The Prize Lodger

by George Gissing

　　Human Odds and Ends: Stories and Sketches (1898)

　　The ordinary West-End Londoner--who is a citizen of no city at all, butdwells amid a mere conglomerate of houses at a certain distance fromCharing Cross--has known a fleeting surprise when, by rare chance, hiseye fell upon the name of some such newspaper as the Battersea Times,the Camberwell Mercury, or the Islington Gazette. To him, these andthe like districts are nothing more than compass points of the hugemetropolis. He may be in practice acquainted with them; if historicallyinclined, he may think of them as old-time villages swallowed up byinsatiable London; but he has never grasped the fact that in Battersea,Camberwell, Islington, there are people living who name these places astheir home; who are born, subsist, and die there as though in a distincttown, and practically without consciousness of its obliteration in themap of a world capital.The stable element of this population consists of more or lessold-fashioned people. Round about them is the ceaseless coming and goingof nomads who keep abreast with the time, who take their lodgings by theweek, their houses by the month; who camp indifferently in regions oldand new, learning their geography in train and tram-car. Abidingparishioners are wont to be either very poor or established in amoderate prosperity; they lack enterprise, either for good or ill: ifcomfortably off, they owe it, as a rule, to some predecessor's exertion.And for the most part, though little enough endowed with the civicspirit, they abundantly pride themselves on their local permanence.Representative of this class was Mr. Archibald Jordan, a native ofIslington, and, at the age of five-and-forty, still faithful to thestreets which he had trodden as a child. His father started a smallgrocery business in Upper Street; Archibald succeeded to the shop,advanced soberly, and at length admitted a partner, by whose capital andenergy the business was much increased. After his thirtieth year Mr.Jordan ceased to stand behind the counter. Of no very activedisposition, and but moderately set on gain, he found it pleasant tospend a few hours daily over the books and the correspondence, and forthe rest of his time to enjoy a gossipy leisure, straying among theacquaintances of a lifetime, or making new in the decorous bar-parlours,billiard-rooms, and other such retreats which allured his bachelorliberty. His dress and bearing were unpretentious, but impressivelyrespectable; he never allowed his garments (made by an Islington tailor,an old schoolfellow) to exhibit the least sign of wear, but fashionaffected their style as little as possible. Of middle height, andtending to portliness, he walked at an unvarying pace, as a man who hadnever known undignified hurry; in his familiar thoroughfares he glancedabout him with a good-humoured air of proprietorship, or with a look ofthoughtful criticism for any changes that might be going forward. No onehad ever spoken flatteringly of his visage; he knew himself a veryhomely-featured man, and accepted the fact, as something that hadneither favoured nor hindered him in life. But it was his convictionthat no man's eye had a greater power of solemn and overwhelming rebuke,and this gift he took a pleasure in exercising, however trivial theoccasion.For five-and-twenty years he had lived in lodgings; always within thenarrow range of Islington respectability, yet never for more than atwelvemonth under the same roof. This peculiar feature of Mr. Jordan'slife had made him a subject of continual interest to local landladies,among whom were several lifelong residents, on friendly terms of oldtime with the Jordan family. To them it seemed an astonishing thing thata man in such circumstances had not yet married; granting thiseccentricity, they could not imagine what made him change his abode sooften. Not a landlady in Islington but would welcome Mr. Jordan in herrooms, and, having got him, do her utmost to prolong the connection. Hehad been known to quit a house on the paltriest excuse, removing toanother in which he could not expect equally good treatment. There wasno accounting for it: it must be taken as an ultimate mystery of life,and made the most of as a perennial topic of neighbourly conversation.As to the desirability of having Mr. Jordan for a lodger there could beno difference of opinion among rational womankind. Mrs. Wiggins, indeed,had taken his sudden departure from her house so ill that she alwaysspoke of him abusively; but who heeded Mrs. Wiggins? Even in the sadnessof hope deferred, those ladies who had entertained him once, andspeculated on his possible return, declared Mr. Jordan a 'thoroughgentleman'. Lodgers, as a class, do not recommend themselves inIslington; Mr. Jordan shone against the dusky background with almostdazzling splendour. To speak of lodgers as of cattle, he was a prizecreature. A certain degree of comfort he firmly exacted; he might be atrifle fastidious about cooking; he stood upon his dignity; but no onecould say that he grudged reward for service rendered. It was hispractice to pay more than the landlady asked. Twenty-five shillings aweek, you say? I shall give you twenty-eight. But--' and with raisedforefinger he went through the catalogue of his demands. Everything mustbe done precisely as he directed; even in the laying of his table heinsisted upon certain minute peculiarities, and to forget one of themwas to earn that gaze of awful reprimand which Mr. Jordan found (orthought) more efficacious than any spoken word. Against this precisionmight be set his strange indulgence in the matter of bills; he merelyregarded the total, was never known to dispute an item. Only twice inhis long experience had he quitted a lodging because of exorbitantcharges, and on these occasions he sternly refused to discuss thematter. 'Mrs. Hawker, I am paying your account with the addition of oneweek's rent. Your rooms will be vacant at eleven o'clock tomorrowmorning.' And until the hour of departure no entreaty, no prostration,could induce him to utter a syllable.It was on the 1st of June, 1889, his forty-fifth birthday, that Mr.Jordan removed from quarters he had occupied for ten months, and becamea lodger in the house of Mrs. Elderfield.Mrs. Elderfield, a widow, aged three-and-thirty, with one little girl,was but a casual resident in Islington; she knew nothing of Mr. Jordan,and made no inquiries about him. Strongly impressed, as every woman mustneeds be, by his air and tone of mild authority, she congratulatedherself on the arrival of such an inmate; but no subservience appearedin her demeanour; she behaved with studious civility, nothing more. Herwords were few and well chosen. Always neatly dressed, yet always busy,she moved about the house with quick, silent step, and cleanlinessmarked her path. The meals were well cooked, well served. Mr. Jordanbeing her only lodger, she could devote to him an undivided attention.At the end of his first week the critical gentleman felt greatersatisfaction than he had ever known.The bill lay upon his table at breakfast-time. He perused the items,and, much against his habit, reflected upon them. Having breakfasted, herang the bell.'Mrs. Elderfield--'He paused, and looked gravely at the widow. She had a plain, honest,healthy face, with resolute lips, and an eye that brightened when shespoke; her well-knit figure, motionless in its respectful attitude,declared a thoroughly sound condition of the nerves.'Mrs. Elderfield, your bill is so very moderate that I think you musthave forgotten something.''Have you looked it over, sir?''I never trouble with the details. Please examine it.''There is no need, sir. I never make a mistake.''I said, Mrs. Elderfield, please examine it.'She seemed to hesitate, but obeyed.'The bill is quite correct, sir.''Thank you.'He paid it at once and said no more.The weeks went on. To Mr. Jordan's surprise, his landlady's zeal andefficiency showed no diminution, a thing unprecedented in his long andvaried experience. After the first day or two he had found nothing tocorrect; every smallest instruction was faithfully carried out.Moreover, he knew for the first time in his life the comfort ofabsolutely clean rooms. The best of his landladies hitherto had notrisen above that conception of cleanliness which is relative to Londonsoot and fog. His palate, too, was receiving an education. Probably hehad never eaten of a joint rightly cooked, or tasted a potato boiled asit should be; more often than not, the food set before him had undergonea process which left it masticable indeed, but void of savour andnourishment. Many little attentions of which he had never dreamed kepthim in a wondering cheerfulness. And at length he said to himself: 'HereI shall stay.'Not that his constant removals had been solely due to discomfort and ahope of better things. The secret--perhaps not entirely revealed even tohimself--lay in Mr. Jordan's sense of his own importance, and hisuneasiness whenever he felt that, in the eyes of a landlady, he wasbecoming a mere everyday person--an ordinary lodger. No sooner did hedetect a sign of this than he made up his mind to move. It gave him thekeenest pleasure of which he was capable when, on abruptly announcinghis immediate departure, he perceived the landlady's profoundmortification. To make the blow heavier he had even resorted toartifice, seeming to express a most lively contentment during the verydays when he had decided to leave and was asking himself where he shouldnext abide. One of his delights was to return to a house which he hadquitted years ago, to behold the excitement and bustle occasioned by hisappearance, and play the good-natured autocrat over grovellingdependents. In every case, save the two already mentioned, he had partedwith his landlady on terms of friendliness, never vouchsafing a reasonfor his going away, genially eluding every attempt to obtain anexplanation, and at the last abounding in graceful recognition of allthat had been done for him. Mr. Jordan shrank from dispute, hated everysort of contention; this characteristic gave a certain refinement to hisotherwise commonplace existence. Vulgar vanity would have displayeditself in precisely the acts and words from which his self-esteemnervously shrank. And of late he had been thinking over the list oflandladies, with a half-formed desire to settle down, to make himself apermanent home. Doubtless as a result of this state of mind, he betookhimself to a strange house, where, as from neutral ground, he mightreflect upon the lodgings he knew, and judge between their merits. Hecould not foresee what awaited him under Mrs. Elderfield's roof; theevent impressed him as providential; he felt, with singular emotion,that choice was taken out of his hands. Lodgings could not be more thanperfect, and such he had found.It was not his habit to chat with landladies. At times he held forth tothem on some topic of interest, suavely, instructively; if he gave in totheir ordinary talk, it was with a half-absent smile of condescension.Mrs. Elderfield seeming as little disposed to gossip as himself, a monthelapsed before he knew anything of her history; but one evening thereserve on both sides was broken. His landlady modestly inquired whethershe was giving satisfaction, and Mr. Jordan replied with altogetherunwonted fervour. In the dialogue that ensued, they exchanged personalconfidences. The widow had lost her husband four years ago; she camefrom the Midlands, but had long dwelt in London. Then fell from her lipsa casual remark which made the hearer uneasy.'I don't think I shall always stay here. The neighbourhood is toocrowded. I should like to have a house somewhere further out.'Mr. Jordan did not comment on this, but it kept a place in his dailythoughts, and became at length so much of an anxiety that he inviteda renewal of the subject.'You have no intention of moving just yet, Mrs. Elderfield?''I was going to tell you, sir,' replied the landlady, with herrespectful calm, 'that I have decided to make a change next spring. Somefriends of mine have gone to live at Wood Green, and I shall look for ahouse in the same neighbourhood.'Mr. Jordan was, in private, gravely disturbed. He who had flitted fromhouse to house for many years, distressing the souls of landladies, nowlamented the prospect of a forced removal. It was open to him toaccompany Mrs. Elderfield, but he shrank from the thought of living inso remote a district. Wood Green! The very name appalled him, for he hadnever been able to endure the country. He betook himself one drearyautumn afternoon to that northern suburb, and what he saw did not at allreassure him. On his way back he began once more to review the list ofold lodgings.But from that day his conversations with Mrs. Elderfield grew morefrequent, more intimate. In the evening he occasionally made an excusefor knocking at her parlour door, and lingered for a talk which endedonly at supper time. He spoke of his own affairs, and grew more ready todo so as his hearer manifested a genuine interest, without impertinentcuriosity. Little by little he imparted to Mrs. Elderfield a completeknowledge of his commercial history, of his pecuniary standing--mattersof which he had never before spoken to a mere acquaintance. A change wascoming over him; the foundations of habit crumbled beneath his feet; helost his look of complacence, his self-confident and superior tone.Bar-parlours and billiard-rooms saw him but rarely and flittingly. Heseemed to have lost his pleasure in the streets of Islington, and spentall his spare time by the fireside, perpetually musing.On a day in March one of his old landladies, Mrs. Higdon, sped to thehouse of another, Mrs. Evans, panting under a burden of strange news.Could it be believed! Mr. Jordan was going to marry--to marry that womanin whose house he was living! Mrs. Higdon had it on the very bestauthority--that of Mr. Jordan's partner, who spoke of the affair withoutreserve. A new house had already been taken--at Wood Green. Well! Afterall these years, after so many excellent opportunities, to marry a merestranger and forsake Islington! In a moment Mr. Jordan's character wasgone; had he figured in the police-court under some disgraceful charge,these landladies could hardly have felt more shocked and professedthemselves more disgusted. The intelligence spread. Women went out oftheir way to have a sight of Mrs. Elderfield's house; they hung aboutfor a glimpse of that sinister person herself. She had robbed them,every one, of a possible share in Islington's prize lodger. Had it beenone of themselves they could have borne the chagrin; but a woman whomnot one of them knew, an alien! What base arts had she practised? Ah,it was better not to inquire too closely into the secrets of thatlodging-house.Though every effort was made to learn the time and place of theceremony, Mr. Jordan's landladies had the mortification to hear of hiswedding only when it was over. Of course, this showed that he felt thedisgracefulness of his behaviour; he was not utterly lost to shame. Itcould only be hoped that he would not know the bitterness of repentance.Not till he found himself actually living in the house at Wood Green didMr. Jordan realize how little his own will had had to do with the recentcourse of events. Certainly, he had made love to the widow, and hadasked her to marry him; but from that point onward he seemed to have puthimself entirely in Mrs. Elderfield's hands, granting every request,meeting half-way every suggestion she offered, becoming, in short, quitea different kind of man from his former self. He had not been sensibleof a moment's reluctance; he enjoyed the novel sense of yielding himselfto affectionate guidance. His wits had gone wool-gathering; theyreturned to him only after the short honeymoon at Brighton, when hestood upon his own hearth-rug, and looked round at the new furnitureand ornaments which symbolized a new beginning of life.The admirable landlady had shown herself energetic, clear-headed, andfull of resource; it was she who chose the house, and transacted all thebusiness in connection with it; Mr. Jordan had merely run about in hercompany from place to place, smiling approval and signing cheques. Noone could have gone to work more prudently, or obtained what she wantedat smaller outlay; for all that, Mr. Jordan, having recovered somethinglike his normal frame of mind, viewed the results with consternation.Left to himself, he would have taken a very small house, and furnishedit much in the style of Islington lodgings; as it was, he occupied aten-roomed 'villa', with appointments which seemed to him luxurious,aristocratic. True, the expenditure was of no moment to a man in hisposition, and there was no fear that Mrs. Jordan would involve him indangerous extravagance; but he had always lived with such excessiveeconomy that the sudden change to a life correspondent with his incomecould not but make him uncomfortable.Mrs. Jordan had, of course, seen to it that her personal appearanceharmonized with the new surroundings. She dressed herself and her youngdaughter with careful appropriateness. There was no display, no purchaseof gewgaws--merely garments of good quality, such as became people ineasy circumstances. She impressed upon her husband that this was nothingmore than a return to the habits of her earlier life. Her first marriagehad been a sad mistake; it had brought her down in the world. Now shefelt restored to her natural position.After a week of restlessness, Mr. Jordan resumed his daily visits tothe shop in Upper Street, where he sat as usual among the books and thecorrespondence, and tried to assure himself that all would henceforthbe well with him. No more changing from house to house; a reallycomfortable home in which to spend the rest of his days; a kind and mostcapable wife to look after all his needs, to humour all his littlehabits. He could not have taken a wiser step.For all that, he had lost something, though he did not yet understandwhat it was. The first perception of a change not for the better flashedupon him one evening in the second week, when he came home an hourlater than his wont. Mrs. Jordan, who always stood waiting for him atthe window, had no smile as he entered.'Why are you late?' she asked, in her clear, restrained voice.'Oh--something or other kept me.'This would not do. Mrs. Jordan quietly insisted on a full explanation ofthe delay, and it seemed to her unsatisfactory.'I hope you won't be irregular in your habits, Archibald,' said hiswife, with gentle admonition. 'What I always liked in you was yourmethodical way of living. I shall be very uncomfortable if I neverknow when to expect you.''Yes, my dear, but--business, you see--''But you have explained that you could have been back at the usualtime.''Yes--that's true--but--''Well, well, you won't let it happen again. Oh really, Archibald!' shesuddenly exclaimed. 'The idea of you coming into the room with muddyboots! Why, look! There's a patch of mud on the carpet--''It was my hurry to speak to you,' murmured Mr. Jordan, in confusion.'Please go at once and take your boots off. And you left your slippersin the bedroom this morning. You must always bring them down, and putthem in the dining-room cupboard; then they're ready for you when youcome into the house.'Mr. Jordan had but a moderate appetite for his dinner, and he did nottalk so pleasantly as usual. This was but the beginning of troubles suchas he had not for a moment foreseen. His wife, having since theirengagement taken the upper hand, began to show her determination to keepit, and day by day her rule grew more galling to the ex-bachelor. Hehimself, in the old days, had plagued his landladies by insisting uponmethod and routine, by his faddish attention to domestic minutiae; henow learnt what it was to be subjected to the same kind of despotism,exercised with much more exasperating persistence. Whereas Mrs.Elderfield had scrupulously obeyed every direction given by her lodger,Mrs. Jordan was evidently resolved that her husband should live, move,and have his being in the strictest accordance with her own ideal. Notin any spirit of nagging, or ill-tempered unreasonableness; it wasmerely that she had her favourite way of doing every conceivable thing,and felt so sure it was the best of all possible ways that she could notendure any other. The first serious disagreement between them hadreference to conduct at the breakfast-table. After a broken night,feeling headachy and worried, Mr. Jordan took up his newspaper, foldedit conveniently, and set it against the bread so that he could readwhile eating. Without a word, his wife gently removed it, and laid itaside on a chair.'What are you doing?' he asked gruffly.'You mustn't read at meals, Archibald. It's bad manners, and bad for yourdigestion.''I've read the news at breakfast all my life, and I shall do so still,'exclaimed the husband, starting up and recovering his paper.'Then you will have breakfast by yourself. Nelly, we must go into theother room till papa has finished.'Mr. Jordan ate mechanically, and stared at the newspaper with just aslittle consciousness. Prompted by the underlying weakness of hischaracter to yield for the sake of peace, wrath made him dogged, and themore steadily he regarded his position, the more was he appalled by theoutlook. Why, this meant downright slavery! He had married a woman sohorribly like himself in several points that his only hope lay inovercoming her by sheer violence. A thoroughly good and well-meaningwoman, an excellent housekeeper, the kind of wife to do him credit andimprove his social position; but self-willed, pertinacious, and probablythinking herself his superior in every respect. He had nothing to fearbut subjection--the one thing he had never anticipated, the one thing hecould never endure.He went off to business without seeing his wife again, and passed alamentable day. At his ordinary hour of return, instead of setting offhomeward, he strayed about the by-streets of Islington and Pentonville.Not till this moment had he felt how dear they were to him, the familiarstreets; their very odours fell sweet upon his nostrils. Never againcould he go hither and thither, among the old friends, the old places,to his heart's content. What had possessed him to abandon this preciousliberty! The thought of Wood Green revolted him; live there as long ashe might, he would never be at home. He thought of his wife (now waitingfor him) with fear, and then with a reaction of rage. Let her wait!He--Archibald Jordan--before whom women had bowed and trembled forfive-and-twenty years--was he to come and go at a wife's bidding? Andat length the thought seemed so utterly preposterous that he spednorthward as fast as possible, determined to right himself this veryevening.Mrs. Jordan sat alone. He marched into the room with muddy boots, flunghis hat and overcoat into a chair, and poked the fire violently. Hiswife's eye was fixed on him, and she first spoke--in the quiet voicethat he dreaded.'What do you mean by carrying on like this, Archibald?''I shall carry on as I like in my own house--hear that?''I do hear it, and I'm very sorry too. It gives me a very bad opinionof you. You will not do as you like in your own house. Rage as youplease. You will not do as you like in your own house.'There was a contemptuous anger in her eye which the man could not face.He lost all control of himself, uttered coarse oaths, and stoodquivering. Then the woman began to lecture him; she talked steadily,acrimoniously, for more than an hour, regardless of his interruptions.Nervously exhausted, he fled at length from the room. A couple of hourslater they met again in the nuptial chamber, and again Mrs. Jordan beganto talk. Her point, as before, was that he had begun married life aboutas badly as possible. Why had he married her at all? What fault had shecommitted to incur such outrageous usage? But, thank goodness, she had awill of her own, and a proper self-respect; behave as he might, shewould still persevere in the path of womanly duty. If he thought to makeher life unbearable he would find his mistake; she simply should notheed him; perhaps he would return to his senses before long--and in thisvein Mrs. Jordan continued until night was at odds with morning, onlybecoming silent when her partner had sunk into the oblivion of uttermostfatigue.The next day Mr. Jordan's demeanour showed him, for the moment at allevents, defeated. He made no attempt to read at breakfast; he movedabout very quietly. And in the afternoon he came home at the regulationhour.Mrs. Jordan had friends in the neighbourhood, but she saw little ofthem. She was not a woman of ordinary tastes. Everything proved that,to her mind, the possession of a nice house, with the prospects of acomfortable life, was an end in itself; she had no desire to exhibit herwell-furnished rooms, or to gad about talking of her advantages. Everymoment of her day was taken up in the superintendence of servants, thedischarge of an infinitude of housewifely tasks. She had no assistancefrom her daughter; the girl went to school, and was encouraged to studywith the utmost application. The husband's presence in the house seemeda mere accident--save in the still nocturnal season, when Mrs. Jordanbestowed upon him her counsel and her admonitions.After the lapse of a few days Mr. Jordan again offered combat, and threwhimself into it with a frenzy.'Look here!' he shouted at length, 'either you or I are going to leavethis house. I can't live with you--understand? I hate the sight of you!''Go on!' retorted the other, with mild bitterness. 'Abuse me as much asyou like, I can bear it. I shall continue to do my duty, and unless youhave recourse to personal violence, here I remain. If you go too far, ofcourse the law must defend me!'This was precisely what Mr. Jordan knew and dreaded; the law was on hiswife's side, and by applying at a police-court for protection she couldoverwhelm him with shame and ridicule, which would make lifeintolerable. Impossible to argue with this woman. Say what he might, thefault always seemed his. His wife was simply doing her duty--in a spiritof admirable thoroughness; he, in the eyes of a third person, wouldappear an unreasonable and violent curmudgeon. Had it not all sprung outof his obstinacy with regard to reading at breakfast? How explain toanyone what he suffered in his nerves, in his pride, in the outragedhabitudes of a lifetime?That evening he did not return to Wood Green. Afraid of questionsif he showed himself in the old resorts, he spent some hours in abilliard-room near King's Cross, and towards midnight took a bedroomunder the same roof. On going to business next day, he awaited withtremors either a telegram or a visit from his wife; but the whole daypassed, and he heard nothing. After dark he walked once more about thebeloved streets, pausing now and then to look up at the windows of thisor that well remembered house. Ah, if he durst but enter and engage alodging! Impossible--for ever impossible!He slept in the same place as on the night before. And again a daypassed without any sort of inquiry from Wood Green. When evening camehe went home.Mrs. Jordan behaved as though he had returned from business in the usualway. 'Is it raining?' she asked, with a half-smile. And her husbandreplied, in as matter-of-fact a tone as he could command, 'No, itisn't.' There was no mention between them of his absence. That night,Mrs. Jordan talked for an hour or two of his bad habit of stepping onthe paint when he went up and down stairs, then fell calmly asleep.But Mr. Jordan did not sleep for a long time. What! was he, after all,to be allowed his liberty out of doors, provided he relinquished itwithin? Was it really the case that his wife, satisfied with her houseand furniture and income, did not care a jot whether he stayed away orcame home? There, indeed, gleamed a hope. When Mr. Jordan slept, hedreamed that he was back again in lodgings at Islington, tasting anextraordinary bliss. Day dissipated the vision, but still Mrs. Jordanspoke not a word of his absence, and with trembling still he hoped.

　　THE END.* * * * * * * * * * * *