While I was marching along in this stiff frame of pride, a little girl came running forward, and said, "Please, sir, you've dropped something." Looking on the ground I saw, to my amazement, that one of the toe-rags, which had unwound itself, was lying in sight, but still attached to my boot. But what amused me more was to think that it had been trailing on the ground for a considerable time, and that I had passed several ladies; and one of them I was beginning to be interested in, for she had often looked at me as if she knew I was famous. This is only one of the many funny little things that have happened since I have been compared in England to the mighty dead, and you can imagine my laughter.
The following day a great literary paper praised my work, and said that it deserved its success, and that no man would envy such a writer a four-storey mansion in the West End. Alas! a few days after this I received a letter to congratulate me on my success, which made special mention of my four-storey mansion; whereas at the same time I was living in a small cottage with no more furniture than a little boy could lift, and a friend was paying my rent.
Of course, we know very well that nothing can be done for genius. Unfortunately, Nature does not mark him at birth, or we could soon put an end to him; and not only save the State worry, but, better still, save him from the cruel sport of Fame. If we give him twenty pounds, what will he do with it? Will he open a fish shop or buy a milk round? Not he; he has not the sense to do anything of the kind. The idiot will buy books, and idle his time away at writing, and his twenty pounds is soon gone, and the money is wasted. "But if he enriches the English language?" one suggests. Ha! ha! tell that nonsense to an Organized Charity, and hear their opinion. No, he had his chance to open a fish shop and make a living, but he sat down and idled his time away at writing.
For all that we cannot allow this poor wretch to suffer; but what, in the name of goodness, can we do? I suggest this: no sooner is a man acclaimed as a genius, and compared to the mightiest dead, than the State should at once supply him with a distinguishing uniform; so that he would not only be sure of clothes, but would also be able to command the respect of strangers, however humble his circumstances are. Not only that, but the vast multitudes of powerful English people who are so eager to reward genius would then have an opportunity to recognize him in the street, and assist him with cheques, bank-notes, etc.; which the man of genius—poet, painter, musician, no matter what—could take with dignity, as his due, and not be expected to demean himself by a great show of thanks. All he would then have to do would be to walk abroad, and give his address to such rich people as accosted him, so that they could send to his house food ready cooked, clean bed-clothes, money for rent, and other things.
XXXVIII
[Beggars in the Making]
I often feel upset to think that these articles on begging may rob honest men of charity; that people will become under the impression that beggars are born instead of made; aye, even born full-fledged, without having had childhood or youth. I would not like people to think that every man that knocks at their door is a professional tramp; or every voice they hear singing in the street is that of an impostor. It must be confessed that the latter is very probably one, seeing that a man either has to be on the road a long time before he takes courage to sing in public, or must be under the influence of drink. I have seen in provincial towns as many as four men singing together. In a case of this kind, they are almost sure to be real out-of-works, and the reason they sing instead of beg houses is that they cannot all four go to one house, and individually they lack courage; but they can sing all together, each one getting courage from the presence of his companions.
People never give it a thought how difficult it is for a stranger to get work, even where there is work in abundance. In new countries things are different; a man is hired at once, without a question of name and address. But in our old countries masters will not hire strange tramps, until they are at the last extremity. I have seen, this last summer, almost within a stone's throw of me, a farmer let his hay be spoilt by the rain, through having insufficient labour, and refusing to employ one or two of the many poor fellows that came looking for work. He, and the few men he had, worked day and night, rather than he would hire a stranger. No doubt he expected Providence to withhold the rain for his sake, and she, kind soul, gave him more than two weeks happy sunshine, quite sufficient if he had not been too greedy to do as much work as possible himself, and pay away little to others. So the rain came, and he suffered in consequence. If people knew the number of men of this kind there are in the land, they would not be so hasty in telling tramps that the farmers are busy with their harvest, and are in sad need of men.
Although I have met several men and women that could claim to being born beggars, having been born of beggars on the road, yet for all that, people must not think that this is quite common. One time I met one of these in Bedfordshire, and he recommended me to a good row of houses, which he advised me to call at that evening. What this man did not know about begging was not much. After doing business in several streets, and finding trade very quiet indeed, I made up my mind to call at that row of small cottages on my way back to the lodging-house. It was then almost dark, being winter, and I could not well make out my surroundings. However, I went the whole length of the row, and was only refused at one cottage. Two of them gave pennies, one gave a halfpenny, one gave three farthings, and two gave food. This was certainly not bad, in so short a time, and from such humble dwellings, and considering the ill-luck I had had at rows and rows of fine villas. That night, when I was in the lodging-house kitchen, my born beggar asked me if I had called at the cottages, and, if so, how they had treated me. "Splendid," I answered, with a smile of gratitude, for it is not often that a beggar will give information of this kind to a stranger. "The almshouses are always good," he said, in a whisper. "Almshouses!" I ejaculated, with astonishment, and a good deal of annoyance. "Yes; you will always find them good," he continued, with the utmost unconcern, and beginning to whistle a popular tune. This man was a born beggar, without the least shame.