Mrs. Caudle's Curtain Lectures Part 24

"WHAT DO I SEE?

"Why, there, Mr. Caudle, at the foot of the bed, I see all the blessed children in tatters--I see you in a gaol, and the carpets hung out of the windows.

"And now I know why you talk in your sleep about a broad and narrow gauge! I couldn't think what was on your mind--but now it's out.

Ha! Mr. Caudle, there's something about a broad and narrow way that I wish you'd remember--but you're turned quite a heathen: yes, you think of nothing but money now.

"DON'T I LIKE MONEY?

"To be sure I do; but then I like it when I'm certain of it; no risks for me. Yes, it's all very well to talk about fortunes made in no time: they're like s.h.i.+rts made in no time--it's ten to one if they hang long together.

"And now it's plain enough why you can't eat or drink, or sleep, or do anything. All your mind's allotted into railways; for you shan't make me believe that Eel-Pie Island's the only one. Oh, no! I can see by the looks of you. Why, in a little time, if you haven't as many lines in your face as there are lines laid down! Every one of your features seems cut up--and all seem travelling from one another.

Six months ago, Caudle, you hadn't a wrinkle; yes, you'd a cheek as smooth as any china, and now your face is like the Map of England.

"At your time of life, too! You, who were for always going small and sure! You to make heads-and-tails of your money in this way! It's that stock-broker's dog at Flam Cottage--he's bitten you, I'm sure of it. You're not fit to manage your own property now; and I should only be acting the part of a good wife if I were to call in the mad- doctors.

"Well, I shall never know rest any more now. There won't be a soul knock at the door after this that I sha'n't think it's the man coming to take possession. 'Twill be something for the Chalkpits to laugh at when we're sold up. I think I see 'em here, bidding for all our little articles of bigotry and virtue, and--what are you laughing at?

"THEY'RE NOT BIGOTRY AND VIRTUE; BUT BIJOUTERIE AND VERTU?

"It's all the same: only you're never so happy as when you're taking me up.

"If I can tell what's coming to the world, I'm a sinner! Everybody's for turning their farthings into double sovereigns and cheating their neighbours of the balance. And you, too--you're beside yourself, Caudle--I'm sure of it. I've watched you when you thought me fast asleep. And then you've lain, and whispered and whispered, and then hugged yourself, and laughed at the bed-posts, as if you'd seen 'em turned to sovereign gold. I do believe that you sometimes think the patchwork quilt is made of thousand-pound bank-notes.

"Well, when we're brought to the Union, then you'll find out your mistake. But it will be a poor satisfaction for me every night to tell you of it. What, Mr. Caudle?

"THEY WON'T LET ME TELL YOU OF IT?

"And you call that 'some comfort'? And after the wife I've been to you! But now I recollect. I think I've heard you praise that Union before; though, like a fond fool as I've always been, I never once suspected the reason of it.

"And now, of course, day and night, you'll never be at home. No, you'll live and sleep at Eel-Pie Island! I shall be left alone with nothing but my thoughts, thinking when the broker will come, and you'll be with your brother directors. I may slave and I toil to save sixpences; and you'll be throwing away hundreds. And then the expensive tastes you've got! Nothing good enough for you now. I'm sure you sometimes think yourself King Solomon. But that comes of making money--if, indeed, you have made any--without earning it. No; I don't talk nonsense: people CAN make money without earning it.

And when they do, why it's like taking a lot of spirits at one draught; it gets into their head, and they don't know what they're about. And you're in that state now, Mr. Caudle: I'm sure of it, by the way of you. There's a tipsiness of the pocket as well as of the stomach--and you're in that condition at this very moment.

"Not that I should so much mind--that is, if you HAVE made money--if you'd stop at the Eel-Pie line. But I know what these things are: they're like treacle to flies: when men are well in 'em, they can't get out of 'em: or, if they do, it's often without a feather to fly with. No: if you've really made money by the Eel-Pie line, and will give it to me to take care of for the dear children, why, perhaps, love, I'll say no more of the matter. What?

"NONSENSE?

"Yes, of course: I never ask you for money, but that's the word.

"And now, catch you stopping at the Eel-Pie line! Oh no; I know your aggravating spirit. In a day or two I shall see another fine flourish in the paper, with a proposal for a branch from Eel-Pie Island to the Chelsea Bun-house. Give you a mile of rail, and--I know you men--you'll take a hundred. Well, if it didn't make me quiver to read that stuff in the paper,--and your name to it! But I suppose it was Mr. Prettyman's work; for his precious name's among 'em. How you tell the people 'that eel-pies are now become an essential element of civilisation'--I learnt all the words by heart, that I might say 'em to you--'that the Eastern population of London are cut off from the blessings of such a necessary--and that by means of the projected line eel-pies will be brought home to the business and bosoms of Ratcliff Highway and the adjacent dependencies.' Well, when you men--lords of the creation, as you call yourselves--do get together to make up a company, or anything of the sort--is there any story-book can come up to you? And so you look solemnly in one another's faces, and, never so much as moving the corners of your mouths, pick one another's pockets. No, I'm not using hard words, Mr. Caudle--but only the words that's proper.

"And this I MUST say. Whatever you've got, I'm none the better for it. You never give me any of your Eel-Pie shares. What do you say?

"YOU WILL GIVE ME SOME?

"Not I--I'll have nothing to do with any wickedness of the kind. If, like any other husband, you choose to throw a heap of money into my lap--what?

"YOU'LL THINK OF IT? WHEN THE EEL-PIES GO UP?

"Then I know what they're worth--they'll never fetch a farthing."

"She was suddenly silent"--writes Caudle--"and I was sinking into sleep, when she elbowed me, and cried, 'Caudle, do you think they'll be up to-morrow?'"

LECTURE x.x.xIV--MRS. CAUDLE, SUSPECTING THAT MR. CAUDLE HAS MADE HIS WILL, IS "ONLY ANXIOUS, AS A WIFE," TO KNOW ITS PROVISIONS

"There, I always said you'd a strong mind when you liked, Caudle; and what you've just been doing proves it. Some people won't make a will, because they think they must die directly afterwards. Now, you're above that, love, aren't you? Nonsense; you know very well what I mean. I know your will's made, for Scratcherly told me so.

What?

"YOU DON'T BELIEVE IT?

"Well, I'm sure! That's a pretty thing for a man to say to his wife.

I know he's too much of a man of business to talk; but I suppose there's a way of telling things without speaking them. And when I put the question to him, lawyer as he is, he hadn't the face to deny it.

"To be sure, it can be of no consequence to me whether your will is made or not. I shall not be alive, Mr. Caudle, to want anything: I shall be provided for a long time before your will's of any use. No, Mr. Caudle, I sha'n't survive you: and--though a woman's wrong to let her affection for a man be known, for then she's always taken advantage of--though I know it's foolish and weak to say so, still I don't want to survive you. How should I? No, no; don't say that: I'm not good for a hundred--I sha'n't see you out, and another husband too. What a gross idea, Caudle! To imagine I'd ever think of marrying again. No--never! What?

"THAT'S WHAT WE ALL SAY?

"Not at all; quite the reverse. To me the very idea of such a thing is horrible, and always was. Yes, I know very well that some do marry again--but what they're made of I'm sure I can't tell. Ugh!

"There are men, I know, who leave their property in such a way that their widows, to hold it, must keep widows. Now, if there is anything in the world that is mean and small, it is that. Don't you think so, too, Caudle? Why don't you speak, love? That's so like you! I never want a little quiet, rational talk, but you want to go to sleep. But you never were like any other man! What?

"HOW DO I KNOW?

"There now--that's so like your aggravating way. I never open my lips upon a subject but you try to put me off. I've no doubt when Miss Prettyman speaks, you can answer HER properly enough. There you are, again! Upon my life, it IS odd; but I never can in the most innocent way mention that person's name that -

"WHY CAN'T I LEAVE HER ALONE?

"I'm sure--with all my heart! Who wants to talk about her? I don't: only you always will say something that's certain to bring up her name.

"What was I saying, Caudle? Oh, about the way some men bind their widows. To my mind, there is nothing so little. When a man forbids his wife to marry again without losing what he leaves--it's what I call selfishness after death. Mean to a degree! It's like taking his wife into the grave with him. Eh?

"YOU NEVER WANT TO DO THAT?

"No, I'm sure of that, love: you're not the man to tie a woman up in that mean manner. A man who'd do that would have his widow burnt with him, if he could--just as those monsters, that call themselves men, do in the Indies.

"However, it's no matter to me how you've made your will; but it may be to your second wife. What?

"I SHALL NEVER GIVE YOU A CHANCE?

"Ha! you don't know my const.i.tution after all, Caudle. I'm not at all the woman I was. I say nothing about 'em, but very often you don't know my feelings. And as we're on the subject, dearest, I have only one favour to ask. When you marry again--now it's no use your saying that. After the comforts you've known of marriage--what are you sighing at, dear?--after the comforts, you must marry again--now don't forswear yourself in that violent way, taking an oath that you know you must break--you couldn't help it, I'm sure of it; and I know you better than you know yourself. Well, all I ask is, love, because it's only for your sake, and it would make no difference to me then-- how should it?--but all I ask is, don't marry Miss Pret--There!

there! I've done: I won't say another word about it; but all I ask is, don't. After the way you've been thought of, and after the comforts you've been used to, Caudle, she wouldn't be the wife for you. Of course I could then have no interest in the matter--you might marry the Queen of England, for what it would be to me then-- I'm only anxious about you. Mind, Caudle, I'm not saying anything against her; not at all; but there's a flightiness in her manner--I dare say, poor thing, she means no harm, and it may be, as the saying is, only her manner after all--still, there is a flightiness about her that, after what you've been used to, would make you very wretched. Now, if I may boast of anything, Caudle, it is my propriety of manner the whole of my life. I know that wives who're very particular aren't thought as well of as those who're not--still, it's next to nothing to be virtuous, if people don't seem so. And virtue, Caudle--no, I'm not going to preach about virtue, for I never do. No; and I don't go about with my virtue, like a child with a drum, making all sorts of noises with it. But I know your principles. I shall never forget what I once heard you say to Prettyman: and it's no excuse that you'd taken so much wine you didn't know what you were saying at the time; for wine brings out man's wickedness, just as fire brings out spots of grease.

"WHAT DID YOU SAY?

"Why, you said this: --'Virtue's a beautiful thing in women, when they don't make so much noise about it: but there's some women who think virtue was given 'em, as claws were given to cats'--yes, cats was the word--'to do nothing but scratch with.' That's what you said.