The public-house is ubiquitous. It flourishes on every corner and between corners, and it is frequented almost as much by women as by men. Children are to be found in it as well, waiting till their fathers and mothers are ready to go home, sipping6 from the glasses of their elders, listening to the coarse language and degrading conversation, catching7 the contagion8 of it, familiarising themselves with licentiousness9 and debauchery.
Mrs. Grundy rules as supremely10 over the workers as she does over the bourgeoisie; but in the case of the workers, the one thing she does not frown upon is the public-house. No disgrace or shame attaches to it, nor to the young woman or girl who makes a practice of entering it.
I remember a girl in a coffee-house saying, “I never drink spirits when in a public-’ouse.” She was a young and pretty waitress, and she was laying down to another waitress her pre-eminent respectability and discretion11. Mrs. Grundy drew the line at spirits, but allowed that it was quite proper for a clean young girl to drink beer, and to go into a public-house to drink it.
Not only is this beer unfit for the people to drink, but too often the men and women are unfit to drink it. On the other hand, it is their very unfitness that drives them to drink it. Ill-fed, suffering from innutrition and the evil effects of overcrowding and squalor, their constitutions develop a morbid12 craving13 for the drink, just as the sickly stomach of the overstrung Manchester factory operative hankers after excessive quantities of pickles14 and similar weird15 foods. Unhealthy working and living engenders16 unhealthy appetites and desires. Man cannot be worked worse than a horse is worked, and be housed and fed as a pig is housed and fed, and at the same time have clean and wholesome17 ideals and aspirations18.
As home-life vanishes, the public-house appears. Not only do men and women abnormally crave19 drink, who are overworked, exhausted20, suffering from deranged21 stomachs and bad sanitation22, and deadened by the ugliness and monotony of existence, but the gregarious23 men and women who have no home-life flee to the bright and clattering24 public-house in a vain attempt to express their gregariousness25. And when a family is housed in one small room, home-life is impossible.
A brief examination of such a dwelling26 will serve to bring to light one important cause of drunkenness. Here the family arises in the morning, dresses, and makes its toilet, father, mother, sons, and daughters, and in the same room, shoulder to shoulder (for the room is small), the wife and mother cooks the breakfast. And in the same room, heavy and sickening with the exhalations of their packed bodies throughout the night, that breakfast is eaten. The father goes to work, the elder children go to school or into the street, and the mother remains27 with her crawling, toddling28 youngsters to do her housework — still in the same room. Here she washes the clothes, filling the pent space with soapsuds and the smell of dirty clothes, and overhead she hangs the wet linen29 to dry.
Here, in the evening, amid the manifold smells of the day, the family goes to its virtuous30 couch. That is to say, as many as possible pile into the one bed (if bed they have), and the surplus turns in on the floor. And this is the round of their existence, month after month, year after year, for they never get a vacation save when they are evicted31. When a child dies, and some are always bound to die, since fifty-five per cent. of the East End children die before they are five years old, the body is laid out in the same room. And if they are very poor, it is kept for some time until they can bury it. During the day it lies on the bed; during the night, when the living take the bed, the dead occupies the table, from which, in the morning, when the dead is put back into the bed, they eat their breakfast. Sometimes the body is placed on the shelf which serves as a pantry for their food. Only a couple of weeks ago, an East End woman was in trouble, because, in this fashion, being unable to bury it, she had kept her dead child three weeks.
Now such a room as I have described is not home but horror; and the men and women who flee away from it to the public-house are to be pitied, not blamed. There are 300,000 people, in London, divided into families that live in single rooms, while there are 900,000 who are illegally housed according to the Public Health Act of 1891 — a respectable recruiting-ground for the drink traffic.
Then there are the insecurity of happiness, the precariousness32 of existence, the well-founded fear of the future — potent33 factors in driving people to drink. Wretchedness squirms for alleviation34, and in the public-house its pain is eased and forgetfulness is obtained. It is unhealthy. Certainly it is, but everything else about their lives is unhealthy, while this brings the oblivion that nothing else in their lives can bring. It even exalts35 them, and makes them feel that they are finer and better, though at the same time it drags them down and makes them more beastly than ever. For the unfortunate man or woman, it is a race between miseries36 that ends with death.
It is of no avail to preach temperance and teetotalism to these people. The drink habit may be the cause of many miseries; but it is, in turn, the effect of other and prior miseries. The temperance advocates may preach their hearts out over the evils of drink, but until the evils that cause people to drink are abolished, drink and its evils will remain.
Until the people who try to help realise this, their well-intentioned efforts will be futile37, and they will present a spectacle fit only to set Olympus laughing. I have gone through an exhibition of Japanese art, got up for the poor of Whitechapel with the idea of elevating them, of begetting38 in them yearnings for the Beautiful and True and Good. Granting (what is not so) that the poor folk are thus taught to know and yearn39 after the Beautiful and True and Good, the foul41 facts of their existence and the social law that dooms42 one in three to a public-charity death, demonstrate that this knowledge and yearning40 will be only so much of an added curse to them. They will have so much more to forget than if they had never known and yearned43. Did Destiny to-day bind44 me down to the life of an East End slave for the rest of my years, and did Destiny grant me but one wish, I should ask that I might forget all about the Beautiful and True and Good; that I might forget all I had learned from the open books, and forget the people I had known, the things I had heard, and the lands I had seen. And if Destiny didn’t grant it, I am pretty confident that I should get drunk and forget it as often as possible.
These people who try to help! Their college settlements, missions, charities, and what not, are failures. In the nature of things they cannot but be failures. They are wrongly, though sincerely, conceived. They approach life through a misunderstanding of life, these good folk. They do not understand the West End, yet they come down to the East End as teachers and savants. They do not understand the simple sociology of Christ, yet they come to the miserable45 and the despised with the pomp of social redeemers. They have worked faithfully, but beyond relieving an infinitesimal fraction of misery46 and collecting a certain amount of data which might otherwise have been more scientifically and less expensively collected, they have achieved nothing.
As some one has said, they do everything for the poor except get off their backs. The very money they dribble47 out in their child’s schemes has been wrung48 from the poor. They come from a race of successful and predatory bipeds who stand between the worker and his wages, and they try to tell the worker what he shall do with the pitiful balance left to him. Of what use, in the name of God, is it to establish nurseries for women workers, in which, for instance, a child is taken while the mother makes violets in Islington at three farthings a gross, when more children and violet-makers than they can cope with are being born right along? This violet-maker handles each flower four times, 576 handlings for three farthings, and in the day she handles the flowers 6912 times for a wage of ninepence. She is being robbed. Somebody is on her back, and a yearning for the Beautiful and True and Good will not lighten her burden. They do nothing for her, these dabblers; and what they do not do for the mother, undoes49 at night, when the child comes home, all that they have done for the child in the day.
And one and all, they join in teaching a fundamental lie. They do not know it is a lie, but their ignorance does not make it more of a truth. And the lie they preach is “thrift50.” An instant will demonstrate it. In overcrowded London, the struggle for a chance to work is keen, and because of this struggle wages sink to the lowest means of subsistence. To be thrifty51 means for a worker to spend less than his income — in other words, to live on less. This is equivalent to a lowering of the standard of living. In the competition for a chance to work, the man with a lower standard of living will underbid the man with a higher standard. And a small group of such thrifty workers in any overcrowded industry will permanently52 lower the wages of that industry. And the thrifty ones will no longer be thrifty, for their income will have been reduced till it balances their expenditure53.
In short, thrift negates54 thrift. If every worker in England should heed55 the preachers of thrift and cut expenditure in half, the condition of there being more men to work than there is work to do would swiftly cut wages in half. And then none of the workers of England would be thrifty, for they would be living up to their diminished incomes. The short-sighted thrift-preachers would naturally be astounded56 at the outcome. The measure of their failure would be precisely57 the measure of the success of their propaganda. And, anyway, it is sheer bosh and nonsense to preach thrift to the 1,800,000 London workers who are divided into families which have a total income of less than 21s. per week, one quarter to one half of which must be paid for rent.
Concerning the futility58 of the people who try to help, I wish to make one notable, noble exception, namely, the Dr. Barnardo Homes. Dr. Barnardo is a child-catcher. First, he catches them when they are young, before they are set, hardened, in the vicious social mould; and then he sends them away to grow up and be formed in another and better social mould. Up to date he has sent out of the country 13,340 boys, most of them to Canada, and not one in fifty has failed. A splendid record, when it is considered that these lads are waifs and strays, homeless and parentless, jerked out from the very bottom of the Abyss, and forty-nine out of fifty of them made into men.
Every twenty-four hours in the year Dr. Barnardo snatches nine waifs from the streets; so the enormous field he has to work in may be comprehended. The people who try to help have something to learn from him. He does not play with palliatives. He traces social viciousness and misery to their sources. He removes the progeny59 of the gutter-folk from their pestilential environment, and gives them a healthy, wholesome environment in which to be pressed and prodded60 and moulded into men.
When the people who try to help cease their playing and dabbling61 with day nurseries and Japanese art exhibits and go back and learn their West End and the sociology of Christ, they will be in better shape to buckle62 down to the work they ought to be doing in the world. And if they do buckle down to the work, they will follow Dr. Barnardo’s lead, only on a scale as large as the nation is large. They won’t cram63 yearnings for the Beautiful, and True, and Good down the throat of the woman making violets for three farthings a gross, but they will make somebody get off her back and quit cramming64 himself till, like the Romans, he must go to a bath and sweat it out. And to their consternation65, they will find that they will have to get off that woman’s back themselves, as well as the backs of a few other women and children they did not dream they were riding upon.
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1
sodden
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| adj.浑身湿透的；v.使浸透；使呆头呆脑 | |
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impaired
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| adj.受损的；出毛病的；有（身体或智力）缺陷的v.损害，削弱( impair的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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3
infancy
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| n.婴儿期；幼年期；初期 | |
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4
begotten
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| v.为…之生父( beget的过去分词 )；产生，引起 | |
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5
saturated
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| a.饱和的，充满的 | |
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6
sipping
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| v.小口喝，呷，抿( sip的现在分词 ) | |
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7
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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8
contagion
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| n.(通过接触的疾病)传染；蔓延 | |
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9
licentiousness
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| n.放肆，无法无天 | |
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10
supremely
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| adv.无上地，崇高地 | |
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11
discretion
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| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
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12
morbid
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| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
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13
craving
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| n.渴望,热望 | |
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14
pickles
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| n.腌菜( pickle的名词复数 )；处于困境；遇到麻烦；菜酱 | |
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15
weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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16
engenders
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| v.产生（某形势或状况），造成，引起( engender的第三人称单数 ) | |
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17
wholesome
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| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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18
aspirations
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| 强烈的愿望( aspiration的名词复数 )； 志向； 发送气音； 发 h 音 | |
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19
crave
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| vt.渴望得到，迫切需要，恳求，请求 | |
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20
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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21
deranged
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| adj.疯狂的 | |
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22
sanitation
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| n.公共卫生，环境卫生，卫生设备 | |
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23
gregarious
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| adj.群居的，喜好群居的 | |
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24
clattering
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的现在分词形式） | |
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25
gregariousness
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| 集群性；簇聚性 | |
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26
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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27
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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28
toddling
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| v.（幼儿等）东倒西歪地走( toddle的现在分词 )；蹒跚行走；溜达；散步 | |
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29
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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30
virtuous
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| adj.有品德的，善良的，贞洁的，有效力的 | |
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31
evicted
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| v.（依法从房屋里或土地上）驱逐，赶出( evict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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32
precariousness
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33
potent
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| adj.强有力的，有权势的；有效力的 | |
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34
alleviation
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| n. 减轻，缓和，解痛物 | |
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35
exalts
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| 赞扬( exalt的第三人称单数 )； 歌颂； 提升； 提拔 | |
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36
miseries
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| n.痛苦( misery的名词复数 )；痛苦的事；穷困；常发牢骚的人 | |
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37
futile
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| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
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38
begetting
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| v.为…之生父( beget的现在分词 )；产生，引起 | |
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39
yearn
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| v.想念；怀念；渴望 | |
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40
yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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41
foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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42
dooms
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| v.注定( doom的第三人称单数 )；判定；使…的失败（或灭亡、毁灭、坏结局）成为必然；宣判 | |
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43
yearned
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| 渴望，切盼，向往( yearn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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44
bind
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| vt.捆，包扎；装订；约束；使凝固；vi.变硬 | |
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45
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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46
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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47
dribble
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| v.点滴留下，流口水；n.口水 | |
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48
wrung
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| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
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49
undoes
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| 松开( undo的第三人称单数 )； 解开； 毁灭； 败坏 | |
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50
thrift
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| adj.节约，节俭；n.节俭，节约 | |
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51
thrifty
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| adj.节俭的；兴旺的；健壮的 | |
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52
permanently
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| adv.永恒地，永久地，固定不变地 | |
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53
expenditure
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| n.(时间、劳力、金钱等)支出；使用，消耗 | |
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54
negates
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| v.取消( negate的第三人称单数 )；使无效；否定；否认 | |
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55
heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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56
astounded
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| v.使震惊(astound的过去式和过去分词)；愕然；愕；惊讶 | |
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57
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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58
futility
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| n.无用 | |
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59
progeny
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| n.后代，子孙；结果 | |
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60
prodded
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| v.刺，戳( prod的过去式和过去分词 )；刺激；促使；（用手指或尖物）戳 | |
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61
dabbling
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| v.涉猎( dabble的现在分词 )；涉足；浅尝；少量投资 | |
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62
buckle
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| n.扣子，带扣；v.把...扣住，由于压力而弯曲 | |
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63
cram
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| v.填塞，塞满，临时抱佛脚，为考试而学习 | |
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64
cramming
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| n.塞满，填鸭式的用功v.塞入( cram的现在分词 )；填塞；塞满；（为考试而）死记硬背功课 | |
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65
consternation
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| n.大为吃惊，惊骇 | |
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