"The Pariahs of the Isle of Woe," as he
passionately
names
them, are no longer Pariahs if they have become Men.
them, are no longer Pariahs if they have become Men.
Thomas Carlyle
But with us foolish sons of Adam this
is ever the way: some evil that lies nearest us, be it a chronic
sickness, or but a smoky chimney, is ever the acme and sum-
total of all evil; the black hydra that shuts us out from a
Promised Land; and so, in poor Mr. Shandy's fashion, must
we "shift from trouble to trouble, and from side to side;
button-up one cause of vexation, and unbutton another. "
Thus for our keen-hearted singer, and sufferer, has the
? ? Generated for (University of Chicago) on 2014-12-21 07:22 GMT / http://hdl. handle. net/2027/mdp. 39015012169135 Public Domain, Google-digitized / http://www. hathitrust. org/access_use#pd-google
? 150 Carlyle's Essays
"Bread-tax," in itself a considerable but no immeasurable
smoke-pillar, swoln out to be a world-embracing Darkness,
that darkens and suffocates the whole earth, and has blotted
out the heavenly stars. Into the merit of the Corn-Laws,
which has often been discussed, in fit season, by competent
hands, we do not enter here; least of all in the way of argu-
ment, in the way of blame, towards one who, if he read such
merit with some emphasis " on the scantier trenchers of his
children," may well be pardoned. That the "Bread-tax,"
with various other taxes, may ere long be altered and abro-
gated, and the Corn-Trade become as free as the poorest
"bread-taxed drudge " could wish it, or the richest " satrap
bread-tax-fed" could fear it, seems no extravagant hypo-
thesis: would that the mad Time could, by such simple
hellebore-dose, be healed! Alas for the diseases of a world
lying in wickedness, in heart-sickness and atrophy, quite
another alcahest is needed;--a long, painful course of medi-
cine and regimen, surgery and physic, not yet specified or
indicated in the Royal-College Books I
But if there is little novelty in our friend's Political Philo-
sophy, there is some in his political Feeling and Poetry. The
peculiarity of this Radical is, that with all his stormful de-
structiveness he combines a decided loyalty and faith. If he
despise and trample under foot on the one hand, he exalts
and reverences on the other; the "landed pauper in his
coach-and-four " rolls all the more glaringly, contrasted with
the "Rockinghams and Savilles" of the past, with the
"Lansdowns and Fitzwilliams," many a "Wentworth's
lord," still " a blessing" to the present. This man, indeed,
has in him the root of all reverence,--a principle of Religion.
He believes in a Godhead, not with the lips only, but appar-
ently with the heart; who, as has been written, and often
felt, "reveals Himself in Parents, in all true Teachers and
Rulers,"--as in false Teachers and Rulers quite Another
may be revealed I Our Rhymer, it would seem, is no Metho-
dist: far enough from it. He makes "the Ranter," in his
hot-headed way, exclaim over
The Hundred Popes of England's Jesnistry;
and adds, by way of note, in his own person, some still
stronger sayings: How " this baneful corporation, dismal as
its Reign of Terror is, and long-armed its Holy Inquisition,
? ? Generated for (University of Chicago) on 2014-12-21 07:22 GMT / http://hdl. handle. net/2027/mdp. 39015012169135 Public Domain, Google-digitized / http://www. hathitrust. org/access_use#pd-google
? Corn-Law Rhymes 151
must condescend to learn and teach what is useful, or go
where all nuisances go. " As little perhaps is he a Church-
man; the "Cadi - Dervish" seems nowise to his mind.
Scarcely, however, if at all, does he show aversion to the
Church as Church; or, among his many griefs, touch upon
Tithes as one. But, in any case, the black colours of Life,
even as here painted, and brooded over, do not hide from
him that a God is the Author and Sustainer thereof; that
God's world, if made a House of Imprisonment, can also be
a House of Prayer; wherein for the weary and heavy-laden
pity and hope are not altogether cut away.
It is chiefly in virtue of this inward temper of heart, with
the clear disposition and adjustment which for all else results
therefrom, that our Radical attains to be Poetical; that
the harsh groanings, contentions, upbraidings, of one who
unhappily has felt constrained to adopt such mode of utter-
ance, become ennobled into something of music. If a land
of bondage, this is still his Father's land, and the bondage
endures not forever. As worshipper and believer, the captive
can look with seeing eye: the aspect of the Infinite Universe
still fills him with an Infinite feeling; his chains, were it but
for moments, fall away; he soars free aloft, and the sunny
regions of Poesy and Freedom gleam golden afar on the
widened horizon. Gleamings we say, prophetic dawnings
from those far regions, spring up for him; nay, beams of
actual radiance. In his ruggedness, and dim contractedness
(rather of place than of organ), he is not without touches of a
feeling and vision, which, even in the stricter sense, is to be
named poetical.
One deeply poetical idea, above all others, seems to have
taken hold of him: the idea of Time. As was natural to a
poetic soul, with few objects of Art in its environment, and
driven inward, rather than invited outward, for occupation.
This deep mystery of ever-flowing Time; bringing forth,
and as the Ancients wisely fabled, devouring what it has
brought forth; rushing on, in us, yet above us, all uncontrol-
lable by us; and under it, dimly visible athwart it, the
bottomless Eternal;--this is, indeed, what we may call the
primary idea of Poetry; the first that introduces itself into
the poetic mind. As here:
The bee shall seek to settle on his hand,
But from the vacant bench haste to the moor,
? ? Generated for (University of Chicago) on 2014-12-21 07:22 GMT / http://hdl. handle. net/2027/mdp. 39015012169135 Public Domain, Google-digitized / http://www. hathitrust. org/access_use#pd-google
? 152 Carlyle's Essays
Mourning the last of England's high-soul'd Poor,
And bid the mountains weep for Enoch Wray.
And for themselves,--albeit of things that last
Unalter'd most; for they shall pass away
Like Enoch, though their iron roots seem fast,
Bound to the eternal future as the past:
The Patriarch died; and they shall be no more!
Yes, and the sailless worlds, which navigate
The unutterable Deep that hath no shore,
Will lose their starry splendour soon or late,
Like tapers, quench'd by Him, whose will is fate!
Yes, and the Angel of Eternity,
Who numbers worlds and writes their names in light,
One day, O Earth, will look in vain for thee,
And start and stop in his unerring flight,
And with his wings of sorrow and affright
Veil his impassion'd brow and heavenly tears!
And not the first idea only, but the greatest, properly the
parent of all others. For if it can rise in the remotest ages,
in the rudest states of culture, wherever an "inspired
thinker" happens to exist, it connects itself still with all
great things; with the highest results of new Philosophy, as
of primeval Theology; and for the Poet, in particular, is as
the life-element, wherein alone his conceptions can take
poetic form and the whole world become miraculous and
magical.
We are such stuff
As Dreams are made of: and our little life
Is rounded with a Sleep!
Figure that, believe that, O Reader; then say whether the
Arabian Tales seem wonderful! --" Rounded with a sleep
(mit Scklaf umgeben) \ " says Jean Paul; "these three words
created whole volumes in me. "
To turn now on our worthy Rhymer, who has brought us
so much, and stingily insist on his errors and shortcomings,
were no honest procedure. We should have the whole
poetical encyclopaedia to draw upon, and say commodiously,
such and such an item is not here; of which encyclopaedia
the highest genius can fill but a portion. With much merit,
far from common in his time, he is not without something of
the faults of his time. We praised him for originality; yet
is there a certain remainder of imitation in him; a tang of
the Circulating Libraries; as in Sancho's wine, with its key
? ? Generated for (University of Chicago) on 2014-12-21 07:22 GMT / http://hdl. handle. net/2027/mdp. 39015012169135 Public Domain, Google-digitized / http://www. hathitrust. org/access_use#pd-google
? Corn-Law Rhymes 153
and thong, there was a tang of iron and leather. To be
reminded of Crabbe, with his truthful severity of style, in
such a place, we cannot object; but what if there were a
slight bravura dash of the fair tuneful Hemans? Still
more, what have we to do with Byron, and his fierce
vociferous mouthings, whether " passionate," or not passion-
, ate and only theatrical? King Cambyses' vein is, after all,
but a worthless one; no vein for a wise man. Strength, if
that be the thing aimed at, does not manifest itself in spasms,
but in stout bearing of burdens. Our Author says, " It is
too bad to exalt into a hero the coxcomb who would have
gone into hysterics if a tailor had laughed at him. " Walk
not in his footsteps, then, we say, whether as hero or as
singer; repent a little, for example, over somewhat in that
> fuliginous, blue - flaming, pitch - and - sulphur "Dream of
Enoch Wray," and write the next otherwise.
We mean no imitation in a bad palpable sense; only that
there is a tone of such occasionally audible, which ought to
be removed;---of which, in any case, we make not much.
Imitation is a leaning on something foreign; incompleteness
of individual development, defect of free utterance. From
the same source spring most of our Author's faults; in
particular, his worst, which, after all, is intrinsically a defect
of manner. He has little or no Humour. Without Humour
of character he cannot well be; but it has not yet got to
utterance. Thus, where he has mean things to deal with, he
knows not how to deal with them; oftenest deals with them
more or less meanly. In his vituperative prose Notes, he
seems embarrassed; and but ill hides his embarrassment,
under an air of predetermined sarcasm, of knowing briskness,
almost of vulgar pertness. He says, he cannot help it;
: he is poor, hard-worked, and " soot is soot. " True, indeed;
yet there is no connexion between Poverty and Discourtesy;
which latter originates in Dulness alone. Courtesy is the
due of man to man; not of suit-of-clothes to suit-of-clothes.
He who could master so many things, and make even Corn-
Laws rhyme, we require of him this farther thing: a bearing
worthy of himself, and of the order he belongs to,--the
highest and most ancient of all orders, that of Manhood. A
pert snappishness is no manner for a brave man; and then
the manner so soon influences the matter: a far worse result.
Let him speak wise things, and speak them wisely; which
n to* l
? ? Generated for (University of Chicago) on 2014-12-21 07:22 GMT / http://hdl. handle. net/2027/mdp. 39015012169135 Public Domain, Google-digitized / http://www. hathitrust. org/access_use#pd-google
? 154 Carlylc's Essays
latter may be done in many dialects, grave and gay, only in
the snappish dialect seldom or never.
The truth is, as might have been expected, there is still
much lying in him to be developed; the hope of which
development it were rather sad to abandon. Why, for
example, should not his view of the world, his knowledge
of what is and has been in the world, indefinitely extend
itself? Were he merely the " uneducated Poet," we should
say, he had read largely; as he is not such, we say, Read
still more, much more largely. Books enough there are in
England, and of quite another weight and worth than that
circulating-library sort; may be procured too, may be read,
even by a hard-worked man; for what man (either in God's
service or the Devil's, as himself chooses it) is not hard-worked?
But here again, where there is a will there is a way. True,
our friend is no longer in his teens; yet still, as would seem,
in the vigour of his years: we hope too that his mind is not
finally shut-in, but of the improvable and enlargeable sort.
If Alfieri (also kept busy enough, with horse-breaking and
what not) learned Greek after he was fifty, why is the Corn-
Law Rhymer too old to learn?
However, be in the future what there may, our Rhymer
has already done what was much more difficult, and better
than reading printed books;--looked into the great prophetic
manuscript Book of Existence, and read little passages there.
Here, for example, is a sentence tolerably spelled:
Where toils the Mill by ancient woods embraced,
Hark, how the cold steel screams in hissing fire!
Blind Enoch sees the Grinder's wheel no more,
Couch'd beneath rocks and forests, that admire
Their beauty in the waters, ere they roar
Dash'd in white foam the swift circumference o'er.
There draws the Grinder his laborious breath;
There coughing at his deadly trade he bends:
Born to die young, he fears nor man nor death;
Scorning the future, what he earns he spends;
Debauch and riot are his bosom friends.
>>. . . . <<
Behold his failings I Hath he virtues too?
He is no Pauper, blackguard though he be:
Full well he knows what minds combined can do.
Full well maintains his birthright: he is free,
And, frown for frown, outstares monopoly.
Yet Abraham and Elliot both in vain
? ? Generated for (University of Chicago) on 2014-12-21 07:22 GMT / http://hdl. handle. net/2027/mdp. 39015012169135 Public Domain, Google-digitized / http://www. hathitrust. org/access_use#pd-google
? Corn-Law Rhymes 155
Bid science on his cheek prolong the bloom:
He will not live I He seems in haste to gain
The undisturb'd asylum of the tomb,
And, old at two-and-thirty, meets his doom!
Or this, "of Jem, the rogue avowed,"
Whose trade is Poaching! Honest Jem works not.
Begs not, but thrives by plundering beggars here.
Wise as a lord, and quite as good a shot,
He, like his betters, lives in hate and fear,
And feeds on partridge because bread is dear.
Sire of six sons apprenticed to the jail,
He prowls in arms, the Tory of the night;
With them he shares his battles and his ale,
With him they feel the majesty of might,
No Despot better knows that Power is Right.
Mark his unpaidish sneer, his lordly frown;
Hark how he calls the beadle and flunky liars;
See how magnificently he breaks down
His neighbour's fence, if so his will requires,
And how his struttle emulates the squire's!
Jem rises with the Moon; but when she sinks,
Homeward with sack-like pockets, and quick heels,
Hungry as boroughmongering gowl, he slinks.
He reads not, writes not, thinks not, scarcely feels;
Steals all he gets; serves Hell with all he steals!
It is rustic, rude existence; barren moors, with the smoke
of Forges rising over the waste expanse. Alas, no Arcadia;
but the actual dwelling-place of actual toil-grimed sons of
Tubalcain: yet are there blossoms, and the wild natural
fragrance of gorse and broom; yet has the Craftsman pauses
in his toil; the Craftsman too has an inheritance in Earth,
and even in Heaven:
Light! All is not corrupt, for thou art pure,
Unchanged and changeless. Though frail man is vile,
Thou look'st on him; serene, sublime, secure.
Yet, like thy Father, with a pitying smile.
Even on this wintry day, as marble cold,
Angels might quit their home to visit thee,
And match their plumage with thy mantle roll'd
Beneath God's Throne, o'er billows of a sea
Whose isles are Worlds, whose bounds Infinity.
Why, then, is Enoch absent from my side?
I miss the rustle of his silver hair;
A guide no more. I seem to want a guide,
While Enoch journeys to the house of prayer;
? ? Generated for (University of Chicago) on 2014-12-21 07:22 GMT / http://hdl. handle. net/2027/mdp. 39015012169135 Public Domain, Google-digitized / http://www. hathitrust. org/access_use#pd-google
? 156 Carlyle's Essays
Ah, ne'er came Sabbath-day but he was there I
Lo how, like him, erect and strong though gray,
Yon village-tower time-touch'd to God appeals!
And hark! the chimes of morning die away:
Hark! to the heart the solemn sweetness steals,
Like the heart's voice, unfelt by none who feels
That God is Love, that Man is living Dust;
Unfelt by none whom ties of brotherhood
Link to his kind; by none who puts his trust
In nought of Earth that hath survived the Flood,
Save those mute charities, by which the good
Strengthen poor worms, and serve their Maker best.
Hail, Sabbath I Day of mercy, peace and rest!
Thou o'er loud cities throw'st a noiseless spell;
The hammer there, the wheel, the saw molest
Pale Thought no more: o'er Trade's contentious hell
Meek Quiet spreads her wings invisible.
And when thou com'st, less silent are the fields,
Through whose sweet paths the toil-freed townsman steals.
To him the very air a banquet yields.
Envious he watches the poised hawk that wheels
His flight on chainless winds. Each cloud reveals
A paradise of beauty to his eye.
His little Boys are with him, seeking flowers,
Or chasing the too-venturous gilded fly.
So by the daisy's side he spends the hours,
Renewing friendship with the budding bowers:
And while might, beauty, good without alloy.
Are mirror'd in his children's happy eyes,--
In His great Temple offering thankful joy
To Him, the infinitely Great and Wise,
With soul attuned to Nature's harmonies,
Serene and cheerful as a sporting child,--
His heart refuses to believe that man
Could turn into a hell the blooming wild,
The blissful country where his childhood ran
A race with infant rivers, ere began--
--" king-humbling " Bread-tax, " blind Misrule," and several
other crabbed things!
And so our Corn-Law Rhymer plays his part. In this wise
does he indite and act his Drama of Life, which for him is all-
too Domestic-Tragical. It is said, "the good actor soon
makes us forget the bad theatre, were it but a barn; while,
again, nothing renders so apparent the badness of the bad
actor as a theatre of peculiar excellence. " How much more
in a theatre and drama such as these of Life itself! One
other item, however, we must note in that ill-decorated
? ? Generated for (University of Chicago) on 2014-12-21 07:22 GMT / http://hdl. handle. net/2027/mdp. 39015012169135 Public Domain, Google-digitized / http://www. hathitrust. org/access_use#pd-google
? Corn-Law Rhymes 157
Sheffield theatre: the back-scene and bottom-decoration of
it all; which is no other than a Workhouse. Alas, the Work-
bouse is the bourne whither all these actors and workers are
bound; whence none that has once passed it returns! A
bodeful sound, like the rustle of approaching world-devouring
tornadoes, quivers through their whole existence; and the
voice of it is, Pauperism! The thanksgiving they offer up
to Heaven is, that they are not yet Paupers; the earnest cry
of their prayer is, that "God would shield them from the
bitterness of Parish Pay. "
Mournful enough, that a white European Man must pray
wistfully for what the horse he drives is sure of,--That the
strain of his whole faculties may not fail to earn him food and
lodging. Mournful that a gallant manly spirit, with an eye
to discern the world, a heart to reverence it, a hand cunning
and willing to labour in it, must be haunted with such a
fear. The grim end of it all, Beggary! A soul loathing, what
true souls ever loath, Dependence, help from the unworthy
to help; yet sucked into the world-whirlpool,--able to do
no other: the highest in man's heart struggling vainly against
the lowest in man's destiny! In good truth, if many a sickly
and sulky Byron, or Byronlet, glooming over the woes of
existence, and how unworthy God's Universe is to have so
distinguished a resident, could transport himself into the
patched coat and sooty apron of a Sheffield Blacksmith, made
with as strange faculties and feelings as he, made by God
Almighty all one as he was,--it would throw a light on much
'for him.
Meanwhile, is it not frightful as well as mournful to consider
how the wide-spread evil is spreading wider and wider?
Most persons, who have had eyes to look with, may have
verified, in their own circle, the statement of this Sheffield
Eyewitness, and "from their own knowledge and observa-
1 tion fearlessly declare that the little master-manufacturer,
that the working man generally, is in a much worse condition
than he was twenty-five years ago. " Unhappily, the fact
is too plain; the reason and scientific necessity of it is too
plain. In this mad state of things, every new man is a new
misfortune; every new market a new complexity; the
chapter of chances grows ever more incalculable; the hungry
gamesters (whose stake is their life) are ever increasing in
numbers; the world-movement rolls on: by what method
? ? Generated for (University of Chicago) on 2014-12-21 07:22 GMT / http://hdl. handle. net/2027/mdp. 39015012169135 Public Domain, Google-digitized / http://www. hathitrust. org/access_use#pd-google
? 158 Carlylc's Essays
shall the weak and help-needing, who has none to help him,
withstand it? Alas, how many brave hearts, ground to
pieces in that unequal battle, have already sunk; in every
sinking heart, a Tragedy, less famous than that of the Sons
of Atreus; wherein, however, if no "kingly house," yet a
manly house went to the dust, and a whole manly lineage was
swept away! Must it grow worse and worse, till the last
brave heart is broken in England; and this same "brave
Peasantry" has become a kennel of wild-howling ravenous
Paupers? God be thanked! there is some feeble shadow
of hope that the change may have begun while it was yet
time. You may lift the pressure from the free man's
shoulders, and bid him go forth rejoicing; but lift the slave's
burden, he will only wallow the more composedly in his sloth:
a nation of degraded men cannot be raised up, except by
what we rightly name a miracle.
Under which point of view also, these little Volumes,
indicating such a character in such a place, are not without
significance. One faint symptom, perhaps, that clearness
will return, that there is a possibility of its return. It is as
if from that Gehenna of Manufacturing Radicalism, from
amid its loud roaring and cursing, whereby nothing became
feasible, nothing knowable, except this only, that misery
and malady existed there, we heard now some manful tone
of reason and determination, wherein alone can there be
profit, or promise of deliverance. In this Corn-Law Rhymer
we seem to trace something of the antique spirit; a spirit
which had long become invisible among our working as amongl
other classes; which here, perhaps almost for the first time,
reveals itself in an altogether modern political vesture.
"The Pariahs of the Isle of Woe," as he passionately names
them, are no longer Pariahs if they have become Men. Here
is one man of their tribe; in several respects a true man;
who has abjured Hypocrisy and Servility, yet not therewith
trodden Religion and Loyalty under foot; not without\
justness of insight, devoutness, peaceable heroism of resolve;
who, in all circumstances, even in these strange ones, will be
found quitting himself like a man. One such that has found
a voice: who knows how many mute but not inactive
brethren he may have, in his own and in all other ranks?
Seven thousand that have not bowed the knee to Baal!
These are the men, wheresoever found, who are to stand
? ? Generated for (University of Chicago) on 2014-12-21 07:22 GMT / http://hdl. handle. net/2027/mdp. 39015012169135 Public Domain, Google-digitized / http://www. hathitrust. org/access_use#pd-google
? Corn-Law Rhymes
159
forth in England's evil day, on whom the hope of England
rests.
For it has been often said, and must often be said again,
that all Reform except a moral one will prove unavailing.
Political Reform, pressingly enough wanted, can indeed
root-out the weeds (gross deep-fixed lazy dock-weeds, poison-
ous obscene hemlocks, ineffectual spurry in abundance);
but it leaves the ground empty, -- ready either for noble
fruits, or for new worse tares! And how else is a Moral
Reform to be looked for but in this way, that more and more
Good Men are, by a bountiful Providence, sent hither to
disseminate Goodness; literally to sow it, as in seeds shaken
abroad by the living tree? For such, in all ages and places,
is the nature of a Good Man; he is ever a mystic creative
centre of Goodness: his influence, if we consider it, is not to
be measured; for his works do not die, but being of Eternity,
are eternal; and in new transformation, and ever-wider
diffusion, endure, living and life-giving. Thou who ex-
claimest over the horrors and baseness of the Time, and how
Diogenes would now need two lanterns in daylight, think of
this: over the Time thou hast no power; to redeem a World
sunk in dishonesty has not been given thee: solely over one
man therein thou hast a quite absolute uncontrollable power;
him redeem, him make honest; it will be something, it will
be much, and thy life and labour not in vain.
We have given no epitomised abstract of these little Books,
hsuch as is the Reviewer's wont: we would gladly persuade
many a reader, high and low, who takes interest not in
rhyme only, but in reason, and the condition of his fellow-
man, to purchase and peruse them for himself. It is proof
of an innate love of worth, and how willingly the Public, did
not thousand-voiced Puffery so confuse it, would have to do
with substances, and not with deceptive shadows, that these
Volumes carry "Third Edition" marked on them,--on all
of them but the newest, whose fate with the reading world
we yet know not; which, however, seems to deserve not
worse but better than either of its forerunners.
Nay, it appears to us as if in this humble Chant of the
Village Patriarch might be traced rudiments of a truly great
idea; great though all undeveloped. The Rhapsody of
"Enoch Wray " is, in its nature and unconscious tendency,
? ? Generated for (University of Chicago) on 2014-12-21 07:22 GMT / http://hdl. handle. net/2027/mdp. 39015012169135 Public Domain, Google-digitized / http://www. hathitrust. org/access_use#pd-google
? I 60 Carlyle's Essays
Epic; a whole world lies shadowed in it. What we might
call an inarticulate, half-audible Epic! The main figure is
a blind aged man; himself a ruin, and encircled with the ruin
of a whole Era. Sad and great does that image of a universal
Dissolution hover visible as a poetic background. Good old
Enoch! He could do so much; was so wise, so valiant. No
Ilion had he destroyed; yet somewhat he had built up:
where the Mill stands noisy by its cataract, making corn into
bread for men, it was Enoch that reared it, and made the rude
rocks send it water; where the mountain Torrent now boils
in vain, and is mere passing music to the traveller, it was
Enoch's cunning that spanned it with that strong Arch, grim,
time-defying. Where Enoch's hand or mind has been,
Disorder has become Order; Chaos has receded some little
handbreadth, had to give up some new handbreadth of his
ancient realm. Enoch too has seen his followers fall round
him (by stress of hardship, and the arrows of the gods), has
performed funeral games for them, and raised sandstone
memorials, and carved his Abiit ad Plures thereon, with his
own hand. The living chronicle and epitome of a whole
century; when he departs, a whole century will become dead,
historical. ,
Rudiments of an Epic, we say; and of the true Epic of our
Time,--were the genius but arrived that could sing it! Not
"Arms and the Man;" "Tools and the Man," that were
now our Epic. What indeed are Tools, from the Hammer and
Plummet of Enoch Wray to this Pen we now write with, but
Arms, wherewith to do battle against Unreason without orl
within, and smite in pieces not miserable fellow-men, but
the Arch-Enemy that makes us all miserable; henceforth
the only legitimate battle!
Which Epic, as we granted, is here altogether imperfectly
sung; scarcely a few notes thereof brought freely out: never-
theless with indication, with prediction that it will be sung.
Such is the purport and merit of the Village Patriarch; it,
struggles towards a noble utterance, which however it can
nowise find. Old Enoch is from the first speechless, heard
of rather than heard or seen; at best, mute, motionless like
a stone pillar of his own carving. Indeed, to find fit utterance
for such meaning as lies struggling here, is a problem, to
which the highest poetic minds may long be content to
accomplish only approximate solutions. Meanwhile, our
? ? Generated for (University of Chicago) on 2014-12-21 07:22 GMT / http://hdl. handle. net/2027/mdp. 39015012169135 Public Domain, Google-digitized / http://www. hathitrust. org/access_use#pd-google
? Corn-Law Rhymes 161
honest Rhymer, with no guide but the instinct of a clear
natural talent, has created and adjusted somewhat, not with-
out vitality of union; has avoided somewhat, the road to
which lay open enough. His Village Patriarch, for example,
though of an elegiac strain, is not wholly lachrymose, not
without touches of rugged gaiety;--is like Life itself, with
tears and toil, with laughter and rude play, such as metallurgic
Yorkshire sees it: in which sense, that wondrous Courtship
of the sharp-tempered, oft-widowed Alice Green may pass,
questionable, yet with a certain air of soot-stained genuine-
ness. And so has, not a Picture, indeed, yet a sort of genial
Study or Cartoon come together for him: and may endure
there, after some flary off-daubings, which we have seen
framed with gilding, and hung-up in proud galleries, have
become rags and rubbish.
To one class of readers especially, such Books as these
ought to be interesting: to the highest, that is to say, the
richest class. Among our Aristocracy, there are men, we
trust there are many men, who feel that they also are work-
men, born to toil, ever in their great Taskmaster's eye,
faithfully with heart and head for those that with heart and
hand do, under the same great Taskmaster, toil for them;--
who have even this noblest and hardest work set before them:
To deliver out of that Egyptian bondage to Wretchedness,
and Ignorance, and Sin, the hardhanded millions; of whom
this hardhanded earnest witness and writer is here repre-
sentative. To such men his writing will be as a Document,
which they will lovingly interpret: what is dark and
exasperated and acrid, in their humble Brother, they for
themselves will enlighten and sweeten; taking thankfully
what is the real purport of his message, and laying it earnestly
to heart. Might an instructive relation and interchange
between High and Low at length ground itself, and more and
more perfect itself,--to the unspeakable profit of all parties;
for if all parties are to love and help one another, the first
step towards this is, that all thoroughly understand one
another! To such rich men an authentic message from the
hearts of poor men, from the heart of one poor man, will be
welcome.
To another class of our Aristocracy, again, who unhappily
feel rather that they are not workmen; and profess not so
much to bear any burden, as to be themselves, with utmost
? ? Generated for (University of Chicago) on 2014-12-21 07:22 GMT / http://hdl. handle. net/2027/mdp. 39015012169135 Public Domain, Google-digitized / http://www. hathitrust. org/access_use#pd-google
? 162 Carlyle's Essays
attainable steadiness, and if possible gracefulness, borne,--
such a phenomenon as this of the Sheffield Corn-Law Rhymer,
with a Manchester Detrosier, and much else, pointing the
same way, will be quite unwelcome; indeed, to the clearer-
sighted, astonishing and alarming. It indicates that they
find themselves, as Napoleon was wont to say, " in a new
position;"--a position wonderful enough; of extreme singu-
larity, to which, in the whole course of History, there is
perhaps but one case in some measure parallel. The case
alluded to stands recorded in the Book of Numbers: the
case of Balaam the son of Beor.
Truly, if we consider it, there are few passages more
notable and pregnant in their way, than this of Balaam.
The Midianitish Soothsayer (Truth-speaker, or as we should
now say, Counsel-giver and Senator) is journeying forth, as
he has from of old quite prosperously done, in the way of his
vocation; not so much to " curse the people of the Lord," as
to earn for himself a comfortable penny by such means as
are possible and expedient; something, it is hoped, midway
between cursing and blessing; which shall not, except in
case of necessity, be either a curse or a blessing, or indeed be
anything so much as a Nothing that will look like a Something
and bring wages in. For the man is not dishonest; far from
it: still less is he honest; but above all things, he is, has been
and will be, respectable. Did calumny ever dare to fasten itself
on the fair fame of Balaam? In his whole walk and conversa-
tion, has he not shown consistency enough; ever doing and
speaking the thing that was decent; with proper spirit i
maintaining his status; so that friend and opponent held him
in respect, and he could defy the spiteful world to say on any
occasion, Herein art thou a knave? And now as he jogs
along, in official comfort, with brave official retinue, his
heart filled with good things, his head with schemes for the
Preservation of Game, the Suppression of Vice, and the
Cause of Civil and Religious Liberty all over the World;--
consider what a spasm, and life-clutching ice-taloned pang,
must have shot through the brain and pericardium of Balaam,
when his Ass not only on the sudden stood stock-still, defying
spur and cudgel, but--began to talk, and that in a reasonable
manner! Did not his face, elongating, collapse, and tremour
occupy his joints? For the thin crust of Respectability has
cracked asunder; and a bottomless preternatural Inane
? ? Generated for (University of Chicago) on 2014-12-21 07:22 GMT / http://hdl. handle. net/2027/mdp. 39015012169135 Public Domain, Google-digitized / http://www. hathitrust. org/access_use#pd-google
? Corn-Law Rhymes 163
yawns under him instead. Farewell, a long farewell to all my
greatness: the spirit-stirring Vote, ear-piercing Hear; the
big Speech that makes ambition virtue; soft Palm-greasing
first of raptures, and Cheers that emulate sphere-music:
Balaam's occupation's gone! --
As for our stout Corn-Law Rhymer, what can we say by
way of valediction but this, " Well done; come again, doing
better"? Advices enough there were; but all lie included
under one: To keep his eyes open, and do honestly whatso-
ever his hand shall find to do. We have praised him for
> sincerity: let him become more and more sincere; casting
out all remnants of Hearsay, Imitation, ephemeral Specula-
tion; resolutely " clearing his mind of Cant. " We advised
a wider course of reading: would he forgive us if we now
suggested the question, Whether Rhyme is the only dialect he
can write in; whether Rhyme is, after all, the natural or fittest
dialect for him? In good Prose, which differs inconceivably
from bad Prose, what may not be written, what may not be
read; from a Waverley Novel to an Arabic Koran, to an
English Bible! Rhyme has plain advantages; which, however,
are often purchased too dear. If the inward thought can
speak itself, instead of sing itself, let it, especially in these
quite unmusical days, do the former! In any case, if the
inward Thought do not sing itself, that singing of the outward
Phrase is a timber-toned false matter we could well dispense
with. Will our Rhymer consider himself, then; and decide
for what is actually best? Rhyme, up to this hour, never
seems altogether obedient to him; and disobedient Rhyme,
--who would ride on it that had once learned walking!
He takes amiss that some friends have admonished him to
quit Politics: we will not repeat that admonition. Let him,
on this as on all other matters, take solemn counsel with his
own Socrates'-Demon; such as dwells in every mortal; such
as he is a happy mortal who can hear the voice of, follow the
behests of, like an unalterable law. At the same time, we
could truly wish to see such a mind as his engaged rather in
considering what, in his own sphere, could be done, than
what, in his own or other spheres, ought to be destroyed;
rather in producing or preserving the True, than in mangling
and slashing asunder the False. Let him be at ease: the
False is already dead, or lives only with a mock life. The
death-sentence of the False was of old, from the first beginning
? ? Generated for (University of Chicago) on 2014-12-21 07:22 GMT / http://hdl. handle. net/2027/mdp. 39015012169135 Public Domain, Google-digitized / http://www. hathitrust. org/access_use#pd-google
? 164 Carlyle's Essays
of it, written in Heaven; and is now proclaimed in the Earth,
and read aloud at all market-crosses; nor are innumerable
volunteer tipstaves and headsmen wanting, to execute the
same: for which needful service men inferior to him may
suffice. Why should the heart of the Corn-Law Rhymer
be troubled? Spite of "Bread-tax," he and his brave
children, who will emulate their sire, have yet bread: the
Workhouse, as we rejoice to fancy, has receded into the safe
distance; and is now quite shut-out from his poetic pleasure-
ground. Why should he afflict himself with devices of
"Boroughmongering gowls," or the rage of the Heathen
imagining a vain thing? This matter, which he calls Corn-
Law, will not have completed itself, adjusted itself into
clearness, for the space of a century or two: nay after
twenty centuries, what will there, or can there be for the son
of Adam but Work, Work, two hands quite full of Work!
Meanwhile, is not the Corn-Law Rhymer already a king,
though a belligerent one; king of his own mind and faculty;
and what man in the long-run is king of more? Not one in
the thousand, even among sceptred kings, is king of so much.
Be diligent in business, then; fervent in spirit. Above all
things, lay aside anger, uncharitableness, hatred, noisy
tumult; avoid them, as worse than Pestilence, worse than
"Bread-tax" itself:
For it well beseemeth kings, all mortals it beseemeth well,
To possess their souls in patience, and await what can betide.
? ? Generated for (University of Chicago) on 2014-12-21 07:22 GMT / http://hdl. handle. net/2027/mdp. 39015012169135 Public Domain, Google-digitized / http://www. hathitrust. org/access_use#pd-google
? CHARTISM
"It never smokes but there is fire. "--Old Proverb.
[1839)
? CHAPTER I
CONDITION-OF-ENGLAND QUESTION
A feeling very generally exists that the condition and
disposition of the Working Classes is a rather ominous matter
at present; that something ought to be said, something ought
to be done, in regard to it. And surely, at an epoch of history
when the "National Petition" carts itself in wagons along
the streets, and is presented "bound with iron hoops, four
men bearing it," to a Reformed House of Commons; and
Chartism numbered by the million and half, taking nothing
by its iron-hooped Petition, breaks out into brickbats, cheap
pikes, and even into sputterings of conflagration, such very
general feeling cannot be considered unnatural! To us
individually this matter appears, and has for many years
appeared, to be the most ominous of all practical matters
whatever; a matter in regard to which if something be not
done, something will do itself one day, and in a fashion that
will please nobody. The time is verily come for acting in it;
how much more for consultation about acting in it, for
speech and articulate inquiry about it!
We are aware that, according to the newspapers, Chartism
is extinct; that a Reform Ministry has'' put down the chimera
of Chartism" in the most felicitous effectual manner. So
say the newspapers;--and yet, alas, most readers of news-
papers know withal that it is indeed the "chimera" of
Chartism, not the reality, which has been put down. The
distracted incoherent embodiment of Chartism, whereby in
late months it took shape and became visible, this has been
put down; or rather has fallen down and gone asunder by
gravitation and law of nature: but the living essence of
. Chartism has not been put down. Chartism means the bitter
16. 5
? ? Generated for (University of Chicago) on 2014-12-21 07:22 GMT / http://hdl. handle. net/2027/mdp. 39015012169135 Public Domain, Google-digitized / http://www. hathitrust. org/access_use#pd-google
? 166 Carlylc's Essays
discontent grown fierce and mad, the wrong condition there-
fore or the wrong disposition, of the Working Classes of
England. It is a new name for a thing which has had many
names, which will yet have many. The matter of Chartism
is weighty, deep-rooted, far-extending; did not begin yester-
day; will by no means end this day or to-morrow. Reform
Ministry, constabulary rural police, new levy of soldiers,
grants of money to Birmingham; all this is well, or is not
well; all this will put down only the embodiment or
"chimera" of Chartism. The essence continuing, new and
ever new embodiments, chimeras madder or less mad, have
to continue. The melancholy fact remains, that this thing
known at present by the name of Chartism does exist; has
existed; and, either "put down," into secret treason, with
rusty pistols, vitriol-bottle and match-box, or openly bran-
dishing pike and torch (one knows not in which case more
fatal-looking), is like to exist till quite other methods have
been tried with it. What means this bitter discontent of
i the Working Classes? Whence comes it, whither goes it?
Above all, at what price, on what terms, will it probably
consent to depart from us and die into rest? These are
questions.
To say that it is mad, incendiary, nefarious, is no answer.
To say all this, in never so many dialects, is saying little.
"Glasgow Thuggery," "Glasgow Thugs;" it is a witty
nickname: the practice of " Number 60 " entering his dark
room, to contract for and settle the price of blood with
operative assassins, in a Christian city, once distinguished,
by its rigorous Christianism, is doubtless a fact worthy of all
horror: but what will horror do for it? What will execration;
nay at bottom, what will condemnation and banishment to
Botany Bay do for it? Glasgow Thuggery, Chartist torch-
meetings, Birmingham riots, Swing conflagrations, are so
many symptoms on the surface; you abolish the symptom to
? ? / no purpose, if the disease is left untouched. Boils oh the
surface are curable or incurable,--small matter which, while
the virulent humour festers deep within; poisoning the
sources of life; and certain enough to find for itself ever new
boils and sore issues; ways of announcing that it continues
there, that it would fain not continue there.
Delirious Chartism will not have raged entirely to no pur-
pose, as indeed no earthly thing does so, if it have forced all
? ? Generated for (University of Chicago) on 2014-12-21 07:22 GMT / http://hdl. handle. net/2027/mdp. 39015012169135 Public Domain, Google-digitized / http://www. hathitrust. org/access_use#pd-google
? Chartism
167
thinking men of the community to think of this vital matter,
too apt to be overlooked otherwise. Is the condition of the
English working people wrong; so wrong that rational
working men cannot, will not, and even should not rest
quiet under it? A most grave case, complex beyond all
others in the world; a case wherein Botany Bay, constabulary
rural police, and suchlike, will avail but little. Or is the
discontent itself mad, like the shape it took? Not the
condition of the working people that is wrong; but then-
disposition, their own thoughts, beliefs and feelings that are
wrong? This too were a most grave case, little less alarming,
little less complex than the former one. In this case too,
where constabulary police and mere rigour of coercion seems
more at home, coercion will by no means do all, coercion by
itself will not even do much. If there do exist general mad-
ness of discontent, then sanity and some measure of content
must be brought about again,--not by constabulary police
alone. When the thoughts of a people, in the great mass of
it, have grown mad, the combined issue of that people's
workings will be a madness, an incoherency and ruin! Sanity
will have to be recovered for the general mass; coercion
itself will otherwise cease to be able to coerce.
We have heard it asked, Why Parliament throws no light
on this question of the Working Classes, and the condition or
disposition they are in? Truly to a remote observer of
Parliamentary procedure it seems surprising, especially in
late Reformed times, to see what space this question occupies
. in the Debates of the Nation. Can any other business
whatsoever be so pressing on legislators? A Reformed
Parliament, one would think, should inquire into popular
discontents before they get the length of pikes and torches!
For what end at all are men, Honourable Members and Reform
Members, sent to St. Stephen's with clamour and effort;
kept talking, struggling, motioning and counter-motioning?
The condition of the great body of people in a country is the ?
condition of the country itself: this you would say is a truism
in all times; a truism rather pressing to get recognised as a
truth now, and be acted upon, in these times. Yet read
Hansard's Debates, or the Morning Papers, if. you have
nothing to do! The old grand question, whether A is to be
in office or B, with the innumerable subsidiary questions
growing out of that, courting paragraphs and suffrages for
? ? Generated for (University of Chicago) on 2014-12-21 07:22 GMT / http://hdl. handle. net/2027/mdp.
is ever the way: some evil that lies nearest us, be it a chronic
sickness, or but a smoky chimney, is ever the acme and sum-
total of all evil; the black hydra that shuts us out from a
Promised Land; and so, in poor Mr. Shandy's fashion, must
we "shift from trouble to trouble, and from side to side;
button-up one cause of vexation, and unbutton another. "
Thus for our keen-hearted singer, and sufferer, has the
? ? Generated for (University of Chicago) on 2014-12-21 07:22 GMT / http://hdl. handle. net/2027/mdp. 39015012169135 Public Domain, Google-digitized / http://www. hathitrust. org/access_use#pd-google
? 150 Carlyle's Essays
"Bread-tax," in itself a considerable but no immeasurable
smoke-pillar, swoln out to be a world-embracing Darkness,
that darkens and suffocates the whole earth, and has blotted
out the heavenly stars. Into the merit of the Corn-Laws,
which has often been discussed, in fit season, by competent
hands, we do not enter here; least of all in the way of argu-
ment, in the way of blame, towards one who, if he read such
merit with some emphasis " on the scantier trenchers of his
children," may well be pardoned. That the "Bread-tax,"
with various other taxes, may ere long be altered and abro-
gated, and the Corn-Trade become as free as the poorest
"bread-taxed drudge " could wish it, or the richest " satrap
bread-tax-fed" could fear it, seems no extravagant hypo-
thesis: would that the mad Time could, by such simple
hellebore-dose, be healed! Alas for the diseases of a world
lying in wickedness, in heart-sickness and atrophy, quite
another alcahest is needed;--a long, painful course of medi-
cine and regimen, surgery and physic, not yet specified or
indicated in the Royal-College Books I
But if there is little novelty in our friend's Political Philo-
sophy, there is some in his political Feeling and Poetry. The
peculiarity of this Radical is, that with all his stormful de-
structiveness he combines a decided loyalty and faith. If he
despise and trample under foot on the one hand, he exalts
and reverences on the other; the "landed pauper in his
coach-and-four " rolls all the more glaringly, contrasted with
the "Rockinghams and Savilles" of the past, with the
"Lansdowns and Fitzwilliams," many a "Wentworth's
lord," still " a blessing" to the present. This man, indeed,
has in him the root of all reverence,--a principle of Religion.
He believes in a Godhead, not with the lips only, but appar-
ently with the heart; who, as has been written, and often
felt, "reveals Himself in Parents, in all true Teachers and
Rulers,"--as in false Teachers and Rulers quite Another
may be revealed I Our Rhymer, it would seem, is no Metho-
dist: far enough from it. He makes "the Ranter," in his
hot-headed way, exclaim over
The Hundred Popes of England's Jesnistry;
and adds, by way of note, in his own person, some still
stronger sayings: How " this baneful corporation, dismal as
its Reign of Terror is, and long-armed its Holy Inquisition,
? ? Generated for (University of Chicago) on 2014-12-21 07:22 GMT / http://hdl. handle. net/2027/mdp. 39015012169135 Public Domain, Google-digitized / http://www. hathitrust. org/access_use#pd-google
? Corn-Law Rhymes 151
must condescend to learn and teach what is useful, or go
where all nuisances go. " As little perhaps is he a Church-
man; the "Cadi - Dervish" seems nowise to his mind.
Scarcely, however, if at all, does he show aversion to the
Church as Church; or, among his many griefs, touch upon
Tithes as one. But, in any case, the black colours of Life,
even as here painted, and brooded over, do not hide from
him that a God is the Author and Sustainer thereof; that
God's world, if made a House of Imprisonment, can also be
a House of Prayer; wherein for the weary and heavy-laden
pity and hope are not altogether cut away.
It is chiefly in virtue of this inward temper of heart, with
the clear disposition and adjustment which for all else results
therefrom, that our Radical attains to be Poetical; that
the harsh groanings, contentions, upbraidings, of one who
unhappily has felt constrained to adopt such mode of utter-
ance, become ennobled into something of music. If a land
of bondage, this is still his Father's land, and the bondage
endures not forever. As worshipper and believer, the captive
can look with seeing eye: the aspect of the Infinite Universe
still fills him with an Infinite feeling; his chains, were it but
for moments, fall away; he soars free aloft, and the sunny
regions of Poesy and Freedom gleam golden afar on the
widened horizon. Gleamings we say, prophetic dawnings
from those far regions, spring up for him; nay, beams of
actual radiance. In his ruggedness, and dim contractedness
(rather of place than of organ), he is not without touches of a
feeling and vision, which, even in the stricter sense, is to be
named poetical.
One deeply poetical idea, above all others, seems to have
taken hold of him: the idea of Time. As was natural to a
poetic soul, with few objects of Art in its environment, and
driven inward, rather than invited outward, for occupation.
This deep mystery of ever-flowing Time; bringing forth,
and as the Ancients wisely fabled, devouring what it has
brought forth; rushing on, in us, yet above us, all uncontrol-
lable by us; and under it, dimly visible athwart it, the
bottomless Eternal;--this is, indeed, what we may call the
primary idea of Poetry; the first that introduces itself into
the poetic mind. As here:
The bee shall seek to settle on his hand,
But from the vacant bench haste to the moor,
? ? Generated for (University of Chicago) on 2014-12-21 07:22 GMT / http://hdl. handle. net/2027/mdp. 39015012169135 Public Domain, Google-digitized / http://www. hathitrust. org/access_use#pd-google
? 152 Carlyle's Essays
Mourning the last of England's high-soul'd Poor,
And bid the mountains weep for Enoch Wray.
And for themselves,--albeit of things that last
Unalter'd most; for they shall pass away
Like Enoch, though their iron roots seem fast,
Bound to the eternal future as the past:
The Patriarch died; and they shall be no more!
Yes, and the sailless worlds, which navigate
The unutterable Deep that hath no shore,
Will lose their starry splendour soon or late,
Like tapers, quench'd by Him, whose will is fate!
Yes, and the Angel of Eternity,
Who numbers worlds and writes their names in light,
One day, O Earth, will look in vain for thee,
And start and stop in his unerring flight,
And with his wings of sorrow and affright
Veil his impassion'd brow and heavenly tears!
And not the first idea only, but the greatest, properly the
parent of all others. For if it can rise in the remotest ages,
in the rudest states of culture, wherever an "inspired
thinker" happens to exist, it connects itself still with all
great things; with the highest results of new Philosophy, as
of primeval Theology; and for the Poet, in particular, is as
the life-element, wherein alone his conceptions can take
poetic form and the whole world become miraculous and
magical.
We are such stuff
As Dreams are made of: and our little life
Is rounded with a Sleep!
Figure that, believe that, O Reader; then say whether the
Arabian Tales seem wonderful! --" Rounded with a sleep
(mit Scklaf umgeben) \ " says Jean Paul; "these three words
created whole volumes in me. "
To turn now on our worthy Rhymer, who has brought us
so much, and stingily insist on his errors and shortcomings,
were no honest procedure. We should have the whole
poetical encyclopaedia to draw upon, and say commodiously,
such and such an item is not here; of which encyclopaedia
the highest genius can fill but a portion. With much merit,
far from common in his time, he is not without something of
the faults of his time. We praised him for originality; yet
is there a certain remainder of imitation in him; a tang of
the Circulating Libraries; as in Sancho's wine, with its key
? ? Generated for (University of Chicago) on 2014-12-21 07:22 GMT / http://hdl. handle. net/2027/mdp. 39015012169135 Public Domain, Google-digitized / http://www. hathitrust. org/access_use#pd-google
? Corn-Law Rhymes 153
and thong, there was a tang of iron and leather. To be
reminded of Crabbe, with his truthful severity of style, in
such a place, we cannot object; but what if there were a
slight bravura dash of the fair tuneful Hemans? Still
more, what have we to do with Byron, and his fierce
vociferous mouthings, whether " passionate," or not passion-
, ate and only theatrical? King Cambyses' vein is, after all,
but a worthless one; no vein for a wise man. Strength, if
that be the thing aimed at, does not manifest itself in spasms,
but in stout bearing of burdens. Our Author says, " It is
too bad to exalt into a hero the coxcomb who would have
gone into hysterics if a tailor had laughed at him. " Walk
not in his footsteps, then, we say, whether as hero or as
singer; repent a little, for example, over somewhat in that
> fuliginous, blue - flaming, pitch - and - sulphur "Dream of
Enoch Wray," and write the next otherwise.
We mean no imitation in a bad palpable sense; only that
there is a tone of such occasionally audible, which ought to
be removed;---of which, in any case, we make not much.
Imitation is a leaning on something foreign; incompleteness
of individual development, defect of free utterance. From
the same source spring most of our Author's faults; in
particular, his worst, which, after all, is intrinsically a defect
of manner. He has little or no Humour. Without Humour
of character he cannot well be; but it has not yet got to
utterance. Thus, where he has mean things to deal with, he
knows not how to deal with them; oftenest deals with them
more or less meanly. In his vituperative prose Notes, he
seems embarrassed; and but ill hides his embarrassment,
under an air of predetermined sarcasm, of knowing briskness,
almost of vulgar pertness. He says, he cannot help it;
: he is poor, hard-worked, and " soot is soot. " True, indeed;
yet there is no connexion between Poverty and Discourtesy;
which latter originates in Dulness alone. Courtesy is the
due of man to man; not of suit-of-clothes to suit-of-clothes.
He who could master so many things, and make even Corn-
Laws rhyme, we require of him this farther thing: a bearing
worthy of himself, and of the order he belongs to,--the
highest and most ancient of all orders, that of Manhood. A
pert snappishness is no manner for a brave man; and then
the manner so soon influences the matter: a far worse result.
Let him speak wise things, and speak them wisely; which
n to* l
? ? Generated for (University of Chicago) on 2014-12-21 07:22 GMT / http://hdl. handle. net/2027/mdp. 39015012169135 Public Domain, Google-digitized / http://www. hathitrust. org/access_use#pd-google
? 154 Carlylc's Essays
latter may be done in many dialects, grave and gay, only in
the snappish dialect seldom or never.
The truth is, as might have been expected, there is still
much lying in him to be developed; the hope of which
development it were rather sad to abandon. Why, for
example, should not his view of the world, his knowledge
of what is and has been in the world, indefinitely extend
itself? Were he merely the " uneducated Poet," we should
say, he had read largely; as he is not such, we say, Read
still more, much more largely. Books enough there are in
England, and of quite another weight and worth than that
circulating-library sort; may be procured too, may be read,
even by a hard-worked man; for what man (either in God's
service or the Devil's, as himself chooses it) is not hard-worked?
But here again, where there is a will there is a way. True,
our friend is no longer in his teens; yet still, as would seem,
in the vigour of his years: we hope too that his mind is not
finally shut-in, but of the improvable and enlargeable sort.
If Alfieri (also kept busy enough, with horse-breaking and
what not) learned Greek after he was fifty, why is the Corn-
Law Rhymer too old to learn?
However, be in the future what there may, our Rhymer
has already done what was much more difficult, and better
than reading printed books;--looked into the great prophetic
manuscript Book of Existence, and read little passages there.
Here, for example, is a sentence tolerably spelled:
Where toils the Mill by ancient woods embraced,
Hark, how the cold steel screams in hissing fire!
Blind Enoch sees the Grinder's wheel no more,
Couch'd beneath rocks and forests, that admire
Their beauty in the waters, ere they roar
Dash'd in white foam the swift circumference o'er.
There draws the Grinder his laborious breath;
There coughing at his deadly trade he bends:
Born to die young, he fears nor man nor death;
Scorning the future, what he earns he spends;
Debauch and riot are his bosom friends.
>>. . . . <<
Behold his failings I Hath he virtues too?
He is no Pauper, blackguard though he be:
Full well he knows what minds combined can do.
Full well maintains his birthright: he is free,
And, frown for frown, outstares monopoly.
Yet Abraham and Elliot both in vain
? ? Generated for (University of Chicago) on 2014-12-21 07:22 GMT / http://hdl. handle. net/2027/mdp. 39015012169135 Public Domain, Google-digitized / http://www. hathitrust. org/access_use#pd-google
? Corn-Law Rhymes 155
Bid science on his cheek prolong the bloom:
He will not live I He seems in haste to gain
The undisturb'd asylum of the tomb,
And, old at two-and-thirty, meets his doom!
Or this, "of Jem, the rogue avowed,"
Whose trade is Poaching! Honest Jem works not.
Begs not, but thrives by plundering beggars here.
Wise as a lord, and quite as good a shot,
He, like his betters, lives in hate and fear,
And feeds on partridge because bread is dear.
Sire of six sons apprenticed to the jail,
He prowls in arms, the Tory of the night;
With them he shares his battles and his ale,
With him they feel the majesty of might,
No Despot better knows that Power is Right.
Mark his unpaidish sneer, his lordly frown;
Hark how he calls the beadle and flunky liars;
See how magnificently he breaks down
His neighbour's fence, if so his will requires,
And how his struttle emulates the squire's!
Jem rises with the Moon; but when she sinks,
Homeward with sack-like pockets, and quick heels,
Hungry as boroughmongering gowl, he slinks.
He reads not, writes not, thinks not, scarcely feels;
Steals all he gets; serves Hell with all he steals!
It is rustic, rude existence; barren moors, with the smoke
of Forges rising over the waste expanse. Alas, no Arcadia;
but the actual dwelling-place of actual toil-grimed sons of
Tubalcain: yet are there blossoms, and the wild natural
fragrance of gorse and broom; yet has the Craftsman pauses
in his toil; the Craftsman too has an inheritance in Earth,
and even in Heaven:
Light! All is not corrupt, for thou art pure,
Unchanged and changeless. Though frail man is vile,
Thou look'st on him; serene, sublime, secure.
Yet, like thy Father, with a pitying smile.
Even on this wintry day, as marble cold,
Angels might quit their home to visit thee,
And match their plumage with thy mantle roll'd
Beneath God's Throne, o'er billows of a sea
Whose isles are Worlds, whose bounds Infinity.
Why, then, is Enoch absent from my side?
I miss the rustle of his silver hair;
A guide no more. I seem to want a guide,
While Enoch journeys to the house of prayer;
? ? Generated for (University of Chicago) on 2014-12-21 07:22 GMT / http://hdl. handle. net/2027/mdp. 39015012169135 Public Domain, Google-digitized / http://www. hathitrust. org/access_use#pd-google
? 156 Carlyle's Essays
Ah, ne'er came Sabbath-day but he was there I
Lo how, like him, erect and strong though gray,
Yon village-tower time-touch'd to God appeals!
And hark! the chimes of morning die away:
Hark! to the heart the solemn sweetness steals,
Like the heart's voice, unfelt by none who feels
That God is Love, that Man is living Dust;
Unfelt by none whom ties of brotherhood
Link to his kind; by none who puts his trust
In nought of Earth that hath survived the Flood,
Save those mute charities, by which the good
Strengthen poor worms, and serve their Maker best.
Hail, Sabbath I Day of mercy, peace and rest!
Thou o'er loud cities throw'st a noiseless spell;
The hammer there, the wheel, the saw molest
Pale Thought no more: o'er Trade's contentious hell
Meek Quiet spreads her wings invisible.
And when thou com'st, less silent are the fields,
Through whose sweet paths the toil-freed townsman steals.
To him the very air a banquet yields.
Envious he watches the poised hawk that wheels
His flight on chainless winds. Each cloud reveals
A paradise of beauty to his eye.
His little Boys are with him, seeking flowers,
Or chasing the too-venturous gilded fly.
So by the daisy's side he spends the hours,
Renewing friendship with the budding bowers:
And while might, beauty, good without alloy.
Are mirror'd in his children's happy eyes,--
In His great Temple offering thankful joy
To Him, the infinitely Great and Wise,
With soul attuned to Nature's harmonies,
Serene and cheerful as a sporting child,--
His heart refuses to believe that man
Could turn into a hell the blooming wild,
The blissful country where his childhood ran
A race with infant rivers, ere began--
--" king-humbling " Bread-tax, " blind Misrule," and several
other crabbed things!
And so our Corn-Law Rhymer plays his part. In this wise
does he indite and act his Drama of Life, which for him is all-
too Domestic-Tragical. It is said, "the good actor soon
makes us forget the bad theatre, were it but a barn; while,
again, nothing renders so apparent the badness of the bad
actor as a theatre of peculiar excellence. " How much more
in a theatre and drama such as these of Life itself! One
other item, however, we must note in that ill-decorated
? ? Generated for (University of Chicago) on 2014-12-21 07:22 GMT / http://hdl. handle. net/2027/mdp. 39015012169135 Public Domain, Google-digitized / http://www. hathitrust. org/access_use#pd-google
? Corn-Law Rhymes 157
Sheffield theatre: the back-scene and bottom-decoration of
it all; which is no other than a Workhouse. Alas, the Work-
bouse is the bourne whither all these actors and workers are
bound; whence none that has once passed it returns! A
bodeful sound, like the rustle of approaching world-devouring
tornadoes, quivers through their whole existence; and the
voice of it is, Pauperism! The thanksgiving they offer up
to Heaven is, that they are not yet Paupers; the earnest cry
of their prayer is, that "God would shield them from the
bitterness of Parish Pay. "
Mournful enough, that a white European Man must pray
wistfully for what the horse he drives is sure of,--That the
strain of his whole faculties may not fail to earn him food and
lodging. Mournful that a gallant manly spirit, with an eye
to discern the world, a heart to reverence it, a hand cunning
and willing to labour in it, must be haunted with such a
fear. The grim end of it all, Beggary! A soul loathing, what
true souls ever loath, Dependence, help from the unworthy
to help; yet sucked into the world-whirlpool,--able to do
no other: the highest in man's heart struggling vainly against
the lowest in man's destiny! In good truth, if many a sickly
and sulky Byron, or Byronlet, glooming over the woes of
existence, and how unworthy God's Universe is to have so
distinguished a resident, could transport himself into the
patched coat and sooty apron of a Sheffield Blacksmith, made
with as strange faculties and feelings as he, made by God
Almighty all one as he was,--it would throw a light on much
'for him.
Meanwhile, is it not frightful as well as mournful to consider
how the wide-spread evil is spreading wider and wider?
Most persons, who have had eyes to look with, may have
verified, in their own circle, the statement of this Sheffield
Eyewitness, and "from their own knowledge and observa-
1 tion fearlessly declare that the little master-manufacturer,
that the working man generally, is in a much worse condition
than he was twenty-five years ago. " Unhappily, the fact
is too plain; the reason and scientific necessity of it is too
plain. In this mad state of things, every new man is a new
misfortune; every new market a new complexity; the
chapter of chances grows ever more incalculable; the hungry
gamesters (whose stake is their life) are ever increasing in
numbers; the world-movement rolls on: by what method
? ? Generated for (University of Chicago) on 2014-12-21 07:22 GMT / http://hdl. handle. net/2027/mdp. 39015012169135 Public Domain, Google-digitized / http://www. hathitrust. org/access_use#pd-google
? 158 Carlylc's Essays
shall the weak and help-needing, who has none to help him,
withstand it? Alas, how many brave hearts, ground to
pieces in that unequal battle, have already sunk; in every
sinking heart, a Tragedy, less famous than that of the Sons
of Atreus; wherein, however, if no "kingly house," yet a
manly house went to the dust, and a whole manly lineage was
swept away! Must it grow worse and worse, till the last
brave heart is broken in England; and this same "brave
Peasantry" has become a kennel of wild-howling ravenous
Paupers? God be thanked! there is some feeble shadow
of hope that the change may have begun while it was yet
time. You may lift the pressure from the free man's
shoulders, and bid him go forth rejoicing; but lift the slave's
burden, he will only wallow the more composedly in his sloth:
a nation of degraded men cannot be raised up, except by
what we rightly name a miracle.
Under which point of view also, these little Volumes,
indicating such a character in such a place, are not without
significance. One faint symptom, perhaps, that clearness
will return, that there is a possibility of its return. It is as
if from that Gehenna of Manufacturing Radicalism, from
amid its loud roaring and cursing, whereby nothing became
feasible, nothing knowable, except this only, that misery
and malady existed there, we heard now some manful tone
of reason and determination, wherein alone can there be
profit, or promise of deliverance. In this Corn-Law Rhymer
we seem to trace something of the antique spirit; a spirit
which had long become invisible among our working as amongl
other classes; which here, perhaps almost for the first time,
reveals itself in an altogether modern political vesture.
"The Pariahs of the Isle of Woe," as he passionately names
them, are no longer Pariahs if they have become Men. Here
is one man of their tribe; in several respects a true man;
who has abjured Hypocrisy and Servility, yet not therewith
trodden Religion and Loyalty under foot; not without\
justness of insight, devoutness, peaceable heroism of resolve;
who, in all circumstances, even in these strange ones, will be
found quitting himself like a man. One such that has found
a voice: who knows how many mute but not inactive
brethren he may have, in his own and in all other ranks?
Seven thousand that have not bowed the knee to Baal!
These are the men, wheresoever found, who are to stand
? ? Generated for (University of Chicago) on 2014-12-21 07:22 GMT / http://hdl. handle. net/2027/mdp. 39015012169135 Public Domain, Google-digitized / http://www. hathitrust. org/access_use#pd-google
? Corn-Law Rhymes
159
forth in England's evil day, on whom the hope of England
rests.
For it has been often said, and must often be said again,
that all Reform except a moral one will prove unavailing.
Political Reform, pressingly enough wanted, can indeed
root-out the weeds (gross deep-fixed lazy dock-weeds, poison-
ous obscene hemlocks, ineffectual spurry in abundance);
but it leaves the ground empty, -- ready either for noble
fruits, or for new worse tares! And how else is a Moral
Reform to be looked for but in this way, that more and more
Good Men are, by a bountiful Providence, sent hither to
disseminate Goodness; literally to sow it, as in seeds shaken
abroad by the living tree? For such, in all ages and places,
is the nature of a Good Man; he is ever a mystic creative
centre of Goodness: his influence, if we consider it, is not to
be measured; for his works do not die, but being of Eternity,
are eternal; and in new transformation, and ever-wider
diffusion, endure, living and life-giving. Thou who ex-
claimest over the horrors and baseness of the Time, and how
Diogenes would now need two lanterns in daylight, think of
this: over the Time thou hast no power; to redeem a World
sunk in dishonesty has not been given thee: solely over one
man therein thou hast a quite absolute uncontrollable power;
him redeem, him make honest; it will be something, it will
be much, and thy life and labour not in vain.
We have given no epitomised abstract of these little Books,
hsuch as is the Reviewer's wont: we would gladly persuade
many a reader, high and low, who takes interest not in
rhyme only, but in reason, and the condition of his fellow-
man, to purchase and peruse them for himself. It is proof
of an innate love of worth, and how willingly the Public, did
not thousand-voiced Puffery so confuse it, would have to do
with substances, and not with deceptive shadows, that these
Volumes carry "Third Edition" marked on them,--on all
of them but the newest, whose fate with the reading world
we yet know not; which, however, seems to deserve not
worse but better than either of its forerunners.
Nay, it appears to us as if in this humble Chant of the
Village Patriarch might be traced rudiments of a truly great
idea; great though all undeveloped. The Rhapsody of
"Enoch Wray " is, in its nature and unconscious tendency,
? ? Generated for (University of Chicago) on 2014-12-21 07:22 GMT / http://hdl. handle. net/2027/mdp. 39015012169135 Public Domain, Google-digitized / http://www. hathitrust. org/access_use#pd-google
? I 60 Carlyle's Essays
Epic; a whole world lies shadowed in it. What we might
call an inarticulate, half-audible Epic! The main figure is
a blind aged man; himself a ruin, and encircled with the ruin
of a whole Era. Sad and great does that image of a universal
Dissolution hover visible as a poetic background. Good old
Enoch! He could do so much; was so wise, so valiant. No
Ilion had he destroyed; yet somewhat he had built up:
where the Mill stands noisy by its cataract, making corn into
bread for men, it was Enoch that reared it, and made the rude
rocks send it water; where the mountain Torrent now boils
in vain, and is mere passing music to the traveller, it was
Enoch's cunning that spanned it with that strong Arch, grim,
time-defying. Where Enoch's hand or mind has been,
Disorder has become Order; Chaos has receded some little
handbreadth, had to give up some new handbreadth of his
ancient realm. Enoch too has seen his followers fall round
him (by stress of hardship, and the arrows of the gods), has
performed funeral games for them, and raised sandstone
memorials, and carved his Abiit ad Plures thereon, with his
own hand. The living chronicle and epitome of a whole
century; when he departs, a whole century will become dead,
historical. ,
Rudiments of an Epic, we say; and of the true Epic of our
Time,--were the genius but arrived that could sing it! Not
"Arms and the Man;" "Tools and the Man," that were
now our Epic. What indeed are Tools, from the Hammer and
Plummet of Enoch Wray to this Pen we now write with, but
Arms, wherewith to do battle against Unreason without orl
within, and smite in pieces not miserable fellow-men, but
the Arch-Enemy that makes us all miserable; henceforth
the only legitimate battle!
Which Epic, as we granted, is here altogether imperfectly
sung; scarcely a few notes thereof brought freely out: never-
theless with indication, with prediction that it will be sung.
Such is the purport and merit of the Village Patriarch; it,
struggles towards a noble utterance, which however it can
nowise find. Old Enoch is from the first speechless, heard
of rather than heard or seen; at best, mute, motionless like
a stone pillar of his own carving. Indeed, to find fit utterance
for such meaning as lies struggling here, is a problem, to
which the highest poetic minds may long be content to
accomplish only approximate solutions. Meanwhile, our
? ? Generated for (University of Chicago) on 2014-12-21 07:22 GMT / http://hdl. handle. net/2027/mdp. 39015012169135 Public Domain, Google-digitized / http://www. hathitrust. org/access_use#pd-google
? Corn-Law Rhymes 161
honest Rhymer, with no guide but the instinct of a clear
natural talent, has created and adjusted somewhat, not with-
out vitality of union; has avoided somewhat, the road to
which lay open enough. His Village Patriarch, for example,
though of an elegiac strain, is not wholly lachrymose, not
without touches of rugged gaiety;--is like Life itself, with
tears and toil, with laughter and rude play, such as metallurgic
Yorkshire sees it: in which sense, that wondrous Courtship
of the sharp-tempered, oft-widowed Alice Green may pass,
questionable, yet with a certain air of soot-stained genuine-
ness. And so has, not a Picture, indeed, yet a sort of genial
Study or Cartoon come together for him: and may endure
there, after some flary off-daubings, which we have seen
framed with gilding, and hung-up in proud galleries, have
become rags and rubbish.
To one class of readers especially, such Books as these
ought to be interesting: to the highest, that is to say, the
richest class. Among our Aristocracy, there are men, we
trust there are many men, who feel that they also are work-
men, born to toil, ever in their great Taskmaster's eye,
faithfully with heart and head for those that with heart and
hand do, under the same great Taskmaster, toil for them;--
who have even this noblest and hardest work set before them:
To deliver out of that Egyptian bondage to Wretchedness,
and Ignorance, and Sin, the hardhanded millions; of whom
this hardhanded earnest witness and writer is here repre-
sentative. To such men his writing will be as a Document,
which they will lovingly interpret: what is dark and
exasperated and acrid, in their humble Brother, they for
themselves will enlighten and sweeten; taking thankfully
what is the real purport of his message, and laying it earnestly
to heart. Might an instructive relation and interchange
between High and Low at length ground itself, and more and
more perfect itself,--to the unspeakable profit of all parties;
for if all parties are to love and help one another, the first
step towards this is, that all thoroughly understand one
another! To such rich men an authentic message from the
hearts of poor men, from the heart of one poor man, will be
welcome.
To another class of our Aristocracy, again, who unhappily
feel rather that they are not workmen; and profess not so
much to bear any burden, as to be themselves, with utmost
? ? Generated for (University of Chicago) on 2014-12-21 07:22 GMT / http://hdl. handle. net/2027/mdp. 39015012169135 Public Domain, Google-digitized / http://www. hathitrust. org/access_use#pd-google
? 162 Carlyle's Essays
attainable steadiness, and if possible gracefulness, borne,--
such a phenomenon as this of the Sheffield Corn-Law Rhymer,
with a Manchester Detrosier, and much else, pointing the
same way, will be quite unwelcome; indeed, to the clearer-
sighted, astonishing and alarming. It indicates that they
find themselves, as Napoleon was wont to say, " in a new
position;"--a position wonderful enough; of extreme singu-
larity, to which, in the whole course of History, there is
perhaps but one case in some measure parallel. The case
alluded to stands recorded in the Book of Numbers: the
case of Balaam the son of Beor.
Truly, if we consider it, there are few passages more
notable and pregnant in their way, than this of Balaam.
The Midianitish Soothsayer (Truth-speaker, or as we should
now say, Counsel-giver and Senator) is journeying forth, as
he has from of old quite prosperously done, in the way of his
vocation; not so much to " curse the people of the Lord," as
to earn for himself a comfortable penny by such means as
are possible and expedient; something, it is hoped, midway
between cursing and blessing; which shall not, except in
case of necessity, be either a curse or a blessing, or indeed be
anything so much as a Nothing that will look like a Something
and bring wages in. For the man is not dishonest; far from
it: still less is he honest; but above all things, he is, has been
and will be, respectable. Did calumny ever dare to fasten itself
on the fair fame of Balaam? In his whole walk and conversa-
tion, has he not shown consistency enough; ever doing and
speaking the thing that was decent; with proper spirit i
maintaining his status; so that friend and opponent held him
in respect, and he could defy the spiteful world to say on any
occasion, Herein art thou a knave? And now as he jogs
along, in official comfort, with brave official retinue, his
heart filled with good things, his head with schemes for the
Preservation of Game, the Suppression of Vice, and the
Cause of Civil and Religious Liberty all over the World;--
consider what a spasm, and life-clutching ice-taloned pang,
must have shot through the brain and pericardium of Balaam,
when his Ass not only on the sudden stood stock-still, defying
spur and cudgel, but--began to talk, and that in a reasonable
manner! Did not his face, elongating, collapse, and tremour
occupy his joints? For the thin crust of Respectability has
cracked asunder; and a bottomless preternatural Inane
? ? Generated for (University of Chicago) on 2014-12-21 07:22 GMT / http://hdl. handle. net/2027/mdp. 39015012169135 Public Domain, Google-digitized / http://www. hathitrust. org/access_use#pd-google
? Corn-Law Rhymes 163
yawns under him instead. Farewell, a long farewell to all my
greatness: the spirit-stirring Vote, ear-piercing Hear; the
big Speech that makes ambition virtue; soft Palm-greasing
first of raptures, and Cheers that emulate sphere-music:
Balaam's occupation's gone! --
As for our stout Corn-Law Rhymer, what can we say by
way of valediction but this, " Well done; come again, doing
better"? Advices enough there were; but all lie included
under one: To keep his eyes open, and do honestly whatso-
ever his hand shall find to do. We have praised him for
> sincerity: let him become more and more sincere; casting
out all remnants of Hearsay, Imitation, ephemeral Specula-
tion; resolutely " clearing his mind of Cant. " We advised
a wider course of reading: would he forgive us if we now
suggested the question, Whether Rhyme is the only dialect he
can write in; whether Rhyme is, after all, the natural or fittest
dialect for him? In good Prose, which differs inconceivably
from bad Prose, what may not be written, what may not be
read; from a Waverley Novel to an Arabic Koran, to an
English Bible! Rhyme has plain advantages; which, however,
are often purchased too dear. If the inward thought can
speak itself, instead of sing itself, let it, especially in these
quite unmusical days, do the former! In any case, if the
inward Thought do not sing itself, that singing of the outward
Phrase is a timber-toned false matter we could well dispense
with. Will our Rhymer consider himself, then; and decide
for what is actually best? Rhyme, up to this hour, never
seems altogether obedient to him; and disobedient Rhyme,
--who would ride on it that had once learned walking!
He takes amiss that some friends have admonished him to
quit Politics: we will not repeat that admonition. Let him,
on this as on all other matters, take solemn counsel with his
own Socrates'-Demon; such as dwells in every mortal; such
as he is a happy mortal who can hear the voice of, follow the
behests of, like an unalterable law. At the same time, we
could truly wish to see such a mind as his engaged rather in
considering what, in his own sphere, could be done, than
what, in his own or other spheres, ought to be destroyed;
rather in producing or preserving the True, than in mangling
and slashing asunder the False. Let him be at ease: the
False is already dead, or lives only with a mock life. The
death-sentence of the False was of old, from the first beginning
? ? Generated for (University of Chicago) on 2014-12-21 07:22 GMT / http://hdl. handle. net/2027/mdp. 39015012169135 Public Domain, Google-digitized / http://www. hathitrust. org/access_use#pd-google
? 164 Carlyle's Essays
of it, written in Heaven; and is now proclaimed in the Earth,
and read aloud at all market-crosses; nor are innumerable
volunteer tipstaves and headsmen wanting, to execute the
same: for which needful service men inferior to him may
suffice. Why should the heart of the Corn-Law Rhymer
be troubled? Spite of "Bread-tax," he and his brave
children, who will emulate their sire, have yet bread: the
Workhouse, as we rejoice to fancy, has receded into the safe
distance; and is now quite shut-out from his poetic pleasure-
ground. Why should he afflict himself with devices of
"Boroughmongering gowls," or the rage of the Heathen
imagining a vain thing? This matter, which he calls Corn-
Law, will not have completed itself, adjusted itself into
clearness, for the space of a century or two: nay after
twenty centuries, what will there, or can there be for the son
of Adam but Work, Work, two hands quite full of Work!
Meanwhile, is not the Corn-Law Rhymer already a king,
though a belligerent one; king of his own mind and faculty;
and what man in the long-run is king of more? Not one in
the thousand, even among sceptred kings, is king of so much.
Be diligent in business, then; fervent in spirit. Above all
things, lay aside anger, uncharitableness, hatred, noisy
tumult; avoid them, as worse than Pestilence, worse than
"Bread-tax" itself:
For it well beseemeth kings, all mortals it beseemeth well,
To possess their souls in patience, and await what can betide.
? ? Generated for (University of Chicago) on 2014-12-21 07:22 GMT / http://hdl. handle. net/2027/mdp. 39015012169135 Public Domain, Google-digitized / http://www. hathitrust. org/access_use#pd-google
? CHARTISM
"It never smokes but there is fire. "--Old Proverb.
[1839)
? CHAPTER I
CONDITION-OF-ENGLAND QUESTION
A feeling very generally exists that the condition and
disposition of the Working Classes is a rather ominous matter
at present; that something ought to be said, something ought
to be done, in regard to it. And surely, at an epoch of history
when the "National Petition" carts itself in wagons along
the streets, and is presented "bound with iron hoops, four
men bearing it," to a Reformed House of Commons; and
Chartism numbered by the million and half, taking nothing
by its iron-hooped Petition, breaks out into brickbats, cheap
pikes, and even into sputterings of conflagration, such very
general feeling cannot be considered unnatural! To us
individually this matter appears, and has for many years
appeared, to be the most ominous of all practical matters
whatever; a matter in regard to which if something be not
done, something will do itself one day, and in a fashion that
will please nobody. The time is verily come for acting in it;
how much more for consultation about acting in it, for
speech and articulate inquiry about it!
We are aware that, according to the newspapers, Chartism
is extinct; that a Reform Ministry has'' put down the chimera
of Chartism" in the most felicitous effectual manner. So
say the newspapers;--and yet, alas, most readers of news-
papers know withal that it is indeed the "chimera" of
Chartism, not the reality, which has been put down. The
distracted incoherent embodiment of Chartism, whereby in
late months it took shape and became visible, this has been
put down; or rather has fallen down and gone asunder by
gravitation and law of nature: but the living essence of
. Chartism has not been put down. Chartism means the bitter
16. 5
? ? Generated for (University of Chicago) on 2014-12-21 07:22 GMT / http://hdl. handle. net/2027/mdp. 39015012169135 Public Domain, Google-digitized / http://www. hathitrust. org/access_use#pd-google
? 166 Carlylc's Essays
discontent grown fierce and mad, the wrong condition there-
fore or the wrong disposition, of the Working Classes of
England. It is a new name for a thing which has had many
names, which will yet have many. The matter of Chartism
is weighty, deep-rooted, far-extending; did not begin yester-
day; will by no means end this day or to-morrow. Reform
Ministry, constabulary rural police, new levy of soldiers,
grants of money to Birmingham; all this is well, or is not
well; all this will put down only the embodiment or
"chimera" of Chartism. The essence continuing, new and
ever new embodiments, chimeras madder or less mad, have
to continue. The melancholy fact remains, that this thing
known at present by the name of Chartism does exist; has
existed; and, either "put down," into secret treason, with
rusty pistols, vitriol-bottle and match-box, or openly bran-
dishing pike and torch (one knows not in which case more
fatal-looking), is like to exist till quite other methods have
been tried with it. What means this bitter discontent of
i the Working Classes? Whence comes it, whither goes it?
Above all, at what price, on what terms, will it probably
consent to depart from us and die into rest? These are
questions.
To say that it is mad, incendiary, nefarious, is no answer.
To say all this, in never so many dialects, is saying little.
"Glasgow Thuggery," "Glasgow Thugs;" it is a witty
nickname: the practice of " Number 60 " entering his dark
room, to contract for and settle the price of blood with
operative assassins, in a Christian city, once distinguished,
by its rigorous Christianism, is doubtless a fact worthy of all
horror: but what will horror do for it? What will execration;
nay at bottom, what will condemnation and banishment to
Botany Bay do for it? Glasgow Thuggery, Chartist torch-
meetings, Birmingham riots, Swing conflagrations, are so
many symptoms on the surface; you abolish the symptom to
? ? / no purpose, if the disease is left untouched. Boils oh the
surface are curable or incurable,--small matter which, while
the virulent humour festers deep within; poisoning the
sources of life; and certain enough to find for itself ever new
boils and sore issues; ways of announcing that it continues
there, that it would fain not continue there.
Delirious Chartism will not have raged entirely to no pur-
pose, as indeed no earthly thing does so, if it have forced all
? ? Generated for (University of Chicago) on 2014-12-21 07:22 GMT / http://hdl. handle. net/2027/mdp. 39015012169135 Public Domain, Google-digitized / http://www. hathitrust. org/access_use#pd-google
? Chartism
167
thinking men of the community to think of this vital matter,
too apt to be overlooked otherwise. Is the condition of the
English working people wrong; so wrong that rational
working men cannot, will not, and even should not rest
quiet under it? A most grave case, complex beyond all
others in the world; a case wherein Botany Bay, constabulary
rural police, and suchlike, will avail but little. Or is the
discontent itself mad, like the shape it took? Not the
condition of the working people that is wrong; but then-
disposition, their own thoughts, beliefs and feelings that are
wrong? This too were a most grave case, little less alarming,
little less complex than the former one. In this case too,
where constabulary police and mere rigour of coercion seems
more at home, coercion will by no means do all, coercion by
itself will not even do much. If there do exist general mad-
ness of discontent, then sanity and some measure of content
must be brought about again,--not by constabulary police
alone. When the thoughts of a people, in the great mass of
it, have grown mad, the combined issue of that people's
workings will be a madness, an incoherency and ruin! Sanity
will have to be recovered for the general mass; coercion
itself will otherwise cease to be able to coerce.
We have heard it asked, Why Parliament throws no light
on this question of the Working Classes, and the condition or
disposition they are in? Truly to a remote observer of
Parliamentary procedure it seems surprising, especially in
late Reformed times, to see what space this question occupies
. in the Debates of the Nation. Can any other business
whatsoever be so pressing on legislators? A Reformed
Parliament, one would think, should inquire into popular
discontents before they get the length of pikes and torches!
For what end at all are men, Honourable Members and Reform
Members, sent to St. Stephen's with clamour and effort;
kept talking, struggling, motioning and counter-motioning?
The condition of the great body of people in a country is the ?
condition of the country itself: this you would say is a truism
in all times; a truism rather pressing to get recognised as a
truth now, and be acted upon, in these times. Yet read
Hansard's Debates, or the Morning Papers, if. you have
nothing to do! The old grand question, whether A is to be
in office or B, with the innumerable subsidiary questions
growing out of that, courting paragraphs and suffrages for
? ? Generated for (University of Chicago) on 2014-12-21 07:22 GMT / http://hdl. handle. net/2027/mdp.
