But how stands it with the proletariat? What are the conditions under which the working-class lives? And how has it come to pass that out of these conditions those particular tendencies and demands have arisen which, as we shall find, have come out of this proletariat? Usually, when one is asked concerning the characteristics of the modern proletariat, the first answer is--the great misery in which the masses are sunk. That may pass with some qualification; only it must not be forgotten that misery is not specifically confined to the modern proletariat. Thus, how miserable is the condition of the peasants in Russia, of the Irish "rack-rent" tenants! There must be a specific kind of misery which characterises the proletariat. I refer, here, particularly to those unhealthy work-places, mines, manufactories with their noise and dust and heat, that have arisen with the modern method of production; I think of the conditions produced by these methods of production which tend to draw into the work certain categories of workers,--as women and children; I think further of how the concentration of population in industrial centres and in the great cities has increased the misery of external life for the individual. At all events, we may consider the intensification of misery as a primary cause for the growth and insistence of new thoughts and new feelings. But that is not the most important point, when we ask after the essential conditions of existence of the proletariat. It is much more characteristic that in the moment when great masses sink into misery, upon the other side, shining like a fairy's creation, the millionaire arises. It is the contrast between the comfortable villa and elegant equipage of the rich, the magnificent stores, the luxurious restaurants which the workman passes as he goes on his way to his manufactory or workshop in the dreary part of the city; it is the contrast in condition which develops hate in the masses. And that, again, is a peculiarity of the modern system, that it develops this hate and permits hate to become envy. It seems to me that this happens principally for the reason that those who display this grandeur are no longer the churches or the princes; but that they are those very persons on whom the masses feel themselves dependent, in whose direct economic control they see themselves, in whom they recognise their so-called "exploiters." This definite modern contrast is that which principally excites the intensity of this feeling of hate in the masses. Yet one thing further. It is not merely the miserable condition, the contrast with the well-to-do; but another terrible whip is swung over the heads of the proletariat--I mean the uncertainty in their lives. Also in this we have to do with a peculiarity of modern social life, if we rightly understand it. Uncertainty of existence is indeed elsewhere: the Japanese trembles at the thought of the earthquake that may at any moment overwhelm him and his possessions;