Nobody's Story

by Charles Dickens

　　He lived on the bank of a mighty river, broad and deep, which wasalways silently rolling on to a vast undiscovered ocean. It hadrolled on, ever since the world began. It had changed its coursesometimes, and turned into new channels, leaving its old ways dryand barren; but it had ever been upon the flow, and ever was to flowuntil Time should be no more. Against its strong, unfathomablestream, nothing made head. No living creature, no flower, no leaf,no particle of animate or inanimate existence, ever strayed backfrom the undiscovered ocean. The tide of the river set resistlesslytowards it; and the tide never stopped, any more than the earthstops in its circling round the sun.He lived in a busy place, and he worked very hard to live. He hadno hope of ever being rich enough to live a month without hard work,but he was quite content, GOD knows, to labour with a cheerful will.He was one of an immense family, all of whose sons and daughtersgained their daily bread by daily work, prolonged from their risingup betimes until their lying down at night. Beyond this destiny hehad no prospect, and he sought none.There was over-much drumming, trumpeting, and speech-making, in theneighbourhood where he dwelt; but he had nothing to do with that.Such clash and uproar came from the Bigwig family, at theunaccountable proceedings of which race, he marvelled much. Theyset up the strangest statues, in iron, marble, bronze, and brass,before his door; and darkened his house with the legs and tails ofuncouth images of horses. He wondered what it all meant, smiled ina rough good-humoured way he had, and kept at his hard work.The Bigwig family (composed of all the stateliest peoplethereabouts, and all the noisiest) had undertaken to save him thetrouble of thinking for himself, and to manage him and his affairs."Why truly," said he, "I have little time upon my hands; and if youwill be so good as to take care of me, in return for the money I payover"--for the Bigwig family were not above his money--"I shall berelieved and much obliged, considering that you know best." Hencethe drumming, trumpeting, and speech-making, and the ugly images ofhorses which he was expected to fall down and worship."I don't understand all this," said he, rubbing his furrowed browconfusedly. "But it HAS a meaning, maybe, if I could find it out.""It means," returned the Bigwig family, suspecting something of whathe said, "honour and glory in the highest, to the highest merit.""Oh!" said he. And he was glad to hear that.But, when he looked among the images in iron, marble, bronze, andbrass, he failed to find a rather meritorious countryman of his,once the son of a Warwickshire wool-dealer, or any single countrymanwhomsoever of that kind. He could find none of the men whoseknowledge had rescued him and his children from terrific anddisfiguring disease, whose boldness had raised his forefathers fromthe condition of serfs, whose wise fancy had opened a new and highexistence to the humblest, whose skill had filled the working man'sworld with accumulated wonders. Whereas, he did find others whom heknew no good of, and even others whom he knew much ill of."Humph!" said he. "I don't quite understand it."So, he went home, and sat down by his fireside to get it out of hismind.Now, his fireside was a bare one, all hemmed in by blackenedstreets; but it was a precious place to him. The hands of his wifewere hardened with toil, and she was old before her time; but shewas dear to him. His children, stunted in their growth, bore tracesof unwholesome nurture; but they had beauty in his sight. Above allother things, it was an earnest desire of this man's soul that hischildren should be taught. "If I am sometimes misled," said he,"for want of knowledge, at least let them know better, and avoid mymistakes. If it is hard to me to reap the harvest of pleasure andinstruction that is stored in books, let it be easier to them."But, the Bigwig family broke out into violent family quarrelsconcerning what it was lawful to teach to this man's children. Someof the family insisted on such a thing being primary andindispensable above all other things; and others of the familyinsisted on such another thing being primary and indispensable aboveall other things; and the Bigwig family, rent into factions, wrotepamphlets, held convocations, delivered charges, orations, and allvarieties of discourses; impounded one another in courts Lay andcourts Ecclesiastical; threw dirt, exchanged pummelings, and felltogether by the ears in unintelligible animosity. Meanwhile, thisman, in his short evening snatches at his fireside, saw the demonIgnorance arise there, and take his children to itself. He saw hisdaughter perverted into a heavy, slatternly drudge; he saw his songo moping down the ways of low sensuality, to brutality and crime;he saw the dawning light of intelligence in the eyes of his babiesso changing into cunning and suspicion, that he could have ratherwished them idiots."I don't understand this any the better," said he; "but I think itcannot be right. Nay, by the clouded Heaven above me, I protestagainst this as my wrong!"Becoming peaceable again (for his passion was usually short-lived,and his nature kind), he looked about him on his Sundays andholidays, and he saw how much monotony and weariness there was, andthence how drunkenness arose with all its train of ruin. Then heappealed to the Bigwig family, and said, "We are a labouring people,and I have a glimmering suspicion in me that labouring people ofwhatever condition were made--by a higher intelligence than yours,as I poorly understand it--to be in need of mental refreshment andrecreation. See what we fall into, when we rest without it. Come!Amuse me harmlessly, show me something, give me an escape!"But, here the Bigwig family fell into a state of uproar absolutelydeafening. When some few voices were faintly heard, proposing toshow him the wonders of the world, the greatness of creation, themighty changes of time, the workings of nature and the beauties ofart--to show him these things, that is to say, at any period of hislife when he could look upon them--there arose among the Bigwigssuch roaring and raving, such pulpiting and petitioning, suchmaundering and memorialising, such name-calling and dirt-throwing,such a shrill wind of parliamentary questioning and feeble replying--where "I dare not" waited on "I would"--that the poor fellow stoodaghast, staring wildly around."Have I provoked all this," said he, with his hands to hisaffrighted ears, "by what was meant to be an innocent request,plainly arising out of my familiar experience, and the commonknowledge of all men who choose to open their eyes? I don'tunderstand, and I am not understood. What is to come of such astate of things!"He was bending over his work, often asking himself the question,when the news began to spread that a pestilence had appeared amongthe labourers, and was slaying them by thousands. Going forth tolook about him, he soon found this to be true. The dying and thedead were mingled in the close and tainted houses among which hislife was passed. New poison was distilled into the always murky,always sickening air. The robust and the weak, old age and infancy,the father and the mother, all were stricken down alike.What means of flight had he? He remained there, where he was, andsaw those who were dearest to him die. A kind preacher came to him,and would have said some prayers to soften his heart in his gloom,but he replied:"O what avails it, missionary, to come to me, a man condemned toresidence in this foetid place, where every sense bestowed upon mefor my delight becomes a torment, and where every minute of mynumbered days is new mire added to the heap under which I lieoppressed! But, give me my first glimpse of Heaven, through alittle of its light and air; give me pure water; help me to beclean; lighten this heavy atmosphere and heavy life, in which ourspirits sink, and we become the indifferent and callous creaturesyou too often see us; gently and kindly take the bodies of those whodie among us, out of the small room where we grow to be so familiarwith the awful change that even its sanctity is lost to us; and,Teacher, then I will hear--none know better than you, how willingly--of Him whose thoughts were so much with the poor, and who hadcompassion for all human sorrow!"He was at work again, solitary and sad, when his Master came andstood near to him dressed in black. He, also, had suffered heavily.His young wife, his beautiful and good young wife, was dead; so,too, his only child."Master, 'tis hard to bear--I know it--but be comforted. I wouldgive you comfort, if I could."The Master thanked him from his heart, but, said he, "O youlabouring men! The calamity began among you. If you had but livedmore healthily and decently, I should not be the widowed and bereftmourner that I am this day.""Master," returned the other, shaking his head, "I have begun tounderstand a little that most calamities will come from us, as thisone did, and that none will stop at our poor doors, until we areunited with that great squabbling family yonder, to do the thingsthat are right. We cannot live healthily and decently, unless theywho undertook to manage us provide the means. We cannot beinstructed unless they will teach us; we cannot be rationallyamused, unless they will amuse us; we cannot but have some falsegods of our own, while they set up so many of theirs in all thepublic places. The evil consequences of imperfect instruction, theevil consequences of pernicious neglect, the evil consequences ofunnatural restraint and the denial of humanising enjoyments, willall come from us, and none of them will stop with us. They willspread far and wide. They always do; they always have done--justlike the pestilence. I understand so much, I think, at last."But the Master said again, "O you labouring men! How seldom do weever hear of you, except in connection with some trouble!""Master," he replied, "I am Nobody, and little likely to be heard of(nor yet much wanted to be heard of, perhaps), except when there issome trouble. But it never begins with me, and it never can endwith me. As sure as Death, it comes down to me, and it goes up fromme."There was so much reason in what he said, that the Bigwig family,getting wind of it, and being horribly frightened by the latedesolation, resolved to unite with him to do the things that wereright--at all events, so far as the said things were associated withthe direct prevention, humanly speaking, of another pestilence.But, as their fear wore off, which it soon began to do, they resumedtheir falling out among themselves, and did nothing. Consequentlythe scourge appeared again--low down as before--and spreadavengingly upward as before, and carried off vast numbers of thebrawlers. But not a man among them ever admitted, if in the leastdegree he ever perceived, that he had anything to do with it.So Nobody lived and died in the old, old, old way; and this, in themain, is the whole of Nobody's story.Had he no name, you ask? Perhaps it was Legion. It matters littlewhat his name was. Let us call him Legion.If you were ever in the Belgian villages near the field of Waterloo,you will have seen, in some quiet little church, a monument erectedby faithful companions in arms to the memory of Colonel A, Major B,Captains C, D and E, Lieutenants F and G, Ensigns H, I and J, sevennon-commissioned officers, and one hundred and thirty rank and file,who fell in the discharge of their duty on the memorable day. Thestory of Nobody is the story of the rank and file of the earth.They bear their share of the battle; they have their part in thevictory; they fall; they leave no name but in the mass. The marchof the proudest of us, leads to the dusty way by which they go. O!Let us think of them this year at the Christmas fire, and not forgetthem when it is burnt out.