Chapter VIII
Mr. Tulliver Shows His Weaker Side
”Suppose sister Glegg should call her money in; it 'ud be very awkwardfor you to have to raise five hundred pounds now,” said Mrs. Tulliverto her husband that evening, as she took a plaintive review of theday.
Mrs. Tulliver had lived thirteen years with her husband, yet sheretained in all the freshness of her early married life a facility ofsaying things which drove him in the opposite direction to the one shedesired. Some minds are wonderful for keeping their bloom in this way,as a patriarchal goldfish apparently retains to the last its youthfulillusion that it can swim in a straight line beyond the encirclingglass. Mrs. Tulliver was an amiable fish of this kind, and afterrunning her head against the same resisting medium for thirteen yearswould go at it again to-day with undulled alacrity.
This observation of hers tended directly to convince Mr. Tulliver thatit would not be at all awkward for him to raise five hundred pounds;and when Mrs. Tulliver became rather pressing to know _how_ he wouldraise it without mortgaging the mill and the house which he had saidhe never _would_ mortgage, since nowadays people were none so ready tolend money without security, Mr. Tulliver, getting warm, declared thatMrs. Glegg might do as she liked about calling in her money, he shouldpay it in whether or not. He was not going to be beholden to hiswife's sisters. When a man had married into a family where there was awhole litter of women, he might have plenty to put up with if hechose. But Mr. Tulliver did _not_ choose.
Mrs. Tulliver cried a little in a trickling, quiet way as she put onher nightcap; but presently sank into a comfortable sleep, lulled bythe thought that she would talk everything over with her sister Pulletto-morrow, when she was to take the children to Garum Firs to tea. Notthat she looked forward to any distinct issue from that talk; but itseemed impossible that past events should be so obstinate as to remainunmodified when they were complained against.
Her husband lay awake rather longer, for he too was thinking of avisit he would pay on the morrow; and his ideas on the subject werenot of so vague and soothing a kind as those of his amiable partner.
Mr. Tulliver, when under the influence of a strong feeling, had apromptitude in action that may seem inconsistent with that painfulsense of the complicated, puzzling nature of human affairs under whichhis more dispassionate deliberations were conducted; but it is reallynot improbable that there was a direct relation between theseapparently contradictory phenomena, since I have observed that forgetting a strong impression that a skein is tangled there is nothinglike snatching hastily at a single thread. It was owing to thispromptitude that Mr. Tulliver was on horseback soon after dinner thenext day (he was not dyspeptic) on his way to Basset to see his sisterMoss and her husband. For having made up his mind irrevocably that hewould pay Mrs. Glegg her loan of five hundred pounds, it naturallyoccurred to him that he had a promissory note for three hundred poundslent to his brother-in-law Moss; and if the said brother-in-law couldmanage to pay in the money within a given time, it would go far tolessen the fallacious air of inconvenience which Mr. Tulliver'sspirited step might have worn in the eyes of weak people who requireto know precisely _how_ a thing is to be done before they are stronglyconfident that it will be easy.
For Mr. Tulliver was in a position neither new nor striking, but, likeother every-day things, sure to have a cumulative effect that will befelt in the long run: he was held to be a much more substantial manthan he really was. And as we are all apt to believe what the worldbelieves about us, it was his habit to think of failure and ruin withthe same sort of remote pity with which a spare, long-necked man hearsthat his plethoric short-necked neighbor is stricken with apoplexy. Hehad been always used to hear pleasant jokes about his advantages as aman who worked his own mill, and owned a pretty bit of land; and thesejokes naturally kept up his sense that he was a man of considerablesubstance. They gave a pleasant flavor to his glass on a market-day,and if it had not been for the recurrence of half-yearly payments, Mr.Tulliver would really have forgotten that there was a mortgage of twothousand pounds on his very desirable freehold. That was notaltogether his own fault, since one of the thousand pounds was hissister's fortune, which he had to pay on her marriage; and a man whohas neighbors that _will_ go to law with him is not likely to pay offhis mortgages, especially if he enjoys the good opinion ofacquaintances who want to borrow a hundred pounds on security toolofty to be represented by parchment. Our friend Mr. Tulliver had agood-natured fibre in him, and did not like to give harsh refusalseven to his sister, who had not only come in to the world in thatsuperfluous way characteristic of sisters, creating a necessity formortgages, but had quite thrown herself away in marriage, and hadcrowned her mistakes by having an eighth baby. On this point Mr.Tulliver was conscious of being a little weak; but he apologized tohimself by saying that poor Gritty had been a good-looking wenchbefore she married Moss; he would sometimes say this even with aslight tremulousness in his voice. But this morning he was in a moodmore becoming a man of business, and in the course of his ride alongthe Basset lanes, with their deep ruts,--lying so far away from amarket-town that the labor of drawing produce and manure was enough totake away the best part of the profits on such poor land as thatparish was made of,--he got up a due amount of irritation against Mossas a man without capital, who, if murrain and blight were abroad, wassure to have his share of them, and who, the more you tried to helphim out of the mud, would sink the further in. It would do him goodrather than harm, now, if he were obliged to raise this three hundredpounds; it would make him look about him better, and not act sofoolishly about his wool this year as he did the last; in fact, Mr.Tulliver had been too easy with his brother-in-law, and because he hadlet the interest run on for two years, Moss was likely enough to thinkthat he should never be troubled about the principal. But Mr. Tulliverwas determined not to encourage such shuffling people any longer; anda ride along the Basset lanes was not likely to enervate a man'sresolution by softening his temper. The deep-trodden hoof-marks, madein the muddiest days of winter, gave him a shake now and then whichsuggested a rash but stimulating snarl at the father of lawyers, who,whether by means of his hoof or otherwise, had doubtless something todo with this state of the roads; and the abundance of foul land andneglected fences that met his eye, though they made no part of hisbrother Moss's farm, strongly contributed to his dissatisfaction withthat unlucky agriculturist. If this wasn't Moss's fallow, it mighthave been; Basset was all alike; it was a beggarly parish, in Mr.Tulliver's opinion, and his opinion was certainly not groundless.Basset had a poor soil, poor roads, a poor non-resident landlord, apoor non-resident vicar, and rather less than half a curate, alsopoor. If any one strongly impressed with the power of the human mindto triumph over circumstances will contend that the parishioners ofBasset might nevertheless have been a very superior class of people, Ihave nothing to urge against that abstract proposition I only knowthat, in point of fact, the Basset mind was in strict keeping with itscircumstances. The muddy lanes, green or clayey, that seemed to theunaccustomed eye to lead nowhere but into each other, did really lead,with patience, to a distant high-road; but there were many feet inBasset which they led more frequently to a centre of dissipation,spoken of formerly as the ”Markis o' Granby,” but among intimates as”Dickison's.” A large low room with a sanded floor; a cold scent oftobacco, modified by undetected beer-dregs; Mr. Dickison leaningagainst the door-post with a melancholy pimpled face, looking asirrelevant to the daylight as a last night's guttered candle,--allthis may not seem a very seductive form of temptation but themajority of men in Basset found it fatally alluring when encounteredon their road toward four o'clock on a wintry afternoon and if anywife in Basset wished to indicate that her husband was not apleasure-seeking man, she could hardly do it more emphatically than bysaying that he didn't spend a shilling at Dickison's from oneWhitsuntide to another. Mrs. Moss had said so of _her_ husband morethan once, when her brother was in a mood to find fault with him, ashe certainly was to-day. And nothing could be less pacifying to Mr.Tulliver than the behavior of the farmyard gate, which he no soonerattempted to push open with his riding-stick than it acted as gateswithout the upper hinge are known to do, to the peril of shins,whether equine or human. He was about to get down and lead his horsethrough the damp dirt of the hollow farmyard, shadowed drearily by thelarge half-timbered buildings, up to the long line of tumble-downdwelling-houses standing on a raised causeway; but the timelyappearance of a cowboy saved him that frustration of a plan he haddetermined on,--namely, not to get down from his horse during thisvisit. If a man means to be hard, let him keep in his saddle and speakfrom that height, above the level of pleading eyes, and with thecommand of a distant horizon. Mrs. Moss heard the sound of the horse'sfeet, and, when her brother rode up, was already outside the kitchendoor, with a half-weary smile on her face, and a black-eyed baby inher arms. Mrs. Moss's face bore a faded resemblance to her brother's;baby's little fat hand, pressed against her cheek, seemed to show morestrikingly that the cheek was faded.
”Brother, I'm glad to see you,” she said, in an affectionate tone. ”Ididn't look for you to-day. How do you do?”
”Oh, pretty well, Mrs. Moss, pretty well,” answered the brother, withcool deliberation, as if it were rather too forward of her to ask thatquestion. She knew at once that her brother was not in a good humor;he never called her Mrs. Moss except when he was angry, and when theywere in company. But she thought it was in the order of nature thatpeople who were poorly off should be snubbed. Mrs. Moss did not takeher stand on the equality of the human race; she was a patient,prolific, loving-hearted woman.
”Your husband isn't in the house, I suppose?” added Mr. Tulliver aftera grave pause, during which four children had run out, like chickenswhose mother has been suddenly in eclipse behind the hen-coop.
”No,” said Mrs. Moss, ”but he's only in the potato-field yonders.Georgy, run to the Far Close in a minute, and tell father your uncle'scome. You'll get down, brother, won't you, and take something?”
”No, no; I can't get down. I must be going home again directly,” saidMr. Tulliver, looking at the distance.
”And how's Mrs. Tulliver and the children?” said Mrs. Moss, humbly,not daring to press her invitation.
”Oh, pretty well. Tom's going to a new school at Midsummer,--a deal ofexpense to me. It's bad work for me, lying out o' my money.”
”I wish you'd be so good as let the children come and see theircousins some day. My little uns want to see their cousin Maggie so asnever was. And me her godmother, and so fond of her; there's nobody'ud make a bigger fuss with her, according to what they've got. And Iknow she likes to come, for she's a loving child, and how quick andclever she is, to be sure!”
If Mrs. Moss had been one of the most astute women in the world,instead of being one of the simplest, she could have thought ofnothing more likely to propitiate her brother than this praise ofMaggie. He seldom found any one volunteering praise of ”the littlewench”; it was usually left entirely to himself to insist on hermerits. But Maggie always appeared in the most amiable light at heraunt Moss's; it was her Alsatia, where she was out of the reach oflaw,--if she upset anything, dirtied her shoes, or tore her frock,these things were matters of course at her aunt Moss's. In spite ofhimself, Mr. Tulliver's eyes got milder, and he did not look away fromhis sister as he said,--
”Ay; she's fonder o' you than o' the other aunts, I think. She takesafter our family: not a bit of her mother's in her.”
”Moss says she's just like what I used to be,” said Mrs. Moss, ”thoughI was never so quick and fond o' the books. But I think my Lizzy'slike her; _she's_ sharp. Come here, Lizzy, my dear, and let your unclesee you; he hardly knows you, you grow so fast.”
Lizzy, a black-eyed child of seven, looked very shy when her motherdrew her forward, for the small Mosses were much in awe of their unclefrom Dorlcote Mill. She was inferior enough to Maggie in fire andstrength of expression to make the resemblance between the twoentirely flattering to Mr. Tulliver's fatherly love.
”Ay, they're a bit alike,” he said, looking kindly at the littlefigure in the soiled pinafore. ”They both take after our mother.You've got enough o' gells, Gritty,” he added, in a tone halfcompassionate, half reproachful.
”Four of 'em, bless 'em!” said Mrs. Moss, with a sigh, strokingLizzy's hair on each side of her forehead; ”as many as there's boys.They've got a brother apiece.”
”Ah, but they must turn out and fend for themselves,” said Mr.Tulliver, feeling that his severity was relaxing and trying to braceit by throwing out a wholesome hint ”They mustn't look to hanging ontheir brothers.”
”No; but I hope their brothers 'ull love the poor things, and rememberthey came o' one father and mother; the lads 'ull never be the poorerfor that,” said Mrs. Moss, flashing out with hurried timidity, like ahalf-smothered fire.
Mr. Tulliver gave his horse a little stroke on the flank, then checkedit, and said angrily, ”Stand still with you!” much to the astonishmentof that innocent animal.
”And the more there is of 'em, the more they must love one another,”Mrs. Moss went on, looking at her children with a didactic purpose.But she turned toward her brother again to say, ”Not but what I hopeyour boy 'ull allays be good to his sister, though there's but two of'em, like you and me, brother.”
The arrow went straight to Mr. Tulliver's heart. He had not a rapidimagination, but the thought of Maggie was very near to him, and hewas not long in seeing his relation to his own sister side by sidewith Tom's relation to Maggie. Would the little wench ever be poorlyoff, and Tom rather hard upon her?
”Ay, ay, Gritty,” said the miller, with a new softness in his tone;”but I've allays done what I could for you,” he added, as ifvindicating himself from a reproach.
”I'm not denying that, brother, and I'm noways ungrateful,” said poorMrs. Moss, too fagged by toil and children to have strength left forany pride. ”But here's the father. What a while you've been, Moss!”
”While, do you call it?” said Mr. Moss, feeling out of breath andinjured. ”I've been running all the way. Won't you 'light, Mr.Tulliver?”
”Well, I'll just get down and have a bit o' talk with you in thegarden,” said Mr. Tulliver, thinking that he should be more likely toshow a due spirit of resolve if his sister were not present.
He got down, and passed with Mr. Moss into the garden, toward an oldyew-tree arbor, while his sister stood tapping her baby on the backand looking wistfully after them.
Their entrance into the yew-tree arbor surprised several fowls thatwere recreating themselves by scratching deep holes in the dustyground, and at once took flight with much pother and cackling. Mr.Tulliver sat down on the bench, and tapping the ground curiously hereand there with his stick, as if he suspected some hollowness, openedthe conversation by observing, with something like a snarl in histone,--
”Why, you've got wheat again in that Corner Close, I see; and never abit o' dressing on it. You'll do no good with it this year.”
Mr. Moss, who, when he married Miss Tulliver, had been regarded as thebuck of Basset, now wore a beard nearly a week old, and had thedepressed, unexpectant air of a machine-horse. He answered in apatient-grumbling tone, ”Why, poor farmers like me must do as theycan; they must leave it to them as have got money to play with, to puthalf as much into the ground as they mean to get out of it.”
”I don't know who should have money to play with, if it isn't them ascan borrow money without paying interest,” said Mr. Tulliver, whowished to get into a slight quarrel; it was the most natural and easyintroduction to calling in money.
”I know I'm behind with the interest,” said Mr. Moss, ”but I was sounlucky wi' the wool last year; and what with the Missis being laid upso, things have gone awk'arder nor usual.”
”Ay,” snarled Mr. Tulliver, ”there's folks as things 'ull allays goawk'ard with; empty sacks 'ull never stand upright.”
”Well, I don't know what fault you've got to find wi' me, Mr.Tulliver,” said Mr. Moss, deprecatingly; ”I know there isn't aday-laborer works harder.”
”What's the use o' that,” said Mr. Tulliver, sharply, ”when a manmarries, and's got no capital to work his farm but his wife's bit o'fortin? I was against it from the first; but you'd neither of youlisten to me. And I can't lie out o' my money any longer, for I've gotto pay five hundred o' Mrs. Glegg's, and there'll be Tom an expense tome. I should find myself short, even saying I'd got back all as is myown. You must look about and see how you can pay me the three hundredpound.”
”Well, if that's what you mean,” said Mr. Moss, looking blankly beforehim, ”we'd better be sold up, and ha' done with it; I must part wi'every head o' stock I've got, to pay you and the landlord too.”
Poor relations are undeniably irritating,--their existence is soentirely uncalled for on our part, and they are almost always veryfaulty people. Mr. Tulliver had succeeded in getting quite as muchirritated with Mr. Moss as he had desired, and he was able to sayangrily, rising from his seat,--
”Well, you must do as you can. _I_ can't find money for everybody elseas well as myself. I must look to my own business and my own family. Ican't lie out o' my money any longer. You must raise it as quick asyou can.”
Mr. Tulliver walked abruptly out of the arbor as he uttered the lastsentence, and, without looking round at Mr. Moss, went on to thekitchen door, where the eldest boy was holding his horse, and hissister was waiting in a state of wondering alarm, which was notwithout its alleviations, for baby was making pleasant gurglingsounds, and performing a great deal of finger practice on the fadedface. Mrs. Moss had eight children, but could never overcome herregret that the twins had not lived. Mr. Moss thought their removalwas not without its consolations. ”Won't you come in, brother?” shesaid, looking anxiously at her husband, who was walking slowly up,while Mr. Tulliver had his foot already in the stirrup.
”No, no; good-by,” said he, turning his horse's head, and riding away.
No man could feel more resolute till he got outside the yard gate, anda little way along the deep-rutted lane; but before he reached thenext turning, which would take him out of sight of the dilapidatedfarm-buildings, he appeared to be smitten by some sudden thought. Hechecked his horse, and made it stand still in the same spot for two orthree minutes, during which he turned his head from side to side in amelancholy way, as if he were looking at some painful object on moresides than one. Evidently, after his fit of promptitude, Mr. Tulliverwas relapsing into the sense that this is a puzzling world. He turnedhis horse, and rode slowly back, giving vent to the climax of feelingwhich had determined this movement by saying aloud, as he struck hishorse, ”Poor little wench! she'll have nobody but Tom, belike, whenI'm gone.”
Mr. Tulliver's return into the yard was descried by several youngMosses, who immediately ran in with the exciting news to their mother,so that Mrs. Moss was again on the door-step when her brother rode up.She had been crying, but was rocking baby to sleep in her arms now,and made no ostentatious show of sorrow as her brother looked at her,but merely said:
”The father's gone to the field, again, if you want him, brother.”
”No, Gritty, no,” said Mr. Tulliver, in a gentle tone. ”Don't youfret,--that's all,--I'll make a shift without the money a bit, onlyyou must be as clever and contriving as you can.”
Mrs. Moss's tears came again at this unexpected kindness, and shecould say nothing.
”Come, come!--the little wench shall come and see you. I'll bring herand Tom some day before he goes to school. You mustn't fret. I'llallays be a good brother to you.”
”Thank you for that word, brother,” said Mrs. Moss, drying her tears;then turning to Lizzy, she said, ”Run now, and fetch the colored eggfor cousin Maggie.” Lizzy ran in, and quickly reappeared with a smallpaper parcel.
”It's boiled hard, brother, and colored with thrums, very pretty; itwas done o' purpose for Maggie. Will you please to carry it in yourpocket?”
”Ay, ay,” said Mr. Tulliver, putting it carefully in his side pocket.”Good-by.”
And so the respectable miller returned along the Basset lanes rathermore puzzled than before as to ways and means, but still with thesense of a danger escaped. It had come across his mind that if he werehard upon his sister, it might somehow tend to make Tom hard uponMaggie at some distant day, when her father was no longer there totake her part; for simple people, like our friend Mr. Tulliver, areapt to clothe unimpeachable feelings in erroneous ideas, and this washis confused way of explaining to himself that his love and anxietyfor ”the little wench” had given him a new sensibility toward hissister.