of the Palace has not been so strongly insisted upon as its
educational side. Is this because the working man, for whom the Palace
is building, has suddenly developed an extraordinary ardour for
education, and a previously unexpected desire for the acquisition of
knowledge in all its branches? Not at all. It is because the
recreative part of the scheme has few attractions for the general
public, and because the educational part, once it began to assume a
practical shape, was seen to possess possibilities which could be
grasped by everyone. Whatever be the future of the Palace as regards
the recreation of the people, one thing is quite clear--that its
educational capacities are almost boundless, and that there will be
founded here a University for the People of a kind hitherto unknown
and undreamed of.
The recreation of the people, in fact, has proved a stumbling-block
rather than an attraction. It is a new idea suddenly presented to
people who have never considered the subject of recreation at all,
save in connection with skittles, so to speak. Now it seems hardly
necessary to erect a splendid palace for the better convenience of the
skittle alley. The objections, in fact, to supporting the scheme on
the ground of its recreative aims show a mixture of prejudice and
ignorance which ought to astonish us were we not daily, in every
business transaction and in every talk with friend or stranger,
encountering, and very likely revealing, the most wonderful prejudice
and ignorance. One should never be surprised at finding great black
patches in every mind.
The black patch which concerns us, in the minds of those who have been
asked to support the People's Palace, is the subject of recreation.
'There are enough music-halls. What have the working classes to do
with recreation? If we give anything for the people it will be for
their improvement, not for their amusement.' To these three objections
all the rest may be reduced. Each objection points to a prejudice of
very ancient standing, or else to a deep-seated ignorance of the whole
subject.
To deal with the first. It is assumed that recreation means amusement,
idle and purposeless, if not skittles with beer and tobacco, then the
music-hall with beer and tobacco, the comic man bawling a topical song
and executing the famous clog-dance. If one points out that it is not
amusement that is meant, but recreation, which is explained to mean a
very different thing, while a truer conception of what recreation
really means may be seized, then there remains a rooted disbelief as
to the power of the working man to rise above his beer and skittles.
It is a disbelief not at all based upon familiarity with the manners
and customs of the working man, because the ordinary well-to-do
citizen, however much he may have read of manners and customs in other
countries, is, as a rule, perfectly ignorant and perfectly incurious
as to those of his fellow-countrymen; nor is it based upon the belief
that the working man is imperfect in mind or body; but on an assurance
that the working man will never lift himself to the level of the
higher form of recreation, simply because the ordinary man knows
himself and his own practice. He desires to be amused, and according
to his manner of life he finds amusement in tobacco, reading, cards,
music, or the theatre.
Consider the well-to-do man in pursuit of recreation. He has a club;
he goes to his club every day; perhaps he gets whist there; very
likely he belongs to one of the modern sepulchral places where the
members do not know each other and every man glares at his neighbour.
There is a billiard-table in all clubs as well as a card-room. Apart
from cards and billiards the clubs recognise no form of recreation
whatever. There are not in any club that I know, except the Savage,
musical instruments: if you were to propose to have a piano, and to
sing at it, I suppose the universal astonishment would be too great
for words. At the Arts, I believe, some of the members sometimes hang
up pictures of their own for exhibition and criticism, but at no other
club is there any recognition of Art. There are good libraries at two
or three clubs, but many have none. In fact, the clubs which belong to
gentlemen are organized as if there was no other occupation possible
for civilized people in polite society, except dining, smoking,
reading papers, or playing whist and billiards. The working men who
have recently established clubs of their own in imitation of the
West-End clubs are said to be finding them so dull that, where they
cannot turn them into political organizations, they have tolerated the
introduction of gambling. When clubs were first established gambling
was everywhere the favourite recreation, so that the working men are
only beginning where their predecessors began sixty years ago.
Of all the Arts the average man, be he gentleman or mechanic, knows
none. He has never learned to play any instrument at all; he cannot
use his voice in taking a part, he cannot paint, draw, carve in wood
or ivory, use a lathe, or make anything that the wide world wants to
use. He cannot write poetry, or drama, or fiction; he is no orator; he
plays no games of cards except whist, and no other games at all of any
kind. What can he do? He can practise the trade he has learned, by
which he makes his money. He knows how to convey property, how to buy
and sell stock and shares, how to carry on business in the City. This,
if you please, is all he knows. And when you propose that the working
man shall, have an opportunity of learning and practising Art in any
of its multitudinous varieties, he laughs derisively, because, which
is a very natural and sensible thing to do, he puts himself in that
man's place, and he knows that he would not be tempted to undergo the
drudgery and the drill of learning one of the Arts, even did that Art
appear to him in the form of a nymph more lovely than Helen of Troy.
The second objection belongs to the old order of prejudice. It used to
be assumed that there were two distinct orders of human beings; it was
the privilege of the higher order to be maintained by the labour of
the lower; for the higher order was reserved all the graces,
refinements, and joys of this fleeting life. The lower order were
privileged to work for their betters, and to have, in the brief
intervals between work and sleep, their own coarse enjoyments, which
were not the same as those of the upper class; they were ordained by
Providence to be different, not only in degree, but also in kind. The
privileges of the former class have received of late years many
grievous knocks. They have had to admit into their body, as capable of
the higher social pleasures and of polite culture, an enormous
accession of people who actually work for their own bread--even people
in trade; and it is beginning to be perceived that their
amusements--also, which seems the last straw, their vices--can
actually be enjoyed by the base mechanical sort, insomuch that, if
this kind of thing goes on, there must in the end follow an effacement
of all classes, and the peer will walk arm and arm with the
blacksmith. But class distinctions die hard, and the working men are
not yet all ready for the disciplined recreation which will help to
break down the barriers, and we may not look for this millennium
within the lifetime of living men. It is enough to note that the old
feeling still lingers even among those who, a hundred years ago, when
class distinctions were in their worst and most odious form, would
have been ranked among those incapable of refinement and ignorant of
polite manners.
The third objection, that the people should only be helped in the way
of education and self-improvement, is, at first sight, worthy of
respect. But it involves the theory that it is the duty of the working
man when he has done his day's work to devote his evenings to more
work of a harder kind. There is a kind of hypocrisy in this feeling.
Why should the working man be fired with that ardour for knowledge
which is not expected of ourselves? I look round among my own
acquaintances and friends, and I declare that I do not know a single
household, except where the head of it is a literary man, and
therefore obliged to be always studying and learning, in which the
members spend their evenings after the day's work in the acquisition
of new branches of learning. One may go farther: even of those who
belong to the learned professions, few indeed there are who carry on
their studies beyond the point where their knowledge has a marketable
value. The doctor learns his craft as thoroughly as he can, and, after
he has passed, reads no more than is just necessary to keep his eyes
open to new lights; the solicitor knows enough law to carry on his
business, and reads no more. As for the schoolmaster--who ever heard
of a classical master reading any more Latin and Greek than he reads
with the boys? and who ever heard of a mathematical master keeping up
his knowledge of the higher branches, which put him among the
wranglers of his year, but are not wanted in the school? Even the lads
who have just begun to go into the City, and who know very well that
their value would be enormously increased by a practical and real
knowledge of French, German, or shorthand, will not take the trouble
to acquire it. Yet, with the knowledge of all this, we expect the
working man in his hours of leisure, and after a day physically
exhausting, to sit down and work at something intellectual. There are,
without doubt, some men so strong and so avid of knowledge that they
will do this, but these are not many, and they do not long remain
working men.
The People's Palace offers recreation to all who wish to fit
themselves for its practice and enjoyment. But it is recreation of a
kind which demands skill, patience, discipline, drill, and obedience
to law. Those who master any one of the Arts, the practice of which
constitutes true recreation, have left once and for ever the ranks of
disorder: they belong, by virtue of their aptitude and their
education--say, by virtue of their Election--to the army of Law and
Order. They will not, we may be sure, be recruited from those whom
long years of labour and want of cultivation have tendered stiff of
finger, slow of ear and of eye, impenetrable of brain. We must get
them from the boys and girls. We must be content if the elders learn
to take delight in the hand-work which they cannot execute, the
decorative work which they can never hope wholly to understand, the
music and singing in which they themselves will never take a part.
But they will by no means be left out. They will have the library, the
writing and reading rooms, the conversation and smoking rooms, with
those games of skill which are loved by all men. There will be
entertainments, concerts, and performances for them. And for those who
desire to learn there will be classes, lectures, and lecturers. At the
same time, I do not, I confess, anticipate a rush of young working men
to share in these joys and privileges. This part of the Palace will
grow and develop by degrees, because it is through the boys and girls
that the real work and usefulness of the Palace will be effected, and
not by means of the men. Of course, there will be from the outset a
small proportion capable of rightly using the place. For all these
reasons, it seems as if we may be very well contented that the
recreation part of the scheme has been for the moment kept in the
background.
II. Let us turn to the educational side of the scheme.
When a lad has passed the standards--very likely a bright, clever
little chap, who had passed the sixth and even the seventh standard
with credit--it becomes necessary for him immediately to earn the
greater part of his own living. It is not in the power of his father,
who lives from week to week, or even from day to day, to apprentice
his boys and put them to a trade. They must earn their living at once.
What are they to do?
At the very age when these boys have reached the point when the
intellect, already partly trained and the hand, not yet trained at
all, should begin to work together, they are faced by the terrible
fact--how terrible to them they little know--that they can be taught
no trade. They must go out into the world with a pair of unskilled
hands, and nothing more. Consider. A country lad learns every day
something new; he learns continually by daily practice how to use his
hands and his strength, by the time he is eighteen he has become a
very highly skilled agriculturist; he knows and can do a great many
most useful and necessary things. But the town lad, if he learns no
trade, learns nothing. He will never have any chance in life; he can
never have any chance; he is foredoomed to misery; he will all his
life be a servant of the lowest kind; he will never have the least
independence; he will, in all probability, be one of those who wait
day by day for the chance gifts of Luck. At the best, he can but get
into the railway service, or into some house of business where they
want porters and carriers.
There is, however, a great demand for boys, who can earn five
shillings a week as shop boys, errand boys, and so forth. Our clever
lad, therefore, who has done so well at school, becomes a fruiterer's
lad, cleans out the shop, carries round the baskets, and is generally
useful; he gets a rise in a year or two, to seven shillings and
sixpence; presently he is dismissed to make room for a younger boy who
will take five shillings. Shall we follow the lad farther? If he gets,
as we hope he may, steady employment, we see him next, at the age of
fifteen, marching about the streets in the evening with a girl of the
same age to whom he makes love, and smoking 'fags,' or cigarettes.
There are thousands of such pairs to be seen everywhere; in Victoria
Park on Sundays, or Hampstead Heath on Saturday evenings, every
evening in the great thoroughfares--in Oxford Street as much as in
Whitechapel, in the music-halls and in the public-houses. You may see
them sitting together on doorsteps as well as promenading the
pavement. If there is any way of spending the evenings more
destructive of every good gift and useful quality of manhood and
womanhood than this, I know not what it is. The idleness and
uselessness of it, the precocious abuse of tobacco, the premature and
forced development of the emotions which should belong to love at a
later period, the loss of such intellectual attainments as had already
been acquired, the vacuous mind, the contentment to remain in the
lower depths--in a word, the waste and wanton ruin of a life involved
in such a youth, make the contemplation of this pair the most
melancholy sight in the world. The boy's early cleverness is gone, the
brightness has left his eyes, he reads no more, he has forgotten all
he ever learned, he thinks only now of keeping his berth, if he has
one, or of getting another if he has lost his last. But there is worse
to follow, for at eighteen he will marry the little slip of a girl,
and by the time she is five-and-twenty there will be half a dozen
children born in poverty and privation for a similar life of poverty
and privation, and the hapless parents will have endured all that
there is to be endured from the evils of hunger, cold, starving
children, and want of work.
This couple were thrown together because they were left to themselves
and uncared for; they marry because they have nothing else to think
about; they remain in misery because the husband knows no trade, and
because of mere hands unskilled and ignorant there are already more
than enough.
The Palace is going to take that boy out of the streets: it is going
to remove both from boy and girl the temptation--that of the idle
hand--to go away and get married. It will fill that lad's mind with
thoughts and make those hands deft and crafty.
In other words, the Palace will open a great technical school for all
the trades as well as for all the Arts. It is reckoned that three
years' training in the evenings will give a boy a trade. Once master
of a trade his future is assured, because somewhere in the world there
is always a want of tradesmen of every kind. There may be too many
shoemakers in London while they are wanted in Queensland;
cabinet-makers and carpenters may be overcrowded here, but there are
all the English-speaking countries in the world to choose from.
There can be no doubt that the schools will be crowded. The success of
the schools at the old Polytechnic (where there are 8,000 boys), of
the Whittington Club, of the Finsbury Technical Schools, leave no
doubt possible that the East-End Palace Schools will be crammed with
eager learners. The Palace is in the very heart and centre of East
London, with its two millions, mostly working men; trams, trains, and
omnibuses make it accessible from every part of this vast city--from
Bromley, Bow and Stratford, from Poplar, Stepney and Ratcliff, from
Bethnal Green and Spitalfields. Yet but two or three years, and there
will be 20,000 boys and more flocking to those gates which shut out
the Earthly Hell of ignorance, dependence, and poverty, and open the
doors to the Earthly Paradise of skilled hands and drilled eye, of
plenty and the dignity of manhood. Why, if it were only to stop these
early marriages--if only for the sake of the poor child-mother and the
unborn children doomed, if they see the light, to life-long
misery--one would shower upon the Palace all the money that is asked
to complete it. Think--with every stone that is laid in its place,
with every hour of work that each mason bestows upon its walls, there
is another couple rescued, one more lad made into a man, one more girl
suffered to grow into a woman before she becomes a mother, one more
humble household furnished with the means of a livelihood, one more
unborn family rescued from the curse of hopeless poverty.
The remaining portions of the scheme, with its provision for women as
well as men, its entertainments, its University extension lectures,
reading-rooms, and schools of Art in all its branches, can only be
fully realized when the first generation of these boys has passed
through the technical schools, and they have learned to look upon the
Palace as their own, to consider its halls and cloisters the most
delightful place in the world. And what the Palace may then become,
what a perennial fountain it may prove of all that makes for the
purification and elevation of life, one would fain endeavour to
depict, but may not, for fear of the charge of extravagance.
III. There is one other point which those who have read the
correspondence and comments upon the proposed institution in the
papers have noted with amusement rather than with astonishment. It is
a point which comes out in everything that has been written on the
scheme, except by the actual founders. It is the profound distrust
with which the more wealthy classes regard the working men--not the
poor, so-called, but the working men. They do not seem even to have
begun trusting them: they speak and think of them as if they were
children in leading-strings; as if they were certain to accept with
gratitude whatever gifts may be bestowed upon them, even when they are
safe-guarded and carefully regulated as for mischievous boys; as if
the working men were constantly looking for guidance to the class
which has the money. It is true that the working men are always
looking for guidance, just like the rest of us. 'Lord, send a leader!'
It is the cry of all mankind in all ages. But that the working men
regard the people who live in villas, and are genteel, as possessing
more wisdom than themselves is by no means certain.
This feeling was, of course, most deeply marked when the great Drink
Question arose, as it was bound to arise. We have heard how meetings
were called, and resolutions passed by worthy people against the
admission of intoxicating drinks into the Palace. At one of the
meetings they had the audacity to pass a resolution that 'East London
will never be satisfied until intoxicating drink of any kind is
prohibited in the Palace.' East London! with its thousands of
public-houses! Dear me! Then, if East London passed such a resolution,
its hypocrisy surpasses the hypocrisy of the Scribes and Pharisees.
If, however, a little knot of people choose to call themselves East
London, or Babylon, or Rome, and to pass resolutions in the name of
those cities, we can accept their resolutions for what they are worth.
Whether the working man will adopt them and put them into practice is
another matter altogether.
Let us remember, and constantly bear in mind, that the Palace is to be
_governed by the people for themselves_. Otherwise it would be better
for East London that it had never been erected. Whatever we do or
resolve is, in fact, subject to the will of the governing body. As for
passing a resolution on drink for the Palace, we might just as well
resolve that drink shall not be sold to the members of the House of
Commons, and expect them instantly to close their cellars. If the
governing body wish to have drink in the Palace they will have it,
whether we like it or not. But it shows the profound distrust of the
people that these restrictions should be attempted and these
resolutions passed. For my own part, considering the needlessness of
drink in such a place, the abundant facilities provided outside, and
the enormous additional trouble, danger, and expense entailed by
letting drink be sold in a place where there will be every evening
thousands of young people, I am quite sure that the governing
body--that is to say, the chosen representatives of East London--will
never admit it within their walls.
We do not trust the working man. We have given over to him the whole
of the power. All the power there is we have given to him, because he
stands in an enormous majority. We have made him absolute master of
this realm of Great Britain and Ireland. What could we do more for a
man whom we blindly and implicitly trusted? Yet the working man, for
whom we have done so much, we have not yet begun to trust.
SUNDAY MORNING IN THE CITY
On Saturday afternoon, when the last of the clerks bangs the great
door behind him and steps out of the office on his way home; when the
shutters of the warehouses are at last all closed; there falls upon
the street a silence and loneliness which lasts from three o'clock on
Saturday till eight o'clock on Monday--a sleep unbroken for forty-one
long hours. In the main arteries, it is true, there is always a little
life; the tramp of feet never ceases day or night in Fleet Street or
Cheapside. But in all the narrow streets branching north and south,
east and west, of the great thoroughfares there is silence--there is
sleep. This Sabbath of forty hours' duration is absolutely
unparalleled in any other City of the world. There is no other place,
there never has been any other place, in which not only work ceases,
but where the workers also disappear. In that far-off City of the
Rabbis called Sambatyon, where live the descendants of the Ten Tribes,
the river which surrounds and protects the City with its broad and
mighty flood, too strong for boats to cross, ceases to flow on the
Sabbath; but it is not pretended that the people cease to live there.
Of no other City can it be said that it sleeps from Saturday night
till Monday morning.
An attempt is made to awaken the City every Sunday morning when the
bells begin to ring, and there is as great and joyful a ringing from
every church tower or steeple as if the bells were calling the
faithful, as of old, by the hundred thousand; they go on ringing
because it is their duty; they were hung up there for no other
purpose; hidden away in the towers, they do not know that the people
have all gone away, and that they ring to empty houses and deserted
streets. For there is no response. At most one may see a solitary
figure dressed in black stuff creeping stealthily along like a ghost
on her way from the empty house to the empty church. When the bells
leave off silence falls again, there is no one in the street. One's
own footsteps echo from the wall; we walk along in a dream; old words
and old rhymes crowd into the brain. It is a dead City--a City newly
dead--we are gazing upon the dead.