Mary Barton

Mary Barton: A Tale of Manchester Life is the first novel by English author Elizabeth Gaskell, published in 1848. The story is set in the English city of Manchester between 1839 and 1842, and deals with the difficulties faced by the Victorian working class.

• Novel

								
"'How knowest thou,' may the distressed Novel-wright exclaim,
   'that I, here where I sit, am the Foolishest of existing
   mortals; that this my Long-ear of a fictitious Biography shall
   not find one and the other, into whose still longer ears it
   may be the means, under Providence, of instilling somewhat?'
   We answer, 'None knows, none can certainly know: therefore,
   write on, worthy Brother, even as thou canst, even as it is
   given thee.'"

      CARLYLE.



CONTENTS

            PREFACE.
         I. A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE.
        II. A MANCHESTER TEA-PARTY.
       III. JOHN BARTON'S GREAT TROUBLE.
        IV. OLD ALICE'S HISTORY.
         V. THE MILL ON FIRE--JEM WILSON TO THE RESCUE.
        VI. POVERTY AND DEATH.
       VII. JEM WILSON'S REPULSE.
      VIII. MARGARET'S DEBUT AS A PUBLIC SINGER.
        IX. BARTON'S LONDON EXPERIENCES.
         X. RETURN OF THE PRODIGAL.
    XI. MR. CARSON'S INTENTIONS REVEALED.
       XII. OLD ALICE'S BAIRN.
      XIII. A TRAVELLER'S TALES.
       XIV. JEM'S INTERVIEW WITH POOR ESTHER.
        XV. A VIOLENT MEETING BETWEEN THE RIVALS.
       XVI. MEETING BETWEEN MASTERS AND WORKMEN.
      XVII. BARTON'S NIGHT-ERRAND.
     XVIII. MURDER.
       XIX. JEM WILSON ARRESTED ON SUSPICION.
        XX. MARY'S DREAM--AND THE AWAKENING.
       XXI. ESTHER'S MOTIVE IN SEEKING MARY.
      XXII. MARY'S EFFORTS TO PROVE AN ALIBI.
     XXIII. THE SUB-POENA.
      XXIV. WITH THE DYING.
       XXV. MRS. WILSON'S DETERMINATION.
      XXVI. THE JOURNEY TO LIVERPOOL.
     XXVII. IN THE LIVERPOOL DOCKS.
    XXVIII. "JOHN CROPPER, AHOY!"
      XXIX. A TRUE BILL AGAINST JEM.
       XXX. JOB LEGH'S DECEPTION.
      XXXI. HOW MARY PASSED THE NIGHT.
     XXXII. THE TRIAL AND VERDICT--"NOT GUILTY."
    XXXIII. REQUIESCAT IN PACE.
     XXXIV. THE RETURN HOME.
      XXXV. "FORGIVE US OUR TRESPASSES."
     XXXVI. JEM'S INTERVIEW WITH MR. DUNCOMBE.
    XXXVII. DETAILS CONNECTED WITH THE MURDER.
   XXXVIII. CONCLUSION.

CHAPTER I.

A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE.


   Oh! 'tis hard, 'tis hard to be working
     The whole of the live-long day,
   When all the neighbours about one
     Are off to their jaunts and play.

   There's Richard he carries his baby,
     And Mary takes little Jane,
   And lovingly they'll be wandering
     Through field and briery lane.

   MANCHESTER SONG.


There are some fields near Manchester, well known to the inhabitants
as "Green Heys Fields," through which runs a public footpath to a
little village about two miles distant. In spite of these fields
being flat and low, nay, in spite of the want of wood (the great and
usual recommendation of level tracts of land), there is a charm about
them which strikes even the inhabitant of a mountainous district,
who sees and feels the effect of contrast in these common-place but
thoroughly rural fields, with the busy, bustling manufacturing town
he left but half-an-hour ago. Here and there an old black and white
farm-house, with its rambling outbuildings, speaks of other times and
other occupations than those which now absorb the population of the
neighbourhood. Here in their seasons may be seen the country business
of hay-making, ploughing, &c., which are such pleasant mysteries
for townspeople to watch; and here the artisan, deafened with noise
of tongues and engines, may come to listen awhile to the delicious
sounds of rural life: the lowing of cattle, the milk-maids' call,
the clatter and cackle of poultry in the old farm-yards. You cannot
wonder, then, that these fields are popular places of resort at
every holiday time; and you would not wonder, if you could see, or I
properly describe, the charm of one particular stile, that it should
be, on such occasions, a crowded halting-place. Close by it is a
deep, clear pond, reflecting in its dark green depths the shadowy
trees that bend over it to exclude the sun. The only place where
its banks are shelving is on the side next to a rambling farm-yard,
belonging to one of those old-world, gabled, black and white houses
I named above, overlooking the field through which the public
footpath leads. The porch of this farm-house is covered by a
rose-tree; and the little garden surrounding it is crowded with a
medley of old-fashioned herbs and flowers, planted long ago, when the
garden was the only druggist's shop within reach, and allowed to grow
in scrambling and wild luxuriance--roses, lavender, sage, balm (for
tea), rosemary, pinks and wallflowers, onions and jessamine, in most
republican and indiscriminate order. This farm-house and garden are
within a hundred yards of the stile of which I spoke, leading from
the large pasture field into a smaller one, divided by a hedge of
hawthorn and black-thorn; and near this stile, on the further side,
there runs a tale that primroses may often be found, and occasionally
the blue sweet violet on the grassy hedge bank.

I do not know whether it was on a holiday granted by the masters, or
a holiday seized in right of Nature and her beautiful spring time by
the workmen, but one afternoon (now ten or a dozen years ago) these
fields were much thronged. It was an early May evening--the April
of the poets; for heavy showers had fallen all the morning, and
the round, soft, white clouds which were blown by a west wind over
the dark blue sky, were sometimes varied by one blacker and more
threatening. The softness of the day tempted forth the young green
leaves, which almost visibly fluttered into life; and the willows,
which that morning had had only a brown reflection in the water
below, were now of that tender gray-green which blends so delicately
with the spring harmony of colours.

Groups of merry and somewhat loud-talking girls, whose ages might
range from twelve to twenty, came by with a buoyant step. They were
most of them factory girls, and wore the usual out-of-doors dress of
that particular class of maidens; namely, a shawl, which at mid-day
or in fine weather was allowed to be merely a shawl, but towards
evening, or if the day were chilly, became a sort of Spanish mantilla
or Scotch plaid, and was brought over the head and hung loosely down,
or was pinned under the chin in no unpicturesque fashion.

Their faces were not remarkable for beauty; indeed, they were below
the average, with one or two exceptions; they had dark hair, neatly
and classically arranged, dark eyes, but sallow complexions and
irregular features. The only thing to strike a passer-by was an
acuteness and intelligence of countenance, which has often been
noticed in a manufacturing population.

There were also numbers of boys, or rather young men, rambling among
these fields, ready to bandy jokes with any one, and particularly
ready to enter into conversation with the girls, who, however, held
themselves aloof, not in a shy, but rather in an independent way,
assuming an indifferent manner to the noisy wit or obstreperous
compliments of the lads. Here and there came a sober quiet couple,
either whispering lovers, or husband and wife, as the case might

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