Chapter 8

"Wouldn't you? I know you. In six months you'd fill up my place; yes, and dreadfully my dear children would suffer for it.

"Caudle, if you roar in that way, the people will give us warning to- morrow.

"CAN'T I BE QUIET, THEN?

"Yes--that's like your artfulness: anything to make me hold my tongue. But we won't quarrel. I'm sure if it depended upon me, we might be as happy as doves. I mean it--and you needn't groan when I say it. Good-night, Caudle. What do you say?

"BLESS ME!

"Well, you are a dear soul, Caudle; and if it wasn't for that Miss Prettyman--no, I'm not torturing you. I know very well what I'm doing, and I wouldn't torture you for the world; but you don't know what the feelings of a wife are, Caudle; you don't.

"Caudle--I say, Caudle. Just a word, dear.

"WELL?

"Now, why should you snap me up in that way?

"YOU WANT TO GO TO SLEEP?

"So do I; but that's no reason you should speak to me in that manner. You know, dear, you once promised to take me to France.

"YOU DON'T RECOLLECT IT?

"Yes--that's like you; you don't recollect many things you've promised me; but I do. There's a boat goes on Wednesday to Boulogne, and comes back the day afterwards.

"WHAT OF IT?

"Why, for that time we could leave the children with the girls, and go nicely.

"NONSENSE?

"Of course; if I want anything it's always nonsense. Other men can take their wives half over the world; but you think it quite enough to bring me down here to this hole of a place, where I know every pebble on the beach like an old acquaintance--where there's nothing to be seen but the same machines--the same jetty--the same donkeys-- the same everything. But then, I'd forgot; Margate has an attraction for you--Miss Prettyman's here. No; I'm not censorious, and I wouldn't backbite an angel; but the way in which that young woman walks the sands at all hours--there! there!--I've done: I can't open my lips about that creature but you always storm.

"You know that I always wanted to go to France; and you bring me down here only on purpose that I should see the French cliffs--just to tantalise me, and for nothing else. If I'd remained at home--and it was against my will I ever came here--I should never have thought of France; but--to have it staring in one's face all day, and not be allowed to go! it's worse than cruel, Mr. Caudle--it's brutal. Other people can take their wives to Paris; but you always keep me moped up at home. And what for? Why, that I may know nothing--yes; just on purpose to make me look little, and for nothing else.

"HEAVEN BLESS THE WOMAN?

"Ha! you've good reason to say that, Mr. Caudle; for I'm sure she's little blessed by you. She's been kept a prisoner all her life--has never gone anywhere--oh yes! that's your old excuse,--talking of the children. I want to go to France, and I should like to know what the children have to do with it? They're not babies NOW--are they? But you've always thrown the children in my face. If Miss Prettyman-- there now; do you hear what you've done--shouting in that manner? The other lodgers are knocking overhead: who do you think will have the face to look at 'em to-morrow morning? I sha'n't--breaking people's rest in that way!

"Well, Caudle--I declare it's getting daylight, and what an obstinate man you are!--tell me, shall I go to France?"

"I forget," says Caudle, "my precise answer; but I think I gave her a very wide permission to go somewhere, whereupon, though not without remonstrance as to the place--she went to sleep."

LECTURE XXVI--MRS. CAUDLE'S FIRST NIGHT IN FRANCE--"SHAMEFUL INDIFFERENCE" OF CAUDLE AT THE BOULOGNE CUSTOM HOUSE

"I suppose, Mr. Caudle, you call yourself a man? I'm sure such men should never have wives. If I could have thought it possible you'd have behaved as you have done--and I might, if I hadn't been a forgiving creature, for you've never been like anybody else--if I could only have thought it, you'd never have dragged me to foreign parts. Never! Well, I DID say to myself, if he goes to France, perhaps he may catch a little politeness--but no; you began as Caudle, and as Caudle you'll end. I'm to be neglected through life, now. Oh yes! I've quite given up all thoughts of anything but wretchedness--I've made up my mind to misery, now.

"YOU'RE GLAD OF IT?

"Well, you must have a heart to say that. I declare to you, Caudle, as true as I'm an ill-used woman, if it wasn't for the dear children far away in blessed England--if it wasn't for them, I'd never go back with you. No: I'd leave you in this very place. Yes; I'd go into a convent; for a lady on board told me there was plenty of 'em here. I'd go and be a nun for the rest of my days, and--I see nothing to laugh at, Mr. Caudle; that you should be shaking the bed-things up and down in that way. But you always laugh at people's feelings; I wish you'd only some yourself. I'd be a nun, or a Sister of Charity.

"IMPOSSIBLE?

"Ha! Mr. Caudle, you don't know even now what I can be when my blood's up. You've trod upon the worm long enough; some day won't you be sorry for it!

"Now, none of your profane cryings out! You needn't talk about Heaven in that way: I'm sure you're the last person who ought. What I say is this. Your conduct at the Custom House was shameful--cruel! And in a foreign land, too! But you brought me here that I might be insulted; you'd no other reason for dragging me from England. Ha! let me once get home, Mr. Caudle, and you may wear your tongue out before you get me into outlandish places again.

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?

"There, now; that's where you're so aggravating. You behave worse than any Turk to me,--what?

"YOU WISH YOU WERE A TURK?

"Well, I think that's a pretty wish before your lawful wife! Yes--a nice Turk you'd make, wouldn't you? Don't think it.

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?

"Well, it's a good thing I can't see you, for I'm sure you must blush. Done, indeed!

"Why, when the brutes searched my basket at the Custom House!

"A REGULAR THING, IS IT?

"Then if you knew that, why did you bring me here? No man who respected his wife would. And you could stand by, and see that fellow with mustachios rummage my basket; and pull out my night-cap and rumple the borders, and--well! if you'd had the proper feelings of a husband, your blood would have boiled again. But no! There you stood looking as mild as butter at the man, and never said a word; not when he crumpled my night-cap--it went to my heart like a stab-- crumpled it as if it were any duster. I dare say if it had been Miss Prettyman's night-cap--oh, I don't care about your groaning--if it had been her night-cap, her hair-brush her curl-papers, you'd have said something then. Oh, anybody with the spirit of a man would have spoken out if the fellow had had a thousand swords at his side. Well, all I know is this: if I'd have married somebody I could name, he wouldn't have suffered me to be treated in that way, not he!

"Now, don't hope to go to sleep, Mr. Caudle, and think to silence me in that manner. I know your art, but it won't do. It wasn't enough that my basket was turned topsy-turvy, but before I knew it, they spun me into another room, and -

"HOW COULD YOU HELP THAT?

"You never tried to help it. No; although it was a foreign land, and I don't speak French--not but what I know a good deal more of it than some people who give themselves airs about it--though I don't speak their nasty gibberish, still you let them take me away, and never cared how I was ever to find you again. In a strange country, too! But I've no doubt that that's what you wished: yes, you'd have been glad enough to have got rid of me in that cowardly manner. If I could only know your secret thoughts, Caudle, that's what you brought me here for, to lose me. And after the wife I've been to you!

"What are you crying out?

"FOR MERCY'S SAKE?

"Yes; a great deal you know about mercy! Else you'd never have suffered me to be twisted into that room. To be searched, indeed! As if I'd anything smuggled about me. Well, I will say it, after the way in which I've been used, if you'd the proper feelings of a man, you wouldn't sleep again for six months. Well, I know there was nobody but women there; but that's nothing to do with it. I'm sure, if I'd been taken up for picking pockets, they couldn't have used me worse. To be treated so--and 'specially by one's own sex!--it's THAT that aggravates me.

"And that's all you can say?

"WHAT COULD YOU DO?

"Why, break open the door; I'm sure you must have heard my voice: you shall never make me believe you couldn't hear that. Whenever I shall sew the strings on again, I can't tell. If they didn't turn me out like a ship in a storm, I'm a sinner! And you laughed!

"YOU DIDN'T LAUGH?

"Don't tell me; you laugh when you don't know anything about it; but I do.

"And a pretty place you have brought me to! A most respectable place, I must say! Where the women walk about without any bonnets to their heads, and the fish-girls with their bare legs--well, you don't catch me eating any fish while I'm here.

"WHY NOT?

"Why not,--do you think I'd encourage people of that sort?

"What do you say?

"GOOD-NIGHT?

"It's no use your saying that--I can't go to sleep so soon as you can. Especially with a door that has such a lock as that to it. How do we know who may come in? What?

"ALL THE LOCKS ARE BAD IN FRANCE?

"The more shame for you to bring me to such a place, then. It only shows how you value me.

"Well, I dare say you are tired. I am! But then, see what I've gone through. Well, we won't quarrel in a barbarous country. We won't do that. Caudle, dear,--what's the French for lace? I know it, only I forget it. The French for lace, love? What?

"DENTELLE?

"Now, you're not deceiving me?

"YOU NEVER DECEIVED ME YET?

"Oh! don't say that. There isn't a married man in this blessed world can put his hand upon his heart in bed and say that. French for lace, dear? Say it again.

"DENTELLE?

"Ha! Dentelle! Good-night, dear. Dentelle! Den-telle."

"I afterwards," writes Caudle, "found out to my cost wherefore she inquired about lace. For she went out in the morning with the landlady to buy a veil, giving only four pounds for what she could have bought in England for forty shillings!"

LECTURE XXVII--MRS. CAUDLE RETURNS TO HER NATIVE LAND. "UNMANLY CRUELTY" OF CAUDLE, WHO HAS REFUSED "TO SMUGGLE A FEW THINGS" FOR HER

"There, it isn't often that I ask you to do anything for me, Mr. Caudle, goodness knows! and when I do, I'm always refused--of course. Oh yes! anybody but your own lawful wife. Every other husband aboard the boat could behave like a husband--but I was left to shift for myself. To be sure, that's nothing new; I always am. Every other man, worthy to be called a man, could smuggle a few things for his wife--but I might as well be alone in the world. Not one poor half- dozen of silk stockings could you put in your hat for me; and everybody else was rolled in lace, and I don't know what. Eh? What, Mr. Caudle?

"WHAT DO I WANT WITH SILK STOCKINGS?

"Well--it's come to something now! There was a time, I believe, when I had a foot--yes, and an ankle, too; but when once a woman's married, she has nothing of the sort; of course. No: I'm NOT a cherub, Mr. Caudle; don't say that. I know very well what I am.

"I dare say now, you'd have been delighted to smuggle for Miss Prettyman? Silk stockings become her!

"YOU WISH MISS PRETTYMAN WAS IN THE MOON?

"Not you, Mr. Caudle; that's only your art--your hypocrisy. A nice person too she'd be for the moon: it would be none the brighter for her being in it, I know. And when you saw the Custom House officers look at me, as though they were piercing me through, what was your conduct? Shameful. You twittered about and fidgeted, and flushed up as if I really WAS a smuggler.

"SO I WAS?

"What had that to do with it? It wasn't the part of a husband, I think, to fidget in that way, and show it.

"YOU COULDN'T HELP IT?

"Humph! And you call yourself a person of strong mind, I believe? One of the lords of the creation! Ha! ha! couldn't help it!

"But I may do all I can to save the money, and this is always my reward. Yes, Mr. Caudle; I shall save a great deal.

"HOW MUCH?

"I sha'n't tell you: I know your meanness--you'd want to stop it out of the house allowance. No: it's nothing to you where I got the money from to buy so many things. The money was my own. Well, and if it was yours first, that's nothing to do with it. No; I haven't saved it out of the puddings. But it's always the woman who saves who's despised. It's only your fine-lady wives who're properly thought of. If I was to ruin you, Caudle, then you'd think something of me.

"I sha'n't go to sleep. It's very well for you, who're no sooner in bed than you're fast as a church; but I can't sleep in that way. It's my mind keeps me awake. And after all, I do feel so happy to- night, it's very hard I can't enjoy my thoughts.

"NO: I CAN'T THINK IN SILENCE!

"There's much enjoyment in that, to be sure! I've no doubt now you could listen to Miss Prettyman--oh, I don't care, I will speak. It was a little more than odd, I think, that she should be on the jetty when the boat came in. Ha! she'd been looking for you all the morning with a telescope, I've no doubt--she's bold enough for anything. And then how she sneered and giggled when she saw me,--and said 'how fat I'd got:' like her impudence, I think. What?

"WELL SHE MIGHT?

"But I know what she wanted; yes--she'd have liked to have had me searched. She laughed on purpose.

"I only wish I'd taken two of the dear girls with me. What things I could have stitched about 'em! No--I'm not ashamed of myself to make my innocent children smugglers: the more innocent they looked, the better; but there you are with what you call your principles again; as if it wasn't given to everybody by nature to smuggle. I'm sure of it--it's born with us. And nicely I've cheated 'em this day. Lace, and velvet, and silk stockings, and other things,--to say nothing of the tumblers and decanters. No: I didn't look as if I wanted a direction, for fear somebody should break me. That's another of what you call your jokes; but you should keep 'em for those who like 'em. I don't.

"WHAT HAVE I MADE, AFTER ALL?

"I've told you--you shall never, never know. Yes, I know you'd been fined a hundred pounds if they'd searched me; but I never meant that they should. I daresay you wouldn't smuggle--oh no! you don't think it worth your while. You're quite a conjuror, you are, Caudle. Ha! ha! ha!

"WHAT AM I LAUGHING AT?

"Oh, you little know--such a clever creature! Ha! ha! Well, now, I'll tell you. I knew what an unaccommodating animal you were, so I made you smuggle whether or not.

"HOW?

"Why, when you were out at the Cafe, I got your great rough coat, and if I didn't stitch ten yards of best black velvet under the lining I'm a sinful woman! And to see how innocent you looked when the officers walked round and round you! It was a happy moment, Caudle, to see you.

"What do you call it?

"A SHAMEFUL TRICK--UNWORTHY OF A WIFE? I COULDN'T CARE MUCH FOR YOU?

"As if I didn't prove that by trusting you with ten yards of velvet. But I don't care what you say: I've saved everything--all but that beautiful English novel, that I've forgot the name of. And if they didn't take it out of my hand, and chopped it to bits like so much dog's-meat.

"SERVED ME RIGHT?

"And when I so seldom buy a book! No: I don't see how it served me right. If you can buy the same book in France for four shillings that people here have the impudence to ask more than a guinea for-- well, if they DO steal it, that's their affair, not ours. As if there was anything in a book to steal!

"And now, Caudle, when are you going home? What?

"OUR TIME ISN'T UP?

"That's nothing to do with it. If we even lose a week's lodging--and we mayn't do that--we shall save it again in living. But you're such a man! Your home's the last place with you. I'm sure I don't get a wink of a night, thinking what may happen. Three fires last week; and any one might as well have been at our house as not.

"NO--THEY MIGHTN'T?

"Well, you know what I mean--but you're such a man!

"I'm sure, too, we've had quite enough of this place. But there's no keeping you out of the libraries, Caudle. You're getting quite a gambler. And I don't think it's a nice example to set your children, raffling as you do for French clocks, and I don't know what. But that's not the worst; you never win anything. Oh, I forgot. Yes; a needle-case, that under my nose you gave to Miss Prettyman. A nice thing for a married man to make presents: and to such a creature as that, too! A needle-case! I wonder whenever she has a needle in HER hand!

"I know I shall feel ill with anxiety if I stop here. Nobody left in the house but that Mrs. Closepeg. And she is such a stupid woman. It was only last night that I dreamt I saw our cat quite a skeleton, and the canary stiff on its back at the bottom of the cage. You know, Caudle, I'm never happy when I'm away from home; and yet you will stay here. No, home's my comfort! I never want to stir over the threshold, and you know it. If thieves were to break in, what could that Mrs. Closepeg do against 'em? And so, Caudle, you'll go home on Saturday? Our dear--dear home! On Saturday, Caudle?"

"What I answered," says Caudle, "I forget; but I know that on the Saturday we were once again shipped on board the 'Red Rover'."

LECTURE XXVIII--MRS. CAUDLE HAS RETURNED HOME. THE HOUSE (OF COURSE) "NOT FIT TO BE SEEN." MR. CAUDLE, IN SELF-DEFENCE, TAKES A BOOK

"After all, Caudle, it is something to get into one's own bed again. I SHALL sleep to-night. What!

"YOU'RE GLAD OF IT?

"That's like your sneering; I know what you mean. Of course; I never can think of making myself comfortable, but you wound my feelings. If you cared for your own bed like any other man, you'd not have stayed out till this hour. Don't say that I drove you out of the house as soon as we came in it. I only just spoke about the dirt and the dust,--but the fact is, you'd be happy in a pig-sty! I thought I could have trusted that Mrs. Closepeg with untold gold; and did you only see the hearthrug? When we left home there was a tiger in it: I should like to know who could make out the tiger, now? Oh, it's very well for you to swear at the tiger, but swearing won't revive the rug again. Else you might swear.

"You could go out and make yourself comfortable at your club. You little know how many windows are broken. How many do you think? No: I sha'n't tell you to-morrow--you shall know now. I'm sure! Talking about getting health at Margate; all my health went away directly I went into the kitchen. There's dear mother's china bowl cracked in two places. I could have sat down and cried when I saw it: a bowl I can recollect when I was a child. Eh?

"I SHOULD HAVE LOCKED IT UP, THEN?

"Yes: that's your feeling for anything of mine. I only wish it had been your punch-bowl; but, thank goodness! I think that's chipped.

"Well, you haven't answered about the windows--you can't guess how many?

"YOU DON'T CARE?

"Well, if nobody caught cold but you, it would be little matter. Six windows clean out, and three cracked!

"YOU CAN'T HELP IT?

"I should like to know where the money's to come from to mend 'em! They sha'n't be mended, that's all. Then you'll see how respectable the house will look. But I know very well what you think. Yes; you're glad of it. You think that this will keep me at home--but I'll never stir out again. Then you can go to the sea-side by yourself; then, perhaps, you can be happy with Miss Prettyman?--Now, Caudle, if you knock the pillow with your fist in that way, I'll get up. It's very odd that I can't mention that person's name but you begin to fight the bolster, and do I don't know what. There must be something in it, or you wouldn't kick about so. A guilty conscience needs no--but you know what I mean.

"She wasn't coming to town for a week; and then, of a sudden, she'd had a letter. I dare say she had. And then, as she said, it would be company for her to come with us. No doubt. She thought I should be ill again, and down in the cabin, but with all her art, she does not know the depth of me--quite. Not but what I was ill; though, like a brute, you wouldn't see it.

"What do you say?

"GOOD-NIGHT, LOVE?

"Yes: you can be very tender, I dare say--like all of your sex--to suit your own ends; but I can't go to sleep with my head full of the house. The fender in the parlour will never come to itself again. I haven't counted the knives yet, but I've made up my mind that half of 'em are lost. No: I don't always think the worst; no, and I don't make myself unhappy before the time; but of course that's my thanks for caring about your property. If there aren't spiders in the curtains as big as nutmegs, I'm a wicked creature. Not a broom has the whole place seen since I've been away. But as soon as I get up, won't I rummage the house out, that's all! I hadn't the heart to look at my pickles; but for all I left the door locked, I'm sure the jars have been moved. Yes; you can swear at pickles when you're in bed; but nobody makes more noise about 'em when you want 'em.

"I only hope they've been to the wine-cellar: then you may know what my feelings are. That poor cat, too--What?

"YOU HATE CATS?

"Yes, poor thing! because she's my favourite--that's it. If that cat could only speak--What?

"IT ISN'T NECESSARY?

"I don't know what you mean, Mr. Caudle: but if that cat could only speak, she'd tell me how she's been cheated. Poor thing! I know where the money's gone to that I left for her milk--I know. Why, what have you got there, Mr. Caudle? A book? What!

"IF YOU AREN'T ALLOWED TO SLEEP, YOU'LL READ?

"Well, now it is come to something! If that isn't insulting a wife to bring a book to bed, I don't know what wedlock is. But you sha'n't read, Caudle; no, you sha'n't; not while I've strength to get up and put out a candle.

"And that's like your feelings! You can think a great deal of trumpery books; yes, you can't think too much of the stuff that's put into print; but for what's real and true about you, why, you've the heart of a stone. I should like to know what that book's about. What!

"MILTON'S 'PARADISE LOST'?

"I thought some rubbish of the sort--something to insult me. A nice book, I think, to read in bed; and a very respectable person he was who wrote it.

"WHAT DO I KNOW OF HIM?

"Much more than you think. A very pretty fellow, indeed, with his six wives. What?

"HE HADN'T SIX--HE'D ONLY THREE?

"That's nothing to do with it; but of course you'll take his part. Poor women! A nice time they had with him, I dare say! And I've no doubt, Mr. Caudle, you'd like to follow Mr. Milton's example; else you wouldn't read the stuff he wrote. But you don't use me as he treated the poor souls who married him. Poets, indeed! I'd make a law against any of 'em having wives, except upon paper; for goodness help the dear creatures tied to them! Like innocent moths lured by a candle! Talking of candles, you don't know that the lamp in the passage is split to bits! I say you don't--do you hear me, Mr. Caudle? Won't you answer? Do you know where you are? What?

"IN THE GARDEN OF EDEN?

"Are you? Then you've no business there at this time of night."

"And saying this," writes Caudle, "she scrambled from the bed and put out the night."

LECTURE XXIX--MRS. CAUDLE THINKS "THE TIME HAS COME TO HAVE A COTTAGE OUT OF TOWN"