amount of interest should be, in both cases, the same.
Indeed he argued, and with great show of reason, that it ought to be
rather more for one day than for five, inasmuch as the borrower might
in the former case be very fairly presumed to be in great extremity,
otherwise he would not borrow at all with such odds against him. This
fact is interesting, as illustrating the secret connection and sympathy
which always exist between great minds. Though Master Ralph Nickleby was
not at that time aware of it, the class of gentlemen before alluded to,
proceed on just the same principle in all their transactions.

From what we have said of this young gentleman, and the natural
admiration the reader will immediately conceive of his character, it may
perhaps be inferred that he is to be the hero of the work which we shall
presently begin. To set this point at rest, for once and for ever, we
hasten to undeceive them, and stride to its commencement.

On the death of his father, Ralph Nickleby, who had been some time
before placed in a mercantile house in London, applied himself
passionately to his old pursuit of money-getting, in which he speedily
became so buried and absorbed, that he quite forgot his brother for many
years; and if, at times, a recollection of his old playfellow broke
upon him through the haze in which he lived–for gold conjures up a mist
about a man, more destructive of all his old senses and lulling to
his feelings than the fumes of charcoal–it brought along with it a
companion thought, that if they were intimate he would want to borrow
money of him. So, Mr. Ralph Nickleby shrugged his shoulders, and said
things were better as they were.

As for Nicholas, he lived a single man on the patrimonial estate until
he grew tired of living alone, and then he took to wife the daughter of
a neighbouring gentleman with a dower of one thousand pounds. This good
lady bore him two children, a son and a daughter, and when the son
was about nineteen, and the daughter fourteen, as near as we can
guess–impartial records of young ladies’ ages being, before the passing
of the new act, nowhere preserved in the registries of this country–Mr
Nickleby looked about him for the means of repairing his capital, now
sadly reduced by this increase in his family, and the expenses of their
education.

‘Speculate with it,’ said Mrs. Nickleby.

‘Spec–u–late, my dear?’ said Mr. Nickleby, as though in doubt.

‘Why not?’ asked Mrs. Nickleby.

‘Because, my dear, if we SHOULD lose it,’ rejoined Mr. Nickleby, who
was a slow and time-taking speaker, ‘if we SHOULD lose it, we shall no
longer be able to live, my dear.’

‘Fiddle,’ said Mrs. Nickleby.

‘I am not altogether sure of that, my dear,’ said Mr. Nickleby.

‘There’s Nicholas,’ pursued the lady, ‘quite a young man–it’s time he
was in the way of doing something for himself; and Kate too, poor girl,
without a penny in the world. Think of your brother! Would he be what he
is, if he hadn’t speculated?’

‘That’s true,’ replied Mr. Nickleby. ‘Very good, my dear. Yes. I WILL
speculate, my dear.’

Speculation is a round game; the players see little or nothing of their
cards at first starting; gains MAY be great–and so may losses. The run
of luck went against Mr. Nickleby. A mania prevailed, a bubble burst,
four stock-brokers took villa residences at Florence, four hundred
nobodies were ruined, and among them Mr. Nickleby.

‘The very house I live in,’ sighed the poor gentleman, ‘may be taken
from me tomorrow. Not an article of my old furniture, but will be sold
to strangers!’

The last reflection hurt him so much, that he took at once to his bed;
apparently resolved to keep that, at all events.

‘Cheer up, sir!’ said the apothecary.

‘You mustn’t let yourself be cast down, sir,’ said the nurse.

‘Such things happen every day,’ remarked the lawyer.

‘And it is very sinful to rebel against them,’ whispered the clergyman.

‘And what no man with a family ought to do,’ added the neighbours.

Mr. Nickleby shook his head, and motioning them all out of the room,
embraced his wife and children, and having pressed them by turns to
his languidly beating heart, sunk exhausted on his pillow. They were
concerned to find that his reason went astray after this; for he
babbled, for a long time, about the generosity and goodness of his
brother, and the merry old times when they were at school together.
This fit of wandering past, he solemnly commended them to One who never
deserted the widow or her fatherless children, and, smiling gently on
them, turned upon his face, and observed, that he thought he could fall
asleep.