Roland Graeme: Knight. A Novel of Our Time

by Agnes Maule Machar

The lecture Mr. Jeffrey was to deliver was well advertised, and excited a great deal of interest in Minton. The name and character of the lecturer were so well known that people were anxious to hear him, on the score of his personality, apart from the special interest of his lecture. That, however, was interesting in different ways to many, and those who took the side of Capital, as well as those who took the side of Labor, were, from their different points of view, equally desirous of hearing what a man regarded as an authority on the subject would say about it. And a still greater interest was excited when it was announced in the Minerva that Mr. Jeffrey, in the course of his lecture, would discuss and meet some opinions which Mr. Wharton had lately expressed in that paper, in opposition to positions Roland Graeme had advanced in The Brotherhood. Now that so redoubtable a champion had entered the lists, the contest appeared a more respectable one. Even Mr. Pomeroy would scarcely have ventured to call Mr. Jeffrey a "crank," and Mr. Wharton went to the lecture, expecting some intellectual pleasure, at least, despite the promised criticism of his own views.

The Pomeroy family was, this time, represented by two members. Harold Pomeroy had actually braced himself to the exertion of sitting through it, which, with Kitty for company, "would not be so bad after all." His father would not go, but wished that his son should, for decency's sake. Miss Pomeroy was naturally eager to hear more of a subject that had begun to interest her very strongly. The Blanchards were there, of course, and so was Philip Archer. And Mr. Chillingworth, on this occasion departing from his usual indifferent attitude, condescended to show some interest in one of the most important questions of the day. The hall was crowded, for the most part, with a very different audience from that which had been collected to hear Roland's lecture; but a part of it had, by Roland's care, been specially reserved for the workingmen, of the more intelligent of whom there was a good representation; so that "Capital" and "Labor" might have been said pretty fairly to divide the audience between them. Mr. Jeffrey was a tall, spare man, of striking and manly presence, with a slight stoop. His fine broad forehead was shaded by waves of iron-gray hair. His dark eyes and firm mouth carried out an impression of earnestness and decision. He entered the hall, accompanied by Roland Graeme, who briefly introduced him, and listened to his lecture with the combined earnestness of a reporter and a sympathetic auditor.

The lecturer began by expressing the pleasure it had given him to come to Minton, to reinforce the good work begun by his esteemed friend, Mr. Roland Graeme; the pleasure of whose acquaintance he owed to their common interest in the grand movement, in favor of which he had the honor to speak to-night.

This prologue caused a distinct sensation in some quarters. Harold Pomeroy opened his eyes, and glanced at Mr. Archer, whose moustache curled as usual, though with what expression, it would have been hard to define. Nora gave a slightly triumphant look at both, and Kitty stole a mischievous glance at Mr. Chillingworth's somewhat contracted brow. As for Roland himself, however, though naturally gratified by the recognition, which he did not report, he was quite unconscious of any implied compliment; regarding it quite as a matter of course, that community of interest in any great movement should draw together those who were engaged in it. Mr. Jeffrey, in entering on his subject, remarked that he could not possibly prevent his subject from appearing somewhat dry; but that, notwithstanding its dryness, it was fraught with the deepest interest and importance to human welfare. He began by referring to the unquestionable fact, that "the laboring classes of all civilized nations have been and still are, as a body, poor," while another fact, "that nearly all wealth is the production of labor," would seem to make it natural that all should have possessed some of it, had not something intervened to prevent this result. What that was—that "something," that cause or causes—and whether this seemingly unnatural result could be changed, or modified, he now proposed to inquire.

He then explained the nature of property, as being almost entirely in some way the product of labor. As this, then, was the means of procuring property, and in a healthy state of society the only means of doing so, it followed that "to obtain labor without rendering a fair equivalent, is a violation of the rights of property." No one could deny this. The only difference of opinion would be as to what was a fair equivalent. Do the workingmen of America, for instance, receive for their labor a fair proportion of the wealth they produce?

Following somewhat in the line of Roland's lecture, Mr. Jeffrey then traced the causes that led to more and more unequal distribution of wealth, the great discoveries that have made expensive machinery, division of labor and production on a large scale, essential features of our complex civilization. He sketched the processes by which large concerns have gradually swallowed small ones, by which small mechanics and traders have been gradually driven from the field; while "the master-workmen and journeymen of a hundred years ago are to be found at the bench or lathe of the mammoth workshops of the day, not as independent workmen but as mere automata, to pull the levers which release the cranks, gears and pulleys of the machinery that performs the former labor of their hands."

This state of things, however, was an inevitable accompaniment of scientific and material progress. If it had this unquestionable disadvantage, we have to take the evil with the good. We could not enjoy our railways and telegraphs, our cheap papers and books, and a thousand other comforts and luxuries of life, without such drawbacks. And while there was truth in the contention of Mr. Ruskin that the minute subdivision of labor tended to destroy the artistic feeling of pride and pleasure in finished work, still this might be more than counterbalanced by the growth of the spirit of coöperation, of brotherhood, in labor. Men might learn to take pride in combined work as well as in individual work, as the soldiers of a regiment take pride in gallant achievements of the whole body. The artistic spirit in work might be called forth, and men might cease to work as automata, if they felt that they were sharers in an enterprise, not mere "hands." But the increasing inequality of the distribution of wealth utterly prevented this feeling of proprietorship in work, and placed employer and employed in a position of selfish antagonism. How could this be remedied? At this point the lecturer took up a clipping from the Minerva, containing one of Mr. Wharton's articles. That gentleman moved uneasily, and settled himself into an attitude of critical attention.

"Look at Wharton!" whispered Mr. Archer to Miss Blanchard. "He knows he's going to catch it, now!"

It was maintained, he said, by the writer of this article—published in one of their leading journals—that the poor were not growing poorer, that the average laborer of to-day was not more poorly but better paid than the average laborer of the past. The able writer of this article had submitted a formidable array of statistics to prove his position. Well, he was not going to question the accuracy of the statistics. But there is much force in the saying, notwithstanding all that we hear of "mathematical truth," that "nothing lies like figures," that is, when they are called in to prove more than sums. Aside from the great difference in the value of money, which was somewhat set off by the greater cheapness of many articles to-day, there were many other considerations that must not be left out of sight in determining whether the laborer was even as well paid now, as, for instance, in England, two or three hundred years ago. For it must be remembered that comfort, after all, was largely a relative term, depending on our ideas and requirements. A savage would find comfort in a life which to a civilized man would be intolerable. Our growing complex civilization had developed many artificial needs, many of them an integral part of progress, the non-gratification of which involved real privation. He would ask them to hear the description of the interior of an English manor-house, about the time of Queen Elizabeth. They had all heard about the old English manor-houses, with the mention of which they were always ready to associate the most refined and graceful life of the day—the manor-houses of Trollope, for instance, through whom most of us know them. Well, this is what they were like in those days; he quoted from Thorold Rogers:—

"As might be expected, the furniture of the manor-house was scanty. Glass, though by no means excessively dear, appears to have been rarely used. A table, put on tressels, and laid aside when out of use; a few forms and stools, a long bench stuffed with straw or wool covered with a straw cushion worked like a bee-hive, with one or two chairs of wood or straw, and a chest or two for linen, formed the hall furniture. A brass pot or two for boiling, and two or three brass dishes; a few wooden platters and trenchers, or, more rarely, of pewter; an iron or latten candlestick, a kitchen knife or two, a box or barrel for salt, a brass ewer and basin, formed the movables of the ordinary house. The walls were garnished with mattocks, scythes, reaping-hooks, buckets, corn-measures and empty sacks. The dormitory contained a rude bed, and but rarely sheets or blankets; for the gown of the day was generally the coverlet at night."