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$Title{Hard Times
Chapter XV}
$Subtitle{}
$Author{Dickens, Charles}
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$Subject{louisa
father
dear
gradgrind
bounderby
am
question
now
ask
little
see
pictures
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$Date{}
$Log{See Louisa And Her Father*0058801.scf
}
Title:       Hard Times
Book:        Book The First: Sowing
Author:      Dickens, Charles

Chapter XV

Father And Daughter

     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 the 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."

[See Louisa And Her Father: "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 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 subtile
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 favorite 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.