The Mill on the Floss (39 page)

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.