The inner house
The inner housePROLOGUE.AT THE ROYAL INSTITUTION.CHAPTER I.THE SUPPER-BELL.CHAPTER II.GROUT, SUFFRAGAN.CHAPTER III.CHRISTINE AT HOME.CHAPTER IV.WHAT IS LOVE?CHAPTER V.THE OPEN DOOR.CHAPTER VI.THE ARCH PHYSICIAN.CHAPTER VII.THE FIDELITY OF JOHN LAX.CHAPTER VIII.THE ARCH TRAITOR.CHAPTER IX.IN THE INNER HOUSE.CHAPTER X.THE COUNCIL IN THE HOUSE.CHAPTER XI.THE TRIAL AND SENTENCE.CHAPTER XII.THE REBELS.CHAPTER XIII.THE EXECUTION.CHAPTER XIV.PRISONERS.CHAPTER XV.THE RECRUITING SERGEANT.CHAPTER XVI.A MOST UNEXPECTED CONCLUSION.Copyright
The inner house
Walter Besant
PROLOGUE.AT THE ROYAL INSTITUTION.
"Professor!" cried the Director, rushing to meet their guest
and lecturer as the door was thrown open, and the great man
appeared, calm and composed, as if there was nothing more in the
wind than an ordinary Scientific Discourse. "You are always
welcome, my friend, always welcome"—the two enthusiasts for science
wrung hands—"and never more welcome than tonight. Then the great
mystery is to be solved at last. The Theatre is crammed with
people. What does it mean? You must tell me before you go
in."The Physicist smiled."I came to a conviction that I was on the true line five
years ago," he said. "It is only within the last six months that I
have demonstrated the thing to a certainty. I will tell you, my
friend," he whispered, "before we go in."Then he advanced and shook hands with the
President."Whatever the importance of your Discovery, Professor," said
the President, "we are fully sensible of the honor you have done us
in bringing it before an English audience first of all, and
especially before an audience of the Royal
Institution.""Ja, Ja, Herr President. But I give my Discovery to all the
world at this same hour. As for myself, I announce it to my very
good friends of the Royal Institution. Why not to my other very
good friends of the Royal Society? Because it is a thing which
belongs to the whole world, and not to scientific men
only."It was in the Library of the Royal Institution. The President
and Council of the Institution were gathered together to receive
their illustrious lecturer, and every face was touched with
interrogation and anxiety. What was this Great
Discovery?For six months there had appeared, from time to time,
mysterious telegrams in the papers, all connected with this
industrious Professor's laboratory. Nothing definite, nothing
certain: it was whispered that a new discovery, soon about to be
announced, would entirely change the relations of man to man; of
nation to nation. Those who professed to be in the secret suggested
that it might alter all governments and abolish all laws. Why they
said that I know not, because certainly nobody was admitted to the
laboratory, and the Professor had no confidant. This big-headed
man, with the enormous bald forehead and the big glasses on his fat
nose—it was long and broad as well as fat—kept his own counsel.
Yet, in some way, people were perfectly certain that something
wonderful was coming. So, when Roger Bacon made his gunpowder, the
monks might have whispered to each other, only from the smell which
came through the key-hole, that now the Devil would at last be met
upon his own ground. The telegrams were continued with exasperating
pertinacity, until over the whole civilized world the eyes of all
who loved science were turned upon that modest laboratory in the
little University of Ganzweltweisst am Rhein. What was coming from
it? One does not go so far as to say that all interest in
contemporary business, politics, art, and letters ceased; but it is
quite certain that every morning and every evening, when everybody
opened his paper, his first thought was to look for news from
Ganzweltweisst am Rhein.But the days passed by, and no news came. This was especially
hard on the leader-writers, who were one and all waiting, each man
longing to have a cut in with the subject before anybody else got
it. But it was good for the people who write letters to the papers,
because they had so many opportunities of suggestion and surmise.
And so the leader-writers got something to talk about after all.
For some suggested that Prof. Schwarzbaum had found out a way to
make food artificially, by chemically compounding nitrogens,
phosphates, and so forth. And these philosophers built a
magnificent Palace of Imagination, in which dwelt a glorified
mankind no longer occupied in endless toil for the sake of
providing meat and drink for themselves and their families, but all
engaged in the pursuit of knowledge, and in Art of all kinds, such
as Fiction, Poetry, Painting, Music, Acting, and so forth, getting
out of Life such a wealth of emotion, pleasure, and culture as the
world had never before imagined. Others there were who thought that
the great Discovery might be a method of instantaneous transmission
of matter from place to place; so that, as by the electric wire one
can send a message, so by some kind of electric method one could
send a human body from any one part of the world to any other in a
moment. This suggestion offered a fine field for the imagination;
and there was a novel written on this subject which had a great
success, until the Discovery itself was announced. Others, again,
thought that the new Discovery meant some great and wonderful
development of the Destructive Art; so that the whole of an army
might be blown into countless fragments by the touch of a button,
the discharge of a spring, the fall of a hammer. This took the
fancy hugely, and it was pleasant to read the imaginary
developments of history as influenced by this Discovery. But it
seemed certain that the learned Professor would keep it for the use
of his own country. So that there was no longer any room to doubt
that, if this was the nature of the Discovery, the whole of the
habitable world must inevitably fall under the Teutonic yoke, and
an Empire of Armed Peace would set in, the like of which had never
before been witnessed upon the globe. On the whole, the prospect
was received everywhere, except in France and Russia, with
resignation. Even the United States remembered that they had
already many millions of Germans among them; and that the new
Empire, though it would give certainly all the places to these
Germans, would also save them a great many Elections, and therefore
a good deal of trouble, and would relieve the national
conscience—long grievously oppressed in this particular—of
truckling to the Irish Vote. Dynamiters and anarchists, however,
were despondent, and Socialists regarded each other with an
ever-deepening gloom. This particular Theory of the great Discovery
met, in fact, with universal credence over the whole civilized
globe.From the great man himself there came no sign. Enterprising
interviewers failed to get speech with him. Scientific men wrote to
him, but got no real information in reply. And the minds of men
grew more and more agitated. Some great change was considered
certain—but what?One morning—it was the morning of Thursday, June 20,
1890—there appeared an advertisement in the papers. By the
telegrams it was discovered that a similar advertisement had been
published in every great city all over the world. That of the
London papers differed from others in one important respect—in
this, namely: Professor Schwarzbaum would himself, without any
delay, read before a London audience a Paper which should reveal
his new Discovery. There was not, however, the least hint in the
announcement of the nature of this Discovery."Yes," said the Physicist, speaking slowly, "I have given the
particulars to my friends over the whole earth; and, as London is
still the centre of the world, I resolved that I would myself
communicate it to the English.""But what is it?—what is it?" asked the
President."The Discovery," the Professor continued, "is to be announced
at the same moment all over the world, so that none of the
newspapers shall have an unfair start. It is now close upon nine
o'clock by London time. In Paris it is ten minutes past nine; in
Berlin it is six minutes before ten; at St. Petersburg it is eleven
o'clock; at New York it is four o'clock in the afternoon. Very
good. When the clock in your theatre points to nine exactly, at
that moment everywhere the same Paper will be read."In fact, at that moment the clock began to strike. The
President led the way to the Theatre, followed by the Council. The
Director remained behind with the Lecturer of the
evening."My friend," said Professor Schwarzbaum, "my subject is
nothing less"—he laid his finger upon the Director's arm—"nothing
less than 'The Prolongation of the Vital Energy.'""What! The Prolongation of the Vital Energy? Do you know what
that means?" The Director turned pale. "Are we to
understand—""Come," said the Professor, "we must not waste the
time."Then the Director, startled and pale, took his German brother
by the arm and led him into the Theatre, murmuring, "Prolongation
... Prolongation ... Prolongation ... of the Vital—the
Vital—Energy!"The Theatre was crowded. There was not a vacant seat: there
was no more standing room on the stairs; the very doors of the
gallery were thronged: the great staircase was thronged with those
who could not get in, but waited to get the first news. Nay,
outside the Institution, Albemarle Street was crowded with people
waiting to hear what this great thing might be which all the world
had waited six months to hear. Within the Theatre, what an
audience! For the first time in English history, no respect at all
had been paid to rank: the people gathered in the Theatre were all
that the great City could boast that was distinguished in science,
art, and letters. Those present were the men who moved the world.
Among them, naturally, a sprinkling of the men who are born to the
best things of the world, and are sometimes told that they help to
move it. There were ladies among the company too—ladies well known
in scientific and literary circles, with certain great ladies led
by curiosity. On the left-hand side of the Theatre, for instance,
close to the door, sat two very great ladies, indeed—one of them
the Countess of Thordisá, and the other her only daughter, the Lady
Mildred Carera. Leaning against the pillar beside them stood a
young man of singularly handsome appearance, tall and commanding of
stature."To you, Dr. Linister," said the Countess, "I suppose
everything that the Professor has to tell us will be already well
known?""That," said Dr. Linister, "would be too much to
expect.""For me," her Ladyship went on delicately, "I love to catch
Science on the wing—on the wing—in her lighter moods, when she has
something really popular to tell."Dr. Linister bowed. Then his eyes met those of the beautiful
girl sitting below him, and he leaned and whispered,"I looked for you everywhere last night. You had led me to
understand—""We went nowhere, after all. Mamma fancied she had a bad
cold.""Then this evening. May I be quite—quite sure?"His voice dropped, and his fingers met hers beneath the fan.
She drew them away quickly, with a blush."Yes," she whispered, "you may find me to-night at Lady
Chatterton's or Lady Ingleby's."From which you can understand that this young Dr. Linister
was quite a man in society. He was young, he had already a great
reputation for Biological research, he was the only son of a
fashionable physician, and he would be very rich. Therefore, in the
season, Harry Linister wasofthe season.On most of the faces present there sat an expression of
anxiety, and even fear. What was this new thing? Was the world
really going to be turned upside down? And when the West End was so
very comfortable and its position so very well assured! But there
were a few present who rubbed their hands at the thought of a great
upturn of everything. Up with the scum first; when that had been
ladled overboard, a new arrangement would be possible, to the
advantage of those who rubbed their hands.When the clock struck nine, a dead silence fell upon the
Theatre; not a breath was heard; not a cough; not the rustle of a
dress. Their faces were pale with expectancy; their lips were
parted; their very breathing seemed arrested.Then the President and the Council walked in and took their
places."Ladies and Gentlemen," said the President shortly, "the
learned Professor will himself communicate to you the subject and
title of his Paper, and we may be certain beforehand that this
subject and matter will adorn the motto of the Society—Illustrous commoda vitæ."Then Dr. Schwarzbaum stood at the table before them all, and
looked round the room. Lady Mildred glanced at the young man, Harry
Linister. He was staring at the German like the rest, speechless.
She sighed. Women did not in those days like love-making to be
forgotten or interrupted by anything, certainly not by
science.The learned German carried a small bundle of papers, which he
laid on the table. He carefully and slowly adjusted his spectacles.
Then he drew from his pocket a small leather case. Then he looked
round the room and smiled. That is to say, his lips were covered
with a full beard, so that the sweetness of the smile was mostly
lost; but it was observed under and behind the beard. The mere
ghost of a smile; yet a benevolent ghost.The Lecturer began, somewhat in copy-book fashion, to remind
his audience that everything in Nature is born, grows slowly to
maturity, enjoys a brief period of full force and strength, then
decays, and finally dies. The tree of life is first a green
sapling, and last a white and leafless trunk. He expatiated at some
length on the growth of the young life. He pointed out that methods
had been discovered to hinder that growth, turn it into unnatural
forms, even to stop and destroy it altogether. He showed how the
body is gradually strengthened in all its parts; he showed, for his
unscientific hearers, how the various parts of the structure assume
strength. All this was familiar to most of his audience. Next he
proceeded to dwell upon the period of full maturity of bodily and
mental strength, which, in a man, should last from twenty-five to
sixty, and even beyond that time. The decay of the bodily, and even
of the mental organs, may have already set in, even when mind and
body seem the most vigorous. At this period of the discussion most
of the audience were beginning to flag in their attention. Was such
a gathering as this assembled only to hear a discussion on the
growth and decay of the faculties? But the Director, who knew what
was coming, sat bolt upright, expectant. It was strange, the people
said afterwards, that no one should have suspected what was coming.
There was to be, everybody knew, a great announcement. That was
certain. Destruction, Locomotion, Food, Transmission of Thought,
Substitution of Speech for Writing—all these things, as has been
seen, had been suggested. But no one even guessed the real nature
of the Discovery. And now, with the exception of the people who
always pretend to have known all along, to have been favored with
the Great Man's Confidence, to have guessed the thing from the
outset, no one had the least suspicion.Therefore, when the Professor suddenly stopped short, after a
prolix description of wasting power and wearied organs, and held up
an admonitory finger, everybody jumped, because now the Secret was
to be divulged. They had come to hear a great Secret."What is this Decay?" he asked. "What is it? Why does it
begin? What laws regulate it? What check can we place upon it? How
can we prevent it? How can we stay its progress? Can Science, which
has done so much to make Life happy—which has found out so many
things by which Man's brief span is crowded with delightful
emotions—can Science do no more? Cannot Science add to these gifts
that more precious gift of all—the lengthening of that brief
span?"Here everybody gasped."I ask," the speaker went on, "whether Science cannot put off
that day which closes the eyes and turns the body into a senseless
lump? Consider: we are no sooner arrived at the goal of our
ambitions than we have to go away; we are no sooner at the
plenitude of our wisdom and knowledge than we have to lay down all
that we have learned and go away—nay, we cannot even transmit to
others our accumulations of knowledge. They are lost. We are no
sooner happy with those we love than we have to leave them. We
collect, but cannot enjoy; we inherit—it is but for a day; we
learn, but we have no time to use our learning; we love—it is but
for an hour; we pass our youth in hope, our manhood in effort, and
we die before we are old; we are strong, but our strength passes
like a dream; we are beautiful, but our beauty perishes in a single
day. Cannot, I ask again—cannot Science prolong the Vital Force,
and stay the destroying hand of Decay?"At this point a wonderful passion seized upon many of the
people present; for some sprang to their feet and lifted hands and
shouted, some wept aloud, some clasped each other by the hand;
there were lovers among the crowd who fell openly into each other's
arms; there were men of learning who hugged imaginary books and
looked up with wild eyes; there were girls who smiled, thinking
that their beauty might last longer than a day; there were women
down whose cheeks rolled the tears of sorrow for their vanished
beauty; there were old men who heard and trembled.One of them spoke—out of all this crowd only one found words.
It was an old statesman; an old man eloquent. He rose with shaking
limbs."Sir," he cried, his voice still sonorous, "give me back my
manhood!"The Professor continued, regardless:"Suppose," he said, "that Science had found out the way, not
to restore what is lost, but to arrest further loss; not to give
back what is gone—you might as well try to restore a leg that has
been cut off—but to prevent further loss. Consider this for a
moment, I pray you. Those who search into Nature's secrets might,
if this were done for them, carry on their investigations far
beyond any point which had yet been reached; those who cultivate
Art might attain to a greater skill of hand and truth of sight than
has ever yet been seen; those who study human nature might multiply
their observations; those who love might have a longer time for
their passion; men who are strong might remain strong; women who
are beautiful might remain beautiful—""Sir," cried again the old man eloquent, "give me back my
manhood!"The Lecturer made no reply, but went on:"The rich might have a time—a sensible length of time—in
which to enjoy their wealth; the young might remain young; the old
might grow no older; the feeble might not become more feeble—all
for a prolonged time. As for those whose lives could never become
anything but a burden to themselves and to the rest of the
world—the crippled, the criminal, the poor, the imbecile, the
incompetent, the stupid, and the frivolous—they would live out
their allotted lives and die. It would be for the salt of the
earth, for the flower of mankind, for the men strong of intellect
and endowed above the common herd, that Science would reserve this
precious gift.""Give me back my manhood!" cried again the old man
eloquent.But he was not alone, for they all sprang to their feet
together and cried aloud, shrieking, weeping, stretching forth
hands, "Give—give—give!" But the Director, who knew that what was
asked for would be given, sat silent and
self-possessed.The Speaker motioned them all to sit down again."I would not," he said, "limit this great gift to those alone
whose intellect leads the world. I would extend it to all who help
to make life beautiful and happy; to lovely women"—here the men
heaved a sigh so deep, so simultaneous, that it fell upon the ear
like the voice of thanksgiving from a Cathedral choir—"to those who
love only the empty show and pleasures and vainglories of
life"—here many smiled, especially of the younger sort—"even to
some of those who desire nothing of life but love and song and
dalliance and laughter." Again the younger sort smiled, and tried
to look as if they had no connection at all with that band. "I
would extend this gift, I repeat, to all who can themselves be
happy in the sunshine and the light, and to all who can make the
happiness of others. Then, again, consider. When you have enjoyed
those things for a while; when your life has been prolonged, so
that you have enjoyed all that you desire in full measure and
running over; when not two or three years have passed, but perhaps
two or three centuries, you would then, of your own accord, put
aside the aid of Science and suffer your body to fall into the
decay which awaits all living matter. Contented and resigned, you
would sink into the tomb, not satiated with the joys of life, but
satisfied to have had your share. There would be no terror in
death, since it would take none but those who could say, 'I have
had enough.' That day would surely come to every one. There is
nothing—not research and discovery, not the beauty of Nature, not
love and pleasure, not art, not flowers and sunshine and perpetual
youth—of which we should not in time grow weary. Science cannot
alter the Laws of Nature. Of all things there must be an end. But
she can prolong; she can avert; she can—Yes, my friends. This is my
Discovery; this is my Gift to Humanity; this is the fruit, the
outcome of my life; for me this great thing has been reserved.
Science can arrest decay. She can make you live—live on—live for
centuries—nay, I know not—why not?—she can, if you foolishly desire
it, make you live forever."Now, when these words were spoken there fell a deep silence
upon the crowd. No one spoke; no one looked up; they were awed;
they could not realize what it meant that would be given them; they
were suddenly relieved of a great terror, the constant dread that
lies in man's heart, ever present, though we conceal it—the dread
of Death; but they could not, in a moment, understand that it was
given.But the Director sprang to his feet, and grasped his brother
physicist by the hand."Of all the sons of Science," he said, solemnly, "thou shalt
be proclaimed the first and best."The assembly heard these words, but made no sign. There was
no applause—not a murmur, not a voice. They were stricken dumb with
wonder and with awe. They were going to live—to live on—to live for
centuries, nay, why not?—to live forever!"You all know," the Professor continued, "how at a dinner a
single glass of champagne revives the spirits, looses the tongue,
and brings activity to the brain. The guests were weary; they were
in decay; the Champagne arrests that decay. My discovery is of
another kind of Champagne, which acts with a more lasting effect.
It strengthens the nerves, hardens the muscles, quickens the blood,
and brings activity to the digestion. With new strength of the body
returns new strength to the mind; mind and body are one." He paused
a moment. Then he gave the leather case into the hands of the
Director. "This is my gift, I say. I give to my brother full
particulars and the history of the invention. I seek no profit for
myself. It is your own. This day a new epoch begins for humanity.
We shall not die, but live. Accident, fire, lightning, may kill us.
Against these things we cannot guard. But old age shall no more
fall upon us; decay shall no more rob us of our life and strength;
and death shall be voluntary. This is a great change. I know not if
I have done aright. That is for you to determine. See that you use
this gift aright."Then, before the people had understood the last words, the
speaker stepped out of the Theatre and was gone.But the Director of the Royal Institution stood in his place,
and in his hand was the leather case containing the Gift of
Life.The Countess of Thordisá, who had been asleep throughout the
lecture, woke up when it was finished."How deeply interesting!" she sighed. "This it is, to catch
Science on the wing." Then she looked round. "Mildred, dear," she
said, "has Dr. Linister gone to find the carriage? Dear me! what a
commotion! And at the Royal Institution, of all places in the
world!""I think, Mamma," said Lady Mildred, coldly, "that we had
better get some one else to find the carriage. Dr. Linister is over
there. He is better engaged."He was; he was among his brother physicists; they were
eagerly asking questions and crowding round the Director. And the
Theatre seemed filled with mad people, who surged and crowded and
pushed."Come, Mamma," said Lady Mildred, pale, but with a red spot
on either cheek, "we will leave them to fight it out."Science had beaten love. She did not meet Harry Linister
again that night. And when they met again, long years afterwards,
he passed her by with eyes that showed he had clean forgotten her
existence, unaltered though she was in face and form.
CHAPTER I.THE SUPPER-BELL.
When the big bell in the Tower of the House of Life struck
the hour of seven, the other bells began to chime as they had done
every day at this hour for I know not how many years. Very likely
in the Library, where we still keep a great collection of perfectly
useless books, there is preserved some History which may speak of
these Bells, and of the builders of the House. When these chimes
began, the swifts and jackdaws which live in the Tower began to fly
about with a great show of hurry, as if there was barely time for
supper, though, as it was yet only the month of July, the sun would
not be setting for an hour or more.
We have long since ceased to preach to the people, otherwise
we might make them learn a great deal from the animal world. They
live, for instance, from day to day; not only are their lives
miserably short, but they are always hungry, always fighting,
always quarrelling, always fierce in their loves and their
jealousies. Watching the swifts, for instance, which we may do
nearly all day long, we ought to congratulate ourselves on our own
leisurely order, the adequate provision for food made by the Wisdom
of the College, the assurance of preservation also established by
that Wisdom, and our freedom from haste and anxiety, as from the
emotions of love, hatred, jealousy, and rivalry. But the time has
gone by for that kind of exhortation.
Thus, our people, who at this hour crowded the great Square,
showed in their faces, their attitudes, and their movements, the
calm that reigned in their souls. Some were lying on the grass;
some were sitting on the benches; some were strolling. They were
for the most part alone; if not alone—because habit often survives
when the original cause of the habit is gone—then in pairs.
In the old unhappy days there would have been restless
activity—a hurrying to and fro; there would have been laughter and
talking—everybody would have been talking; there would have been
young men eagerly courting the favors of young women, looking on
them with longing eyes, ready to fight for them, each for the girl
he loved; thinking each of the girl he loved as of a goddess or an
angel—all perfection. The girls themselves ardently desired this
foolish worship. Again, formerly, there would have been old men and
old women looking with melancholy eyes on the scenes they were
about to quit, and lamenting the days of their strength and their
youth. And formerly there would have been among the crowd beggars
and paupers; there would have been some masters and some servants;
some noble and some bourgeois; there would have been every
conceivable difference in age, rank, strength, intellect, and
distinction.
Again, formerly there would have been the most insolent
differences in costume. Some of the men used to wear broadcloth,
sleek and smooth, with glossy hats and gloves, and flowers at their
button-hole; while beside them crawled the wretched half-clad
objects pretending to sell matches, but in reality begging for
their bread. And some of the women used to flaunt in dainty and
expensive stuffs, setting off their supposed charms (which were
mostly made by the dress-maker's art) with the curves and colors of
their drapery. And beside them would be crawling the wretched
creatures to whom in the summer, when the days were hot and fine,
the Park was their only home, and rusty black their only
wear.
Now, no activity at all; no hurrying, no laughing, not even
any talking. That might have struck a visitor as one of the most
remarkable results of our system. No foolish talking. As for their
dress, it was all alike. The men wore blue flannel jackets and
trousers, with a flannel shirt and a flat blue cap; for the working
hours they had a rougher dress. The women wore a costume in gray,
made of a stuff called beige. It is a useful stuff, because it
wears well; it is soft and yet warm, and cannot be objected to by
any of them on the score of ugliness. What mutinies, what secret
conspiracies, what mad revolts had to be faced before the women
could be made to understand that Socialism—the only form of society
which can now be accepted—must be logical and complete! What is one
woman more than another that she should separate herself from her
sisters by her dress? Therefore, since their subjugation they all
wear a gray beige frock, with a jacket of the same, and a flat gray
cap, like the men's, under which they are made to gather up their
hair.
This scene, indeed—the gathering of the People before the
supper-bell—is one of which I never tire. I look at all the eager,
hurrying swifts in the air, I remember the Past; and I think of the
Present when I gaze upon the great multitude, in which no one
regardeth his neighbor, none speaks to none. There are no
individual aims, but all is pure, unadulterated Socialism, with—not
far distant—the Ultimate Triumph of Science!
I desire to relate the exact circumstances connected with
certain recent events. It is generally known that they caused one
deplorable Death—one of our own Society, although not a Physician
of the House. I shall have to explain, before I begin the
narrative, certain points in our internal management which may
differ from the customs adopted elsewhere. We of the Later Era
visit each other so seldom that differences may easily grow up.
Indeed, considering the terrible dangers of travel—how, if one
walks, there are the perils of unfiltered water, damp beds,
sprained ankles, byrsitis of the knee, chills from frosts and
showers; or if one gets into a wheeled vehicle, the wheels may fall
off, or the carriage may be overturned in a ditch.... But why
pursue the subject? I repeat, therefore, that I must speak of the
community and its order, but that as briefly as may be.
The Rebels have been driven forth from the Pale of Humanity
to wander where they please. In a few years they will be
released—if that has not already happened—by Death from the
diseases and sufferings which will fall upon them. Then we shall
remember them no more. The centuries will roll by, and they shall
be forgotten; the very mounds of earth which once marked the place
of their burial will be level with the ground around them. But the
House and the Glory of the House will continue.
Thus perish all the enemies of Science!
The City of Canterbury, as it was rebuilt when Socialism was
finally established, has in its centre a great Square, Park, or
Garden, the central breathing-place and relaxation ground of the
City. Each side is exactly half a mile in length. The Garden, thus
occupying an area of a fourth of a square mile, is planted with
every kind of ornamental tree, and laid out in flower-beds, winding
walks, serpentine rivers, lakes, cascades, bridges, grottos,
summer-houses, lawns, and everything that can help to make the
place attractive. During the summer it is thronged every evening
with the people. On its west side has been erected an enormous
Palace of glass, low in height, but stretching far away to the
west, covering an immense area. Here the heat is artificially
maintained at temperatures varying with the season and the plants
that are in cultivation. In winter, frost, bad weather, and in
rain, it forms a place of recreation and rest. Here grow all kinds
of fruit-trees, with all kinds of vegetables, flowers, and plants.
All the year round it furnishes, in quantities sufficient for all
our wants, an endless supply of fruit; so that we have a supply of
some during the whole year, as grapes, bananas, and oranges; others
for at least half the year, as peaches, strawberries, and so forth;
while of the commoner vegetables, as peas, beans, and the like,
there is now no season, but they are grown continuously. In the old
times we were dependent upon the changes and chances of a
capricious and variable climate. Now, not only has the erection of
these vast houses made us independent of summer and winter, but the
placing of much grass and corn land under glass has also assured
our crops and secured us from the danger of famine. This is by no
means one of the least advantages of modern civilization.
On the South side of the Square stands our Public Hall. The
building has not, like the House of Life, any architectural
beauty—why should we aim at beauty, when efficiency is our sole
object? The House of Life was designed and erected when men thought
perpetually of beauty, working from their admiration of beauty in
woman and in nature to beauty in things which they made with their
own hands, setting beauty above usefulness; even thinking it
necessary, when usefulness had been attained, to add adornment, as
when they added a Tower to the House of Life, yet did nothing with
their Tower and did not want it.
