The latter part of this speech was addressed to Mr. Gradgrind, who received it with a grave inclination of his head, and then remarked:
"The only observation I will make to you, Jupe, in the way of influencing your decision is, that it is highly desirable to have a sound practical education, and that even your father himself, from what I understand, appears, on your behalf, to have known and felt that much."
The last words had a visible effect upon her. She stopped in her wild crying, a little detached herself from Emma Gordon, and turned her face full upon her patron. The whole company perceived the force of the change, and drew a long breath together that plainly said, "She will go!"
"Be sure you know your own mind, Jupe," Mr. Gradgrind cautioned her. "I say no more. Be sure you know your own mind!"
"When Father comes back," cried the girl, bursting into tears again after a minute's silence, "how will he ever find me if I go away?"
"You may be quite at ease," said Mr. Gradgrind, calmly; he worked out the whole matter like a sum: "You may be quite at ease, Jupe, on that score. In such a case, your father, I apprehend, must find out Mr.----"
"Thleary. Thath my name, Thquire. Not athamed of it. Known all over England, and alwayth payth hith way."
"Must find out Mr. Sleary, who would then let him know where you went. I should have no power of keeping you against his wish, and he would have no difficulty at any time in finding Mr. Thomas Gradgrind of Coketown. I am well known."
"Well known," assented Mr. Sleary, rolling his loose eye. "You're one of the thort, Thquire, that keepth a prethiouth thight of money out of the houthe. But never mind that at prethent."
There was another silence, and then she exclaimed, sobbing with her hands before her face, "Oh, give me my clothes, give me my clothes, and let me go away before I break my heart!"
The women sadly bestirred themselves to get the clothes together--it was soon done, for they were not many--and to pack them in a basket which had often travelled with them. Sissy sat all the time upon the ground, still sobbing and covering her eyes. Mr. Gradgrind and his friend Bounderby stood near the door, ready to take her away. Mr. Sleary stood in the middle of the room, with the male members of the company about him, exactly as he would have stood in the centre of the ring during his daughter Josephine's performance. He wanted nothing but his whip.
The basket packed in silence, they brought her bonnet to her, and smoothed her disordered hair, and put it on. Then they pressed about her and bent over her in very natural attitudes, kissing and embracing her; and brought the children to take leave of her; and were a tender-hearted, simple, foolish set of women altogether.
"Now, Jupe," said Mr. Gradgrind, "if you are quite determined, come!"
But she had to take her farewell of the male part of the company yet, and every one of them had to unfold his arms (for they all assumed the professional attitude when they found themselves near Sleary) and give her a parting kiss--Master Kidderminster excepted, in whose young nature there was an original flavour of the misanthrope, who was also known to have harboured matrimonial views, and who moodily withdrew. Mr. Sleary was reserved until the last. Opening his arms wide, he took her by both her hands and would have sprung her up and down, after the riding-master manner of congratulating young ladies on their dismounting from a rapid act, but there was no rebound in Sissy and she only stood before him crying.
"Good-bye, my dear!" said Sleary. "You'll make your fortune, I hope, and none of our poor folkth will ever trouble you, I'll 'pound it. I with your father hadn't taken hith dog with him; ith a ill-conwenienth to have the dog out of the billth. But on thecond thoughth, he wouldn't have performed without hith mathter, tho ith ath broad ath ith long!"
With that he regarded her attentively with his fixed eye, surveyed his company with his loose one, kissed her, shook his head, and handed her to Mr. Gradgrind as to a horse.
"There the ith, Thquire," he said, sweeping her with a professional glance as if she were being adjusted in her seat, "and the'll do you juthtithe. Good-bye, Thethilia!"
"Good-bye, Cecilia!" "Good-bye, Sissy!" "God bless you, dear!" in a variety of voices from all the room.
But the riding-master eye had observed the bottle of the nine oils in her bosom, and he now interposed with, "Leave the bottle, my dear; ith large to carry; it will be of no uthe to you now. Give it to me!"
"No, no!" she said, in another burst of tears. "Oh, no! Pray let me keep it for Father till he comes back! He will want it when he comes back. He had never thought of going away when he sent me for it. I must keep it for him, if you please!"
"Tho be it, my dear. (You thee how it ith, Thquire!) Farewell, Thethilia! My latht wordth to you ith thith, Thtick to the termth of your engagement, be obedient to the Thquire, and forget uth. But if, when you're grown up and married and well off, you come upon any horthe-riding ever, don't be hard upon it, don't be croth with it, give it a bethpeak if you can, and think you might do wurth. People must be amuthed, Thquire, thomehow," continued Sleary, rendered more pursy than ever by so much talking; "they can't be alwayth a-working, nor yet they can't be alwayth a-learning. Make the betht of uth, not the wurtht. I've got my living out of the horthe-riding all my life, I know; but I conthider that I lay down the philothophy of the thubject when I thay to you, Thquire, make the betht of uth, not the wurtht!"
The Sleary philosophy was propounded as they went downstairs; and the fixed eye of Philosophy--and its rolling eye, too--soon lost the three figures and the basket in the darkness of the street.
CHAPTER VII
Mrs. Sparsit
MR. BOUNDERBY being a bachelor, an elderly lady presided over his establishment, in consideration of a certain annual stipend. Mrs. Sparsit was this lady's name, and she was a prominent figure in attendance on Mr. Bounderby's car as it rolled along in triumph with the Bully of humility inside.
For Mrs. Sparsit had not only seen different days but was highly connected. She had a great-aunt living in these very times called Lady Scadgers. Mr. Sparsit, deceased, of whom she was the relict, had been by the mother's side what Mrs. Sparsit still called "a Powler." Strangers of limited information and dull apprehension were sometimes observed not to know what a Powler was, and even to appear uncertain whether it might be a business, or a political party, or a profession of faith. The better class of minds, however, did not need to be informed that the Powlers were an ancient stock, who could trace themselves so exceedingly far back that it was not surprising if they sometimes lost themselves--which they had rather frequently done, as respected horse-flesh, blind-hookey, Hebrew monetary transactions, and the Insolvent Debtors' Court.
The late Mr. Sparsit, being by the mother's side a Powler, married this lady, being by the father's side a Scadgers. Lady Scadgers (an immensely fat old woman, with an inordinate appetite for butcher's meat, and a mysterious leg which had now refused to get out of bed for fourteen years) contrived the marriage at a period when Sparsit was just of age, and chiefly noticeable for a slender body, weakly supported on two long slim props, and surmounted by no head worth mentioning. He inherited a fair fortune from his uncle, but owed it all before he came into it, and spent it twice over immediately afterwards. Thus, when he died, at twenty-four (the scene of his decease, Calais, and the cause, brandy), he did not leave his widow, from whom he had been separated soon after the honeymoon, in affluent circumstances. That bereaved lady, fifteen years older than he, fell presently at deadly feud with her only relative, Lady Scadgers; and, partly to spite her ladyship, and partly to maintain herself, went out at a salary. And here she was now, in her elderly days, with the Coriolanian style of nose and the dense black eyebrows which had captivated Sparsit, making Mr. Bounderby's tea as he took his breakfast.
If Bounderby had been a Conqueror, and Mrs. Sparsit a captive Princess whom he took about as a feature in his state-processions, he could not have made a greater flourish with her than he habitually did. Just as it belonged to his boastfulness to depreciate his own extr
action, so it belonged to it to exalt Mrs. Sparsit's. In the measure that he would not allow his own youth to have been attended by a single favourable circumstance, he brightened Mrs. Sparsit's juvenile career with every possible advantage, and showered waggon-loads of early roses all over that lady's path. "And yet, sir," he would say, "how does it turn out after all? Why here she is at a hundred a year (I give her a hundred, which she is pleased to term handsome), keeping the house of Josiah Bounderby of Coketown!"
Nay, he made this foil of his so very widely known that third parties took it up and handled it on some occasions with considerable briskness. It was one of the most exasperating attributes of Bounderby that he not only sang his own praises but stimulated other men to sing them. There was a moral infection of clap-trap in him. Strangers, modest enough elsewhere, started up at dinners in Coketown, and boasted, in quite a rampant way, of Bounderby. They made him out to be the Royal Arms, the Union-Jack, Magna Charta, John Bull, Habeas Corpus, the Bill of Rights, An Englishman's house is his castle, Church and State, and God save the Queen, all put together. And as often (and it was very often) as an orator of this kind brought into his peroration
Princes and lords may flourish or may fade,
A breath can make them, as a breath has made
--it was, for certain, more or less understood among the company that he had heard of Mrs. Sparsit.
"Mr. Bounderby," said Mrs. Sparsit, "you are unusually slow, sir, with your breakfast this morning."
"Why, ma'am," he returned, "I am thinking about Tom Gradgrind's whim"--Tom Gradgrind, for a bluff independent manner of speaking, as if somebody were always endeavouring to bribe him with immense sums to say Thomas, and he wouldn't--"Tom Gradgrind's whim, ma'am, of bringing up the tumbling-girl."
"The girl is now waiting to know," said Mrs. Sparsit, "whether she is to go straight to the school or up to the Lodge."
"She must wait, ma'am," answered Bounderby, "till I know myself. We shall have Tom Gradgrind down here presently, I suppose. If he should wish her to remain here a day or two longer, of course she can, ma'am."
"Of course she can if you wish it, Mr. Bounderby."
"I told him I would give her a shake-down here, last night, in order that he might sleep on it before he decided to let her have any association with Louisa."
"Indeed, Mr. Bounderby? Very thoughtful of you!"
Mrs. Sparsit's Coriolanian nose underwent a slight expansion of the nostrils, and her black eyebrows contracted as she took a sip of tea.
"It's tolerably clear to me," said Bounderby, "that the little puss can get small good out of such companionship."
"Are you speaking of young Miss Gradgrind, Mr. Bounderby?"
"Yes, ma'am, I'm speaking of Louisa."
"Your observation being limited to 'little puss,' " said Mrs. Sparsit, "and there being two little girls in question, I did not know which might be indicated by that expression."
"Louisa," repeated Mr. Bounderby. "Louisa, Louisa."
"You are quite another father to Louisa, sir." Mrs. Sparsit took a little more tea, and, as she bent her again contracted eyebrows over her steaming cup, rather looked as if her classical countenance were invoking the infernal gods.
"If you had said I was another father to Tom--young Tom, I mean, not my friend Tom Gradgrind--you might have been nearer the mark. I am going to take young Tom into my office. Going to have him under my wing, ma'am."
"Indeed? Rather young for that, is he not, sir?" Mrs. Sparsit's "sir," in addressing Mr. Bounderby, was a word of ceremony, rather exacting consideration for herself in the use than honouring him.
"I'm not going to take him at once; he is to finish his educational cramming before then," said Bounderby. "By the Lord Harry, he'll have enough of it, first and last! He'd open his eyes, that boy would, if he knew how empty of learning my young maw was at his time of life." Which, by-the-bye, he probably did know, for he had heard of it often enough. "But it's extraordinary the difficulty I have, on scores of such subjects, in speaking to anyone on equal terms. Here, for example, I have been speaking to you this morning about tumblers. Why, what do you know about tumblers? At the time when, to have been a tumbler in the mud of the streets, would have been a godsend to me, a prize in the lottery to me, you were at the Italian Opera. You were coming out of the Italian Opera, ma'am, in white satin and jewels, a blaze of splendor, when I hadn't a penny to buy a link to light you."
"I certainly, sir," returned Mrs. Sparsit, with a dignity serenely mournful, "was familiar with the Italian Opera at a very early age."
"Egad, ma'am, so was I," said Bounderby "--with the wrong side of it. A hard bed the pavement of its arcade used to make, I assure you. People like you, ma'am, accustomed from infancy to lie on down feathers, have no idea how hard a paving-stone is, without trying it. No, no, it's of no use my talking to you about tumblers. I should speak of foreign dancers, and the West End of London, and May Fair, and lords and ladies and honour ables."
"I trust, sir," rejoined Mrs. Sparsit, with decent resignation, "it is not necessary that you should do anything of that kind. I hope I have learnt how to accommodate myself to the changes of life. If I have acquired an interest in hearing of your instructive experiences, and can scarcely hear enough of them, I claim no merit for that, since I believe it is a general sentiment."
"Well, ma'am," said her patron, "perhaps some people may be pleased to say that they do like to hear, in his own unpolished way, what Josiah Bounderby of Coketown has gone through. But you must confess that you were born in the lap of luxury yourself. Come, ma'am, you know you were born in the lap of luxury."
"I do not, sir," returned Mrs. Sparsit with a shake of her head, "deny it."
Mr. Bounderby was obliged to get up from the table and stand with his back to the fire looking at her; she was such an enhancement of his position.
"And you were in crack society. Devilish high society," he said, warming his legs.
"It is true, sir," returned Mrs. Sparsit, with an affectation of humility the very opposite of his, and therefore in no danger of jostling it.
"You were in the tip-top fashion, and all the rest of it," said Mr. Bounderby.
"Yes, sir," returned Mrs. Sparsit, with a kind of social widowhood upon her. "It is unquestionably true."
Mr. Bounderby, bending himself at the knees, literally embraced his legs in his great satisfaction and laughed aloud. Mr. and Miss Gradgrind being then announced, he received the former with a shake of the hand, and the latter with a kiss.
"Can Jupe be sent here, Bounderby?" asked Mr. Gradgrind.
"Certainly." So Jupe was sent there. On coming in, she curtseyed to Mr. Bounderby, and to his friend Tom Gradgrind, and also to Louisa, but in her confusion unluckily omitted Mrs. Sparsit. Observing this, the blusterous Bounderby had the following remarks to make:
"Now, I tell you what, my girl. The name of that lady by the teapot is Mrs. Sparsit. That lady acts as mistress of this house, and she is a highly connected lady. Consequently, if you ever come again into any room in this house, you will make a short stay in it if you don't behave towards that lady in your most respectful manner. Now, I don't care a button what you do to me, because I don't affect to be anybody. So far from having high connections I have no connections at all, and I come of the scum of the earth. But towards that lady I do care what you do, and you shall do what is deferential and respectful, or you shall not come here."
"I hope, Bounderby," said Mr. Gradgrind, in a conciliatory voice, "that this was merely an oversight."
"My friend Tom Gradgrind suggests, Mrs. Sparsit," said Bounderby, "that this was merely an oversight. Very likely. However, as you are aware, ma'am, I don't allow of even oversights towards you."
"You are very good indeed, sir," returned Mrs. Sparsit, shaking her head with her state humility. "It is not worth speaking of."
Sissy, who all this time had been faintly excusing herself with tears in her eyes, was now waved over by the master of the house to Mr. Gradg
rind. She stood looking intently at him, and Louisa stood coldly by, with her eyes upon the ground, while he proceeded thus:
"Jupe, I have made up my mind to take you into my house, and, when you are not in attendance at the school, to employ you about Mrs. Gradgrind, who is rather an invalid. I have explained to Miss Louisa--this is Miss Louisa--the miserable but natural end of your late career; and you are to expressly understand that the whole of that subject is past, and is not to be referred to any more. From this time you begin your history. You are, at present, ignorant, I know."
"Yes, sir, very," she answered, curtseying.
"I shall have the satisfaction of causing you to be strictly educated; and you will be a living proof to all who come into communication with you of the advantages of the training you will receive. You will be reclaimed and formed. You have been in the habit now of reading to your father, and those people I found you among, I dare say?" said Mr. Gradgrind, beckoning her nearer to him before he said so, and dropping his voice.
"Only to Father and Merrylegs, sir. At least I mean to Father, when Merrylegs was always there."
"Never mind Merrylegs, Jupe," said Mr. Gradgrind, with a passing frown. "I don't ask about him. I understand you to have been in the habit of reading to your father?"
"Oh yes, sir, thousands of times. They were the happiest--Oh, of all the happy times we had together, sir!"
It was only now when her sorrow broke out that Louisa looked at her.
"And what," asked Mr. Gradgrind, in a still lower voice, "did you read to your father, Jupe?"