They knew that these people
lived, because they saw them, but they did not feel it--with such
extraordinary care had the web of social life been spun. They were, and
were bound to be, as utterly divorced from understanding of, or faith
in, all that shadowy life, as those "shadows" in their by-streets were
from knowledge or belief that gentlefolk really existed except in so far
as they had money from them.
Stephen and Cecilia, and their thousands, knew these "shadows" as "the
people," knew them as slums, as districts, as sweated industries,
of different sorts of workers, knew them in the capacity of persons
performing odd jobs for them; but as human beings possessing the same
faculties and passions with themselves, they did not, could not, know
them. The reason, the long reason, extending back through generations,
was so plain, so very simple, that it was never mentioned--in their
heart of hearts, where there was no room for cant, they knew it to be
just a little matter of the senses. They knew that, whatever they might
say, whatever money they might give, or time devote, their hearts could
never open, unless--unless they closed their ears, and eyes, and noses.
This little fact, more potent than all the teaching of philosophers,
than every Act of Parliament, and all the sermons ever preached, reigned
paramount, supreme.
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