PROLOGUE.AT THE ROYAL INSTITUTION.
CHAPTER I.THE SUPPER-BELL.
CHAPTER II.GROUT, SUFFRAGAN.
CHAPTER III.CHRISTINE AT HOME.
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.
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
was of
the 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.
The Public Hall is built of red
brick; it resembles a row of houses each with a gable to the
street. There is for each a broad plain door, with a simple porch,
below; and above, a broad plain window twenty feet wide divided
into four compartments or divisions, the whole set in a framework
of wood. The appearance of the Hall is, therefore, remarkably
plain. There are thirty-one of these gables, each forty feet wide;
so that the whole length of the Hall is twelve hundred and forty
feet, or nearly a quarter of a mile.
Within, the roof of each of
these gables covers a Hall separated from its neighbors by plain
columns. They are all alike, except that the middle Hall, set apart
for the College, has a gallery originally intended for an
orchestra, now never used. In the central Hall one table alone is
placed; in all the others there are four, every Hall accommodating
[...]
