Hard times, Dickens Charles. Dickens's "Hard Times": a hot-button social novel

In a small town called Coketown, there live two gentlemen of respectable age, who are in fairly warm and friendly relations. One of them, Josiah Bounderby, is a very wealthy manufacturer and merchant, while his friend Thomas Gradgrind becomes a member of parliament from his hometown.

Mr. Gradgrind always raised his five children extremely harshly, not allowing them to play or have fun. He demanded that they read only textbooks, prohibiting fairy tales or poetry; this man believed that any manifestation of feelings or imagination was unnecessary, believing that everything in life should be subject to purely rational laws. Wanting to spread his views on education as widely as possible, Gradgrind organizes a school; his material capabilities fully allow him to perform such an action.

In the school founded by this respected man, one of the weakest students soon turns out to be a certain Sessie Jupe, her father has been working for many years circus arena as a juggler and clown. The girl is not at all embarrassed to tell her friends that she is from a circus performer’s family, although educational institution this is not considered particularly decent. According to Sessy, it would be preferable to depict flowers on the carpets rather than geometric figures, and Mr. Gradgrind decides to expel this student from his school.

However, when he comes to the circus to inform the girl’s father about this, it turns out that Mr. Jupe has run away because he is no longer able to perform his duties as brilliantly as before and does not want to listen to the criticism of his comrades. Feeling sorry for Sessie, who remained in complete loneliness, the school trustee takes the girl into his house.

Sessie develops a close friendship with eldest daughter Mr. Gradgrind named Louisa, but subsequently the father insists that Louisa become the wife of his friend Josiah Bounderby, although the groom is 30 years older than the young bride. Louise's brother Tom also tries his best to persuade his sister to agree, for him this marriage will become very convenient and profitable. The young man perfectly mastered what his father taught him, his life principles self-interest and the absence of any emotions have long become. Louise, unable to resist the will of her loved ones, agrees to the marriage, believing that she still does not have to hope for happiness.

Coketown is also home to the honest and kind-hearted worker Stephen Blackpool, who is unhappy in his marriage to his wife; the woman abuses alcohol and leads a completely immoral lifestyle. However, Mr. Bounderby, the owner of the factory, with whom Stephen decides to consult, clearly explains to him that the divorce procedure in England is not designed for the poor. A man despairingly comes to terms with the fact that he will have to continue to suffer in his marriage and will not be destined to marry a girl named Rachel, to whom he has long been partial.

Stephen angrily curses the existing world order, but his lover begs the man not to rebel and not to participate in any strikes. All of Blackpool's comrades enter into a special alliance, intending to fight the owners, but Stephen refuses to join them. He is unanimously declared a traitor, a traitor and a coward, and from now on none of the workers want to communicate with him.

Having learned about what happened, Mr. Bounderby calls Stephen to his place and invites him to inform on his comrades. The man indignantly refuses, and the factory owner immediately fires him, promising that he will never find work anywhere else in the area. Mrs. Louisa Bounderby and her brother Tom are also present at this conversation. At the end of the conversation, the young woman decides to go with her brother to Steven and give him some money, at the same time an elderly woman who introduces herself as Mrs. Pegler drops in on the worker. Previously, she had already asked him about the owner, now she is trying to find out something about his wife.

Tom, finally leaving the one he hated parents' house, indulges in the most riotous lifestyle, squandering all the funds he has, the frivolous young man quickly finds himself entangled in debt. At first his sister helps him a lot, selling her own jewelry, but then her money completely runs out.

Mrs. Sparsit, who previously ran Mr. Bounderby's house and now serves as a bank supervisor, closely watches Tom and Louisa, feeling a carefully hidden hatred for the owner's wife. Mr. James Harthouse comes to Coketown from London, pursuing his own political interests here, this man begins to court Mrs. Bounderby according to the rules, and Mrs. Sparsit carefully watches what is happening.

The guest from London quickly finds Louise's weakest point, which lies in her immense love for her brother, and skillfully wins her favor. Having met the young man alone, Louise, in horror and despair, returns to her father’s house, declaring that she will no longer go to her husband. Sissie takes care of her and supports her in every possible way, moreover, she goes to Mr. Harthouse and asks him to leave their city and never try to contact Louise in the future. The London gentleman agrees with Sessie's arguments and leaves.

Louise is shocked by the news of a bank robbery, the woman has little doubt that her brother committed this malicious act. However, Stephen Blackpool is suspected; Mr. Bounderby, infuriated by the flight of his wife and the disappearance of his former worker, posts notices everywhere with signs of Blackpool, promising a reward for his capture. Stephen's lover Rachel tells the factory owner about how Stephen spent last night in Coketown, about the mysterious Mrs. Pegler, her words are readily confirmed by Tom and Louise.

However, Blackpool is in no hurry to return to hometown, despite the letter sent to Rachel. The girl is increasingly worried about her beloved, not knowing what could have happened to him. Walking one day in the company of his new girlfriend Sissy, Rachel is horrified to see Stephen's hat near a huge pit called the Black Mine by the townspeople.

The girls call for help, and the rescuers still manage to bring Blackpool to the surface, but his condition is already hopeless, and the doctors are unable to save him. But before his death, Stephen reports that on the evening of the robbery he was on duty near the bank at the request of Tom Gradgrind, and these are his last words. However, Tom manages to escape and is not taken into custody in time.

At the same time, Mrs. Sparsit discovers a mysterious woman advanced years, and it turns out that she is the powerful Mr. Josiah Bounderby's own mother. She never abandoned him, as the gentleman himself likes to say; on the contrary, she managed to give her son a decent upbringing and education. According to the woman, her son told her not to appear near him under any circumstances, and she obeyed, but he does not stop taking care of his mother, sending her a fairly significant amount of money every year.

Thus, the legend of Josiah Bounderby, who achieved everything solely through his own efforts, which he diligently spread over many years, is completely destroyed. It is now clear to everyone how immoral and unscrupulous person in reality is the owner of the factory, and Mrs. Sparsit loses the profitable position for which she desperately fought.

In Mr. Gradgrind's house they are painfully experiencing the shame and humiliation that befell the family, everyone is trying to guess where Tom could have fled from justice. As a result, Sessie decides to tell her that in fact the young man is hiding in the circus where her father previously worked. Tom is constantly in the arena, but he is absolutely impossible to recognize in the makeup and attire of a blackamoor; the circus owner helps the young man hide from persecution. Tom's father expresses his gratitude to him, but he replies that Mr. Gradgrind had previously helped him out by taking young Sessie into his house. Then young man still manages to get to South American continent, and he regularly sends letters to relatives in which he repents of his previous behavior.

After Tom leaves England, his father notifies everyone about who really robbed the bank, and the good name of the deceased Stephen Blackpool is restored. Having aged quickly due to everything that happened, Mr. Gradgrind becomes completely disillusioned with his education system, now he understands the urgent need for such values as true love, hope and faith.

Chapter I
One thing you need

- So, I demand facts. Teach these boys and girls only the facts. Life requires only facts. Do not plant anything else and uproot everything else. The mind of a thinking animal can only be formed with the help of facts; nothing else benefits it. This is the theory by which I raise my children. This is the theory by which I raise these children. Stick to the facts, sir!

The action took place in a crypt-like, uncomfortable, cold classroom with bare walls, and the speaker, for greater impressiveness, emphasized each of his sayings, conducting square finger on the teacher's sleeve. No less impressive than the words of the speaker was his square forehead, rising like a sheer wall above the foundation of his eyebrows, and under his canopy, in dark, spacious cellars, as if in caves, his eyes were comfortably located. The speaker’s mouth was also impressive - large, thin-lipped and hard; and the speaker’s voice is hard, dry and authoritative; His bald head was also impressive, along the edges of which the hair bristled like fir trees planted to protect from the wind its glossy surface, dotted with pine cones, like the crust of a sweet pie - as if the stock of indisputable facts no longer fit in the cranium. Unyielding posture, square coat, square legs, square shoulders - whatever! – even the tightly knotted tie that held the speaker tightly by the throat as the most obvious and irrefutable fact – everything about him was impressive.

- In this life, sir, we need facts, only facts!

All three adults - the speaker, the teacher and the third person present - took a step back and looked around at the small vessels arranged in orderly rows on an inclined plane, ready to receive gallons of facts with which they were to be filled to the brim.

Chapter II
Massacre of the innocents

Thomas Gradgrind, sir. A man of sober mind. A man of obvious facts and precise calculations. A person who proceeds from the rule that two and two are four, and not one iota more, and will never agree that it could be different, better, do not try to convince him. Thomas Gradgrind, sir - that's Thomas - Thomas Gradgrind. Armed with a ruler and scales, with a multiplication table in his pocket, he is always ready to weigh and measure any specimen of human nature and accurately determine what it is equal to. It's just counting numbers, sir, pure arithmetic. You can flatter yourself with the hope that you will be able to drive some other nonsense concepts into the head of George Gradgrind, or Augustus Gradgrind, or John Gradgrind, or Joseph Gradgrind (imaginary, non-existent persons), but not into the head of Thomas Gradgrind, oh no , sir!

With these words Mr. Gradgrind was wont to mentally recommend himself to a narrow circle acquaintances, as well as the general public. And, undoubtedly, with the same words - replacing the address “sir” with the address “pupils and pupils” - Thomas Gradgrind mentally introduced Thomas Gradgrind to the vessels sitting in front of him, into which he had to pour as much as possible more facts.

He stood, menacingly flashing at them with his eyes hidden in the caves, like a cannon filled to the very muzzle with facts, ready to knock them out of childhood with one shot.

Or a galvanic device charged with soulless mechanical force, which should replace the tender childhood imagination that was scattered into dust.

“Student number twenty,” said Mr. Gradgrind, pointing a square finger at one of the schoolgirls. – I don’t know this girl. Who is that girl?

“Cessie Jupe, sir,” answered student number twenty, all red with embarrassment, jumping to her feet and crouching.

- Sessie? There is no such name,” said Mr. Gradgrind. - Don't call yourself Sissy. Call yourself Cecilia.

“My dad calls me Sissie, sir,” the girl answered in a trembling voice and sat down again.

“He shouldn’t call you that,” said Mr. Gradgrind. - Tell him not to do it. Cecilia Jupe. Wait a minute. Who is your father?

- He's from the circus, sir.

Mr. Gradgrind frowned and waved his hand, dismissing such a reprehensible craft.

“We don’t want to know anything about this here.” And don't ever say that here. Your father probably rides horses? Yes?

- Yes, sir. When horses can be obtained, they are ridden in the arena, sir.

– Never mention the arena here. So, call your father a bereitor. He must be treating sick horses?

- Of course, sir.

- Great, so your father was a farrier - that is, a veterinarian - and a groomer. Now define what a horse is?

(Cessie Jupe, scared to death by this question, remained silent.)

“Student number twenty doesn’t know what a horse is!” - Mr. Gradgrind announced, addressing all the vessels. “Student number twenty doesn’t have any facts about one of the most common animals!” Let's listen to what the students know about the horse. Bitzer, tell me.

The square finger, moving back and forth, suddenly stopped at Bitzer, perhaps only because the boy was in the way of him sunbeam, who, bursting into the uncurtained window of a thickly whitened room, fell on Sessie. For inclined plane was divided into two halves: on one side of the narrow passage, closer to the windows, the girls were placed, on the other - the boys; and the ray of the sun, with one end touching Sessie, who was sitting at the end of her row, with the other end illuminated Bitzer, who occupied the extreme seat several rows ahead of Sessie. But the girl's black eyes and black hair shone even brighter in sunlight, and the boy’s whitish eyes and whitish hair, under the influence of the same ray, seemed to have lost the last traces of the colors given to him by nature. The boy's empty, colorless eyes would have been barely noticeable on his face if not for the short stubble of eyelashes of a darker shade bordering them. His short-cropped hair was no different in color from the yellowish freckles that covered his forehead and cheeks. And his painfully pale skin, without the slightest trace of a natural blush, involuntarily suggested the thought that if he had cut himself, it would have flowed not red, but White blood.

“Bitzer,” said Thomas Gradgrind, “explain that there is a horse.”

- Quadruped. Herbivore. There are forty teeth, namely: twenty-four molars, four eyes and twelve incisors. Sheds in spring; in swampy areas the hooves also change. The hooves are hard, but require iron shoes. You can tell age by your teeth. – Bitzer blurted out all this (and much more) in one breath.

“Pupil number twenty,” said Mr. Gradgrind, “now you know there is a horse.”

Sissy sat down again and would have flushed even brighter if it had been possible - her face was already glowing. Bitzer, blinking both eyes at Thomas Gradgrind at once, causing his eyelashes to flutter in the sun like the antennae of fussy insects, rapped his knuckles on his freckled forehead and sat down.

The third gentleman came forward: Great master ill-considered decisions, a government official with the habits of a fist fighter, always on the alert, always ready to forcefully push down the public throat - like a huge pill containing a hefty dose of poison - another daring project; always fully armed, loudly challenging all England from his little office. To put it in boxing terms, he was always in excellent shape, wherever and whenever he entered the ring, and did not shy away from illegal techniques. He viciously attacked everything that opposed him, hit first with his right, then with his left, parried blows, delivered counter blows, pressed his opponent (all of England!) to the ropes and confidently knocked him down. He overturned common sense so cleverly that he fell dead and could no longer get up in time. This gentleman was entrusted with the highest authority with the mission to hasten the coming of the thousand-year kingdom, when officials would rule the world from their all-encompassing office.

“Great,” said the gentleman, crossing his arms over his chest and smiling approvingly. - That's what a horse is. Now, children, answer me this question: would any of you paper the room with pictures of a horse?

After a short silence, one half shouted “yes, sir!” in unison. But the other half, guessing from the gentleman’s face that “yes” was wrong, followed the custom of all schoolchildren and shouted “no, sir!” in unison.

- Of course not. And why?

Silence. Finally, one fat, slow boy, apparently suffering from shortness of breath, dared to answer that he would not wallpaper the walls at all, but would paint them.

“But you must paste them over,” said the gentleman sternly.

“You must paper them over,” confirmed Thomas Gradgrind, “whether you like it or not.” And don't tell me you wouldn't paper the room. What kind of news is this?

“I’ll have to explain to you,” said the gentleman after another long and painful pause, “why you wouldn’t paper the room with pictures of a horse.” Have you ever seen horses walk up and down a wall? Are you aware of this fact? Well?

- Yes, sir! - some shouted.

- No, sir! - others shouted.

“Of course not,” said the gentleman, casting an indignant glance at those who shouted “yes.” “And you should never see what you don’t really see, and you should never think about what you don’t really have.” The so-called taste is just a recognition of a fact.

Thomas Gradgrind indicated his complete agreement with a nod of his head.

“This is a new principle, a great discovery,” continued the gentleman. – Now I’ll ask you one more question. Let's say you wanted to lay out a carpet in your room. Would any of you install a rug that has flowers on it?

By this time, the entire class had already firmly believed that negative answers should always be given to a gentleman’s questions, and the unanimous “no” sounded loud and harmonious. Only a few voices timidly and belatedly answered “yes” - among them the voice of Cessie Jupe.

“Student number twenty,” said the gentleman, smiling condescendingly from the height of his indisputable wisdom.

Sissy stood up, crimson with embarrassment.

- So, would you cover the floor in your room or in your husband's room - if you were adult woman and you would have a husband - with images of flowers? – asked the gentleman. - Why would you do that?

“Because, sir, I love flowers very much,” answered the girl.

“And you would put tables and chairs on them and let them be trampled under heavy boots?”

- Sorry, sir, but it wouldn't hurt them. They wouldn't break or wilt, sir. But they would remind me of what is very beautiful and sweet, and I would imagine...

- Exactly, exactly! - exclaimed the gentleman, very pleased that he had achieved his goal so easily. “There’s no need to imagine.” That's the whole point! Never try to imagine.

“See, Cecilia Jupe,” said Thomas Gradgrind, frowning, “that this does not happen again.”

– Facts, facts and facts! - said the gentleman.

“Facts, facts, facts,” echoed Thomas Gradgrind.

“You must always and in everything be guided by facts and obey the facts,” continued the gentleman. “We hope in the near future to establish a Ministry of Facts, where officials will be in charge of facts, and then we will force the people to be a people of facts, and only facts.” Forget the very word “imagination”. It's of no use to you. All household items or decorations that you use must strictly correspond to the facts. You don't trample real flowers, so you can't trample flowers woven on a carpet. Overseas birds and butterflies do not land on your dishes - therefore, you should not paint it with overseas flowers and butterflies. Isn't it possible for four-legged creatures to walk up and down the walls of a room? – therefore, there is no need to paste the walls with images of four-legged animals. Instead of all this,” the gentleman concluded, “you should use combinations and modifications (in primary colors spectrum) geometric figures, visual and provable. This is the newest great discovery. This is an admission of fact. This is taste.

Sissy sat down again and sank into her seat. She was still very young, and, apparently, the picture of the future kingdom of facts seriously frightened her.

“And now, Mr. Gradgrind,” said the gentleman, “if Mr. Chadomor is ready to teach his first lesson, I will be glad to fulfill your request and familiarize myself with his method.”

Mr. Gradgrind expressed his deepest gratitude.

- Mr. Chadomor, please.

So, the lesson began, and Mr. Chadomor showed himself with best side. He was one of those school teachers, of which one hundred and forty pieces were recently manufactured at the same time, in the same factory, according to the same sample, like a batch of piano legs. He was put through countless exams and answered countless puzzling questions. Spelling, etymology, syntax and prosody, astronomy, geography and general cosmography, the triple rule, algebra and geodesy, singing and life drawing - he knew all this like the back of his hand. His path was thorny, but he reached List B, approved by Her Majesty's Privy Council, and joined the higher mathematics and physical sciences, learned French, German, Greek and Latin. He knew everything about all the watersheds of the world (no matter how many there were), knew the history of all peoples, the names of all rivers and mountains, the morals and customs of all countries and what they produce, the boundaries of each of them and the position relative to thirty-two compass points. Isn't it too much, Mr. Chadomor? Oh, if only he knew a little less, how much better he could teach immeasurably more!

On this first introductory lesson He followed the example of Morgiana from the fairy tale about Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves - namely, he began by looking in turn at all the jugs placed in front of him in order to familiarize himself with their contents. Tell me honestly, dear Chadomor: are you sure that every time you fill a vessel to the brim with the boiling mixture of your knowledge, the robber lurking at the bottom - the child’s imagination - will be immediately killed? Or could it happen that you will only cripple and disfigure him?

Chapter III
Lye

There were five young offspring, and every single one of them could serve as models. They began to educate them from the very beginning tender age; They were chasing like young hares. They barely learned to walk without outside help how they were forced to go to the classroom. The first object that appeared in their field of vision and deeply etched into their memory was a large blackboard on which the terrible Ogre was drawing ominous white signs.

Of course, the offspring had no idea about the existence of the Ogre and had never even heard such a name. God forbid! I simply use this word to describe a monster with a myriad of heads crammed into one, who kidnaps children and drags them by the hair into the statistical cages of his dark castle of learning.

None of the young Gradgrinds ever said that the moon was smiling: they knew everything about the moon even before they learned to speak. None of them ever babbled a stupid rhyme: “A star lit up in the sky, but where did you come from?” - and none of them ever asked themselves such a question: by the age of five they already knew how to dissect the Big Dipper no worse than Professor Owen and drive the starry Cart like a driver drives a train. Not one of the young Gradgrinds, seeing a cow in the meadow, remembered the well-known hornless cow that kicked the old dog without a tail, which pulls the cat by the scruff of the neck, which scares and catches a tit, or about that famous cow that swallowed Thumb Boy ; they knew absolutely nothing about these celebrities, and for them the cow was only a herbivorous ruminant quadruped with several stomachs.

So Mr. Gradgrind, very pleased with himself, walked towards his house - a veritable storehouse of facts - called Stone Shelter. He built this house after he retired from his wholesale trade hardware, and now an opportunity awaited to increase the sum of the units that made up the parliament. Stone Shelter stood on the heath a mile and a half from big city, which in this reliable guide is called Coketown.

The Stone Shelter was a very distinct feature of the terrain. No tricks softened or obscured this undisguised detail of the landscape - it asserted itself as an inexorable and indisputable fact: a large, box-like two-story building with a massive colonnade shading the lower windows, like thick overhanging eyebrows shading the eyes of its owner. Everything is calculated, everything is calculated, weighed and verified. Six windows on one side of the door, six on the other; a total of twelve on the facade in the right wing, twelve in the left and, accordingly, twenty-four in the rear wall. Lawn, garden and the beginnings of an alley, lined up like a botanical account book. Gas lighting, fans, sewerage and plumbing - all impeccable installations. Iron staples and fasteners are a complete guarantee against fire; there are mechanical lifts for the maids with their mops, rags and brushes; in a word - everything you could wish for.

Is that all? Apparently so. Young Gradgrinds are provided with manuals for all kinds of scientific activities. They have a small conchological collection, a small metallurgical collection and a small mineralogical collection; specimens of minerals and ores are laid out in the strictest order and labeled, and it seems as if they were split off from the parent rock with the help of their own puzzling names. And if all this was not enough for the young Gradgrinds, then what else, pray tell, did they need?

Their parent returned home slowly, in the most rosy and good mood. He loved his children in his own way, was a tender father, but (if he, like Sissie Jupe, had been required to define it precisely) would probably have called himself “in highest degree practical father." In general, he was extremely proud of the expression “highly practical,” which was especially often applied to his person. Whatever public meeting may be held at Coketown, and whatever may be discussed at that meeting, one can be sure that one of the speakers will certainly take the opportunity to remember his eminently practical friend Gradgrind. The practical friend invariably listened to this with pleasure. He knew he was only being given credit, but it still felt good.

He had already reached the outskirts of Coketown and set foot on neutral ground, in other words, he found himself in a place that was neither city nor village, but had the worst characteristics of both city and country, when the sounds of music reached his ears. The drums and trumpets of the traveling circus, which settled here in the plank booth, were playing at the top of their lungs. The flag that fluttered from the tower of this temple of art announced to the whole world that none other than the “Sleary Circus” was vying for the favorable attention of the public. Sliri himself, having placed a cash drawer next to him, positioned himself - like a monumental modern sculpture - in a booth that resembled a niche in a cathedral of times early gothic, and accepted entry fees. Miss Josephine Sleary, as one could read on the very long and narrow posters, opened the program with her signature number - the “Equestrian Tyrolean Flower Dance”. Among other amusing, but always strictly decent miracles - which must be seen with your own eyes to be believed in them - the poster promised a performance by Signor Jupe and his superbly trained dog Veselchak. In addition, the famous “iron fountain” will be shown - the best act of Signor Jupe, consisting in the fact that seventy-five centners of iron, thrown up by his mighty hand, rise into the air in a continuous stream - an act the likes of which has never happened in our country , nor beyond it and which, due to the unchangeable and wild success the public cannot be removed from the program. The same Signor Jupe “in the intervals between numbers will enliven the performance with highly moral jokes and witticisms in the Shakespearean spirit.” Finally, Signor Jupe will play his favorite role - that of Mr. William Button of Tooley Street in the "extremely original and hilarious hippodeville, The Tailor's Journey to Brentford."

Thomas Gradgrind, of course, did not even glance at this vulgar fuss and moved on, as befits a practical man, trying to brush aside the noisy two-legged boogers and mentally sending them to jail. But a turn in the road led him to the back wall of the booth, and at the back wall of the booth he saw a gathering of children and saw that the children, in the most unnatural poses, were stealthily looking through the crack in order to admire the magical spectacle with at least one eye.

Mr. Gradgrind stopped.

“These tramps,” he said, “they seduce even the students of an exemplary school.”

Since he was separated from his young pets by a strip of land, where stunted grass was growing between the piles of garbage, he took a lorgnette from his vest pocket and began to peer around to see if there were any children here known to him by name, whom he could call out and drive away from here. And what was revealed to his eyes! The phenomenon is mysterious, almost incredible, although clearly visible: his own daughter, the metallurgical Louise, clung to the pine boards, staring into the hole, and his own son, the mathematical Thomas, crawled on the ground in the most humiliating way, hoping to see at least one hoof from the “Equestrian Tyrolean Flower Dance”!

So I demand facts. Teach these boys and girls only the facts. Life requires only facts. Do not plant anything else and uproot everything else. The mind of a thinking animal can only be formed with the help of facts; nothing else benefits it. This is the theory by which I raise my children. This is the theory by which I raise these children. Stick to the facts, sir!
The action took place in a crypt-like, uncomfortable, cold classroom with bare walls, and the speaker, for greater impressiveness, emphasized each of his sayings by running his square finger along the teacher’s sleeve. No less impressive than the words of the speaker was his square forehead, rising like a sheer wall above the foundation of his eyebrows, and under his canopy, in dark, spacious cellars, as if in caves, his eyes were comfortably located. The speaker’s mouth was also impressive - large, thin-lipped and hard; and the speaker’s voice is hard, dry and authoritative; His bald head was also impressive, along the edges of which the hair bristled like fir trees planted to protect from the wind its glossy surface, dotted with cones, like the crust of a sweet pie - as if the stock of indisputable facts no longer fit in the cranium. Unyielding posture, square coat, square legs, square shoulders - whatever! - even the tightly knotted tie that held the speaker tightly by the throat as the most obvious and irrefutable fact - everything about him was impressive.
- In this life, sir, we need facts, only facts!
All three adults - the speaker, the teacher and the third person present - took a step back and looked around at the small vessels arranged in orderly rows on an inclined plane, ready to receive gallons of facts with which they were to be filled to the brim.

Chapter II

Thomas Gradgrind, sir. A man of sober mind. A man of obvious facts and precise calculations. A person who proceeds from the rule that two and two are four, and not one iota more, will never agree that it could be different, better, and do not try to convince him. Thomas Gradgrind, sir - that's Thomas - Thomas Gradgrind. Armed with a ruler and scales, with a multiplication table in his pocket, he is always ready to weigh and measure any specimen of human nature and accurately determine what it is equal to. It's just counting numbers, sir, pure arithmetic. You can flatter yourself with the hope that you will be able to drive some other nonsense concepts into the head of George Gradgrind, or Augustus Gradgrind, or John Gradgrind, or Joseph Gradgrind (imaginary, non-existent persons), but not into the head of Thomas Gradgrind, oh no , sir!
With these words Mr. Gradgrind was in the habit of mentally recommending himself to a small circle of acquaintances, as well as to the general public. And, undoubtedly, with the same words - replacing the address “sir” with the address “pupils and pupils” - Thomas Gradgrind mentally introduced Thomas Gradgrind to the vessels sitting in front of him, into which it was necessary to pour in as many facts as possible.
He stood, menacingly flashing at them with his eyes hidden in the caves, like a cannon filled to the very muzzle with facts, ready to knock them out of childhood with one shot. Or a galvanic device charged with soulless mechanical force, which should replace the tender childish imagination that had been scattered into dust.
“Student number twenty,” said Mr. Gradgrind, pointing a square finger at one of the schoolgirls. - I don’t know this girl. Who is that girl?
“Cessie Jupe, sir,” answered student number twenty, all red with embarrassment, jumping to her feet and crouching.
- Sessie? There is no such name, said Mr. Gradgrind. - Don't call yourself Sissy. Call yourself Cecilia.
“My dad calls me Sissie, sir,” the girl answered in a trembling voice and sat down again.
“He shouldn’t call you that,” said Mr. Gradgrind. - Tell him not to do it. Cecilia Jupe. Wait a minute. Who is your father?
- He's from the circus, sir.
Mr. Gradgrind frowned and waved his hand, dismissing such a reprehensible craft.
“We don’t want to know anything about this here.” And don't ever say that here. Your father probably rides horses? Yes?
- Yes, sir. When horses can be obtained, they are ridden in the arena, sir.
- Never mention the arena here. So, call your father a bereitor. He must be treating sick horses?
- Of course, sir.
- Great, so your father was a farrier - that is, a veterinarian - and a landowner. Now define what a horse is?
(Cessie Jupe, scared to death by this question, remained silent.)
- Student number twenty doesn’t know what a horse is! - Mr. Gradgrind announced, addressing all the vessels. - Student number twenty does not have any facts regarding one of the most ordinary animals! Let's listen to what the students know about the horse. Bitzer, tell me.
The square finger, moving back and forth, suddenly stopped on Bitzer, perhaps only because the boy was in the path of that ray of sunlight, which, bursting into the uncurtained window of the thickly whitened room, fell on Sessie. For the inclined plane was divided into two halves: on one side of the narrow passage, closer to the windows, the girls were placed, on the other - the boys; and the ray of the sun, with one end touching Sessie, who was sitting at the end of her row, with the other end illuminated Bitzer, who occupied the extreme seat several rows ahead of Sessie. But the girl’s black eyes and black hair shone even brighter in the sunlight, and the boy’s white eyes and white hair, under the influence of the same ray, seemed to have lost the last traces of the colors given to him by nature. The boy's empty, colorless eyes would have been barely noticeable on his face if not for the short stubble of eyelashes of a darker shade bordering them. His short-cropped hair was no different in color from the yellowish freckles that covered his forehead and cheeks. And his painfully pale skin, without the slightest trace of natural blush, involuntarily suggested that if he had cut himself, not red, but white blood would flow.
“Bitzer,” said Thomas Gradgrind, “explain that there is a horse.”
- Quadruped. Herbivore. There are forty teeth, namely: twenty-four molars, four eyes and twelve incisors. Sheds in spring; in swampy areas the hooves also change. The hooves are hard, but require iron shoes. You can tell age by your teeth. - Bitzer blurted out all this (and much more) in one breath.
“Student number twenty,” said Mr. Gradgrind, “now you know that there is a horse.”
Sissy sat down again and would have flushed even brighter if it had been possible - her face was already glowing. Bitzer, blinking both eyes at Thomas Gradgrind at once, causing his eyelashes to flutter in the sun like the antennae of fussy insects, rapped his knuckles on his freckled forehead and sat down.
The third gentleman stepped forward: a great master of ill-considered decisions, a government official with the habits of a fist fighter, always on the alert, always ready to force down the public throat - like a huge pill containing a hefty dose of poison - another daring project; always fully armed, loudly challenging all England from his little office. To put it in boxing terms, he was always in excellent shape, wherever and whenever he entered the ring, and did not shy away from illegal techniques. He viciously attacked everything that opposed him, hit first with his right, then with his left, parried blows, delivered counter blows, pressed his opponent (all of England!) to the ropes and confidently knocked him down. He overturned common sense so cleverly that he fell dead and could no longer get up in time. This gentleman was entrusted with the highest authority with the mission to hasten the coming of the thousand-year kingdom, when officials would rule the world from their all-encompassing office.
“Great,” said the gentleman, crossing his arms over his chest and smiling approvingly. - That's what a horse is. Now, children, answer me this question: would any of you paper the room with pictures of a horse?
After a short silence, one half shouted “yes, sir!” in unison. But the other half, guessing from the gentleman’s face that “yes” was wrong, followed the custom of all schoolchildren and shouted “no, sir!” in unison.
- Of course not. And why?
Silence. Finally, one fat, slow boy, apparently suffering from shortness of breath, dared to answer that he would not wallpaper the walls at all, but would paint them.
“But you must paste them over,” said the gentleman sternly.
“You must paper them over,” confirmed Thomas Gradgrind, “whether you like it or not.” And don't tell me you wouldn't paper the room. What kind of news is this?
“I’ll have to explain to you,” said the gentleman after another long and painful pause, “why you wouldn’t paper the room with pictures of a horse.” Have you ever seen horses walk up and down a wall? Are you aware of this fact? Well?
- Yes, sir! - some shouted.
- No, sir! - others shouted.
“Of course not,” said the gentleman, casting an indignant glance at those who shouted “yes.” “And you should never see what you don’t really see, and you should never think about what you don’t really have.” The so-called taste is just a recognition of a fact.
Thomas Gradgrind indicated his complete agreement with a nod of his head.
“This is a new principle, a great discovery,” continued the gentleman. - Now I will ask you one more question. Let's say you wanted to lay out a carpet in your room. Would any of you install a rug that has flowers on it?
By this time, the entire class had already firmly believed that negative answers should always be given to a gentleman’s questions, and the unanimous “no” sounded loud and harmonious. Only a few voices timidly and belatedly answered “yes” - among them the voice of Sessie Jupe.
“Student number twenty,” said the gentleman, smiling condescendingly from the height of his indisputable wisdom.
Sissy stood up, crimson with embarrassment.
- So, would you cover the floor in your room or in your husband's room - if you were a grown woman and you had a husband - with images of flowers? - asked the gentleman. - Why would you do that?
“Because, sir, I love flowers very much,” answered the girl.
“And you would put tables and chairs on them and allow them to be trampled under heavy boots?”
- Sorry, sir, but it wouldn't hurt them. They wouldn't break or wilt, sir. But they would remind me of what is very beautiful and sweet, and I would imagine...
- Exactly, exactly! - exclaimed the gentleman, very pleased that he had achieved his goal so easily. - There’s no need to imagine. That's the whole point! Never try to imagine.
“See, Cecilia Jupe,” said Thomas Gradgrind, frowning, “that this does not happen again.”
- Facts, facts and facts! - said the gentleman.
“Facts, facts, facts,” echoed Thomas Gradgrind.
“You must always and in everything be guided by facts and obey the facts,” continued the gentleman. - We hope in the near future to establish a ministry of facts, where officials will be in charge of facts, and then we will force the people to be a people of facts, and only facts. Forget the very word “imagination”. It's of no use to you. All household items or decorations that you use must strictly correspond to the facts. You don't trample real flowers, so you can't trample flowers woven on a carpet. Overseas birds and butterflies do not land on your dishes - therefore, you should not paint it with overseas flowers and butterflies. It does not happen that four-legged animals walk up and down the walls of the room - therefore, there is no need to paste the walls with images of four-legged animals. Instead of all this,” the gentleman concluded, “you should use combinations and modifications (in the primary colors of the spectrum) of geometric figures, visual and demonstrable. This is the newest great discovery. This is an admission of fact. This is taste.
Sissy sat down again and sank into her seat. She was still very young, and, apparently, the picture of the future kingdom of facts seriously frightened her.
“And now, Mr. Gradgrind,” said the gentleman, “if Mr. Chadomor is ready to teach his first lesson, I will be glad to fulfill your request and familiarize myself with his method.”
Mr. Gradgrind expressed his deepest gratitude.
- Mr. Chadomor, please.
So, the lesson began, and Mr. Chadomor showed his best side. He was one of those school teachers, one hundred and forty of whom were recently produced at the same time, in the same factory, according to the same pattern, like a batch of piano legs. He was put through countless exams and answered countless puzzling questions. Spelling, etymology, syntax and prosody, astronomy, geography and general cosmography, the triple rule, algebra and geodesy, singing and life drawing - he knew all this like the back of his hand. His path was thorny, but he reached List B, approved by Her Majesty's Privy Council, and became familiar with higher mathematics and physical sciences, mastered French, German, Greek and Latin. He knew everything about all the watersheds of the world (no matter how many there were), knew the history of all peoples, the names of all rivers and mountains, the morals and customs of all countries and what they produce, the boundaries of each of them and the position relative to thirty-two compass points. Isn't it too much, Mr. Chadomor? Oh, if only he knew a little less, how much better he could teach immeasurably more!
In this first introductory lesson, he followed the example of Morgiana from the fairy tale about Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves - namely, he began by looking in turn at all the jugs placed in front of him in order to familiarize himself with their contents. Tell me honestly, dear Chadomor: are you sure that every time you fill a vessel to the brim with the boiling mixture of your knowledge, the robber lurking at the bottom - a child’s imagination - will be immediately killed? Or could it happen that you will only cripple and disfigure him?

Chapter III

Mr. Gradgrind went home from school in excellent spirits. This is his school, and he will make it exemplary. Every child in this school will be as exemplary a child as the young offspring of Mr. Gradgrind himself.
There were five young offspring, and every single one of them could serve as models. They began to educate them from a very tender age; They were chasing like young hares. They had barely learned to walk without assistance when they were forced to go to the classroom. The first object that appeared in their field of vision and deeply etched into their memory was a large blackboard on which the terrible Ogre was drawing ominous white signs.
Of course, the offspring had no idea about the existence of the Ogre and had never even heard such a name. God forbid! I simply use this word to describe a monster with a myriad of heads crammed into one, who kidnaps children and drags them by the hair into the statistical cages of his dark castle of learning.
None of the young Gradgrinds ever said that the moon was smiling: they knew everything about the moon even before they learned to speak. None of them ever babbled a stupid rhyme: “A star lit up in the sky, but where did you come from?” - and none of them ever asked themselves such a question: by the age of five they already knew how to dissect the Big Dipper no worse than Professor Owen and drive a starry carriage like a driver drives a train. Not one of the young Gradgrinds, seeing a cow in the meadow, remembered the well-known hornless cow, who kicked the old dog without a tail, who pulls the cat by the collar, who scares and catches a tit, or about that famous cow that swallowed a boy up to his finger; they knew absolutely nothing about these celebrities, and for them the cow was only a herbivorous ruminant quadruped with several stomachs.
So Mr. Gradgrind, very pleased with himself, walked towards his house - a true storehouse of facts - called Stone Shelter. He had built this house after retiring from his wholesale hardware business, and was now looking for an opportunity to increase the number of units that made up Parliament. Stone Shelter stood on a heath about a mile and a half from the large town, which in this authentic guide is called "Coketown."
The Stone Shelter was a very distinct feature of the terrain. No tricks softened or obscured this undisguised detail of the landscape - it asserted itself as an inexorable and indisputable fact: a large, box-like two-story building with a massive colonnade shading the lower windows, like thick overhanging eyebrows shading the eyes of its owner. Everything is calculated, everything is calculated, weighed and verified. Six windows on one side of the door, six on the other; a total of twelve on the facade in the right wing, twelve in the left and, accordingly, twenty-four in the rear wall. Lawn, garden and the beginnings of an alley, lined up like a botanical account book. Gas lighting, fans, sewerage and plumbing - all impeccable installations. Iron staples and clamps - full guarantee against fire; there are mechanical lifts for the maids with their mops, rags and brushes; in a word - everything you could wish for.
Is that all? Apparently so. Young Gradgrinds are provided with manuals for all kinds of scientific activities. They have a small conchological collection, a small metallurgical collection, and a small mineralogical collection; specimens of minerals and ores are laid out in the strictest order and labeled, and it seems as if they were split off from the parent rock with the help of their own puzzling names. And if all this was not enough for the young Gradgrinds, then what else, pray tell, did they need?
Their parent returned home slowly, in the most rosy and pleasant mood. He loved his children in his own way, was an affectionate father, but himself (if he, like Sissie Jupe, had been required to define it precisely) would probably call himself “an eminently practical father.” In general, he was extremely proud of the expression “highly practical,” which was especially often applied to his person. Whatever public meeting might be held at Coketown, and whatever might be discussed at that meeting, one could be sure that one of the speakers would certainly take the opportunity to remember his eminently practical friend Gradgrind. The practical friend invariably listened to this with pleasure. He knew he was only being given credit, but it still felt good.
He had already reached the outskirts of Coketown and set foot on neutral ground, in other words, he found himself in a place that was neither town nor village, but had the worst characteristics of both city and country, when the sounds of music reached his ears. The drums and trumpets of the traveling circus, which settled here in the plank booth, were playing at the top of their lungs. The flag that fluttered from the tower of this temple of art announced to the whole world that none other than the “Sleary Circus” was vying for the favorable attention of the public. Sleary himself, having placed a cash drawer next to him, positioned himself like a monumental modern sculpture in a booth that resembled the niche of an early Gothic cathedral, and accepted the entrance fee. Miss Josephine Sleary, as one could read on the very long and narrow posters, opened the program with her signature number - the “Equestrian Tyrolean Flower Dance”. Among other amusing, but always strictly decent miracles - which must be seen with your own eyes to be believed in them - the poster promised a performance by Signor Jupe and his superbly trained dog Veselchak. In addition, the famous “iron fountain” will be shown - the best act of Signor Jupe, consisting in the fact that seventy-five centners of iron, thrown up by his mighty hand, rise into the air in a continuous stream - an act the likes of which has never happened in our country , nor outside it, and which, due to its constant and wild success with the public, cannot be removed from the program. The same Signor Jupe “in the intervals between numbers will enliven the performance with highly moral jokes and witticisms in the Shakespearean spirit.” Finally, Signor Jupe will play his favorite role - that of Mr. William Button of Tooley Street in the "extremely original and hilarious hippodeville, The Tailor's Journey to Brentford."
Thomas Gradgrind, of course, did not even glance at this vulgar fuss and moved on, as befits a practical man, trying to brush aside the noisy two-legged boogers and mentally sending them to jail. But a turn in the road led him to the back wall of the booth, and at the back wall of the booth he saw a gathering of children and saw that the children, in the most unnatural poses, were stealthily looking through the crack in order to admire the magical spectacle with at least one eye.
Mr. Gradgrind stopped.
“These tramps,” he said, “they seduce even the students of an exemplary school.”
Since he was separated from his young pets by a strip of land, where stunted grass was growing between the piles of garbage, he took a lorgnette from his vest pocket and began to peer around to see if there were any children here known to him by name, whom he could call out and drive away from here. And what was revealed to his eyes! The phenomenon is mysterious, almost incredible, although clearly visible: his own daughter, the metallurgical Louise, clung to the pine boards, staring into the hole, and his own son, the mathematical Thomas, crawled on the ground in the most humiliating way, hoping to see at least one hoof from the “Equestrian Tyrolean Flower Dance”!
Mr. Gradgrind, in mute amazement, approached his children, who were engaged in such a shameful task, and, touching him on the shoulder, prodigal son and the prodigal daughter, exclaimed:
- Louise!! Thomas!!
They both jumped up, red and embarrassed. But Louise looked at her father more boldly than Thomas. As a matter of fact, Thomas did not look at him at all, but submissively, like a machine, allowed himself to be pulled away from the booth.
- This is idleness, this is recklessness! - exclaimed Mr. Gradgrind, seizing them both by the hands and leading them away. - For God's sake, what are you doing here?
“We wanted to see what it was there,” Louise answered briefly.

Charles Dickens. Hard times

In the city of Coketown live two close friends - if we can talk about friendship between people equally deprived of warm human feelings. Both of them are located at the top of the social ladder: Josiah Bounderby, “a famous rich man, banker, merchant, manufacturer”; and Thomas Gradgrind, "a man of sober mind, obvious facts and accurate calculations", who becomes MP for Coketown.

Mr. Gradgrind, who worshiped only facts, raised his children (there were five of them) in the same spirit. They never had toys - only teaching aids; they were forbidden to read fairy tales, poems and novels and generally touch anything that was not associated with immediate benefit, but could awaken the imagination and was related to the sphere of feelings. Wanting to spread his method as widely as possible, he organized a school on these principles.

Perhaps the worst student in this school was Sessie Jupe, the daughter of a circus performer - a juggler, magician and clown. She believed that flowers could be depicted on carpets, and not just geometric figures, and openly said that she was from the circus, which was considered an indecent word in this school. They even wanted to expel her, but when Mr. Gradgrind came to the circus to announce this, there was a heated discussion about the escape of Sessie's father with his dog. Sessy's father had grown old and worked in the arena no longer as well as in his youth; He heard applause less and less, and made mistakes more and more often. His colleagues had not yet reproached him bitterly, but in order not to live to see this, he fled. Sissy was left alone. And, instead of kicking Sissie out of school, Thomas Gradgrind took her into his house.

Sessie was very friendly with Louisa, Gradgrind's eldest daughter, until she agreed to marry Josiah Bounderby. He is only thirty years older than her (he is fifty, she is twenty), “fat, loud; His gaze is heavy, his laugh is metallic.” Louise was persuaded to this marriage by his brother Tom, for whom his sister’s marriage promised many benefits - a very tireless job at the Bounderby Bank, which would allow him to leave his hated home, which bore the expressive name “Stone Shelter”, a good salary, freedom. Tom perfectly learned the lessons of his father's school: benefit, benefit, lack of feelings. Louise, from these lessons, apparently lost interest in life. She agreed to the marriage with the words: “Does it matter?”

In the same city lives the weaver Stephen Blackpool, a simple worker, fair man. He is unhappy in his marriage - his wife is a drunkard, a completely fallen woman; but in England divorce is not for the poor, as his master Bounderby, to whom he came for advice, explains to him. This means that Stephen is destined to carry his cross further, and he will never be able to marry Rachel, whom he has loved for a long time. Stephen curses this world order - but Rachel begs not to say such words and not to participate in any unrest leading to its change. He promises. Therefore, when all the workers join the United Tribunal, Stephen alone does not do this, for which the leader of the Tribunal, Slackbridge, calls him a traitor, a coward and an apostate and offers to ostracize him. Having learned about this, the owner calls Stephen, reasoning that it would be nice to make the rejected and offended worker an informer. Stephen's categorical refusal leads to Bounderby dismissing him with a wolf ticket. Stephen announces that he is forced to leave the city. The conversation with the owner takes place in the presence of his household: his wife Louise and her brother Tom. Louise, imbued with sympathy for the unjustly offended worker, secretly goes to his home to give him money and asks her brother to accompany her. At Stephen's they find Rachel and an unfamiliar old woman who introduces herself as Mrs. Pegler. Stephen meets her for the second time in his life in the same place: at Bounderby's house; a year ago she asked him if his owner was healthy and looked good, now she is interested in his wife. The old lady is very tired, kind Rachel wants to give her tea; So she ends up with Stephen. Stephen refuses to take money from Louise, but thanks her for her good intention. Before leaving, Tom takes Stephen to the stairs and privately promises him a job, for which he needs to wait at the bank in the evenings: the messenger will give him a note. For three days, Stephen regularly waits, and, without waiting for anything, leaves the city.

Meanwhile, Tom, having escaped from the Stone Shelter, leads a riotous lifestyle and gets entangled in debt. At first, Louise paid his debts by selling her jewelry, but everything comes to an end: she has no more money.

Tom and especially Louisa are closely watched by Mrs. Sparsit, Bounderby's former housekeeper, who, after the owner's marriage, takes the position of bank supervisor. Mr. Bounderby, who likes to repeat that he was born in a ditch, that his mother abandoned him and raised him on the street and that he achieved everything with his own mind, is terribly flattered by the supposedly aristocratic origin of Mrs. Sparsit, who lives solely on his favors. Mrs. Sparsit hates Louisa, apparently because she is aiming for her place - or at least is very afraid of losing hers. With the arrival in town of James Harthouse, a bored gentleman from London who intends to stand for parliament from the Coketown constituency to strengthen the "party of hard numbers", she increases her vigilance. Indeed, the London dandy, according to all the rules of art, besieges Louise, groping for her Achilles heel - love for her brother. She is ready to talk about Tom for hours, and during these conversations the young people gradually become closer. After a private meeting with Harthouse, Louise becomes frightened of herself and returns to her father's house, declaring that she will not return to her husband. Sessie, whose warmth now warms the entire Stone Shelter, takes care of her. Moreover, Sessie, on her own initiative, goes to Harthouse to convince him to leave the city and not pursue Louise anymore, and she succeeds.

When news of the bank robbery spreads, Louise faints: she is sure that Tom did it. But suspicion falls on Stephen Blackpool: after all, he was on duty at the bank in the evenings for three days, after which he fled the city. Enraged by Louise's escape and the fact that Stephen has not been found, Bounderby posts notices all over the city with signs of Stephen and the promise of a reward for anyone who gives up the thief. Rachel, unable to bear the slander against Stephen, goes first to Bounderby, and then, together with him and Tom, to Louise and talks about Stephen’s last evening in Coketown, about the arrival of Louise and Tom and about the mysterious old woman. Louise confirms this. In addition, Rachel reports that she sent Stephen a letter and he is about to return to the city to justify himself.

But days go by and Stephen still doesn’t come. Rachel is very worried, Sessie, with whom she became friends, supports her as best she can. On Sunday they go from the smoky, stinking industrial Coketown out of town for a walk and accidentally find Stephen's hat near a huge scary pit - the Devil's Mine. They raise the alarm, organize rescue efforts - and the dying Stephen is pulled out of the mine. Having received Rachel's letter, he hastened to Coketown; saving time, I went straight ahead. Workers in the crowd curse the mines, which took their lives and health while in operation, and continue to do so when abandoned. Stephen explains that he was on duty at the bank at Tom's request, and dies without letting go of Rachel's hand. Tom manages to escape.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Sparsit, wanting to show her zeal, finds a mysterious old woman. It turns out that this is Josiah Bounderby's mother, who by no means abandoned him in infancy; she ran a hardware store, educated her son and was very proud of his successes, meekly accepting his command not to appear near him. She also proudly announced that her son takes care of her and sends her thirty pounds annually. The myth of Josiah Bounderby of Coketown, a self-made man who rose from the mud, has collapsed. The immorality of the manufacturer became obvious. The culprit of this, Mrs. Sparsit, lost the warm and satisfying place for which she had fought so hard.

In the Stone Shelter, the families are experiencing the shame of the family and wondering where Tom could have disappeared to. When Mr. Gradgrind comes to the decision to send his son away abroad, Sissie tells where he is: she suggested that Tom hide in the circus where her father once worked. Indeed, Tom is hidden securely: he is unrecognizable in makeup and a blackamoor costume, although he is constantly in the arena. The circus owner, Mr. Sleary, helps Tom get rid of the chase. To Mr. Gradgrind’s gratitude, Mr. Sleary replies that he once did him a favor by taking in Sessie, and now it’s his turn.

Tom arrives safely South America and sends letters from there full of repentance.

Immediately after Tom's departure, Mr. Gradgrind puts up posters naming the true culprit of the theft and washing away the stain of slander from the name of the late Stephen Blackpool. Within a week of becoming an old man, he becomes convinced of the inconsistency of his education system, based on exact facts, and appeals to humanistic values, trying to make numbers and facts serve faith, hope and love.

Bibliography

To prepare this work, materials from the site http://briefly.ru/ were used

Charles Dickens

HARD TIMES

BOOK ONE

One thing you need

The action took place in a crypt-like, uncomfortable, cold classroom with bare walls, and the speaker, for greater impressiveness, emphasized each of his sayings by running his square finger along the teacher’s sleeve. No less impressive than the words of the speaker was his square forehead, rising like a sheer wall above the foundation of his eyebrows, and under his canopy, in dark, spacious cellars, as if in caves, his eyes were comfortably located. The speaker’s mouth was also impressive - large, thin-lipped and hard; and the speaker’s voice is hard, dry and authoritative; His bald head was also impressive, along the edges of which the hair bristled like fir trees planted to protect from the wind its glossy surface, dotted with cones, like the crust of a sweet pie - as if the stock of indisputable facts no longer fit in the cranium. Unyielding posture, square coat, square legs, square shoulders - whatever! - even the tightly knotted tie that held the speaker tightly by the throat as the most obvious and irrefutable fact - everything about him was impressive.

In this life, sir, we need facts, nothing but facts!

Massacre of the innocents

With these words Mr. Gradgrind was in the habit of mentally recommending himself to a small circle of acquaintances, as well as to the general public. And, undoubtedly, with the same words - replacing the address “sir” with the address “pupils and pupils” - Thomas Gradgrind mentally introduced Thomas Gradgrind to the vessels sitting in front of him, into which it was necessary to pour in as many facts as possible.

He stood, menacingly flashing at them with his eyes hidden in the caves, like a cannon filled to the very muzzle with facts, ready to knock them out of childhood with one shot. Or a galvanic device charged with soulless mechanical force, which should replace the tender childish imagination that had been scattered into dust.

Student number twenty,” said Mr. Gradgrind, pointing a square finger at one of the schoolgirls. - I don’t know this girl. Who is that girl?

“Cessie Jupe, sir,” answered student number twenty, all red with embarrassment, jumping to her feet and crouching.

Sessie? There is no such name, said Mr. Gradgrind. - Don't call yourself Sissy. Call yourself Cecilia.

“My dad calls me Sissie, sir,” the girl answered in a trembling voice and sat down again.

It’s in vain that he calls you that,” said Mr. Gradgrind. - Tell him not to do it. Cecilia Jupe. Wait a minute. Who is your father?

He's from the circus, sir.

Mr. Gradgrind frowned and waved his hand, dismissing such a reprehensible craft.

We don’t want to know anything about this here. And don't ever say that here. Your father probably rides horses? Yes?

Yes, sir. When horses can be obtained, they are ridden in the arena, sir.

Never mention the arena here. So, call your father a bereitor. He must be treating sick horses?

Of course, sir.

Great, so your father was a farrier - that is, a veterinarian - and a groomer. Now define what a horse is?

(Cessie Jupe, scared to death by this question, remained silent.)

Student number twenty doesn't know what a horse is! - Mr. Gradgrind announced, addressing all the vessels. - Student number twenty does not have any facts regarding one of the most ordinary animals! Let's listen to what the students know about the horse. Bitzer, tell me.

The square finger, moving back and forth, suddenly stopped on Bitzer, perhaps only because the boy was in the path of that ray of sunlight, which, bursting into the uncurtained window of the thickly whitened room, fell on Sessie. For the inclined plane was divided into two halves: on one side of the narrow passage, closer to the windows, the girls were placed, on the other - the boys; and the ray of the sun, with one end touching Sessie, who was sitting at the end of her row, with the other end illuminated Bitzer, who occupied the extreme seat several rows ahead of Sessie. But the girl’s black eyes and black hair shone even brighter in the sunlight, and the boy’s white eyes and white hair, under the influence of the same ray, seemed to have lost the last traces of the colors given to him by nature. The boy's empty, colorless eyes would have been barely noticeable on his face if not for the short stubble of eyelashes of a darker shade bordering them. His short-cropped hair was no different in color from the yellowish freckles that covered his forehead and cheeks. And his painfully pale skin, without the slightest trace of natural blush, involuntarily suggested that if he had cut himself, not red, but white blood would flow.

Bitzer, said Thomas Gradgrind, explain that there is a horse.

Quadruped. Herbivore. There are forty teeth, namely: twenty-four molars, four eyes and twelve incisors. Sheds in spring; in swampy areas the hooves also change. The hooves are hard, but require iron shoes. You can tell age by your teeth. - Bitzer blurted out all this (and much more) in one breath.

Pupil number twenty, said Mr. Gradgrind, now you know there is a horse.