hard times(艰难时世)-第70章
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in at the door again to say it； “that I wath tho muth of a Cackler！”
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Chapter 9
Final
t is a dangerous thing to see anything in the sphere of a vain
blusterer； before the vain blusterer sees it himself。 Mr
I
Bounderby felt that Mrs Sparsit had audaciously anticipated
him； and presumed to be wiser than he。 Inappeasably indignant
with her for her triumphant discovery of Mrs Pegler； he turned his
presumption； on the part of a woman in her dependent position；
over and over in his mind； until it accumulated with turning like a
great snowball。 At last he made the discovery that to discharge
this highly connected female—to have it in his power to say； “She
was a woman of family； and wanted to stick to me； but I wouldn’t
have it； and got rid of her”—would be to get the utmost possible
amount of crowning glory out of the connection； and at the same
time to punish Mrs Sparsit according to her deserts。
Filled fuller than ever； with this great idea； Mr Bounderby came
into lunch； and sat himself down in the dining…room of former
days； where his portrait was。 Mrs Sparsit sat by the fire； with her
foot in her cotton stirrup； little thinking whither she was posting。
Since the Pegler affair； this gentlewoman had covered her pity
for Mr Bounderby with a veil of quiet melancholy and contrition。
In virtue thereof； it had become her habit to assume a woeful look；
which woeful look she now bestowed upon her patron。
“What’s the matter now； ma’am？” said Mr Bounderby； in a very
short； rough way。
“Pray； sir；” returned Mrs Sparsit； “do not bite my nose off。”
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“Bite your nose off； ma’am！” repeated Mr Bounderby。 “Your
nose！” meaning； as Mrs Sparsit conceived； that it was too
developed a nose for the purpose。 After which offensive
implication； he cut himself a crust of bread； and threw the knife
down with a noise。
Mrs Sparsit took her foot out of her stirrup； and said； “Mr
Bounderby； sir！”
“Well； ma’am？” retorted Mr Bounderby。 “What are you staring
at？”
“May I ask； sir；” said Mrs Sparsit； “have you been ruffled this
morning？”
“Yes； ma’am。”
“May I inquire； sir；” pursued the injured woman； “whether I am
the unfortunate cause of your having lost temper？”
“Now； I’ll tell you what； ma’am；” said Bounderby； “I am not
come here to be bullied。 A female may be highly connected； but
she can’t be permitted to bother and badger a man in my position；
and I am not going to put up with it。” （Mr Bounderby felt it
necessary to get on； foreseeing that if he allowed of details； he
would be beaten。） Mrs Sparsit first elevated； then knitted； her
Coriolanian eyebrows； gathered up her work into its proper
basket； and rose。
“Sir；” said she； majestically。 “It is apparent to me that I am in
your way at present。 I will retire to my own apartment。”
“Allow me to open the door； ma’am。”
“Thank you； sir； I can do it for myself。”
“You had better allow me； ma’am；” said Bounderby； passing
her； and getting his hand upon the lock； “because I can take the
opportunity of saying a word to you； before you go。 Mrs Sparsit；
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ma’am； I rather think you are cramped here； do you know？ It
appears to me； that； under my humble roof； there’s hardly opening
enough for a lady of your genius in other people’s affairs。”
Mrs Sparsit gave him a look of the darkest scorn； and said with
great politeness； “Really； sir？”
“I have been thinking it over； you see； since the late affairs have
happened； ma’am；” said Bounderby； “and it appears to my poor
judgment—”
“Oh！ Pray； sir；” Mrs Sparsit interposed； with sprightly
cheerfulness； “don’t disparage your judgment。 Everybody knows
how unerring Mr Bounderby’s judgment is。 Everybody has had
proofs of it。 It must be the theme of general conversation。
Disparage anything in yourself but your judgment； sir；” said Mrs
Sparsit； laughing。
Mr Bounderby； very red and uncomfortable； resumed：
“It appears to me； ma’am； I say； that a different sort of
establishment altogether； would bring out a lady of your powers。
Such an establishment as your relation； Lady Scadgers’s now。
Don’t you think you might find some affairs there； ma’am； to
interfere with？”
“It never occurred to me before； sir；” returned Mrs Sparsit；
“but now you mention it； I should think it highly probable。”
“Then suppose you try； ma’am；” said Bounderby laying an
envelope with a cheque in it； in her little basket。 “You can take
your own time for going； ma’am； but perhaps in the meanwhile； it
will be more agreeable to a lady of your powers of mind； to eat her
meals by herself； and not to be intruded upon。 I really ought to
apologise to you—being only Josiah Bounderby of Coketown—for
having stood in your light so long。”
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“Pray don’t name it； sir；” returned Mrs Sparsit。 “If that portrait
could speak； sir；—but it has the advantage over the original of not
possessing the power of committing itself and disgusting others；—
it would testify； that a long period has elapsed since I first
habitually addressed it as the picture of a Noodle。 Nothing that a
Noodle does； can awaken surprise or indignation； the proceedings
of a Noodle can only inspire contempt。”
Thus saying； Mrs Sparsit； with her Roman features like a medal
struck to commemorate her scorn of Mr Bounderby； surveyed him
fixedly from head to foot； swept disdainfully past him； and
ascended the staircase。 Mr Bounderby closed the door； and stood
before the fire； projecting himself after his old explosive manner
into his portrait—and into futurity。
Into how much of futurity？ He saw Mrs Sparsit fighting out a
daily fight； at the points of all the weapons in the female armoury；
with the grudging； smarting； peevish； tormenting Lady Scadgers；
still laid up in bed with her mysterious leg； and gobbling her
insufficient income down by about the middle of every quarter； in
a mean little airless lodging； a mere closet for one； a mere crib for
two； but did he see more？ Did he catch any glimpse of himself
making a show of Bitzer to strangers； as the rising young man； so
devoted to his master’s great merits； who had won young Tom’s
place； and had almost captured young Tom himself； in the times
when by various rascals he was spirited away？ Did he see any
faint reflection of his own image making a vain…glorious will；
whereby five…and…twenty Humbugs； past five and fifty years of age；
each taking upon himself the name； Josiah Bounderby of
Coketown； should for ever dine in Bounderby Hall； for ever lodge
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in Bounderby Buildings； for ever attend a Bounderby chapel； for
ever go to sleep under a Bounderby chaplain； for ever be
supported out of a Bounderby estate； and for ever nauseate all
healthy stomachs； with a vast amount of Bounderby balderdash
and bluster？ Had he any prescience of the day； five years to come；
when Josiah Bounderby of Coketown was to die of a fit in the
Coketown street and this same precious will was to begin its long
career of quibble； plunder； false pretences； vile example； little
service and much law？ Probably not。 Yet the portrait was to see it
all out。
Here was Mr Gradgrind on the same day； and in the same hour；
sitting thoughtful in his own room。 How much of futurity did he
see？ Did he see himself； a white…haired decrepit man； bending his
hitherto inflexible theories to appointed circumstances； making
his facts and figures subservient to Faith； Hope； and Charity； and
no longer trying to grind that Heavenly trio in his dusty little
mills？ Did he catch sight of himself； therefore much despised by
his late political associates？ Did he see them； in the era of its being
quite settled that the national dustmen have only to do with one
another； and owe no duty to an abstraction called a People；
“taunting the honourable gentleman” with this and with that and
with what not； five nights a…week； until the small hours of the
morning？ Probably he had that much fore…knowledge； knowing
his men。
Here was Louisa on the night of the same day； watching the fire
as in days of yore； though with a gentler and a humbler face。 How
much of the future might arise before her vision？ Broadsides in
the streets； signed with her father’s name； exonerating the late
Charles Dickens
