the ragged trousered philanthropists-第1节

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The　Ragged　Trousered　Philanthropists

by　Robert　Tressell





Preface


In　writing　this　book　my　intention　was　to　present；　in　the　form　of　an　interesting　story；　a　faithful　picture　of　working…class　life　…　more　especially　of　those　engaged　in　the　Building　trades　…　in　a　small　town　in　the　south　of　England。

I　wished　to　describe　the　relations　existing　between　the　workmen　and　their　employers；　the　attitude　and　feelings　of　these　two　classes　towards　each　other；　their　circumstances　when　at　work　and　when　out　of　employment；　their　pleasures；　their　intellectual　outlook；　their　religious　and　political　opinions　and　ideals。

The　action　of　the　story　covers　a　period　of　only　a　little　over　twelve　months；　but　in　order　that　the　picture　might　be　complete　it　was　necessary　to　describe　how　the　workers　are　circumstanced　at　all　periods　of　their　lives；　from　the　cradle　to　the　grave。　　Therefore　the　characters　include　women　and　children；　a　young　boy　…　the　apprentice　…　some　improvers；　journeymen　in　the　prime　of　life；　and　worn…out　old　men。

I　designed　to　show　the　conditions　relating　from　poverty　and　unemployment：　to　expose　the　futility　of　the　measures　taken　to　deal　with　them　and　to　indicate　what　I　believe　to　be　the　only　real　remedy；　namely　…　Socialism。　　I　intended　to　explain　what　Socialists　understand　by　the　word　‘poverty'：　to　define　the　Socialist　theory　of　the　causes　of　poverty；　and　to　explain　how　Socialists　propose　to　abolish　poverty。

It　may　be　objected　that；　considering　the　number　of　books　dealing　with　these　subjects　already　existing；　such　a　work　as　this　was　uncalled　for。　The　answer　is　that　not　only　are　the　majority　of　people　opposed　to　Socialism；　but　a　very　brief　conversation　with　an　average　anti…socialist　is　sufficient　to　show　that　he　does　not　know　what　Socialism　means。　　The　same　is　true　of　all　the　anti…socialist　writers　and　the　‘great　statesmen'　who　make　anti…socialist　speeches：　unless　we　believe　that　they　are　deliberate　liars　and　imposters；　who　to　serve　their　own　interests　labour　to　mislead　other　people；　we　must　conclude　that　they　do　not　understand　Socialism。　　There　is　no　other　possible　explanation　of　the　extraordinary　things　they　write　and　say。　　The　thing　they　cry　out　against　is　not　Socialism　but　a　phantom　of　their　own　imagining。

Another　answer　is　that　‘The　Philanthropists'　is　not　a　treatise　or　essay；　but　a　novel。　　My　main　object　was　to　write　a　readable　story　full　of　human　interest　and　based　on　the　happenings　of　everyday　life；　the　subject　of　Socialism　being　treated　incidentally。

This　was　the　task　I　set　myself。　　To　what　extent　I　have　succeeded　is　for　others　to　say；　but　whatever　their　verdict；　the　work　possesses　at　least　one　merit　…　that　of　being　true。　　I　have　invented　nothing。　　There　are　no　scenes　or　incidents　in　the　story　that　I　have　not　either　witnessed　myself　or　had　conclusive　evidence　of。　　As　far　as　I　dared　I　let　the　characters　express　themselves　in　their　own　sort　of　language　and　consequently　some　passages　may　be　considered　objectionable。　　At　the　same　time　I　believe　that　…　because　it　is　true　…　the　book　is　not　without　its　humorous　side。

The　scenes　and　characters　are　typical　of　every　town　in　the　South　of　England　and　they　will　be　readily　recognized　by　those　concerned。　　If　the　book　is　published　I　think　it　will　appeal　to　a　very　large　number　of　readers。　　Because　it　is　true　it　will　probably　be　denounced　as　a　libel　on　the　working　classes　and　their　employers；　and　upon　the　religious…professing　section　of　the　community。　But　I　believe　it　will　be　acknowledged　as　true　by　most　of　those　who　are　compelled　to　spend　their　lives　amid　the　surroundings　it　describes；　and　it　will　be　evident　that　no　attack　is　made　upon　sincere　religion。






Chapter　1：

An　Imperial　Banquet。　　A　Philosophical　Discussion。　　The　Mysterious　Stranger。　　Britons　Never　shall　be　Slaves


The　house　was　named　‘The　Cave'。　　It　was　a　large　old…fashioned　three…storied　building　standing　in　about　an　acre　of　ground；　and　situated　about　a　mile　outside　the　town　of　Mugsborough。　　It　stood　back　nearly　two　hundred　yards　from　the　main　road　and　was　reached　by　means　of　a　by…road　or　lane；　on　each　side　of　which　was　a　hedge　formed　of　hawthorn　trees　and　blackberry　bushes。　　This　house　had　been　unoccupied　for　many　years　and　it　was　now　being　altered　and　renovated　for　its　new　owner　by　the　firm　of　Rushton　&　Co。；　Builders　and　Decorators。

There　were；　altogether；　about　twenty…five　men　working　there；　carpenters；　plumbers；　plasterers；　bricklayers　and　painters；　besides　several　unskilled　labourers。　　New　floors　were　being　put　in　where　the　old　ones　were　decayed；　and　upstairs　two　of　the　rooms　were　being　made　into　one　by　demolishing　the　parting　wall　and　substituting　an　iron　girder。　　Some　of　the　window　frames　and　sashes　were　so　rotten　that　they　were　being　replaced。　Some　of　the　ceilings　and　walls　were　so　cracked　and　broken　that　they　had　to　be　replastered。　　Openings　were　cut　through　walls　and　doors　were　being　put　where　no　doors　had　been　before。　Old　broken　chimney　pots　were　being　taken　down　and　new　ones　were　being　taken　up　and　fixed　in　their　places。　　All　the　old　whitewash　had　to　be　washed　off　the　ceilings　and　all　the　old　paper　had　to　be　scraped　off　the　walls　preparatory　to　the　house　being　repainted　and　decorated。　　The　air　was　full　of　the　sounds　of　hammering　and　sawing；　the　ringing　of　trowels；　the　rattle　of　pails；　the　splashing　of　water　brushes；　and　the　scraping　of　the　stripping　knives　used　by　those　who　were　removing　the　old　wallpaper。　　Besides　being　full　of　these　the　air　was　heavily　laden　with　dust　and　disease　germs；　powdered　mortar；　lime；　plaster；　and　the　dirt　that　had　been　accumulating　within　the　old　house　for　years。　　In　brief；　those　employed　there　might　be　said　to　be　living　in　a　Tariff　Reform　Paradise　…　they　had　Plenty　of　Work。

At　twelve　o'clock　Bob　Crass　…　the　painters'　foreman　…　blew　a　blast　upon　a　whistle　and　all　hands　assembled　in　the　kitchen；　where　Bert　the　apprentice　had　already　prepared　the　tea；　which　was　ready　in　the　large　galvanized　iron　pail　that　he　had　placed　in　the　middle　of　the　floor。　By　the　side　of　the　pail　were　a　number　of　old　jam…jars；　mugs；　dilapidated　tea…cups　and　one　or　two　empty　condensed　milk　tins。　　Each　man　on　the　‘job'　paid　Bert　threepence　a　week　for　the　tea　and　sugar　…　they　did　not　have　milk　…　and　although　they　had　tea　at　breakfast…time　as　well　as　at　dinner；　the　lad　was　generally　considered　to　be　making　a　fortune。

Two　pairs　of　steps；　laid　parallel　on　their　sides　at　a　distance　of　about　eight　feet　from　each　other；　with　a　plank　laid　across；　in　front　of　the　fire；　several　upturned　pails；　and　the　drawers　belonging　to　the　dresser；　formed　the　seating　accommodation。　　The　floor　of　the　room　was　covered　with　all　manner　of　debris；　dust；　dirt；　fragments　of　old　mortar　and　plaster。　　A　sack　containing　cement　was　leaning　against　one　of　the　walls；　and　a　bucket　containing　some　stale　whitewash　stood　in　one　corner。

As　each　man　came　in　he　filled　his　cup；　jam…jar　or　condensed　milk　tin　with　tea　from　the　steaming　pail；　before　sitting　down。　　Most　of　them　brought　their　food　in　little　wicker　baskets　which　they　held　on　their　laps　or　placed　on　the　floor　beside　them。

At　first　there　was　no　attempt　at　conversation　and　nothing　was　heard　but　the　sounds　of　eating　and　drinking　and　the　drizzling　of　the　bloater　which　Easton；　one　of　the　painters；　was　toasting　on　the　end　of　a　pointed　stick　at　the　fire。

‘I　don't　think　much　of　this　bloody　tea；'　suddenly　remarked　Sawkins；　one　of　the　labourers。

‘Well　it　oughter　be　all　right；'　retorted　Bert；　‘it's　been　bilin'　ever　since　'arf　past　eleven。'

Bert　White　was　a　frail…looking；　weedy；　pale…faced　boy；　fifteen　years　of　age　and　about　four　feet　nine　inches　in　height。　　His　trousers　were　part　of　a　suit　that　he　had　once　worn　for　best；　but　that　was　so　long　ago　that　they　had　become　too　small　for　him；　fitting　rather　lightly　and　scarcely　reaching　the　top　of　his　patched　and　broken　hob…nailed　boots。　The　knees　and　the　bottoms　of　the　legs　of　his　trousers　had　been　patched　with　square　pieces　of　cloth；　several　shades　darker　than　the　original　fabric；　and　these　patches　were　now　all　in　rags。　　His　coat　was　several　sizes　too　large　for　him　and　hung　about　him　like　a　dirty　ragged　sack。　He　was　a　pitiable　spectacle　of　neglect　and　wretchedness　as　he　sat　there　on　an　upturned　pail；　eating　his　bread　and　cheese　with　fingers　that；　like　his　clothing；　were　grimed　with　paint　and　dirt。

‘Well　then；　you　can't　have　put　enough　tea　in；　or　else　you've　bin　usin'　up　wot　was　left　yesterday；'　continued　Sawkins。

‘Why　the　bloody　'ell　don't　you　leave　the　boy　alone？'　said　Harlow；　another　painter。　　‘If　you　don't　like　the　tea　you　needn't　drink　it。　For　my　part；　I'm　sick　of　listening　to　you　about　it　every　damn　day。'

‘It's　all　very　well　for　you　to　say　I　needn't　drink　it；'　answered　Sawkins；　‘but　I've　paid　my　share　an'　I've　got　a　right　to　express　an　opinion。　　It's　my　belief　that　'arf　the　money　we　gives　'him　is　spent　on　penny　'orribles：　'e's　always　got　one　in　'is　hand；　an'　to　make　wot　tea　'e　does　buy　last；　'e　collects　all　the　slops　wot's　left　and　biles　it　up　day　after　day。'

‘No；　I　don't！'　said　Bert；　who　was　on　the　verge　of　tears。　　‘It's　not　me　wot　buys　the　things　at　all。　　I　gives　the　money　I　gets　to　Crass；　and　'e　buys　them　'imself；　so　there！'

At　this　revelation；　some　of　the　men　furtively　exchanged　significant　g