Delphi Complete Works of William Godwin 1st ed. (2022), page 143
part #1 of Delphi Classics Series
It is inconceivable with what strange sensations I listened to this harangue. The phrases my uncle had employed, of the superior judgment of our elders, the incapacity and blindness of children, and every thing that older people do being calculated for our good, was the cant which I had incessantly heard during the last year; and, though these phrases certainly were never employed upon a more unworthy occasion, they excited in me a mysterious sensation of reverence and awe, which I felt incapable to shake off. A doubtful opinion, – Was this genuine kindness? Was it a masked hostility? – hung about me, and perplexed my resolutions. I was not, however, long in doubt. I was delighted with the city of Lyons; I could not endure the thought of returning to my uncle and his family. I looked upon my native home, now that my parents were removed from the stage of life, with horror; but I was in the morning of my days, and was inclined to regard every thing new, with hope, with exultation, and a bounding heart.
‘One thing appeared to me singular. My uncle told me that Lyons was to be the place of my abode; but he mentioned nothing to me of the particular situation in which I was to be placed. Was I to be put en pension at a boarding school, or how? If I were, methought I should like to have seen beforehand the house in which I was to reside, the master who was to instruct me, the youths who were to be my companions. But I was totally destitute of every sort of knowledge of the world, and was in the hands of my envious and bad-hearted uncle to dispose of as he pleased. This might, for aught I knew, be the established mode of proceeding in all similar cases. It was perhaps one of those points, which were reserved for the wisdom of our elders to decide upon, and which the capacity of a child like me was held unable to comprehend.
‘We had been now ten days at Lyons, and the next morning was fixed for my uncle and my cousin to set out upon their return. In the evening a M. Vaublanc visited us in our hotel.
‘“This is the gentleman,” said my uncle, “who is so obliging as to provide an apartment for you in his house.”
‘I had never seen him before. He was a little man, with black, straight hair, his countenance clear and sensible, but with muscles that had not often been moulded into the expression of pity or tenderness. His dress was exceedingly plain; not without some appearances of negligence and dirt. My uncle and he talked a great deal about the silk manufacturers of Lyons; my guardian seeming to be desirous of information under this head, and the stranger well qualified to afford it. Neither of them took much notice of me, and at an early hour I was directed to go to bed.
‘“My little man,” said the Lyonnese, taking me by the hand, but with no expression of kindness, “you will be very comfortable at my house; I have two little boys just about your age, and you will be nice playmates together. Good night! I shall come for you in the morning.”
‘I conceived no flattering augury in behalf of my new landlord. What had pleased me in Lyons was the squares, the public gardens, and the theatres. These were exactly calculated to soothe my youthful curiosity. The plainness of the appearance of M. Vaublanc, and the dryness of his manners, were in perfect contrast with these. There was something in them which tended to chill the imagination, and inspire a dreary presentiment of the future.
‘Yet I was willing to launch on this untried sea. I said, “No, I will not go back with my uncle!” – The morning of our separation was heavy, and presently began to pour down torrents of rain. My uncle, at parting, put a louis d’or into my hand; I thought I never felt any thing so cold as his hand, when I touched it for the last time. My cousin presented me with a three livres piece.
‘You wonder, perhaps, at my recollecting so minutely a scene which passed at so early an age; but you will presently perceive what reasons there were that compelled me to recollect it. Accustoming myself to contain my recollections and ruminations in my own bosom, they took so much the deeper root.
‘M. Vaublanc was punctual in meeting and receiving me, at the very instant that my uncle was stepping into the carriage which was to convey him to the foot of the mountains. I never saw or heard of my guardian from this moment.
‘The wheels of the coach slowly rolled away, and my new landlord led me down another street. Our walk was not short, and we arrived at the meanest part of the city. M. Vaublanc led me up a narrow and silent alley. When we had passed through two thirds of it, “This,” said he, “is my house.”
‘We entered, and were received by his wife, a woman plain and neat in her dress, and of a notable appearance. Presently came in the two boys he mentioned to me. They were clothed in remarkably coarse attire; and the rudeness of their countenances, and ungainliness of their carriage, well corresponded to their dress. All together, – the alley, the darkness of the apartments, the appearance of the family, – exceedingly displeased me. And this, thought I, is my residence in the magnificent city of Lyons! My youthful senses had been idly dazzled with the gaudiness of artificial life, as I had here first seen it. But I could not help saying to myself, “How preferable are the mountains, and cascades, and cheerful cottages of the Swiss, to this miserable alley!”
‘In one respect, however, my situation was better than I began to expect it would be. After two or three days I was conducted to one of the most respectable seminaries of education in the city of Lyons, such as young persons of the rank of the little Vaublancs never entered, where, under masters of great knowledge and humanity, I began to be initiated in every species of learning suitable to my age. What was my uncle’s motive for taking this step, so little in consistency with those which afterward followed, I could never exactly conjecture. Perhaps he was desirous of letting me down by degrees, and had not the courage to drive me to despair at once, and risk the consequences which that state of mind might produce. Perhaps, wicked as he was, he could not himself form his resolutions immediately, and only by degrees worked up his mind to the plan which was intended to terminate in my ruin.
‘Be this as it will, the studies and accomplishments, in the pursuit of which I was now engaged, afforded me much gratification. Though I had at first been dazzled with the splendours of Lyons, I knew that pleasure was not the business of life; and, regarding the acquisition of liberal knowledge as a badge of honour, I was willing to cultivate those improvements which might fit me to discharge with respectability the offices of a man. I recollected that in my native province I had always appeared to advantage in the field of emulation, and this naturally inspired me with an appetite for similar experiments. My parts were quick, my apprehension was clear, and I almost constantly obtained the praise and encouragement of the regents. The only mortification I suffered, during this period, was in going home every evening to M. Vaublanc’s. There was such a contrast between his manners and those of my instructors! His children were so sordid and groveling in their habits, compared with the generous minds and spirited tempers of my schoolfellows, with whom I associated in the course of the day!
CHAPTER XI
‘I HAD FOR about three months frequented the lessons of my instructors, when one morning the elder of Vaublanc’s sons came to my bed-side at about six o’clock, and bade me rise immediately, for his father wanted to speak to me. I obeyed.
‘“My little lad,” said Vaublanc, “you are not to go to school to-day.”
‘“No, sir? What, is it red-letter day?”
‘“Your uncle has written to me to put you into a different berth.”
‘“Ah, I am very sorry! Ours is a sweet school, and I like the masters and every body that belongs to it.”
‘“William Mouchard,” said my host, “I know very little of you or your uncle either; but that is nothing to me. While he requires of me nothing that it is contrary to my notions, or out of my way to do, I intend to be his fair and punctual correspondent. All that he said to me, while he was at Lyons, was like an honest man. He said he had a numerous family of his own, and that he could not do much for you, an orphan cast upon his charity.”
‘I stared. I remembered the severe injunctions of my guardian, and was silent.
‘“It appears that he has had repeated misfortunes in the world, and that he can just make shift to bring up his children in a humble way. It cannot, therefore, be expected that he should do much for you. I can make his case my own, and I am sure I should look to my own flesh and blood. He has resolved to keep you from starving, and that is very generous of him. There is only one thing I cannot understand: why he sent you to this school at all. I think he was out in his judgment there.”
‘This was the first time in my life that the ideas of subsistence and property had been plainly stated to me. My notions, like a child’s, were very confused on the subject. But, I suppose, proceeding by a sort of implicit conclusion from the visible circumstances of my father, I had always considered myself as entitled to a full participation of those benefits and blessings which a child can enjoy. What Vaublanc said, however, convinced me that my uncle was deceiving him. I understood little of the descent of property, and whether, upon my father’s death, it ought to devolve to his son or his brother; but I understood still less of the equity of just preserving from death by hunger the only son of a man who had possessed every luxury and indulgence that were in use in his country. In a word, the views now stated to me enlightened my understanding at once; and, when I found myself thus thrown upon the world, I apprehended, as it were by necessity, the laws and constitutions of human life.
‘“What is to be done with me, sir?” said I.
‘“You must do as I do,” replied Vaublanc. “People who have nobody else to maintain them, maintain themselves. You have seen shoemakers, and smiths, and joiners at their work?”
‘“They get money by their work, and with that money they buy meat and drink. Does my uncle wish me to learn to be a smith or a joiner?”
‘“No, no. Any body that taught you to be these trades would require to be paid for the trouble of teaching you, and you would get nothing by it these seven years. We have a trade in Lyons that we teach to younkers for nothing.”
‘“And shall I get money by my work immediately?”
‘“No, not for a month.”
‘“What shall I get then?”
‘“Twelve sous a week.”
‘“Will that be enough to save every body else the trouble of paying any thing for my food, and my lodging, and my clothes?”
‘“That it will not. A sprig, like you, cannot do that; he must do what he can.”
‘“And my uncle will pay the rest?”
‘“He cannot help himself. You are willing, then, to do what I have been telling you?”
‘“I must not say much about my willingness, M. Vaublanc. I never did any work in my life.”
‘“The more is the pity! In Lyons we find work for children from four years old; sometimes sooner.”
‘“And in – in – the country I come from, the children never do any work, till they are almost as tall as their fathers. They do little offices, indeed, to be useful sometimes; but nothing like what you call working for their living. I do not know which way is right; but I know which is agreeable. I should not so much matter a little hardship; but you say, I must go no more to school. I cannot think why, M. Vaublanc, you asked any thing about my willingness!” And saying this, a flood of tears burst from my eyes.
‘“When a schoolboy,” continued I, “is to be punished, the master never asks him whether he chooses it. M. Vaublanc, I cannot help myself. I am in a strange country; and have neither father, nor mother, nor any body to care for me. Take me, and dispose of me as you please, and as you tell me my uncle directs. I dare say you are a just man, and will do me no harm. Wherever you put me, I will endeavour to be a good boy, and that nobody shall be angry with me. I will be attentive, and learn as well as I can, and work as hard as I can. But, pray, pray, M. Vaublanc, do not ask me another time, whether I am willing?”
‘“That will do, boy,” said he, nodding his head. “You will get better satisfied with your situation, as you grow used to it.”
‘Saying this, he put on his hat, and bid me follow him. As we passed along, –
‘“You know, I believe, what I am?”
‘“I have heard: a manufacturer of silk.”
‘“One part of this business is to prepare the silk, as it comes from the worm, for the sempstress and the weaver. This is done by means of mills. I have two or three large ones, and employ a great number of work-people in them. You had rather work for me, than for a master you did not know?”
‘“That I had. The thing is frightful to me, because it is a thing I never thought of. But I should fear it more, if it placed me altogether among strangers.”
‘“You cannot think,” pursued M. Vaublanc, “what an advantage these mills are to the city of Lyons. In other places, children are a burden to their poor parents; they have to support them, till they are twelve or fourteen years of age, before they can do the least thing for their own maintenance: here the case is entirely otherwise. In other places, they run ragged and wild about the streets: no such thing is to be seen at Lyons. In short, our town is a perfect paradise. We are able to take them at four years of age, and in some cases sooner. Their little fingers, as soon as they have well learned the use of them, are employed for the relief of their parents, who have brought them up from the breast. They learn no bad habits; but are quiet, and orderly, and attentive, and industrious. What a prospect for their future lives! God himself must approve and bless a race who are thus early prepared to be of use to themselves and others. Among us, it is scarcely possible there should be such a thing as poverty. We have no such thing as idleness, or lewdness, or riot, or drunkenness, or debauchery of any sort. Let the day of judgment come when it will, it will never surprise us in a situation in which we should be ashamed to be found.”
‘I never heard M. Vaublanc so eloquent. Eloquence was not his characteristic; but he was now on his favourite topic, – a topic intimately connected with his fame, his country, and the patriotic services which he rendered her. He did not completely recollect, while he talked on so interesting a subject, that he was addressing himself to a child scarcely more than eight years of age. Some things that he said were not exactly in accord with the vivacity of my temper, and the present state of my feelings. But, on the whole, I was fixed and penetrated by the warm colouring he bestowed on his picture. I checked the rebelliousness of my heart, and said, “Probably it is better for me that I should be admitted into so pure and exemplary a society.” I longed to set my foot upon the threshold of the terrestrial paradise he described.
‘My impatience was speedily gratified. We entered a very spacious building, which was divided, however, no otherwise than into four rooms, floor above floor. The lower or under-ground apartment was occupied by the horse that gave motion to the mill, and he was relieved every hour. Two horses were the stock to each mill. Above stairs, the walls were lined on three sides with the reels, or, as the English manufacturers call them, swifts, which receive the silk as it is devolved from certain bobbins. Of these there were about eleven hundred in the first floor, as many in the second, and as many in the third; in all, between three and four thousand. It was curious to recollect that all these, by means of wheels and other contrivances in the machine, were kept in perpetual motion by a single quadruped. In each apartment I saw several men, more women, and a greater number of children, busily employed. M. Vaublanc was so obliging as to take me over the whole, before he assigned me my task.
‘You will not suppose there was any thing very cheerful or exhilarating in the paradise we had entered. The idea of a mill is the antipathy of this. One perpetual, dull, flagging sound pervaded the whole. The walls were bare; the inhabitants were poor. The children in general earned little more than twelve sous in a week; most of the women, and even several of the men, but about one French crown. We must correct our ideas, and imagine a very sober paradise, before we can think of applying the name to this mansion.
‘I was most attentive to the employment of the children, who were a pretty equal number of both sexes. There were about twenty on each floor, sixty in all. Their chief business was to attend to the swifts; the usual number being fifty-six which was assigned to the care of each child. The threads, while the operation of winding was going on, were of course liable to break; and, the moment a thread was broken, the benefit of the swift to which it belonged was at a stand. The affair of the child was, by turning round the swift, to find the end, and then to join it to the corresponding end attached to the bobbin. The child was to superintend the progress of these fifty-six threads, to move backward and forward in his little tether of about ten feet, and, the moment any accident happened, to repair it. I need not tell you that I saw no great expressions of cheerfulness in either the elder or the younger inhabitants of these walls: their occupations were too anxious and monotonous – the poor should not be too much elevated, and incited to forget themselves. There was a kind of stupid and hopeless vacancy in every face: this proceeded from the same causes.
‘Not one of the persons before me exhibited any signs of vigour and robust health. They were all sallow; their muscles flaccid, and their form emaciated. Several of the children appeared to me, judging from their size, to be under four years of age – I never saw such children. Some were not tall enough with their little arms to reach the swift; these had stools, which they carried in their hands, and mounted as occasion offered. A few, I observed, had a sort of iron buskins on which they were elevated; and, as the iron was worked thin, they were not extremely unwieldy. Children, before they had learned that firm step with the sole of the natural foot, without which it is impossible ever to be a man, were thus disciplined to totter upon stilts. But this was a new invention, and not yet fully established.
This, or nearly all this, I observed upon my first survey of M. Vaublanc’s manufactory. In addition to this, I afterward found, what you will easily conceive, that it was not without much severity that the children were trained to the regularity I saw. Figure to yourself a child of three or four years of age. The mind of a child is essentially independent; he does not, till he has been formed to it by hard experience, frame to himself the ideas of authority and subjection. When he is rated by his nurse, he expresses his mutinous spirit by piercing cries; when he is first struck by her in anger, he is ready to fall into convulsions of rage: it almost never happens otherwise. It is a long while (unless he is unmercifully treated indeed) before a rebuke or a blow produces in him immediate symptoms of submission. Whether with the philosopher we choose to regard this as an evidence of our higher destination, or with the theologian cite it as an indication of our universal depravity, and a brand we bear of Adam’s transgression, the fact is indisputable. Almost all that any parent requires of a child of three or four years of age consists in negatives: stand still: do not go there: do not touch that. He scarcely expects or desires to obtain from him any mechanical attention. Contrast this with the situation of the children I saw: brought to the mill at six in the morning; detained till six at night; and, with the exception of half an hour for breakfast, and an hour at dinner, kept incessantly watchful over the safety and regularity of fifty-six threads continually turning. By my soul, I am ashamed to tell you by what expedients they are brought to this unintermitted vigilance, this dead life, this inactive and torpid industry!
