Hard Times, Charles Dickens [little red riding hood ebook txt] 📗

operatives of Coketown, oh, my fellow-brothers and fellow-workmen and fellow-citizens and fellow-men, what a to-do was there, when Slackbridge unfolded what he called “that damning document,” and held it up to the gaze, and for the execration of the workingman community! “Oh, my fellow-men, behold of what a traitor in the camp of those great spirits who are enrolled upon the holy scroll of Justice and of Union, is appropriately capable! Oh, my prostrate friends, with the galling yoke of tyrants on your necks and the iron foot of despotism treading down your fallen forms into the dust of the earth, upon which right glad would your oppressors be to see you creeping on your bellies all the days of your lives, like the serpent in the garden⁠—oh, my brothers, and shall I as a man not add, my sisters too, what do you say, now, of Stephen Blackpool, with a slight stoop in his shoulders and about five foot seven in height, as set forth in this degrading and disgusting document, this blighting bill, this pernicious placard, this abominable advertisement; and with what majesty of denouncement will you crush the viper, who would bring this stain and shame upon the Godlike race that happily has cast him out forever! Yes, my compatriots, happily cast him out and sent him forth! For you remember how he stood here before you on this platform; you remember how, face to face and foot to foot, I pursued him through all his intricate windings; you remember how he sneaked and slunk, and sidled, and splitted of straws, until, with not an inch of ground to which to cling, I hurled him out from amongst us: an object for the undying finger of scorn to point at, and for the avenging fire of every free and thinking mind to scorch and scar! And now, my friends⁠—my labouring friends, for I rejoice and triumph in that stigma⁠—my friends whose hard but honest beds are made in toil, and whose scanty but independent pots are boiled in hardship; and now, I say, my friends, what appellation has that dastard craven taken to himself, when, with the mask torn from his features, he stands before us in all his native deformity, a What? A thief! A plunderer! A proscribed fugitive, with a price upon his head; a fester and a wound upon the noble character of the Coketown operative! Therefore, my band of brothers in a sacred bond, to which your children and your children’s children yet unborn have set their infant hands and seals, I propose to you on the part of the United Aggregate Tribunal, ever watchful for your welfare, ever zealous for your benefit, that this meeting does Resolve: That Stephen Blackpool, weaver, referred to in this placard, having been already solemnly disowned by the community of Coketown hands, the same are free from the shame of his misdeeds, and cannot as a class be reproached with his dishonest actions!”

Thus Slackbridge; gnashing and perspiring after a prodigious sort. A few stern voices called out “No!” and a score or two hailed, with assenting cries of “Hear, hear!” the caution from one man, “Slackbridge, y’or over hetter in’t; y’or a goen too fast!” But these were pigmies against an army; the general assemblage subscribed to the gospel according to Slackbridge, and gave three cheers for him, as he sat demonstratively panting at them.

These men and women were yet in the streets, passing quietly to their homes, when Sissy, who had been called away from Louisa some minutes before, returned.

“Who is it?” asked Louisa.

“It is Mr. Bounderby,” said Sissy, timid of the name, “and your brother Mr. Tom, and a young woman who says her name is Rachael, and that you know her.”

“What do they want, Sissy dear?”

“They want to see you. Rachael has been crying, and seems angry.”

“Father,” said Louisa, for he was present, “I cannot refuse to see them, for a reason that will explain itself. Shall they come in here?”

As he answered in the affirmative, Sissy went away to bring them. She reappeared with them directly. Tom was last; and remained standing in the obscurest part of the room, near the door.

“Mrs. Bounderby,” said her husband, entering with a cool nod, “I don’t disturb you, I hope. This is an unseasonable hour, but here is a young woman who has been making statements which render my visit necessary. Tom Gradgrind, as your son, young Tom, refuses for some obstinate reason or other to say anything at all about those statements, good or bad, I am obliged to confront her with your daughter.”

“You have seen me once before, young lady,” said Rachael, standing in front of Louisa.

Tom coughed.

“You have seen me, young lady,” repeated Rachael, as she did not answer, “once before.”

Tom coughed again.

“I have.”

Rachael cast her eyes proudly towards Mr. Bounderby, and said, “Will you make it known, young lady, where, and who was there?”

“I went to the house where Stephen Blackpool lodged, on the night of his discharge from his work, and I saw you there. He was there too; and an old woman who did not speak, and whom I could scarcely see, stood in a dark corner. My brother was with me.”

“Why couldn’t you say so, young Tom?” demanded Bounderby.

“I promised my sister I wouldn’t.” Which Louisa hastily confirmed. “And besides,” said the whelp bitterly, “she tells her own story so precious well⁠—and so full⁠—that what business had I to take it out of her mouth!”

“Say, young lady, if you please,” pursued Rachael, “why, in an evil hour, you ever came to Stephen’s that night.”

“I felt compassion for him,” said Louisa, her colour deepening, “and I wished to know what he was going to do, and wished to offer him assistance.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” said Bounderby. “Much flattered and obliged.”

“Did you offer him,” asked Rachael, “a banknote?”

“Yes; but he refused it, and would only take two pounds in gold.”

Rachael cast her eyes towards Mr. Bounderby again.

“Oh, certainly!” said Bounderby. “If you put the question whether your