Chapter 45

SOME few years later, while travelling with my family inSwitzerland, we happened to be staying at Baveno on LagoMaggiore at the same time, and in the same hotel, as theCrown Prince and Princess of Germany. Their ImperialHighnesses occupied a suite of apartments on the first floor.

　　Our rooms were immediately above them. As my wife was knownto the Princess, occasional greetings passed from balcony tobalcony.

　　One evening while watching two lads rowing from the shore inthe direction of Isola Bella, I was aroused from mycontemplation of a gathering storm by angry vociferationsbeneath me. These were addressed to the youths in the boat.

　　The anxious father had noted the coming tempest; and, withhands to his mouth, was shouting orders to the younggentlemen to return. Loud and angry as cracked the thunder,the imperial voice o'ertopped it. Commands succeededadmonitions, and as the only effect on the rowers was obviousrecalcitrancy, oaths succeeded both: all in those throat-clearing tones to which the German language so consonantlylends itself. In a few minutes the boat was immersed in thedown-pour which concealed it.

　　The elder of the two oarsmen was no other than the futurefirebrand peacemaker, Miching Mallecho, our fierce littleTartarin de Berlin. One wondered how he, who would not beruled, would come in turn to rule? That question is aburning one; and may yet set the world in flames to solve it.

　　A comic little incident happened here to my own children.

　　There was but one bathing-machine. This, the two - aschoolboy and his sister - used in the early morning. Beingrather late one day, they found it engaged; and growingimpatient the boy banged at the door of the machine, with ashout in schoolboy's vernacular: 'Come, hurry up; we want todip.' Much to the surprise of the guilty pair, an answer,also in the best of English, came from the inside: 'Go away,you naughty boy.' The occupant was the Imperial Princess.

　　Needless to say the children bolted with a mingled sense ofmischief and alarm.

　　About this time I joined a society for the relief ofdistress, of which Bromley Davenport was the nominal leader.

　　The 'managing director,' so to speak, was Dr. Gilbert, fatherof Mr. W. S. Gilbert. To him I went for instructions. Itold him I wanted to see the worst. He accordingly sent meto Bethnal Green. For two winters and part of a third Ivisited this district twice a week regularly. What I saw inthe course of those two years was matter for a thoughtful -ay, or a thoughtless - man to think of for the rest of hisdays.

　　My system was to call first upon the clergyman of the parish,and obtain from him a guide to the severest cases ofdestitution. The guide would be a Scripture reader, and, asfar as I remember, always a woman. I do not know whether thelabours of these good creatures were gratuitous - theythemselves were certainly poor, yet singularly earnest andsympathetic. The society supplied tickets for coal,blankets, and food. Needless to say, had these supplies beena thousand-fold as great, they would have done as littlepermanent good as those at my command.

　　In Bethnal Green the principal industry is, or was, silk-weaving by hand looms. Nearly all the houses were ancientand dilapidated. A weaver and his family would occupy partof a flat, consisting of two rooms perhaps, one of whichwould contain his loom. The room might be about seven feethigh, nearly dark, lighted only by a lattice window, half ofthe panes of which would be replaced by dirty rags or oldnewspaper. As the loom was placed against the window thelight was practically excluded. The foulness of the air andfilth which this entailed may be too easily imagined. Acouple of cases, taken almost at random, will sample scoresas bad.

　　It is one of the darkest days of December. The Thames isnearly frozen at Waterloo Bridge. On the second floor of anold house in - Lane, in an unusually spacious room (or doesit only look spacious because there is nothing in it savefour human beings?) are a father, a mother, and a grown-upson and daughter. They scowl at the visitor as the Scripturereader opens the door. What is the meaning of the intrusion?

　　Is he too come with a Bible instead of bread? The four areseated side by side on the floor, leaning against the wall,waiting for - death. Bedsteads, chairs, table, and loomshave been burnt this week or more for fuel. The grate isempty now, and lets the freezing draught blow down thechimney. The temporary relief is accepted, but not withthanks. These four stubbornly prefer death to the work-house.

　　One other case. It is the same hard winter. The scene: asmall garret in the roof, a low slanting little skylight, nowcovered six inches deep in snow. No fireplace here, noventilation, so put your scented cambric to your nose, mynoble Dives. The only furniture a scanty armful of - whatshall we call it? It was straw once. A starving woman and ababy are lying on it, notwithstanding. The baby surely willnot be there to-morrow. It has a very bad cold - and themucus, and the - pah! The woman in a few rags - just a few -is gnawing a raw carrot. The picture is complete. There'snothing more to paint. The rest - the whole indeed, that isthe consciousness of it - was, and remains, with the Unseen.

　　You will say, 'Such things cannot be'; you will say, 'Thereare relieving officers, whose duty, etc., etc.' May be. Iam only telling you what I myself have seen. There is moregoes on in big cities than even relieving officers can copewith. And who shall grapple with the causes? That's thepoint.

　　Here is something else that I have seen. I have seen afamily of six in one room. Of these, four were brothers andsisters, all within, none over, their teens. There werethree beds between the six. When I came upon them they wereout of work, - the young ones in bed to keep warm. I tookthem for very young married couples. It was the Scripturereader who undeceived me. This is not the exception to therule, look you, but the rule itself. How will you deal withit? It is with Nature, immoral Nature and her heedlessinstincts that you have to deal. With what kind of fork willyou expel her? It is with Nature's wretched children, theBETES HUMAINES,Quos venerem incertam rapientes more ferarum,that your account lies. Will they cease to listen to hermaddening whispers: 'Unissez-vous, multipliez, il n'estd'autre loi, d'autre but, que l'amour?' What care they forher aside - 'Et durez apres, si vous le pouvez; cela ne meregarde plus'? It doesn't regard them either.

　　The infallible panacea, so the 'Progressive' tell us, iseducation - lessons on the piano, perhaps? Doctor Malthuswould be more to the purpose; but how shall we administer hisprescriptions? One thing we might try to teach to advantage,and that is the elementary principles of hygiene. I am heartand soul with the Progressive as to the ultimate remedialpowers of education. Moral advancement depends absolutely onthe humanising influences of intellectual advancement. Theforeseeing of consequences is a question of intelligence.

　　And the appreciation of consequences which follow is thebasis of morality. But we must not begin at the wrong end.

　　The true foundation and condition of intellectual and moralprogress postulates material and physical improvement. Thegrowth of artificial wants is as much the cause as the effectof civilisation: they proceed PARI PASSU. A taste ofcomfort begets a love of comfort. And this kind of lovemilitates, not impotently, against the other; for self-interest is a persuasive counsellor, and gets a hearing whenthe blood is cool. Life must be more than possible, it mustbe endurable; man must have some leisure, some repose, beforehis brain-needs have a chance with those of his belly. Hemust have a coat to his back before he can stick a rose inits button-hole. The worst of it is, he begins - in BethnalGreen at least - with the rose-bud; and indulges, poor devil!

　　in a luxury which is just the most expensive, and - in ourBethnal Greens - the most suicidal he could resort to.

　　There was one method I adopted with a show of temporarysuccess now and then. It frequently happens that a mansuccumbs to difficulties for which he is not responsible, andwhich timely aid may enable him to overcome. An artisan mayhave to pawn or sell the tools by which he earns his living.

　　The redemption of these, if the man is good for anything,will often set him on his legs. Thus, for example, I found acobbler one day surrounded by a starving family. His storywas common enough, severe illness being the burden of it. Hewas an intelligent little fellow, and, as far as one couldjudge, full of good intentions. His wife seemed devoted tohim, and this was the best of vouchers. 'If he had but ashilling or two to redeem his tools, and buy two or three oldcast-off shoes in the rag-market which he could patch up andsell, he wouldn't ask anyone for a copper.'

　　We went together to the pawnbroker's, then to the rag-market,and the little man trotted home with an armful of old bootsand shoes, some without soles, some without uppers; all, as Ishould have thought, picked out of dust-bins and rubbishheaps, his sunken eyes sparkling with eagerness and renovatedhope. I looked in upon him about three weeks later. Thefamily were sitting round a well provided tea-table, close toa glowing fire, the cheeks of the children smeared with jam,and the little cobbler hammering away at his last, too busyto partake of the bowl of hot tea which his wife had placedbeside him.

　　The same sort of treatment was sometimes very successful witha skilful workman - like a carpenter, for instance. Here adouble purpose might be served. Nothing more common inBethnal Green than broken looms, and consequent disaster.

　　There you had the ready-made job for the reinstatedcarpenter; and good could be done in a small way, at verylittle cost. Of coarse much discretion is needed; still, theScripture readers or the relieving officers would know thecharacters of the destitute, and the visitor himself wouldsoon learn to discriminate.

　　A system similar to this was the basis of the aid rendered bythe Royal Society for the Assistance of Discharged Prisoners,which was started by my friend, Mr. Whitbread, the presentowner of Southill, and which I joined in its early days athis instigation. The earnings of the prisoner were handedover by the gaols to the Society, and the Society employedthem for his advantage - always, in the case of an artisan,by supplying him with the needful implements of his trade.

　　But relief in which the pauper has no productive share, ofwhich he is but a mere consumer, is of no avail.

　　One cannot but think that if instead of the selfishprinciples which govern our trades-unions, and which aredriving their industries out of the country, trade-schoolscould be provided - such, for instance, as the cheap carvingschools to be met with in many parts of Germany and the Tyrol- much might be done to help the bread-earners. Why couldnot schools be organised for the instruction of shoemakers,tailors, carpenters, smiths of all kinds, and the scores ofother trades which in former days were learnt by compulsoryapprenticeship? Under our present system of education thegreater part of what the poor man's children learn is cleanforgotten in a few years; and if not, serves mainly to createand foster discontent, which vents itself in a passion formass-meetings and the fuliginous oratory of our Hyde Parks.

　　The emigration scheme for poor-law children as advocated byMrs. Close is the most promising, in its way, yet broughtbefore the public, and is deserving of every support.

　　In the absence of any such projects as these, thehopelessness of the task, and the depressing effect of thecontact with much wretchedness, wore me out. I had a nurseryof my own, and was not justified in risking infectiousdiseases. A saint would have been more heroic, and couldbesides have promised that sweetest of consolations tosuffering millions - the compensation of Eternal Happiness.

　　I could not give them even hope, for I had none to spare.

　　The root-evil I felt to be the overcrowding due to thereckless intercourse of the sexes; and what had Providence todo with a law of Nature, obedience to which entailedunspeakable misery?