Hoarse
exclamations of sleepy voices were heard; irritated, peevish,
abusive language rent the air with malice; and, to welcome the
people, deafening sounds floated about--the heavy whir of machinery,
the dissatisfied snort of steam. Stern and somber, the black
chimneys stretched their huge, thick sticks high above the village.
In the evening, when the sun was setting, and red rays languidly
glimmered upon the windows of the houses, the factory ejected its
people like burned-out ashes, and again they walked through the
streets, with black, smoke-covered faces, radiating the sticky odor
of machine oil, and showing the gleam of hungry teeth. But now
there was animation in their voices, and even gladness. The
servitude of hard toil was over for the day. Supper awaited them
at home, and respite.
The day was swallowed up by the factory; the machine sucked out of
men's muscles as much vigor as it needed. The day was blotted out
from life, not a trace of it left. Man made another imperceptible
step toward his grave; but he saw close before him the delights of
rest, the joys of the odorous tavern, and he was satisfied.
On holidays the workers slept until about ten o'clock.
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