Hard Times

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Hard Times Page 12

by Dickens, Charles


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  Dickens, Charles - Hard Times

  'I am afraid it would, sir,' Sissy answered with a curtsey.

  'I cannot disguise from you, Jupe,' said Mr. Gradgrind, knitting

  his brow, 'that the result of your probation there has disappointed

  me; has greatly disappointed me. You have not acquired, under Mr.

  and Mrs. M'Choakumchild, anything like that amount of exact

  knowledge which I looked for. You are extremely deficient in your

  facts. Your acquaintance with figures is very limited. You are

  altogether backward, and below the mark.'

  'I am sorry, sir,' she returned; 'but I know it is quite true. Yet

  I have tried hard, sir.'

  'Yes,' said Mr. Gradgrind, 'yes, I believe you have tried hard; I

  have observed you, and I can find no fault in that respect.'

  'Thank you, sir. I have thought sometimes;' Sissy very timid here;

  'that perhaps I tried to learn too much, and that if I had asked to

  be allowed to try a little less, I might have - '

  'No, Jupe, no,' said Mr. Gradgrind, shaking his head in his

  profoundest and most eminently practical way. 'No. The course you

  pursued, you pursued according to the system - the system - and

  there is no more to be said about it. I can only suppose that the

  circumstances of your early life were too unfavourable to the

  development of your reasoning powers, and that we began too late.

  Still, as I have said already, I am disappointed.'

  'I wish I could have made a better acknowledgment, sir, of your

  kindness to a poor forlorn girl who had no claim upon you, and of

  your protection of her.'

  'Don't shed tears,' said Mr. Gradgrind. 'Don't shed tears. I

  don't complain of you. You are an affectionate, earnest, good

  young woman - and - and we must make that do.'

  'Thank you, sir, very much,' said Sissy, with a grateful curtsey.

  'You are useful to Mrs. Gradgrind, and (in a generally pervading

  way) you are serviceable in the family also; so I understand from

  Miss Louisa, and, indeed, so I have observed myself. I therefore

  hope,' said Mr. Gradgrind, 'that you can make yourself happy in

  those relations.'

  'I should have nothing to wish, sir, if - '

  'I understand you,' said Mr. Gradgrind; 'you still refer to your

  father. I have heard from Miss Louisa that you still preserve that

  bottle. Well! If your training in the science of arriving at

  exact results had been more successful, you would have been wiser

  on these points. I will say no more.'

  He really liked Sissy too well to have a contempt for her;

  otherwise he held her calculating powers in such very slight

  estimation that he must have fallen upon that conclusion. Somehow

  or other, he had become possessed by an idea that there was

  something in this girl which could hardly be set forth in a tabular

  form. Her capacity of definition might be easily stated at a very

  low figure, her mathematical knowledge at nothing; yet he was not

  sure that if he had been required, for example, to tick her off

  into columns in a parliamentary return, he would have quite known

  how to divide her.

  In some stages of his manufacture of the human fabric, the

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  processes of Time are very rapid. Young Thomas and Sissy being

  both at such a stage of their working up, these changes were

  effected in a year or two; while Mr. Gradgrind himself seemed

  stationary in his course, and underwent no alteration.

  Except one, which was apart from his necessary progress through the

  mill. Time hustled him into a little noisy and rather dirty

  machinery, in a by-comer, and made him Member of Parliament for

  Coketown: one of the respected members for ounce weights and

  measures, one of the representatives of the multiplication table,

  one of the deaf honourable gentlemen, dumb honourable gentlemen,

  blind honourable gentlemen, lame honourable gentlemen, dead

  honourable gentlemen, to every other consideration. Else wherefore

  live we in a Christian land, eighteen hundred and odd years after

  our Master?

  All this while, Louisa had been passing on, so quiet and reserved,

  and so much given to watching the bright ashes at twilight as they

  fell into the grate, and became extinct, that from the period when

  her father had said she was almost a young woman - which seemed but

  yesterday - she had scarcely attracted his notice again, when he

  found her quite a young woman.

  'Quite a young woman,' said Mr. Gradgrind, musing. 'Dear me!'

  Soon after this discovery, he became more thoughtful than usual for

  several days, and seemed much engrossed by one subject. On a

  certain night, when he was going out, and Louisa came to bid him

  good-bye before his departure - as he was not to be home until late

  and she would not see him again until the morning - he held her in

  his arms, looking at her in his kindest manner, and said:

  'My dear Louisa, you are a woman!'

  She answered with the old, quick, searching look of the night when

  she was found at the Circus; then cast down her eyes. 'Yes,

  father.'

  'My dear,' said Mr. Gradgrind, 'I must speak with you alone and

  seriously. Come to me in my room after breakfast to-morrow, will

  you?'

  'Yes, father.'

  'Your hands are rather cold, Louisa. Are you not well?'

  'Quite well, father.'

  'And cheerful?'

  She looked at him again, and smiled in her peculiar manner. 'I am

  as cheerful, father, as I usually am, or usually have been.'

  'That's well,' said Mr. Gradgrind. So, he kissed her and went

  away; and Louisa returned to the serene apartment of the

  haircutting character, and leaning her elbow on her hand, looked

  again at the short-lived sparks that so soon subsided into ashes.

  'Are you there, Loo?' said her brother, looking in at the door. He

  was quite a young gentleman of pleasure now, and not quite a

  prepossessing one.

  'Dear Tom,' she answered, rising and embracing him, 'how long it is

  since you have been to see me!'

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  'Why, I have been otherwise engaged, Loo, in the evenings; and in

  the daytime old Bounderby has been keeping me at it rather. But I

  touch him up with you when he comes it too strong, and so we

  preserve an understanding. I say! Has father said anything

  particular to you to-day or yesterday, Loo?'

  'No, Tom. But he told me to-night that he wished to do so in the

  morning.'

  'Ah! That's what I mean,' said Tom. 'Do you know where he is tonight?'

  - with a very deep expression.

  'No.'

  'Then I'll tell you. He's with old Bounderby. They are having a

  regular confab together up at the Bank. Why at the Bank, do you

  think? Well, I'll tell you again. To keep Mrs. Sparsit's ears as

  far off as possible, I expect.'

  With her hand upon her brother's shoulder, Louisa still stood

  looking at the fire. Her brother glanced at her face with greater

  interest than usual, and, encircling he
r waist with his arm, drew

  her coaxingly to him.

  'You are very fond of me, an't you, Loo?'

  'Indeed I am, Tom, though you do let such long intervals go by

  without coming to see me.'

  'Well, sister of mine,' said Tom, 'when you say that, you are near

  my thoughts. We might be so much oftener together - mightn't we?

  Always together, almost - mightn't we? It would do me a great deal

  of good if you were to make up your mind to I know what, Loo. It

  would be a splendid thing for me. It would be uncommonly jolly!'

  Her thoughtfulness baffled his cunning scrutiny. He could make

  nothing of her face. He pressed her in his arm, and kissed her

  cheek. She returned the kiss, but still looked at the fire.

  'I say, Loo! I thought I'd come, and just hint to you what was

  going on: though I supposed you'd most likely guess, even if you

  didn't know. I can't stay, because I'm engaged to some fellows tonight.

  You won't forget how fond you are of me?'

  'No, dear Tom, I won't forget.'

  'That's a capital girl,' said Tom. 'Good-bye, Loo.'

  She gave him an affectionate good-night, and went out with him to

  the door, whence the fires of Coketown could be seen, making the

  distance lurid. She stood there, looking steadfastly towards them,

  and listening to his departing steps. They retreated quickly, as

  glad to get away from Stone Lodge; and she stood there yet, when he

  was gone and all was quiet. It seemed as if, first in her own fire

  within the house, and then in the fiery haze without, she tried to

  discover what kind of woof Old Time, that greatest and longestestablished

  Spinner of all, would weave from the threads he had

  already spun into a woman. But his factory is a secret place, his

  work is noiseless, and his Hands are mutes.

  CHAPTER XV - FATHER AND DAUGHTER

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  ALTHOUGH Mr. Gradgrind did not take after Blue Beard, his room was

  quite a blue chamber in its abundance of blue books. Whatever they

  could prove (which is usually anything you like), they proved

  there, in an army constantly strengthening by the arrival of new

  recruits. In that charmed apartment, the most complicated social

  questions were cast up, got into exact totals, and finally settled

  - if those concerned could only have been brought to know it. As

  if an astronomical observatory should be made without any windows,

  and the astronomer within should arrange the starry universe solely

  by pen, ink, and paper, so Mr. Gradgrind, in his Observatory (and

  there are many like it), had no need to cast an eye upon the

  teeming myriads of human beings around him, but could settle all

  their destinies on a slate, and wipe out all their tears with one

  dirty little bit of sponge.

  To this Observatory, then: a stern room, with a deadly statistical

  clock in it, which measured every second with a beat like a rap

  upon a coffin-lid; Louisa repaired on the appointed morning. A

  window looked towards Coketown; and when she sat down near her

  father's table, she saw the high chimneys and the long tracts of

  smoke looming in the heavy distance gloomily.

  'My dear Louisa,' said her father, 'I prepared you last night to

  give me your serious attention in the conversation we are now going

  to have together. You have been so well trained, and you do, I am

  happy to say, so much justice to the education you have received,

  that I have perfect confidence in your good sense. You are not

  impulsive, you are not romantic, you are accustomed to view

  everything from the strong dispassionate ground of reason and

  calculation. From that ground alone, I know you will view and

  consider what I am going to communicate.'

  He waited, as if he would have been glad that she said something.

  But she said never a word.

  'Louisa, my dear, you are the subject of a proposal of marriage

  that has been made to me.'

  Again he waited, and again she answered not one word. This so far

  surprised him, as to induce him gently to repeat, 'a proposal of

  marriage, my dear.' To which she returned, without any visible

  emotion whatever:

  'I hear you, father. I am attending, I assure you.'

  'Well!' said Mr. Gradgrind, breaking into a smile, after being for

  the moment at a loss, 'you are even more dispassionate than I

  expected, Louisa. Or, perhaps, you are not unprepared for the

  announcement I have it in charge to make?'

  'I cannot say that, father, until I hear it. Prepared or

  unprepared, I wish to hear it all from you. I wish to hear you

  state it to me, father.'

  Strange to relate, Mr. Gradgrind was not so collected at this

  moment as his daughter was. He took a paper-knife in his hand,

  turned it over, laid it down, took it up again, and even then had

  to look along the blade of it, considering how to go on.

  'What you say, my dear Louisa, is perfectly reasonable. I have

  undertaken then to let you know that - in short, that Mr. Bounderby

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  has informed me that he has long watched your progress with

  particular interest and pleasure, and has long hoped that the time

  might ultimately arrive when he should offer you his hand in

  marriage. That time, to which he has so long, and certainly with

  great constancy, looked forward, is now come. Mr. Bounderby has

  made his proposal of marriage to me, and has entreated me to make

  it known to you, and to express his hope that you will take it into

  your favourable consideration.'

  Silence between them. The deadly statistical clock very hollow.

  The distant smoke very black and heavy.

  'Father,' said Louisa, 'do you think I love Mr. Bounderby?'

  Mr. Gradgrind was extremely discomfited by this unexpected

  question. 'Well, my child,' he returned, 'I - really - cannot take

  upon myself to say.'

  'Father,' pursued Louisa in exactly the same voice as before, 'do

  you ask me to love Mr. Bounderby?'

  'My dear Louisa, no. No. I ask nothing.'

  'Father,' she still pursued, 'does Mr. Bounderby ask me to love

  him?'

  'Really, my dear,' said Mr. Gradgrind, 'it is difficult to answer

  your question - '

  'Difficult to answer it, Yes or No, father?

  'Certainly, my dear. Because;' here was something to demonstrate,

  and it set him up again; 'because the reply depends so materially,

  Louisa, on the sense in which we use the expression. Now, Mr.

  Bounderby does not do you the injustice, and does not do himself

  the injustice, of pretending to anything fanciful, fantastic, or (I

  am using synonymous terms) sentimental. Mr. Bounderby would have

  seen you grow up under his eyes, to very little purpose, if he

  could so far forget what is due to your good sense, not to say to

  his, as to address you from any such ground. Therefore, perhaps

  the expression itself - I merely suggest this to you, my dear - may

  be a little misplaced.'

  'What would you advise me to use in its stead, father?'

  'Why, my dear
Louisa,' said Mr. Gradgrind, completely recovered by

  this time, 'I would advise you (since you ask me) to consider this

  question, as you have been accustomed to consider every other

  question, simply as one of tangible Fact. The ignorant and the

  giddy may embarrass such subjects with irrelevant fancies, and

  other absurdities that have no existence, properly viewed - really

  no existence - but it is no compliment to you to say, that you know

  better. Now, what are the Facts of this case? You are, we will

  say in round numbers, twenty years of age; Mr. Bounderby is, we

  will say in round numbers, fifty. There is some disparity in your

  respective years, but in your means and positions there is none; on

  the contrary, there is a great suitability. Then the question

  arises, Is this one disparity sufficient to operate as a bar to

  such a marriage? In considering this question, it is not

  unimportant to take into account the statistics of marriage, so far

  as they have yet been obtained, in England and Wales. I find, on

  reference to the figures, that a large proportion of these

  marriages are contracted between parties of very unequal ages, and

  that the elder of these contracting parties is, in rather more than

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  three-fourths of these instances, the bridegroom. It is remarkable

  as showing the wide prevalence of this law, that among the natives

  of the British possessions in India, also in a considerable part of

  China, and among the Calmucks of Tartary, the best means of

  computation yet furnished us by travellers, yield similar results.

  The disparity I have mentioned, therefore, almost ceases to be

  disparity, and (virtually) all but disappears.'

  'What do you recommend, father,' asked Louisa, her reserved

  composure not in the least affected by these gratifying results,

  'that I should substitute for the term I used just now? For the

  misplaced expression?'

  'Louisa,' returned her father, 'it appears to me that nothing can

  be plainer. Confining yourself rigidly to Fact, the question of

  Fact you state to yourself is: Does Mr. Bounderby ask me to marry

  him? Yes, he does. The sole remaining question then is: Shall I

  marry him? I think nothing can be plainer than that?'

  'Shall I marry him?' repeated Louisa, with great deliberation.

  'Precisely. And it is satisfactory to me, as your father, my dear

  Louisa, to know that you do not come to the consideration of that

 

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