Hard Times
‘But oh, my friends and brothers! Oh, men and Englishmen, the
down-trodden operatives of Coketown! What shall we say of that man—that
working-man, that I should find it necessary so to libel the glorious
name—who, being practically and well acquainted with the grievances and
wrongs of you, the injured pith and marrow of this land, and having heard
you, with a noble and majestic unanimity that will make Tyrants tremble,
resolve for to subscribe to the funds of the United Aggregate Tribunal,
and to abide by the injunctions issued by that body for your benefit,
whatever they may be—what, I ask you, will you say of that working-man,
since such I must acknowledge him to be, who, at such a time, deserts his
post, and sells his flag; who, at such a time, turns a traitor and a
craven and a recreant, who, at such a time, is not ashamed to make to you
the dastardly and humiliating avowal that he will hold himself aloof, and
will _not_ be one of those associated in the gallant stand for Freedom
and for Right?’
The assembly was divided at this point. There were some groans and
hisses, but the general sense of honour was much too strong for the
condemnation of a man unheard. ‘Be sure you’re right, Slackbridge!’
‘Put him up!’ ‘Let’s hear him!’ Such things were said on many sides.
Finally, one strong voice called out, ‘Is the man heer? If the man’s
heer, Slackbridge, let’s hear the man himseln, ’stead o’ yo.’ Which was
received with a round of applause.
Slackbridge, the orator, looked about him with a withering smile; and,
holding out his right hand at arm’s length (as the manner of all
Slackbridges is), to still the thundering sea, waited until there was a
profound silence.
‘Oh, my friends and fellow-men!’ said Slackbridge then, shaking his head
with violent scorn, ‘I do not wonder that you, the prostrate sons of
labour, are incredulous of the existence of such a man. But he who sold
his birthright for a mess of pottage existed, and Judas Iscariot existed,
and Castlereagh existed, and this man exists!’
Here, a brief press and confusion near the stage, ended in the man
himself standing at the orator’s side before the concourse. He was pale
and a little moved in the face—his lips especially showed it; but he
stood quiet, with his left hand at his chin, waiting to be heard. There
was a chairman to regulate the proceedings, and this functionary now took
the case into his own hands.
‘My friends,’ said he, ‘by virtue o’ my office as your president, I askes
o’ our friend Slackbridge, who may be a little over hetter in this
business, to take his seat, whiles this man Stephen Blackpool is heern.
You all know this man Stephen Blackpool. You know him awlung o’ his
misfort’ns, and his good name.’
With that, the chairman shook him frankly by the hand, and sat down
again. Slackbridge likewise sat down, wiping his hot forehead—always
from left to right, and never the reverse way.
‘My friends,’ Stephen began, in the midst of a dead calm; ‘I ha’ hed
what’s been spok’n o’ me, and ’tis lickly that I shan’t mend it. But I’d
liefer you’d hearn the truth concernin myseln, fro my lips than fro onny
other man’s, though I never cud’n speak afore so monny, wi’out bein
moydert and muddled.’
Slackbridge shook his head as if he would shake it off, in his
bitterness.
‘I’m th’ one single Hand in Bounderby’s mill, o’ a’ the men theer, as
don’t coom in wi’ th’ proposed reg’lations. I canna coom in wi’ ’em. My
friends, I doubt their doin’ yo onny good. Licker they’ll do yo hurt.’
Slackbridge laughed, folded his arms, and frowned sarcastically.
‘But ’t an’t sommuch for that as I stands out. If that were aw, I’d coom
in wi’ th’ rest. But I ha’ my reasons—mine, yo see—for being hindered;
not on’y now, but awlus—awlus—life long!’
Slackbridge jumped up and stood beside him, gnashing and tearing. ‘Oh,
my friends, what but this did I tell you? Oh, my fellow-countrymen, what
warning but this did I give you? And how shows this recreant conduct in
a man on whom unequal laws are known to have fallen heavy? Oh, you
Englishmen, I ask you how does this subornation show in one of
yourselves, who is thus consenting to his own undoing and to yours, and
to your children’s and your children’s children’s?’
There was some applause, and some crying of Shame upon the man; but the
greater part of the audience were quiet. They looked at Stephen’s worn
face, rendered more pathetic by the homely emotions it evinced; and, in
the kindness of their nature, they were more sorry than indignant.
‘’Tis this Delegate’s trade for t’ speak,’ said Stephen, ‘an’ he’s paid
for ’t, an’ he knows his work. Let him keep to ’t. Let him give no heed
to what I ha had’n to bear. That’s not for him. That’s not for nobbody
but me.’
There was a propriety, not to say a dignity in these words, that made the
hearers yet more quiet and attentive. The same strong voice called out,
‘Slackbridge, let the man be heern, and howd thee tongue!’ Then the
place was wonderfully still.
‘My brothers,’ said Stephen, whose low voice was distinctly heard, ‘and
my fellow-workmen—for that yo are to me, though not, as I knows on, to
this delegate here—I ha but a word to sen, and I could sen nommore if I
was to speak till Strike o’ day. I know weel, aw what’s afore me. I
know weel that yo aw resolve to ha nommore ado wi’ a man who is not wi’
yo in this matther. I know weel that if I was a lyin parisht i’ th’
road, yo’d feel it right to pass me by, as a forrenner and stranger.
What I ha getn, I mun mak th’ best on.’
‘Stephen Blackpool,’ said the chairman, rising, ‘think on ’t agen. Think
on ’t once agen, lad, afore thou’rt shunned by aw owd friends.’
There was an universal murmur to the same effect, though no man
articulated a word. Every eye was fixed on Stephen’s face. To repent of
his determination, would be to take a load from all their minds. He
looked around him, and knew that it was so. Not a grain of anger with
them was in his heart; he knew them, far below their surface weaknesses
and misconceptions, as no one but their fellow-labourer could.
‘I ha thowt on ’t, above a bit, sir. I simply canna coom in. I mun go
th’ way as lays afore me. I mun tak my leave o’ aw heer.’
He made a sort of reverence to them by holding up his arms, and stood for
the moment in that attitude; not speaking until they slowly dropped at
his sides.
‘Monny’s the pleasant word as soom heer has spok’n wi’ me; monny’s the
face I see heer, as I first seen when I were yoong and lighter heart’n
than now. I ha’ never had no fratch afore, sin ever I were born, wi’ any
o’ my like; Gonnows I ha’ none now that’s o’ my makin’. Yo’ll ca’ me
traitor and that—yo I mean t’ say,’ addressing Slackbridge, ‘but ’tis
easier to ca’ than mak’ out. So let be.’
He had moved away a pace or two to come down from the platform, when he
remembered something he had not said, and returned again.
‘Haply,’ he said, turning his furrowed face slowly about, that he might
as it were individually address the whole audience, those both near and
distant; ‘haply, when this question has been tak’n up and discoosed,
there’ll be a threat to turn out if I’m let to work among yo. I hope I
shall die ere ever such a time cooms, and I shall work solitary among yo
unless it cooms—truly, I mun do ’t, my friends; not to brave yo, but to
live. I ha nobbut work to live by; and wheerever can I go, I who ha
worked sin I were no heighth at aw, in Coketown heer? I mak’ no
complaints o’ bein turned to the wa’, o’ bein outcasten and overlooken
fro this time forrard, but hope I shall be let to work. If there is any
right for me at aw, my friends, I think ’tis that.’
Not a word was spoken. Not a sound was audible in the building, but the
slight rustle of men moving a little apart, all along the centre of the
room, to open a means of passing out, to the man with whom they had all
bound themselves to renounce companionship. Looking at no one, and going
his way with a lowly steadiness upon him that asserted nothing and sought
nothing, Old Stephen, with all his troubles on his head, left the scene.
Then Slackbridge, who had kept his oratorical arm extended during the
going out, as if he were repressing with infinite solicitude and by a
wonderful moral power the vehement passions of the multitude, applied
himself to raising their spirits. Had not the Roman Brutus, oh, my
British countrymen, condemned his son to death; and had not the Spartan
mothers, oh my soon to be victorious friends, driven their flying
children on the points of their enemies’ swords? Then was it not the
sacred duty of the men of Coketown, with forefathers before them, an
admiring world in company with them, and a posterity to come after them,
to hurl out traitors from the tents they had pitched in a sacred and a
God-like cause? The winds of heaven answered Yes; and bore Yes, east,
west, north, and south. And consequently three cheers for the United
Aggregate Tribunal!
Slackbridge acted as fugleman, and gave the time. The multitude of
doubtful faces (a little conscience-stricken) brightened at the sound,
and took it up. Private feeling must yield to the common cause. Hurrah!
The roof yet vibrated with the cheering, when the assembly dispersed.
Thus easily did Stephen Blackpool fall into the loneliest of lives, the
life of solitude among a familiar crowd. The stranger in the land who
looks into ten thousand faces for some answering look and never finds it,
is in cheering society as compared with him who passes ten averted faces
daily, that were once the countenances of friends. Such experience was
to be Stephen’s now, in every waking moment of his life; at his work, on
his way to it and from it, at his door, at his window, everywhere. By
general consent, they even avoided that side of the street on which he
habitually walked; and left it, of all the working men, to him only.
He had been for many years, a quiet silent man, associating but little
with other men, and used to companionship with his own thoughts. He had
never known before the strength of the want in his heart for the frequent
recognition of a nod, a look, a word; or the immense amount of relief
that had been poured into it by drops through such small means. It was
even harder than he could have believed possible, to separate in his own
conscience his abandonment by all his fellows from a baseless sense of
shame and disgrace.
The first four days of his endurance were days so long and heavy, that he
began to be appalled by the prospect before him. Not only did he see no
Rachael all the time, but he avoided every chance of seeing her; for,
although he knew that the prohibition did not yet formally extend to the
women working in the factories, he found that some of them with whom he
was acquainted were changed to him, and he feared to try others, and
dreaded that Rachael might be even singled out from the rest if she were
seen in his company. So, he had been quite alone during the four days,
and had spoken to no one, when, as he was leaving his work at night, a
young man of a very light complexion accosted him in the street.
‘Your name’s Blackpool, ain’t it?’ said the young man.
Stephen coloured to find himself with his hat in his hand, in his
gratitude for being spoken to, or in the suddenness of it, or both. He
made a feint of adjusting the lining, and said, ‘Yes.’
‘You are the Hand they have sent to Coventry, I mean?’ said Bitzer, the
very light young man in question.
Stephen answered ‘Yes,’ again.
‘I supposed so, from their all appearing to keep away from you. Mr.
Bounderby wants to speak to you. You know his house, don’t you?’
Stephen said ‘Yes,’ again.
‘Then go straight up there, will you?’ said Bitzer. ‘You’re expected,