in darkest england and the way out-第3部分

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tanley　said：　

〃When　I　once　stopped　him　to　ask　him　his　name；　his　face　seemed　to　say；　'Please　don't　stop　me。　　I　must　finish　my　task。'

〃All　alike；　the　baboon　variety　and　the　handsome　innocents；　are　cannibals。　　They　are　possessed　with　a　perfect　mania　for　meat。　　We　were　obliged　to　bury　our　dead　in　the　river；　lest　the　bodies　should　be　exhumed　and　eaten；　even　when　they　had　died　from　smallpox。〃

Upon　the　pygmies　and　all　the　dwellers　of　the　forest　has　descended　a　devastating　visitation　in　the　shape　of　the　ivory　raiders　of　civilisation。　　The　race　that　wrote　the　Arabian　Nights；　built　Bagdad　and　Granada；　and　invented　Algebra；　sends　forth　men　with　the　hunger　for　gold　in　their　hearts；　and　Enfield　muskets　in　their　hands；　to　plunder　and　to　slay。　　They　exploit　the　domestic　affections　of　the　forest　dwellers　in　order　to　strip　them　of　all　they　possess　in　the　world。　　That　has　been　going　on　for　years。　　It　is　going　on　to…day。　　It　has　come　to　be　regarded　as　the　natural　and　normal　law　of　existence。　　Of　the　religion　of　these　hunted　pygmies　Mr。　Stanley　tells　us　nothing；　perhaps　because　there　is　nothing　to　tell。　　But　an　earlier　traveller；　Dr。　Kraff；　says　that　one　of　these　tribes；　by　name　Doko；　had　some　notion　of　a　Supreme　Being；　to　whom；　under　the　name　of　Yer；　they　sometimes　addressed　prayers　in　moments　of　sadness　or　terror。　　In　these　prayers　they　say；　〃Oh　Yer；　if　Thou　dost　really　exist　why　dost　Thou　let　us　be　slaves？　　We　ask　not　for　food　or　clothing；　for　we　live　on　snakes；　ants；　and　mice。　　Thou　hast　made　us；　wherefore　dost　Thou　let　us　be　trodden　down？〃

It　is　a　terrible　picture；　and　one　that　has　engraved　itself　deep　on　the　heart　of　civilisation。　　But　while　brooding　over　the　awful　presentation　of　life　as　it　exists　in　the　vast　African　forest；　it　seemed　to　me　only　too　vivid　a　picture　of　many　parts　of　our　own　land。　　As　there　is　a　darkest　Africa　is　there　not　also　a　darkest　England？　　Civilisation；　which　can　breed　its　own　barbarians；　does　it　not　also　breed　its　own　pygmies？　　May　we　not　find　a　parallel　at　our　own　doors；　and　discover　within　a　stone's　throw　of　our　cathedrals　and　palaces　similar　horrors　to　those　which　Stanley　has　found　existing　in　the　great　Equatorial　forest？

The　more　the　mind　dwells　upon　the　subject；　the　closer　the　analogy　appears。　　The　ivory　raiders　who　brutally　traffic　in　the　unfortunate　denizens　of　the　forest　glades；　what　are　they　but　the　publicans　who　flourish　on　the　weakness　of　our　poor？　　The　two　tribes　of　savages　the　human　baboon　and　the　handsome　dwarf；　who　will　not　speak　lest　it　impede　him　in　his　task；　may　be　accepted　as　the　two　varieties　who　are　continually　present　with　usthe　vicious；　lazy　lout；　and　the　toiling　slave。　　They；　too；　have　lost　all　faith　of　life　being　other　than　it　is　and　has　been。　　As　in　Africa；　it　is　all　trees　trees；　trees　with　no　other　world　conceivable；　so　is　it　hereit　is　all　vice　and　poverty　and　crime。　　To　many　the　world　is　all　slum；　with　the　Workhouse　as　an　intermediate　purgatory　before　the　grave。　　And　just　as　Mr。　Stanley's　Zanzibaris　lost　faith；　and　could　only　be　induced　to　plod　on　in　brooding　sullenness　of　dull　despair；　so　the　most　of　our　social　reformers；　no　matter　how　cheerily　they　may　have　started　off；　with　forty　pioneers　swinging　blithely　their　axes　as　they　force　their　way　in　to　the　wood；　soon　become　depressed　and　despairing。　　Who　can　battle　against　the　ten　thousand　million　trees？　　Who　can　hope　to　make　headway　against　the　innumerable　adverse　conditions　which　doom　the　dweller　in　Darkest　England　to　eternal　and　immutable　misery？　　What　wonder　is　it　that　many　of　the　warmest　hearts　and　enthusiastic　workers　feel　disposed　to　repeat　the　lament　of　the　old　English　chronicler；　who；　speaking　of　the　evil　days　which　fell　upon　our　forefathers　in　the　reign　of　Stephen；　said　〃It　seemed　to　them　as　if　God　and　his　Saints　were　dead。〃

An　analogy　is　as　good　as　a　suggestion；　it　becomes　wearisome　when　it　is　pressed　too　far。　　But　before　leaving　it；　think　for　a　moment　how　close　the　parallel　is；　and　how　strange　it　is　that　so　much　interest　should　be　excited　by　a　narrative　of　human　squalor　and　human　heroism　in　a　distant　continent；　while　greater　squalor　and　heroism　not　less　magnificent　may　be　observed　at　our　very　doors。

The　Equatorial　Forest　traversed　by　Stanley　resembles　that　Darkest　England　of　which　I　have　to　speak；　alike　in　its　vast　extentboth　stretch；　in　Stanley's　phrase；　〃as　far　as　from　Plymouth　to　Peterhead；〃　its　monotonous　darkness；　its　malaria　and　its　gloom；　its　dwarfish　de…humanized　inhabitants；　the　slavery　to　which　they　are　subjected；　their　privations　and　their　misery。　　That　which　sickens　the　stoutest　heart；　and　causes　many　of　our　bravest　and　best　to　fold　their　hands　in　despair；　is　the　apparent　impossibility　of　doing　more　than　merely　to　peck　at　the　outside　of　the　endless　tangle　of　monotonous　undergrowth；　to　let　light　into　it；　to　make　a　road　clear　through　it；　that　shall　not　be　immediately　choked　up　by　the　ooze　of　the　morass　and　the　luxuriant　parasitical　growth　of　the　forestwho　dare　hope　for　that？　At　present；　alas；　it　would　seem　as　though　no　one　dares　even　to　hope！　It　is　the　great　Slough　of　Despond　of　our　time。

And　what　a　slough　it　is　no　man　can　gauge　who　has　not　waded　therein；　as　some　of　us　have　done；　up　to　the　very　neck　for　long　years。　　Talk　about　Dante's　Hell；　and　all　the　horrors　and　cruelties　of　the　torture…chamber　of　the　lost！　　The　man　who　walks　with　open　eyes　and　with　bleeding　heart　through　the　shambles　of　our　civilisation　needs　no　such　fantastic　images　of　the　poet　to　teach　him　horror。　　Often　and　often；　when　I　have　seen　the　young　and　the　poor　and　the　helpless　go　down　before　my　eyes　into　the　morass；　trampled　underfoot　by　beasts　of　prey　in　human　shape　that　haunt　these　regions；　it　seemed　as　if　God　were　no　longer　in　His　world；　but　that　in　His　stead　reigned　a　fiend；　merciless　as　Hell；　ruthless　as　the　grave。　　Hard　it　is；　no　doubt；　to　read　in　Stanley's　pages　of　the　slave…traders　coldly　arranging　for　the　surprise　of　a　village；　the　capture　of　the　inhabitants；　the　massacre　of　those　who　resist；　and　the　violation　of　all　the　women；　but　the　stony　streets　of　London；　if　they　could　but　speak；　would　tell　of　tragedies　as　awful；　of　ruin　as　complete；　of　ravishments　as　horrible；　as　if　we　were　in　Central　Africa；　only　the　ghastly　devastation　is　covered；　corpselike；　with　the　artificialities　and　hypocrisies　of　modern　civilisation。

The　lot　of　a　negress　in　the　Equatorial　Forest　is　not；　perhaps；　a　very　happy　one；　but　is　it　so　very　much　worse　than　that　of　many　a　pretty　orphan　girl　in　our　Christian　capital？　　We　talk　about　the　brutalities　of　the　dark　ages；　and　we　profess　to　shudder　as　we　read　in　books　of　the　shameful　exaction　of　the　rights　of　feudal　superior。　　And　yet　here；　beneath　our　very　eyes；　in　our　theatres；　in　our　restaurants；　and　in　many　other　places；　unspeakable　though　it　be　but　to　name　it；　the　same　hideous　abuse　flourishes　unchecked。　　A　young　penniless　girl；　if　she　be　pretty；　is　often　hunted　from　pillar　to　post　by　her　employers；　confronted　always　by　the　alternativeStarve　or　Sin。　　And　when　once　the　poor　girl　has　consented　to　buy　the　right　to　earn　her　living　by　the　sacrifice　of　her　virtue；　then　she　is　treated　as　a　slave　and　an　outcast　by　the　very　men　who　have　ruined　her。　　Her　word　becomes　unbelievable；　her　life　an　ignominy；　and　she　is　swept　downward　ever　downward；　into　the　bottomless　perdition　of　prostitution。　　But　there；　even　in　the　lowest　depths；　excommunicated　by　Humanity　and　outcast　from　God；　she　is　far　nearer　the　pitying　heart　of　the　One　true　Saviour　than　all　the　men　who　forced　her　down；　aye；　and　than　all　the　Pharisees　and　Scribes　who　stand　silently　by　while　these　Fiendish　wrongs　are　perpetrated　before　their　very　eyes。

The　blood　boils　with　impotent　rage　at　the　sight　of　these　enormities；　callously　inflicted；　and　silently　borne　by　these　miserable　victims。　Nor　is　it　only　women　who　are　the　victims；　although　their　fate　is　the　most　tragic。　　Those　firms　which　reduce　sweating　to　a　fine　art；　who　systematically　and　deliberately　defraud　the　workman　of　his　pay；　who　grind　the　faces　of　the　poor；　and　who　rob　the　widow　and　the　orphan；　and　who　for　a　pretence　make　great　professions　of　public　spirit　and　philanthropy；　these　men　nowadays　are　sent　to　Parliament　to　make　laws　for　the　people。　　The　old　prophets　sent　them　to　Hellbut　we　have　changed　all　that。　　They　send　their　victims　to　Hell；　and　are　rewarded　by　all　that　wealth　can　do　to　make　their　lives　comfortable。　　Read　the　House　of　Lords'　Report　on　the　Sweating　System；　and　ask　if　any　African　slave　system；　making　due　allowance　for　the　superior　civilisation；　and　therefore　sensitiveness；　of　the　victims；　reveals　more　misery。

Darkest　England；　like　Darkest　Africa；　reeks　with　malaria。　　The　foul　and　fetid　breath　of　our　slums　is　almost　as　poisonous　as　that　of　the　African　swamp。　　Fever　is　almost　as　chronic　there　as　on　the　Equator。　　Every　year　thousands　of　children　are　killed　off　by　what　is　called　defects　of　our　sanitary　system。　　They　are　in　reality　starved　and　poisoned；　and　all　that　can　be　said　is　that；　in　many　cases；　it　is　better　for　them　that　they　were　taken　away　from　the　trouble　to　come。

Just　as　in　Darkest　Africa　it　is　only　a　part　of　the　evil　and　misery　that　comes　from　the　superior　race　who　invade　the　forest　to　enslave　and　massacre　its　miserable　inhabitants；　so　with　us；　much　of　the　misery　of　those　whose　lot　we　ar