Meet us on:
 
Entire Site
    Try our fun game

    Dueling book covers…may the best design win!

    Random Quote
    "Don't worry about people stealing an idea. If it's original, you will have to ram it down their throats."
     

    Subscribe to Our Newsletter

    Follow us on Twitter

    Never miss a good book again! Follow Read Print on Twitter

    Book 3 - Chapter 7

    • Rate it:
    • Average Rating: 5.0 out of 5 based on 1 rating
    Launch Reading Mode Next Chapter
    Chapter 27
    Previous Chapter
    How a Hen Takes to Stratagem

    The days passed, and Mr. Tulliver showed, at least to the eyes of the
    medical man, stronger and stronger symptoms of a gradual return to his
    normal condition; the paralytic obstruction was, little by little,
    losing its tenacity, and the mind was rising from under it with fitful
    struggles, like a living creature making its way from under a great
    snowdrift, that slides and slides again, and shuts up the newly made
    opening.

    Time would have seemed to creep to the watchers by the bed, if it had
    only been measured by the doubtful, distant hope which kept count of
    the moments within the chamber; but it was measured for them by a
    fast-approaching dread which made the nights come too quickly. While
    Mr. Tulliver was slowly becoming himself again, his lot was hastening
    toward its moment of most palpable change. The taxing-masters had done
    their work like any respectable gunsmith conscientiously preparing the
    musket, that, duly pointed by a brave arm, will spoil a life or two.
    Allocaturs, filing of bills in Chancery, decrees of sale, are legal
    chain-shot or bomb-shells that can never hit a solitary mark, but must
    fall with widespread shattering. So deeply inherent is it in this life
    of ours that men have to suffer for each other's sins, so inevitably
    diffusive is human suffering, that even justice makes its victims, and
    we can conceive no retribution that does not spread beyond its mark in
    pulsations of unmerited pain.

    By the beginning of the second week in January, the bills were out
    advertising the sale, under a decree of Chancery, of Mr. Tulliver's
    farming and other stock, to be followed by a sale of the mill and
    land, held in the proper after-dinner hour at the Golden Lion. The
    miller himself, unaware of the lapse of time, fancied himself still in
    that first stage of his misfortunes when expedients might be thought
    of; and often in his conscious hours talked in a feeble, disjointed
    manner of plans he would carry out when he "got well." The wife and
    children were not without hope of an issue that would at least save
    Mr. Tulliver from leaving the old spot, and seeking an entirely
    strange life. For uncle Deane had been induced to interest himself in
    this stage of the business. It would not, he acknowledged, be a bad
    speculation for Guest & Co. to buy Dorlcote Mill, and carry on the
    business, which was a good one, and might be increased by the addition
    of steam power; in which case Tulliver might be retained as manager.
    Still, Mr. Deane would say nothing decided about the matter; the fact
    that Wakem held the mortgage on the land might put it into his head to
    bid for the whole estate, and further, to outbid the cautious firm of
    Guest &Co., who did not carry on business on sentimental grounds. Mr.
    Deane was obliged to tell Mrs. Tulliver something to that effect, when
    he rode over to the mill to inspect the books in company with Mrs.
    Glegg; for she had observed that "if Guest &Co. would only think about
    it, Mr. Tulliver's father and grandfather had been carrying on
    Dorlcote Mill long before the oil-mill of that firm had been so much
    as thought of."

    Mr. Deane, in reply, doubted whether that was precisely the relation
    between the two mills which would determine their value as
    investments. As for uncle Glegg, the thing lay quite beyond his
    imagination; the good-natured man felt sincere pity for the Tulliver
    family, but his money was all locked up in excellent mortgages, and he
    could run no risk; that would be unfair to his own relatives; but he
    had made up his mind that Tulliver should have some new flannel
    waistcoats which he had himself renounced in favor of a more elastic
    commodity, and that he would buy Mrs. Tulliver a pound of tea now and
    then; it would be a journey which his benevolence delighted in
    beforehand, to carry the tea and see her pleasure on being assured it
    was the best black.

    Still, it was clear that Mr. Deane was kindly disposed toward the
    Tullivers. One day he had brought Lucy, who was come home for the
    Christmas holidays, and the little blond angel-head had pressed itself
    against Maggie's darker cheek with many kisses and some tears. These
    fair slim daughters keep up a tender spot in the heart of many a
    respectable partner in a respectable firm, and perhaps Lucy's anxious,
    pitying questions about her poor cousins helped to make uncle Deane
    more prompt in finding Tom a temporary place in the warehouse, and in
    putting him in the way of getting evening lessons in book-keeping and
    calculation.

    That might have cheered the lad and fed his hopes a little, if there
    had not come at the same time the much-dreaded blow of finding that
    his father must be a bankrupt, after all; at least, the creditors must
    be asked to take less than their due, which to Tom's untechnical mind
    was the same thing as bankruptcy. His father must not only be said to
    have "lost his property," but to have "failed,"--the word that carried
    the worst obloquy to Tom's mind. For when the defendant's claim for
    costs had been satisfied, there would remain the friendly bill of Mr.
    Gore, and the deficiency at the bank, as well as the other debts which
    would make the assets shrink into unequivocal disproportion; "not more
    than ten or twelve shillings in the pound," predicted Mr. Deane, in a
    decided tone, tightening his lips; and the words fell on Tom like a
    scalding liquied, leaving a continual smart.

    He was sadly in want of something to keep up his spirits a little in
    the unpleasant newness of his position,--suddenly transported from the
    easy carpeted _ennui_ of study-hours at Mr. Stelling's, and the busy
    idleness of castle-building in a "last half" at school, to the
    companionship of sacks and hides, and bawling men thundering down
    heavy weights at his elbow. The first step toward getting on in the
    world was a chill, dusty, noisy affair, and implied going without
    one's tea in order to stay in St. Ogg's and have an evening lesson
    from a one-armed elderly clerk, in a room smelling strongly of bad
    tobacco. Tom's young pink-and-white face had its colors very much
    deadened by the time he took off his hat at home, and sat down with
    keen hunger to his supper. No wonder he was a little cross if his
    mother or Maggie spoke to him.

    But all this while Mrs. Tulliver was brooding over a scheme by which
    she, and no one else, would avert the result most to be dreaded, and
    prevent Wakem from entertaining the purpose of bidding for the mill.
    Imagine a truly respectable and amiable hen, by some portentous
    anomaly, taking to reflection and inventing combinations by which she
    might prevail on Hodge not to wring her neck, or send her and her
    chicks to market; the result could hardly be other than much cackling
    and fluttering. Mrs. Tulliver, seeing that everything had gone wrong,
    had begun to think she had been too passive in life; and that, if she
    had applied her mind to business, and taken a strong resolution now
    and then, it would have been all the better for her and her family.
    Nobody, it appeared, had thought of going to speak to Wakem on this
    business of the mill; and yet, Mrs. Tulliver reflected, it would have
    been quite the shortest method of securing the right end. It would
    have been of no use, to be sure, for Mr. Tulliver to go,--even if he
    had been able and willing,--for he had been "going to law against
    Wakem" and abusing him for the last ten years; Wakem was always likely
    to have a spite against him. And now that Mrs. Tulliver had come to
    the conclusion that her husband was very much in the wrong to bring
    her into this trouble, she was inclined to think that his opinion of
    Wakem was wrong too. To be sure, Wakem had "put the bailies in the
    house, and sold them up"; but she supposed he did that to please the
    man that lent Mr. Tulliver the money, for a lawyer had more folks to
    please than one, and he wasn't likely to put Mr. Tulliver, who had
    gone to law with him, above everybody else in the world. The attorney
    might be a very reasonable man; why not? He had married a Miss Clint,
    and at the time Mrs. Tulliver had heard of that marriage, the summer
    when she wore her blue satin spencer, and had not yet any thoughts of
    Mr. Tulliver, she knew no harm of Wakem. And certainly toward herself,
    whom he knew to have been a Miss Dodson, it was out of all possibility
    that he could entertain anything but good-will, when it was once
    brought home to his observation that she, for her part, had never
    wanted to go to law, and indeed was at present disposed to take Mr.
    Wakem's view of all subjects rather than her husband's. In fact, if
    that attorney saw a respectable matron like herself disposed "to give
    him good words," why shouldn't he listen to her representations? For
    she would put the matter clearly before him, which had never been done
    yet. And he would never go and bid for the mill on purpose to spite
    her, an innocent woman, who thought it likely enough that she had
    danced with him in their youth at Squire Darleigh's, for at those big
    dances she had often and often danced with young men whose names she
    had forgotten.

    Mrs. Tulliver hid these reasonings in her own bosom; for when she had
    thrown out a hint to Mr. Deane and Mr. Glegg that she wouldn't mind
    going to speak to Wakem herself, they had said, "No, no, no," and
    "Pooh, pooh," and "Let Wakem alone," in the tone of men who were not
    likely to give a candid attention to a more definite exposition of her
    project; still less dared she mention the plan to Tom and Maggie, for
    "the children were always so against everything their mother said";
    and Tom, she observed, was almost as much set against Wakem as his
    father was. But this unusual concentration of thought naturally gave
    Mrs. Tulliver an unusual power of device and determination: and a day
    or two before the sale, to be held at the Golden Lion, when there was
    no longer any time to be lost, she carried out her plan by a
    stratagem. There were pickles in question, a large stock of pickles
    and ketchup which Mrs. Tulliver possessed, and which Mr. Hyndmarsh,
    the grocer, would certainly purchase if she could transact the
    business in a personal interview, so she would walk with Tom to St.
    Ogg's that morning; and when Tom urged that she might let the pickles
    be at present,--he didn't like her to go about just yet,--she appeared
    so hurt at this conduct in her son, contradicting her about pickles
    which she had made after the family receipts inherited from his own
    grandmother, who had died when his mother was a little girl, that he
    gave way, and they walked together until she turned toward Danish
    Street, where Mr. Hyndmarsh retailed his grocery, not far from the
    offices of Mr. Wakem.

    That gentleman was not yet come to his office; would Mrs. Tulliver sit
    down by the fire in his private room and wait for him? She had not
    long to wait before the punctual attorney entered, knitting his brow
    with an examining glance at the stout blond woman who rose, curtsying
    deferentially,--a tallish man, with an aquiline nose and abundant
    iron-gray hair. You have never seen Mr. Wakem before, and are possibly
    wondering whether he was really as eminent a rascal, and as crafty,
    bitter an enemy of honest humanity in general, and of Mr. Tulliver in
    particular, as he is represented to be in that eidolon or portrait of
    him which we have seen to exist in the miller's mind.

    It is clear that the irascible miller was a man to interpret any
    chance-shot that grazed him as an attempt on his own life, and was
    liable to entanglements in this puzzling world, which, due
    consideration had to his own infallibility, required the hypothesis of
    a very active diabolical agency to explain them. It is still possible
    to believe that the attorney was not more guilty toward him than an
    ingenious machine, which performs its work with much regularity, is
    guilty toward the rash man who, venturing too near it, is caught up by
    some fly-wheel or other, and suddenly converted into unexpected
    mince-meat.

    But it is really impossible to decide this question by a glance at his
    person; the lines and lights of the human countenance are like other
    symbols,--not always easy to read without a key. On an _a priori_ view
    of Wakem's aquiline nose, which offended Mr. Tulliver, there was not
    more rascality than in the shape of his stiff shirt-collar, though
    this too along with his nose, might have become fraught with damnatory
    meaning when once the rascality was ascertained.

    "Mrs. Tulliver, I think?" said Mr. Wakem.

    "Yes, sir; Miss Elizabeth Dodson as was."

    "Pray be seated. You have some business with me?"

    "Well, sir, yes," said Mrs. Tulliver, beginning to feel alarmed at her
    own courage, now she was really in presence of the formidable man, and
    reflecting that she had not settled with herself how she should begin.
    Mr. Wakem felt in his waistcoat pockets, and looked at her in silence.

    "I hope, sir," she began at last,--"I hope, sir, you're not a-thinking
    as _I_ bear you any ill-will because o' my husband's losing his
    lawsuit, and the bailies being put in, and the linen being sold,--oh
    dear!--for I wasn't brought up in that way. I'm sure you remember my
    father, sir, for he was close friends with Squire Darleigh, and we
    allays went to the dances there, the Miss Dodsons,--nobody could be
    more looked on,--and justly, for there was four of us, and you're
    quite aware as Mrs. Glegg and Mrs. Deane are my sisters. And as for
    going to law and losing money, and having sales before you're dead, I
    never saw anything o' that before I was married, nor for a long while
    after. And I'm not to be answerable for my bad luck i' marrying out o'
    my own family into one where the goings-on was different. And as for
    being drawn in t' abuse you as other folks abuse you, sir, _that_ I
    niver was, and nobody can say it of me."

    Mrs. Tulliver shook her head a little, and looked at the hem of her
    pocket-handkerchief.

    "I've no doubt of what you say, Mrs. Tulliver," said Mr. Wakem, with
    cold politeness. "But you have some question to ask me?"

    "Well, sir, yes. But that's what I've said to myself,--I've said you'd
    had some nat'ral feeling; and as for my husband, as hasn't been
    himself for this two months, I'm not a-defending him, in no way, for
    being so hot about th' erigation,--not but what there's worse men, for
    he never wronged nobody of a shilling nor a penny, not willingly; and
    as for his fieriness and lawing, what could I do? And him struck as if
    it was with death when he got the letter as said you'd the hold upo'
    the land. But I can't believe but what you'll behave as a gentleman."

    "What does all this mean, Mrs. Tulliver?" said Mr. Wakem rather
    sharply. "What do you want to ask me?"

    "Why, sir, if you'll be so good," said Mrs. Tulliver, starting a
    little, and speaking more hurriedly,--"if you'll be so good not to buy
    the mill an' the land,--the land wouldn't so much matter, only my
    husband ull' be like mad at your having it."

    Something like a new thought flashed across Mr. Wakem's face as he
    said, "Who told you I meant to buy it?"

    "Why, sir, it's none o' my inventing, and I should never ha' thought
    of it; for my husband, as ought to know about the law, he allays used
    to say as lawyers had never no call to buy anything,--either lands or
    houses,--for they allays got 'em into their hands other ways. An' I
    should think that 'ud be the way with you, sir; and I niver said as
    you'd be the man to do contrairy to that."

    "Ah, well, who was it that _did_ say so?" said Wakem, opening his
    desk, and moving things about, with the accompaniment of an almost
    inaudible whistle.

    "Why, sir, it was Mr. Glegg and Mr. Deane, as have all the management;
    and Mr. Deane thinks as Guest &Co. 'ud buy the mill and let Mr.
    Tulliver work it for 'em, if you didn't bid for it and raise the
    price. And it 'ud be such a thing for my husband to stay where he is,
    if he could get his living: for it was his father's before him, the
    mill was, and his grandfather built it, though I wasn't fond o' the
    noise of it, when first I was married, for there was no mills in our
    family,--not the Dodson's,--and if I'd known as the mills had so much
    to do with the law, it wouldn't have been me as 'ud have been the
    first Dodson to marry one; but I went into it blindfold, that I did,
    erigation and everything."

    "What! Guest &Co. would keep the mill in their own hands, I suppose,
    and pay your husband wages?"

    "Oh dear, sir, it's hard to think of," said poor Mrs. Tulliver, a
    little tear making its way, "as my husband should take wage. But it
    'ud look more like what used to be, to stay at the mill than to go
    anywhere else; and if you'll only think--if you was to bid for the
    mill and buy it, my husband might be struck worse than he was before,
    and niver get better again as he's getting now."

    "Well, but if I bought the mill, and allowed your husband to act as my
    manager in the same way, how then?" said Mr. Wakem.

    "Oh, sir, I doubt he could niver be got to do it, not if the very mill
    stood still to beg and pray of him. For your name's like poison to
    him, it's so as never was; and he looks upon it as you've been the
    ruin of him all along, ever since you set the law on him about the
    road through the meadow,--that's eight year ago, and he's been going
    on ever since--as I've allays told him he was wrong----"

    "He's a pig-headed, foul-mouthed fool!" burst out Mr. Wakem,
    forgetting himself.

    "Oh dear, sir!" said Mrs. Tulliver, frightened at a result so
    different from the one she had fixed her mind on; "I wouldn't wish to
    contradict you, but it's like enough he's changed his mind with this
    illness,--he's forgot a many things he used to talk about. And you
    wouldn't like to have a corpse on your mind, if he was to die; and
    they _do_ say as it's allays unlucky when Dorlcote Mill changes hands,
    and the water might all run away, and _then_--not as I'm wishing you
    any ill-luck, sir, for I forgot to tell you as I remember your wedding
    as if it was yesterday; Mrs. Wakem was a Miss Clint, I know _that;_
    and my boy, as there isn't a nicer, handsomer, straighter boy nowhere,
    went to school with your son----"

    Mr. Wakem rose, opened the door, and called to one of his clerks.

    "You must excuse me for interrupting you, Mrs. Tulliver; I have
    business that must be attended to; and I think there is nothing more
    necessary to be said."

    "But if you _would_ bear it in mind, sir," said Mrs. Tulliver, rising,
    "and not run against me and my children; and I'm not denying Mr.
    Tulliver's been in the wrong, but he's been punished enough, and
    there's worse men, for it's been giving to other folks has been his
    fault. He's done nobody any harm but himself and his family,--the
    more's the pity,--and I go and look at the bare shelves every day, and
    think where all my things used to stand."

    "Yes, yes, I'll bear it in mind," said Mr. Wakem, hastily, looking
    toward the open door.

    "And if you'd please not to say as I've been to speak to you, for my
    son 'ud be very angry with me for demeaning myself, I know he would,
    and I've trouble enough without being scolded by my children."

    Poor Mrs. Tulliver's voice trembled a little, and she could make no
    answer to the attorney's "good morning," but curtsied and walked out
    in silence.

    "Which day is it that Dorlcote Mill is to be sold? Where's the bill?"
    said Mr. Wakem to his clerk when they were alone.

    "Next Friday is the day,--Friday at six o'clock."

    "Oh, just run to Winship's the auctioneer, and see if he's at home. I
    have some business for him; ask him to come up."

    Although, when Mr. Wakem entered his office that morning, he had had
    no intention of purchasing Dorlcote Mill, his mind was already made
    up. Mrs. Tulliver had suggested to him several determining motives,
    and his mental glance was very rapid; he was one of those men who can
    be prompt without being rash, because their motives run in fixed
    tracks, and they have no need to reconcile conflicting aims.

    To suppose that Wakem had the same sort of inveterate hatred toward
    Tulliver that Tulliver had toward him would be like supposing that a
    pike and a roach can look at each other from a similar point of view.
    The roach necessarily abhors the mode in which the pike gets his
    living, and the pike is likely to think nothing further even of the
    most indignant roach than that he is excellent good eating; it could
    only be when the roach choked him that the pike could entertain a
    strong personal animosity. If Mr. Tulliver had ever seriously injured
    or thwarted the attorney, Wakem would not have refused him the
    distinction of being a special object of his vindictiveness. But when
    Mr. Tulliver called Wakem a rascal at the market dinner-table, the
    attorneys' clients were not a whit inclined to withdraw their business
    from him; and if, when Wakem himself happened to be present, some
    jocose cattle-feeder, stimulated by opportunity and brandy, made a
    thrust at him by alluding to old ladies' wills, he maintained perfect
    _sang froid_, and knew quite well that the majority of substantial men
    then present were perfectly contented with the fact that "Wakem was
    Wakem"; that is to say, a man who always knew the stepping-stones that
    would carry him through very muddy bits of practice. A man who had
    made a large fortune, had a handsome house among the trees at Tofton,
    and decidedly the finest stock of port-wine in the neighborhood of St.
    Ogg's, was likely to feel himself on a level with public opinion. And
    I am not sure that even honest Mr. Tulliver himself, with his general
    view of law as a cockpit, might not, under opposite circumstances,
    have seen a fine appropriateness in the truth that "Wakem was Wakem";
    since I have understood from persons versed in history, that mankind
    is not disposed to look narrowly into the conduct of great victors
    when their victory is on the right side. Tulliver, then, could be no
    obstruction to Wakem; on the contrary, he was a poor devil whom the
    lawyer had defeated several times; a hot-tempered fellow, who would
    always give you a handle against him. Wakem's conscience was not
    uneasy because he had used a few tricks against the miller; why should
    he hate that unsuccessful plaintiff, that pitiable, furious bull
    entangled in the meshes of a net?

    Still, among the various excesses to which human nature is subject,
    moralists have never numbered that of being too fond of the people who
    openly revile us. The successful Yellow candidate for the borough of
    Old Topping, perhaps, feels no pursuant meditative hatred toward the
    Blue editor who consoles his subscribers with vituperative rhetoric
    against Yellow men who sell their country, and are the demons of
    private life; but he might not be sorry, if law and opportunity
    favored, to kick that Blue editor to a deeper shade of his favorite
    color. Prosperous men take a little vengeance now and then, as they
    take a diversion, when it comes easily in their way, and is no
    hindrance to business; and such small unimpassioned revenges have an
    enormous effect in life, running through all degrees of pleasant
    infliction, blocking the fit men out of places, and blackening
    characters in unpremeditated talk. Still more, to see people who have
    been only insignificantly offensive to us reduced in life and
    humiliated, without any special effort of ours, is apt to have a
    soothing, flattering influence. Providence or some other prince of
    this world, it appears, has undertaken the task of retribution for us;
    and really, by an agreeable constitution of things, our enemies
    somehow _don't_ prosper.

    Wakem was not without this parenthetic vindictiveness toward the
    uncomplimentary miller; and now Mrs. Tulliver had put the notion into
    his head, it presented itself to him as a pleasure to do the very
    thing that would cause Mr. Tulliver the most deadly mortification,--
    and a pleasure of a complex kind, not made up of crude malice, but
    mingling with it the relish of self-approbation. To see an enemy
    humiliated gives a certain contentment, but this is jejune compared
    with the highly blent satisfaction of seeing him humiliated by your
    benevolent action or concession on his behalf. That is a sort of
    revenge which falls into the scale of virtue, and Wakem was not without
    an intention of keeping that scale respectably filled. He had once
    had the pleasure of putting an old enemy of his into one of the St.
    Ogg's alms-houses, to the rebuilding of which he had given a large
    subscription; and here was an opportunity of providing for another by
    making him his own servant. Such things give a completeness to
    prosperity, and contribute elements of agreeable consciousness that
    are not dreamed of by that short-sighted, overheated vindictiveness
    which goes out its way to wreak itself in direct injury. And Tulliver,
    with his rough tongue filed by a sense of obligation, would make a
    better servant than any chance-fellow who was cap-in-hand for a
    situation. Tulliver was known to be a man of proud honesty, and Wakem
    was too acute not to believe in the existence of honesty. He was given
    too observing individuals, not to judging of them according to maxims,
    and no one knew better than he that all men were not like himself.
    Besides, he intended to overlook the whole business of land and mill
    pretty closely; he was fond of these practical rural matters. But
    there were good reasons for purchasing Dorlcote Mill, quite apart from
    any benevolent vengeance on the miller. It was really a capital
    investment; besides, Guest &Co. were going to bid for it. Mr. Guest
    and Mr. Wakem were on friendly dining terms, and the attorney liked to
    predominate over a ship-owner and mill-owner who was a little too loud
    in the town affairs as well as in his table-talk. For Wakem was not a
    mere man of business; he was considered a pleasant fellow in the upper
    circles of St. Ogg's--chatted amusingly over his port-wine, did a
    little amateur farming, and had certainly been an excellent husband
    and father; at church, when he went there, he sat under the handsomest
    of mural monuments erected to the memory of his wife. Most men would
    have married again under his circumstances, but he was said to be more
    tender to his deformed son than most men were to their best-shapen
    offspring. Not that Mr. Wakem had not other sons beside Philip; but
    toward them he held only a chiaroscuro parentage, and provided for
    them in a grade of life duly beneath his own. In this fact, indeed,
    there lay the clenching motive to the purchase of Dorlcote Mill. While
    Mrs. Tulliver was talking, it had occurred to the rapid-minded lawyer,
    among all the other circumstances of the case, that this purchase
    would, in a few years to come, furnish a highly suitable position for
    a certain favorite lad whom he meant to bring on in the world.

    These were the mental conditions on which Mrs. Tulliver had undertaken
    to act persuasively, and had failed; a fact which may receive some
    illustration from the remark of a great philosopher, that fly-fishers
    fail in preparing their bait so as to make it alluring in the right
    quarter, for want of a due acquaintance with the subjectivity of
    fishes.
    Next Chapter
    Chapter 27
    Previous Chapter
    If you're writing a George Eliot essay and need some advice, post your George Eliot essay question on our Facebook page where fellow bookworms are always glad to help!

    Top 5 Authors

    Top 5 Books

    Book Status
    Finished
    Want to read
    Abandoned

    Are you sure you want to leave this group?