第 5 页

look forward, and if I should be forced to leave thee, meanwhile, how

have I fitted thee for struggles with the world? The poor bird yonder

is as well qualified to encounter it, and be turned adrift upon its

mercies--Hark! I hear Kit outside. Go to him, Nell, go to him.'

She rose, and hurrying away, stopped, turned back, and put her arms

about the old man's neck, then left him and hurried away again--but

faster this time, to hide her falling tears.

'A word in your ear, sir,' said the old man in a hurried whisper. 'I

have been rendered uneasy by what you said the other night, and can

only plead that I have done all for the best--that it is too late to

retract, if I could (though I cannot)--and that I hope to triumph yet.

All is for her sake. I have borne great poverty myself, and would spare

her the sufferings that poverty carries with it. I would spare her the

miseries that brought her mother, my own dear child, to an early grave.

I would leave her--not with resources which could be easily spent or

squandered away, but with what would place her beyond the reach of want

for ever. You mark me sir? She shall have no pittance, but a

fortune--Hush! I can say no more than that, now or at any other time,

and she is here again!'

The eagerness with which all this was poured into my ear, the trembling

of the hand with which he clasped my arm, the strained and starting

eyes he fixed upon me, the wild vehemence and agitation of his manner,

filled me with amazement. All that I had heard and seen, and a great

part of what he had said himself, led me to suppose that he was a

wealthy man. I could form no comprehension of his character, unless he

were one of those miserable wretches who, having made gain the sole end

and object of their lives and having succeeded in amassing great

riches, are constantly tortured by the dread of poverty, and beset by

fears of loss and ruin. Many things he had said which I had been at a

loss to understand, were quite reconcilable with the idea thus

presented to me, and at length I concluded that beyond all doubt he was

one of this unhappy race.

The opinion was not the result of hasty consideration, for which indeed

there was no opportunity at that time, as the child came directly, and

soon occupied herself in preparations for giving Kit a writing lesson,

of which it seemed he had a couple every week, and one regularly on

that evening, to the great mirth and enjoyment both of himself and his

instructress. To relate how it was a long time before his modesty could

be so far prevailed upon as it admit of his sitting down in the

parlour, in the presence of an unknown gentleman--how, when he did set

down, he tucked up his sleeves and squared his elbows and put his face

close to the copy-book and squinted horribly at the lines--how, from

the very first moment of having the pen in his hand, he began to wallow

in blots, and to daub himself with ink up to the very roots of his

hair--how, if he did by accident form a letter properly, he immediately

smeared it out again with his arm in his preparations to make

another--how, at every fresh mistake, there was a fresh burst of

merriment from the child and louder and not less hearty laugh from poor

Kit himself--and how there was all the way through, notwithstanding, a

gentle wish on her part to teach, and an anxious desire on his to

learn--to relate all these particulars would no doubt occupy more space

and time than they deserve. It will be sufficient to say that the

lesson was given--that evening passed and night came on--that the old

man again grew restless and impatient--that he quitted the house

secretly at the same hour as before--and that the child was once more

left alone within its gloomy walls.

And now that I have carried this history so far in my own character and

introduced these personages to the reader, I shall for the convenience

of the narrative detach myself from its further course, and leave those

who have prominent and necessary parts in it to speak and act for

themselves.

CHAPTER 4

Mr and Mrs Quilp resided on Tower Hill; and in her bower on Tower Hill

Mrs Quilp was left to pine the absence of her lord, when he quitted her

on the business which he had already seen to transact.

Mr Quilp could scarcely be said to be of any particular trade or

calling, though his pursuits were diversified and his occupations

numerous. He collected the rents of whole colonies of filthy streets

and alleys by the waterside, advanced money to the seamen and petty

officers of merchant vessels, had a share in the ventures of divers

mates of East Indiamen, smoked his smuggled cigars under the very nose

of the Custom House, and made appointments on 'Change with men in

glazed hats and round jackets pretty well every day. On the Surrey side

of the river was a small rat-infested dreary yard called 'Quilp's

Wharf,' in which were a little wooden counting-house burrowing all awry

in the dust as if it had fallen from the clouds and ploughed into the

ground; a few fragments of rusty anchors; several large iron rings;

some piles of rotten wood; and two or three heaps of old sheet copper,

crumpled, cracked, and battered. On Quilp's Wharf, Daniel Quilp was a

ship-breaker, yet to judge from these appearances he must either have

been a ship-breaker on a very small scale, or have broken his ships up

very small indeed. Neither did the place present any extraordinary

aspect of life or activity, as its only human occupant was an

amphibious boy in a canvas suit, whose sole change of occupation was

from sitting on the head of a pile and throwing stones into the mud

when the tide was out, to standing with his hands in his pockets gazing

listlessly on the motion and on the bustle of the river at high-water.

The dwarf's lodging on Tower hill comprised, besides the needful

accommodation for himself and Mrs Quilp, a small sleeping-closet for

that lady's mother, who resided with the couple and waged perpetual war

with Daniel; of whom, notwithstanding, she stood in no slight dread.

Indeed, the ugly creature contrived by some means or other--whether by

his ugliness or his ferocity or his natural cunning is no great

matter--to impress with a wholesome fear of his anger, most of those

with whom he was brought into daily contact and communication. Over

nobody had he such complete ascendance as Mrs Quilp herself--a pretty

little, mild-spoken, blue-eyed woman, who having allied herself in

wedlock to the dwarf in one of those strange infatuations of which

examples are by no means scarce, performed a sound practical penance

for her folly, every day of her life.

It has been said that Mrs Quilp was pining in her bower. In her bower

she was, but not alone, for besides the old lady her mother of whom

mention has recently been made, there were present some half-dozen

ladies of the neighborhood who had happened by a strange accident (and

also by a little understanding among themselves) to drop in one after

another, just about tea-time. This being a season favourable to

conversation, and the room being a cool, shady, lazy kind of place,

with some plants at the open window shutting out the dust, and

interposing pleasantly enough between the tea table within and the old

Tower without, it is no wonder that the ladies felt an inclination to

talk and linger, especially when there are taken into account the

additional inducements of fresh butter, new bread, shrimps, and

watercresses.

Now, the ladies being together under these circumstances, it was

extremely natural that the discourse should turn upon the propensity of

mankind to tyrannize over the weaker sex, and the duty that developed

upon the weaker sex to resist that tyranny and assert their rights and

dignity. It was natural for four reasons: firstly, because Mrs Quilp

being a young woman and notoriously under the dominion of her husband

ought to be excited to rebel; secondly, because Mrs Quilp's parent was

known to be laudably shrewish in her disposition and inclined to resist

male authority; thirdly, because each visitor wished to show for

herself how superior she was in this respect to the generality of her

sex; and fourthly, because the company being accustomed to scandalise

each other in pairs, were deprived of their usual subject of

conversation now that they were all assembled in close friendship, and

had consequently no better employment than to attack the common enemy.

Moved by these considerations, a stout lady opened the proceedings by

inquiring, with an air of great concern and sympathy, how Mr Quilp was;

whereunto Mr Quilp's wife's mother replied sharply, 'Oh! He was well

enough--nothing much was every the matter with him--and ill weeds were

sure to thrive.' All the ladies then sighed in concert, shook their

heads gravely, and looked at Mrs Quilp as a martyr.

'Ah!' said the spokeswoman, 'I wish you'd give her a little of your

advice, Mrs Jiniwin'--Mrs Quilp had been a Miss Jiniwin it should be

observed--'nobody knows better than you, ma'am, what us women owe to

ourselves.'

'Owe indeed, ma'am!' replied Mrs Jiniwin. 'When my poor husband, her

dear father, was alive, if he had ever ventured a cross word to me, I'd

have--' The good old lady did not finish the sentence, but she twisted

off the head of a shrimp with a vindictiveness which seemed to imply

that the action was in some degree a substitute for words. In this

light it was clearly understood by the other party, who immediately

replied with great approbation, 'You quite enter into my feelings,

ma'am, and it's jist what I'd do myself.'

'But you have no call to do it,' said Mrs Jiniwin. 'Luckily for you,

you have no more occasion to do it than I had.'

'No woman need have, if she was true to herself,' rejoined the stout

lady.

'Do you hear that, Betsy?' said Mrs Jiniwin, in a warning voice. 'How

often have I said the same words to you, and almost gone down my knees

when I spoke 'em!'

Poor Mrs Quilp, who had looked in a state of helplessness from one face

of condolence to another, coloured, smiled, and shook her head

doubtfully. This was the signal for a general clamour, which beginning

in a low murmur gradually swelled into a great noise in which everybody

spoke at once, and all said that she being a young woman had no right

to set up her opinions against the experiences of those who knew so

much better; that it was very wrong of her not to take the advice of

people who had nothing at heart but her good; that it was next door to

being downright ungrateful to conduct herself in that manner; that if

she had no respect for herself she ought to have some for other women,

all of whom she compromised by her meekness; and that if she had no

respect for other women, the time would come when other women would

have no respect for her; and she would be very sorry for that, they

could tell her. Having dealt out these admonitions, the ladies fell to

a more powerful assault than they had yet made upon the mixed tea, new

bread, fresh butter, shrimps, and watercresses, and said that their

vexation was so great to see her going on like that, that they could

hardly bring themselves to eat a single morsel.

It's all very fine to talk,' said Mrs Quilp with much simplicity, 'but

I know that if I was to die to-morrow, Quilp could marry anybody he

pleased--now that he could, I know!'

There was quite a scream of indignation at this idea. Marry whom he

pleased! They would like to see him dare to think of marrying any of

them; they would like to see the faintest approach to such a thing.

One lady (a widow) was quite certain she should stab him if he hinted

at it.

'Very well,' said Mrs Quilp, nodding her head, 'as I said just now,

it's very easy to talk, but I say again that I know--that I'm

sure--Quilp has such a way with him when he likes, that the best

looking woman here couldn't refuse him if I was dead, and she was free,

and he chose to make love to her. Come!'

Everybody bridled up at this remark, as much as to say, 'I know you

mean me. Let him try--that's all.' and yet for some hidden reason they

were all angry with the widow, and each lady whispered in her

neighbour's ear that it was very plain that said widow thought herself

the person referred to, and what a puss she was!

'Mother knows,' said Mrs Quilp, 'that what I say is quite correct, for

she often said so before we were married. Didn't you say so, mother?'

This inquiry involved the respected lady in rather a delicate position,

for she certainly had been an active party in making her daughter Mrs

Quilp, and, besides, it was not supporting the family credit to

encourage the idea that she had married a man whom nobody else would

have. On the other hand, to exaggerate the captivating qualities of her

son-in-law would be to weaken the cause of revolt, in which all her

energies were deeply engaged. Beset by these opposing considerations,

Mrs Jiniwin admitted the powers of insinuation, but denied the right to

govern, and with a timely compliment to the stout lady brought back the

discussion to the point from which it had strayed.

'Oh! It's a sensible and proper thing indeed, what Mrs George has

said!' exclaimed the old lady. 'If women are only true to

themselves!--But Betsy isn't, and more's the shame and pity.'

'Before I'd let a man order me about as Quilp orders her,' said Mrs

George, 'before I'd consent to stand in awe of a man as she does of

him, I'd--I'd kill myself, and write a letter first to say he did it!'

This remark being loudly commended and approved of, another lady (from

the Minories) put in her word:

'Mr Quilp may be a very nice man,' said this lady, 'and I supposed

there's no doubt he is, because Mrs Quilp says he is, and Mrs Jiniwin

says he is, and they ought to know, or nobody does. But still he is not