The work was not congenial to him, but he did it well,
developing infinite tolerance and good-humour, and even
tactfulness, in his relations with other men. The exposure to the
weather, the strain, the neglect of his own physical needs, brought
on, undoubtedly, the illness of which he eventually died; and worst
of all was the growing shadow of discouragement, which made him
gradually aware that the times were not ripe, and that even if the
people could seize the power they desired, they could not use it.
He became aware that the worker's idea of rising in the social
scale was not the idea of gaining security, leisure, independence,
and love of honest work, but the hope of migrating to the middle
class, and becoming a capitalist on a small scale. That was the
last thing that Morris desired. Most of all he felt the charge of
inconsistency that was dinned into his ears. It was held ridiculous
that a wealthy capitalist and a large employer of labour, living,
if not in luxury, at least in considerable stateliness, should
profess Socialist ideas without attempting to disencumber himself
of his wealth.
Pages:
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256