Hard Times

by Dickens, Charles

THE Gradgrind party wanted assistance in cutting the throats of the

  Graces. They went about recruiting; and where could they enlist

  recruits more hopefully, than among the fine gentlemen who, having

  found out everything to be worth nothing, were equally ready for

  anything?

  Moreover, the healthy spirits who had mounted to this sublime

  height were attractive to many of the Gradgrind school. They liked

  fine gentlemen; they pretended that they did not, but they did.

  They became exhausted in imitation of them; and they yaw-yawed in

  their speech like them; and they served out, with an enervated air,

  the little mouldy rations of political economy, on which they

  regaled their disciples. There never before was seen on earth such

  a wonderful hybrid race as was thus produced.

  Among the fine gentlemen not regularly belonging to the Gradgrind

  school, there was one of a good family and a better appearance,

  with a happy turn of humour which had told immensely with the House

  of Commons on the occasion of his entertaining it with his (and the

  Board of Directors) view of a railway accident, in which the most

  careful officers ever known, employed by the most liberal managers

  ever heard of, assisted by the finest mechanical contrivances ever

  devised, the whole in action on the best line ever constructed, had

  killed five people and wounded thirty-two, by a casualty without

  which the excellence of the whole system would have been positively

  incomplete. Among the slain was a cow, and among the scattered

  articles unowned, a widow's cap. And the honourable member had so

  tickled the House (which has a delicate sense of humour) by putting

  the cap on the cow, that it became impatient of any serious

  reference to the Coroner's Inquest, and brought the railway off

  with Cheers and Laughter.

  Now, this gentleman had a younger brother of still better

  appearance than himself, who had tried life as a Cornet of

  Dragoons, and found it a bore; and had afterwards tried it in the

  train of an English minister abroad, and found it a bore; and had

  then strolled to Jerusalem, and got bored there; and had then gone

  yachting about the world, and got bored everywhere. To whom this

  honourable and jocular, member fraternally said one day, 'Jem,

  there's a good opening among the hard Fact fellows, and they want

  men. I wonder you don't go in for statistics.' Jem, rather taken

  by the novelty of the idea, and very hard up for a change, was as

  ready to 'go in' for statistics as for anything else. So, he went

  in. He coached himself up with a blue-book or two; and his brother

  put it about among the hard Fact fellows, and said, 'If you want to

  bring in, for any place, a handsome dog who can make you a devilish

  good speech, look after my brother Jem, for he's your man.' After

  a few dashes in the public meeting way, Mr. Gradgrind and a council

  of political sages approved of Jem, and it was resolved to send him

  down to Coketown, to become known there and in the neighbourhood.

  Hence the letter Jem had last night shown to Mrs. Sparsit, which

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  Mr. Bounderby now held in his hand; superscribed, 'Josiah

  Bounderby, Esquire, Banker, Coketown. Specially to introduce James

  Harthouse, Esquire. Thomas Gradgrind.'

  Within an hour of the receipt of this dispatch and Mr. James

  Harthouse's card, Mr. Bounderby put on his hat and went down to the

  Hotel. There he found Mr. James Harthouse looking out of window,

  in a state of mind so disconsolate, that he was already halfdisposed

  to 'go in' for something else.

  'My name, sir,' said his visitor, 'is Josiah Bounderby, of

  Coketown.'

  Mr. James Harthouse was very happy indeed (though he scarcely

  looked so) to have a pleasure he had long expected.

  'Coketown, sir,' said Bounderby, obstinately taking a chair, 'is

  not the kind of place you have been accustomed to. Therefore, if

  you will allow me - or whether you will or not, for I am a plain

  man - I'll tell you something about it before we go any further.'

  Mr. Harthouse would be charmed.

  'Don't be too sure of that,' said Bounderby. 'I don't promise it.

  First of all, you see our smoke. That's meat and drink to us.

  It's the healthiest thing in the world in all respects, and

  particularly for the lungs. If you are one of those who want us to

  consume it, I differ from you. We are not going to wear the

  bottoms of our boilers out any faster than we wear 'em out now, for

  all the humbugging sentiment in Great Britain and Ireland.'

  By way of 'going in' to the fullest extent, Mr. Harthouse rejoined,

  'Mr. Bounderby, I assure you I am entirely and completely of your

  way of thinking. On conviction.'

  'I am glad to hear it,' said Bounderby. 'Now, you have heard a lot

  of talk about the work in our mills, no doubt. You have? Very

  good. I'll state the fact of it to you. It's the pleasantest work

  there is, and it's the lightest work there is, and it's the bestpaid

  work there is. More than that, we couldn't improve the mills

  themselves, unless we laid down Turkey carpets on the floors.

  Which we're not a-going to do.'

  'Mr. Bounderby, perfectly right.'

  'Lastly,' said Bounderby, 'as to our Hands. There's not a Hand in

  this town, sir, man, woman, or child, but has one ultimate object

  in life. That object is, to be fed on turtle soup and venison with

  a gold spoon. Now, they're not a-going - none of 'em - ever to be

  fed on turtle soup and venison with a gold spoon. And now you know

  the place.'

  Mr. Harthouse professed himself in the highest degree instructed

  and refreshed, by this condensed epitome of the whole Coketown

  question.

  'Why, you see,' replied Mr. Bounderby, 'it suits my disposition to

  have a full understanding with a man, particularly with a public

  man, when I make his acquaintance. I have only one thing more to

  say to you, Mr. Harthouse, before assuring you of the pleasure with

  which I shall respond, to the utmost of my poor ability, to my

  friend Tom Gradgrind's letter of introduction. You are a man of

  family. Don't you deceive yourself by supposing for a moment that

  I am a man of family. I am a bit of dirty riff-raff, and a genuine

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  scrap of tag, rag, and bobtail.'

  If anything could have exalted Jem's interest in Mr. Bounderby, it

  would have been this very circumstance. Or, so he told him.

  'So now,' said Bounderby, 'we may shake hands on equal terms. I

  say, equal terms, because although I know what I am, and the exact

  depth of the gutter I have lifted myself out of, better than any

  man does, I am as proud as you are. I am just as proud as you are.

  Having now asserted my independence in a proper manner, I may come

  to how do you find yourself, and I hope you're pretty well.'

  The better, Mr. Harthouse gave him to understand as they shook

  hands, for the salubrious air of Coketown. Mr. Bounderby received

  the answer with favou
r.

  'Perhaps you know,' said he, 'or perhaps you don't know, I married

  Tom Gradgrind's daughter. If you have nothing better to do than to

  walk up town with me, I shall be glad to introduce you to Tom

  Gradgrind's daughter.'

  'Mr. Bounderby,' said Jem, 'you anticipate my dearest wishes.'

  They went out without further discourse; and Mr. Bounderby piloted

  the new acquaintance who so strongly contrasted with him, to the

  private red brick dwelling, with the black outside shutters, the

  green inside blinds, and the black street door up the two white

  steps. In the drawing-room of which mansion, there presently

  entered to them the most remarkable girl Mr. James Harthouse had

  ever seen. She was so constrained, and yet so careless; so

  reserved, and yet so watchful; so cold and proud, and yet so

  sensitively ashamed of her husband's braggart humility - from which

  she shrunk as if every example of it were a cut or a blow; that it

  was quite a new sensation to observe her. In face she was no less

  remarkable than in manner. Her features were handsome; but their

  natural play was so locked up, that it seemed impossible to guess

  at their genuine expression. Utterly indifferent, perfectly selfreliant,

  never at a loss, and yet never at her ease, with her

  figure in company with them there, and her mind apparently quite

  alone - it was of no use 'going in' yet awhile to comprehend this

  girl, for she baffled all penetration.

  From the mistress of the house, the visitor glanced to the house

  itself. There was no mute sign of a woman in the room. No

  graceful little adornment, no fanciful little device, however

  trivial, anywhere expressed her influence. Cheerless and

  comfortless, boastfully and doggedly rich, there the room stared at

  its present occupants, unsoftened and unrelieved by the least trace

  of any womanly occupation. As Mr. Bounderby stood in the midst of

  his household gods, so those unrelenting divinities occupied their

  places around Mr. Bounderby, and they were worthy of one another,

  and well matched.

  'This, sir,' said Bounderby, 'is my wife, Mrs. Bounderby: Tom

  Gradgrind's eldest daughter. Loo, Mr. James Harthouse. Mr.

  Harthouse has joined your father's muster-roll. If he is not Torn

  Gradgrind's colleague before long, I believe we shall at least hear

  of him in connexion with one of our neighbouring towns. You

  observe, Mr. Harthouse, that my wife is my junior. I don't know

  what she saw in me to marry me, but she saw something in me, I

  suppose, or she wouldn't have married me. She has lots of

  expensive knowledge, sir, political and otherwise. If you want to

  cram for anything, I should be troubled to recommend you to a

  better adviser than Loo Bounderby.'

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  To a more agreeable adviser, or one from whom he would be more

  likely to learn, Mr. Harthouse could never be recommended.

  'Come!' said his host. 'If you're in the complimentary line,

  you'll get on here, for you'll meet with no competition. I have

  never been in the way of learning compliments myself, and I don't

  profess to understand the art of paying 'em. In fact, despise 'em.

  But, your bringing-up was different from mine; mine was a real

  thing, by George! You're a gentleman, and I don't pretend to be

  one. I am Josiah Bounderby of Coketown, and that's enough for me.

  However, though I am not influenced by manners and station, Loo

  Bounderby may be. She hadn't my advantages - disadvantages you

  would call 'em, but I call 'em advantages - so you'll not waste

  your power, I dare say.'

  'Mr. Bounderby,' said Jem, turning with a smile to Louisa, 'is a

  noble animal in a comparatively natural state, quite free from the

  harness in which a conventional hack like myself works.'

  'You respect Mr. Bounderby very much,' she quietly returned. 'It

  is natural that you should.'

  He was disgracefully thrown out, for a gentleman who had seen so

  much of the world, and thought, 'Now, how am I to take this?'

  'You are going to devote yourself, as I gather from what Mr.

  Bounderby has said, to the service of your country. You have made

  up your mind,' said Louisa, still standing before him where she had

  first stopped - in all the singular contrariety of her selfpossession,

  and her being obviously very ill at ease - 'to show the

  nation the way out of all its difficulties.'

  'Mrs. Bounderby,' he returned, laughing, 'upon my honour, no. I

  will make no such pretence to you. I have seen a little, here and

  there, up and down; I have found it all to be very worthless, as

  everybody has, and as some confess they have, and some do not; and

  I am going in for your respected father's opinions - really because

  I have no choice of opinions, and may as well back them as anything

  else.'

  'Have you none of your own?' asked Louisa.

  'I have not so much as the slightest predilection left. I assure

  you I attach not the least importance to any opinions. The result

  of the varieties of boredom I have undergone, is a conviction

  (unless conviction is too industrious a word for the lazy sentiment

  I entertain on the subject), that any set of ideas will do just as

  much good as any other set, and just as much harm as any other set.

  There's an English family with a charming Italian motto. What will

  be, will be. It's the only truth going!'

  This vicious assumption of honesty in dishonesty - a vice so

  dangerous, so deadly, and so common - seemed, he observed, a little

  to impress her in his favour. He followed up the advantage, by

  saying in his pleasantest manner: a manner to which she might

  attach as much or as little meaning as she pleased: 'The side that

  can prove anything in a line of units, tens, hundreds, and

  thousands, Mrs. Bounderby, seems to me to afford the most fun, and

  to give a man the best chance. I am quite as much attached to it

  as if I believed it. I am quite ready to go in for it, to the same

  extent as if I believed it. And what more could I possibly do, if

  I did believe it!'

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  'You are a singular politician,' said Louisa.

  'Pardon me; I have not even that merit. We are the largest party

  in the state, I assure you, Mrs. Bounderby, if we all fell out of

  our adopted ranks and were reviewed together.'

  Mr. Bounderby, who had been in danger of bursting in silence,

  interposed here with a project for postponing the family dinner

  till half-past six, and taking Mr. James Harthouse in the meantime

  on a round of visits to the voting and interesting notabilities of

  Coketown and its vicinity. The round of visits was made; and Mr.

  James Harthouse, with a discreet use of his blue coaching, came off

  triumphantly, though with a considerable accession of boredom.

  In the evening, he found the dinner-table laid for four, but they

  sat down only three. It was an appropriate occasion for Mr.

  Bounderby to discuss the flavour of the hap'orth of stewed eels he


  had purchased in the streets at eight years old; and also of the

  inferior water, specially used for laying the dust, with which he

  had washed down that repast. He likewise entertained his guest

  over the soup and fish, with the calculation that he (Bounderby)

  had eaten in his youth at least three horses under the guise of

  polonies and saveloys. These recitals, Jem, in a languid manner,

  received with 'charming!' every now and then; and they probably

  would have decided him to 'go in' for Jerusalem again to-morrow

  morning, had he been less curious respecting Louisa.

  'Is there nothing,' he thought, glancing at her as she sat at the

  head of the table, where her youthful figure, small and slight, but

  very graceful, looked as pretty as it looked misplaced; 'is there

  nothing that will move that face?'

  Yes! By Jupiter, there was something, and here it was, in an

  unexpected shape. Tom appeared. She changed as the door opened,

  and broke into a beaming smile.

  A beautiful smile. Mr. James Harthouse might not have thought so

  much of it, but that he had wondered so long at her impassive face.

  She put out her hand - a pretty little soft hand; and her fingers

  closed upon her brother's, as if she would have carried them to her

  lips.

  'Ay, ay?' thought the visitor. 'This whelp is the only creature

  she cares for. So, so!'

  The whelp was presented, and took his chair. The appellation was

  not flattering, but not unmerited.

  'When I was your age, young Tom,' said Bounderby, 'I was punctual,

  or I got no dinner!'

  'When you were my age,' resumed Tom, 'you hadn't a wrong balance to

  get right, and hadn't to dress afterwards.'

  'Never mind that now,' said Bounderby.

  'Well, then,' grumbled Tom. 'Don't begin with me.'

  'Mrs. Bounderby,' said Harthouse, perfectly hearing this understrain

  as it went on; 'your brother's face is quite familiar to me.

  Can I have seen him abroad? Or at some public school, perhaps?'

  'No,' she resumed, quite interested, 'he has never been abroad yet,

  and was educated here, at home. Tom, love, I am telling Mr.

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  Harthouse that he never saw you abroad.'

  'No such luck, sir,' said Tom.

  There was little enough in him to brighten her face, for he was a

  sullen young fellow, and ungracious in his manner even to her. So