That is only a return to the
good old order, and it seems to me that it becomes more impossible
every day. Thus far I am with the Socialists, in that I denounce the
commercial class, the _bourgeois_, the capitalists--call them what
you will--as the supremely maleficent. They hold us at their mercy,
and their mercy is nought. Monstrously hypocritical, they cry for
progress when they mean increased opportunities of swelling their
own purses at the expense of those they employ, and of those they
serve; vulgar to the core, they exalt a gross ideal of well-being,
and stink in their prosperity. The very poor and the uncommercial
wealthy alike suffer from them; the intellect of the country is
poisoned by their influence. They it is who indeed are oppressors;
they grow rich on the toil of poor girls in London garrets and of men
who perish prematurely to support their children. I won't talk of
these people; I should lose my calm views of things and use language
too much like this of the "Fiery Cross."'
Hubert was thoughtful.
'What is before us?' he murmured.
'Evil; of that I am but too firmly assured. Progress will have its
way, and its path will be a path of bitterness. A pillar of dark
cloud leads it by day, and of terrible fire by night. I do not say
that the promised land may not lie ahead of its guiding, but woe is
me for the desert first to be traversed! Two vices are growing among
us to dread proportions--indifference and hatred: the one will let
poverty anguish at its door, the other will hound on the vassal
against his lord.
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