Some Observations Upon the Civilization of the Western Barbarians, Particularly of the English / made during the residence of some years in those parts.

by John B. Swazey

London is the capital city of the British Empire. This is the style assumed by the English when they speak of their whole power. It is a curiously constructed empire—in some respects like that of the old Romans, who, however, obtained their domination more directly by valour and wisdom—whereas the English rather by cunning, accident, and fraud. I say accident, because the immense regions possessed by virtue of discovery come under the term; and the vastest of all their distant provinces, that of India, was obtained chiefly by fraud, assisted by force. I say curiously constructed, because these Christians are content to wring from Heathen subjects their last bit of revenue utterly indifferent to the idolatries and to the miseries of the people. If the Taxes come in and the wretched Hindoos starve, the main thing is to make the money and support 'our magnificent Empire' (as the English have it). So the wildest excesses may go on, and the native chiefs, who are mere creatures of their distant masters, may oppress the poor inhabitants; still, now and ever, the Master demands money; this secures the yoke upon the neck of the subjugated, and enables the English to make the vast Hindoo world a field where golden harvests are to be reaped. Boasting of liberty at home, there, a tyranny most odious is practised without pity. Then, the distant settlements where the poor English Barbarians go, to cultivate the lands and to trade and plunder, are held in subjection chiefly to give places, with large revenues attached, to members of the Aristocracy, who must be provided for in some way, as they can do nothing for themselves. So this arrangement is very satisfactory, because the stupid Englishman abroad is just as devoted to the Upper-Caste and to the Superstition as at home, and feels honoured to have a "scion of nobility" foisted upon him; and is amply repaid all the cost by the privilege of "cooling his heels" in an ante-room of the great man, when he holds his little Court.

The result is, that back upon London flows all the wealth which the English Barbarians can contrive to get. Having these distant regions, and a greater trade across sea, London has become the greatest mart of all the Western tribes. It is, perhaps, as large and populous as our Pekin. It is the centre of Authority and of business; not only so, but is the Metropolis of all the Christ-worshipping Tribes—or, as the Barbarians phrase it, of Christendom.

The population is 3,500,000, or thereabouts. The bulk of this multitude is poor, and a large fraction paupers. Yet the English boast that "it is the richest city in the world!"

Most of the streets, courts, and buildings are very mean. In the winter, nothing can equal the repulsiveness of the place. To the squalor of beggary, the meanness of abject poverty, add the darkness and smoke; and the conditions seem unfit for human life. The rich shut themselves within their houses, drop the heavy draperies over windows, stir up the fires, light the flaring flames of the curious gas-lights, eat, drink, and sleep—shutting out from sight and sound that hideous outside. This is the time when the wretched in mind and body find existence too great a burden, and cast it off with a shriek and a rush—plunging into the river or canal, or dashing beneath the wheels of the swift steam-chariots.

At all street-corners one notices the gin and beer shops. These are the homes of the poor, who find in them the warmth and comfort which are wanting in their domestic haunts. These shops are closed at mid-night, when the half or wholly drunken loiterers must straggle off into those holes and corners which are their homes. Probably there is no feature in barbaric life so curious and so characteristic as this—this Gin-house of the poor. The Government licenses these places, and derives a great income. The Upper-Castes fatten upon this very thing. What can be said of it—what done with it?

Another remarkable object in the London streets is the Street Arab. This is the name given to it by the Barbarians. But the Arab of Asia (if my reading be correct) is nothing like this creature. The London Arab is of the degraded and thieving class—the very sediment—but not yet fully weighted! In years a youth, but in feeling a ravening, sharp, adroit animal, quickened by the exercise of every instinct, and cool and expert from constant habit. He dodges in and out from under the heads of horses and the wheels of vehicles; mounts a lamp-post, or anything by which he may get a sight; seizes the bundle which you may have in hand; touches his uncombed front locks of hair, "Please, Sir, le' me carry it, Sir;" and trots before you, happy if he get twopence. Nobody knows where he sleeps, or eats, nor how he lives, at all. I have suddenly come upon two or more of them, when resting upon an iron grating. Their naked feet and heads, their thin limbs hung about with dirty rags, and their teeth chattering with cold—but never a word of complaint—no seeming thought of anything hard or uncommon. These iron bars cover, sometimes, an area below, into which the warm, moist air of kitchens comes, and rises through the gratings, loaded with the smell of cookery. Upon these bars will huddle together these half-naked and starved outcasts, happy in the partial warmth, and a hope of food—for, if only a bone, or a bit of that steaming soup could by any chance be theirs! Poor girls, of this wretchedness born, shivering upon the wintry swept corners, timidly offer you matches [kin-fue], "Please, Sir, buy"—and will run along by your side, if you give them a half-glance, begging you for pity to buy. Human misery finds no greater examples, nor any form of degradation deeper depths, than the lowest class of London—nor of London only, but of all the great towns.

This degradation takes on every shape of misery and shame. Crime of every kind breeds in it—disease, despair, and death! Is it inseparable from human existence—must excellence in humanity be only for the few?

London has for Misery its Charities—for Crime its vast Stone prisons. The latter are more accessible, and, for the offences of mere poverty, quite as desirable. Pauperism detests the alms-house—it hates subordination; and will, sometimes, starve before it seeks the bread of scornful wealth. Extreme indigence hardens—softness is turned to stone—human instinct feels wronged. "I wish work and pay, not idleness and pauper-bread." The cruel thing with the poor is, that at first, there is not debasement. Work is sought—but, continued inability to find work and honest bread, leads in the bad demon—which loves not, cares not, feels not—renders inhuman.

In walking the streets one feels the cold nature of the English Barbarians—one sees its exhibition everywhere. It is intensified by Caste divisions: there is no real sympathy. An Englishman shows in the streets, and in all public places, the indifference of a brute. Nothing moves him, nothing makes him laugh, smile, or give any sign of emotion. In sports, nominally sportive, there is nothing of gaiety—only with the Low-Castes very coarse and rough brutishness; and with the Upper a repulsive cynicism. This mood gives to the life of the streets no pleasing animation—only, at best, mere animal movement, as if each beast was intent upon his own particular hunger. At the Play there is no show of genuine enjoyment—and the dance (somebody said to me once) might be a dance of Death, so far as any lively pleasure appears.