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Hard Times 211
temporary bed upon the floor； for his bundle was made up for
tomorrow； and all was arranged for his departure。 He meant to be
clear of the town very early； before the Hands were in the streets。
It was barely daybreak； when； with a parting look round his
room； mournfully wondering whether he should ever see it again；
he went out。 The town was as entirely deserted as if the
inhabitants had abandoned it； rather than hold communication
with him。 Everything looked wan at that hour。 Even the coming
sun made but a pale waste in the sky； like a sad sea。
By the place where Rachael lived； though it was not in his way；
by the red brick streets； by the great silent factories； not trembling
yet； by the railway； where the danger…lights were waning in the
strengthening day； by the railway’s crazy neighbourhood； half
pulled down and half built up； by scattered red brick villas； where
the besmoked evergreens were sprinkled with a dirty powder； like
untidy snuff…takers； by coal…dust paths and many varieties of
ugliness； Stephen got to the top of the hill； and looked back。
Day was shining radiantly upon the town then； and the bells
were going for the morning work。 Domestic fires were not yet
lighted； and the high chimneys had the sky to themselves。 Puffing
out their poisonous volumes； they would not be long in hiding it；
but； for half an hour； some of the many windows were golden；
which showed the Coketown people a sun eternally in eclipse；
through a medium of smoked glass。
So strange to turn from the chimneys to the birds。 So strange to
have the road…dust on his feet instead of the coal…grit。 So strange
to have lived to his time of life； and yet to be beginning like a boy
this summer morning！ With these musings in his mind； and his
bundle under his arm； Stephen took his attentive face along the
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high road。 And the trees arched over him； whispering that he left a
true and loving heart behind。
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Chapter 7
Gunpowder
r James Harthouse； “going in” for his adopted party；
soon began to score。 With the aid of a little more
M
coaching for the political sages； a little more genteel
listlessness for the general society； and a tolerable management of
the assumed honesty in dishonesty； most effective and most
patronised of the polite deadly sins； he speedily came to be
considered of much promise。 The not being troubled with
earnestness was a grand point in his favour； enabling him to take
to the hard Fact fellows with as good a grace as if he had been
born one of the tribe； and to throw all other tribes overboard； as
conscious hypocrites。
“Whom none of us believe； my dear Mrs Bounderby； and who
do not believe themselves。 The only difference between us and the
professors of virtue or benevolence； or philanthropy—never mind
the name—is； that we know it is all meaningless； and say so； while
they know it equally and will never say so。”
Why should she be shocked or warned by this reiteration？ It
was not so unlike her father’s principles； and her early training；
that it need startle her。 Where was the great difference between
the two schools； when each chained her down to material realities；
and inspired her with no faith in anything else？ What was there in
her soul for James Harthouse to destroy； which Thomas
Gradgrind had nurtured there in its state of innocence！
It was even the worse for her at this pass； that in her mind—
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implanted there before her eminently practical father began to
form it—a struggling disposition to believe in a wider and nobler
humanity than she had ever heard of； constantly strove with
doubts and resentments。 With doubts； because the aspiration had
been so laid waste in her youth。 With resentments； because of the
wrong that had been done her； if it were indeed a whisper of the
truth。 Upon a nature long accustomed to self…suppression； thus
torn and divided； the Harthouse philosophy came as a relief and
justification。 Everything being hollow and worthless； she had
missed nothing and sacrificed nothing。 What did it matter； she had
said to her father； when he proposed her husband。 What did it
matter； she said still。 With a scornful self…reliance； she asked
herself； What did anything matter—and went on。
Towards what？ Step by step； onward and downward； towards
some end； yet so gradually； that she believed herself to remain
motionless。 As to Mr Harthouse； whither he tended he neither
considered nor cared。 He had no particular design or plan before
him： no energetic wickedness ruffled his lassitude。 He was as
much amused and interested at present； as it became so fine a
gentleman to be； perhaps even more than it would have been
consistent with his reputation to confess。 Soon after his arrival he
languidly wrote to his brother； the honourable and jocular
member； that the Bounderbys were “great fun；” and further； that
the female Bounderby； instead of being the Gorgon he expected；
was young； and remarkably pretty。 After that； he wrote no more
about them； and devoted his leisure chiefly to their house。 He was
very often in their house； in his flittings and visitings about the
Coketown district； and was much encouraged by Mr Bounderby。 It
was quite in Mr Bound