Sybil, Or, The Two Nations

by Earl of Beaconsfield Benjamin Disraeli

  In the meantime Gerard and Stephen stopped before a tall, thin, stuccoedhouse, ballustraded and friezed, very much lighted both within andwithout, and, from the sounds that issued from it, and the persons whoretired and entered, evidently a locality of great resort and bustle. Asign, bearing the title of the Cat and Fiddle, indicated that it was aplace of public entertainment, and kept by one who owned the legal nameof John Trottman, though that was but a vulgar appellation, lost in hiswell-earned and far-famed title of Chaffing Jack.

  The companions entered the spacious premises; and making their way tothe crowded bar, Stephen, with a glance serious but which indicatedintimacy, caught the eye of a comely lady, who presided over themysteries, and said in a low voice, "Is he here?"

  "In the Temple, Mr Morley, asking for you and your friend more thanonce. I think you had better go up. I know he wishes to see you."

  Stephen whispered to Gerard and after a moment's pause, he askedthe fair president for a couple of tickets for each of which he paidthreepence; a sum however, according to the printed declaration ofthe voucher, convertible into potential liquid refreshments, no greatcompensation to a very strict member of the Temperance Society ofMowbray.

  A handsome staircase with bright brass bannisters led them to an amplelanding-place, on which opened a door, now closed and by which sate aboy who collected the tickets of those who would enter it. The portalwas of considerable dimensions and of architectural pretension it waspainted of a bright green colour, the panels gilt. Within the pediment,described in letters of flaming gas, you read, "THE TEMPLE OF THEMUSES."

  Gerard and Morley entered an apartment very long and sufficiently lofty,though rather narrow for such proportions. The ceiling was even richlydecorated; the walls were painted, and by a brush of considerable power.Each panel represented some well-known scene from Shakespeare, Byron,or Scott: King Richard, Mazeppa, the Lady of the Lake were easilyrecognized: in one panel, Hubert menaced Arthur; here Haidee rescuedJuan; and there Jeanie Deans curtsied before the Queen. The room wasvery full; some three or four hundred persons were seated in differentgroups at different tables, eating, drinking, talking, laughing, andeven smoking, for notwithstanding the pictures and the gilding it wasfound impossible to forbid, though there were efforts to discourage,this practice, in the Temple of the Muses. Nothing however could be moredecorous than the general conduct of the company, though they consistedprincipally of factory people. The waiters flew about with as muchagility as if they were serving nobles. In general the noise was great,though not disagreeable; sometimes a bell rang and there was comparativesilence, while a curtain drew up at the further end of the room,opposite to the entrance, and where there was a theatre, the stageraised at a due elevation, and adorned with side scenes from whichissued a lady in a fancy dress who sang a favourite ballad; or agentleman elaborately habited in a farmer's costume of the old comedy,a bob-wig, silver buttons and buckles, and blue stockings, and whofavoured the company with that melancholy effusion called a comic song.Some nights there was music on the stage; a young lady in a white robewith a golden harp, and attended by a gentleman in black mustachios.This was when the principal harpiste of the King of Saxony and his firstfiddler happened to be passing through Mowbray, merely by accident, oron a tour of pleasure and instruction, to witness the famous scenes ofBritish industry. Otherwise the audience of the Cat and Fiddle, we meanthe Temple of the Muses, were fain to be content with four Bohemianbrothers, or an equal number of Swiss sisters. The most popularamusements however were the "Thespian recitations:" by amateurs, ornovices who wished to become professional. They tried their metal on anaudience which could be critical.

  A sharp waiter, with a keen eye on the entering guests, immediatelysaluted Gerard and his friend, with profuse offers of hospitality:insisting that they wanted much refreshment; that they were bothvery hungry and very thirsty: that, if not hungry, they should ordersomething to drink that would give them an appetite: if not inclined toquaff, something to eat that would make them athirst. In the midst ofthese embarrassing attentions, he was pushed aside by his master with,"There, go; hands wanted at the upper end; two American gentlemen fromLowell singing out for Sherry Cobler; don't know what it is; give themour bar mixture; if they complain, say it's the Mowbray slap-bang, andno mistake. Must have a name, Mr Morley; name's everything; made thefortune of the Temple: if I had called it the Saloon, it never wouldhave filled, and perhaps the magistrates never have granted a licence."

  The speaker was a very portly man who had passed the maturity ofmanhood, but active as Harlequin. He had a well-favoured countenance;fair, good-humoured, but very sly. He was dressed like the head butlerof the London Tavern, and was particular as to his white waistcoats andblack silk stockings, punctilious as to his knee-buckles, proud of hisdiamond pin; that is to say when he officiated at the Temple.

  "Your mistress told us we should find you here," said Stephen, "and thatyou wished to see us.

  "Plenty to tell you," said their host putting his finger to hisnose. "If information is wanted in this part of the world, I flattermyself--Come, Master Gerard, here's a table; what shall I call for?glass of the Mowbray slap-bang? No better; the receipt has been in ourfamily these fifty years. Mr Morley I know won't join us. Did you saya cup of tea, Mr Morley? Water, only water; well, that's strange. Boyalive there, do you hear me call? Water wanted, glass of water for theSecretary of the Mowbray Temperance and Teatotal. Sing it out. I liketitled company. Brush!"

  "And so you can give us some information about this--"

  "Be back directly." exclaimed their host: and darting off with a swiftprecision, that carried him through a labyrinth of tables without theslightest inconvenience to their occupiers. "Beg pardon, Mr Morley,"he said, sliding again into his chair; "but saw one of the Americangentlemen brandishing his bowie-knife against one of my waiters; calledhim Colonel; quieted him directly; a man of his rank brawling witha help; oh! no; not to be thought of; no squabbling here; licence indanger."

  "You were saying--" resumed Morley.

  "Ah! yes, about that man Hatton remember him perfectly well; a matterof twenty or it may be nineteen years since he bolted. Queer fellow;lived upon nothing; only drank water; no temperance and teetotal then,so no excuse. Beg pardon, Mr Morley; no offence I hope; can't bearwhims; but respectable societies, if they don't drink, they makespeeches, hire your rooms, leads to business."

  "And this Hatton--" said Gerard.

  "Ah! a queer fellow; lent him a one-pound note--never saw itagain--always remember it--last one-pound note I had. He offered me anold book instead; not in my way; took a china jar for my wife. He kept acuriosity shop; always prowling about the country, picking up old booksand hunting after old monuments; called himself an antiquarian; queerfellow, that Hatton."

  "And you have heard of him since?" said Gerard rather impatiently.

  "Not a word," said their host; "never knew any one who had."

  "I thought you had something to tell us about him," said Stephen.

  "So I have; I can put you in the way of getting hold of him and anythingelse. I havn't lived in Mowbray man and boy for fifty years; seen ita village, and now a great town full of first-rate institutions andestablishments like this," added their host surveying the Temple with aglance of admiring complacency; "I say I havn't lived here all this timeand talked to the people for nothing."

  "Well, we are all attention," said Gerard with a smile.

  "Hush!" said their host as a bell sounded, and he jumped up. "Nowladies, now gentlemen, if you please; silence if you please for a songfrom a Polish lady. The Signora sings English like a new-born babe;"and the curtain drew up amid the hushed voices of the company and therestrained clatter of their knives and forks and glasses.

  The Polish lady sang "Cherry Ripe" to the infinite satisfaction of heraudience. Young Mowbray indeed, in the shape of Dandy Mick and someof his followers and admirers, insisted on an encore. The lady as sheretired curtseyed like a Prima Donna; but the host continued on hislegs for so
me time, throwing open his coat and bowing to his guests, whoexpressed by their applause how much they approved his enterprise. Atlength he resumed his seat; "It's almost too much." he exclaimed; "theenthusiasm of these people. I believe they look upon me as a father."

  "And you think you have some clue to this Hatton?" resumed Stephen.

  "They say he has no relations," said their host.

  "I have heard as much."

  "Another glass of the bar mixture, Master Gerard. What did we call it?Oh! the bricks and beans--the Mowbray bricks and beans; known by thatname in the time of my grandfather. No more! No use asking Mr MorleyI know. Water! well, I must say--and yet, in an official capacity,drinking water is not so unnatural."

  "And Hatton." said Gerard; "they say he has no relations, eh?"

  "They do, and they say wrong. He has a relation he has a brother; and Ican put you in the way of finding him."

  "Well, that looks like business," said Gerard; "and where may he be?"

  "Not here," said their host; "he never put his foot in the Temple to myknowledge; and lives in a place where they have as much idea of popularinstitutions as any Turks or heathen you ever heard of."

  "And where might we find him?" said Stephen.

  "What's that?" said their host jumping up and looking around him. "Hereboys, brush about. The American gentleman is a whittling his name onthat new mahogany table. Take him the printed list of rules, stuck upin a public place, under a great coat, and fine him five shillings fordamaging the furniture. If he resists (he has paid for his liquor), callin the police; X. Z. No. 5 is in the bar, taking tea with your mistress.Now brush."

  "And this place is--"

  "In the land of mines and minerals," said their host; "about ten milesfrom ----. He works in metals on his own account. You have heard ofa place called Hell-house Yard; well, he lives there; and his name isSimon."

  "And does he keep up any communication with his brother, think you?"said Gerard.

  "Nay, I know no more; at least at present," said their host. "Thesecretary asked me about a person absent without leave for twenty yearsand who was said to have no relations, I found you one and a very nearone. You are at the station and you have got your ticket. The Americangentleman's wiolent. Here's the police. I must take a high tone." Andwith these words Chaffing Jack quitted them.

  In the meantime, we must not forget Dandy Mick and his two young friendswhom he had so generously offered to treat to the Temple.

  "Well, what do you think of it?" asked Caroline of Harriet in a whisperas they entered the splendid apartment.

  "It's just what I thought the Queen lived in," said Harriet; "but indeedI'm all of a flutter."

  "Well, don't look as if you were," said her friend.

  "Come along gals," said Mick; "who's afraid? Here, we'll sit down atthis table. Now, what shall we have? Here waiter; I say waiter!"

  "Yes, sir, yes, sir."

  "Well, why don't you come when I call," said Mick with a consequentialair. "I have been hallooing these ten minutes. Couple of glasses of barmixture for these ladies and go of gin for myself. And I say waiter,stop, stop, don't be in such a deuced hurry; do you think folks candrink without eating;--sausages for three; and damme, take care they arenot burnt."

  "Yes, sir, directly, directly."

  "That's the way to talk to these fellows," said Mick with aself-satisfied air, and perfectly repaid by the admiring gaze of hiscompanions.

  "It's pretty Miss Harriet," said Mick looking up at the ceiling with acareless nil admirari glance.

  "Oh! it is beautiful," said Harriet.

  "You never were here before; it's the only place. That's the Lady of theLake," he added, pointing to a picture; "I've seen her at the Circus,with real water."

  The hissing sausages crowning a pile of mashed potatoes were placedbefore them; the delicate rummers of the Mowbray slap-bang, for thegirls; the more masculine pewter measure for their friend.

  "Are the plates very hot?" said Mick;

  "Very sir."

  "Hot plates half the battle," said Mick.

  "Now, Caroline; here, Miss Harriet; don't take away your plate, wait forthe mash; they mash their taters here very elegant."

  It was a very happy and very merry party. Mick delighted to help hisguests, and to drink their healths.

  "Well," said he when the waiter had cleared away their plates, and leftthem to their less substantial luxuries. "Well," said Mick, sipping arenewed glass of gin twist and leaning back in his chair, "say what theyplease, there's nothing like life."

  "At the Traffords'," said Caroline, "the greatest fun we ever had was asinging class."

  "I pity them poor devils in the country," said Mick; "we got someof them at Collinson's--come from Suffolk they say; what they callhagricultural labourers, a very queer lot, indeed."

  "Ah! them's the himmigrants," said Caroline; "they're sold out ofslavery, and sent down by Pickford's van into the labour market to bringdown our wages."

  "We'll teach them a trick or two before they do that," urged Mick."Where are you, Miss Harriet?"

  "I'm at Wiggins and Webster's, sir."

  "Where they clean machinery during meal-time; that won't do," said Mick."I see one of your partners coming in," said Mick, making many signalsto a person who very soon joined them. "Well, Devilsdust, how are you?"

  This was the familiar appellation of a young gentleman, who really hadno other, baptismal or patrimonial. About a fortnight after his motherhad introduced him into the world, she returned to her factory and puther infant out to nurse, that is to say, paid threepence a week to anold woman who takes charge of these new-born babes for the day, andgives them back at night to their mothers as they hurriedly return fromthe scene of their labour to the dungeon or the den, which is still bycourtesy called "home." The expense is not great: laudanum and treacle,administered in the shape of some popular elixir, affords theseinnocents a brief taste of the sweets of existence, and keepingthem quiet, prepares them for the silence of their impending grave.Infanticide is practised as extensively and as legally in England, as itis on the banks of the Ganges; a circumstance which apparently has notyet engaged the attention of the Society for the Propagation of theGospel in Foreign Parts. But the vital principle is an impulse from animmortal artist, and sometimes baffles, even in its tenderest phasis,the machinations of society for its extinction. There are infantsthat will defy even starvation and poison, unnatural mothers and demonnurses. Such was the nameless one of whom we speak. We cannot say hethrived; but he would not die. So at two years of age, his mother beinglost sight of, and the weekly payment having ceased, he was sent outin the street to "play," in order to be run over. Even this expedientfailed. The youngest and the feeblest of the band of victims, Juggernautspared him to Moloch. All his companions were disposed of. Threemonths' "play" in the streets got rid of this tender company,--shoeless,half-naked, and uncombed,--whose age varied from two to five years. Somewere crushed, some were lost, some caught cold and fevers, crept backto their garret or their cellars, were dosed with Godfrey's cordial, anddied in peace. The nameless one would not disappear. He always got outof the way of the carts and horses, and never lost his own. They gavehim no food: he foraged for himself, and shared with the dogs thegarbage of the streets. But still he lived; stunted and pale, he defiedeven the fatal fever which was the only habitant of his cellar thatnever quitted it. And slumbering at night on a bed of mouldering straw,his only protection against the plashy surface of his den, with adungheap at his head and a cesspool at his feet, he still clung to theonly roof which shielded him from the tempest.

  At length when the nameless one had completed his fifth year, the pestwhich never quitted the nest of cellars of which he was a citizen, ragedin the quarter with such intensity, that the extinction of its swarmingpopulation was menaced. The haunt of this child was peculiarly visited.All the children gradually sickened except himself; and one night whenhe returned home he found the old woman herself dead, and surroundedonly by corpses. The
child before this had slept on the same bed ofstraw with a corpse, but then there were also breathing beings for hiscompanions. A night passed only with corpses seemed to him in itselfa kind of death. He stole out of the cellar, quitted the quarter ofpestilence, and after much wandering laid down near the door of afactory. Fortune had guided him. Soon after break of day, he was wokeby the sound of the factory bell, and found assembled a crowd ofmen, women, and children. The door opened, they entered, the childaccompanied them. The roll was called; his unauthorized appearancenoticed; he was questioned; his acuteness excited attention. A childwas wanted in the Wadding Hole, a place for the manufacture of waste anddamaged cotton, the refuse of the mills, which is here worked up intocounterpanes and coverlids. The nameless one was prefered to the vacantpost, received even a salary, more than that, a name; for as he hadnone, he was christened on the spot--DEVILSDUST.

  Devilsdust had entered life so early that at seventeen he combinedthe experience of manhood with the divine energy of youth. He was afirst-rate workman and received high wages; he had availed himself ofthe advantages of the factory school; he soon learnt to read and writewith facility, and at the moment of our history, was the leading spiritof the Shoddy-Court Literary and Scientific Institute. His great friend,his only intimate, was Dandy Mick. The apparent contrariety of theirqualities and structure perhaps led to this. It is indeed the mostassured basis of friendship. Devilsdust was dark and melancholy;ambitious and discontented; full of thought, and with powers of patienceand perseverance that alone amounted to genius. Mick was as brilliant ashis complexion gay, irritable, evanescent, and unstable. Mick enjoyedlife; his friend only endured it; yet Mick was always complaining ofthe lowness of his wages and the greatness of his toil; while Devilsdustnever murmured, but read and pondered on the rights of labour, andsighed to vindicate his order.

  "I have some thoughts of joining the Total Abstinence," said Devilsdust;"ever since I read Stephen Morley's address it has been in my mind.We shall never get our rights till we leave off consuming exciseablearticles; and the best thing to begin with is liquors."

  "Well, I could do without liquors myself," said Caroline. "If I was alady, I would never drink anything except fresh milk from the cow."

  "Tea for my money," said Harriet; "I must say there's nothing I grudgefor good tea. Now I keep house, I mean always to drink the best."

  "Well, you have not yet taken the pledge, Dusty," said Mick: "and sosuppose we order a go of gin and talk this matter of temperance over."

  Devilsdust was manageable in little things, especially by Mick; heacceded, and seated himself at their table.

  "I suppose you have heard this last dodge of Shuffle and Screw, Dusty,"said Mick.

  "What's that?"

  "Every man had his key given him this evening--half-a-crown a week rounddeducted from wages for rent. Jim Plastow told them he lodged with hisfather and didn't want a house; upon which they said he must let it."

  "Their day will come," said Devilsdust, thoughtfully. "I really thinkthat those Shuffle and Screws are worse even than Truck and Trett. Youknew where you were with those fellows; it was five-and-twenty per cent,off wages and very bad stuff for your money. But as for Shuffle andScrew, what with their fines and their keys, a man never knows whathe has to spend. Come," he added filling his glass, "let's have atoast--Confusion to Capital."

  "That's your sort," said Mick. "Come, Caroline; drink to your partner'stoast, Miss Harriet. Money's the root of all evil, which nobody candeny. We'll have the rights of labour yet; the ten-hour bill, no fines,and no individuals admitted to any work who have not completed theirsixteenth year."

  "No, fifteen," said Caroline eagerly.

  "The people won't bear their grievances much longer," said Devilsdust.

  "I think one of the greatest grievances the people have," said Caroline,"is the beaks serving notice on Chaffing Jack to shut up the Temple onSunday nights."

  "It is infamous," said Mick; "aynt we to have no recreation? One mightas well live in Suffolk, where the immigrants come from, and where theyare obliged to burn ricks to pass the time."

  "As for the rights of labour," said Harriet, "the people goes fornothing with this machinery."

  "And you have opened your mouth to say a very sensible thing MissHarriet," said Mick; "but if I were Lord Paramount for eight-and-fortyhours, I'd soon settle that question. Wouldn't I fire a broadside intotheir 'double deckers?' The battle of Navarino at Mowbray fair withfourteen squibs from the admiral's ship going off at the same time,should be nothing to it."

  "Labour may be weak, but Capital is weaker," said Devilsdust. "Theircapital is all paper."

  "I tell you what," said Mick, with a knowing look, and in a loweredtone, "The only thing, my hearties, that can save this here nation,is--a--good strike."

  Book 2 Chapter 11