Ragged Trousered Philanthropists by Robert Tressell (read novel full TXT) 📖

back at the beginning

of the summer, the man who had come afterwards with the van, and who

had been struck down by a stone while attempting to speak from the

platform of the van, the man who had been nearly killed by the

upholders of the capitalist system. It was the same man! The

Socialist had been clean-shaven - this man wore beard and moustache -

but Barrington was certain he was the same.

 

When the man had concluded his speech he got down and stood in the

shade behind the platform, while someone else addressed the meeting,

and Barrington went round to where he was standing, intending to speak

to him.

 

All around them, pandemonium reigned supreme. They were in the

vicinity of the Slave Market, near the Fountain, on the Grand Parade,

where several roads met; there was a meeting going on at every corner,

and a number of others in different, parts of the roadway and on the

pavement of the Parade. Some of these meetings were being carried on

by two or three men, who spoke in turn from small, portable platforms

they carried with them, and placed wherever they thought there was a

chance of getting an audience.

 

Every now and then some of these poor wretches - they were all paid

speakers - were surrounded and savagely mauled and beaten by a hostile

crowd. If they were Tariff Reformers the Liberals mobbed them, and

vice versa. Lines of rowdies swaggered to and fro, arm in arm,

singing, `Vote, Vote, Vote, for good ole Closeland’ or `good ole

Sweater’, according as they were green or blue and yellow. Gangs of

hooligans paraded up and down, armed with sticks, singing, howling,

cursing and looking for someone to hit. Others stood in groups on the

pavement with their hands thrust in their pockets, or leaned against

walls or the shutters of the shops with expressions of ecstatic

imbecility on their faces, chanting the mournful dirge to the tune of

the church chimes,

 

`Good - ole - Sweat - er

Good - ole - Sweat - er

Good - ole - Sweat - er

Good - ole - Sweat - er.’

 

Other groups - to the same tune - sang `Good - ole - Close - land’;

and every now and again they used to leave off singing and begin to

beat each other. Fights used to take place, often between workmen,

about the respective merits of Adam Sweater and Sir Graball

D’Encloseland.

 

The walls were covered with huge Liberal and Tory posters, which

showed in every line the contempt of those who published them for the

intelligence of the working men to whom they were addressed. There

was one Tory poster that represented the interior of a public house;

in front of the bar, with a quart pot in his hand, a clay pipe in his

mouth, and a load of tools on his back, stood a degraded-looking brute

who represented the Tory ideal of what an Englishman should be; the

letterpress on the poster said it was a man! This is the ideal of

manhood that they hold up to the majority of their fellow countrymen,

but privately - amongst themselves - the Tory aristocrats regard such

`men’ with far less respect than they do the lower animals. Horses or

dogs, for instance.

 

The Liberal posters were not quite so offensive. They were more

cunning, more specious, more hypocritical and consequently more

calculated to mislead and deceive the more intelligent of the voters.

 

When Barrington got round to the back of the platform, he found the

man with the scarred face standing alone and gloomily silent in the

shadow. Barrington gave him one of the Socialist leaflets, which he

took, and after glancing at it, put it in his coat pocket without

making any remark.

 

`I hope you’ll excuse me for asking, but were you not formerly a

Socialist?’ said Barrington.

 

Even in the semi-darkness Barrington saw the other man flush deeply

and then become very pale, and the unsightly scar upon his forehead

showed with ghastly distinctiveness.

 

`I am still a Socialist: no man who has once been a Socialist can ever

cease to be one.’

 

`You seem to have accomplished that impossibility, to judge by the

work you are at present engaged in. You must have changed your

opinions since you were here last.’

 

`No one who has been a Socialist can ever cease to be one. It is

impossible for a man who has once acquired knowledge ever to

relinquish it. A Socialist is one who understands the causes of the

misery and degradation we see all around us; who knows the only

remedy, and knows that that remedy - the state of society that will be

called Socialism - must eventually be adopted; is the only alternative

to the extermination of the majority of the working people; but it

does not follow that everyone who has sense enough to acquire that

amount of knowledge, must, in addition, be willing to sacrifice

himself in order to help to bring that state of society into being.

When I first acquired that knowledge,’ he continued, bitterly, `I was

eager to tell the good news to others. I sacrificed my time, my

money, and my health in order that I might teach others what I had

learned myself. I did it willingly and happily, because I thought

they would be glad to hear, and that they were worth the sacrifices I

made for their sakes. But I know better now.’

 

`Even if you no longer believe in working for Socialism, there’s no

need to work AGAINST it. If you are not disposed to sacrifice

yourself in order to do good to others, you might at least refrain

from doing evil. If you don’t want to help to bring about a better

state of affairs, there’s no reason why you should help to perpetuate

the present system.’

 

The other man laughed bitterly. `Oh yes, there is, and a very good

reason too.’

 

`I don’t think you could show me a reason,’ said Barrington.

 

The man with the scar laughed again, the same unpleasant, mirthless

laugh, and thrusting his hand into his trouser pocket drew it out

again full of silver coins, amongst which one or two gold pieces

glittered.

 

`That is my reason. When I devoted my life and what abilities I

possess to the service of my fellow workmen; when I sought to teach

them how to break their chains; when I tried to show them how they

might save their children from poverty and shameful servitude, I did

not want them to give me money. I did it for love. And they paid me

with hatred and injury. But since I have been helping their masters

to rob them, they have treated me with respect.’

 

Barrington made no reply and the other man, having returned the money

to his pocket, indicated the crowd with a sweep of his hand.

 

`Look at them!’ he continued with a contemptuous laugh. `Look at

them! the people you are trying to make idealists of! Look at them!

Some of them howling and roaring like wild beasts, or laughing like

idiots, others standing with dull and stupid faces devoid of any trace

of intelligence or expression, listening to the speakers whose words

convey no meaning to their stultified minds, and others with their

eyes gleaming with savage hatred of their fellow men, watching eagerly

for an opportunity to provoke a quarrel that they may gratify their

brutal natures by striking someone - their eyes are hungry for the

sight of blood! Can’t you see that these people, whom you are trying

to make understand your plan for the regeneration of the world, your

doctrine of universal brotherhood and love are for the most part -

intellectually - on level with Hottentots? The only things they feel

any real interest in are beer, football, betting and - of course - one

other subject. Their highest ambition is to be allowed to Work. And

they desire nothing better for their children!

 

`They have never had an independent thought in their lives. These are

the people whom you hope to inspire with lofty ideals! You might just

as well try to make a gold brooch out of a lump of dung! Try to

reason with them, to uplift them, to teach them the way to higher

things. Devote your whole life and intelligence to the work of trying

to get better conditions for them, and you will find that they

themselves are the enemy you will have to fight against. They’ll hate

you, and, if they get the chance, they’ll tear you to pieces. But if

you’re a sensible man you’ll use whatever talents and intelligence you

possess for your own benefit. Don’t think about Socialism or any

other “ism”. Concentrate your mind on getting money - it doesn’t

matter how you get it, but - get it. If you can’t get it honestly,

get it dishonestly, but get it! it is the only thing that counts. Do

as I do - rob them! exploit them! and then they’ll have some respect

for you.’

 

`There’s something in what you say,’ replied Barrington, after a long

pause, `but it’s not all. Circumstances make us what we are; and

anyhow, the children are worth fighting for.’

 

`You may think so now,’ said the other, `but you’ll come to see it my

way some day. As for the children - if their parents are satisfied to

let them grow up to be half-starved drudges for other people, I don’t

see why you or I need trouble about it. If you like to listen to

reason,’ he continued after a pause, `I can put you on to something

that will be worth more to you than all your Socialism.’

 

`What do you mean?’

 

`Look here: you’re a Socialist; well, I’m a Socialist too: that is, I

have sense enough to believe that Socialism is practical and

inevitable and right; it will come when the majority of the people are

sufficiently enlightened to demand it, but that enlightenment will

never be brought about by reasoning or arguing with them, for these

people are simply not intellectually capable of abstract reasoning -

they can’t grasp theories. You know what the late Lord Salisbury said

about them when somebody proposed to give them some free libraries: He

said: “They don’t want libraries: give them a circus.” You see these

Liberals and Tories understand the sort of people they have to deal

with; they know that although their bodies are the bodies of grown

men, their minds are the minds of little children. That is why it has

been possible to deceive and bluff and rob them for so long. But your

party persists in regarding them as rational beings, and that’s where

you make a mistake - you’re simply wasting your time.

 

`The only way in which it is possible to teach these people is by

means of object lessons, and those are being placed before them in

increasing numbers every day. The trustification of industry - the

object lesson which demonstrates the possibility of collective

ownership - will in time compel even these to understand, and by the

time they have learnt that, they will also have learned by bitter

experience and not from theoretical teaching, that they must either

own the trusts or perish, and then, and not, till then, they will

achieve Socialism. But meanwhile we have this election. Do you think

it will make any real difference - for good or evil - which of these

two men is elected?’

 

`No.’

 

`Well, you can’t keep them both out - you have no candidate of your

own - why should you object to earning a few pounds by