Chapter 6

"Ha! don't you tempt any woman in that way--don't, Caudle; for I wouldn't answer for what I said.

"Miss Prettyman, indeed, and--oh yes! now I see! Now the whole light breaks in upon me! Now I know why you wished me to ask her with Mr. and Mrs. Prettyman to tea! And I, like a poor blind fool, was nearly doing it. But now, as I say, my eyes are open! And you'd have brought her under my own roof--now it's no use your bouncing about in that fashion--you'd have brought her into the very house, where--"

"Here," says Caudle, "I could endure it no longer. So I jumped out of bed, and went and slept somehow with the children."

LECTURE XIX--MRS. CAUDLE THINKS "IT WOULD LOOK WELL TO KEEP THEIR WEDDING-DAY."

"Caudle, love, do you know what next Sunday is?

"NO! YOU DON'T?

"Well, was there ever such a strange man! Can't you guess, darling? Next Sunday, dear? Think, love, a minute--just think.

"WHAT! AND YOU DON'T KNOW NOW?

"Ha! if I hadn't a better memory than you, I don't know how we should ever get on. Well, then, pet,--shall I tell you what next Sunday is? Why, then, it's our wedding-day--What are you groaning at, Mr. Caudle? I don't see anything to groan at. If anybody should groan, I'm sure it isn't you. No: I rather think it's I who ought to groan!

"Oh, dear! That's fourteen years ago. You were a very different man then, Mr. Caudle. What do you say--?

"AND I WAS A VERY DIFFERENT WOMAN?

"Not at all--just the same. Oh, you needn't roll your head about on the pillow in that way: I say, just the same. Well, then, if I'm altered, whose fault is it? Not mine, I'm sure--certainly not. Don't tell me that I couldn't talk at all then--I could talk just as well then as I can now; only then I hadn't the same cause. It's you who've made me talk. What do you say?

"YOU'RE VERY SORRY FOR IT?

"Caudle, you do nothing but insult me.

"Ha! you were a good-tempered, nice creature fourteen years ago, and would have done anything for me. Yes, yes, if a woman would be always cared for, she should never marry. There's quite an end of the charm when she goes to church! We're all angels while you're courting us; but once married, how soon you pull our wings off! No, Mr. Caudle, I'm not talking nonsense; but the truth is, you like to hear nobody talk but yourself. Nobody ever tells me that I talk nonsense but you. Now, it's no use your turning and turning about in that way, it's not a bit of--what do you say?

"YOU'LL GET UP?

"No you won't, Mr. Caudle; you'll not serve me that trick again; for I've locked the door and hid the key. There's no getting hold of you all the day-time--but here you can't leave me. You needn't groan again, Mr. Caudle.

"Now, Caudle, dear, do let us talk comfortably. After all, love, there's a good many folks who, I daresay, don't get on half so well as we've done. We've both our little tempers, perhaps; but you ARE aggravating; you must own that, Caudle. Well, never mind; we won't talk of it; I won't scold you now. We'll talk of next Sunday, love. We never have kept our wedding-day, and I think it would be a nice day to have our friends. What do you say?

"THEY'D THINK IT HYPOCRISY?

"No hypocrisy at all. I'm sure I try to be comfortable; and if ever man was happy, you ought to be. No, Caudle, no; it isn't nonsense to keep wedding-days; it isn't a deception on the world; and if it is, how many people do it! I'm sure it's only a proper compliment that a man owes to his wife. Look at the Winkles--don't they give a dinner every year? Well, I know, and if they do fight a little in the course of the twelvemonth, that's nothing to do with it. They keep their wedding-day, and their acquaintance have nothing to do with anything else.

"As I say, Caudle, it's only a proper compliment that a man owes to his wife to keep his wedding-day. It's as much as to say to the whole world--'There! if I had to marry again, my blessed wife's the only woman I'd choose!' Well! I see nothing to groan at, Mr. Caudle--no, nor to sigh at either; but I know what you mean: I'm sure, what would have become of you if you hadn't married as you have done--why, you'd have been a lost creature! I know it; I know your habits, Caudle; and--I don't like to say it, but you'd have been little better than a ragamuffin. Nice scrapes you'd have got into, I know, if you hadn't had me for a wife. The trouble I've had to keep you respectable--and what's my thanks? Ha! I only wish you'd had some women!

"But we won't quarrel, Caudle. No; you don't mean anything, I know. We'll have this little dinner, eh? Just a few friends? Now don't say you don't care--that isn't the way to speak to a wife; and especially the wife I've been to you, Caudle. Well, you agree to the dinner, eh? Now, don't grunt, Mr. Caudle, but speak out. You'll keep your wedding-day? What?

"IF I LET YOU GO TO SLEEP?

"Ha! that's unmanly, Caudle. Can't you say 'Yes,' without anything else? I say--can't you say 'Yes'? There, bless you! I knew you would.

"And now, Caudle, what shall we have for dinner? No--we won't talk of it to-morrow; we'll talk of it now, and then it will be off my mind. I should like something particular--something out of the way-- just to show that we thought the day something. I should like--Mr. Caudle, you're not asleep?

"WHAT DO I WANT?

"Why, you know I want to settle about the dinner.

"HAVE WHAT I LIKE?

"No: as it's your fancy to keep the day, it's only right that I should try to please you. We never had one, Caudle; so what do you think of a haunch of venison? What do you say?

"MUTTON WILL DO?

"Ha! that shows what you think of your wife: I dare say if it was with any of your club friends--any of your pot-house companions-- you'd have no objection to venison. I say if--what do you mutter?

"LET IT BE VENISON?

"Very well. And now about the fish? What do you think of a nice turbot? No, Mr. Caudle, brill won't do--it shall be turbot, or there sha'n't be any fish at all. Oh, what a mean man you are, Caudle! Shall it be turbot?

"IT SHALL?

"Very well. And now about the soup--now, Caudle, don't swear at the soup in that manner; you know there must be soup. Well, once in a way, and just to show our friends how happy we've been, we'll have some real turtle.

"NO, YOU WON'T, YOU'LL HAVE NOTHING BUT MOCK?

"Then, Mr. Caudle, you may sit at the table by yourself. Mock-turtle on a wedding-day! Was there ever such an insult? What do you say?

"LET IT BE REAL, THEN, FOR ONCE?

"Ha, Caudle! As I say, you were a very different person fourteen years ago. And, Caudle, you'll look after the venison? There's a place I know, somewhere in the City, where you get it beautiful! You'll look to it?

"YOU WILL?

"Very well.

"And now who shall we invite?

"WHO I LIKE?

"Now, you know, Caudle, that's nonsense; because I only like whom you like. I suppose the Prettymans must come? But understand, Caudle, I don't have Miss Prettyman: I'm not going to have my peace of mind destroyed under my own roof! if she comes, I don't appear at the table. What do you say?

"VERY WELL?

"Very well be it, then.

"And now, Caudle, you'll not forget the venison? In the City, my dear? You'll not forget the venison? A haunch, you know; a nice haunch. And you'll not forget the venison--?"

"Three times did I fall off to sleep," says Caudle, "and three times did my wife nudge me with her elbow, exclaiming--'You'll not forget the venison?' At last I got into a sound slumber, and dreamt I was a pot of currant jelly."

LECTURE XX--"BROTHER" CAUDLE HAS BEEN TO A MASONIC CHARITABLE DINNER. MRS. CAUDLE HAS HIDDEN THE "BROTHER'S" CHEQUE-BOOK

"But all I say is this: I only wish I'd been born a man. What do you say?

"YOU WISH I HAD?

"Mr. Caudle, I'll not lie quiet in my own bed to be insulted. Oh, yes, you DID mean to insult me. I know what you mean. You mean, if I HAD been born a man, you'd never have married me. That's a pretty sentiment, I think; and after the wife I've been to you. And now I suppose you'll be going to public dinners every day! It's no use your telling me you've only been to one before; that's nothing to do with it--nothing at all. Of course you'll be out every night now. I knew what it would come to when you were made a mason: when you were once made a 'brother,' as you call yourself, I knew where the husband and father would be;--I'm sure, Caudle, and though I'm your own wife, I grieve to say it--I'm sure you haven't so much heart that you have any to spare for people out of doors. Indeed, I should like to see the man who has! No, no, Caudle; I'm by no means a selfish woman-- quite the contrary; I love my fellow-creatures as a wife and mother of a family, who has only to look to her own husband and children, ought to love 'em.

"A 'brother,' indeed! What would you say, if I was to go and be made a 'sister'? Why, I know very well the house wouldn't hold you.

"WHERE'S YOUR WATCH?

"How should I know where your watch is? You ought to know. But to be sure, people who go to public dinners never know where anything is when they come home. You've lost it, no doubt; and 'twill serve you quite right if you have. If it should be gone--and nothing more likely--I wonder if any of your 'brothers' will give you another? Catch 'em doing it.

"YOU MUST FIND YOUR WATCH? AND YOU'LL GET UP FOR IT?

"Nonsense!--don't be foolish--lie still. Your watch is on the mantelpiece. Ha! isn't it a good thing for you, you've somebody to take care of it?

"What do you say?

"I'M A DEAR CREATURE?

"Very dear, indeed, you think me, I dare say. But the fact is, you don't know what you're talking about to-night. I'm a fool to open my lips to you--but I can't help it.

"WHERE'S YOUR WATCH?

"Haven't I told you--on the mantelpiece?

"ALL RIGHT, INDEED!

"Pretty conduct you men call all right. There now, hold your tongue, Mr. Caudle, and go to sleep: I'm sure 'tis the best thing you can do to-night. You'll be able to listen to reason to-morrow morning; now, it's thrown away upon you.

"WHERE'S YOUR CHEQUE-BOOK?

"Never mind your cheque-book. I took care of that.

"WHAT BUSINESS HAD I TO TAKE IT OUT OF YOUR POCKET?

"Every business. No, no. If you choose to go to public dinners, why--as I'm only your wife--I can't help it. But I know what fools men are made of there; and if I know it, you never take your cheque- book again with you. What? Didn't I see your name down last year for ten pounds? 'Job Caudle, Esq., 10 pounds.' It looked very well in the newspapers, of course: and you thought yourself a somebody, when they knocked the tavern tables; but I only wish I'd been there-- yes, I only wish I'd been in the gallery. If I wouldn't have told a piece of my mind, I'm not alive. Ten pounds indeed! and the world thinks you a very fine person for it. I only wish I could bring the world here, and show 'em what's wanted at home. I think the world would alter their mind then; yes--a little.

"What do you say?

"A WIFE HAS NO RIGHT TO PICK HER HUSBAND'S POCKET?

"A pretty husband you are, to talk in that way! Never mind: you can't prosecute her for it--or I've no doubt you would; none at all. Some men would do anything. What?

"YOU'VE A BIT OF A HEADACHE?

"I hope you have--and a good bit, too. You've been to the right place for it. No--I won't hold my tongue. It's all very well for you men to go to taverns--and talk--and toast--and hurrah--and--I wonder you're not all ashamed of yourselves to drink the Queen's health with all the honours, I believe, you call it--yes, pretty honours you pay to the sex--I say, I wonder you're not ashamed to drink that blessed creature's health, when you've only to think how you use your own wives at home. But the hypocrites that the men are- -oh!

"WHERE'S YOUR WATCH?

"Haven't I told you? It's under your pillow--there, you needn't be feeling for it. I tell you it's under your pillow.

"IT'S ALL RIGHT?

"Yes; a great deal you know of what's right just now! Ha! was there ever any poor soul used as I am!

"I'M A DEAR CREATURE?

"Pah! Mr. Caudle! I've only to say, I'm tired of your conduct-- quite tired, and don't care how soon there's an end of it.

"WHY DID I TAKE YOUR CHEQUE-BOOK?

"I've told you--to save you from ruin, Mr. Caudle.

"YOU'RE NOT GOING TO BE RUINED?

"Ha! you don't know anything when you're out! I know what they do at those public dinners--charities, they call 'em; pretty charities! True Charity, I believe, always dines at home. I know what they do: the whole system's a trick. No: I'M NOT A STONY-HEARTED CREATURE: and you ought to be ashamed to say so of your wife and the mother of your children,--but you'll not make me cry to-night, I can tell you-- I was going to say that--oh! you're such an aggravating man I don't know what I was going to say!

"THANK HEAVEN?

"What for? I don't see that there's anything to thank Heaven about! I was going to say, I know the trick of public dinners. They get a lord, or a duke, if they can catch him--anything to make people say they dined with nobility, that's it--yes, they get one of these people, with a star perhaps in his coat, to take the chair--and to talk all sorts of sugar-plum things about charity--and to make foolish men, with wine in 'em, feel that they've no end of money; and then--shutting their eyes to their wives and families at home--all the while that their own faces are red and flushed like poppies, and they think to-morrow will never come--then they get 'em to put their hand to paper. Then they make 'em pull out their cheques. But I took your book, Mr. Caudle--you couldn't do it a second time. What are you laughing at?

"NOTHING?

"It's no matter: I shall see it in the paper to-morrow; for if you gave anything, you were too proud to hide it. I know YOUR charity.

"WHERE'S YOUR WATCH?

"Haven't I told you fifty times where it is? In the pocket--over your head--of course. Can't you hear it tick? No: you can hear nothing to-night.

"And now, Mr. Caudle, I should like to know whose hat you've brought home? You went out with a beaver worth three-and-twenty shillings-- the second time you've worn it--and you bring home a thing that no Jew in his senses would give me fivepence for. I couldn't even get a pot of primroses--and you know I always turn your old hats into roots--not a pot of primroses for it. I'm certain of it now--I've often thought it--but now I'm sure that some people dine out only to change their hats.

"WHERE'S YOUR WATCH?

"Caudle, you're bringing me to an early grave!"

WE HOPE THAT CAUDLE WAS PENITENT FOR HIS CONDUCT; INDEED, THERE IS, WE THINK, EVIDENCE THAT HE WAS SO: FOR TO THIS LECTURE HE HAS APPENDED NO COMMENT. THE MAN HAD NOT THE FACE TO DO IT.

LECTURE XXI--MR. CAUDLE HAS NOT ACTED "LIKE A HUSBAND" AT THE WEDDING DINNER

"Ah, me! It's no use wishing--none at all: but I do wish that yesterday fourteen years could come back again. Little did I think, Mr. Caudle, when you brought me home from church, your lawful wedded wife--little, I say, did I think that I should keep my wedding dinner in the manner I have done to-day. Fourteen years ago! Yes, I see you now, in your blue coat with bright buttons, and your white watered-satin waistcoat, and a moss-rose bud in your button-hole, which you said was like me. What?

"YOU NEVER TALKED SUCH NONSENSE?

"Ha! Mr. Caudle, you don't know what you talked that day--but I do. Yes; and you then sat at the table as if your face, as I may say, was buttered with happiness, and--What? No, Mr. Caudle, don't say that; _I_ have not wiped the butter off--not I. If you above all men are not happy, you ought to be, gracious knows!

"Yes, I WILL talk of fourteen years ago. Ha! you sat beside me then, and picked out all sorts of nice things for me. You'd have given me pearls and diamonds to eat if I could have swallowed 'em. Yes, I say, you sat beside me, and--What do you talk about?

"YOU COULDN'T SIT BESIDE ME TO-DAY?

"That's nothing at all to do with it. But it's so like you. I can't speak but you fly off to something else. Ha! and when the health of the young couple was drunk, what a speech you made then! It was delicious! How you made everybody cry as if their hearts were breaking; and I recollect it as if it was yesterday, how the tears ran down dear father's nose, and how dear mother nearly went into a fit! Dear souls! They little thought, with all your fine talk, how you'd use me.

"HOW HAVE YOU USED ME?

"Oh, Mr. Caudle, how can you ask that question? It's well for you I can't see you blush. HOW have you used me?

"Well, that the same tongue could make a speech like that, and then talk as it did to-day!

"HOW DID YOU TALK?

"Why, shamefully! What did you say about your wedded happiness? Why, nothing. What did you say about your wife? Worse than nothing: just as if she were a bargain you were sorry for, but were obliged to make the best of. What do you say?

"AND BAD'S THE BEST?

"If you say that again, Caudle, I'll rise from my bed.

"YOU DIDN'T SAY IT?

"What, then, did you say? Something very like it, I know. Yes, a pretty speech of thanks for a husband! And everybody could see that you didn't care a pin for me; and that's why you had 'em here: that's why you invited 'em, to insult me to their faces. What?

"I MADE YOU INVITE 'EM?

"Oh, Caudle, what an aggravating man you are!

"I suppose you'll say next I made you invite Miss Prettyman? Oh yes; don't tell me that her brother brought her without you knowing it. What?

"DIDN'T I HEAR HIM SAY SO?

"Of course I did; but do you suppose I'm quite a fool? Do you think I don't know that that was all settled between you? And she must be a nice person to come unasked to a woman's house? But I know why she came. Oh yes; she came to look about her.

"Oh, the meaning's plain enough.--She came to see how she should like the rooms--how she should like my seat at the fireplace; how she--and if it isn't enough to break a mother's heart to be treated so!--how she should like my dear children.

"Now, it's no use your bouncing about at--but of course that's it; I can't mention Miss Prettyman but you fling about as if you were in a fit. Of course that shows there's something in it. Otherwise, why should you disturb yourself? Do you think I didn't see her looking at the ciphers on the spoons as if she already saw mine scratched out and hers there? No, I sha'n't drive you mad, Mr. Caudle; and if I do it's your own fault. No other man would treat the wife of his bosom in--What do you say?

"YOU MIGHT AS WELL HAVE MARRIED A HEDGEHOG?

"Well, now it's come to something! But it's always the case! Whenever you've seen that Miss Prettyman, I'm sure to be abused. A hedgehog! A pretty thing for a woman to be called by her husband! Now you don't think I'll lie quietly in bed, and be called a hedgehog--do you, Mr. Caudle?

"Well, I only hope Miss Prettyman had a good dinner, that's all. I had none! You know I had none--how was I to get any? You know that the only part of the turkey I care for is the merry-thought. And that, of course, went to Miss Prettyman. Oh, I saw you laugh when you put it on her plate! And you don't suppose, after such an insult as that, I'd taste another thing upon the table? No, I should hope I have more spirit than that. Yes; and you took wine with her four times. What do you say?

"ONLY TWICE?

"Oh, you were so lost--fascinated, Mr. Caudle; yes, fascinated--that you didn't know what you did. However, I do think while I'm alive I might be treated with respect at my own table. I say, while I'm alive; for I know I sha'n't last long, and then Miss Prettyman may come and take it all. I'm wasting daily, and no wonder. I never say anything about it, but every week my gowns are taken in.

"I've lived to learn something, to be sure! Miss Prettyman turned up her nose at my custards. It isn't sufficient that you are always finding fault yourself, but you must bring women home to sneer at me at my own table. What do you say?

"SHE DIDN'T TURN UP HER NOSE?

"I know she did; not but what it's needless--Providence has turned it up quite enough for her already. And she must give herself airs over my custards! Oh, I saw her mincing with the spoon as if she was chewing sand. What do you say?

"SHE PRAISED MY PLUM-PUDDING?

"Who asked her to praise it? Like her impudence, I think!

"Yes, a pretty day I've passed. I shall not forget this wedding-day, I think! And as I say, a pretty speech you made in the way of thanks. No, Caudle, if I was to live a hundred years--you needn't groan, Mr. Caudle, I shall not trouble you half that time--if I was to live a hundred years, I should never forget it. Never! You didn't even so much as bring one of your children into your speech. And--dear creatures!--what have THEY done to offend you? No; I shall not drive you mad. It's you, Mr. Caudle, who'll drive me mad. Everybody says so.

"And you suppose I didn't see how it was managed that you and THAT Miss Prettyman were always partners at whist?

"HOW WAS IT MANAGED?

"Why, plain enough. Of course you packed the cards, and could cut what you liked. You'd settled that between you. Yes; and when she took a trick, instead of leading off a trump--she play whist, indeed!--what did you say to her, when she found it was wrong? Oh-- it was impossible that HER heart should mistake! And this, Mr. Caudle, before people--with your own wife in the room!

"And Miss Prettyman--I won't hold my tongue. I WILL talk of Miss Prettyman: who's she, indeed, that I shouldn't talk of her? I suppose she thinks she sings? What do you say?

"SHE SINGS LIKE A MERMAID?

"Yes, very--very like a mermaid; for she never sings but she exposes herself. She might, I think, have chosen another song. 'I LOVE SOMEBODY,' indeed; as if I didn't know who was meant by that 'somebody'; and all the room knew it, of course; and that was what it was done for, nothing else.

"However, Mr. Caudle, as my mind's made up, I shall say no more about the matter to-night, but try to go to sleep."

"And to my astonishment and gratitude," writes Caudle, "she kept her word."

LECTURE XXII--CAUDLE COMES HOME IN THE EVENING, AS MRS. CAUDLE HAS "JUST STEPPED OUT, SHOPPING." ON HER RETURN, AT TEN, CAUDLE REMONSTRATES

"Mr. Caudle, you ought to have had a slave--yes, a black slave, and not a wife. I'm sure, I'd better been born a negro at once--much better.

"WHAT'S THE MATTER NOW?

"Well, I like that. Upon my life, Mr. Caudle, that's very cool. I can't leave the house just to buy a yard of riband, but you storm enough to carry the roof off.

"YOU DIDN'T STORM? YOU ONLY SPOKE?

"Spoke, indeed! No, sir: I've not such superfine feelings; and I don't cry out before I'm hurt. But you ought to have married a woman of stone, for you feel for nobody: that is, for nobody in your own house. I only wish you'd show some of your humanity at home, if ever so little--that's all.

"What do you say?

"WHERE'S MY FEELINGS, TO GO SHOPPING AT NIGHT?

"When would you have me go? In the broiling sun, making my face like a gipsy's? I don't see anything to laugh at, Mr. Caudle; but you think of anybody's face before your wife's. Oh, that's plain enough; and all the world can see it. I dare say, now, if it was Miss Prettyman's face--now, now, Mr. Caudle! What are you throwing yourself about for? I suppose Miss Prettyman isn't so wonderful a person that she isn't to be named? I suppose she's flesh and blood. What?

"YOU DON'T KNOW?

"Ha! I don't know that.

"What, Mr. Caudle?

"YOU'LL HAVE A SEPARATE ROOM--YOU'LL NOT BE TORMENTED IN THIS MANNER?