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ELIZABETH GASKELL
MARY BARTON
--A TALE OF MANCHESTER LIFE--
PREFACE
BY ELIZABETH GASKELL
Three years ago I became anxious (from circumstances that need not be more fully
alluded to) to employ myself in writing a work of fiction. Living in Manchester, but
with a deep relish and fond admiration for the country, my first thought was to find a
frame-work for my story in some rural scene; and I had already made a little progress
in a tale, the period of which was more than a century ago, and the place on the
borders of Yorkshire, when I bethought me how deep might be the romance in the
lives of some of those who elbowed me daily in the busy streets of the town in which
I resided. I had always felt a deep sympathy with the care-worn men, who looked as if
doomed to struggle through their lives in strange alternations between work and want;
tossed to and fro by circumstances, apparently in even a greater degree than other
men. A little manifestation of this sympathy and a little attention to the expression of
feelings on the part of some of the work-people with whom I was acquainted, had laid
open to me the hearts of one or two of the more thoughtful among them; I saw that
they were sore and irritable against the rich, the even tenor of whose seemingly happy
lives appeared to increase the anguish caused by the lottery-like nature of their own.
Whether the bitter complaints made by them, of the neglect which they experienced
from the prosperous--especially from the masters whose fortunes they had helped to
build up--were well-founded or no, it is not for me to judge. It is enough to say, that
this belief of the injustice and unkindness which they endure from their fellowcreatures,
taints what might be resignation to God's will, and turns it to revenge in too
many of the poor uneducated factory-workers of Manchester.
The more I reflected on this unhappy state of things between those so bound to each
other by common interests, as the employers and the employed must ever be, the more
anxious I became to give some utterance to the agony which, from time to time,
convulses this dumb people; the agony of suffering without the sympathy of the
happy, or of erroneously believing that such is the case. If it be an error, that the woes,
which come with ever-returning tide-like flood to overwhelm the workmen in our
manufacturing towns, pass unregarded by all but the sufferers, it is at any rate an error
so bitter in its consequences to all parties, that whatever public effort can do in the
way of legislation, or private effort in the way of merciful deeds, or helpless love in
the way of widow's mites, should be done, and that speedily, to disabuse the workpeople
of so miserable a misapprehension. At present they seem to me to be left in a
state, wherein lamentations and tears are thrown aside as useless, but in which the lips
are compressed for curses, and the hands clenched and ready to smite.
I know nothing of Political Economy, or the theories of trade. I have tried to write
truthfully; and if my accounts agree or clash with any system, the agreement or
disagreement is unintentional.
To myself the idea which I have formed of the state of feeling among too many of the
factory-people in Manchester, and which I endeavoured to represent in this tale
(completed above a year ago), has received some confirmation from the events which
have so recently occurred among a similar class on the Continent.
OCTOBER, 1848
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