“I'm sure a poor woman had better be in her grave than married! That
is, if she can't be married to a decent man! No: I don't care if you are
tired, I _shan't_, let you go to sleep. No, and I won't say what I have
to say in the morning; I'll say it now. It's all very well for you to
come home at what time you like--it's now half-past twelve--and expect
I'm to hold my tongue, and let you go to sleep. What next, I wonder? A
woman had better be sold for a slave at once.
“And so you've gone and joined a club! The Skylarks, indeed! A pretty
skylark you 'll make of yourself! But I won't stay and be ruined by you.
No: I'm determined of that. I 'll go and take the dear children, and you
may get who you like to keep your house. That is, as long as you have a
house to keep--and that won't be long, know.
“How any decent man can go and spend his nights in a tavern!--oh, yes,
Mr. Caudle; I dare say you _do_ go for rational conversation. I should
like to know how many of you would care for what you call rational
conversation, if you had it without your filthy brandy-and-water; yes,
and your more filthy tobacco-smoke. I'm sure the last time you came
home, I had the head-ache for a week. But I know who it is who's taking
you to destruction. It's that brute, Prettyman. He has broken his own
poor wife's heart, and now he wants to--but don't you think it, Mr.
Caudle; I'll not have my peace of mind destroyed by the best man that
ever trod. Oh, yes! I know you don't care so long as you can appear well
to all the world,--but the world little thinks how you behave to me. It
shall know it, though--that I'm determined.
“How any man can leave his own happy fireside to go and sit, and smoke,
and drink, and talk with people who wouldn't one of 'em lift a finger to
save him from hanging--how any man can leave his wife--and a good
wife, too, though I say it--for a parcel of pot-companions--oh, it's
disgraceful, Mr. Caudle: it's unfeeling. No man who had the least love
for his wife could do it.
“And I suppose this is to be the case every Saturday? But I know what
I 'll do. I know--it's no use, Mr. Caudle, your calling me a good
creature: I'm not such a fool as to be coaxed in that way. No: if you
want to go to sleep, you should come home in Christian time, not at
halfpast twelve. There was a time, when you were as regular at your
fireside as the kettle. That was when you were a decent man, and didn't
go amongst, Heaven knows who, drinking and smoking, and making what you
think your jokes. I never heard any good come to a man who cared about
jokes. No respectable tradesman does. But I know what I'll do: I'll
scare away your Skylarks. The house serves liquor after twelve of a
Saturday; and if I don't write to the magistrates, and have the license
taken away, I'm not lying in this bed this night. Yes, you may call me a
foolish woman; but no, Mr. Caudle, no; it's you who are the foolish man:
or worse than a foolish man; you 're--a wicked one. If you were to die
to-morrow--and people who go to public-houses do all they can to shorten
their lives--I should like to know who would write upon your tombstone,
'A tender husband and an affectionate father.' I--I'd have no such
falsehoods told of you, I can assure you.
“Going and spending your money, and--nonsense! don't tell me--no, if
you were to ten times swear it, I wouldn't believe that you only spent
eighteen-pence on a Saturday. You can't be all those hours, and only
spend eighteen-pence. I know better. I'm not quite a fool, Mr. Caudle.
A great deal you could have for eighteen-pence! And all the Club married
men and fathers of families. The more shame for 'em! Skylarks, indeed!
They should call themselves Vultures; for they can only do as they do by
robbing their innocent wives and children. Eighteen-pence a week! And if
it was only that,--do you know what fifty-two eighteen-pences come to in
a year? Do you ever think of that, and see the gowns I wear? I'm sure
I can't, out of the house-money, buy myself a pincushion; though I've
wanted one these six months. No--not so much as a ball of cotton.” But
what do you care, so you can get your brandy-and-water? There's the
girls, top--the things they want! They are never dressed like other
people's children. But it's all the same to their father. Oh, yes! So
he can go with his Skylarks, they may wear sackcloth for pinafores, and
packthread for garters.
“You'd better not let that Mr. Prettyman come here, that's all; or,
rather, you'd better bring him once. Yes, I should like to see him.
He wouldn't forget it. A man who, I may say, lives and moves only in
a spittoon. A man who has a pipe in his mouth as constant as his front
teeth. A sort of tavern king, with a lot of fools, like you, to laugh at
what lie thinks his jokes, and give him consequence. No, Mr. Caudle, no;
it's no use your telling me to go to sleep, for I won't. Go to sleep,
indeed! I'm sure it's almost time to get up. I hardly know what's the
use of coming to bed at all now.
“The Skylarks, indeed! I suppose you 'll be buying a 'Little Warbler,'
and at your time of life, be trying to sing. The peacocks will sing
next. A pretty name you 'll get in the neighbourhood; and, in a very
little time, a nice face you 'll have. Your nose is getting redder
already: and you've just one of the noses that liquor always flies to.
You don't see it's red? No--I dare say not--but I see it; I see a great
many things-you don't. And so you 'll go on. In a little time, with your
brandy-and-water--don't tell me that you only take two small glasses;
I know what men's two small glasses are; in a little time you'll have a
face all over as if it was made of red currant jam. And I should like
to know who's to endure you then? I won't, and so don't think it. Don't
come to me.
“Nice habits men learn at clubs! There's Joskins: he was a decent
creature once, and now I'm told he has more than once boxed his wife's
ears. He's a Skylark, too. And I suppose, some day, you 'll be trying
to box _my_ ears? Don't attempt it, Mr. Caudle; I say, don't attempt it.
Yes--it's all very well for you to say you don't mean it,--but I only
say again, don't attempt it. You'd rue it till the day of your death,
Mr. Caudle.
“Going and sitting for four hours at a tavern! What men, unless they had
their wives with them, can find to talk about, I can't think. No good,
of course.
“Eighteen-pence a week--and drinking brandy-and-water, enough to swim
a boat! And smoking like the funnel of a steam-ship! And I can't
afford myself so much as a piece of tape! It's brutal, Mr. Caudle. It's
ve-ve-ve--ry bru--tal.”
And, says a note in the MS. by Mr. Caudle--“Here, thank heaven! yawning,
she fell asleep.”
LECTURE IV. MR. CAUDLE HAS BEEN CALLED FROM HIS BED TO BAIL MR.
PRETTYMAN FROM THE WATCH-HOUSE.
[Illustration:022]
IE, Mr. Caudle, I knew it would come to this. I said it would, when you
joined those precious Skylarks. People being called out of their beds at
all hours of the night to bail a set of fellows who are never so happy
as when they 're leading sober men to destruction. I should like to
know what the neighbours will think of you, with people from the police
knocking at the door at two in the morning. Don't tell me that the man
has been ill-used: he's not the man to be ill-used. And you must go and
bail him. I know the end of that: he 'll run away, and you 'll have to
pay the money. I should like to know what's the use of my working
and slaving to save a farthing, when you throw away pounds upon your
precious Skylarks. A pretty cold you 'll have to-morrow morning, being
called out of your warm bed this weather; but don't you think I'll nurse
you--not I; not a drop of gruel do you get from me.
“I'm sure you've plenty of ways of spending your money--not throwing it
away upon a set of dissolute peace-breakers. It's all very well for
you to say you haven't thrown away your money, but you will. He 'll be
certain to run off; it isn't likely he 'll go upon his trial, and
you 'll be fixed with the bail. Don't tell me there's no trial in
the matter, because I know there is; it's for something more than
quarrelling with the policeman that he was locked up. People ain't locked
up for that. No, it's for robbery, or something worse, perhaps.
“And as you've bailed him, people will think you are as bad as he is.
Don't tell me you couldn't help bailing him; you should have shown
yourself a respectable man, and have let him been sent to prison.
“Now people know you 're the friend of drunken and other disorderly
persons, you 'll never have a night's sleep in your bed. Not that
it would matter what fell upon you, if it wasn't your poor wife who
suffered. Of course all the business will be in the newspapers, and your
name with it. I shouldn't wonder, too, if they give your picture as they
do the other folks of the Old Bailey. A pretty thing that, to go down
to your children. I'm sure it will be enough to make them change their
name. No, I shall not go to sleep; it's all very well for you to say, go
to sleep, after such a disturbance. I shall not go------”
But here, says Mr. Caudle's manuscript, happily she slumbered; for Mr.
Caudle had, considering the theme she had to talk upon, a remarkably
short lecture.
LECTURE V. MR. CAUDLE HAS REMAINED DOWN STAIRS TILL PAST ONE, WITH A
FRIEND.
[Illustration: 024]
pretty time of night to come to bed, Mr. Caudle. Ugh! As cold, too, as
any ice. Enough to give any woman her death, I'm sure. What! I shouldn't
have locked up the coals, indeed? If I hadn't, I've no doubt the fellow
would have staid all night. It's all very well for you, Mr. Caudle, to
bring people home,--but I wish you'd think first what's for supper.
That beautiful leg of pork would have served for our dinner
to-morrow,--and now it's gone. _I_ can't keep the house upon the money,
and I won't pretend to do it, if you bring a mob of people every night
to clear the cupboard.
“I wonder who'll be so ready to give you a supper when you want one; for
want one you will, unless you change your plans. Don't tell me! I know
I'm right. You'll first be eaten up, and then you 'll be laughed at. I
know the world. No, indeed, Mr. Caudle, I don't think ill of everybody;
don't say that. But I can't see a leg of pork eaten up in that way,
without asking myself what it's all to end in if such things go on? And
then he must have pickles, too! Couldn't be content with my cabbage--no,
Mr. Caudle, I won't let you go to sleep. It's very well for you to say
let you go to sleep, after you've kept me awake till this time. _Why_
did I keep awake? How do you suppose I could go to sleep, when I knew
that man was below drinking up your substance in brandy-and-water? for
he couldn't be content upon decent, wholesome gin. Upon my word, you
ought to be a rich man, Mr. Caudle. You have such very fine friends. I
wonder who gives you brandy when you go out!
“No, indeed, he couldn't be content with my pickled cabbage--and I
should like to know who makes better--but he must have walnuts. And you,
too, like a fool--now, don't you think to stop me, Mr. Caudle; a poor
woman may be trampled to death, and never say a word--you, too, like a
fool--I wonder who'd do it for you--to insist upon the girl going out
for pickled walnuts. And in such a night too! With snow upon the ground.
Yes; you're a man of fine feelings, you are, Mr. Caudle! but the world
doesn't know you as I know you--fine feelings, indeed! to send the poor
girl out, when I told you and told your friend too--a pretty brute he
is, I'm sure--that the poor girl had got a cold and chilblains on her
toes But I know what will be the end of that; she 'll be laid up, and we
shall have a nice doctor's bill And you 'll pay it, I can tell you--for
_I_ wont.
“Wish you were out of the world? Oh! yes, that's all very easy, I'm sure
_I_ might wish it.
“Don't swear in that dreadful way! Ain't you afraid that the bed will
open and swallow you? And don't swing about in that way. _That_ will do
no good. _That_ won't bring back the leg of pork,--and the brandy you've
poured down both of your throats. Oh, I know it! I'm sure of it.
I only recollected it when I'd got into bed,--and if it hadn't been
so cold, you'd have seen me down stairs again, I can tell you--I
recollected it, and a pretty two hours I've passed, that I left the key
in the cupboard,--and I knew it--I could see by the manner of you, when
you came into the room--I know you've got the other bottle. However,
there's one comfort: you told me to send for the best brandy--the very
best--for your other friend, who called last Wednesday. Ha! ha! It was
British--the cheapest British--and nice and ill I hope the pair of you
will be tomorrow.
“There's only the bare bone of the leg of pork: but you'll get nothing
else for dinner, I can tell you. It's a dreadful thing that the poor
children should go without,--but, if they have such a father, they, poor
things, must suffer for it.
“Nearly a whole leg of pork and a pint of brandy! A pint of brandy and a
leg of pork. A leg of--leg--leg-pint--”