p an Italian--he is a Milanese
manufacturer--with "these Florentine English who would keep Italy in a
glass case." "I know," he said. Before I go on to expand this congenial
theme, let me deal first with the Resentful Employee, who is a much
more considerable, and to me a much more sympathetic, figure in European
affairs. I began life myself as a Resentful Employee. By the extremest
good luck I have got my mind and spirit out of the distortions of that
cramping beginning, but I can still recall even the anger of those old
days.

He becomes an employee between thirteen and fifteen; he is made to do
work he does not like for no other purpose that he can see except the
profit and glory of a fortunate person called his employer, behind whom
stand church and state blessing and upholding the relationship. He is
not allowed to feel that he has any share whatever in the employer's
business, or that any end is served but the employer's profit. He cannot
see that the employer acknowledges any duty to the state. Neither church
nor state seems to insist that the employer has any public function.
At no point does the employee come into a clear relationship of mutual
obligation with the state. There does not seem to be any way out for the
employee from a life spent in this subordinate, toilsome relationship.
He feels put upon and cheated out of life. He is without honour. If
he is a person of ability or stubborn temper he struggles out of his
position; if he is a kindly and generous person he blames his "luck" and
does his work and lives his life as cheerfully as possible--and so live
the bulk of our amazing European workers; if he is a being of great
magnanimity he is content to serve for the ultimate good of the race; if
he has imagination, he says, "Things will not always be like this,"
and becomes a socialist or a guild socialist, and tries to educate the
employer to a sense of reciprocal duty; but if he is too human for any
of these things, then he begins to despise and hate the employer and the
system that made him. He wants to hurt them. Upon that hate it is easy
to trade.

A certain section of what is called the Socialist press and the
Socialist literature in Europe is no doubt great-minded; it seeks to
carve a better world out of the present. But much of it is socialist
only in name. Its spirit is Anarchistic. Its real burthen is not
construction but grievance; it tells the bitter tale of the employee, it
feeds and organis