Hard Times

  would have been to buy it for as little as he could possibly give,

  and sell it for as much as he could possibly get; it having been

  clearly ascertained by philosophers that in this is comprised the

  whole duty of man - not a part of man's duty, but the whole.

  'Pretty fair, ma'am. With the usual exception, ma'am,' repeated

  Bitzer.

  'Ah - h!' said Mrs. Sparsit, shaking her head over her tea-cup, and

  taking a long gulp.

  'Mr. Thomas, ma'am, I doubt Mr. Thomas very much, ma'am, I don't

  like his ways at all.'

  'Bitzer,' said Mrs. Sparsit, in a very impressive manner, 'do you

  recollect my having said anything to you respecting names?'

  'I beg your pardon, ma'am. It's quite true that you did object to

  names being used, and they're always best avoided.'

  'Please to remember that I have a charge here,' said Mrs. Sparsit,

  with her air of state. 'I hold a trust here, Bitzer, under Mr.

  Bounderby. However improbable both Mr. Bounderby and myself might

  have deemed it years ago, that he would ever become my patron,

  making me an annual compliment, I cannot but regard him in that

  light. From Mr. Bounderby I have received every acknowledgment of

  my social station, and every recognition of my family descent, that

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  Dickens, Charles - Hard Times

  I could possibly expect. More, far more. Therefore, to my patron

  I will be scrupulously true. And I do not consider, I will not

  consider, I cannot consider,' said Mrs. Sparsit, with a most

  extensive stock on hand of honour and morality, 'that I should be

  scrupulously true, if I allowed names to be mentioned under this

  roof, that are unfortunately - most unfortunately - no doubt of

  that - connected with his.'

  Bitzer knuckled his forehead again, and again begged pardon.

  'No, Bitzer,' continued Mrs. Sparsit, 'say an individual, and I

  will hear you; say Mr. Thomas, and you must excuse me.'

  'With the usual exception, ma'am,' said Bitzer, trying back, 'of an

  individual.'

  'Ah - h!' Mrs. Sparsit repeated the ejaculation, the shake of the

  head over her tea-cup, and the long gulp, as taking up the

  conversation again at the point where it had been interrupted.

  'An individual, ma'am,' said Bitzer, 'has never been what he ought

  to have been, since he first came into the place. He is a

  dissipated, extravagant idler. He is not worth his salt, ma'am.

  He wouldn't get it either, if he hadn't a friend and relation at

  court, ma'am!'

  'Ah - h!' said Mrs. Sparsit, with another melancholy shake of her

  head.

  'I only hope, ma'am,' pursued Bitzer, 'that his friend and relation

  may not supply him with the means of carrying on. Otherwise,

  ma'am, we know out of whose pocket that money comes.'

  'Ah - h!' sighed Mrs. Sparsit again, with another melancholy shake

  of her head.

  'He is to be pitied, ma'am. The last party I have alluded to, is

  to be pitied, ma'am,' said Bitzer.

  'Yes, Bitzer,' said Mrs. Sparsit. 'I have always pitied the

  delusion, always.'

  'As to an individual, ma'am,' said Bitzer, dropping his voice and

  drawing nearer, 'he is as improvident as any of the people in this

  town. And you know what their improvidence is, ma'am. No one

  could wish to know it better than a lady of your eminence does.'

  'They would do well,' returned Mrs. Sparsit, 'to take example by

  you, Bitzer.'

  'Thank you, ma'am. But, since you do refer to me, now look at me,

  ma'am. I have put by a little, ma'am, already. That gratuity

  which I receive at Christmas, ma'am: I never touch it. I don't

  even go the length of my wages, though they're not high, ma'am.

  Why can't they do as I have done, ma'am? What one person can do,

  another can do.'

  This, again, was among the fictions of Coketown. Any capitalist

  there, who had made sixty thousand pounds out of sixpence, always

  professed to wonder why the sixty thousand nearest Hands didn't

  each make sixty thousand pounds out of sixpence, and more or less

  reproached them every one for not accomplishing the little feat.

  What I did you can do. Why don't you go and do it?

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  'As to their wanting recreations, ma'am,' said Bitzer, 'it's stuff

  and nonsense. I don't want recreations. I never did, and I never

  shall; I don't like 'em. As to their combining together; there are

  many of them, I have no doubt, that by watching and informing upon

  one another could earn a trifle now and then, whether in money or

  good will, and improve their livelihood. Then, why don't they

  improve it, ma'am! It's the first consideration of a rational

  creature, and it's what they pretend to want.'

  'Pretend indeed!' said Mrs. Sparsit.

  'I am sure we are constantly hearing, ma'am, till it becomes quite

  nauseous, concerning their wives and families,' said Bitzer. 'Why

  look at me, ma'am! I don't want a wife and family. Why should

  they?'

  'Because they are improvident,' said Mrs. Sparsit.

  'Yes, ma'am,' returned Bitzer, 'that's where it is. If they were

  more provident and less perverse, ma'am, what would they do? They

  would say, "While my hat covers my family," or "while my bonnet

  covers my family," - as the case might be, ma'am - "I have only one

  to feed, and that's the person I most like to feed."'

  'To be sure,' assented Mrs. Sparsit, eating muffin.

  'Thank you, ma'am,' said Bitzer, knuckling his forehead again, in

  return for the favour of Mrs. Sparsit's improving conversation.

  'Would you wish a little more hot water, ma'am, or is there

  anything else that I could fetch you?'

  'Nothing just now, Bitzer.'

  'Thank you, ma'am. I shouldn't wish to disturb you at your meals,

  ma'am, particularly tea, knowing your partiality for it,' said

  Bitzer, craning a little to look over into the street from where he

  stood; 'but there's a gentleman been looking up here for a minute

  or so, ma'am, and he has come across as if he was going to knock.

  That is his knock, ma'am, no doubt.'

  He stepped to the window; and looking out, and drawing in his head

  again, confirmed himself with, 'Yes, ma'am. Would you wish the

  gentleman to be shown in, ma'am?'

  'I don't know who it can be,' said Mrs. Sparsit, wiping her mouth

  and arranging her mittens.

  'A stranger, ma'am, evidently.'

  'What a stranger can want at the Bank at this time of the evening,

  unless he comes upon some business for which he is too late, I

  don't know,' said Mrs. Sparsit, 'but I hold a charge in this

  establishment from Mr. Bounderby, and I will never shrink from it.

  If to see him is any part of the duty I have accepted, I will see

  him. Use your own discretion, Bitzer.'

  Here the visitor, all unconscious of Mrs. Sparsit's magnanimous

  words, repeated his knock so loudly that the light porter hastened

  down to open the door; while Mrs. Sparsit took the precaution of

  concealing her little table, with all its appliances upon it, in a

  cu
pboard, and then decamped up-stairs, that she might appear, if

  needful, with the greater dignity.

  'If you please, ma'am, the gentleman would wish to see you,' said

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  Dickens, Charles - Hard Times

  Bitzer, with his light eye at Mrs. Sparsit's keyhole. So, Mrs.

  Sparsit, who had improved the interval by touching up her cap, took

  her classical features down-stairs again, and entered the boardroom

  in the manner of a Roman matron going outside the city walls

  to treat with an invading general.

  The visitor having strolled to the window, and being then engaged

  in looking carelessly out, was as unmoved by this impressive entry

  as man could possibly be. He stood whistling to himself with all

  imaginable coolness, with his hat still on, and a certain air of

  exhaustion upon him, in part arising from excessive summer, and in

  part from excessive gentility. For it was to be seen with half an

  eye that he was a thorough gentleman, made to the model of the

  time; weary of everything, and putting no more faith in anything

  than Lucifer.

  'I believe, sir,' quoth Mrs. Sparsit, 'you wished to see me.'

  'I beg your pardon,' he said, turning and removing his hat; 'pray

  excuse me.'

  'Humph!' thought Mrs. Sparsit, as she made a stately bend. 'Five

  and thirty, good-looking, good figure, good teeth, good voice, good

  breeding, well-dressed, dark hair, bold eyes.' All which Mrs.

  Sparsit observed in her womanly way - like the Sultan who put his

  head in the pail of water - merely in dipping down and coming up

  again.

  'Please to be seated, sir,' said Mrs. Sparsit.

  'Thank you. Allow me.' He placed a chair for her, but remained

  himself carelessly lounging against the table. 'I left my servant

  at the railway looking after the luggage - very heavy train and

  vast quantity of it in the van - and strolled on, looking about me.

  Exceedingly odd place. Will you allow me to ask you if it's always

  as black as this?'

  'In general much blacker,' returned Mrs. Sparsit, in her

  uncompromising way.

  'Is it possible! Excuse me: you are not a native, I think?'

  'No, sir,' returned Mrs. Sparsit. 'It was once my good or ill

  fortune, as it may be - before I became a widow - to move in a very

  different sphere. My husband was a Powler.'

  'Beg your pardon, really!' said the stranger. 'Was - ?'

  Mrs. Sparsit repeated, 'A Powler.'

  'Powler Family,' said the stranger, after reflecting a few moments.

  Mrs. Sparsit signified assent. The stranger seemed a little more

  fatigued than before.

  'You must be very much bored here?' was the inference he drew from

  the communication.

  'I am the servant of circumstances, sir,' said Mrs. Sparsit, 'and I

  have long adapted myself to the governing power of my life.'

  'Very philosophical,' returned the stranger, 'and very exemplary

  and laudable, and - ' It seemed to be scarcely worth his while to

  finish the sentence, so he played with his watch-chain wearily.

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  'May I be permitted to ask, sir,' said Mrs. Sparsit, 'to what I am

  indebted for the favour of - '

  'Assuredly,' said the stranger. 'Much obliged to you for reminding

  me. I am the bearer of a letter of introduction to Mr. Bounderby,

  the banker. Walking through this extraordinarily black town, while

  they were getting dinner ready at the hotel, I asked a fellow whom

  I met; one of the working people; who appeared to have been taking

  a shower-bath of something fluffy, which I assume to be the raw

  material - '

  Mrs. Sparsit inclined her head.

  ' - Raw material - where Mr. Bounderby, the banker, might reside.

  Upon which, misled no doubt by the word Banker, he directed me to

  the Bank. Fact being, I presume, that Mr. Bounderby the Banker

  does not reside in the edifice in which I have the honour of

  offering this explanation?'

  'No, sir,' returned Mrs. Sparsit, 'he does not.'

  'Thank you. I had no intention of delivering my letter at the

  present moment, nor have I. But strolling on to the Bank to kill

  time, and having the good fortune to observe at the window,'

  towards which he languidly waved his hand, then slightly bowed, 'a

  lady of a very superior and agreeable appearance, I considered that

  I could not do better than take the liberty of asking that lady

  where Mr. Bounderby the Banker does live. Which I accordingly

  venture, with all suitable apologies, to do.'

  The inattention and indolence of his manner were sufficiently

  relieved, to Mrs. Sparsit's thinking, by a certain gallantry at

  ease, which offered her homage too. Here he was, for instance, at

  this moment, all but sitting on the table, and yet lazily bending

  over her, as if he acknowledged an attraction in her that made her

  charming - in her way.

  'Banks, I know, are always suspicious, and officially must be,'

  said the stranger, whose lightness and smoothness of speech were

  pleasant likewise; suggesting matter far more sensible and humorous

  than it ever contained - which was perhaps a shrewd device of the

  founder of this numerous sect, whosoever may have been that great

  man: 'therefore I may observe that my letter - here it is - is

  from the member for this place - Gradgrind - whom I have had the

  pleasure of knowing in London.'

  Mrs. Sparsit recognized the hand, intimated that such confirmation

  was quite unnecessary, and gave Mr. Bounderby's address, with all

  needful clues and directions in aid.

  'Thousand thanks,' said the stranger. 'Of course you know the

  Banker well?'

  'Yes, sir,' rejoined Mrs. Sparsit. 'In my dependent relation

  towards him, I have known him ten years.'

  'Quite an eternity! I think he married Gradgrind's daughter?'

  'Yes,' said Mrs. Sparsit, suddenly compressing her mouth, 'he had

  that - honour.'

  'The lady is quite a philosopher, I am told?'

  'Indeed, sir,' said Mrs. Sparsit. 'Is she?'

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  'Excuse my impertinent curiosity,' pursued the stranger, fluttering

  over Mrs. Sparsit's eyebrows, with a propitiatory air, 'but you

  know the family, and know the world. I am about to know the

  family, and may have much to do with them. Is the lady so very

  alarming? Her father gives her such a portentously hard-headed

  reputation, that I have a burning desire to know. Is she

  absolutely unapproachable? Repellently and stunningly clever? I

  see, by your meaning smile, you think not. You have poured balm

  into my anxious soul. As to age, now. Forty? Five and thirty?'

  Mrs. Sparsit laughed outright. 'A chit,' said she. 'Not twenty

  when she was married.'

  'I give you my honour, Mrs. Powler,' returned the stranger,

  detaching himself from the table, 'that I never was so astonished

  in my life!'

  It really did seem to impress him, to the utmost extent of his

  capacity of being impressed. He looked at his informant for full a

  quarter
of a minute, and appeared to have the surprise in his mind

  all the time. 'I assure you, Mrs. Powler,' he then said, much

  exhausted, 'that the father's manner prepared me for a grim and

  stony maturity. I am obliged to you, of all things, for correcting

  so absurd a mistake. Pray excuse my intrusion. Many thanks. Good

  day!'

  He bowed himself out; and Mrs. Sparsit, hiding in the window

  curtain, saw him languishing down the street on the shady side of

  the way, observed of all the town.

  'What do you think of the gentleman, Bitzer?' she asked the light

  porter, when he came to take away.

  'Spends a deal of money on his dress, ma'am.'

  'It must be admitted,' said Mrs. Sparsit, 'that it's very

  tasteful.'

  'Yes, ma'am,' returned Bitzer, 'if that's worth the money.'

  'Besides which, ma'am,' resumed Bitzer, while he was polishing the

  table, 'he looks to me as if he gamed.'

  'It's immoral to game,' said Mrs. Sparsit.

  'It's ridiculous, ma'am,' said Bitzer, 'because the chances are

  against the players.'

  Whether it was that the heat prevented Mrs. Sparsit from working,

  or whether it was that her hand was out, she did no work that

  night. She sat at the window, when the sun began to sink behind

  the smoke; she sat there, when the smoke was burning red, when the

  colour faded from it, when darkness seemed to rise slowly out of

  the ground, and creep upward, upward, up to the house-tops, up the

  church steeple, up to the summits of the factory chimneys, up to

  the sky. Without a candle in the room, Mrs. Sparsit sat at the

  window, with her hands before her, not thinking much of the sounds

  of evening; the whooping of boys, the barking of dogs, the rumbling

  of wheels, the steps and voices of passengers, the shrill street

  cries, the clogs upon the pavement when it was their hour for going

  by, the shutting-up of shop-shutters. Not until the light porter

  announced that her nocturnal sweetbread was ready, did Mrs. Sparsit

  arouse herself from her reverie, and convey her dense black

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  eyebrows - by that time creased with meditation, as if they needed

  ironing out-up-stairs.

  'O, you Fool!' said Mrs. Sparsit, when she was alone at her supper.

  Whom she meant, she did not say; but she could scarcely have meant

  the sweetbread.

  CHAPTER II - MR. JAMES HARTHOUSE