"Does that diffusion take place among the poor, as a matter of fact— at least among the masses? Is not the contrary rather the case? Are they not rather the ones to suffer from the first fruits of improvement. Look at the Manchester riots for the good you do;—awhile ago there was in that town a contented population, sufficiently provided with food, clothing, shelter, fire, and other real necessaries; suddenly one of your clever men invents a machine which makes the rich people's dresses at half the cost, and throws one-third of the hands out of employ. What good have you done? There is in that community as much food as before, as much clothing, as much of every necessary of life! Yet two or three thousand families are suddenly deprived of the means of subsistence, and driven by despair to break the peace and disturb the public security, while you are boasting of the good of physical science. Methinks moral science wants studying too."
"Oh, these things will right themselves, will find their own level; other employment will soon absorb the now displaced hands, and all will be peace again."
"I doubt it: the selfish principle engenders the selfish practice. Teach the laboring class by example to cater only for their private gratification, whether that gratification be in vanity, self-aggrandizement, or luxury; teach them to place all their happiness in physical good, and then show yourself reckless of their requirements by an indiscreet introduction of machinery, and an English edition of the Reign of Terror may ensue."
"But what can be done? You would not stop these new inventions, nor set a limit to improvement?"
"I would seek a higher principle of action altogether; and before setting up new insentient machinery, would provide that the highest sentient machinery, Man, should receive due consideration. It is a manifest injustice, when the interests of the producers of wealth are rashly sacrificed to increase the luxury of the consumers."
"And what is this new principle, most compassionate sir?'* asked the professor.
"I do not know, it is precisely that which troubles me. Men are not the mere money-machines you would turn them to—of that I am well assured; but what they are and what their destiny is, I have yet to learn."
The professor laughed, rose and took his leave.
Eugene remained plunged in a profound reverie, from which he was aroused by the visit of a stranger, who announced himself as the M. Bertolot introduced to our readers in a previous chapter.
He said that although personally a stranger, yet hearing of Eugene's residence at Cambridge, he had taken the liberty of calling to inquire after the welfare of his former friends.