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 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 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 question with the
previous habits of mind, and habits of life, that belong to many young women.'
'No, father,' she returned, 'I do not.'
'I now leave you to judge for yourself,' said Mr. Gradgrind. 'I have stated
the case, as such cases are usually stated among practical minds; I have stated
it, as the case of your mother and myself was stated in its time. The rest, my
dear Louisa, is for you to decide.'
From the beginning, she had sat looking at him fixedly. As he now leaned back
in his chair, and bent his deep-set eyes upon her in his turn, perhaps he might
have seen one wavering moment in her, when she was impelled to throw herself
upon his breast, and give him the pent-up confidences of her heart. But, to see
it, he must have overleaped at a bound the artificial barriers he had for many
years been erecting, between himself and all those subtle essences of humanity
which will elude the utmost cunning of algebra until the last trumpet ever to be
sounded shall blow even algebra to wreck. The barriers were too many and too
high for such a leap. With his unbending, utilitarian, matter-of-fact face, he
hardened her again; and the moment shot away into the plumbless depths of the
past, to mingle with all the lost opportunities that are drowned there.
Removing her eyes from him, she sat so long looking silently towards the
town, that he said, at length: 'Are you consulting the chimneys of the Coketown
works, Louisa?'
'There seems to be nothing there but languid and monotonous smoke. Yet when
the night comes, Fire bursts out, father!' she answered, turning quickly.
'Of course I know that, Louisa. I do not see the application of the remark.'
To do him justice he did not, at all.
She passed it away with a slight motion of her hand, and concentrating her
attention upon him again, said, 'Father, I have often thought that life is very
short.' - This was so distinctly one of his subjects that he interposed.
'It is short, no doubt, my dear. Still, the average duration of human life is
proved to have increased of late years. The calculations of various life
assurance and annuity offices, among other figures which cannot go wrong, have
established the fact.'
'I speak of my own life, father.'
'O indeed? Still,' said Mr. Gradgrind, 'I need not point out to you, Louisa,
that it is governed by the laws which govern lives in the aggregate.'
'While it lasts, I would wish to do the little I can, and the little I am fit
for. What does it matter?'
Mr. Gradgrind seemed rather at a loss to understand the last four words;
replying, 'How, matter? What matter, my dear?'
'Mr. Bounderby,' she went on in a steady, straight way, without regarding
this, 'asks me to marry him. The question I have to ask myself is, shall I marry
him? That is so, father, is it not? You have told me so, father. Have you not?'
'Certainly, my dear.'
'Let it be so. Since Mr. Bounderby likes to take me thus, I am satisfied to
accept his proposal. Tell him, father, as soon as you please, that this was my
answer. Repeat it, word for word, if you can, because I should wish him to know
what I said.'
'It is quite right, my dear,' retorted her father approvingly, 'to be exact.
I will observe your very proper request. Have you any wish in reference to the
period of your marriage, my child?'
'None, father. What does it matter!'
Mr. Gradgrind had drawn his chair a little nearer to her, and taken her hand.
But, her repetition of these words seemed to strike with some little discord on
his ear. He paused to look at her, and, still holding her hand, said:
'Louisa, I have not considered it essential to ask you one question, because
the possibility implied in it appeared to me to be too remote. But perhaps I
ought to do so. You have never entertained in secret any other proposal?'
'Father,' she returned, almost scornfully, 'what other proposal can have been
made to me? Whom have I seen? Where have I been? What are my heart's
experiences?'
'My dear Louisa,' returned Mr. Gradgrind, reassured and satisfied. 'You
correct me justly. I merely wished to discharge my duty.'
'What do I know, father,' said Louisa in her quiet manner, 'of tastes and
fancies; of aspirations and affections; of all that part of my nature in which
such light things might have been nourished? What escape have I had from
problems that could be demonstrated, and realities that could be grasped?' As
she said it, she unconsciously closed her hand, as if upon a solid object, and
slowly opened it as though she were releasing dust or ash.
'My dear,' assented her eminently practical parent, 'quite true, quite true.'
'Why, father,' she pursued, 'what a strange question to ask me! The
baby-preference that even I have heard of as common among children, has never
had its innocent resting-place in my breast. You have been so careful of me,
that I never had a child's heart. You have trained me so well, that I never
dreamed a child's dream. You have dealt so wisely with me, father, from my
cradle to this hour, that I never had a child's belief or a child's fear.'
Mr. Gradgrind was quite moved by his success, and by this testimony to it.
'My dear Louisa,' said he, 'you abundantly repay my care. Kiss me, my dear
girl.'
So, his daughter kissed him. Detaining her in his embrace, he said, 'I may
assure you now, my favourite child, that I am made happy by the sound decision
at which you have arrived. Mr. Bounderby is a very remarkable man; and what
little disparity can be said to exist between you - if any - is more than
counterbalanced by the tone your mind has acquired. It has always been my object
so to educate you, as that you might, while still in your early youth, be (if I
may so express myself) almost any age. Kiss me once more, Louisa. Now, let us go
and find your mother.'
Accordingly, they went down to the drawing-room, where the esteemed lady with
no nonsense about her, was recumbent as usual, while Sissy worked beside her.
She gave some feeble signs of returning animation when they entered, and
presently the faint transparency was presented in a sitting attitude.
'Mrs. Gradgrind,' said her husband, who had waited for the achievement of
this feat with some impatience, 'allow me to present to you Mrs. Bounderby.'
'Oh!' said Mrs. Gradgrind, 'so you have settled it! Well, I'm sure I hope
your health may be good, Louisa; for if your head begins to split as soon as you
are married, which was the case with mine, I cannot consider that you are to be
envied, though I have no doubt you think you are, as all girls do. However, I
give you joy, my dear - and I hope you may now turn all your ological studies to
good account, I am sure I do! I must give you a kiss of congratulation, Louisa;
but don't touch my right shoulder, for there's something running down it all day
long. And now you see,' whimpered Mrs. Gradgrind, adjusting her shawls after the
affectionate ceremony, 'I shall be worrying myself, morning, noon, and night, to
know what I am to call him!'
'Mrs. Gradgrind,' said her husband, solemnly, 'what do you mean?'
'Whatever I am to call him, Mr. Gradgrind, when he is married to Louisa! I
must call him something. It's impossible,' said Mrs. Gradgrind, with a mingled
sense of politeness and injury, 'to be constantly addressing him and never
giving him a name. I cannot call him Josiah, for the name is insupportable to
me. You yourself wouldn't hear of Joe, you very well know. Am I to call my own
son- in-law, Mister! Not, I believe, unless the time has arrived when, as an
invalid, I am to be trampled upon by my relations. Then, what am I to call him!'
Nobody present having any suggestion to offer in the remarkable emergency,
Mrs. Gradgrind departed this life for the time being, after delivering the
following codicil to her remarks already executed:
'As to the wedding, all I ask, Louisa, is, - and I ask it with a fluttering
in my chest, which actually extends to the soles of my feet, - that it may take
place soon. Otherwise, I know it is one of those subjects I shall never hear the
last of.'
When Mr. Gradgrind had presented Mrs. Bounderby, Sissy had suddenly turned
her head, and looked, in wonder, in pity, in sorrow, in doubt, in a multitude of
emotions, towards Louisa. Louisa had known it, and seen it, without looking at
her. From that moment she was impassive, proud and cold - held Sissy at a
distance - changed to her altogether.
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