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he Fairy palaces burst into illumination； before pale
morning showed the monstrous serpents of smoke trailing
T
themselves over Coketown。 A clattering of clogs upon the
pavement； a rapid ringing of bells； and all the melancholy mad
elephants； polished and oiled up for the day’s monotony； were at
their heavy exercise again。
Stephen bent over his loom； quiet； watchful； and steady。 A
special contrast； as every man was in the forest of looms where
Stephen worked to the crashing； smashing； tearing piece of
mechanism at which he laboured。 Never fear； good people of an
anxious turn of mind； that Art will consign Nature to oblivion。 Set
anywhere； side by side； the work of God and the work of man； and
the former； even though it be a troop of Hands of very small
account； will gain in dignity from the comparison。
So many hundred Hands in this Mill； so many hundred horse
Steam Power。 It is known； to the force of a single pound weight；
what the engine will do； but； not all the calculators of the National
Debt can tell me the capacity for good or evil； for love or hatred；
for patriotism or discontent； for the decomposition of virtue into
vice； or the reverse； at any single moment in the soul of one of
these its quiet servants； with the composed faces and the regulated
actions。 There is no mystery in it； there is an unfathomable
mystery in the meanest of them； for ever。—Supposing we were to
reserve our arithmetic for material objects； and to govern these
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awful unknown quantities by other means！
The day grew strong； and showed itself outside even against the
flaming lights within。 The lights were turned out； and the work
went on。 The rain fell； and the Smoke…serpents； submissive to the
curse of all that tribe； trailed themselves upon the earth。 In the
waste…yard outside； the steam from the escape pipe； the litter of
barrels and old iron； the shining heaps of coals； the ashes
everywhere； were shrouded in a veil of mist and rain。
The work went on； until the noon…bell rang。 More clattering
upon the pavements。 The looms； and wheels； and Hands all out of
gear for an hour。
Stephen came out of the hot mill into the damp wind and cold
wet streets； haggard and worn。 He turned from his own class and
his own quarter； taking nothing but a little bread as he walked
along； towards the hill on which his principal employer lived in a
red house with black outside shutters； green inside blinds； a black
street door； up two white steps； Bounderby （in letters very like
himself） upon a brazen plate； and a round brazen door…handle
underneath it； like a brazen full…stop。
Mr Bounderby was at his lunch。 So Stephen had expected。
Would his servant say that one of the Hands begged leave to speak
to him？ Message in return； requiring name of such Hand。 Stephen
Blackpool。 There was nothing troublesome against Stephen
Blackpool； yes； he might come in。
Stephen Blackpool in the parlour。 Mr Bounderby （whom he
just knew by sight）； at lunch on chop and sherry。 Mrs Sparsit
netting at the fire…side； in a side…saddle attitude with one foot in a
cotton stirrup。 It was a part； at once of Mrs Sparsit’s dignity and
service； not to lunch。 She supervised the meal officially； but
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Hard Times 94
implied that in her own stately person she considered lunch a
weakness。
“Now； Stephen；” said Mr Bounderby； “what’s the matter with
you？”
Stephen made a bow。 Not a servile one—these Hands will never
do that！ Lord bless you； sir； you’ll never catch them at that； if they
have been with you twenty years！—and； as a complimentary toilet
for Mrs Sparsit； tucked his neckerchief ends into his waistcoat。
“Now you know；” said Mr Bounderby； taking some sherry； “we
have never had any difficulty with you； and you have never been
one of the unreasonable ones。 You don’t expect to be set up in a
coach and six； and to be fed on turtle soup and venison； with a
gold spoon； as a good many of ’em do！” Mr Bounderby always
represented this to be the sole； immediate； and direct object of any
Hand who was not entirely satisfied； “and therefore I know
already that you have not come here to make a complaint。 Now；
you know； I am certain of that beforehand。”
“No sir； sure I ha’ not coom for nowt o’ th’ kind。”
Mr Bounderby seemed agreeably surprised； notwithstanding
his previous strong conviction。 “Very well；” he returned； “You’re a
steady Hand； and I was not mistaken。 Now； let me hear what it’s
all about。 As it’s not that； let me hear what it is。 What have you got
to say？ Out with it lad！”
Stephen happened to glance towards Mrs Sparsit。 “I can go； Mr
Bounderby； if you wish it；” said that self…sacrificing lady； making a
feint of taking her foot out of the stirrup。
Mr Bounderby stayed her； by holding a mouthful of chop in
suspension before swallowing it； and putting out his left hand。
Then； withdrawing his hand； and swallowing his mouthful of chop；
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Hard Times 95
he said to Stephen：
“Now you know； this good lady is a born lady； a high lady。 You
are not to suppose because she keeps my house for me； that she
hasn’t been very high up the tree—ah； up at the top of the tree！
Now； if you have got anything to say that can’t be said before a
born lady； this lady will leave the room。 If what you have got to say
can be said before a born lady； this lady will stay where she is。”
“Sir； I hope I never had nowt to say； not fitten for a born lady to
year； sin’ I were born mysen；” was the reply； accompanied with a
slight flush。
“Very well；” said Mr Bounderby； pushing away his plate； and
leaning back。 “Fire away！”
“I ha’ coom；” Stephen began； raising his eyes from the floor；
after a moment’s consideration； “to ask yo yor advice。 I need’t
overmuch。 I were married on Eas’r Monday nineteen year sin；
long and dree。 She were a young lass—pretty enow—wi’ good
accounts of herseln。 Well！ She went bad—soon。 Not along of me。
Gonnows I were not a unkind husband to her。”
“I have heard all this before；” said Mr Bounderby。 “She took to
drinking； left off working； sold the furniture； pawned the clothes；
and played old Gooseberry。”
“I were patient wi’ her。”
（“The more fool you； I think；” said Mr Bounderby； in
confidence to his wine…glass。） “I were very patient wi’ her。 I tried
to wean her fra’t ower and ower agen。 I tried this； I tried that； I
tried t’other。 I ha’ gone home； many’s the time； and found all
vanished as I had in the world； and her without a sense left to
bless herseln lying on bare ground。 I ha’ dun’t not once； not
twice—twenty time！”
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Every line in his face deepened as he said it； and put in its
affecting evidence of the suffering he had undergone。
“From bad to worse； from worse to worsen。 She left me。 She
disgraced herseln everyways； bitter and bad。 She coom back； she
coom back； she coom back。 What could I do t’ hinder her？ I ha’
walked the streets nights lon