Original subtitles

(Church bell rings)

(Sighs)

(Door slams shut)

Noggs!

Was that half past twelve?

Not more than five and twenty minutes past by the public-house clock.

By What?

By regular time.

My watch has stopped. I can't think from what cause.

- Not wound up. - Yes, it is.

- Over-wound, then. - That can't very well be.

- Must be. (Cracks fingers)

- Well, I suppose it is. - Ha!

(Bell rings)

Who can that be?

- Are you expecting trouble? - No, I'm not. See who it is.

- Are you at home? - Yes.

- To anybody? - Yes.

- To the tax-gatherer? - No.

Ha! Thought so. Hm!

It's Mr Bonney of the Muffin Company.

My dear Nickleby.

- There's been a hitch? - No, I just happened to be passing.

- Thought I'd give you the latest news. - About the meeting?

Yes. Sir Matthew Pupker has agreed to take the chair,

and three Members of Parliament are positively coming.

- Seems to promise pretty well. - Pretty well?

It's the finest idea that was ever started.

The United Metropolitan Improved Hot Muffin and Crumpet Baking

and Punctual Delivery Company.

The very name will get the shares up to a premium in ten days.

- And when they are at a premium? - When they are, you know what to do.

And how to back out quietly at the right...

- ls something wrong? - No.

(Whispers) What a remarkable-looking man that clerk of yours is.

Newman Noggs? Yes, poor devil.

- He kept horses and hounds once. - Oh, yes?

Well, he squandered the money, invested it anyhow, borrowed at interest,

made first a fool of himself and then a beggar.

Took to drinking, touch of paralysis, and then came here to borrow a pound,

- as in his better days I had... - Done business with him.

Just so. I couldn't lend it, of course.

Of course not.

But as I wanted a clerk just then to open and close the door and so forth,

I took him out of charity.

He's a little...mad, you understand,

but useful enough, poor creature, useful enough.

- Come out! I've something for you! - What is it?

Come out and I'll show you!

Have you anything else to tell me?

No, that's all.

See you tomorrow, Nickleby, at the meeting.

Ah, the letter about the mortgage, eh? I thought it would come.

- Wrong. It's not the mortgage letter. - What is it, then?

Postmark: Strand. Black wax, black border.

Woman's hand. CN in the corner...

Black wax, eh?

I know something of that hand, too.

Newman, I shouldn't be surprised if my brother was dead.

- Don't think you would be. - Why not, sir?

- You're never surprised, that's all. (Cracks fingers)

As I expected. He is dead.

Dear me. Well, there's a sudden thing.

I shouldn't have thought it, really.

Children alive?

Yes.

Both of them.

- Both? - And the widow, too.

All three in London, confound them.

My brother never did anything for me, and I never expected it.

The breath is no sooner out of his body than I'm to be the support

of a great, hearty woman and a grown boy and girl.

(Whimpers)

Get my hat and coat.

What are they to me?

I never saw them.

I know how to deal with spongers, leeches and the like.

I shan't be long.

Well, to your desk, man.

I heard what you said to Bonney about me. Hm!

"Useful enough." "Useful enough."

I keep my mouth shut, am paid less than an office boy...

"Useful enough."

- ls Mrs Nickleby at home, girl? - Her name ain't Nickleby.

You mean La Creevy.

- La what? - La Creevy.

WOMAN: It's the second door, Hannah. What a stupid thing you are!

Show the gentleman where the bell is

and tell him he mustn't knock double knocks for the second floor.

I can't allow a knock except when the bell is broke,

and then it must be two single ones.

Am I to take it, ma'am, that you are the owner of the house?

I am. La Creevy, Miss.

I'll speak with you a moment, ma'am, by your leave.

Oh, you desire a miniature, I presume.

A very strongly marked countenance for the purpose, sir.

Have you sat before?

I have no money to waste on miniatures, ma'am.

And nobody to give one to, thank God, if I had.

I want to ask you a question about some lodgers here.

- Oh. - Name of Nickleby.

Well, there is such a lady here, from the country, with her two children.

- A widow, ma'am? - Yes, she is a widow.

A poor widow, ma'am?

Well, I'm afraid she is poor.

Ah.

Oh, I should hope if there were any incompatibility

to meet the pecuniary obligations, then the lady's family would...

No, ma'am, they wouldn't. I am the family.

You must know that I cannot support them with their extravagances.

Let them go back to the country. They're in everybody's way here.

If Mrs Nickleby took the apartments without the means of paying for them,

- it was very unbecoming a lady. - Of course it was, ma'am.

And naturally I, who am at present an unprotected female,

cannot afford to lose by the apartments.

Of course you can't, ma'am.

Although I have nothing whatever to say against the lady,

who is extremely pleasant and affable, poor thing.

Nor against the young people either,

for nicer or better behaved young people cannot be.

Very well, ma'am. I've done my duty.

That's more than I ought.

Of course, nobody will thank me for it. Good day.

Would you do me the favour to look at a few specimens of my portrait paintings?

Or perhaps you would have the kindness to take a card of terms with you.

(Knocking)

Mrs Nickleby, here's Mr Nickleby.

Mr Nickleby, how kind of you to come, and so promptly.

Don't be leaping to conclusions for that reason, ma'am.

Children, this is your Uncle Ralph.

Kate.

I am honoured, sir.

- You are Nicholas, I suppose. - That's my name, sir.

Put my hat down.

Well, ma'am, how do you do?

You must bear up against sorrow, ma'am. I always do.

- Mine was no common loss. - It was no uncommon loss, ma'am.

- Husbands die every day, and wives too. - And brothers also, sir.

Yes, sir. And puppies and pug-dogs likewise.

You made no mention in your letter what my brother's complaint was.

The doctors could attribute it to no particular disease.

We have too much reason to fear he died of a broken heart.

There's no such thing. I can understand a man dying of a broken neck

or suffering from a broken head or an arm or a leg or a nose,

but a broken heart, nonsense.

It's the cant of the day.

A man can't pay his debts and dies of a broken heart and his widow's a martyr.

Some people, I believe, have no hearts to break.

- How old is this boy, for God's sake? - Nicholas is 19, sir.

19, eh? What do you mean to do for your bread, sir?

- Not to live on my mother. - You'd have little to live on if you did.

I shall not look to you to make it more.

Nicholas!

Hold your tongue, boy!

UPON my word!

Fine beginnings, Mrs Nickleby. Fine beginnings.

You say the creditors have administered and there is nothing left for you.

Nothing.

You spent what little money you had in coming to see what I would do.

I hoped you might do something for your brother's children.

It was his dying wish that I should appeal to you on their behalf.

I don't know how it is, but whenever a man dies without any property of his own,

he always seems to think he has the right to dispose of other people's.

What is your daughter fit for, ma'am?

Kate has been well-educated, sir.

Tell your uncle, my love, how far you went in French and extras.

No matter. We must get her apprenticed to some boarding school.

You're not too delicate for that, I hope.

No, indeed, Uncle. I will try anything to gain me a home and bread.

Well, you must try, and if the work proves too hard,

perhaps dressmaking or tambour-work will be lighter.

And you, sir, are you willing to work?

- Of course I am. - Ah...

Nicholas has not long completed such education

as his poor father could give him, and he was thinking...

Indeed. Then, see here, sir.

This caught my eye this morning, and you may thank your stars for it.

Education.

"At Mr Wackford Squeers's Academy, Dotheboys Hall,

near Greta Bridge in Yorkshire,

youths are boarded, clothed, booked, furnished with pocket money,

instructed in all languages living and dead,

mathematics, orthography, geometry, astronomy, trigonometry,

the use of the globes, algebra, fencing, if required,

writing, arithmetic and every other branch of classical literature.

No extras, no vacations and diet unparalleled.

- Terms. Twenty guineas per annum. " - But, sir...

MRS WCKLEBYZ Shh. Nicholas.

"Mr Squeers is in town and attends daily at the Saracen's Head, Snow Hill.

NB An able assistant required.

Annual salary five pounds. A master of arts would be preferred."

There.

Let him get that situation and his fortune is made.

But the salary is so small. And it's such a long way off.

Hush, Kate, my love. Your uncle must know best.

If he doesn't like the position, let him find honest employment in London

which will keep him in shoe leather, and I'll give him a thousand pounds.

At least, I would if I had it.

But, sir, I'm not a master of arts.

That, I think, can be got over.

Mr Squeers would be glad to have you on my recommendation.

Well, then, let me try my future with Mr Squeers.

He's an excellent gentleman, in spite of his appearance.

He has but one good eye while the popular prejudice runs in favour of two,

but an excellent person.

Three boys. Now, let me see.

Three boys at twenty pound apiece is...

Three oughts is an ought.

Three twos is...six.

Sixty pound.

Midsummer I took up ten boys. Now there's only three.

What's become of all the boys?

What's their parents got in their heads? I mean, what does it all mean?

(Boy sneezes) - What was that, sir?

- Nothing, please, sir. - Nothing, sir?

- Please sir, I sneezed. - Then what did you say "nothing" for?

You wait till I get you down to Yorkshire, my young gentleman. I'll give you the rest.

- Now will you hold that noise? - Mr Squeers, sir.

- There's a gentleman asking for you. - Show the gentleman in, Richard.

You put your handkerchief in your pocket, you little scoundrel,

or I will murder you when the gentleman leaves.

Over there, sir.

My dear child, all people have their trials.

You are losing your friends, but you will have a father in me, my dear,

and a mother in Mrs Squeers, at the delightful village of Dotheboys...

- Mr Squeers, I believe, sir? - The same, sir.

I am in the oil and colour way, and my name is Snawley.

I was thinking, Mr Squeers, of placing my two boys at your school.

Well, it's not for me to say, sir, but I don't think you could do a better thing.

Twenty pounds per annewum, I believe, Mr Squeers?

Guineas.

Pounds for two, I think, Mr Squeers.

- They are not great eaters. - That don't matter.

We don't consider the boys' appetites at our establishment.

I have heard something of the sort.

Every wholesome luxury that Yorkshire can afford,

every beautiful moral that Mrs Squeers can instil,

every comfort of a home that a boy could wish for will be theirs, Mr Snawley.

I should wish their morals to be particularly attended to.

I am glad you said that, sir. You have come to the right shop for morals.

You are a moral man yourself, Mr Squeers?

I ratherthinkl am, sir.

Could I have a word with you in the next box?

Oh, by all means, yes.

Now, you speak a word to your new playfellow, my dears.

That is one of my boys, sir. That is his luggage he's sitting upon.

Now, every boy is required to bring, sir, two suits of clothes,

six shins, six pairs of stockings, two nightcaps, two pocket handkerchiefs,

two hats, two pairs of shoes and a razor.

- A razor? What for? - To shave with.

Up to what age do you keep boys at your school, then?

Oh, just so long as their... friends keep up the quarterly payments.

Let us understand one another. What are these two? Natural children?

- No, they ain't. - I rather thought they might be.

We get a lot of those, you know.

That boy's one.

No. In fact, Mr Squeers, I'm not their father. I'm only their stepfather.

I wondered why you wanted to send them into Yorkshire.

I was anxious to put them into some school a distance off

where there are no holidays, you comprehend?

- Payments regular, no questions asked. - That's it.

- Morals strictly attended to, though. - Oh, strictly.

Not too much writing home allowed, I suppose?

None, no. Except for a circular at Christmas

to say they was never so happy and they hope they may never be sent for.

- Excellent. - Oh, this is doing business.

This is what I like.

- Mr Squeers. - Yes, sir. What can I do for you?

Matter of business, sir. Perhaps you recollect me?

You paid me a small account for some years, I believe.

I did.

On behalf of the parents of a boy called... Dorker, who unfortunately...

Unfortunately died at Dotheboys Hall.

Oh, I remember it well.

Mrs Squeers was as fond of that lad as if he'd been her own.

Dry toast and warm tea offered him every night and morning

when he couldn't swallow anything.

A candle in his bedroom the very night he died.

The best dictionary sent up for him to lay his head upon.

- I don't regret it, though. - I'm sure.

This is my nephew, Mr Nicholas Nickleby.

- How do you do, sir? - You advertised for an able assistant.

- Precisely. - You really want one?

- Certainly. - There he is.

My nephew Nicholas, hot from school,

everything fermenting in his head and nothing fermenting in his pocket.

Just the man you want.

No, I'm afraid the young gentleman wouldn't suit me.

Yes, he will. I know better.

I fear, sir, that you object to my youth and to my not being a master of arts.

Well, the absence of a college degree is an objection, yes.

It is not.

Let me speak one word with you.

Good evening to you, sir.

(Church bell chimes five o'clock)

- Kate. - Is it time?

No, Kate, not yet.

I couldn't sleep, so I thought I might as well pack my belongings.

- Is Mother awake? - (Tearful) No.

Oh, Kate. Kate, what is it? What ails you?

I can't bear to think of you going so far away.

It'll only be for a time. You mustn't take on like this.

Why, this may signify a change in our fortunes.

Who knows what may happen?

- I might even become Mr Squeers' partner. - But that would take years.

Or suppose some young nobleman being educated at Dotheboys Hall

were to take a fancy to me

and get his father to appoint me his travelling tutor when he left.

Yes, Nicholas. I should like that.

Who knows? He might even one day meet my sister and fall in love with her.

Nicholas.

When that happens, you will be a beautiful woman,

and all these sad times forgotten.

That is what you must think on.

- Yes. - Yes.

Now...go back to bed.

I still have much to attend to.

Go on.

Go on.

That's two pennbnh of milk, is it, waiter?

That's twopennbnh.

What a rare article milk is, to be sure, in London.

Just fill that up with lukewarm water.

Right to the wery top, sir? The milk'll be drownded.

Serve it right for being so dear.

Conquer your passions, boys. Don't be too eager after vittles.

Ah, Nickleby, here we are, you see, a-breakfasting afore our journey.

Oh! Here's richness. Oh-ho!

- Are you ready, boys? ALL: Yes, sir.

Now, just think of the many beggars as would be glad of this.

- What a shocking thing hunger is, eh? - Very shocking, sir.

All right, then, boys. Now...

When I tell you to begin...

...by numbers like what I told you.

Subdue your appetites, my dears, and you will conquer human nature.

This is how we inculcate strength of mind, Nickleby.

Number one!

Number two!

Number three!

- Number four! (Trumpet call)

All right, boys. Thank God for a good breakfast.

Now, come on, on the coach. Look sharp. Go on, go on.

Ah, there you are, sir. Your fare to Yorkshire is paid.

You have nothing to do but to keep warm.

- I am indebted to you, Uncle. - I'd best be off.

You've done so much for me already,

it must seem ungrateful of me to ask for more, but my mother and Kate...

They will be provided for. That will be my immediate care.

They shall not remain as they are one week from this day.

- SW... - Nicholas.

Mother!

You poor, dear boy.

Going away without breakfast because you feared to distress us.

- How did you get here? - We came by hackney coach, dear.

Hackney coach? Having more money than you know what to do with,

you spend it on hackney coaches?

When I went to business, I took a penny loaf and milk for my breakfast

as I walked to the City every morning.

What do you say to that, ma'am? Breakfast! Hackney coaches!

Nickleby! Time you was outside and joined the coach.

Nicholas, who is that vulgar man?

Eh? You wish to be introduced to Mr Squeers, my dear?

That, the school master? Oh, no, Uncle. No.

Mr Squeers, this is my niece, Nicholas's sister.

Oh, I am very pleased to make your acquaintance, miss.

I only wish as Mrs Squeers took gals and we had you for a teacher.

I'm not sure, though, if we had, she mightn't grow jealous.

(Laughs coarsely)

Nicholas, what kind of a place can it be that you're going to?

I hardly know, Kate.

Yorkshire folks are rough and uncultivated, that's all.

- But, Nicholas... - Nickleby!

It's time I was in my place.

And you. Go on.

That's it, now.

God bless, now.

- And goodbye. - Goodbye.

Goodbye, Mother.

Uncle, farewell. Thank you for all you've done and all you mean to do.

Nickleby, you'd better get up behind.

One of the boys might fall off and then there's twenty pound a year gone.

- For me? - Shh. Take it.

Read it. Nobody knows.

Wait.

Oh, Kate.

DRIVER: Come on!

NOGGS". My dear young man. I know the world.

Your father did not, or he would not have done me a kindness

when there was no hope of return.

You do not, or you would not be bound on such a journey.

If ever you want a shelter in London, they know where I live,

at the sign of the Crown in Silver Street.

Excuse errors. I have forgotten all my old ways.

My spelling may have gone with them. Newman Noggs.

DRIVER: Come on!

SQUEERS: Open up!

Open up!

(Banging on door)

Open up!

open!

Oh, it's you, is it? I might have known. Why the devil didn't you come sooner?

Please, sir, I fell asleep in front of the fire, sir.

Fire? What fire? There shouldn't be a fire and you shouldn't be over it.

Here, show the new boys somewhere to sleep.

Well, Nickleby...

What do you think of Dotheboys Hall, eh?

- Well... - Ah.

It isn't a hall, really. Fact is, we don't call it one.

- No, sir? - No, no.

In London it sounds better, but folks round here don't know it by that name.

I mean, a man could call his house an island if he wants.

There's no Act of Parliament against that, I believe.

- No, I believe not, sir. - Squeery?

Oh!

Oh, Squaw'-!

My love! Oh, my love!

How is my Squeery?

- Quite well. Here, how are the cows? - All right.

- And the pigs? - As well as when you went away.

- That's a blessing. And the boys? - Oh, yes. They're well enough.

That young Pitchefis had a fever.

Damn that boy! He does it out of obstinacy.

- This is the new young man. - Oh?

Aye. He'll sup with us tonight and then he'll go amongst the boys tomorrow.

- You don't mind how you sleep, do you? - No, indeed.

- That's lucky. - (Mr and Mrs Squeers laugh)

- Smike! - Where are we going to put you?

Let me see. Who sleeps in Brooke's bed, my love?

Brooks? Well, there's Jennings, little Bolder, Graymarsh and...

Oh, what's his name? Smike!

Oh, aye, so there is. Well, Brooke's bed is full.

Never mind. There's a place somewhere, I know.

Never mind, we'll find it.

Now, come on. Let's have supper.

Where have you been? Oh, make no excuses. Fetch the ale.

Oh!

What will the young man take, my dear?

SQUEERS: Welt, whatever he likes that's present.

I'll take a little of the pie, if I may.

Very little, for I'm not hungry.

It's a pity to cut the pie if you're not hungry.

- Will you try a bit of the beef? - Whatever you please.

- How's the steak, Squeers? - Oh, tender as a lamb.

It's prime meat. I bought a good large piece on purpose.

- Not, not, not for the...? - No, no, no, not for them.

On purpose for you in case you came home.

Oh, Lor! To think I'd be such a noddy as to give your boys meat.

SQUEERS: Well, I didn't know what to think, my love.

What are you bothering about there, Smike?

Eh? Oh, it's you, is it?

Please, sir, is there...

Well?

Have you...

Did anyone...

Has nothing been heard about me, sir?

Devil a bit. Nor never will be.

Pretty sort of thing, you left here all these years and not a penny paid after the first six,

nor no clue to be got who you belong to.

Pretty sort of thing that I should have to feed a great fellow like you

and never hope to get a penny for it, innit?

Tell you what, Squeers, I think that young chap's turning silly.

Oh, I hope not. No, no. He's too valuable to lose.

(Boys cough and retch)

This is our shop, Nickleby.

Oh, I forgot. It's brimstone morning.

We purify the boys' bloods now and again, Nickleby.

Purify fiddlesticks. They get this because if they didn't,

they'd always be ailing and giving us trouble,

and because it comes cheaper than breakfast and dinner.

Most invaluable woman, that, Nickleby.

She is more than a mother to them boys, ten times more.

She does things for them boys, Nickleby,

I don't believe half the mothers going would do for their own sons.

I should think they would not, sir.

- Is the physicking over, my love? - Just over.

Here, you, Smike. Take away now. Look sharp.

I don't know her equal, Nickleby. I do not know her equal.

(Squeers hits cane on desk) - Books!

This is my son, Nickleby, Wackford Junior.

Got yourself a new pair of boots, have you? Ah.

He's fond of the new boys is my Wackford.

- They're too tight. - Ow!

Now, this is the first class in English spelling and philosophy.

Where's the first boy? Cobbey?

Please, sir, he's cleaning the back-parlour window.

So he is. We go upon the practical mode of teaching here, Nickleby.

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 a boy has learnt that out of a book, he goes and does it.

That's our system. What do you think of it?

- It's a useful one, at any rate. - I believe you.

You, boy, Mobbs. What is a horse?

- A, um, b-beast, sir. - So it is, ain't it, Nickleby?

- There's no doubt of that. - Of course there ain't.

A horse is a quadruped, and a quadruped is Latin for beast,

as anyone as has gone through the grammar knows,

else where's the use in having grammars?

Where, indeed?

Since you are perfect in that, lad, you can go and look after my horse.

Rub him down well, or if you don't, I'll rub you down!

That's your desk there, Nickleby.

BOys!

I have been to London and I have returned to my family and to you

as strong and as well as ever.

- Hip, hip... BOYS: (Half-heanedly) Hurray.

I have seen the parents of some boys

and they are so happy to hear how their sons are getting on

that there is no prospect at all of their going away from here,

which is a very pleasant thing to reflect upon for all parties.

(Boy sobs)

I have a letter here for Cobbey. Stand up, Cobbey.

Cobbey's grandmother is dead and his Uncle John has took to drink,

which is the only news his sister sends, except for 18 pence,

which will just pay for that broken square of glass.

Graymarsh, up!

Graymarsh's maternal aunt is so glad to hear that he is welt and happy

and she sends her respectful compliments to Mrs Squeers,

who she thinks must be an angel.

Likewise, she thinks that Mr Squeers is too good for this world.

She hopes that Graymarsh wilt team to love Master Squeers

and not object to sleeping five in a bed, which no Christian should. Ah.

What a delightful letter.

Most affecting.

I have had...a disappointment.

Bolder's father is two pound ten short.

Bolder! To me, boy!

Bolder, if your father thinks that just because...

Hello, sir. What is this, sir? What is the meaning of this?

- More warts, sir? - I can't help it indeed, sir.

They will come. It's the dirty work, I think, sir.

At least, I don't know what it is, sir, but it's not my fault.

Bolder, you are an incorrigible young scoundrel.

And since the last thrashing did no good at all,

we must see what another will do towards beating it out of you.

HOLDER". No! Please don't!

(Bolder screams)

(Bolder sobs)

- A situation, Mr Nickleby? For Kate? - That is what I say, ma'am.

There, Kate. Didn't I say your uncle would find you a situation?

Didn't I assure you at breakfast time that since he has provided for Nicholas,

he will not leave us until he has done the same for you?

- Those were my very words. - Let me proceed.

- Let your uncle proceed. - I am anxious that he should, Mama.

If you are anxious that he should,

allow him to say what he has to say without interruption.

- His time is very valuable. - I am much obliged.

We are bound not to be selfish, but to take into consideration

the important nature of your uncle's occupations in the City.

- I was about to say, ma'am... - Hush, Kate.

...the situation I have made interest to procure is a milliner and dressmaker.

- A milliner? - And a dressmaker, ma'am.

Dressmakers in London, as I need not remind you,

make great fortunes, keep equipages and become persons of great wealth.

- ON. - As you say, ma'am.

The situation is with a Madame Mantalini who lives near Cavendish Square.

If your daughter is so disposed, I will take her there directly.

Have you nothing to say to your uncle, my love?

I'm very much obliged, Uncle. Very.

- I'm glad to hear it. - I will try to please. Indeed, I...

Don't begin to cry. I abhor crying.

- It's foolish of me, I know. - It is, and affected. Come along.

Madame Mantalini is expecting you.

Come, Kate.

Your bonnet.

Ooh, Mr Nickleby.

Here, you, Mantalini.

Demmit. What, Nickleby.

You don't mean to say you want me, do you?

- Not yet. (Mantalini laughs)

What a demd rum fellow you are, Nickleby.

The demdest, longest-headed, queerest-tempered

old coiner of gold and silver ever was, demmit.

My niece.

MANTALINII Ah!

Yes...

I remember what you've come for, demmit.

Yes. A moment.

MY love!

My life! Come!

Mr Nickleby has been waiting, my life.

I didn't even know that Mr Nickleby was here, my love.

Then what a doubly demd infernal rascal that footman must be, my soul.

What can you expect when you will not correct the man?

I'm sure he wants speaking to.

Then do not vex itself.

He shall be horse-whipped till he cries out demnebly.

(Mr Nickleby clears his throat)

- Mr Nickleby. - Ma'am, my niece.

Just so. Do you speak French, child? Parlez-vous frangais?

- Oui, madame. - Like a demd native.

We keep 20 young women constantly employed in the establishment.

- Indeed, ma'am? - And some of them demd handsome, too.

- Mantalini. - Oh, my senses' joy.

Do you wish to break my heart?

Not for 20,000 hemispheres

populated with...with little ballet dancers.

You will if you persevere in that mode of speaking.

Pay no attention, if you please, to what Mr Mantalini says.

I do not, ma'am.

Mr Mantalini knows nothing whatsoever about any of the young women.

He's never been in the room. I do not allow it.

What hours have you been accustomed to?

I have not yet been accustomed to work at all, ma'am.

She'll work all the better now.

I hope so. Our hours are from nine to nine,

with extra hours when we're very full of business for which I allow payment as overtime.

Your meals you will take here.

Your wages would average from five to seven shillings a week,

but I can't give you any certain information on that point until I see what you can do.

You can begin on Monday at nine exactly.

- Is there anything more? - Nothing more, ma'am.

Then I believe that is all. Good day.

Ma'am.

- Mantalini! - Coming, my heart's joy.

- There. Now you are provided for. - Thank you, Uncle.

Huh. Fool.

Mr Mantalini does not speak like a foreign gentleman.

He's not. His real name is Muntle.

He married on his moustache, then grew his whiskers and prospered on it.

Damn popifljaY-

MADAME MANTALINI: Mantalini! - Ah!

Well, what do you think of him by now, my dear?

- Think of who? - Well, who else could I mean?

- The young man, the new teacher. - New teacher, Papa?

He come up from London while you were visiting with your friend Miss Price.

Well?

That Knuckleboy? I hate him.

- Why should you hate him? - What's that to you?

If I hate him, that's enough, ain't it?

Well, I only asked out of curiosity.

If you want to know, it's because he's a proud, haughty, consequential,

turned-up-nosed peacock!

- But you will allow, he is cheap. - Not a bit of it.

- Five pound a year. - What of it?

- It's dear if you don'! want him. - Well, I do want him!

A slave driver in the West Indies is allowed a man under him

and I'll have a man under me,

until such time as little Wackford here can take charge.

- Am I to take care of the school? - You are, my son.

Oh, my eye! Won't I give it to them boys!

Won't I make 'em squeak again!

My son.

Here, here's a penny for you.

Watch it, Bolder and Belling and Graymarsh.

Now, boys, pay attention.

Mr Squeers has already told you that a horse is a beast. That is so.

But it is not enough that you recognise an animal.

You must also recognise the word when it is written down.

Now, repeat the letters after me.

BOYS'; H.

Boys, you must speak up.

+1. +1.

I?

Oh!

Oh, I beg your pardon. I thought my father was...or might be...

How very awkward.

Your father, ma'am?

- Why, Mr Squeers. - I believe he's at his dinner.

Thank you. I'm very sorry I intruded, I'm sure.

If I hadn't thought my father was here, I would never have...

It's very provoking. It must look so strange.

(Boys giggle)

- Yes? - I came to ask my father for a new pen.

If that's all you need, perhaps I can help.

Too kind.

(Boys laugh)

- Will it be a hard or a soft nib? - Oh, soft as possible, if you please.

(Boys laugh)

There we are.

Oh.

- How very awkward of me. - Not at all, sir. it was my fault.

Very sorry to give you so much trouble.

Not the least trouble in the world.

- Good morning. (Boys laugh)

I never saw such legs in the whole course of my life.

NICHOLAS: Now, boys, pay attention.

Where are Mr and Mrs Squeers?

- Yes? - Gone out, sir.

You needn't be afraid of me.

- Are you cold? - No, sir.

Well, you're shivering.

I'm not cold, sir. I'm used to it.

Very well.

Sir.

- Please, sir. - Yes, Smike?

You're new here.

Is the world as dismal and bad as this place, sir?

No. No, Smike.

Even its hardest, coarsest toil is happiness compared to this.

How long have you been here?

Don't know, sir.

Since I was a little child, younger than any that are here now.

But where are they all?

- All? - My friends.

All my friends.

Do you remember the boy that died here?

Well, I'm new. You've just said so.

The boy that died, what of him?

I was with him at night.

After a while, he cried no more for his friends to come and sit with him.

He began to see faces round his bed that came from home.

He said they smiled and talked to him.

I wonder sometimes what faces I'll see when I die.

- Smike... - They cannot come from home.

They'd frighten me if they did.

Cos I don't know what it is.

Pain and fear for me, alive or dead.

- No hope. - You'll leave here one day, Smike.

No.

Not me.

I think...

...they mean me to die.

I'm afraid it is an unhealthy occupation.

I recollect getting three young milliners to sit for me

when I first began to paint,

and they were all very pale and sickly.

That's not a general rule, by any means.

I remember employing one to make me a scarlet cloak,

at a time when scarlet cloaks were fashionable,

and she had a very red face indeed.

Oh. Perhaps she drank.

I don't know how that may have been,

but I do know she had a very red face, so your argument goes for nothing.

This house, which Mr Nickleby

has so generously given to you and your mother, my dear, is it far from here?

Yes, it's in another quarter of London, at the East End.

Oh.

MRS WCKLEBY". Do you know that part of the town? ts it pleasant there?

- Well, it's... - My uncle is not exactly giving us the house.

It belongs to him, and he says that we may live there until it is let.

If you would prefer to stay here,

I mean, if it is a question of monetary consideration...

Thank you, Miss La Creevy. You've been so kind to us.

But my uncle was most insistent that we should...

(Knocking)

- That will be my uncle's servant now. MISS LA CREEVY: Come in.

- A Mr Newman Noggs. - From Mr Ralph Nickleby.

We shall be ready directly. We don't have much to carry, but I fear we must have a coach.

- I'll get one. - You shall not trouble yourself.

- I will. - I can't suffer you to think of it.

- You can't help it. - Not help it?

No. I thought of it as I came along, but didn't get one,

thinking you mightn't be ready.

I think of a great many things.

Nobody can prevent that.

Oh, I understand you.

- Our thoughts are free, of course. - Mm.

They wouldn't be if some people had their way.

- I'll get the carriage. - Excuse me.

But did I not see you on the morning my brother went to Yorkshire?

- No. - No? I'd have said so anywhere.

Then you'd have said wrong.

This is the first time I've been out in three weeks.

I've had the gout.

Come along, Mama.

Goodbye, Miss La Creevy. You've been so kind to us.

(Mrs Nickleby sobs)

Oh, Mama, what is it? What's the matter?

I don't want to go to yet another house.

Why can't we be left in peace?

How terrible it is to be poor.

It won't be for very long, Mama.

And then Nicholas will return to us, as he promised, with his fortune made.

You will see.

(Cock crows)