第 四 章 · 第4章

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 ever 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

quite a--what one calls a handsome man, nor quite a young man neither,

which might be a little excuse for him if anything could be; whereas

his wife is young, and is good-looking, and is a woman--which is the

greatest thing after all.’

This last clause being delivered with extraordinary pathos, elicited a

corresponding murmer from the hearers, stimulated by which the lady

went on to remark that if such a husband was cross and unreasonable

with such a wife, then--

‘If he is!’ interposed the mother, putting down her tea-cup and

brushing the crumbs out of her lap, preparatory to making a solemn

declaration. ‘If he is! He is the greatest tyrant that every lived, she

daren’t call her soul her own, he makes her tremble with a word and

even with a look, he frightens her to death, and she hasn’t the spirit

to give him a word back, no, not a single word.’

Notwithstanding that the fact had been notorious beforehand to all the

tea-drinkers, and had been discussed and expatiated on at every

tea-drinking in the neighbourhood for the last twelve months, this

official communication was no sooner made than they all began to talk

at once and to vie with each other in vehemence and volubility. Mrs

George remarked that people would talk, that people had often said this

to her before, that Mrs Simmons then and there present had told her so

twenty times, that she had always said, ‘No, Henrietta Simmons, unless

I see it with my own eyes and hear it with my own ears, I never will

believe it.’ Mrs Simmons corroborated this testimony and added strong

evidence of her own. The lady from the Minories recounted a successful

course of treatment under which she had placed her own husband, who,

from manifesting one month after marriage unequivocal symptoms of the

tiger, had by this means become subdued into a perfect lamb. Another

lady recounted her own personal struggle and final triumph, in the

course whereof she had found it necessary to call in her mother and two

aunts, and to weep incessantly night and day for six weeks. A third,

who in the general confusion could secure no other listener, fastened

herself upon a young woman still unmarried who happened to be amongst

them, and conjured her, as she valued her own peace of mind and

happiness to profit by this solemn occasion, to take example from the

weakness of Mrs Quilp, and from that time forth to direct her whole

thoughts to taming and subduing the rebellious spirit of man. The noise

was at its height, and half the company had elevated their voices into

a perfect shriek in order to drown the voices of the other half, when

Mrs Jiniwin was seen to change colour and shake her forefinger

stealthily, as if exhorting them to silence. Then, and not until then,

Daniel Quilp himself, the cause and occasion of all this clamour, was

observed to be in the room, looking on and listening with profound

attention.

‘Go on, ladies, go on,’ said Daniel. ‘Mrs Quilp, pray ask the ladies to

stop to supper, and have a couple of lobsters and something light and

palatable.’

‘I--I--didn’t ask them to tea, Quilp,’ stammered his wife. ‘It’s quite

an accident.’

‘So much the better, Mrs Quilp; these accidental parties are always the

pleasantest,’ said the dwarf, rubbing his hands so hard that he seemed

to be engaged in manufacturing, of the dirt with which they were

encrusted, little charges for popguns. ‘What! Not going, ladies, you

are not going, surely!’

His fair enemies tossed their heads slightly as they sought their

respective bonnets and shawls, but left all verbal contention to Mrs

Jiniwin, who finding herself in the position of champion, made a faint

struggle to sustain the character.

‘And why not stop to supper, Quilp,’ said the old lady, ‘if my daughter

had a mind?’

‘To be sure,’ rejoined Daniel. ‘Why not?’

‘There’s nothing dishonest or wrong in a supper, I hope?’ said Mrs

Jiniwin.

‘Surely not,’ returned the dwarf. ‘Why should there be? Nor anything

unwholesome, either, unless there’s lobster-salad or prawns, which I’m

told are not good for digestion.’

‘And you wouldn’t like your wife to be attacked with that, or anything

else that would make her uneasy would you?’ said Mrs Jiniwin.

‘Not for a score of worlds,’ replied the dwarf with a grin. ‘Not even

to have a score of mothers-in-law at the same time--and what a blessing

that would be!’

‘My daughter’s your wife, Mr Quilp, certainly,’ said the old lady with

a giggle, meant for satirical and to imply that he needed to be

reminded of the fact; ‘your wedded wife.’

‘So she is, certainly. So she is,’ observed the dwarf.

‘And she has a right to do as she likes, I hope, Quilp,’ said the

old lady trembling, partly with anger and partly with a secret fear of

her impish son-in-law.

‘Hope she has!’ he replied. ‘Oh! Don’t you know she has? Don’t you know

she has, Mrs Jiniwin?

‘I know she ought to have, Quilp, and would have, if she was of my way

of thinking.’

‘Why an’t you of your mother’s way of thinking, my dear?’ said the

dwarf, turing round and addressing his wife, ‘why don’t you always

imitate your mother, my dear? She’s the ornament of her sex--your

father said so every day of his life. I am sure he did.’

‘Her father was a blessed creetur, Quilp, and worthy twenty thousand of

some people,’ said Mrs Jiniwin; ‘twenty hundred million thousand.’

‘I should like to have known him,’ remarked the dwarf. ‘I dare say he

was a blessed creature then; but I’m sure he is now. It was a happy

release. I believe he had suffered a long time?’

The old lady gave a gasp, but nothing came of it; Quilp resumed, with

the same malice in his eye and the same sarcastic politeness on his

tongue.

‘You look ill, Mrs Jiniwin; I know you have been exciting yourself too

much--talking perhaps, for it is your weakness. Go to bed. Do go to

bed.’

‘I shall go when I please, Quilp, and not before.’

‘But please to do now. Do please to go now,’ said the dwarf.

The old woman looked angrily at him, but retreated as he advanced, and

falling back before him, suffered him to shut the door upon her and

bolt her out among the guests, who were by this time crowding

downstairs. Being left along with his wife, who sat trembling in a

corner with her eyes fixed upon the ground, the little man planted

himself before her, and folding his arms looked steadily at her for a

long time without speaking.

‘Mrs Quilp,’ he said at last.

‘Yes, Quilp,’ she replead meekly.

Instead of pursuing the theme he had in his mind, Quilp folded his arms

again, and looked at her more sternly than before, while she averted

her eyes and kept them on the ground.

‘Mrs Quilp.’

‘Yes, Quilp.’

‘If ever you listen to these beldames again, I’ll bite you.’

With this laconic threat, which he accompanied with a snarl that gave

him the appearance of being particularly in earnest, Mr Quilp bade her

clear the teaboard away, and bring the rum. The spirit being set before

him in a huge case-bottle, which had originally come out of some ship’s

locker, he settled himself in an arm-chair with his large head and face

squeezed up against the back, and his little legs planted on the table.

‘Now, Mrs Quilp,’ he said; ‘I feel in a smoking humour, and shall

probably blaze away all night. But sit where you are, if you please, in

case I want you.’

His wife returned no other reply than the necessary ‘Yes, Quilp,’ and

the small lord of the creation took his first cigar and mixed his first

glass of grog. The sun went down and the stars peeped out, the Tower

turned from its own proper colours to grey and from grey to black, the

room became perfectly dark and the end of the cigar a deep fiery red,

but still Mr Quilp went on smoking and drinking in the same position,

and staring listlessly out of window with the doglike smile always on

his face, save when Mrs Quilp made some involuntary movement of

restlessness or fatigue; and then it expanded into a grin of delight.