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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/8449-0.txt b/8449-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9f05430 --- /dev/null +++ b/8449-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7076 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Traveler from Altruria: Romance, by +William Dean Howells + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: A Traveler from Altruria: Romance + +Author: William Dean Howells + + +Release Date: July, 2005 [EBook #8449] +This file was first posted on July 11, 2003 +Last Updated: August 21, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A TRAVELER FROM ALTRURIA: ROMANCE *** + + + + +Produced by Suzanne Shell, Charles Bidwell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + + + + +A TRAVELER FROM ALTRURIA + +Romance + +By W. D. Howells + +Author Of “The Coast Of Bohemia”, “The Quality Of Mercy”, +“A Hazard Of New Fortunes” Etc. + +Harper & Brothers Publishers + +New York And London + +1908 + + + + +A TRAVELER FROM ALTRURIA + + + + +I + + +I confess that with all my curiosity to meet an Altrurian, I was in no +hospitable mood toward the traveler when he finally presented himself, +pursuant to the letter of advice sent me by the friend who introduced him. +It would be easy enough to take care of him in the hotel; I had merely to +engage a room for him, and have the clerk tell him his money was not good +if he tried to pay for anything. But I had swung fairly into my story; its +people were about me all the time; I dwelt amid its events and places, and +I did not see how I could welcome my guest among them, or abandon them for +him. Still, when he actually arrived, and I took his hand as he stepped +from the train, I found it less difficult to say that I was glad to see +him than I expected. In fact, I was glad, for I could not look upon his +face without feeling a glow of kindness for him. I had not the least +trouble in identifying him, for he was so unlike all the Americans who +dismounted from the train with him, and who all looked hot, worried, and +anxious. He was a man no longer young, but in what we call the heyday of +life, when our own people are so absorbed in making provision for the +future that they may be said not to live in the present at all. This +Altrurian’s whole countenance, and especially his quiet, gentle eyes, +expressed a vast contemporaneity, with bounds of leisure removed to the +end of time; or, at least, this was the effect of something in them which +I am obliged to report in rather fantastic terms. He was above the middle +height, and he carried himself vigorously. His face was sunburned, or +sea-burned, where it was not bearded; and, although I knew from my +friend’s letter that he was a man of learning and distinction in his own +country, I should never have supposed him a person of scholarly life, he +was so far from sicklied over with anything like the pale cast of thought. +When he took the hand I offered him in my half-hearted welcome he gave it +a grasp that decided me to confine our daily greetings to something much +less muscular. + +“Let me have your bag,” I said, as we do when we meet people at the train, +and he instantly bestowed a rather heavy valise upon me, with a smile in +his benignant eyes, as if it had been the greatest favor. “Have you got +any checks?” I asked. + +“Yes,” he said, in very good English, but with an accent new to me, “I +bought two.” He gave them to me, and I passed them to our hotel porter, +who was waiting there with the baggage-cart. Then I proposed that we +should walk across the meadow to the house, which is a quarter of a mile +or so from the station. We started, but he stopped suddenly and looked +back over his shoulder. “Oh, you needn’t be troubled about your trunks,” I +said. “The porter will get them to the house all right. They’ll be in your +room by the time we get there.” + +“But he’s putting them into the wagon himself,” said the Altrurian. + +“Yes; he always does that. He’s a strong young fellow. He’ll manage it. +You needn’t--” I could not finish saying he need not mind the porter; he +was rushing back to the station, and I had the mortification of seeing him +take an end of each trunk and help the porter toss it into the wagon; some +lighter pieces he put in himself, and he did not stop till all the baggage +the train had left was disposed of. + +I stood holding his valise, unable to put it down in my embarrassment at +this eccentric performance, which had been evident not to me alone, but to +all the people who arrived by the train, and all their friends who came +from the hotel to meet them. A number of these passed me on the tally-ho +coach; and a lady, who had got her husband with her for over Sunday, and +was in very good spirits, called gayly down to me: “Your friend seems fond +of exercise!” + +“Yes,” I answered, dryly; the sparkling repartee which ought to have come +to my help failed to show up. But it was impossible to be vexed with the +Altrurian when he returned to me, unruffled by his bout with the baggage +and serenely smiling. + +“Do you know,” he said, “I fancied that good fellow was ashamed of my +helping him. I hope it didn’t seem a reflection upon him in any way before +your people? I ought to have thought of that.” + +“I guess we can make it right with him. I dare say he felt more surprised +than disgraced. But we must make haste a little now; your train was half +an hour late, and we shall not stand so good a chance for supper if we are +not there pretty promptly.” + +“No?” said the Altrurian. “Why?” + +“Well,” I said, with evasive lightness, “first come, first served, you +know. That’s human nature.” + +“Is it?” he returned, and he looked at me as one does who suspects another +of joking. + +“Well, isn’t it?” I retorted; but I hurried to add: “Besides, I want to +have time after supper to show you a bit of our landscape. I think you’ll +enjoy it.” I knew he had arrived in Boston that morning by steamer, and I +now thought it high time to ask him: “Well, what do you think of America, +anyway?” I ought really to have asked him this the moment he stepped from +the train. + +“Oh,” he said, “I’m intensely interested,” and I perceived that he spoke +with a certain reservation. “As the most advanced country of its time, +I’ve always been very curious to see it.” + +The last sentence raised my dashed spirits again, and I said, confidently: +“You must find our system of baggage-checks delightful.” I said this +because it is one of the first things we brag of to foreigners, and I had +the habit of it. “By-the-way,” I ventured to add, “I suppose you meant to +say you _brought_ two checks when I asked you for them at the train just +now? But you really said you _bought_ them.” + +“Yes,” the Altrurian replied, “I gave half a dollar apiece for them at the +station in Boston. I saw other people doing it,” he explained, noting my +surprise. “Isn’t it the custom?” + +“I’m happy to say it isn’t yet, on most of our roads. They were tipping +the baggage-man, to make sure that he checked their baggage in time and +put it on the train. I had to do that myself when I came up; otherwise it +might have got along here some time next day. But the system is perfect.” + +“The poor man looked quite worn out,” said the Altrurian, “and I am glad I +gave him something. He seemed to have several hundred pieces of baggage to +look after, and he wasn’t embarrassed like your porter by my helping him +put my trunks into the car. May I confess that the meanness of the +station, its insufficient facilities, its shabby waiting-rooms, and its +whole crowded and confused appearance gave me rather a bad impression?” + +“I know,” I had to own, “it’s shameful; but you wouldn’t have found +another station in the city so bad.” + +“Ah, then,” said the Altrurian, “I suppose this particular road is too +poor to employ more baggage-men or build new stations; they seemed rather +shabby all the way up.” + +“Well, no,” I was obliged to confess, “it’s one of the richest roads in +the country. The stock stands at about 180. But I’m really afraid we shall +be late to supper if we don’t get on,” I broke off; though I was not +altogether sorry to arrive after the porter had disposed of the baggage. I +dreaded another display of active sympathy on the part of my strange +companion; I have often felt sorry myself for the porters of hotels, but I +have never thought of offering to help them handle the heavy trunks that +they manage. + +The Altrurian was delighted with the hotel; and in fact it did look +extremely pretty, with its branching piazzas full of well-dressed people, +and its green lawns where the children were playing. I led the way to the +room which I had taken for him next my own; it was simply furnished, but +it was sweet with matting, fresh linen, and pure whitewashed walls. I +flung open the window-blinds and let him get a glimpse of the mountains +purpling under the sunset, the lake beneath, and the deeply foliaged +shores. + +“Glorious! glorious!” he sighed. + +“Yes,” I modestly assented. “We think that’s rather fine.” He stood +tranced before the window, and I thought I had better say: “Well, now I +can’t give you much time to get the dust of travel off; the dining-room +doors close at eight, and we must hurry down.” + +“I’ll be with you in a moment,” he said, pulling off his coat. + +I waited impatiently at the foot of the stairs, avoiding the question I +met on the lips and in the eyes of my acquaintance. The fame of my +friend’s behavior at the station must have spread through the whole place; +and everybody wished to know who he was. I answered simply he was a +traveler from Altruria; and in some cases I went further and explained +that the Altrurians were peculiar. + +In much less time than it seemed my friend found me; and then I had a +little compensation for my suffering in his behalf. I could see that, +whatever people said of him, they felt the same mysterious liking at +sight of him that I had felt. He had made a little change in his dress, +and I perceived that the women thought him not only good-looking but +well-dressed. They followed him with their eyes as we went into the +dining-room, and I was rather proud of being with him, as if I somehow +shared the credit of his clothes and good looks. The Altrurian himself +seemed most struck with the head-waiter, who showed us to our places, and +while we were waiting for our supper I found a chance to explain that he +was a divinity student from one of the fresh-water colleges, and was +serving here during his summer vacation. This seemed to interest my friend +so much that I went on to tell him that many of the waitresses, whom he +saw standing there subject to the order of the guests, were country +school-mistresses in the winter. + +“Ah, that is as it should be,” he said; “that is the kind of thing I +expected to meet with in America.” + +“Yes,” I responded, in my flattered national vanity, “if America means +anything at all it means the honor of work and the recognition of personal +worth everywhere. I hope you are going to make a long stay with us. We +like to have travelers visit us who can interpret the spirit of our +institutions as well as read their letter. As a rule Europeans never quite +get our point of view. Now a great many of these waitresses are ladies, in +the true sense of the word--selfrespectful, intelligent, refined, and fit +to grace--” + +I was interrupted by the noise my friend made in suddenly pushing back his +chair and getting to his feet. “What’s the matter?” I asked. “You’re not +ill, I hope?” + +But he did not hear me. He had run half down the dining-hall toward the +slender young girl who was bringing us our supper. I had ordered rather +generously, for my friend had owned to a good appetite, and I was hungry +myself with waiting for him, so that the tray the girl carried was piled +up with heavy dishes. To my dismay I saw, rather than heard at that +distance, the Altrurian enter into a polite controversy with her, and +then, as if overcoming all her scruples by sheer strength of will, possess +himself of the tray and make off with it toward our table. The poor child +followed him, blushing to her hair; the head-waiter stood looking +helplessly on; the guests, who at that late hour were fortunately few, +were simply aghast at the scandal; the Altrurian alone seemed to think +his conduct the most natural thing in the world. He put the tray on the +side-table near us, and in spite of our waitress’s protests insisted upon +arranging the little bird-bath dishes before our plates. Then at last he +sat down, and the girl, flushed and tremulous, left the room, as I could +not help suspecting, to have a good cry in the kitchen. She did not come +back, and the head-waiter, who was perhaps afraid to send another in her +place, looked after our few wants himself. He kept a sharp eye on my +friend, as if he were not quite sure he was safe, but the Altrurian +resumed the conversation with all that lightness of spirits which I +noticed in him after he helped the porter with the baggage. I did not +think it the moment to take him to task for what he had just done; I was +not even sure that it was the part of a host to do so at all, and between +the one doubt and the other I left the burden of talk to him. + +“What a charming young creature!” he began. “I never saw anything prettier +than the way she had of refusing my help, absolutely without coquetry or +affectation of any kind. She is, as you said, a perfect lady, and she +graces her work, as I am sure she would grace any exigency of life. She +quite realizes my ideal of an American girl, and I see now what the spirit +of your country must be from such an expression of it.” + +I wished to tell him that while a country school-teacher who waits at +table in a summer hotel is very much to be respected in her sphere, she is +not regarded with that high honor which some other women command among us; +but I did not find this very easy, after what I had said of our esteem for +labor; and while I was thinking how I could hedge, my friend went on. + +“I liked England greatly, and I liked the English, but I could not like +the theory of their civilization or the aristocratic structure of their +society. It seemed to me iniquitous, for we believe that inequality and +iniquity are the same in the last analysis.” + +At this I found myself able to say: “Yes, there is something terrible, +something shocking, in the frank brutality with which Englishmen affirm +the essential inequality of men. The affirmation of the essential equality +of men was the first point of departure with us when we separated from +them.” + +“I know,” said the Altrurian. “How grandly it is expressed in your +glorious Declaration!” + +“Ah, you have read our Declaration of Independence, then?” + +“Every Altrurian has read that,” answered my friend. + +“Well,” I went on smoothly, and I hoped to render what I was going to say +the means of enlightening him without offence concerning the little +mistake he had just made with the waitress, “of course we don’t take that +in its closest literality.” + +“I don’t understand you,” he said. + +“Why, you know it was rather the political than the social traditions of +England that we broke with, in the Revolution.” + +“How is that?” he returned. “Didn’t you break with monarchy and nobility, +and ranks and classes?” + +“Yes, we broke with all those things.” + +“But I found them a part of the social as well as the political structure +in England. You have no kings or nobles here. Have you any ranks or +classes?” + +“Well, not exactly in the English sense. Our ranks and classes, such as we +have, are what I may call voluntary.” + +“Oh, I understand. I suppose that from time to time certain ones among you +feel the need of serving, and ask leave of the commonwealth to subordinate +themselves to the rest of the state and perform all the lowlier offices in +it. Such persons must be held in peculiar honor. Is it something like +that?” + +“Well, no, I can’t say it’s quite like that. In fact I think I’d better +let you trust to your own observation of our life.” + +“But I’m sure,” said the Altrurian, with a simplicity so fine that it was +a long time before I could believe it quite real, “that I shall approach +it so much more intelligently with a little instruction from you. You say +that your social divisions are voluntary. But do I understand that those +who serve among you do not wish to do so?” + +“Well, I don’t suppose they would serve if they could help it,” I replied. + +“Surely,” said the Altrurian, with a look of horror, “you don’t mean that +they are slaves.” + +“Oh no! oh no!” I said; “the war put an end to that. We are all free now, +black and white.” + +“But if they do not wish to serve, and are not held in peculiar honor for +serving--” + +“I see that my word ‘voluntary’ has misled you,” I put in. “It isn’t the +word exactly. The divisions among us are rather a process of natural +selection. You will see, as you get better acquainted with the workings of +our institutions, that there are no arbitrary distinctions here but the +fitness of the work for the man and the man for the work determines the +social rank that each one holds.” + +“Ah, that is fine!” cried the Altrurian, with a glow of enthusiasm. “Then +I suppose that these intelligent young people who teach school in winter +and serve at table in the summer are in a sort of provisional state, +waiting for the process of natural selection to determine whether they +shall finally be teachers or waiters.” + +“Yes, it might be stated in some such terms,” I assented, though I was not +altogether easy in my mind. It seemed to me that I was not quite candid +with this most candid spirit. I added: “You know we are a sort of +fatalists here in America. We are great believers in the doctrine that it +will all come out right in the end.” + +“Ah, I don’t wonder at that,” said the Altrurian, “if the process of +natural selection works so perfectly among you as you say. But I am afraid +I don’t understand this matter of your domestic service yet. I believe you +said that all honest work is honored in America. Then no social slight +attaches to service, I suppose?” + +“Well, I can’t say that, exactly. The fact is, a certain social slight +does attach to service, and that is one reason why I don’t quite like to +have students wait at table. It won’t be pleasant for them to remember it +in after-life, and it won’t be pleasant for their children to remember +it.” + +“Then the slight would descend?” + +“I think it would. One wouldn’t like to think one’s father or mother had +been at service.” + +The Altrurian said nothing for a moment. Then he remarked: “So it seems +that while all honest work is honored among you, there are some kinds of +honest work that are not honored so much as others.” + +“Yes.” + +“Why?” + +“Because some occupations are more degrading than others.” + +“But why?” he persisted, as I thought, a little unreasonably. + +“Really,” I said, “I think I must leave you to imagine.” + +“I am afraid I can’t,” he said, sadly. “Then, if domestic service is +degrading in your eyes, and people are not willing servants among you, may +I ask why any are servants?” + +“It is a question of bread-and-butter. They are obliged to be.” + +“That is, they are forced to do work that is hateful and disgraceful to +them because they cannot live without?” + +“Excuse me,” I said, not at all liking this sort of pursuit, and feeling +it fair to turn even upon a guest who kept it up. “Isn’t it so with you in +Altruria?” + +“It was so once,” he admitted, “but not now. In fact, it is like a waking +dream to find one’s self in the presence of conditions here that we +outlived so long ago.” + +There was an unconscious superiority in this speech that nettled me, and +stung me to retort: “We do not expect to outlive them. We regard them as +final, and as indestructibly based in human nature itself.” + +“Ah,” said the Altrurian, with a delicate and caressing courtesy, “have I +said something offensive?” + +“Not at all,” I hastened to answer. “It is not surprising that you did not +get our point of view exactly. You will by-and-by, and then, I think, you +will see that it is the true one. We have found that the logic of our +convictions could not be applied to the problem of domestic service. It is +everywhere a very curious and perplexing problem. The simple old solution +of the problem was to own your servants; but we found that this was not +consistent with the spirit of our free institutions. As soon as it was +abandoned the anomaly began. We had outlived the primitive period when the +housekeeper worked with her domestics and they were her help, and were +called so; and we had begun to have servants to do all the household work, +and to call them so. This state of things never seemed right to some of +our purest and best people. They fancied, as you seem to have done, that +to compel people through their necessities to do your hateful drudgery, +and to wound and shame them with a name which every American instinctively +resents, was neither republican nor Christian. Some of our thinkers tried +to mend matters by making their domestics a part of their families; and in +the life of Emerson you’ll find an amusing account of his attempt to have +his servant eat at the same table with himself and his wife. It wouldn’t +work. He and his wife could stand it, but the servant couldn’t.” + +I paused, for this was where the laugh ought to have come in. The +Altrurian did not laugh, he merely asked, “Why?” + +“Well, because the servant knew, if they didn’t, that they were a whole +world apart in their traditions, and were no more fit to associate than +New-Englanders and New-Zealanders. In the mere matter of education--” + +“But I thought you said that these young girls who wait at table here were +teachers.” + +“Oh, I beg your pardon; I ought to have explained. By this time it had +become impossible, as it now is, to get American girls to take service +except on some such unusual terms as we have in a summer hotel; and the +domestics were already ignorant foreigners, fit for nothing else. In such +a place as this it isn’t so bad. It is more as if the girls worked in a +shop or a factory. They command their own time, in a measure, their hours +are tolerably fixed, and they have one another’s society. In a private +family they would be subject to order at all times, and they would have no +social life. They would be in the family, out not of it. American girls +understand this, and so they won’t go out to service in the usual way. +Even in a summer hotel the relation has its odious aspects. The system of +giving fees seems to me degrading to those who have to take them. To offer +a student or a teacher a dollar for personal service--it isn’t right, or I +can’t make it so. In fact, the whole thing is rather anomalous with us. +The best that you can say of it is that it works, and we don’t know what +else to do.” + +“But I don’t see yet,” said the Altrurian, “just why domestic service is +degrading in a country where all kinds of work are honored.” + +“Well, my dear fellow, I have done my best to explain. As I intimated +before, we distinguish; and in the different kinds of labor we distinguish +against domestic service. I dare say it is partly because of the loss of +independence which it involves. People naturally despise a dependant.” + +“Why?” asked the Altrurian, with that innocence of his which I was +beginning to find rather trying. + +“Why?” I retorted. “Because it implies weakness.” + +“And is weakness considered despicable among you?” he pursued. + +“In every community it is despised practically, if not theoretically,” I +tried to explain. “The great thing that America has done is to offer the +race an opportunity--the opportunity for any man to rise above the rest +and to take the highest place, if he is able.” I had always been proud of +this fact, and I thought I had put it very well, but the Altrurian did not +seem much impressed by it. + +He said: “I do not see how it differs from any country of the past in +that. But perhaps you mean that to rise carries with it an obligation +to those below ‘If any is first among you, let him be your servant.’ Is it +something like that?” + +“Well, it is not quite like that,” I answered, remembering how very little +our self-made men as a class had done for others. “Every one is expected +to look out for himself here. I fancy that there would be very little +rising if men were expected to rise for the sake of others, in America. +How is it with you in Altruria?” I demanded, hoping to get out of a +certain discomfort I felt in that way. “Do your risen men generally devote +themselves to the good of the community after they get to the top?” + +“There is no rising among us,” he said, with what seemed a perception of +the harsh spirit of my question; and he paused a moment before he asked in +his turn: “How do men rise among you?” + +“That would be rather a long story,” I replied. “But, putting it in the +rough, I should say that they rose by their talents, their shrewdness, +their ability to seize an advantage and turn it to their own account.” + +“And is that considered noble?” + +“It is considered smart. It is considered at the worst far better than a +dead level of equality. Are all men equal in Altruria? Are they all alike +gifted or beautiful, or short or tall?” + +“No, they are only equal in duties and in rights. But, as you said just +now, that is a very long story. Are they equal in nothing here?” + +“They are equal in opportunities.” + +“Ah!” breathed the Altrurian, “I am glad to hear that.” + +I began to feel a little uneasy, and I was not quite sure that this last +assertion of mine would hold water. Everybody but ourselves had now left +the dining-room, and I saw the head-waiter eying us impatiently. I pushed +back my chair and said: “I’m sorry to seem to hurry you, but I should like +to show you a very pretty sunset effect we have here before it is too +dark. When we get back, I want to introduce you to a few of my friends. Of +course, I needn’t tell you that there is a good deal of curiosity about +you, especially among the ladies.” + +“Yes, I found that the case in England, largely. It was the women who +cared most to meet me. I understand that in America society is managed +even more by women than it is in England.” + +“It’s entirely in their hands,” I said, with the satisfaction we all feel +in the fact. “We have no other leisure class. The richest men among us are +generally hard workers; devotion to business is the rule; but, as soon as +a man reaches the point where he can afford to pay for domestic service, +his wife and daughters expect to be released from it to the cultivation of +their minds and the enjoyment of social pleasures. It’s quite right. +That is what makes them so delightful to foreigners. You must have heard +their praises chanted in England. The English find our men rather stupid, +I believe; but they think our women are charming.” + +“Yes, I was told that the wives of their nobility were sometimes +Americans,” said the Altrurian. “The English think that you regard such +marriages as a great honor, and that they are very gratifying to your +national pride.” + +“Well, I suppose that is so in a measure,” I confessed. “I imagine that it +will not be long before the English aristocracy derives as largely from +American millionaires as from kings’ mistresses. Not,” I added, +virtuously, “that we approve of aristocracy.” + +“No, I understand that,” said the Altrurian. “I shall hope to get your +point of view in this matter more distinctly by-and-by. As yet, I’m a +little vague about it.” + +“I think I can gradually make it clear to you,” I returned. + + + + +II + +We left the hotel, and I began to walk my friend across the meadow toward +the lake. I wished him to see the reflection of the afterglow in its still +waters, with the noble lines of the mountain-range that glassed itself +there; the effect is one of the greatest charms of that lovely region, the +sojourn of the sweetest summer in the world, and I am always impatient to +show it to strangers. + +We climbed the meadow wall and passed through a stretch of woods to a path +leading down to the shore, and, as we loitered along in the tender gloom +of the forest, the music of the hermit-thrushes rang all round us like +crystal bells, like silver flutes, like the drip of fountains, like the +choiring of still-eyed cherubim. We stopped from time to time and +listened, while the shy birds sang unseen in their covert of shadows; but +we did not speak till we emerged from the trees and suddenly stood upon +the naked knoll overlooking the lake. + +Then I explained: “The woods used to come down to the shore here, and we +had their mystery and music to the water’s edge; but last winter the owner +cut the timber off. It looks rather ragged now.” I had to recognize the +fact, for I saw the Altrurian staring about him over the clearing in a +kind of horror. It was a squalid ruin, a graceless desolation, which not +even the pitying twilight could soften. The stumps showed their hideous +mutilation everywhere; the brush had been burned, and the fires had +scorched and blackened the lean soil of the hill-slope and blasted it with +sterility. A few weak saplings, withered by the flames, drooped and +straggled about; it would be a century before the forces of nature could +repair the waste. + +“You say the owner did this?” said the Altrurian. “Who is the owner?” + +“Well, it does seem too bad,” I answered, evasively. “There has been a +good deal of feeling about it. The neighbors tried to buy him off before +he began the destruction, for they knew the value of the woods as an +attraction to summer-boarders; the city cottagers, of course, wanted to +save them, and together they offered for the land pretty nearly as much as +the timber was worth. But he had got it into his head that the land here +by the lake would sell for building lots if it was cleared, and he could +make money on that as well as on the trees; and so they had to go. Of +course, one might say that he was deficient in public spirit, but I don’t +blame him, altogether.” + +“No,” the Altrurian assented, somewhat to my surprise, I confess. + +I resumed: “There was no one else to look after his interests, and it was +not only his right but his duty to get the most he could for himself and +his own, according to his best light. That is what I tell people when they +fall foul of him for his want of public spirit.” + +“The trouble seems to be, then, in the system that obliges each man to be +the guardian of his own interests. Is that what you blame?” + +“No, I consider it a very perfect system. It is based upon individuality, +and we believe that individuality is the principle that differences +civilized men from savages, from the lower animals, and makes us a nation +instead of a tribe or a herd. There isn’t one of us, no matter how much he +censured this man’s want of public spirit, but would resent the slightest +interference with his property rights. The woods were his; he had the +right to do what he pleased with his own.” + +“Do I understand you that, in America, a man may do what is wrong with his +own?” + +“He may do anything with his own.” + +“To the injury of others?” + +“Well, not in person or property. But he may hurt them in taste and +sentiment as much as he likes. Can’t a man do what he pleases with his own +in Altruria?” + +“No, he can only do right with his own.” + +“And if he tries to do wrong, or what the community thinks is wrong?” + +“Then the community takes his own from him.” Before I could think of +anything to say to this he went on: “But I wish you would explain to me +why it was left to this man’s neighbors to try and get him to sell his +portion of the landscape?” + +“Why, bless my soul!” I exclaimed, “who else was there? You wouldn’t have +expected to take up a collection among the summer-boarders?” + +“That wouldn’t have been so unreasonable; but I didn’t mean that. Was +there no provision for such an exigency in your laws? Wasn’t the state +empowered to buy him off at the full value of his timber and his land?” + +“Certainly not,” I replied. “That would be rank paternalism.” + +It began to get dark, and I suggested that we had better be going back +to the hotel. The talk seemed already to have taken us away from all +pleasure in the prospect; I said, as we found our way through the rich, +balsam-scented twilight of the woods, where one joy-haunted thrush was +still singing: “You know that in America the law is careful not to meddle +with a man’s private affairs, and we don’t attempt to legislate personal +virtue.” + +“But marriage,” he said--“surely you have the institution of marriage?” + +I was really annoyed at this. I returned, sarcastically; “Yes, I am glad +to say that there we can meet your expectation; we have marriage, not only +consecrated by the church, but established and defended by the state. +What has that to do with the question?” + +“And you consider marriage,” he pursued, “the citadel of morality, the +fountain of all that is pure and good in your private life, the source of +home and the image of heaven?” + +“There are some marriages,” I said, with a touch of our national humor, +“that do not quite fill the bill, but that is certainly our ideal of +marriage.” + +“Then why do you say that you have not legislated personal virtue in +America?” he asked. “You have laws, I believe, against theft and murder, +and slander and incest, and perjury and drunkenness?” + +“Why, certainly.” + +“Then it appears to me that you have legislated honesty, regard for human +life, regard for character, abhorrence of unnatural vice, good faith, and +sobriety. I was told on the train coming up, by a gentleman who was +shocked at the sight of a man beating his horse, that you even had laws +against cruelty to animals.” + +“Yes, and I am happy to say that they are enforced to such a degree that a +man cannot kill a cat cruelly without being punished for it.” The +Altrurian did not follow up his advantage, and I resolved not to be +outdone in magnanimity. “Come, I will own that you have the best of me on +those points. I must say you’ve trapped me very neatly, too; I can enjoy a +thing of that kind when it’s well done, and I frankly knock under. But I +had in mind something altogether different when I spoke. I was thinking of +those idealists who want to bind us hand and foot and render us the slaves +of a state where the most intimate relations of life shall be penetrated +by legislation and the very hearthstone shall be a tablet of laws.” + +“Isn’t marriage a rather intimate relation of life?” asked the Altrurian. +“And I understood that gentleman on the train to say that you had laws +against cruelty to children, and societies established to see them +enforced. You don’t consider such laws an invasion of the home, do you, or +a violation of its immunities? I imagine,” he went on, “that the +difference between your civilization and ours is only one of degree, after +all, and that America and Altruria are really one at heart.” + +I thought his compliment a bit hyperbolical, but I saw that it was +honestly meant, and as we Americans are first of all patriots, and vain +for our country before we are vain for ourselves, I was not proof against +the flattery it conveyed to me civically if not personally. + +We were now drawing near the hotel, and I felt a certain glow of pleasure +in its gay effect on the pretty knoll where it stood. In its artless and +accidental architecture it was not unlike one of our immense coastwise +steamboats. The twilight had thickened to dusk, and the edifice was +brilliantly lighted with electrics, story above story, which streamed into +the gloom around like the lights of saloon and state-room. The corner of +wood making into the meadow hid the station; there was no other building +in sight; the hotel seemed riding at anchor on the swell of a placid sea. +I was going to call the Altrurian’s attention to this fanciful resemblance +when I remembered that he had not been in our country long enough to have +seen a Fall River boat, and I made toward the house without wasting the +comparison upon him. But I treasured it up in my own mind, intending some +day to make a literary use of it. + +The guests were sitting in friendly groups about the piazzas or in rows +against the walls, the ladies with their gossip and the gentlemen with +their cigars. The night had fallen cool after a hot day, and they all had +the effect of having cast off care with the burden of the week that was +past, and to be steeping themselves in the innocent and simple enjoyment +of the hour. They were mostly middle-aged married folk, but some were old +enough to have sons and daughters among the young people who went and came +in a long, wandering promenade of the piazzas, or wove themselves through +the waltz past the open windows of the great parlor; the music seemed one +with the light that streamed far out on the lawn flanking the piazzas. +Every one was well-dressed and comfortable and at peace, and I felt that +our hotel was in some sort a microcosm of the republic. + +We involuntarily paused, and I heard the Altrurian murmur: “Charming, +charming! This is really delightful!” + +“Yes, isn’t it?” I returned, with a glow of pride. “Our hotel here is a +type of the summer hotel everywhere; it’s characteristic in not having +anything characteristic about it; and I rather like the notion of the +people in it being so much like the people in all the others that you +would feel yourself at home wherever you met such a company in such a +house. All over the country, north and south, wherever you find a group of +hills or a pleasant bit of water or a stretch of coast, you’ll find some +such refuge as this for our weary toilers. We began to discover some time +ago that it would not do to cut open the goose that laid our golden eggs, +even if it looked like an eagle, and kept on perching on our banners just +as if nothing had happened. We discovered that, if we continued to kill +ourselves with hard work, there would be no Americans pretty soon.” + +The Altrurian laughed. “How delightfully you put it! How quaint! How +picturesque! Excuse me, but I can’t help expressing my pleasure in it. Our +own humor is so very different.” + +“Ah,” I said; “what is your humor like?” + +“I could hardly tell you, I’m afraid; I’ve never been much of a humorist +myself.” + +Again a cold doubt of something ironical in the man went through me, but I +had no means of verifying it, and so I simply remained silent, waiting for +him to prompt me if he wished to know anything further about our national +transformation from bees perpetually busy into butterflies occasionally +idle. “And when you had made that discovery?” he suggested. + +“Why, we’re nothing if not practical, you know, and as soon as we made +that discovery we stopped killing ourselves and invented the summer +resort. There are very few of our business or professional men now who +don’t take their four or five weeks’ vacation. Their wives go off early in +the summer, and, if they go to some resort within three or four hours of +the city, the men leave town Saturday afternoon and run out, or come up, +and spend Sunday with their families. For thirty-eight hours or so a hotel +like this is a nest of happy homes.” + +“That is admirable,” said the Altrurian. “You are truly a practical +people. The ladies come early in the summer, you say?” + +“Yes, sometimes in the beginning of June.” + +“What do they come for?” asked the Altrurian. + +“What for? Why, for rest!” I retorted, with some little temper. + +“But I thought you told me awhile ago that as soon as a husband could +afford it he relieved his wife and daughters from all household work.” + +“So he does.” + +“Then what do the ladies wish to rest from?” + +“From care. It is not work alone that kills. They are not relieved from +household care even when they are relieved from household work. There is +nothing so killing as household care. Besides, the sex seems to be born +tired. To be sure, there are some observers of our life who contend that +with the advance of athletics among our ladies, with boating and bathing, +and lawn-tennis and mountain-climbing and freedom from care, and these +long summers of repose, our women are likely to become as superior to the +men physically as they now are intellectually. It is all right. We should +like to see it happen. It would be part of the national joke.” + +“Oh, have you a national joke?” asked the Altrurian. “But, of course! You +have so much humor. I wish you could give me some notion of it.” + +“Well, it is rather damaging to any joke to explain it,” I replied, “and +your only hope of getting at ours is to live into it. One feature of it is +the confusion of foreigners at the sight of our men’s willingness to +subordinate themselves to our women.” + +“Oh, I don’t find that very bewildering,” said the Altrurian. “It seems to +me a generous and manly trait of the American character. I’m proud to say +that it is one of the points at which your civilization and our own touch. +There can be no doubt that the influence of women in your public affairs +must be of the greatest advantage to you; it has been so with us.” + +I turned and stared at him, but he remained insensible to my astonishment, +perhaps because it was now too dark for him to see it. “Our women have no +influence in public affairs,” I said, quietly, after a moment. + +“They haven’t? Is it possible? But didn’t I understand you to imply just +now that your women were better educated than your men?” + +“Well, I suppose that, taking all sorts and conditions among us, the women +are as a rule better schooled, if not better educated.” + +“Then, apart from the schooling, they are not more cultivated?” + +“In a sense you might say they were. They certainly go in for a lot of +things: art and music, and Browning and the drama, and foreign travel and +psychology, and political economy and Heaven knows what all. They have +more leisure for it; they have all the leisure there is, in fact; our +young men have to go into business. I suppose you may say our women are +more cultivated than our men; yes, I think there’s no questioning that. +They are the great readers among us. We poor devils of authors would be +badly off if it were not for our women. In fact, no author could make a +reputation among us without them. American literature exists because +American women appreciate it and love it.” + +“But surely your men read books?” + +“Some of them; not many, comparatively. You will often hear a complacent +ass of a husband and father say to an author: ‘My wife and daughters know +your books, but I can’t find time for anything but the papers nowadays. I +skim them over at breakfast, or when I’m going in to business on the +train.’ He isn’t the least ashamed to say that he reads nothing but the +newspapers.” + +“Then you think that it would be better for him to read books?” + +“Well, in the presence of four or five thousand journalists with drawn +scalping-knives I should not like to say so. Besides, modesty forbids.” + +“No, but, really,” the Altrurian persisted, “you think that the literature +of a book is more carefully pondered than the literature of a daily +newspaper?” + +“I suppose even the four or five thousand journalists with drawn +scalping-knives would hardly deny that.” + +“And it stands to reason, doesn’t it, that the habitual reader of +carefully pondered literature ought to be more thoughtful than the readers +of literature which is not carefully pondered and which they merely skim +over on their way to business?” + +“I believe we began by assuming the superior culture of our women, didn’t +we? You’ll hardly find an American that isn’t proud of it.” + +“Then,” said the Altrurian, “if your women are generally better schooled +than your men, and more cultivated and more thoughtful, and are relieved +of household work in such great measure, and even of domestic cares, why +have they no part in your public affairs?” + +I laughed, for I thought I had my friend at last. “For the best of all +possible reasons: they don’t want it.” + +“Ah, that’s no reason,” he returned. “Why don’t they want it?” + +“Really,” I said, out of all patience, “I think I must let you ask the +ladies themselves,” and I turned and moved again toward the hotel, but the +Altrurian gently detained me. + +“Excuse me,” he began. + +“No, no,” I said. + “‘The feast is set, the guests are met, + May’st hear the merry din.’ +Come in and see the young people dance.” + +“Wait,” he entreated; “tell me a little more about the old people first. +This digression about the ladies has been very interesting, but I thought +you were going to speak of the men here. Who are they, or, rather, what +are they?” + +“Why, as I said before, they are all business men and professional men; +people who spend their lives in studies and counting-rooms and offices, +and have come up here for a few weeks or a few days of well-earned repose. +They are of all kinds of occupations: they are lawyers and doctors, and +clergymen and merchants, and brokers and bankers. There’s hardly any +calling you Won’t find represented among them. As I was thinking +just now, our hotel is a sort of microcosm of the American republic.” + +“I am most fortunate in finding you here, where I can avail myself of your +intelligence in making my observations of your life under such +advantageous circumstances. It seems to me that with your help I might +penetrate the fact of American life, possess myself of the mystery of your +national joke, without stirring beyond the piazza of your hospitable +hotel,” said my friend. I doubted it, but one does not lightly put aside a +compliment like that to one’s intelligence, and I said I should be very +happy to be of use to him. He thanked me, and said: “Then, to begin with, +I understand that these gentlemen are here because they are all +overworked.” + +“Of course. You can have no conception of how hard our business men and +our professional men work. I suppose there is nothing like it anywhere +else in the world. But, as I said before, we are beginning to find that we +cannot burn the candle at both ends and have it last long. So we put one +end out for a little while every summer. Still, there are frightful wrecks +of men strewn all along the course of our prosperity, wrecks of mind and +body. Our insane asylums are full of madmen who have broken under the +tremendous strain, and every country in Europe abounds in our dyspeptics.” + I was rather proud of this terrible fact; there is no doubt but we +Americans are proud of overworking ourselves; Heaven knows why. + +The Altrurian murmured: “Awful! Shocking!” But I thought somehow he had +not really followed me very attentively in my celebration of our national +violation of the laws of life and its consequences. “I am glad,” he went +on, “that your business men and professional men are beginning to realize +the folly and wickedness of overwork. Shall I find some of your other +weary workers here, too?” + +“What other weary workers?” I asked in turn, for I imagined I had gone +over pretty much the whole list. + +“Why,” said the Altrurian, “your mechanics and day laborers, your +iron-moulders and glass-blowers, your miners and farmers, your printers +and mill-operatives, your trainmen and quarry-hands. Or do they prefer to +go to resorts of their own?” + + + + +III + +It was not easy to make sure of such innocence as prompted this inquiry of +my Altrurian friend. The doubt whether he could really be in earnest was +something that I had already felt; and it was destined to beset me, as it +did now, again and again. My first thought was that, of course, he was +trying a bit of cheap irony on me, a mixture of the feeble sarcasm and +false sentiment that makes us smile when we find it in the philippics of +the industrial agitators. For a moment I did not know but I had fallen +victim to a walking delegate on his vacation, who was employing his summer +leisure in going about the country in the guise of a traveler from +Altruria, and foisting himself upon people who would have had nothing to +do with him in his real character. But in another moment I perceived that +this was impossible. I could not suppose that the friend who had +introduced him to me would be capable of seconding so poor a joke, and, +besides, I could not imagine why a walking delegate should wish to address +his clumsy satire to me particularly. For the present, at least, there was +nothing for it but to deal with this inquiry as if it were made in good +faith and in the pursuit of useful information. It struck me as grotesque; +but it would not have been decent to treat it as if it were so. I was +obliged to regard it seriously, and so I decided to shirk it. + +“Well,” I said, “that opens up rather a large field, which lies somewhat +outside of the province of my own activities. You know, I am a writer of +romantic fiction, and my time is so fully occupied in manipulating the +destinies of the good old-fashioned hero and heroine, and trying always to +make them end in a happy marriage, that I have hardly had a chance to look +much into the lives of agriculturists or artisans; and, to tell you the +truth, I don’t know what they do with their leisure. I’m pretty certain, +though, you won’t meet any of them in this hotel; they couldn’t afford it, +and I fancy they would find themselves out of their element among our +guests. We respect them thoroughly; every American does, and we know that +the prosperity of the country rests with them; we have a theory that they +are politically sovereign, but we see very little of them, and we don’t +associate with them. In fact, our cultivated people have so little +interest in them socially that they don’t like to meet them, even in +fiction; they prefer refined and polished ladies and gentlemen, whom they +can have some sympathy with; and I always go to the upper classes for my +types. It won’t do to suppose, though, that we are indifferent to the +working classes in their place. Their condition is being studied a good +deal just now, and there are several persons here who will be able to +satisfy your curiosity on the points you have made, I think. I will +introduce you to them.” + +The Altrurian did not try to detain me this time. He said he should be +very glad indeed to meet my friends, and I led the way toward a little +group at the corner of the piazza. They were men whom I particularly +liked, for one reason or another; they were intelligent and open-minded, +and they were thoroughly American. One was a banker; another was a +minister; there was a lawyer, and there was a doctor; there was a +professor of political economy in one of our colleges; and there was a +retired manufacturer--I do not know what he used to manufacture: cotton or +iron, or something like that. They all rose politely as I came up with my +Altrurian, and I fancied in them a sensation of expectancy created by the +rumor of his eccentric behavior which must have spread through the hotel. +But they controlled this if they had it, and I could see, as the light +fell upon his face from a spray of electrics on the nearest pillar, that +sort of liking kindle in theirs which I had felt myself at first sight of +him. + +I said, “Gentlemen, I wish to introduce my friend, Mr. Homos,” and then I +presented them severally to him by name. We all sat down, and I explained: +“Mr. Homos is from Altruria. He is visiting our country for the first +time, and is greatly interested in the working of our institutions. He has +been asking me some rather hard questions about certain phases of our +civilization; and the fact is that I have launched him upon you because I +don’t feel quite able to cope with him.” + +They all laughed civilly at this sally of mine, but the professor asked, +with a sarcasm that I thought I hardly merited, “What point in our polity +can be obscure to the author of ‘Glove and Gauntlet’ and ‘Airs and +Graces’?” + +They all laughed again, not so civilly, I felt, and then the banker asked +my friend: “Is it long since you left Altruria?” + +“It seems a great while ago,” the Altrurian answered, “but it is really +only a few weeks.” + +“You came by way of England, I suppose?” + +“Yes; there is no direct line to America,” said the Altrurian. + +“That seems rather odd,” I ventured, with some patriotic grudge. + +“Oh, the English have direct lines everywhere,” the banker instructed me. + +“The tariff has killed our shipbuilding,” said the professor. No one took +up this firebrand, and the professor added: “Your name is Greek, isn’t it, +Mr. Homos?” + +“Yes; we are of one of the early Hellenic families,” said the Altrurian. + +“And do you think,” asked the lawyer, who, like most lawyers, was a lover +of romance, and was well read in legendary lore especially, “that there is +any reason for supposing that Altruria is identical with the fabled +Atlantis’?” + +“No, I can’t say that I do. We have no traditions of a submergence of the +continent, and there are only the usual evidences of a glacial epoch which +you find everywhere to support such a theory. Besides, our civilization is +strictly Christian, and dates back to no earlier period than that of the +first Christian commune after Christ. It is a matter of history with us +that one of these communists, when they were dispersed, brought the Gospel +to our continent; he was cast away on our eastern coast on his way to +Britain.” + +“Yes, we know that,” the minister intervened, “but it is perfectly +astonishing that an island so large as Altruria should have been lost to +the knowledge of the rest of the world ever since the beginning of our +era. You would hardly think that there was a space of the ocean’s surface +a mile square which had not been traversed by a thousand keels since +Columbus sailed westward.” + +“No, you wouldn’t. And I wish,” the doctor suggested in his turn, “that +Mr. Homos would tell us something about his country, instead of asking us +about ours.” + +“Yes,” I coincided, “I’m sure we should all find it a good deal easier. At +least I should; but I brought our friend up in the hope that the professor +would like nothing better than to train a battery of hard facts upon a +defenceless stranger.” Since the professor had given me that little stab, +I was rather anxious to see how he would handle the desire for information +in the Altrurian which I had found so prickly. + +This turned the laugh on the professor, and he pretended to be as curious +about Altruria as the rest, and said he would rather hear of it. But the +Altrurian said: “I hope you will excuse me. Sometime I shall be glad to +talk of Altruria as long as you like; or, if you will come to us, I shall +be still happier to show you many things that I couldn’t make you +understand at a distance. But I am in America to learn, not to teach, and +I hope you will have patience with my ignorance. I begin to be afraid that +it is so great as to seem a little incredible. I have fancied in my friend +here,” he went on, with a smile toward me, “a suspicion that I was not +entirely single in some of the inquiries I have made, but that I had some +ulterior motive, some wish to censure or satirize.” + +“Oh, not at all,” I protested, for it was not polite to admit a conjecture +so accurate. “We are so well satisfied with our condition that we have +nothing but pity for the darkened mind of the foreigner, though we believe +in it fully: we are used to the English tourist.” + +My friends laughed, and the Altrurian continued: “I am very glad to hear +it, for I feel myself at a peculiar disadvantage among you. I am not only +a foreigner, but I am so alien to you in all the traditions and habitudes +that I find it very difficult to get upon common ground with you. Of +course, I know theoretically what you are, but to realize it practically +is another thing. I had read so much about America and understood so +little that I could not rest without coming to see for myself. Some of the +apparent contradictions were so colossal--” + +“We have everything on a large scale here,” said the banker, breaking off +the ash of his cigar with the end of his little finger, “and we rather +pride ourselves on the size of our inconsistencies, even. I know something +of the state of things in Altruria, and, to be frank with you, I will say +that it seems to me preposterous. I should say it was impossible, if it +were not an accomplished fact; but I always feel bound to recognize the +thing done. You have hitched your wagon to a star, and you have made the +star go; there is never any trouble with wagons, but stars are not easily +broken to harness, and you have managed to get yours well in hand. As I +said, I don’t believe in you, but I respect you.” I thought this charming, +myself; perhaps because it stated my own mind about Altruria so exactly +and in terms so just and generous. + +“Pretty good,” said the doctor, in a murmur of satisfaction, at my ear, +“for a bloated bond-holder.” + +“Yes,” I whispered back, “I wish I had said it. What an American way of +putting it! Emerson would have liked it himself. After all, he was our +prophet.” + +“He must have thought so from the way we kept stoning him,” said the +doctor, with a soft laugh. + +“Which of our contradictions,” asked the banker, in the same tone of +gentle bonhomie, “has given you and our friend pause just now?” + +The Altrurian answered, after a moment: “I am not sure that it is a +contradiction, for as yet I have not ascertained the facts I was seeking. +Our friend was telling me of the great change that had taken place +in regard to work, and the increased leisure that your professional people +are now allowing themselves; and I was asking him where your working-men +spent their leisure.” + +He went over the list of those he had specified, and I hung my head in +shame and pity; it really had such an effect of mawkish sentimentality. +But my friends received it in the best possible way. They did not laugh; +they heard him out, and then they quietly deferred to the banker, who made +answer for us all: + +“Well, I can be almost as brief as the historian of Iceland in his chapter +on snakes: those people have no leisure to spend.” + +“Except when they go out on a strike,” said the manufacturer, with a +certain grim humor of his own; I never heard anything more dramatic than +the account he once gave of the way he broke up a labor union. “I have +seen a good many of them at leisure then.” + +“Yes,” the doctor chimed in, “and in my younger days, when I necessarily +had a good deal of charity practice, I used to find them at leisure when +they were ‘laid off.’ It always struck me as such a pretty euphemism. It +seemed to minify the harm of the thing so. It seemed to take all the +hunger and cold and sickness out of the fact. To be simply ‘laid off’ was +so different from losing your work and having to face beggary or +starvation.” + +“Those people,” said the professor, “never put anything by. They are +wasteful and improvident, almost to a man; and they learn nothing by +experience, though they know as well as we do that it is simply a question +of demand and supply, and that the day of overproduction is sure to come, +when their work must stop unless the men that give them work are willing +to lose money.” + +“And I’ve seen them lose it, sometimes, rather than shut down,” the +manufacturer remarked; “lose it hand over hand, to keep the men at work; +and then as soon as the tide turned the men would strike for higher wages. +You have no idea of the ingratitude of those people.” He said this toward +the minister, as if he did not wish to be thought hard; and, in fact, he +was a very kindly man. + +“Yes,” replied the minister, “that is one of the most sinister features of +the situation. They seem really to regard their employers as their +enemies. I don’t know how it will end.” + +“I know how it would end if I had my way,” said the professor. “There +wouldn’t be any labor unions, and there wouldn’t be any strikes.” + +“That is all very well,” said the lawyer, from that judicial mind which I +always liked in him, “as far as the strikes are concerned, but I don’t +understand that the abolition of the unions would affect the impersonal +process of ‘laying off.’ The law of demand and supply I respect as much as +any one--it’s something like the constitution; but, all the same, I should +object extremely to have my income stopped by it every now and then. I’m +probably not so wasteful as a working-man generally is; still, I haven’t +laid by enough to make it a matter of indifference to me whether my income +went on or not. Perhaps the professor has.” The professor did not say, and +we all took leave to laugh. The lawyer concluded: “I don’t see how those +fellows stand it.” + +“They don’t, all of them,” said the doctor. “Or their wives and children +don’t. Some of them die.” + +“I wonder,” the lawyer pursued, “what has become of the good old American +fact that there is always work for those who are willing to work? I notice +that wherever five thousand men strike in the forenoon, there are five +thousand men to take their places in the afternoon--and not men who are +turning their hands to something new, but men who are used to doing the +very thing the strikers have done.” + +“That is one of the things that teach the futility of strikes,” the +professor made haste to interpose, as if he had not quite liked to appear +averse to the interests of the workman; no one likes to do that. “If there +were anything at all to be hoped from them, it would be another matter.” + +“Yes, but that isn’t the point, quite,” said the lawyer. + +“By-the-way, what is the point?” I asked, with my humorous lightness. + +“Why, I supposed,” said the banker, “it was the question how the working +classes amused their elegant leisure. But it seems to be almost anything +else.” + +We all applauded the neat touch, but the Altrurian eagerly entreated: +“No, no; never mind that now. That is a matter of comparatively little +interest. I would so much rather know something about the status of the +working-man among you.” + +“Do you mean his political status? It’s that of every other citizen.” + +“I don’t mean that. I suppose that in America you have learned, as we have +in Altruria, that equal political rights are only means to an end, and as +an end have no value or reality. I meant the economic status of the +working-man, and his social status.” + +I do not know why we were so long girding up our loins to meet this simple +question. I myself could not have hopefully undertaken to answer it; but +the others were each in their way men of affairs, and practically +acquainted with the facts, except perhaps the professor; but he had +devoted a great deal of thought to them, and ought to have been qualified +to make some sort of response. But even he was silent; and I had a vague +feeling that they were all somehow reluctant to formulate their knowledge, +as if it were uncomfortable or discreditable. The banker continued to +smoke quietly on for a moment; then he suddenly threw his cigar away. + +“I like to free my mind of cant,” he said, with a short laugh, “when I can +afford it, and I propose to cast all sorts of American cant out of it in +answering your question. The economic status of the working-man among us +is essentially the same as that of the working-man all over the civilized +world. You will find plenty of people here, especially about election +time, to tell you differently, but they will not be telling you the truth, +though a great many of them think they are. In fact, I suppose most +Americans honestly believe because we have a republican form of +government, and manhood suffrage, and so on, that our economic conditions +are peculiar, and that our working-man has a status higher and better than +that of the working-man anywhere else. But he has nothing of the kind. His +circumstances are better, and provisionally his wages are higher, but it +is only a question of years or decades when his circumstances will be the +same and his wages the same as the European working-man’s. There is +nothing in our conditions to prevent this.” + +“Yes, I understood from our friend here,” said the Altrurian, nodding +toward me, “that you had broken only with the political tradition of +Europe in your Revolution; and he has explained to me that you do not hold +all kinds of labor in equal esteem; but--” + +“What kind of labor did he say we did hold in esteem?” asked the banker. + +“Why, I understood him to say that if America meant anything at all it +meant the honor of work, but that you distinguished and did not honor some +kinds of work so much as others; for instance, domestic service, or +personal attendance of any kind.” + +The banker laughed again. “Oh, he drew the line there, did he? Well, we +all have to draw the line somewhere. Our friend is a novelist, and I will +tell you in strict confidence that the line he has drawn is imaginary. We +don’t honor any kind of work any more than any other people. If a fellow +gets up, the papers make a great ado over his having been a woodchopper or +a bobbin-boy, or something of that kind, but I doubt if the fellow himself +likes it; he doesn’t if he’s got any sense. The rest of us feel that it’s +_infra dig._, and hope nobody will find out that we ever worked with our +hands for a living. I’ll go further,” said the banker, with the effect of +whistling prudence down the wind, “and I will challenge any of you to +gainsay me from his own experience or observation. How does esteem usually +express itself? When we wish, to honor a man, what do we do?” + +“Ask him to dinner,” said the lawyer. + +“Exactly. We offer him some sort of social recognition. Well, as soon as a +fellow gets up, if he gets up high enough, we offer him some sort of +social recognition; in fact, all sorts; but upon condition that he has +left off working with his hands for a living. We forgive all you please to +his past on account of the present. But there isn’t a working-man, I +venture to say, in any city or town, or even large village, in the whole +length and breadth of the United States who has any social recognition, if +he is still working at his trade. I don’t mean, merely, that he is +excluded from rich and fashionable society, but from the society of the +average educated and cultivated people. I’m not saying he is fit for it; +but I don’t care how intelligent and agreeable he might be--and some of +them are astonishingly intelligent, and so agreeable in their tone of mind +and their original way of looking at things that I like nothing better +than to talk with them--all of our invisible fences are up against him.” + +The minister said: “I wonder if that sort of exclusiveness is quite +natural? Children seem to feel no sort of social difference among +themselves.” + +“We can hardly go to children for a type of social order,” the professor +suggested. + +“True,” the minister meekly admitted. “But somehow there is a protest in +us somewhere against these arbitrary distinctions--something that +questions whether they are altogether right. We know that they must be, +and always have been, and always will be, and yet--well, I will confess +it--I never feel at peace when I face them.” + +“Oh,” said the banker, “if you come to the question of right and wrong, +that is another matter. I don’t say it’s right. I’m not discussing that +question; though I’m certainly not proposing to level the fences; I should +be the last to take my own down. I say simply that you are no more likely +to meet a working-man in American society than you are to meet a colored +man. Now you can judge,” he ended, turning directly to the Altrurian, “how +much we honor labor. And I hope I have indirectly satisfied your curiosity +as to the social status of the working-man among us.” + +We were all silent. + +Perhaps the others were occupied like myself in trying to recall some +instance of a working-man whom they had met in society, and perhaps we +said nothing because we all failed. + +The Altrurian spoke at last. + +“You have been so very full and explicit that I feel as if it were almost +unseemly to press any further inquiry; but I should very much like to know +how your working-men bear this social exclusion.” + +“I’m sure I can’t say,” returned the banker. “A man does not care much to +get into society until he has something to eat, and how to get that is +always the first question with the working-man.” + +“But you wouldn’t like it yourself?” + +“No, certainly, I shouldn’t like it myself. I shouldn’t complain of not +being asked to people’s houses, and the working-men don’t; you can’t do +that; but I should feel it an incalculable loss. We may laugh at the +emptiness of society, or pretend to be sick of it, but there is no doubt +that society is the flower of civilization, and to be shut out from it is +to be denied the best privilege of a civilized man. There are society +women--we have all met them--whose graciousness and refinement of presence +are something of incomparable value; it is more than a liberal education +to have been admitted to it, but it is as inaccessible to the working-man +as--what shall I say? The thing is too grotesquely impossible for any sort +of comparison. Merely to conceive of its possibility is something that +passes a joke; it is a kind of offence.” + +Again we were silent. + +“I don’t know,” the banker continued, “how the notion of our social +equality originated, but I think it has been fostered mainly by the +expectation of foreigners, who argued it from our political equality. +As a matter of fact, it never existed, except in our poorest and most +primitive communities, in the pioneer days of the West and among the +gold-hunters of California. It was not dreamed of in our colonial society, +either in Virginia or Pennsylvania or New York or Massachusetts; and the +fathers of the republic, who were mostly slave-holders, were practically +as stiff-necked aristocrats as any people of their day. We have not a +political aristocracy, that is all; but there is as absolute a division +between the orders of men and as little love, in this country as in any +country on the globe. The severance of the man who works for his living +with his hands from the man who does not work for his living with his +hands is so complete, and apparently so final, that nobody even imagines +anything else, not even in fiction. Or, how is that?” he asked, turning to +me. “Do you fellows still put the intelligent, high-spirited, handsome +young artisan, who wins the millionaire’s daughter, into your books? I +used sometimes to find him there.” + +“You might still find him in the fiction of the weekly story-papers; but,” + I was obliged to own, “he would not go down with my readers. Even in the +story-paper fiction he would leave off working as soon as he married the +millionaire’s daughter, and go to Europe, or he would stay here and become +a social leader, but he would not receive working-men in his gilded +halls.” + +The others rewarded my humor with a smile, but the banker said: “Then I +wonder you were not ashamed of filling our friend up with that stuff about +our honoring some kinds of labor. It is true that we don’t go about openly +and explicitly despising any kind of honest toil--people don’t do that +anywhere now; but we contemn it in terms quite as unmistakable. The +working-man acquiesces as completely as anybody else. He does not remain a +working-man a moment longer that he can help; and after he gets up, if he +is weak enough to be proud of having been one, it is because he feels that +his low origin is a proof of his prowess in rising to the top against +unusual odds. I don’t suppose there is a man in the whole civilized +world--outside of Altruria, of course---who is proud of working at a +trade, except the shoemaker Tolstoy, and is a count, and he does not make +very good shoes.” + +We all laughed again: those shoes of Count Tolstoy’s are always such an +infallible joke. + +The Altrurian, however, was cocked and primed with another question; he +instantly exploded it: “But are all the working-men in America eager to +rise above their condition? Is there none willing to remain among the mass +because the rest could not rise with him, and from the hope of yet +bringing labor to honor?” + +The banker answered: “I never heard of any. No, the American ideal is not +to change the conditions for all, but for each to rise above the rest if +he can.” + +“Do you think it is really so bad as that?” asked the minister, timidly. + +The banker answered: “Bad? Do you call that bad? I thought it was very +good. But, good or bad, I don’t think you’ll find it deniable, if you +look into the facts. There may be working-men willing to remain so for +other working-men’s sake, but I have never met any--perhaps because the +working-man never goes into society.” + +The unfailing question of the Altrurian broke the silence which ensued: +“Are there many of your working-men who are intelligent and agreeable--of +the type you mentioned a moment since?” + +“Perhaps,” said the banker, “I had better refer you to one of our friends +here, who has had a great deal more to do with them than I have. He is a +manufacturer, and he has had to do with all kinds of work-people.” + +“Yes, for my sins,” the manufacturer assented; and he added: “They are +often confoundedly intelligent, though I haven’t often found them very +agreeable, either in their tone of mind or their original way of looking +at things.” + +The banker amiably acknowledged his thrust, and the Altrurian asked: “Ah, +they are opposed to your own?” + +“Well, we have the same trouble here that you must have heard of in +England. As you know now that the conditions are the same here, you won’t +be surprised at the fact.” + +“But the conditions,” the Altrurian pursued--“do you expect them always to +continue the same?” + +“Well, I don’t know,” said the manufacturer. “We can’t expect them to +change of themselves, and I shouldn’t know how to change them. It was +expected that the rise of the trusts and the syndicates would break the +unions, but somehow they haven’t. The situation remains the same. The +unions are not cutting one another’s throats now any more than we are. The +war is on a larger scale--that’s all.” + +“Then let me see,” said the Altrurian, “whether I clearly understand the +situation as regards the working-man in America. He is dependent upon the +employer for his chance to earn a living, and he is never sure of this. He +may be thrown out of work by his employer’s disfavor or disaster, and his +willingness to work goes for nothing; there is no public provision of work +for him; there is nothing to keep him from want nor the prospect of +anything.” + +“We are all in the same boat,” said the professor. + +“But some of us have provisioned ourselves rather better and can generally +weather it through till we are picked up,” the lawyer put in. + +“I am always saying the working-man is improvident,” returned the +professor. + +“There are the charities,” the minister suggested. + +“But his economical status,” the Altrurian pursued, “is in a state of +perpetual uncertainty, and to save himself in some measure he has +organized, and so has constituted himself a danger to the public peace?” + +“A very great danger,” said the professor. + +“I guess we can manage him,” the manufacturer remarked. + +“And socially he is non-existent?” + +The Altrurian turned with this question to the banker, who said: “He is +certainly not in society.” + +“Then,” said my guest, “if the working-man’s wages are provisionally so +much better here than in Europe, why should they be discontented? What is +the real cause of their discontent?” + +I have always been suspicious, in the company of practical men, of an +atmosphere of condescension to men of my calling, if nothing worse. I +fancy they commonly regard artists of all kinds as a sort of harmless +eccentrics, and that literary people they look upon as something droll, as +weak and soft, as not quite right. I believed that this particular group, +indeed, was rather abler to conceive of me as a rational person than most +others, but I knew that if even they had expected me to be as reasonable +as themselves they would not have been greatly disappointed if I were not; +and it seemed to me that I had put myself wrong with them in imparting to +the Altrurian that romantic impression that we hold labor in honor here. I +had really thought so, but I could not say so now, and I wished to +retrieve myself somehow. I wished to show that I was a practical man, too, +and so I made answer: “What is the cause of the working-man’s discontent? +It is very simple: the walking delegate.” + + + + +IV + +I suppose I could not have fairly claimed any great originality for my +notion that the walking delegate was the cause of the labor troubles: he +is regularly assigned as the reason of a strike in the newspapers, and is +reprobated for his evil agency by the editors, who do not fail to read the +working-men many solemn lessons and fervently warn them against him, as +soon as the strike begins to go wrong--as it nearly always does. I +understand from them that the walking delegate is an irresponsible tyrant, +who emerges from the mystery that habitually hides him and from time to +time orders a strike in mere rancor of spirit and plenitude of power, and +then leaves the working-men and their families to suffer the consequences, +while he goes off somewhere and rolls in the lap of luxury, careless of +the misery he has created. Between his debauches of vicious idleness and +his accesses of baleful activity he is employed in poisoning the mind of +the working-men against his real interests and real friends. This is +perfectly easy, because the American working-man, though singularly shrewd +and sensible in other respects, is the victim of an unaccountable +obliquity of vision which keeps him from seeing his real interests and +real friends--or, at least, from knowing them when he sees them. + +There could be no doubt, I thought, in the mind of any reasonable person +that the walking delegate was the source of the discontent among our +proletariate, and I alleged him with a confidence which met the approval +of the professor, apparently, for he nodded, as if to say that I had hit +the nail on the head this time; and the minister seemed to be freshly +impressed with a notion that could not be new to him. The lawyer and the +doctor were silent, as if waiting for the banker to speak again; but he +was silent, too. The manufacturer, to my chagrin, broke into a laugh. “I’m +afraid,” he said, with a sardonic levity which surprised me, “you’ll have +to go a good deal deeper than the walking delegate. He’s a symptom; he +isn’t the disease. The thing keeps on and on, and it seems to be always +about wages; but it isn’t about wages at the bottom. Some of those fellows +know it and some of them don’t, but the real discontent is with the whole +system, with the nature of things. I had a curious revelation on that +point the last time I tried to deal with my men as a union. They were +always bothering me about this and about that, and there was no end to the +bickering. I yielded point after point, but it didn’t make any difference. +It seemed as if the more I gave the more they asked. At last I made up my +mind to try to get at the real inwardness of the matter, and I didn’t wait +for their committee to come to me--I sent for their leading man, and said +I wanted to have it out with him. He wasn’t a bad fellow, and when I got +at him, man to man that way, I found he had sense, and he had ideas--it’s +no use pretending those fellows are fools; he had thought about his side +of the question, anyway. I said: ‘Now what does it all mean? Do you want +the earth, or don’t you? When is it going to end?’ I offered him something +to take, but he said he didn’t drink, and we compromised on cigars. ‘Now +when is it going to end?’ said I, and I pressed it home, and wouldn’t let +him fight off from the point. ‘Do you mean when is it all going to end?’ +said he. ‘Yes,’ said I, ‘all. I’m sick of it. If there’s any way out I’d +like to know it.’ ‘Well,’ said he, ‘I’ll tell you, if you want to know. +It’s all going to end when you get the same amount of money for the same +amount of work as we do.’” + +We all laughed uproariously. The thing was deliciously comical; and +nothing, I thought, attested the Altrurian’s want of humor like his +failure to appreciate this joke. He did not even smile in asking: “And +what did you say?” + +“Well,” returned the manufacturer, with cosey enjoyment, “I asked him if +the men would take the concern and run it themselves.” We laughed again; +this seemed even better than the other joke. “But he said, ‘No’; they +would not like to do that. And then I asked him just what they would like, +if they could have their own way, and he said they would like to have me +run the business, and all share alike. I asked him what was the sense of +that, and why, if I could do something that all of them put together +couldn’t do, I shouldn’t be paid more than all of them put together; and +he said that if a man did his best he ought to be paid as much as the best +man. I asked him if that was the principle their union was founded on, and +he said, ‘Yes,’ that the very meaning of their union was the protection of +the weak by the strong and the equalization of earnings among all who do +their best.” + +We waited for the manufacturer to go on, but he made a dramatic pause at +this point, as if to let it sink into our minds; and he did not speak +until the Altrurian prompted him with the question, “And what did you +finally do?” + +“I saw there was only one way out for me, and I told the fellow I did not +think I could do business on that principle. We parted friends, but the +next Saturday I locked them out and smashed their union. They came back, +most of them--they had to--but I’ve treated with them ever since ‘as +individuals.’” + +“And they’re much better off in your hands than they were in the union,” + said the professor. + +“I don’t know about that,” said the manufacturer, “but I’m sure I am.” + +We laughed with him, all but the minister, whose mind seemed to have +caught upon some other point, and who sat absently by. + +“And is it your opinion, from what you know of the working-man generally, +that they all have this twist in their heads?” the professor asked. + +“They have, until they begin to rise. Then they get rid of it mighty soon. +Let a man save something--enough to get a house of his own, and take a +boarder or two, and perhaps have a little money at interest--and he sees +the matter in another light.” + +“Do you think he sees it more clearly?” asked the minister. + +“He sees it differently.” + +“What do you think?” the minister pursued, turning to the lawyer. “You are +used to dealing with questions of justice--” + +“Rather more with questions of law, I’m afraid,” the other returned, +pleasantly, putting his feet together before him and looking down at them +in a way he had. “But, still, I have a great interest in questions of +justice, and I confess that I find a certain wild equity in this +principle, which I see nobody could do business on. It strikes me as +idyllic--it’s a touch of real poetry in the rough-and-tumble prose of our +economic life.” + +He referred this to me as something I might appreciate in my quality of +literary man, and I responded in my quality of practical man: “There’s +certainly more rhyme than reason in it.” + +He turned again to the minister: + +“I suppose the ideal of the Christian state is the family?” + +“I hope so,” said the minister, with the gratitude that I have seen people +of his cloth show when men of the world conceded premises which the world +usually contests; it has seemed to me pathetic. + +“And if that is the case, why, the logic of the postulate is that the +prosperity of the weakest is the sacred charge and highest happiness of +all the stronger. But the law has not recognized any such principle, in +economics at least, and if the labor unions are based upon it they are +outlaw, so far as any hope of enforcing it is concerned; and it is bad for +men to feel themselves outlaw. How is it,” the lawyer continued, turning +to the Altrurian, “in your country? We can see no issue here, if the first +principle of organized labor antagonizes the first principle of business.” + +“But I don’t understand precisely yet what the first principle of business +is,” returned my guest. + +“Ah, that raises another interesting question,” said the lawyer. “Of +course, every business man solves the problem practically according to his +temperament and education, and I suppose that on first thoughts every +business man would answer you accordingly. But perhaps the personal +equation is something you wish to eliminate from the definition.” + +“Yes, of course.” + +“Still, I would rather not venture upon it first,” said the lawyer. +“Professor, what should you say was the first principle of business?” + +“Buying in the cheapest market and selling in the dearest,” the professor +promptly answered. + +“We will pass the parson and the doctor and the novelist as witnesses of +no value. They can’t possibly have any cognizance of the first principle +of business; their affair is to look after the souls and bodies and +fancies of other people. But what should you say it was?” he asked the +banker. + +“I should say it was an enlightened conception of one’s own interests.” + +“And you?” + +The manufacturer had no hesitation in answering: “The good of Number One, +first, last, and all the time. There may be a difference of opinion about +the best way to get at it; the long way may be the better, or the short +way; the direct way or the oblique way, or the purely selfish way, or the +partly selfish way; but if you ever lose sight of that end you might as +well shut up shop. That seems to be the first law of nature, as well as +the first law of business.” + +“Ah, we mustn’t go to nature for our morality,” the minister protested. + +“We were not talking of morality,” said the manufacturer; “we were talking +of business.” + +This brought the laugh on the minister, but the lawyer cut it short: +“Well, then, I don’t really see why the trades-unions are not as +business-like as the syndicates in their dealings with all those outside +of themselves. Within themselves they practise an altruism of the highest +order, but it is a tribal altruism; it is like that which prompts a Sioux +to share his last mouthful with a starving Sioux, and to take the scalp of +a starving Apache. How is it with your trades-unions in Altruria?” he +asked my friend. + +“We have no trades-unions in Altruria,” he began. + +“Happy Altruria!” cried the professor. + +“We had them formerly,” the Altrurian went on, “as you have them now. They +claimed, as I suppose yours do, that they were forced into existence by +the necessities of the case; that without union the working-man was unable +to meet the capitalist on anything like equal terms, or to withstand his +encroachments and oppressions. But to maintain themselves they had to +extinguish industrial liberty among the working-men themselves, and they +had to practise great cruelties against those who refused to join them or +who rebelled against them.” + +“They simply destroy them here,” said the professor. + +“Well,” said the lawyer, from his judicial mind, “the great syndicates +have no scruples in destroying a capitalist who won’t come into them or +who tries to go out. They don’t club him or stone him, but they under-sell +him and freeze him out; they don’t break his head, but they bankrupt him. +The principle is the same.” + +“Don’t interrupt Mr. Homos,” the banker entreated. “I am very curious to +know just how they got rid of labor unions in Altruria.” + +“We had syndicates, too, and finally we had the _reductio ad absurdum_--we +had a federation of labor unions find a federation of syndicates, that +divided the nation into two camps. The situation was not only impossible, +but it was insupportably ridiculous.” + +I ventured to say: “It hasn’t become quite so much of a joke with us yet.” + +“Isn’t it in a fair way to become so?” asked the doctor; and he turned to +the lawyer: “What should you say was the logic of events among us for the +last ten or twenty years?” + +“There’s nothing so capricious as the logic of events. It’s like a woman’s +reasoning--you can’t tell what it’s aimed at, or where it’s going to fetch +up; all that you can do is to keep out of the way if possible. We may come +to some such condition of things as they have in Altruria, where the faith +of the whole nation is pledged to secure every citizen in the pursuit of +happiness; or we may revert to some former condition, and the master may +again own the man; or we may hitch and joggle along indefinitely, as we +are doing now.” + +“But come, now,” said the banker, while he laid a caressing touch on the +Altrurian’s shoulder, “you don’t mean to say honestly that everybody works +with his hands in Altruria?” + +“Yes, certainly. We are mindful, as a whole people, of the divine law--‘In +the sweat of thy brow shalt thou eat bread.’” + +“But the capitalists? I’m anxious about Number One, you see.” + +“We have none.” + +“I forgot, of course. But the lawyers, the doctors, the parsons, the +novelists?” + +“They all do their share of hand-work.” + +The lawyer said: “That seems to dispose of the question of the working-man +in society. But how about your minds? When do you cultivate your minds? +When do the ladies of Altruria cultivate their minds, if they have to do +their own work, as I suppose they do? Or is it only the men who work, if +they happen to be the husbands and fathers of the upper classes?” + +The Altrurian seemed to be sensible of the kindly scepticism which +persisted in our reception of his statements, after all we had read of +Altruria. He smiled indulgently, and said: “You mustn’t imagine that work +in Altruria is the same as it is here. As we all work, the amount that +each one need do is very little, a few hours each day at the most, so that +every man and woman has abundant leisure and perfect spirits for the +higher pleasures which the education of their whole youth has fitted them +to enjoy. If you can understand a state of things where the sciences and +arts and letters are cultivated for their own sake, and not as a means of +livelihood--” + +“No,” said the lawyer, smiling, “I’m afraid we can’t conceive of that. We +consider the pinch of poverty the highest incentive that a man can have. +If our gifted friend here,” he said, indicating me, “were not kept like a +toad under the harrow, with his nose on the grindstone, and the poorhouse +staring him in the face--” + +“For Heaven’s sake,” I cried out, “don’t mix your metaphors so, anyway!” + +“If it were not for that and all the other hardships that literary men +undergo-- + + ‘Toil, envy, want, the patron and the jail’-- + +his novels probably wouldn’t be worth reading.” + +“Ah!” said the Altrurian, as if he did not quite follow this joking; and, +to tell the truth, I never find the personal thing in very good taste. +“You will understand, then, how extremely difficult it is for me to +imagine a condition of things like yours--although I have it under my very +eyes--where the money consideration is the first consideration.” + +“Oh, excuse me,” urged the minister; “I don’t think that’s quite the +case.” + +“I beg your pardon,” said the Altrurian, sweetly; “you can see how easily +I go astray.” + +“Why, I don’t know,” the banker interposed, “that you are so far out in +what you say. If you had said that money was always the first motive, I +should have been inclined to dispute you, too; but when you say that money +is the first consideration, I think you are quite right. Unless a man +secures his financial basis for his work, he can’t do his work. It’s +nonsense to pretend otherwise. So the money consideration is the first +consideration. People here have to live by their work, and to live they +must have money. Of course, we all recognize a difference in the +qualities, as well as in the kinds, of work. The work of the laborer may +be roughly defined as the necessity of his life; the work of the business +man as the means, and the work of the artist and scientist as the end. +We might refine upon these definitions and make them closer, but they +will serve for illustration as they are. I don’t think there can be +any question as to which is the highest kind of work; some truths are +self-evident. He is a fortunate man whose work is an end, and every +business man sees this, and owns it to himself, at least when he meets +some man of an aesthetic or scientific occupation. He knows that this +luckier fellow has a joy in his work which he can never feel in business; +that his success in it can never be embittered by the thought that it is +the failure of another; that if he does it well, it is pure good; that +there cannot be any competition in it--there can be only a noble +emulation, as far as the work itself is concerned. He can always look up +to his work, for it is something above him; and a business man often has +to look down upon his business, for it is often beneath him, unless he is +a pretty low fellow.” + +I listened to all this in surprise; I knew that the banker was a +cultivated man, a man of university training, and that he was a reader and +a thinker; but he had always kept a certain reserve in his talk, which he +now seemed to have thrown aside for the sake of the Altrurian, or because +the subject had a charm that lured him out of himself. “Well, now,” he +continued, “the question is of the money consideration, which is the first +consideration with us all: does it, or doesn’t it degrade the work, which +is the life, of those among us whose work is the highest? I understand +that this is the misgiving which troubles you in view of our conditions?” + +The Altrurian assented, and I thought it a proof of the banker’s innate +delicacy that he did not refer the matter, so far as it concerned the +aesthetic life and work, to me; I was afraid he was going to do so. But he +courteously proposed to keep the question impersonal, and he went on to +consider it himself: “Well, I don’t suppose any one can satisfy you fully. +But I should say that it put such men under a double strain, and perhaps +that is the reason why so many of them break down in a calling that is +certainly far less exhausting than business. On one side, the artist is +kept to the level of the working-man, of the animal, of the creature whose +sole affair is to get something to eat and somewhere to sleep. This is +through his necessity. On the other side, he is exalted to the height of +beings who have no concern but with the excellence of their work, which +they were born and divinely authorized to do. This is through his purpose. +Between the two, I should say that he got mixed, and that his work shows +it.” + +None of the others said anything, and, since I had not been personally +appealed to, I felt the freer to speak. “If you will suppose me to be +speaking from observation rather than experience--” I began. + +“By all means,” said the banker, “go on;” and the rest made haste in +various forms to yield me the word. + +“I should say that such a man certainly got mixed, but that his work kept +itself pure from the money consideration, as it were, in spite of him. A +painter or actor, or even a novelist, is glad to get all he can for his +work, and, such is our fallen nature, he does get all he knows how to get: +but, when he has once fairly passed into his work, he loses himself in it. +He does not think whether it will pay or not, whether it will be popular +or not, but whether he can make it good or not.” + +“Well, that is conceivable,” said the banker. “But wouldn’t he rather do +something he would get less for, if he could afford it, than the thing he +knows he will get more for? Doesn’t the money consideration influence his +choice of subject?” + +“Oddly enough, I don’t believe it does,” I answered, after a moment’s +reflection. “A man makes his choice once for all when he embraces the +aesthetic life, or, rather, it is made for him; no other life seems +possible. I know there is a general belief that an artist does the kind of +thing he has made go because it pays; but this only shows the prevalence +of business ideals. If he did not love to do the thing he does, he could +not do it well, no matter how richly it paid.” + +“I am glad to hear it,” said the banker, and he added to the Altrurian: +“So, you see, we are not so bad as one would think. We are illogically +better, in fact.” + +“Yes,” the other assented. “I knew something of your literature as well as +your conditions before I left home, and I perceived that by some anomaly +the one was not tainted by the other. It is a miraculous proof of the +divine mission of the poet.” + +“And the popular novelist,” the lawyer whispered in my ear, but loud +enough for the rest to hear, and they all testified their amusement at my +cost. + +The Altrurian, with his weak sense of humor, passed the joke. “It shows no +signs of corruption from greed, but I can’t help thinking that, fine as it +is, it might have been much finer if the authors who produced it had been +absolutely freed to their work, and had never felt the spur of need.” + +“Are they absolutely freed to it in Altruria?” asked the professor. “I +understood you that everybody had to work for his living in Altruria.” + +“That is a mistake. Nobody works for his living in Altruria; he works for +others’ living.” + +“Ah, that is precisely what our working-men object to doing here,” said +the manufacturer. “In that last interview of mine with the walking +delegate he had the impudence to ask me why my men should work for my +living as well as their own.” + +“He couldn’t imagine that you were giving them the work to do--the very +means of life,” said the professor. + +“Oh no, that’s the last thing those fellows want to think of.” + +“Perhaps,” the Altrurian suggested, “they might not have found it such a +hardship to work for your living if their own had been assured, as it is +with us. If you will excuse my saying it, we should think it monstrous in +Altruria for any man to have another’s means of life in his power; and in +our condition it is hardly imaginable. Do you really have it in your power +to take away a man’s opportunity to earn a living?” + +The manufacturer laughed uneasily. “It is in my power to take away his +life; but I don’t habitually shoot my fellow-men, and I never dismissed a +man yet without good reason.” + +“Oh, I beg your pardon,” said the Altrurian. “I didn’t dream of accusing +you of such inhumanity. But, you see, our whole system is so very +different that, as I said, it is hard for me to conceive of yours, and I +am very curious to understand its workings. If you shot your fellow-man, +as you say, the law would punish you; but if, for some reason that you +decided to be good, you took away his means of living, and he actually +starved to death--” + +“Then the law would have nothing to do with it,” the professor replied for +the manufacturer, who did not seem ready to answer. “But that is not the +way things fall out. The man would be supported in idleness, probably, +till he got another job, by his union, which would take the matter up.” + +“But I thought that our friend did not employ union labor,” returned the +Altrurian. + +I found all this very uncomfortable, and tried to turn the talk back to a +point that I felt curious about: “But in Altruria, if the literary class +is not exempt from the rule of manual labor, where do they find time and +strength to write?” + +“Why, you must realize that our manual labor is never engrossing or +exhausting. It is no more than is necessary to keep the body in health. I +do not see how you remain well here, you people of sedentary occupations.” + +“Oh, we all take some sort of exercise. We walk several hours a day, or we +row, or we ride a bicycle, or a horse, or we fence.” + +“But to us,” returned the Altrurian, with a growing frankness which +nothing but the sweetness of his manner would have excused, “exercise for +exercise would appear stupid. The barren expenditure of force that began +and ended in itself, and produced nothing, we should--if you will excuse +my saying so--look upon as childish, if not insane or immoral.” + + + + +V + +At this moment the lady who had hailed me so gayly from the top of the +coach while I stood waiting for the Altrurian to help the porter with the +baggage, just after the arrival of the train, came up with her husband to +our little group and said to me: “I want to introduce my husband to you. +He adores your books.” She went on much longer to this effect, while the +other men grinned round and her husband tried to look as if it were all +true, and her eyes wandered to the Altrurian, who listened gravely. I knew +perfectly well that she was using her husband’s zeal for my fiction to +make me present my friend; but I did not mind that, and I introduced him +to both of them. She took possession of him at once and began walking him +off down the piazza, while her husband remained with me, and the members +of our late conference drifted apart. I was not sorry to have it broken up +for the present; it seemed to me that it had lasted quite long enough, and +I lighted a cigar with the husband, and we strolled together in the +direction his wife had taken. + +He began, apparently in compliment to literature in my person: “Yes, I +like to have a book where I can get at it when we’re not going out to the +theatre, and I want to quiet my mind down after business. I don’t care +much what the book is; my wife reads to me till I drop off, and then she +finishes the book herself and tells me the rest of the story. You see, +business takes it out of you so! Well, I let my wife do most of the +reading, anyway. She knows pretty much everything that’s going in that +line. We haven’t got any children, and it occupies her mind. She’s up to +all sorts of things--she’s artistic, and she’s musical, and she’s +dramatic, and she’s literary. Well, I like to have her. Women are funny, +anyway.” + +He was a good-looking, good-natured, average American of the money-making +type; I believe he was some sort of a broker, but I do not quite know what +his business was. As we walked up and down the piazza, keeping a discreet +little distance from the corner where his wife had run off to with her +capture, he said he wished he could get more time with her in the +summer--but he supposed I knew what business was. He was glad she could +have the rest, anyway; she needed it. + +“By-the-way,” he asked, “who is this friend of yours? The women are all +crazy about him, and it’s been an even thing between my wife and Miss +Groundsel which would fetch him first. But I’ll bet on my wife every time, +when it comes to a thing like that. He’s a good-looking fellow--some kind +of foreigner, I believe; pretty eccentric, too, I guess. Where is +Altruria, anyway?” + +I told him, and he said: “Oh yes. Well, if we are going to restrict +immigration, I suppose we sha’n’t see many more Altrurians, and we’d +better make the most of this one. Heigh?” + +I do not know why this innocent pleasantry piqued me to say: “If I +understand the Altrurians, my dear fellow, nothing could induce them to +emigrate to America. As far as I can make out, they would regard it very +much as we should regard settling among the Eskimos.” + +“Is that so?” asked my new acquaintance, with perfect good temper. “Why?” + +“Really, I can’t say, and I don’t know that I’ve explicit authority for my +statement.” + +“They are worse than the English used to be,” he went on. “I didn’t know +that there were any foreigners who looked at us in that light now. I +thought the war settled all that.” + +I sighed. “There are a good many things that the war didn’t settle so +definitely as we’ve been used to thinking, I’m afraid. But, for that +matter, I fancy an Altrurian would regard the English as a little lower in +the scale of savagery than ourselves even.” + +“Is that so? Well, that’s pretty good on the English, anyway,” said my +companion, and he laughed with an easy satisfaction that I envied him. + +“My dear!” his wife called to him from where she was sitting with the +Altrurian, “I wish you would go for my shawl. I begin to feel the air a +little.” + +“I’ll go if you’ll tell me where,” he said, and he confided to me, “Never +knows where her shawl is one-quarter of the time.” + +“Well, I think I left it in the office somewhere. You might ask at the +desk; or perhaps it’s in the rack by the dining-room door--or maybe up in +our room.” + +“I thought so,” said her husband, with another glance at me, as if it were +the greatest fun in the world, and he started amiably off. + +I went and took a chair by the lady and the Altrurian, and she began at +once: “Oh, I’m so glad you’ve come! I have been trying to enlighten Mr. +Homos about some of the little social peculiarities among us that he finds +so hard to understand. He was just now,” the lady continued, “wanting to +know why all the natives out here were not invited to go in and join our +young people in the dance, and I’ve been trying to tell him that we +consider it a great favor to let them come and take up so much of the +piazza and look in at the windows.” + +She gave a little laugh of superiority, and twitched her pretty head in +the direction of the young country girls and country fellows who were +thronging the place that night in rather unusual numbers. They were well +enough looking, and, as it was Saturday night, they were in their best. I +suppose their dress could have been criticised; the young fellows were +clothed by the ready-made clothing-store, and the young girls after their +own devices from the fashion papers; but their general effect was good, +and their behavior was irreproachable; they were very quiet--if anything, +too quiet. They took up a part of the piazza that was yielded them by +common usage, and sat watching the hop inside, not so much enviously, I +thought, as wistfully; and for the first time it struck me as odd that +they should have no part in the gayety. I had often seen them there +before, but I had never thought it strange they should be shut out. It had +always seemed quite normal, but now, suddenly, for one baleful moment, it +seemed abnormal. I suppose it was the talk we had been having about the +working-men in society which caused me to see the thing as the Altrurian +must have seen it; but I was, nevertheless, vexed with him for having +asked such a question, after he had been so fully instructed upon the +point. It was malicious of him, or it was stupid. I hardened my heart, and +answered: “You might have told him, for one thing, that they were not +dancing because they had not paid the piper.” + +“Then the money consideration enters even into your social pleasures?” + asked the Altrurian. + +“Very much. Doesn’t it with you?” + +He evaded this question, as he evaded all straightforward questions +concerning his country: “We have no money consideration, you know. But do +I understand that all your social entertainments are paid for by the +guests?” + +“Oh no, not so bad as that, quite. There are a great many that the host +pays for. Even here, in a hotel, the host furnishes the music and the room +free to the guests of the house.” + +“And none are admitted from the outside?” + +“Oh yes, people are welcome from all the other hotels and boarding-houses +and the private cottages. The young men are especially welcome; there are +not enough young men in the hotel to go round, you see.” In fact, we could +see that some of the pretty girls within were dancing with other girls; +half-grown boys were dangling from the waists of tall young ladies and +waltzing on tiptoe. + +“Isn’t that rather droll?” asked the Altrurian. + +“It’s grotesque!” I said, and I felt ashamed of it. “But what are you to +do? The young men are hard at work in the cities, as many as can get work +there, and the rest are out West, growing up with the country. There are +twenty young girls for every young man at all the summer resorts in the +East.” + +“But what would happen if these young farmers--I suppose they are +farmers--were invited in to take part in the dance?” asked my friend. + +“But that is impossible.” + +“Why?” + +“Really, Mrs. Makely, I think I shall have to give him back to you,” I +said. + +The lady laughed. “I am not sure that I want him back.” + +“Oh yes,” the Altrurian entreated, with unwonted perception of the humor. +“I know that I must be very trying with my questions; but do not abandon +me to the solitude of my own conjectures. They are dreadful!” + +“Well, I won’t,” said the lady, with another laugh. “And I will try to +tell you what would happen if those farmers, or farm-hands, or whatever +they are, were asked in. The mammas would be very indignant, and the young +ladies would be scared, and nobody would know what to do, and the dance +would stop.” + +“Then the young ladies prefer to dance with one another and with little +boys--” + +“No, they prefer to dance with young men of their own station; they would +rather not dance at all than dance with people beneath them. I don’t say +anything against these natives here; they are very civil and decent. But +they have not the same social traditions as the young ladies; they would +be out of place with them, and they would feel it.” + +“Yes, I can see that they are not fit to associate with them,” said the +Altrurian, with a gleam of commonsense that surprised me, “and that as +long as your present conditions endure they never can be. You must excuse +the confusion which the difference between your political ideals and your +economic ideals constantly creates in me. I always think of you +politically first, and realize you as a perfect democracy; then come these +other facts, in which I cannot perceive that you differ from the +aristocratic countries of Europe in theory, or practice. It is very +puzzling. Am I right in supposing that the effect of your economy is to +establish insuperable inequalities among you, and to forbid the hope of +the brotherhood which your policy proclaims?” + +Mrs. Makely looked at me as if she were helpless to grapple with his +meaning, and, for fear of worse, I thought best to evade it. I said: “I +don’t believe that anybody is troubled by those distinctions. We are used +to them, and everybody acquiesces in them, which is a proof that they are +a very good thing.” + +Mrs. Makely now came to my support. “The Americans are very high-spirited, +in every class, and I don’t believe one of those nice farm-boys would like +being asked in any better than the young ladies. You can’t imagine how +proud some of them are.” + +“So that they suffer from being excluded as inferiors?” + +“Oh, I assure you they don’t feel themselves inferior! They consider +themselves as good as anybody. There are some very interesting characters +among them. Now, there is a young girl sitting at the first window, with +her profile outlined by the light, whom I feel it an honor to speak to. +That’s her brother, standing there with her--that tall, gaunt young man +with a Roman face; it’s such a common type here in the mountains. Their +father was a soldier, and he distinguished himself so in one of the last +battles that he was promoted. He was badly wounded, but he never took a +pension; he just came back to his farm and worked on till he died. Now the +son has the farm, and he and his sister live there with their mother. The +daughter takes in sewing, and in that way they manage to make both ends +meet. The girl is really a first-rate seamstress, and so cheap! I give her +a good deal of my work in the summer, and we are quite friends. She’s very +fond of reading; the mother is an invalid, but she reads aloud while the +daughter sews, and you’ve no idea how many books they get through. When +she comes for sewing, I like to talk with her about them; I always have +her sit down; it’s hard to realize that she isn’t a lady. I’m a good deal +criticised, I know, and I suppose I do spoil her a little; it puts notions +into such people’s heads, if you meet them in that way; they’re pretty +free and independent as it is. But when I’m with Lizzie I forget that +there is any difference between us; I can’t help loving the child. You +must take Mr. Homos to see them, Mr. Twelvemough. They’ve got the father’s +sword hung up over the head of the mother’s bed; it’s very touching. But +the poor little place is so bare!” + +Mrs. Makely sighed, and there fell a little pause, which she broke with a +question she had the effect of having kept back. + +“There is one thing I should like to ask you, too, Mr. Homos. Is it true +that everybody in Altruria does some kind of manual labor?” + +“Why, certainly,” he answered, quite as if he had been an American. + +“Ladies, too? Or perhaps you have none.” + +I thought this rather offensive, but I could not see that the Altrurian +had taken it ill. “Perhaps we had better try to understand each other +clearly before I answer that question. You have no titles of nobility as +they have in England--” + +“No, indeed! I hope we have outgrown those superstitions,” said Mrs. +Makely, with a republican fervor that did my heart good. “It is a word +that we apply first of all to the moral qualities of a person.” + +“But you said just now that you sometimes forgot that your seamstress was +not a lady. Just what did you mean by that?” + +Mrs. Makely hesitated. “I meant--I suppose I meant--that she had not the +surroundings of a lady; the social traditions.” + +“Then it has something to do with social as well as moral qualities--with +ranks and classes?” + +“Classes, yes; but, as you know, we have no ranks in America.” The +Altrurian took off his hat and rubbed an imaginable perspiration from his +forehead. He sighed deeply. “It is all very difficult.” + +“Yes,” Mrs. Makely assented, “I suppose it is. All foreigners find it so. +In fact, it is something that you have to live into the notion of; it +can’t be explained.” + +“Well, then, my dear madam, will you tell me without further question what +you understand by a lady, and let me live into the notion of it at my +leisure?” + +“I will do my best,” said Mrs. Makely. “But it would be so much easier to +tell you _who_ was or who was not a lady. However, your acquaintance is so +limited yet that I must try to do something in the abstract and impersonal +for you. In the first place, a lady must be above the sordid anxieties in +every way. She need not be very rich, but she must have enough, so that +she need not be harassed about making both ends meet, when she ought to be +devoting herself to her social duties. The time is past with us when a +lady could look after the dinner, and perhaps cook part of it herself, and +then rush in to receive her guests and do the amenities. She must have a +certain kind of house, so that her entourage won’t seem cramped and mean, +and she must have nice frocks, of course, and plenty of them. She needn’t +be of the smart set; that isn’t at all necessary; but she can’t afford to +be out of the fashion. Of course, she must have a certain training. She +must have cultivated tastes; she must know about art and literature and +music, and all those kind of things, and, though it isn’t necessary to go +in for anything in particular, it won’t hurt her to have a fad or two. The +nicest kind of fad is charity; and people go in for that a great deal. I +think sometimes they use it to work up with, and there are some who use +religion in the same way; I think it’s horrid; but it’s perfectly safe; +you can’t accuse them of doing it. I’m happy to say, though, that mere +church association doesn’t count socially so much as it used to. Charity +is a great deal more insidious. But you see how hard it is to define +a lady. So much has to be left to the nerves, in all these things. And +then it’s changing all the time; Europe’s coming in, and the old American +ideals are passing away. Things that people did ten years ago would be +impossible now, or at least ridiculous. You wouldn’t be considered vulgar, +quite, but you would certainly be considered a back number, and that’s +almost as bad. Really,” said Mrs. Makely, “I don’t believe I can tell you +what a lady is.” + +We all laughed together at her frank confession. The Altrurian asked: “But +do I understand that one of her conditions is that she shall have nothing +whatever to do?” + +“Nothing to _do_!” cried Mrs. Makely. “A lady is busy from morning till +night. She always goes to bed perfectly worn out.” + +“But with what?” asked the Altrurian. + +“With making herself agreeable and her house attractive, with going to +lunches and teas and dinners and concerts and theatres and art +exhibitions, and charity meetings and receptions, and with writing a +thousand and one notes about them, and accepting and declining, and giving +lunches and dinners, and making calls and receiving them, and I don’t know +what all. It’s the most hideous slavery!” Her voice rose into something +like a shriek; one could see that her nerves were going at the mere +thought of it all. “You don’t have a moment to yourself; your life isn’t +your own.” + +“But the lady isn’t allowed to do any useful kind of work?” + +“_Work_! Don’t you call all that work, and _useful_? I’m sure I envy the +cook in my kitchen at times; I envy the woman that scrubs my floors. Stop! +Don’t ask why I don’t go into my kitchen, or get down on my knees with the +mop. It isn’t possible. You simply can’t. Perhaps you could if you were +very _grande dame_, but if you’re anywhere near the line of necessity, or +ever have been, you can’t. Besides, if we did do our own household work, +as I understand your Altrurian ladies do, what would become of the servant +class? We should be taking away their living, and that would be wicked.” + +“It would certainly be wrong to take away the living of a +fellow-creature,” the Altrurian gravely admitted, “and I see the obstacle +in your way.” + +“It’s a mountain,” said the lady, with exhaustion in her voice, but a +returning amiability; his forbearance must have placated her. + +“May I ask what the use of your society life is?” he ventured, after a +moment. + +“Use? Why should it have any? It kills time.” + +“Then you are shut up to a hideous slavery without use, except to kill +time, and you cannot escape from it without taking away the living of +those dependent on you?” + +“Yes,” I put in, “and that is a difficulty that meets us at every turn. It +is something that Matthew Arnold urged with great effect in his paper on +that crank of a Tolstoy. He asked what would become of the people who need +the work if we served and waited on ourselves, as Tolstoy preached. The +question is unanswerable.” + +“That is true; in your conditions, it is unanswerable,” said the +Altrurian. + +“I think,” said Mrs. Makely, “that, under the circumstances, we do pretty +well.” + +“Oh, I don’t presume to censure you. And if you believe that your +conditions are the best--” + +“We believe them the best in the best of all possible worlds,” I said, +devoutly; and it struck me that, if ever we came to have a national +church, some such affirmation as that concerning our economical conditions +ought to be in the confession of faith. + +The Altrurian’s mind had not followed mine so far. “And your young girls,” + he asked of Mrs. Makely--“how is their time occupied?” + +“You mean after they come out in society?” + +“I suppose so.” + +She seemed to reflect. “I don’t know that it is very differently occupied. +Of course, they have their own amusements; they have their dances, and +little clubs, and their sewing-societies. I suppose that even an Altrurian +would applaud their sewing for the poor?” Mrs. Makely asked, rather +satirically. + +“Yes,” he answered; and then he asked: “Isn’t it taking work away from +some needy seamstress, though? But I suppose you excuse it to the +thoughtlessness of youth.” + +Mrs. Makely did not say, and he went on: “What I find it so hard to +understand is how you ladies can endure a life of mere nervous exertion, +such as you have been describing to me. I don’t see how you keep well.” + +“We _don’t_ keep well,” said Mrs. Makely, with the greatest amusement. “I +don’t suppose that when you get above the working classes, till you reach +the very rich, you would find a perfectly well woman in America.” + +“Isn’t that rather extreme?” I ventured to ask. + +“No,” said Mrs. Makely, “it’s shamefully moderate,” and she seemed to +delight in having made out such a bad case for her sex. You can’t stop a +woman of that kind when she gets started; I had better left it alone. + +“But,” said the Altrurian, “if you are forbidden by motives of humanity +from doing any sort of manual labor, which you must leave to those who +live by it, I suppose you take some sort of exercise?” + +“Well,” said Mrs. Makely, shaking her head gayly, “we prefer to take +medicine.” + +“You must approve of that,” I said to the Altrurian, “as you consider +exercise for its own sake insane or immoral. But, Mrs. Makely,” I +entreated, “you’re giving me away at a tremendous rate. I have just been +telling Mr. Homos that you ladies go in for athletics so much now in your +summer outings that there is danger of your becoming physically as well as +intellectually superior to us poor fellows. Don’t take that consolation +from me.” + +“I won’t, altogether,” she said. “I couldn’t have the heart to, after the +pretty way you’ve put it. I don’t call it very athletic, sitting around on +hotel piazzas all summer long, as nineteen-twentieths of us do. But I +don’t deny that there is a Remnant, as Matthew Arnold calls them, who do +go in for tennis and boating and bathing and tramping and climbing.” She +paused, and then she concluded, gleefully: “And you ought to see what +wrecks they get home in the fall!” + +The joke was on me; I could not help laughing, though I felt rather +sheepish before the Altrurian. Fortunately, he did not pursue the inquiry; +his curiosity had been given a slant aside from it. + +“But your ladies,” he asked, “they have the summer for rest, however they +use it. Do they generally leave town? I understood Mr. Twelvemough to say +so,” he added, with a deferential glance at me. + +“Yes, you may say it is the universal custom in the class that can afford +it,” said Mrs. Makely. She proceeded as if she felt a tacit censure in his +question. “It wouldn’t be the least use for us to stay and fry through our +summers in the city simply because our fathers and brothers had to. +Besides, we are worn out, at the end of the season, and they want us to +come away as much as we want to come.” + +“Ah, I have always heard that the Americans are beautiful in their +attitude toward women.” + +“They are perfect dears,” said Mrs. Makely, “and here comes one of the +best of them.” + +At that moment her husband came up and laid her shawl across her +shoulders. “Whose character is it you’re blasting?” he asked, jocosely. + +“Where in the world did you find it?” she asked, meaning the shawl. + +“It was where you left it--on the sofa, in the side parlor. I had to take +my life in my hand when I crossed among all those waltzers in there. There +must have been as many as three couples on the floor. Poor girls! I pity +them, off at these places. The fellows in town have a good deal better +time. They’ve got their clubs, and they’ve got the theatre, and when the +weather gets too much for them they can run off down to the shore for the +night. The places anywhere within an hour’s ride are full of fellows. The +girls don’t have to dance with one another there, or with little boys. Of +course, that’s all right if they like it better.” He laughed at his wife, +and winked at me, and smoked swiftly, in emphasis of his irony. + +“Then the young gentlemen whom the young ladies here usually meet in +society are all at work in the cities?” the Altrurian asked him, rather +needlessly, as I had already said so. + +“Yes, those who are not out West, growing up with the country, except, of +course, the fellows who have inherited a fortune. They’re mostly off on +yachts.” + +“But why do your young men go West to grow up with the country?” pursued +my friend. + +“Because the East is _grown_ up. They have got to hustle, and the West is +the place to hustle. To make money,” added Makely, in response to a +puzzled glance of the Altrurian. + +“Sometimes,” said his wife, “I almost hate the name of money.” + +“Well, so long as you don’t hate the thing, Peggy.” + +“Oh, we must have it, I suppose,” she sighed. “They used to say about the +girls who grew into old maids just after the Rebellion that they had lost +their chance in the war for the Union. I think quite as many lose their +chance now in the war for the dollar.” + +“Mars hath slain his thousands, but Mammon hath slain his tens of +thousands,” I suggested, lightly; we all like to recognize the facts, so +long as we are not expected to do anything about them; then, we deny them. + +“Yes, quite as bad as that,” said Mrs. Makely. + +“Well, my dear, you are expensive, you know,” said her husband, “and if we +want to have you--why, we’ve got to hustle first.” + +“Oh, I don’t blame you, you poor things! There’s nothing to be done about +it; it’s just got to go on and on; I don’t see how it’s ever to end.” + +The Altrurian had been following us with that air of polite mystification +which I had begun to dread in him. “Then, in your good society you +postpone, and even forego, the happiness of life in the struggle to be +rich?” + +“Well, you see,” said Makely, “a fellow don’t like to ask a girl to share +a home that isn’t as nice as the home she has left.” + +“Sometimes,” his wife put in, rather sadly, “I think that it’s all a +mistake, and that we’d be willing to share the privations of the man we +loved.” + +“Well,” said Makely, with a laugh, “we wouldn’t like to risk it.” + +I laughed with him, but his wife did not, and in the silence that ensued +there was nothing to prevent the Altrurian from coming in with another of +his questions: “How far does this state of things extend downward? Does it +include the working classes, too?” + +“Oh no!” we all answered together, and Mrs. Makely said: “With your +Altrurian ideas, I suppose you would naturally sympathize a great deal +more with the lower classes, and think they had to endure all the +hardships in our system; but if you could realize how the struggle goes on +in the best society, and how we all have to fight for what we get, or +don’t get, you would be disposed to pity our upper classes, too.” + +“I am sure I should,” said the Altrurian. + +Makely remarked: “I used to hear my father say that slavery was harder on +the whites than it was on the blacks, and that he wanted it done away with +for the sake of the masters.” + +Makely rather faltered in conclusion, as if he were not quite satisfied +with his remark, and I distinctly felt a want of proportion in it; but I +did not wish to say anything. His wife had no reluctance. + +“Well, there’s no comparison between the two things, but the struggle +certainly doesn’t affect the working classes as it does us. They go on +marrying and giving in marriage in the old way. They have nothing to lose, +and so they can afford it.” + +“Blessed am dem what don’t expect nuffin! Oh, I tell you, it’s a +working-man’s country,” said Makely, through his cigar-smoke. “You ought +to see them in town, these summer nights, in the parks and squares and +cheap theatres. Their girls are not off for their health, anywhere, and +their fellows are not off growing up with the country. Their day’s work is +over, and they’re going in for a good time. And, then, walk through the +streets where they live, and see them out on the stoops with their wives +and children! I tell you, it’s enough to make a fellow wish he was poor +himself.” + +“Yes,” said Mrs. Makely, “it’s astonishing how strong and well those women +keep, with their great families and their hard work. Sometimes I really +envy them.” + +“Do you suppose,” said the Altrurian, “that they are aware of the +sacrifices which the ladies of the upper classes make in leaving all the +work to them, and suffering from the nervous debility which seems to be +the outcome of your society life?” + +“They have not the remotest idea of it. They have no conception of what a +society woman goes through with. They think we do nothing. They envy us, +too, and sometimes they’re so ungrateful and indifferent, if you try to +help them, or get on terms with them, that I believe they hate us.” + +“But that comes from ignorance?” + +“Yes, though I don’t know that they are really any more ignorant of us +than we are of them. It’s the other half on both sides.” + +“Isn’t that a pity, rather?” + +“Of course it’s a pity, but what can you do? You can’t know what people +are like unless you live like them, and then the question is whether the +game is worth the candle. I should like to know how you manage in +Altruria.” + +“Why, we have solved the problem in the only way, as you say, that it can +be solved. We all live alike.” + +“Isn’t that a little, just a very trifling little bit, monotonous?” Mrs. +Makely asked, with a smile. “But there is everything, of course, in being +used to it. To an unregenerate spirit--like mine, for example--it seems +intolerable.” + +“But why? When you were younger, before you were married, you all lived at +home together--or, perhaps, you were an only child?” + +“Oh, no indeed! There were ten of us.” + +“Then you all lived alike, and shared equally?” + +“Yes, but we were a family.” + +“We do not conceive of the human race except as a family.” + +“Now, excuse me, Mr. Homos, that is all nonsense. You cannot have the +family feeling without love, and it is impossible to love other people. +That talk about the neighbor, and all that, is all well enough--” She +stopped herself, as if she dimly remembered who began that talk, and then +went on: “Of course, I accept it as a matter of faith, and the spirit of +it, nobody denies that; but what I mean is, that you must have frightful +quarrels all the time.” She tried to look as if this were where she really +meant to bring up, and he took her on the ground she had chosen. + +“Yes, we have quarrels. Hadn’t you at home?” + +“We fought like little cats and dogs, at times.” + +Makely and I burst into a laugh at her magnanimous frankness. The +Altrurian remained serious. “But, because you lived alike, you knew each +other, and so you easily made up your quarrels. It is quite as simple with +us, in our life as a human family.” + +This notion of a human family seemed to amuse Mrs. Makely more and more; +she laughed and laughed again. “You must excuse me,” she panted, at last, +“but I cannot imagine it! No, it is too ludicrous. Just fancy the jars of +an ordinary family multiplied by the population of a whole continent! Why, +you must be in a perpetual squabble. You can’t have any peace of your +lives. It’s worse, far worse, than our way.” + +“But, madam,” he began, “you are supposing our family to be made up of +people with all the antagonistic interests of your civilization. As a +matter of fact--” + +“No, no! _I know human nature_, Mr. Homos!” She suddenly jumped up and +gave him her hand. “Good-night,” she said, sweetly, and as she drifted off +on her husband’s arm she looked back at us and nodded in gay triumph. + +The Altrurian turned upon me with unabated interest. “And have you no +provision in your system for finally making the lower classes understand +the sufferings and sacrifices of the upper classes in their behalf? Do you +expect to do nothing to bring them together in mutual kindness?” + +“Well, not this evening,” I said, throwing the end of my cigar away. “I’m +going to bed--aren’t you?” + +“Not yet.” + +“Well, good-night. Are you sure you can find your room?” + +“Oh yes. Good-night.” + + + + +VI + +I left my guest abruptly, with a feeling of vexation not very easily +definable. His repetition of questions about questions which society has +so often answered, and always in the same way, was not so bad in him as it +would have been in a person of our civilization; he represented a wholly +different state of things, the inversion of our own, and much could be +forgiven him for that reason, just as in Russia much could be forgiven to +an American if he formulated his curiosity concerning imperialism from a +purely republican experience. I knew that in Altruria, for instance, the +possession of great gifts, of any kind of superiority, involved the sense +of obligation to others, and the wish to identify one’s self with the +great mass of men, rather than the ambition to distinguish one’s self from +them; and that the Altrurians honored their gifted men in the measure they +did this. A man reared in such a civilization must naturally find it +difficult to get our point of view; with social inclusion as the ideal, he +would with difficulty conceive of our ideal of social exclusion; but I +think we had all been very patient with him; we should have made short +work with an American who had approached us with the same inquiries. +Even from a foreigner, the citizen of a republic founded on the notion, +elsewhere exploded ever since Cain, that one is his brother’s keeper, +the things he asked seemed inoffensive only because they were puerile; +but they certainly were puerile. I felt that it ought to have been +self-evident to him that when a commonwealth of sixty million Americans +based itself upon the great principle of self-seeking, self-seeking was +the best thing, and, whatever hardship it seemed to work, it must carry +with it unseen blessings in tenfold measure. If a few hundred thousand +favored Americans enjoyed the privilege of socially contemning all the +rest, it was as clearly right and just that they should do so as that four +thousand American millionaires should be richer than all the other +Americans put together. Such a status, growing out of our political +equality and our material prosperity, must evince a divine purpose to any +one intimate with the designs of Providence, and it seemed a kind of +impiety to doubt its perfection. I excused the misgivings which I could +not help seeing in the Altrurian to his alien traditions, and I was aware +that my friends had done so, too. But, if I could judge from myself, he +must have left them all sensible of their effort; and this was not +pleasant. I could not blink the fact that although I had openly disagreed +with him on every point of ethics and economics, I was still responsible +for him as a guest. It was as if an English gentleman had introduced a +blatant American Democrat into Tory society; or, rather, as if a +Southerner of the olden time had harbored a Northern Abolitionist and +permitted him to inquire into the workings of slavery among his neighbors. +People would tolerate him as my guest for a time, but there must be an end +of their patience with the tacit enmity of his sentiments and the explicit +vulgarity of his ideals, and when the end came I must be attainted with +him. + +I did not like the notion of this, and I meant to escape it if I could. I +confess that I would have willingly disowned him, as I had already +disavowed his opinions, but there was no way of doing it short of telling +him to go away, and I was not ready to do that. Something in the man, I do +not know what, mysteriously appealed to me. He was not contemptibly +puerile without being lovably childlike, and I could only make up my mind +to be more and more frank with him and to try and shield him, as well as +myself, from the effects I dreaded. + +I fell asleep planning an excursion farther into the mountains, which +should take up the rest of the week that I expected him to stay with me, +and would keep him from following up his studies of American life where +they would be so injurious to both of us as they must in our hotel. A +knock at my door roused me, and I sent a drowsy “Come in!” toward it from +the bedclothes without looking that way. + +“Good-morning!” came back in the rich, gentle voice of the Altrurian. I +lifted my head with a jerk from the pillow, and saw him standing against +the closed door, with my shoes in his hand. “Oh, I am sorry I waked you. I +thought--” + +“Not at all, not at all,” I said. “It’s quite time, I dare say. But you +oughtn’t to have taken the trouble to bring my shoes in.” + +“I wasn’t altogether disinterested in it,” he returned. “I wished you to +compliment me on them. Don’t you think they are pretty well done, for an +amateur?” He came toward my bed, and turned them about in his hands, so +that they would catch the light, and smiled down upon me. + +“I don’t understand,” I began. + +“Why,” he said, “I blacked them, you know.” + +“You blacked them?” + +“Yes,” he returned, easily. “I thought I would go into the baggage-room, +after we parted last night, to look for a piece of mine that had not been +taken to my room, and I found the porter there, with his wrist bound up. +He said he had strained it in handling a lady’s Saratoga--he said a +Saratoga was a large trunk--and I begged him to let me relieve him at the +boots he was blacking. He refused at first, but I insisted upon trying my +hand at a pair, and then he let me go on with the men’s boots; he said he +could varnish the ladies’ without hurting his wrist. It needed less skill +than I supposed, and after I had done a few pairs he said I could black +boots as well as he.” + +“Did anybody see you?” I gasped, and I felt a cold perspiration break out +on me. + +“No, we had the whole midnight hour to ourselves. The porter’s work with +the baggage was all over, and there was nothing to interrupt the +delightful chat we fell into. He is a very intelligent man, and he told me +all about that custom of feeing which you deprecate. He says that the +servants hate it as much as the guests; they have to take the tips now +because the landlords figure on them in the wages, and they cannot live +without them. He is a fine, manly fellow, and--” + +“Mr. Homos,” I broke in, with the strength I found in his assurance that +no one had seen him helping the porter black boots, “I want to speak very +seriously with you, and I hope you will not be hurt if I speak very +plainly about a matter in which I have your good solely at heart.” This +was not quite true, and I winced inwardly a little when he thanked me with +that confounded sincerity of his which was so much like irony; but I went +on: “It is my duty to you, as my guest, to tell you that this thing of +doing for others is not such a simple matter here, as your peculiar +training leads you to think. You have been deceived by a superficial +likeness; but, really, I do not understand how you could have read all you +have done about us and not realize before coming here that America and +Altruria are absolutely distinct and diverse in their actuating +principles. They are both republics, I know; but America is a republic +where every man is for himself, and you cannot help others as you do at +home; it is dangerous--it is ridiculous. You must keep this fact in mind, +or you will fall into errors that will be very embarrassing to you in your +stay among us, and,” I was forced to add, “to all your friends. Now, I +certainly hoped, after what I had said to you and what my friends had +explained of our civilization, that you would not have done a thing of +this kind. I will see the porter, as soon as I am up, and ask him not to +mention the matter to any one, but, I confess, I don’t like to take an +apologetic tone with him; your conditions are so alien to ours that they +will seem incredible to him, and he will think I am stuffing him.” + +“I don’t believe he will think that,” said the Altrurian, “and I hope you +won’t find the case so bad as it seems to you. I am extremely sorry to +have done wrong--” + +“Oh, the thing wasn’t wrong in itself. It was only wrong under the +circumstances. Abstractly, it is quite right to help a fellow-being who +needs help; no one denies that, even in a country where every one is for +himself.” + +“I am so glad to hear it,” said the Altrurian. “Then, at least, I have not +gone radically astray; and I do not think you need take the trouble to +explain the Altrurian ideas to the porter. I have done that already, and +they seemed quite conceivable to him; he said that poor folks had to act +upon them, even here, more or less, and that if they did not act upon them +there would be no chance for them at all. He says they have to help one +another very much as we do at home, and that it is only the rich folks +among you who are independent. I really don’t think you need speak to him +at all, unless you wish; and I was very careful to guard my offer of help +at the point where I understood from you and your friends that it might do +harm. I asked him if there was not some one who would help him out with +his boot-blacking for money, because in that case I should be glad to pay +him; but he said there was no one about who would take the job; that he +had to agree to black the boots, or else he would not have got the place +of porter, but that all the rest of the help would consider it a disgrace, +and would not help him for love or money. So it seemed quite safe to offer +him my services.” + +I felt that the matter was almost hopeless, but I asked: “And what he +said--didn’t that suggest anything else to you?” + +“How anything else?” asked the Altrurian, in his turn. + +“Didn’t it occur to you that if none of his fellow-servants were willing +to help him black boots, and if he did it only because he was obliged to, +it was hardly the sort of work for you?” + +“Why, no,” said the Altrurian, with absolute simplicity. He must have +perceived the despair I fell into at this answer, for he asked: “Why +should I have minded doing for others what I should have been willing to +do for myself?” + +“There are a great many things we are willing to do for ourselves that we +are not willing to do for others. But even on that principle, which I +think false and illogical, you could not be justified. A gentleman is not +willing to black _his own_ boots. It is offensive to his feelings, to his +self-respect; it is something he will not do if he can get anybody else to +do it for him.” + +“Then in America,” said the Altrurian, “it is not offensive to the +feelings of a gentleman to let another do for him what he would not do for +himself?” + +“Certainly not.” + +“Ah,” he returned, “then we understand something altogether different by +the word gentleman in Altruria. I see, now, how I have committed a +mistake. I shall be more careful hereafter.” + +I thought I had better leave the subject, and, “By-the-way,” I said, “how +would you like to take a little tramp with me to-day farther up into the +mountains?” + +“I should be delighted,” said the Altrurian, so gratefully that I was +ashamed to think why I was proposing the pleasure to him. + +“Well, then, I shall be ready to start as soon as we have had breakfast. I +will join you down-stairs in half an hour.” + +He left me at this hint, though really I was half afraid he might stay and +offer to lend me a hand at my toilet, in the expression of his national +character. I found him with Mrs. Makely, when I went down, and she began, +with a parenthetical tribute to the beauty of the mountains in the morning +light: “Don’t be surprised to see me up at this unnatural hour. I don’t +know whether it was the excitement of our talk last night, or what it was, +but my sulphonal wouldn’t act, though I took fifteen grains, and I was up +with the lark, or should have been, if there had been any lark outside of +literature to be up with. However, this air is so glorious that I don’t +mind losing a night’s sleep now and then. I believe that with a little +practice one could get along without any sleep at all here; at least, _I_ +could. I’m sorry to say poor Mr. Makely _can’t_, apparently. He’s making +up for his share of my vigils, and I’m going to breakfast without him. Do +you know, I’ve done a very bold thing: I’ve got the head-waiter to give +you places at our table; I know you’ll hate it, Mr. Twelvemough, because +you naturally want to keep Mr. Homos to yourself, and I don’t blame you at +all; but I’m simply not going to _let_ you, and that’s all there is about +it.” + +The pleasure I felt at this announcement was not unmixed, but I tried to +keep Mrs. Makely from thinking so, and I was immensely relieved when she +found a chance to say to me, in a low voice: “I know just how you’re +feeling, Mr. Twelvemough, and I’m going to help you keep him from doing +anything ridiculous, if I can. I _like_ him, and I think it’s a perfect +shame to have people laughing at him. I know we can manage him between +us.” + +We so far failed, however, that the Altrurian shook hands with the +head-waiter when he pressed open the wire-netting door to let us into the +dining-room, and made a bow to our waitress of the sort one makes to a +lady. But we thought it best to ignore these little errors of his and +reserve our moral strength for anything more spectacular. Fortunately we +got through our breakfast with nothing worse than his jumping up and +stooping to hand the waitress a spoon she let fall; but this could easily +pass for some attention to Mrs. Makely at a little distance. There were +not many people down to breakfast yet; but I could see that there was a +good deal of subdued sensation among the waitresses, standing with folded +arms behind their tables, and that the head-waiter’s handsome face was red +with anxiety. + +Mrs. Makely asked if we were going to church. She said she was driving +that way, and would be glad to drop us. “I’m not going myself,” she +explained, “because I couldn’t make anything of the sermon, with my head +in the state it is, and I’m going to compromise on a good action. I want +to carry some books and papers over to Mrs. Camp. Don’t you think that +will be quite as acceptable, Mr. Homos?” + +“I should venture to hope it,” he said, with a tolerant seriousness not +altogether out of keeping with her lightness. + +“Who is Mrs. Camp?” I asked, not caring to commit myself on the question. + +“Lizzie’s mother. You know I told you about them last night. I think she +must have got through the books I lent her, and I know Lizzie didn’t like +to ask me for more, because she saw me talking with you, and didn’t want +to interrupt us. Such a nice girl! I think the Sunday papers must have +come, and I’ll take them over, too; Mrs. Camp is always so glad to get +them, and she is so delightful when she gets going about public events. +But perhaps you don’t approve of Sunday papers, Mr. Homos.” + +“I’m sure I don’t know, madam. I haven’t seen them yet. You know this is +the first Sunday I’ve been in America.” + +“Well, I’m sorry to say you won’t see the old Puritan Sabbath,” said Mrs. +Makely, with an abrupt deflection from the question of the Sunday papers. +“Though you ought to, up in these hills. The only thing left of it is +rye-and-Indian bread, and these baked beans and fish-balls.” + +“But they are very good?” + +“Yes, I dare say they are not the worst of it.” + +She was a woman who tended to levity, and I was a little afraid she might +be going to say something irreverent; but, if she were, she was +forestalled by the Altrurian asking: “Would it be very indiscreet, madam, +if I were to ask you some time to introduce me to that family?” + +“The Camps?” she returned. “Not at all. I should be perfectly delighted.” + The thought seemed to strike her, and she asked: “Why not go with me this +morning, unless you are inflexibly bent on going to church, you and Mr. +Twelvemough?” + +The Altrurian glanced at me, and I said I should be only too glad, if I +could carry some books, so that I could compromise on a good action, too. +“Take one of your own,” she instantly suggested. + +“Do you think they wouldn’t be too severe upon it?” I asked. + +“Well, Mrs. Camp might,” Mrs. Makely consented, with a smile. “She goes +in for rather serious fiction; but I think Lizzie would enjoy a good, +old-fashioned love-story, where everybody got married, as they do in your +charming books.” + +I winced a little, for every one likes to be regarded seriously, and I did +not enjoy being remanded to the young-girl public; but I put a bold face +on it, and said: “My good action shall be done in behalf of Miss Lizzie.” + +Half an hour later, Mrs. Makely having left word with the clerk where we +were gone, so that her husband need not be alarmed when he got up, we were +striking into the hills on a two-seated buckboard, with one of the best +teams of our hotel, and one of the most taciturn drivers. Mrs. Makely had +the Altrurian get into the back seat with her, and, after some attempts to +make talk with the driver, I leaned over and joined in their talk. The +Altrurian was greatly interested, not so much in the landscape--though he +owned its beauty when we cried out over it from point to point--but in the +human incidents and features. He noticed the cattle in the fields, and the +horses we met on the road, and the taste and comfort of the buildings, the +variety of the crops, and the promise of the harvest. I was glad of the +respite his questions gave me from the study of the intimate character of +our civilization, for they were directed now at these more material facts, +and I willingly joined Mrs. Makely in answering them. We explained that +the finest teams we met were from the different hotels or boarding-houses, +or at least from the farms where the people took city people to board; and +that certain shabby equipages belonged to the natives who lived solely by +cultivating the soil. There was not very much of the soil cultivated, for +the chief crop was hay, with here and there a patch of potatoes or beans, +and a few acres in sweet-corn. The houses of the natives, when they were +for their use only, were no better than their turnouts; it was where the +city boarder had found shelter that they were modern and pleasant. Now and +then we came to a deserted homestead, and I tried to make the Altrurian +understand how farming in New England had yielded to the competition of +the immense agricultural operations of the West. “You know,” I said, “that +agriculture is really an operation out there, as much as coal-mining is in +Pennsylvania, or finance in Wall Street; you have no idea of the vastness +of the scale.” Perhaps I swelled a little with pride in my celebration of +the national prosperity, as it flowed from our Western farms of five and +ten and twenty thousand acres; I could not very well help putting on the +pedal in these passages. Mrs. Makely listened almost, as eagerly, as the +Altrurian, for, as a cultivated American woman, she was necessarily +quite ignorant of her own country, geographically, politically, and +historically. “The only people left in the hill country of New England,” I +concluded, “are those who are too old or too lazy to get away. Any young +man of energy would be ashamed to stay, unless he wanted to keep a +boarding-house or live on the city vacationists in summer. If he doesn’t, +he goes West and takes up some of the new land, and comes back in +middle-life and buys a deserted farm to spend his summers on.” + +“Dear me!” said the Altrurian. “Is it so simple as that? Then we can +hardly wonder at their owners leaving these worn-out farms; though I +suppose it must be with the pang of exile, sometimes.” + +“Oh, I fancy there isn’t much sentiment involved,” I answered, lightly. + +“Whoa!” said Mrs. Makely, speaking to the horses before she spoke to the +driver, as some women will. He pulled them up, and looked round at her. + +“Isn’t that Reuben Camp, _now_, over there by that house?” she asked, as +if we had been talking of him; that is another way some women have. + +“Yes, ma’am,” said the driver. + +“Oh, well, then!” and “Reuben!” she called to the young man, who was +prowling about the door-yard of a sad-colored old farm-house, and peering +into a window here and there. “Come here a moment--won’t you, please?” + +He lifted his head and looked round, and, when he had located the appeal +made to him, he came down the walk to the gate and leaned over it, waiting +for further instructions. I saw that it was the young man whom we had +noticed with the girl Mrs. Makely called Lizzie on the hotel piazza the +night before. + +“Do you know whether I should find Lizzie at home this morning?” + +“Yes, she’s there with mother,” said the young fellow, with neither liking +nor disliking in his tone. + +“Oh, I’m so glad!” said the lady. “I didn’t know but she might be at +church. What in the world has happened here? Is there anything unusual +going on inside?” + +“No, I was just looking to see if it was all right. The folks wanted I +should come round.” + +“Why, where are they?” + +“Oh, they’re gone.” + +“Gone?” + +“Yes; gone West. They’ve left the old place, because they couldn’t make a +living here any longer.” + +“Why, this is quite a case in point,” I said. “Now, Mr. Homos, here is a +chance to inform yourself at first hand about a very interesting fact of +our civilization”; and I added, in a low voice, to Mrs. Makely: “Won’t you +introduce us?” + +“Oh yes. Mr. Camp, this is Mr. Twelvemough, the author--you know his +books, of course; and Mr. Homos, a gentleman from Altruria.” + +The young fellow opened the gate he leaned on and came out to us. He took +no notice of me, but he seized the Altrurian’s hand and wrung it. “I’ve +heard of _you_” he said. “Mrs. Makely, were you going to our place?” + +“Why, yes.” + +“So do, then. Mother would give almost anything to see Mr. Homos. We’ve +heard of Altruria, over our way,” he added to our friend. “Mother’s been +reading up all she can about it. She’ll want to talk with you, and she +won’t give the rest of us much of a chance, I guess.” + +“Oh, I shall be glad to see her,” said the Altrurian, “and to tell her +everything I can. But won’t you explain to me first something about your +deserted farms here? It’s quite a new thing to me.” + +“It isn’t a new thing to us,” said the young fellow, with a short laugh. +“And there isn’t much to explain about it. You’ll see them all through New +England. When a man finds he can’t get his funeral expenses out of the +land, he don’t feel like staying to be buried in it, and he pulls up and +goes.” + +“But people used to get their living expenses here,” I suggested. “Why +can’t they now?” + +“Well, they didn’t use to have Western prices to fight with; and then the +land wasn’t worn out so, and the taxes were not so heavy. How would you +like to pay twenty to thirty dollars on the thousand, and assessed up to +the last notch, in the city?” + +“Why, what in the world makes your taxes so heavy?” + +“Schools and roads. We’ve got to have schools, and you city folks want +good roads when you come here in the summer, don’t you? Then the season is +short, and sometimes we can’t make a crop. The frost catches the corn in +the field, and you have your trouble for your pains. Potatoes are the only +thing we can count on, except grass, and, when everybody raises potatoes, +you know where the price goes.” + +“Oh, but now, Mr. Camp,” said Mrs. Makely, leaning over toward him, and +speaking in a cosey and coaxing tone, as if he must not really keep the +truth from an old friend like her, “isn’t it a good deal because the +farmers’ daughters want pianos, and the farmers’ sons want buggies? I +heard Professor Lumen saying, the other day, that, if the farmers were +willing to work as they used to work, they could still get a good living +off their farms, and that they gave up their places because they were too +lazy, in many cases, to farm them properly.” + +“He’d better not let _me_ hear him saying that,” said the young fellow, +while a hot flush passed over his face. He added, bitterly: “If he wants +to see how easy it is to make a living up here, he can take this place and +try for a year or two; he can get it cheap. But I guess he wouldn’t want +it the year round; he’d only want it a few months in the summer, when he +could enjoy the sightliness of it, and see me working over there on my +farm, while he smoked on his front porch.” He turned round and looked at +the old house in silence a moment. Then, as he went on, his voice lost its +angry ring. “The folks here bought this place from the Indians, and they’d +been here more than two hundred years. Do you think they left it because +they were too lazy to run it, or couldn’t get pianos and buggies out of +it, or were such fools as not to know whether they were well off? It was +their _home_; they were born and lived and died here. There is the family +burying-ground over there.” + +Neither Mrs. Makely nor myself was ready with a reply, and we left the +word with the Altrurian, who suggested: “Still, I suppose they will be +more prosperous in the West on the new land they take up?” + +The young fellow leaned his arms on the wheel by which he stood. “What do +you mean by taking up new land?” + +“Why, out of the public domain--” + +“There _ain’t_ any public domain that’s worth having. All the good land is +in the hands of railroads and farm syndicates and speculators; and if you +want a farm in the West you’ve got to buy it; the East is the only place +where folks give them away, because they ain’t worth keeping. If you +haven’t got the ready money, you can buy one on credit, and pay ten, +twenty, and thirty per cent. interest, and live in a dugout on the +plains--till your mortgage matures.” The young man took his arms from the +wheel and moved a few steps backward, as he added: “I’ll see you over at +the house later.” + +The driver touched his horses, and we started briskly off again. But I +confess I had quite enough of his pessimism, and as we drove away I leaned +back toward the Altrurian and said: “Now, it is all perfect nonsense to +pretend that things are at that pass with us. There are more millionaires +in America, probably, than there are in all the other civilized countries +of the globe, and it is not possible that the farming population should be +in such a hopeless condition. All wealth comes out of the earth, and you +may be sure they get their full share of it.” + +“I am glad to hear you say so,” said the Altrurian. “What is the meaning +of this new party in the West that seems to have held a convention lately? +I read something of it in the train yesterday.” + +“Oh, that is a lot of crazy Hayseeds, who don’t want to pay back the money +they have borrowed, or who find themselves unable to meet their interest. +It will soon blow over. We are always having these political flurries. A +good crop will make it all right with them.” + +“But is it true that they have to pay such rates of interest as our young +friend mentioned?” + +“Well,” I said, seeing the thing in the humorous light which softens for +us Americans so many of the hardships of others, “I suppose that man likes +to squeeze his brother man when he gets him in his grip. That’s human +nature, you know.” + +“Is it?” asked the Altrurian. + +It seemed to me that he had asked something like that before when I +alleged human nature in defence of some piece of every-day selfishness. +But I thought best not to notice it, and I went on: “The land is so rich +out there that a farm will often pay for itself with a single crop.” + +“Is it possible?” cried the Altrurian. “Then I suppose it seldom really +happens that a mortgage is foreclosed, in the way our young friend +insinuated?” + +“Well, I can’t say that exactly”; and, having admitted so much, I did not +feel bound to impart a fact that popped perversely into my mind. I was +once talking with a Western money-lender, a very good sort of fellow, +frank and open as the day; I asked him whether the farmers generally paid +off their mortgages, and he answered me that if the mortgage was to the +value of a fourth of the land, the farmer might pay it off, but if it were +to a half, or a third even, he never paid it, but slaved on and died in +his debts. “You may be sure, however,” I concluded, “that our young friend +takes a jaundiced view of the situation.” + +“Now, really,” said Mrs. Makely, “I must insist upon dropping this +everlasting talk about money. I think it is perfectly disgusting, and I +believe it was Mr. Makely’s account of his speculations that kept me awake +last night. My brain got running on figures till the dark seemed to be all +sown with dollar-marks, like the stars in the Milky Way. I--ugh! What in +the world is it? Oh, you dreadful little things!” + +Mrs. Makely passed swiftly from terror to hysterical laughter as the +driver pulled up short and a group of barefooted children broke in front +of his horses and scuttled out of the dust into the road-side bushes like +a covey of quails. There seemed to be a dozen of them, nearly all the same +in size, but there turned out to be only five or six; or at least no more +showed their gleaming eyes and teeth through the underbrush in quiet +enjoyment of the lady’s alarm. + +“Don’t you know that you might have got killed?” she demanded, with that +severity good women feel for people who have just escaped with their +lives. “How lovely the dirty little dears are!” she added, in the next +wave of emotion. One bold fellow of six showed a half-length above the +bushes, and she asked: “Don’t you know that you oughtn’t to play in the +road when there are so many teams passing? Are all those your brothers and +sisters?” + +He ignored the first question. “One’s my cousin.” I pulled out a +half-dozen coppers, and held my hand toward him. “See if there is one +for each.” They had no difficulty in solving the simple mathematical +problem except the smallest girl, who cried for fear and baffled longing. +I tossed the coin to her, and a little fat dog darted out at her feet and +caught it up in his mouth. “Oh, good gracious!” I called out in my light, +humorous way. “Do you suppose he’s going to spend it for candy?” The +little people thought that a famous joke, and they laughed with the +gratitude that even small favors inspire. “Bring your sister here,” I said +to the boldest boy, and, when he came up with the little woman, I put +another copper into her hand. “Look out that the greedy dog doesn’t get +it,” I said, and my gayety met with fresh applause. “Where do you live?” I +asked, with some vague purpose of showing the Altrurian the kindliness +that exists between our upper and lower classes. + +“Over there,” said the boy. I followed the twist of his head, and glimpsed +a wooden cottage on the border of the forest, so very new that the +sheathing had not yet been covered with clapboards. I stood up in the +buckboard and saw that it was a story and a half high, and could have had +four or five rooms in it. The bare, curtainless windows were set in the +unpainted frames, but the front door seemed not to be hung yet. The people +meant to winter there, however, for the sod was banked up against the +wooden underpinning; a stovepipe stuck out of the roof of a little wing +behind. While I gazed a young-looking woman came to the door, as if she +had been drawn by our talk with the children, and then she jumped down +from the threshold, which still wanted a doorstep, and came slowly out to +us. The children ran to her with their coppers, and then followed her back +to us. + +Mrs. Makely called to her before she reached us: “I hope you weren’t +frightened. We didn’t drive over any of them.” + +“Oh, I wasn’t frightened,” said the young woman. “It’s a very safe place +to bring up children, in the country, and I never feel uneasy about them.” + +“Yes, if they are not under the horses’ feet,” said Mrs. Makely, mingling +instruction and amusement very judiciously in her reply. “Are they all +yours?” + +“Only five,” said the mother, and she pointed to the alien in her flock. +“He’s my sister’s. She lives just below here.” Her children had grouped +themselves about her, and she kept passing her hands caressingly over +their little heads as she talked. “My sister has nine children, but she +has the rest at church with her to-day.” + +“You don’t speak like an American,” Mrs. Makely suggested. + +“No, we’re English. Our husbands work in the quarry. That’s _my_ little +palace.” The woman nodded her head toward the cottage. + +“It’s going to be very nice,” said Mrs. Makely, with an evident perception +of her pride in it. + +“Yes, if we ever get money to finish it. Thank you for the children.” + +“Oh, it was this gentleman.” Mrs. Makely indicated me, and I bore the +merit of my good action as modestly as I could. + +“Then thank _you_, sir,” said the young woman, and she asked Mrs. Makely: +“You’re not living about here, ma’am?” + +“Oh no, we’re staying at the hotel.” + +“At the hotel! It must be very dear, there.” + +“Yes, it is expensive,” said Mrs. Makely, with a note of that satisfaction +in her voice which we all feel in spending a great deal of money. + +“But I suppose you can afford it,” said the woman, whose eye was running +hungrily over Mrs. Makely’s pretty costume. “Some are poor, and some are +rich. That’s the way the world has to be made up, isn’t it?” + +“Yes,” said Mrs. Makely, very dryly, and the talk languished from this +point, so that the driver felt warranted in starting up his horses. When +we had driven beyond earshot she said: “I knew she was not an American, +as soon as she spoke, by her accent, and then those foreigners have no +self-respect. That was a pretty bold bid for a contribution to finish up +her ‘little palace’! I’m glad you didn’t give her anything, Mr. +Twelvemough. I was afraid your sympathies had been wrought upon.” + +“Oh, not at all,” I answered. “I saw the mischief I had done with the +children.” + +The Altrurian, who has not asked anything for a long time, but had +listened with eager interest to all that passed, now came up smiling with +his question: “Will you kindly tell me what harm would have been done by +offering the woman a little money to help finish up her cottage?” + +I did not allow Mrs. Makely to answer, I was so eager to air my political +economy. “The very greatest harm. It would have pauperized her. You have +no idea how quickly they give way to the poison of that sort of thing. As +soon as they get any sort of help they expect more; they count upon it, +and they begin to live upon it. The sight of those coppers which I gave +her children--more out of joke than charity--demoralized the woman. She +took us for rich people, and wanted us to build her a house. You have to +guard against every approach to a thing of that sort.” + +“I don’t believe,” said Mrs. Makely, “that an American would have hinted, +as she did.” + +“‘No, an American would not have done that, I’m thankful to say. They take +fees, but they don’t ask charity, yet.” We went on to exult in the noble +independence of the American character in all classes, at some length. We +talked at the Altrurian, but he did not seem to hear us. At last he asked, +with a faint sigh: “Then, in your conditions, a kindly impulse to aid one +who needs your help is something to be guarded against as possibly +pernicious?” + +“Exactly,” I said. “And now you see what difficulties beset us in dealing +with the problem of poverty. We cannot let people suffer, for that would +be cruel; and we cannot relieve their need without pauperizing them.” + +“I see,” he answered. “It is a terrible quandary.” + +“I wish,” said Mrs. Makely, “that you would tell us just how you manage +with the poor in Altruria.” + +“We have none,” he replied. + +“But the comparatively poor--you have some people who are richer than +others?” + +“No. We should regard that as the worst incivism.” + +“What is incivism?” + +I interpreted, “Bad citizenship.” + +“Well, then, if you will excuse me, Mr. Homos,” she said, “I think that is +simply impossible. There _must_ be rich and there _must_ be poor. There +always have been, and there always will be. That woman said it as well as +anybody. Didn’t Christ Himself say, ‘The poor ye have always with you’?” + + + + +VII + + +The Altrurian looked at Mrs. Makely with an amazement visibly heightened +by the air of complacency she put on after delivering this poser: “Do you +really think Christ meant that you _ought_ always to have the poor with +you?” he asked. + +“Why, of course!” she answered, triumphantly. “How else are the sympathies +of the rich to be cultivated? The poverty of some and the wealth of +others, isn’t that what forms the great tie of human brotherhood? If we +were all comfortable, or all shared alike, there could not be anything +like charity, and Paul said, ‘The greatest of these is charity.’ I believe +it’s ‘love’ in the new version, but it comes to the same thing.” + +The Altrurian gave a kind of gasp, and then lapsed into a silence that +lasted until we came in sight of the Camp farm-house. It stood on the +crest of a road-side upland, and looked down the beautiful valley, bathed +in Sabbath sunlight, and away to the ranges of hills, so far that it was +hard to say whether it was sun or shadow that dimmed their distance. +Decidedly, the place was what the country people call sightly. The old +house, once painted a Brandon red, crouched low to the ground, with its +lean-to in the rear, and its flat-arched wood-sheds and wagon-houses +stretching away at the side of the barn, and covering the approach to it +with an unbroken roof. There were flowers in the beds along the +underpinning of the house, which stood close to the street, and on one +side of the door was a clump of Spanish willow; an old-fashioned June rose +climbed over it from the other. An aged dog got stiffly to his feet from +the threshold stone and whimpered as our buckboard drew up; the poultry +picking about the path and among the chips lazily made way for us, and as +our wheels ceased to crunch upon the gravel we heard hasty steps, and +Reuben Camp came round the corner of the house in time to give Mrs. Makely +his hand and help her spring to the ground, which she did very lightly; +her remarkable mind had kept her body in a sort of sympathetic activity, +and at thirty-five she had the gracile ease and self-command of a girl. + +“Ah, Reuben,” she sighed, permitting herself to call him by his first +name, with the emotion which expressed itself more definitely in the words +that followed, “how I envy you all this dear, old, homelike place! I never +come here without thinking of my grandfather’s farm in Massachusetts, +where I used to go every summer when I was a little girl. If I had a place +like this, I should never leave it.” + +“Well, Mrs. Makely,” said young Camp, “you can have this place cheap, if +you really want it. Or almost any other place in the neighborhood.” + +“Don’t say such a thing!” she returned. “It makes one feel as if the +foundations of the great deep were giving way. I don’t know what that +means exactly, but I suppose it’s equivalent to mislaying George’s hatchet +and going back on the Declaration generally; and I don’t like to hear you +talk so.” + +Camp seemed to have lost his bitter mood, and he answered, pleasantly: +“The Declaration is all right, as far as it goes, but it don’t help us to +compete with the Western farm operations.” + +“Why, you believe every one was born free and equal, don’t you?” Mrs. +Makely asked. + +“Oh yes, I believe that; but--” + +“Then why do you object to free and equal competition?” + +The young fellow laughed, and said, as he opened the door for us: “Walk +right into the parlor, please. Mother will be ready for you in a minute.” + He added: “I guess she’s putting on her best cap for you, Mr. Homos. It’s +a great event for her, your coming here. It is for all of us. We’re glad +to have you.” + +“And I’m glad to be here,” said the Altrurian, as simply as the other. He +looked about the best room of a farm-house that had never adapted itself +to the tastes or needs of the city boarder, and was as stiffly repellent +in its upholstery and as severe in its decoration as hair-cloth chairs and +dark-brown wall-paper of a trellis pattern, with drab roses, could make +it. The windows were shut tight, and our host did not offer to open them. +A fly or two crossed the doorway into the hall, but made no attempt +to penetrate the interior, where we sat in an obscurity that left the +high-hung family photographs on the walls vague and uncertain. I made a +mental note of it as a place where it would be very characteristic to have +a rustic funeral take place; and I was pleased to have Mrs. Makely drop +into a sort of mortuary murmur, as she said: “I hope your mother is as +well as usual this morning?” I perceived that this murmur was produced by +the sepulchral influence of the room. + +“Oh yes,” said Camp, and at that moment a door opened from the room across +the hall, and his sister seemed to bring in some of the light from it to +us where we sat. She shook hands with Mrs. Makely, who introduced me to +her, and then presented the Altrurian. She bowed very civilly to me, but +with a touch of severity, such as country people find necessary for the +assertion of their self-respect with strangers. I thought it very pretty, +and instantly saw that I could work it into some picture of character; and +I was not at all sorry that she made a difference in favor of the +Altrurian. + +“Mother will be so glad to see you,” she said to him, and, “Won’t you come +right in?” she added to us all. + +We followed her and found ourselves in a large, low, sunny room on +the southeast corner of the house, which had no doubt once been the +living-room, but which was now given up to the bedridden invalid; a door +opened into the kitchen behind, where the table was already laid for the +midday meal, with the plates turned down in the country fashion, and some +netting drawn over the dishes to keep the flies away. + +Mrs. Makely bustled up to the bedside with her energetic, patronizing +cheerfulness. “Ah, Mrs. Camp, I am glad to see you looking so well this +morning. I’ve been meaning to run over for several days past, but I +couldn’t find a moment till this morning, and I knew you didn’t object to +Sunday visits.” She took the invalid’s hand in hers, and, with the air of +showing how little she felt any inequality between them, she leaned over +and kissed her, where Mrs. Camp sat propped against her pillows. She had a +large, nobly moulded face of rather masculine contour, and at the same +time the most motherly look in the world. Mrs. Makely bubbled and babbled +on, and every one waited patiently till she had done, and turned and said, +toward the Altrurian: “I have ventured to bring my friend, Mr. Homos, with +me. He is from Altruria.” Then she turned to me and said: “Mr. Twelvemough +you know already through his delightful books”; but, although she paid me +this perfunctory compliment it was perfectly apparent to me that in the +esteem of this disingenuous woman the distinguished stranger was a far +more important person than the distinguished author. Whether Mrs. Camp +read my perception of this fact in my face or not I cannot say, but she +was evidently determined that I should not feel a difference in her. She +held out her hand to me first, and said that I never could know how many +heavy hours I had helped to lighten for her, and then she turned to the +Altrurian and took his hand. “Oh!” she said, with a long, deep-drawn sigh, +as if that were the supreme moment of her life. “And are you really from +Altruria? It seems too good to be true!” Her devout look and her earnest +tone gave the commonplace words a quality that did not inhere in them, but +Mrs. Makely took them on their surface. + +“Yes, doesn’t it?” she made haste to interpose, before the Altrurian could +say anything. “That is just the way we all feel about it, Mrs. Camp. I +assure you, if it were not for the accounts in the papers and the talk +about it everywhere, I couldn’t believe there _was_ any such place as +Altruria; and if it were not for Mr. Twelvemough here--who has to keep all +his inventions for his novels, as a mere matter of business routine--I +might really suspect him and Mr. Homos of--well, _working_ us, as my +husband calls it.” + +The Altrurian smiled politely, but vaguely, as if he had not quite caught +her meaning, and I made answer for both: “I am sure, Mrs. Makely, if you +could understand my peculiar state of mind about Mr. Homos, you would +never believe that I was in collusion with him. I find him quite as +incredible as you do. There are moments when he seems so entirely +subjective with me that I feel as if he were no more definite or tangible +than a bad conscience.” + +“Exactly!” said Mrs. Makely, and she laughed out her delight in my +illustration. + +The Altrurian must have perceived that we were joking, though the Camps +all remained soberly silent. “I hope it isn’t so bad as that,” he said, +“though I have noticed that I seem to affect you all with a kind of +misgiving. I don’t know just what it is; but, if I could remove it, I +should be very glad to do so.” + +Mrs. Makely very promptly seized her chance: “Well, then, in the first +place, my husband and I were talking it over last night after we left you, +and that was one of the things that kept us awake; it turned into money +afterward. It isn’t so much that a whole continent, as big as Australia, +remained undiscovered till within such a very few years, as it is the +condition of things among you: this sort of all living for one another, +and not each one for himself. My husband says that is simply moonshine; +such a thing never was and never can be; it is opposed to human nature, +and would take away incentive and all motive for exertion and advancement +and enterprise. I don’t know _what_ he didn’t say against it; but one +thing, he says it’s perfectly un-American.” The Altrurian remained silent, +gravely smiling, and Mrs. Makely added, with her most engaging little +manner: “I hope you won’t feel hurt, personally or patriotically, by what +I’ve repeated to you. I know my husband is awfully Philistine, though he +_is_ such a good fellow, and I don’t, by any means, agree with him on all +those points; but I _would_ like to know what you think of them. The +trouble is, Mrs. Camp,” she said, turning to the invalid, “that Mr. Homos +is so dreadfully reticent about his own country, and I am so curious to +hear of it at first hands, that I consider it justifiable to use any means +to make him open up about it.” + +“There is no offence,” the Altrurian answered for himself, “in what Mr. +Makely says, though, from the Altrurian point of view, there is a good +deal of error. + +“Does it seem so strange to you,” he asked, addressing himself to Mrs. +Camp, “that people should found a civilization on the idea of living for +one another instead of each for himself?” + +“No indeed!” she answered. “Poor people have always had to live that way, +or they could not have lived at all.” + +“That was what I understood your porter to say last night,” said the +Altrurian to me. He added, to the company generally: “I suppose that even +in America there are more poor people than there are rich people?” + +“Well, I don’t know about that,” I said. “I suppose there are more people +independently rich than there are people independently poor.” + +“We will let that formulation of it stand. If it is true, I do not see why +the Altrurian system should be considered so very un-American. Then, as to +whether there is or ever was really a practical altruism, a civic +expression of it, I think it cannot be denied that among the first +Christians, those who immediately followed Christ, and might be supposed +to be directly influenced by His life, there was an altruism practised as +radical as that which we have organized into a national polity and a +working economy in Altruria.” + +“Ah, but you know,” said Mrs. Makely, with the air of advancing a point +not to be put aside, “they had to drop _that_. It was a dead failure. They +found that they couldn’t make it go at all among cultivated people, and +that, if Christianity was to advance, they would have to give up all that +crankish kind of idolatry of the mere letter. At any rate,” she went on, +with the satisfaction we all feel in getting an opponent into close +quarters, “you must confess that there is a much greater play of +individuality here.” + +Before the Altrurian could reply, young Camp said: “If you want to see +American individuality, the real, simon-pure article, you ought to go down +to one of our big factory towns and look at the mill-hands coming home in +droves after a day’s work, young girls and old women, boys and men, all +fluffed over with cotton, and so dead tired that they can hardly walk. +They come shambling along with all the individuality of a flock of sheep.” + +“Some,” said Mrs. Makely, heroically, as if she were one of these, “must +be sacrificed. Of course, some are not so individual as others. A great +deal depends upon temperament.” + +“A great deal more depends upon capital,” said Camp, with an offensive +laugh. “If you have capital in America, you can have individuality; if you +haven’t, you can’t.” + +His sister, who had not taken part in the talk before, said, demurely: “It +seems to me you’ve got a good deal of individuality, Reub, and you haven’t +got a great deal of capital, either,” and the two young people laughed +together. + +Mrs. Makely was one of those fatuous women whose eagerness to make a point +excludes the consideration even of their own advantage. “I’m sure,” she +said, as if speaking for the upper classes, “we haven’t got any +individuality at all. We are as like as so many peas or pins. In fact, you +have to be so in society. If you keep asserting your own individuality too +much, people avoid you. It’s very vulgar and the greatest bore.” + +“Then you don’t find individuality so desirable, after all,” said the +Altrurian. + +“I perfectly detest it!” cried the lady, and evidently she had not the +least notion where she was in the argument. “For my part, I’m never happy +except when I’ve forgotten myself and the whole individual bother.” + +Her declaration seemed somehow to close the incident, and we were all +silent a moment, which I employed in looking about the room, and taking in +with my literary sense the simplicity and even bareness of its furnishing. +There was the bed where the invalid lay, and near the head a table with a +pile of books and a kerosene-lamp on it, and I decided that she was a good +deal wakeful, and that she read by that lamp when she could not sleep at +night. Then there were the hard chairs we sat on, and some home-made +hooked rugs, in rounds and ovals, scattered about the clean floor; there +was a small melodeon pushed against the wall; the windows had paper +shades, and I recalled that I had not seen any blinds on the outside of +the house. Over the head of the bed hung a cavalryman’s sword, with its +belt--the sword that Mrs. Makely had spoken of. It struck me as a room +where a great many things might have happened, and I said: “You can’t +think, Mrs. Camp, how glad I am to see the inside of your house. It seems +to me so typical.” + +A pleased intelligence showed itself in her face, and she answered: “Yes, +it is a real old-fashioned farmhouse. We have never taken boarders, and so +we have kept it as it was built pretty much, and only made such changes in +it as we needed or wanted for ourselves.” + +“It’s a pity,” I went on, following up what I thought a fortunate lead, +“that we city people see so little of the farming life when we come into +the country. I have been here now for several seasons, and this is the +first time I have been inside a farmer’s house.” + +“Is it possible!” cried the Altrurian, with an air of utter astonishment; +and, when I found the fact appeared so singular to him, I began to be +rather proud of its singularity. + +“Yes, I suppose that most city people come and go, year after year, in the +country, and never make any sort of acquaintance with the people who live +there the year round. We keep to ourselves in the hotels, or, if we go out +at all, it is to make a call upon some city cottager, and so we do not get +out of the vicious circle of our own over-intimacy with ourselves and our +ignorance of others.” + +“And you regard that as a great misfortune?” asked the Altrurian. + +“Why, it’s inevitable. There is nothing to bring us together, unless it’s +some happy accident, like the present. But we don’t have a traveler from +Altruria to exploit every day, and so we have no business to come into +people’s houses.” + +“You would have been welcome in ours long ago, Mr. Twelvemough,” said Mrs. +Camp. + +“But, excuse me,” said the Altrurian, “what you say really seems dreadful +to me. Why, it is as if you were not the same race or kind of men!” + +“Yes,” I answered. “It has sometimes seemed to me as if our big hotel +there were a ship anchored off some strange coast. The inhabitants come +out with supplies, and carry on their barter with the ship’s steward, and +we sometimes see them over the side, but we never speak to them or have +anything to do with them. We sail away at the close of the season, and +that is the end of it till next summer.” + +The Altrurian turned to Mrs. Camp. “And how do you look at it? How does it +seem to you?” + +“I don’t believe we have thought about it very much; but, now that Mr. +Twelvemough has spoken of it, I can see that it does look that way. And it +seems very strange, doesn’t it, for we are all the same people, and have +the same language and religion and country--the country that my husband +fought for and, I suppose I may say, died for; he was never the same man +after the war. It does appear as if we had some interests in common, and +might find it out if we ever came together.” + +“It’s a great advantage, the city people going into the country so much as +they do now,” said Mrs. Makely. “They bring five million dollars into the +State of New Hampshire, alone, every summer.” + +She looked round for the general approval which this fact merited, and +young Camp said: “And it shows how worthless the natives are, that they +can’t make both ends meet, with all that money, but have to give up their +farms and go West, after all. I suppose you think it comes from wanting +buggies and pianos.” + +“Well, it certainly comes from something,” said Mrs. Makely, with the +courage of her convictions. + +She was evidently not going to be put down by that sour young fellow, and +I was glad of it, though I must say I thought the thing she left to rankle +in his mind from our former meeting had not been said in very good taste. +I thought, too, that she would not fare best in any encounter of wits with +him, and I rather trembled for the result. I said, to relieve the strained +situation: “I wish there was some way of our knowing each other better. +I’m sure there’s a great deal of good-will on both sides.” + +“No, there isn’t,” said Camp, “or at least I can answer for our side that +there isn’t. You come into the country to get as much for your money as +you can, and we mean to let you have as little as we can. That’s the whole +story, and if Mr. Homos believes anything different, he’s very much +mistaken.” + +“I hadn’t formed any conclusion in regard to the matter, which is quite +new to me,” said the Altrurian, mildly. “But why is there no basis of +mutual kindness between you?” + +“Because it’s like everything else with us; it’s a question of supply and +demand, and there is no room for any mutual kindness in a question of that +kind. Even if there were, there is another thing that would kill it. The +summer folks, as we call them, look down on the natives, as they call us, +and we know it.” + +“Now, Mr. Camp, I am sure that you cannot say _I_ look down on the +natives,” said Mrs. Makely, with an air of argument. + +The young fellow laughed. “Oh yes, you do,” he said, not unamiably, and he +added, “and you’ve got the right to. We’re not fit to associate with you, +and you know it, and we know it. You’ve got more money, and you’ve got +nicer clothes, and you’ve got prettier manners. You talk about things that +most natives never heard of, and you care for things they never saw. I +know it’s the custom to pretend differently, but I’m not going to pretend +differently.” + +I recalled what my friend the banker said about throwing away cant, and I +asked myself if I were in the presence of some such free spirit again. I +did not see how young Camp could afford it; but then I reflected that he +had really nothing to lose by it, for he did not expect to make anything +out of us; Mrs. Makely would probably not give up his sister as seamstress +if the girl continued to work so well and so cheaply as she said. + +“Suppose,” he went on, “that some old native took you at your word, and +came to call upon you at the hotel, with his wife, just as one of the city +cottagers would do if he wanted to make your acquaintance?” + +“I should be perfectly delighted,” said Mrs. Makely, “and I should receive +them with the greatest possible cordiality.” + +“The same kind of cordiality that you would show to the cottagers?” + +“I suppose that I should feel that I had more in common with the +cottagers. We should be interested in the same things, and we should +probably know the same people and have more to talk about--” + +“You would both belong to the same class, and that tells the whole story. +If you were out West, and the owner of one of those big twenty-thousand-acre +farms called on you with his wife, would you act toward them as you +would toward our natives? You wouldn’t. You would all be rich people +together, and you would understand one another because you had money.” + +“Now, that is not so,” Mrs. Makely interrupted. “There are plenty of rich +people one wouldn’t wish to know at all, and who really can’t get into +society--who are ignorant and vulgar. And then, when you come to money, I +don’t see but what country people are as glad to get it as anybody.” + +“Oh, gladder,” said the young man. + +“Well?” demanded Mrs. Makely, as if this were a final stroke of logic. The +young man did not reply, and Mrs. Makely continued: “Now I will appeal to +your sister to say whether she has ever seen any difference in my manner +toward her from what I show to all the young ladies in the hotel.” The +young girl flushed and seemed reluctant to answer. “Why, Lizzie!” cried +Mrs. Makely, and her tone showed that she was really hurt. + +The scene appeared to me rather cruel, and I glanced at Mrs. Camp with an +expectation that she would say something to relieve it. But she did not. +Her large, benevolent face expressed only a quiet interest in the +discussion. + +“You know very well, Mrs. Makely,” said the girl, “you don’t regard me as +you do the young ladies in the hotel.” + +There was no resentment in her voice or look, but only a sort of regret, +as if, but for this grievance, she could have loved the woman from whom +she had probably had much kindness. The tears came into Mrs. Makely’s +eyes, and she turned toward Mrs. Camp. “And is this the way you _all_ feel +toward us?” she asked. + +“Why shouldn’t we?” asked the invalid, in her turn. “But, no, it isn’t the +way all the country people feel. Many of them feel as you would like to +have them feel; but that is because they do not think. When they think, +they feel as we do. But I don’t blame you. You can’t help yourselves any +more than we can. We’re all bound up together in that, at least.” + +At this apparent relenting Mrs. Makely tricked her beams a little, and +said, plaintively, as if offering herself for further condolence: “Yes, +that is what that woman at the little shanty back there said: some have to +be rich, and some have to be poor; it takes all kinds to make a world.” + +“How would you like to be one of those that have to be poor?” asked young +Camp, with an evil grin. + +“I don’t know,” said Mrs. Makely, with unexpected spirit; “but I am sure +that I should respect the feelings of all, rich or poor.” + +“I am sorry if we have hurt yours, Mrs. Makely,” said Mrs. Camp, with +dignity. “You asked us certain questions, and we thought you wished us to +reply truthfully. We could not answer you with smooth things.” + +“But sometimes you do,” said Mrs. Makely, and the tears stood in her eyes +again. “And you know how fond I am of you all!” + +Mrs. Camp wore a bewildered look. “Perhaps we have said more than we +ought. But I couldn’t help it, and I don’t see how the children could, +when you asked them here, before Mr. Homos.” + +I glanced at the Altrurian, sitting attentive and silent, and a sudden +misgiving crossed my mind concerning him. Was he really a man, a human +entity, a personality like ourselves, or was he merely a sort of spiritual +solvent, sent for the moment to precipitate whatever sincerity there was +in us, and show us what the truth was concerning our relations to one +another? It was a fantastic conception, but I thought it was one that I +might employ in some sort of purely romantic design, and I was +professionally grateful for it. I said, with a humorous gayety: “Yes, we +all seem to have been compelled to be much more honest than we like; and +if Mr. Homos is going to write an account of his travels when he gets +home, he can’t accuse us of hypocrisy, at any rate. And I always used to +think it was one of our virtues! What with Mr. Camp, here, and my friend +the banker at the hotel, I don’t think he’ll have much reason to complain +even of our reticence.” + +“Well, whatever he says of us,” sighed Mrs. Makely, with a pious glance at +the sword over the bed, “he will have to say that, in spite of our +divisions and classes, we are all Americans, and, if we haven’t the same +opinions and ideas on minor matters, we all have the same country.” + +“I don’t know about that,” came from Reuben Camp, with shocking +promptness. “I don’t believe we all have the same country. America is one +thing for you, and it’s quite another thing for us. America means ease and +comfort and amusement for you, year in and year out, and if it means work, +it’s work that you _wish_ to do. For us, America means work that we _have_ +to do, and hard work all the time if we’re going to make both ends meet. +It means liberty for you; but what liberty has a man got who doesn’t know +where his next meal is coming from? Once I was in a strike, when I was +working on the railroad, and I’ve seen men come and give up their liberty +for a chance to earn their family’s living. They knew they were right, and +that they ought to have stood up for their rights; but they had to lie +down and lick the hand that fed them. Yes, we are all Americans, but I +guess we haven’t all got the same country, Mrs. Makely. What sort of a +country has a blacklisted man got?” + +“A blacklisted man?” she repeated. “I don’t know what you mean.” + +“Well, a kind of man I’ve seen in the mill towns, that the bosses have all +got on their books as a man that isn’t to be given work on any account; +that’s to be punished with hunger and cold, and turned into the street, +for having offended them; and that’s to be made to suffer through his +helpless family for having offended them.” + +“Excuse me, Mr. Camp,” I interposed, “but isn’t a blacklisted man usually +a man who has made himself prominent in some labor trouble?” + +“Yes,” the young fellow answered, without seeming sensible of the point I +had made. + +“Ah!” I returned. “Then you can hardly blame the employers for taking it +out of him in any way they can. That’s human nature.” + +“Good heavens!” the Altrurian cried out. “Is it possible that in America +it is human nature to take away the bread of a man’s family because he has +gone counter to your interest or pleasure on some economical question?” + +“Well, Mr. Twelvemough seems to think so,” sneered the young man. “But +whether it’s human nature or not, it’s a fact that they do it, and you can +guess how much a blacklisted man must love the country where such a thing +can happen to him. What should you call such a thing as blacklisting in +Altruria?” + +“Oh yes,” Mrs. Makely pleaded, “do let us get him to talking about +Altruria on any terms. I think all this about the labor question is so +tiresome; don’t you, Mrs. Camp?” + +Mrs. Camp did not answer; but the Altrurian said, in reply to her son: “We +should have no name for such a thing, for with us such a thing would be +impossible. There is no crime so heinous with us that the punishment would +take away the criminal’s chance of earning his living.” + +“Oh, if he was a criminal,” said young Camp, “he would be all right +_here_. The state would give him a chance to earn his living then.” + +“But if he had no other chance of earning his living, and had committed no +offence against the laws--” + +“Then the state would let him take to the road--like that fellow.” + +He pulled aside the shade of the window where he sat, and we saw pausing +before the house, and glancing doubtfully at the doorstep, where the dog +lay, a vile and loathsome-looking tramp, a blot upon the sweet and +wholesome landscape, a scandal to the sacred day. His rags burlesqued the +form which they did not wholly hide; his broken shoes were covered with +dust; his coarse hair came in a plume through his tattered hat; his red, +sodden face, at once fierce and timid, was rusty with a fortnight’s beard. +He offended the eye like a visible stench, and the wretched carrion seemed +to shrink away from our gaze as if he were aware of his loathsomeness. + +“Really,” said Mrs. Makely, “I thought those fellows were arrested now. It +is too bad to leave them at large. They are dangerous.” Young Camp left +the room, and we saw him going out toward the tramp. + +“Ah, that’s quite right,” said the lady. “I hope Reuben is going to send +him about his business. Why, surely, he’s not going to feed the horrid +creature!” she added, as Camp, after a moment’s parley with the tramp, +turned with him and disappeared round a corner of the house. “Now, Mrs. +Camp, I think that is really a very bad example. It’s encouraging them. +Very likely he’ll go to sleep in your barn, and set it on fire with his +pipe. What do you do with tramps in Altruria, Mr. Homos?” + +The Altrurian seemed not to have heard her. He said to Mrs. Camp: “Then I +understand from something your son let fall that he has not always been at +home with you here. Does he reconcile himself easily to the country after +the excitement of town life? I have read that the cities in America are +draining the country of the young people.” + +“I don’t think he was sorry to come home,” said the mother, with a touch +of fond pride. “But there was no choice for him after his father died; he +was always a good boy, and he has not made us feel that we were keeping +him away from anything better. When his father was alive we let him go, +because then we were not so dependent, and I wished him to try his fortune +in the world, as all boys long to do. But he is rather peculiar, and he +seems to have got quite enough of the world. To be sure, I don’t suppose +he’s seen the brightest side of it. He first went to work in the mills +down at Ponkwasset, but he was ‘laid off’ there when the hard times came +and there was so much overproduction, and he took a job of railroading, +and was braking on a freight-train when his father left us.” + +Mrs. Makely said, smiling: “No, I don’t think that was the brightest +outlook in the world. No wonder he has brought back such gloomy +impressions. I am sure that if he could have seen life under brighter +auspices he would not have the ideas he has.” + +“Very likely,” said the mother, dryly. “Our experiences have a great deal +to do with forming our opinions. But I am not dissatisfied with my son’s +ideas. I suppose Reuben got a good many of his ideas from his father: he’s +his father all over again. My husband thought slavery was wrong, and he +went into the war to fight against it. He used to say when the war was +over that the negroes were emancipated, but slavery was not abolished +yet.” + +“What in the world did he mean by that?” demanded Mrs. Makely. + +“Something you wouldn’t understand as we do. I tried to carry on the farm +after he first went, and before Reuben was large enough to help me much +and ought to be in school, and I suppose I overdid. At any rate, that was +when I had my first shock of paralysis. I never was very strong, and I +presume my health was weakened by my teaching school so much, and +studying, before I was married. But that doesn’t matter now, and hasn’t +for many a year. The place was clear of debt then, but I had to get a +mortgage put on it. The savings-bank down in the village took it, and +we’ve been paying the interest ever since. My husband died paying it, and +my son will pay it all my life, and then I suppose the bank will +foreclose. The treasurer was an old playmate of my husband’s, and he said +that as long as either of us lived the mortgage could lie.” + +“How splendid of him!” said Mrs. Makely. “I should think you had been very +fortunate.” + +“I said that you would not see it as we do,” said the invalid, patiently. + +The Altrurian asked: “Are there mortgages on many of the farms in the +neighborhood?” + +“Nearly all,” said Mrs. Camp. “We seem to own them, but in fact they own +us.” + +Mrs. Makely hastened to say: “My husband thinks it’s the best way to have +your property. If you mortgage it close up, you have all your capital +free, and you can keep turning it over. That’s what you ought to do, Mrs. +Camp. But what was the slavery that Captain Camp said was not abolished +yet?” + +The invalid looked at her a moment without replying, and just then the +door of the kitchen opened, and Young Camp came in and began to gather +some food from the table on a plate. + +“Why don’t you bring him to the table, Reub?” his sister called to him. + +“Oh, he says he’d rather not come in, as long as we have company. He says +he isn’t dressed for dinner; left his spike-tail in the city.” + +The young man laughed, and his sister with him. + + + + +VIII + + +Young Camp carried out the plate of victuals to the tramp, and Mrs. Makely +said to his mother: “I suppose you would make the tramp do some sort of +work to earn his breakfast on week-days?” + +“Not always,” Mrs. Camp replied. “Do the boarders at the hotel always work +to earn their breakfast?” + +“No, certainly not,” said Mrs. Makely, with the sharpness of offence. “But +they always pay for it.” + +“I don’t think that paying for a thing is earning it. Perhaps some one +else earned the money that pays for it. But I believe there is too much +work in the world. If I were to live my life over again, I should not work +half so hard. My husband and I took this place when we were young married +people, and began working to pay for it. We wanted to feel that it was +ours, that we owned it, and that our children should own it afterward. We +both worked all day long like slaves, and many a moonlight night we were +up till morning, almost, gathering the stones from our fields and burying +them in deep graves that we had dug for them. But we buried our youth and +strength and health in those graves, too, and what for? I don’t own the +farm that we worked so hard to pay for, and my children won’t. That is +what it has all come to. We were rightly punished for our greed, I +suppose. Perhaps no one has a right to own any portion of the earth. +Sometimes I think so, but my husband and I earned this farm, and now the +savings-bank owns it. That seems strange, doesn’t it? I suppose you’ll say +that the bank paid for it. Well, perhaps so; but the bank didn’t earn it. +When I think of that I don’t always think that a person who pays for his +breakfast has the best right to a breakfast.” + +I could see the sophistry of all this, but I had not the heart to point it +out; I felt the pathos of it, too. Mrs. Makely seemed not to see the one +nor to feel the other very distinctly. “Yes, but surely,” she said, “if +you give a tramp his breakfast without making him work for it, you must +see that it is encouraging idleness. And idleness is very corrupting--the +sight of it.” + +“You mean to the country people? Well, they have to stand a good deal of +that. The summer folks that spend four or five months of the year here +don’t seem to do anything from morning till night.” + +“Ah, but you must recollect that they are _resting_! You have no idea how +hard they all work in town during the winter,” Mrs. Makely urged, with an +air of argument. + +“Perhaps the tramps are resting, too. At any rate, I don’t think the sight +of idleness in rags, and begging at back doors, is very corrupting to the +country people; I never heard of a single tramp who had started from the +country; they all come from the cities. It’s the other kind of idleness +that tempts our young people. The only tramps that my son says he ever +envies are the well-dressed, strong young fellows from town that go +tramping through the mountains for exercise every summer.” + +The ladies both paused. They seemed to have got to the end of their +tether; at least, Mrs. Makely had apparently nothing else to advance, and +I said, lightly: “But that is just the kind of tramps that Mr. Homos would +most disapprove of. He says that in Altruria they would consider exercise +for exercise’ sake a wicked waste of force and little short of lunacy.” + +I thought my exaggeration might provoke him to denial, but he seemed not +to have found it unjust. “Why, you know,” he said to Mrs. Camp, “in +Altruria every one works with his hands, so that the hard work shall not +all fall to any one class; and this manual labor of each is sufficient to +keep the body in health, as well as to earn a living. After the three, +hours’ work, which constitutes a day’s work with us, is done, the young +people have all sorts of games and sports, and they carry them as late +into life as the temperament of each demands. But what I was saying to Mr. +Twelvemough--perhaps I did not make myself clear--was that we should +regard the sterile putting forth of strength in exercise, if others were +each day worn out with hard manual labor, as insane or immoral. But I can +account for it differently with you, because I understand that in your +conditions a person of leisure could not do any manual labor without +taking away the work of some one who needed it to live by; and could not +even relieve an overworked laborer, and give him the money for the work, +without teaching him habits of idleness. In Altruria we can all keep +ourselves well by doing each his share of hard work, and we can help those +who are exhausted, when such a thing happens, without injuring them +materially or morally.” + +Young Camp entered at this moment, and the Altrurian hesitated. “Oh, do go +on!” Mrs. Makely entreated. She added to Camp: “We’ve got him to talking +about Altruria at last, and we wouldn’t have him stopped for worlds.” + +The Altrurian looked around at all our faces, and no doubt read our eager +curiosity in them. He smiled and said: “I shall be very glad, I’m sure. +But I do not think you will find anything so remarkable in our +civilization, if you will conceive of it as the outgrowth of the +neighborly instinct. In fact, neighborliness is the essence of +Altrurianism. If you will imagine having the same feeling toward all,” he +explained to Mrs. Makely, “as you have toward your next-door neighbor--” + +“My next-door neighbor!” she cried. “But I don’t _know_ the people next +door! We live in a large apartment house, some forty families, and I +assure you I do not know a soul among them.” + +He looked at her with a puzzled air, and she continued: “Sometimes it +_does_ seem rather hard. One day the people on the same landing with us +lost one of their children, and I should never have been a whit the wiser +if my cook hadn’t happened to mention it. The servants all know each +other; they meet in the back elevator, and get acquainted. I don’t +encourage it. You can’t tell what kind of families they belong to.” + +“But surely,” the Altrurian persisted, “you have friends in the city whom +you think of as your neighbors?” + +“No, I can’t say that I have,” said Mrs. Makely. “I have my visiting-list, +but I shouldn’t think of anybody on _that_ as a neighbor.” + +The Altrurian looked so blank and baffled that I could hardly help +laughing. “Then I should not know how to explain Altruria to you, I’m +afraid.” + +“Well,” she returned, lightly, “if it’s anything like neighborliness as +I’ve seen it in small places, deliver me from it! I like being +independent. That’s why I like the city. You’re let alone.” + +“I was down in New York once, and I went through some of the streets and +houses where the poor people live,” said young Camp, “and they seemed to +know each other and to be quite neighborly.” + +“And would you like to be all messed in with one another that way?” + demanded the lady. + +“Well, I thought it was better than living as we do in the country, so far +apart that we never see one another, hardly. And it seems to me better +than not having any neighbors at all.” + +“Well, every one to his taste,” said Mrs. Makely. “I wish you would tell +us how people manage with you socially, Mr. Homos.” + +“Why, you know,” he began, “we have neither city nor country in your +sense, and so we are neither so isolated nor so crowded together. You feel +that you lose a great deal in not seeing one another oftener?” he asked +Camp. + +“Yes. Folks rust out living alone. It’s Human nature to want to get +together.” + +“And I understand Mrs. Makely that it is human nature to want to keep +apart?” + +“Oh no, but to come together independently,” she answered. + +“Well, that is what we have contrived in our life at home. I should have +to say, in the first place, that--” + +“Excuse me just one moment, Mr. Homos,” said Mrs. Makely. This perverse +woman was as anxious to hear about Altruria as any of us, but she was a +woman who would rather hear the sound of her own voice than any other, +even if she were dying, as she would call it, to hear the other. The +Altrurian stopped politely, and Mrs. Makely went on: “I have been thinking +of what Mr. Camp was saying about the blacklisted men, and their all +turning into tramps--” + +“But I didn’t say that, Mrs. Makely,” the young fellow protested, in +astonishment. + +“Well, it stands to reason that if the tramps have all been blacklisted +men--” + +“But I didn’t say that, either.” + +“No matter! What I am trying to get at is this: if a workman has made +himself a nuisance to the employers, haven’t they a right to punish him in +any way they can?” + +“I believe there’s no law yet against blacklisting,” said Camp. + +“Very well, then, I don’t see what they’ve got to complain of. The +employers surely know their own business.” + +“They claim to know the men’s, too. That’s what they’re always saying; +they will manage their own affairs in their own way. But no man, or +company, that does business on a large scale has any affairs that are not +partly other folks’ affairs, too. All the saying in the world won’t make +it different.” + +“Very well, then,” said Mrs. Makely, with a force of argument which she +seemed to think was irresistible, “I think the workmen had better leave +things to the employers, and then they won’t get blacklisted. It’s as +broad as it’s long.” + +I confess that, although I agreed with Mrs. Makely in regard to what the +workmen had better do, her position had been arrived at by such +extraordinary reasoning that I blushed for her; at the same time, I wanted +to laugh. She continued, triumphantly: “You see, the employers have ever +so much more at stake.” + +“Then men have everything at stake--the work of their hands,” said the +young fellow. + +“Oh, but surely,” said Mrs. Makely, “you wouldn’t set that against +capital? You wouldn’t compare the two?” + +“Yes, I should,” said Camp, and I could see his eye kindle and his jaw +stiffen. + +“Then I suppose you would say that a man ought to get as much for his work +as an employer gets for his capital. If you think one has as much at stake +as the other, you must think they ought to be paid alike.” + +“That is _just_ what I think,” said Camp, and Mrs. Makely burst into a +peal of amiable laughter. + +“Now, that is too preposterous!” + +“Why is it preposterous?” he demanded, with a quivering nostril. + +“Why, simply because it _is_” said the lady, but she did not say why, and +although I thought so, too, I was glad she did not attempt to do it, for +her conclusions seemed to me much better than her reasons. + +The old wooden clock in the kitchen began to strike, and she rose briskly +to her feet and went and laid the books she had been holding in her lap on +the table beside Mrs. Camp’s bed. “We must really be going,” she said, as +she leaned over and kissed the invalid. “It is your dinner-time, and we +shall barely get back for lunch if we go by the Loop road; and I want very +much to have Mr. Homos see the Witch’s Falls on the way. I have got two or +three of the books here that Mr. Makely brought me last night--I sha’n’t +have time to read them at once--and I’m smuggling in one of Mr. +Twelvemough’s, that he’s too modest to present for himself.” She turned a +gay glance upon me, and Mrs. Camp thanked me, and a number of civilities +followed from all sides. In the process of their exchange, Mrs. Makely’s +spirits perceptibly rose, and she came away in high good-humor with the +whole Camp family. “Well, now, I am sure,” she said to the Altrurian, as +we began the long ascent of the Loop road, “you must allow that you have +seen some very original characters. But how _warped_ people get living +alone so much! That is the great drawback of the country. Mrs. Camp thinks +the savings-bank did her a real injury in taking a mortgage on her place, +and Reuben seems to have seen just enough of the outside world to get it +all wrong. But they are the best-hearted creatures in the world, and I +know you won’t misunderstand them. That unsparing country bluntness--don’t +you think it’s perfectly delightful? I do like to stir poor Reuben up, and +get him talking. He is a good boy, if he _is_ so wrong-headed, and he’s +the most devoted son and brother in the world. Very few young fellows +would waste their lives on an old farm like that; I suppose, when his +mother dies, he will marry and strike out for himself in some growing +place.” + +“He did not seem to think the world held out any very bright inducements +for him to leave home,” the Altrurian suggested. + +“Oh, let him get one of these lively, pushing Yankee girls for a wife, and +he will think very differently,” said Mrs. Makely. + +The Altrurian disappeared that afternoon, and I saw little or nothing of +him till the next day at supper. Then he said he had been spending the +time with young Camp, who had shown him something of the farm-work, and +introduced him to several of the neighbors; he was very much interested in +it all, because at home he was, at present, engaged in farm-work himself, +and he was curious to contrast the American and Altrurian methods. We +began to talk of the farming interest again, later in the day, when the +members of our little group came together, and I told them what the +Altrurian had been doing. The doctor had been suddenly called back to +town; but the minister was there, and the lawyer and the professor and the +banker and the manufacturer. + +It was the banker who began to comment on what I said, and he seemed to be +in the frank humor of the Saturday night before. “Yes,” he said, “it’s a +hard life, and they have to look sharp if they expect to make both ends +meet. I would not like to undertake it myself with their resources.” + +The professor smiled, in asking the Altrurian: “Did your agricultural +friends tell you anything of the little rural traffic in votes that they +carry on about election time? That is one of the side means they have of +making both ends meet.” + +“I don’t understand,” said the Altrurian. + +“Why, you know, you can buy votes among our virtuous yeomen from two +dollars up at the ordinary elections. When party feeling runs high, and +there are vital questions at stake, the votes cost more.” + +The Altrurian looked round at us all aghast. “Do, you mean that Americans +buy votes?” + +The professor smiled again. “Oh no; I only mean that they sell them. Well, +I don’t wonder that they rather prefer to blink the fact; but it is a +fact, nevertheless, and pretty notorious.” + +“Good heavens!” cried the Altrurian. “And what defence have they for such +treason? I don’t mean those who sell; from what I have seen of the +bareness and hardship of their lives, I could well imagine that there +might sometimes come a pinch when they would be glad of the few dollars +that they could get in that way; but what have those who buy to say?” + +“Well,” said the professor, “it isn’t a transaction that’s apt to be +talked about much on either side.” + +“I think,” the banker interposed, “that there is some exaggeration about +that business; but it certainly exists, and I suppose it is a growing evil +in the country. I fancy it arises, somewhat, from a want of, clear +thinking on the subject. Then there is no doubt but it comes, sometimes, +from poverty. A man sells his vote, as a woman sells her person, for +money, when neither can turn virtue into cash. They feel that they must +live, and neither of them would be satisfied if Dr. Johnson told them he +didn’t see the necessity. In fact, I shouldn’t myself, if I were in their +places. You can’t have the good of a civilization like ours without having +the bad; but I am not going to deny that the bad is bad. Some people like +to do that; but I don’t find my account in it. In either case, I confess +that I think the buyer is worse than the seller--incomparably worse. I +suppose you are not troubled with either case in Altruria?” + +“Oh no!” said the Altrurian, with an utter horror, which no repetition of +his words can give the sense of. “It would be unimaginable.” + +“Still,” the banker suggested, “you have cakes and ale, and at times the +ginger is hot in the mouth?” + +“I don’t pretend that we have immunity from error; but upon such terms as +you have described we have none. It would be impossible.” + +The Altrurian’s voice expressed no contempt, but only a sad patience, a +melancholy surprise, such as a celestial angel might feel in being +suddenly confronted with some secret shame and horror of the Pit. + +“Well,” said the banker, “with us the only way is to take the business +view and try to strike an average somewhere.” + +“Talking of business,” said the professor, turning to the manufacturer, +who had been quietly smoking, “why don’t some of you capitalists take hold +of farming here in the East, and make a business of it as they do in the +West?” + +“Thank you,” said the other; “if you mean me, I would rather not invest.” + He was silent a moment, and then he went on, as if the notion were +beginning to win upon him: “It may come to something like that, though. If +it does, the natural course, I should think, would be through the +railroads. It would be a very easy matter for them to buy up all the good +farms along their lines and put tenants on them, and run them in their own +interest. Really, it isn’t a bad scheme. The waste in the present method +is enormous, and there is no reason why the roads should not own the +farms, as they are beginning to own the mines. They could manage them +better than the small farmers do in every way. I wonder the thing hasn’t +occurred to some smart railroad man.” + +We all laughed a little, perceiving the semi-ironical spirit of his talk; +but the Altrurian must have taken it in dead earnest: “But, in that case, +the number of people thrown out of work would be very great, wouldn’t it? +And what would become of them?” + +“Well, they would have whatever their farms brought to make a new start +with somewhere else; and, besides, that question of what would become of +people thrown out of work by a given improvement is something that capital +cannot consider. We used to introduce a bit of machinery in the mill, +every now and then, that threw out a dozen or a hundred people; but we +couldn’t stop for that.” + +“And you never knew what became of them?” + +“Sometimes. Generally not. We took it for granted that they would light on +their feet somehow.” + +“And the state--the whole people--the government--did nothing for them?” + +“If it became a question of the poor-house, yes.” + +“Or the jail,” the lawyer suggested. + +“Speaking of the poor-house,” said the professor, “did our exemplary rural +friends tell you how they sell out their paupers to the lowest bidder, and +get them boarded sometimes as low as a dollar and a quarter a week?” + +“Yes, young Mr. Camp told me of that. He seemed to think it was terrible.” + +“Did he? Well, I’m glad to hear that of young Mr. Camp. From all that I’ve +been told before, he seems to reserve his conscience for the use of +capitalists. What does he propose to do about it?” + +“He seems to think the state ought to find work for them.” + +“Oh, paternalism! Well, I guess the state won’t.” + +“That was his opinion, too.” + +“It seems a hard fate,” said the minister, “that the only provision the +law makes for people who are worn out by sickness or a life of work should +be something that assorts them with idiots and lunatics, and brings such +shame upon them that it is almost as terrible as death.” + +“It is the only way to encourage independence and individuality,” said the +professor. “Of course, it has its dark side. But anything else would be +sentimental and unbusinesslike, and, in fact, un-American.” + +“I am not so sure that it would be un-Christian,” the minister timidly +ventured, in the face of such an authority on political economy. + +“Oh, as to that, I must leave the question to the reverend clergy,” said +the professor. + +A very unpleasant little silence followed. It was broken by the lawyer, +who put his feet together, and, after a glance down at them, began to say: +“I was very much interested this afternoon by a conversation I had with +some of the young fellows in the hotel. You know most of them are +graduates, and they are taking a sort of supernumerary vacation this +summer before they plunge into the battle of life in the autumn. They were +talking of some other fellows, classmates of theirs, who were not so +lucky, but had been obliged to begin the fight at once. It seems that our +fellows here are all going in for some sort of profession: medicine or law +or engineering or teaching or the church, and they were commiserating +those other fellows not only because they were not having the +supernumerary vacation, but because they were going into business. That +struck me as rather odd, and I tried to find out what it meant, and, as +nearly as I could find out, it meant that most college graduates would not +go into business if they could help it. They seemed to feel a sort of +incongruity between their education and the business life. They pitied the +fellows that had to go in for it, and apparently the fellows that had to +go in for it pitied themselves, for the talk seemed to have begun about a +letter that one of the chaps here had got from poor Jack or Jim somebody, +who had been obliged to go into his father’s business, and was groaning +over it. The fellows who were going to study professions were hugging +themselves at the contrast between their fate and his, and were making +remarks about business that were, to say the least, unbusinesslike. A few +years ago we should have made a summary disposition of the matter, and I +believe some of the newspapers still are in doubt about the value of a +college education to men who have got to make their way. What do you +think?” + +The lawyer addressed his question to the manufacturer, who answered, with +a comfortable satisfaction, that he did not think those young men if they +went into business would find that they knew too much. + +“But they pointed out,” said the lawyer, “that the great American fortunes +had been made by men who had never had their educational advantages, and +they seemed to think that what we call the education of a gentleman was a +little too good for money-making purposes.” + +“Well,” said the other, “they can console themselves with the reflection +that going into business isn’t necessarily making money; it isn’t +necessarily making a living, even.” + +“Some of them seem to have caught on to that fact; and they pitied Jack or +Jim partly because the chances were so much against him. But they pitied +him mostly because in the life before him he would have no use for his +academic training, and he had better not gone to college at all. They said +he would be none the better for it, and would always be miserable when he +looked back to it.” + +The manufacturer did not reply, and the professor, after a preliminary +hemming, held his peace. It was the banker who took the word: “Well, so +far as business is concerned, they were right. It is no use to pretend +that there is any relation between business and the higher education. +There is no business man who will pretend that there is not often an +actual incompatibility if he is honest. I know that when we get together +at a commercial or financial dinner we talk as if great merchants and +great financiers were beneficent geniuses, who evoked the prosperity of +mankind by their schemes from the conditions that would otherwise have +remained barren. Well, very likely they are, but we must all confess that +they do not know it at the time. What they are consciously looking out for +then is the main chance. If general prosperity follows, all well and good; +they are willing to be given the credit for it. But, as I said, with +business as business, the ‘education of a gentleman’ has nothing to do. +That education is always putting the old Ciceronian question: whether the +fellow arriving at a starving city with a cargo of grain is bound to tell +the people before he squeezes them that there are half a dozen other +fellows with grain just below the horizon. As a gentleman he would have to +tell them, because he could not take advantage of their necessities; but, +as a business man, he would think it bad business to tell them, or no +business at all. The principle goes all through; I say, business is +business; and I am not going to pretend that business will ever be +anything else. In our business battles we don’t take off our hats to the +other side and say, ‘Gentlemen of the French Guard, have the goodness to +fire.’ That may be war, but it is not business. We seize all the +advantages we can; very few of us would actually deceive; but if a fellow +believes a thing, and we know he is wrong, we do not usually take the +trouble to set him right, if we are going to lose anything by undeceiving +him. That would not be business. I suppose you think that is dreadful?” He +turned smilingly to the minister. + +“I wish--I wish,” said the minister, gently, “it could be otherwise.” + +“Well, I wish so, too,” returned the banker. “But it isn’t. Am I right or +am I wrong?” he demanded of the manufacturer, who laughed. + +“I am not conducting this discussion. I will not deprive you of the +floor.” + +“What you say,” I ventured to put in, “reminds me of the experience of a +friend of mine, a brother novelist. He wrote a story where the failure of +a business man turned on a point just like that you have instanced. The +man could have retrieved himself if he had let some people believe that +what was so was not so, but his conscience stepped in and obliged him to +own the truth. There was a good deal of talk about the case, I suppose, +because it was not in real life, and my friend heard divers criticisms. He +heard of a group of ministers who blamed him for exalting a case of common +honesty, as if it were something extraordinary; and he heard of some +business men who talked it over and said he had worked the case up +splendidly, but he was all wrong in the outcome--the fellow would never +have told the other fellows. They said it would not have been business.” + +We all laughed except the minister and the Altrurian; the manufacturer +said: “Twenty-five years hence, the fellow who is going into business may +pity the fellows who are pitying him for his hard fate now.” + +“Very possibly, but not necessarily,” said the banker. “Of course, the +business man is on top, as far as money goes; he is the fellow who makes +the big fortunes; the millionaire lawyers and doctors and ministers are +exceptional. But his risks are tremendous. Ninety-five times out of a +hundred he fails. To be sure, he picks up and goes on, but he seldom gets +there, after all.” + +“Then in your system,” said the Altrurian, “the great majority of those +who go into what you call the battle of life are defeated?” + +“The killed, wounded, and missing sum up a frightful total,” the banker +admitted. “But whatever the end is, there is a great deal of prosperity on +the way. The statistics are correct, but they do not tell the whole truth. +It is not so bad as it seems. Still, simply looking at the material +chances, I don’t blame those young fellows for not wanting to go into +business. And when you come to other considerations! We used to cut the +knot of the difficulty pretty sharply; we said a college education was +wrong, or the hot and hot American spread-eaglers did. Business is the +national ideal, and the successful business man is the American type. It +is a business man’s country.” + +“Then, if I understand you,” said the Altrurian, “and I am very anxious to +have a clear understanding of the matter, the effect of the university +with you is to unfit a youth for business life.” + +“Oh no. It may give him great advantages in it, and that is the theory and +expectation of most fathers who send their sons to the university. But, +undoubtedly, the effect is to render business life distasteful. The +university nurtures all sorts of lofty ideals, which business has no use +for.” + +“Then the effect is undemocratic?” + +“No, it is simply unbusinesslike. The boy is a better democrat when he +leaves college than he will be later, if he goes into business. The +university has taught him and equipped him to use his own gifts and powers +for his advancement; but the first lesson of business, and the last, is to +use other men’s gifts and powers. If he looks about him at all, he sees +that no man gets rich simply by his own labor, no matter how mighty a +genius he is, and that, if you want to get rich, you must make other men +work for you, and pay you for the privilege of doing so. Isn’t that true?” + +The banker turned to the manufacturer with this question, and the other +said: “The theory is, that we give people work,” and they both laughed. + +The minister said: “I believe that in Altruria no man works for the profit +of another?” + +“No; each works for the profit of all,” replied the Altrurian. + +“Well,” said the banker, “you seem to have made it go. Nobody can deny +that. But we couldn’t make it go here.” + +“Why? I am very curious to know why our system seems so impossible to +you.” + +“Well, it is contrary to the American spirit. It is alien to our love of +individuality.” + +“But we prize individuality, too, and we think we secure it under our +system. Under yours, it seems to me that while the individuality of the +man who makes other men work for him is safe, except from itself, the +individuality of the workers--” + +“Well, that is their lookout. We have found that, upon the whole, it is +best to let every man look out for himself. I know that, in a certain +light, the result has an ugly aspect; but, nevertheless, in spite of all, +the country is enormously prosperous. The pursuit of happiness, which is +one of the inalienable rights secured to us by the Declaration, is, and +always has been, a dream; but the pursuit of the dollar yields tangible +proceeds, and we get a good deal of excitement out of it as it goes on. +You can’t deny that we are the richest nation in the world. Do you call +Altruria a rich country?” + +I could not quite make out whether the banker was serious or not in all +this talk; sometimes I suspected him of a fine mockery, but the Altrurian +took him upon the surface of his words. + +“I hardly know whether it is or not. The question of wealth does not enter +into our scheme. I can say that we all have enough, and that no one is +even in the fear of want.” + +“Yes, that is very well. But we should think it was paying too much for it +if we had to give up the hope of ever having more than we wanted,” and at +this point the banker uttered his jolly laugh, and I perceived that he had +been trying to draw the Altrurian out and practise upon his patriotism. It +was a great relief to find that he had been joking in so much that seemed +a dead give-away of our economical position. “In Altruria,” he asked, “who +is your ideal great man? I don’t mean personally, but abstractly.” + +The Altrurian thought a moment. “With us there is so little ambition for +distinction, as you understand it, that your question is hard to answer. +But I should say, speaking largely, that it was some man who had been able +for the time being to give the greatest happiness to the greatest +number--some artist or poet or inventor or physician.” + +I was somewhat surprised to have the banker take this preposterous +statement seriously, respectfully. “Well, that is quite conceivable with +your system. What should you say,” he demanded of the rest of us +generally, “was our ideal of greatness?” + +No one replied at once, or at all, till the manufacturer said: “We will +let you continue to run it.” + +“Well, it is a very curious inquiry, and I have thought it over a good +deal. I should say that within a generation our ideal has changed twice. +Before the war, and during all the time from the Revolution onward, it was +undoubtedly the great politician, the publicist, the statesman. As we grew +older and began to have an intellectual life of our own, I think the +literary fellows had a pretty good share of the honors that were going--that +is, such a man as Longfellow was popularly considered a type of +greatness. When the war came, it brought the soldier to the front, and +there was a period of ten or fifteen years when he dominated the national +imagination. That period passed, and the great era of material prosperity +set in. The big fortunes began to tower up, and heroes of another sort +began to appeal to our admiration. I don’t think there is any doubt but +the millionaire is now the American ideal. It isn’t very pleasant to think +so, even for people who have got on, but it can’t very hopefully be +denied. It is the man with the most money who now takes the prize in our +national cake-walk.” + +The Altrurian turned curiously toward me, and I did my best to tell him +what a cake-walk was. When I had finished, the banker resumed, only to +say, as he rose from his chair to bid us good-night: “In any average +assembly of Americans the greatest millionaire would take the eyes of all +from the greatest statesman, the greatest poet, or the greatest soldier we +ever had. That,” he added to the Altrurian, “will account to you for many +things as you travel through our country.” + + + + +IX + + +The next time the members of our little group came together, the +manufacturer began at once upon the banker: + +“I should think that our friend the professor, here, would hardly like +that notion of yours, that business, as business, has nothing to do with +the education of a gentleman. If this is a business man’s country, and if +the professor has nothing in stock but the sort of education that business +has no use for, I should suppose that he would want to go into some other +line.” + +The banker mutely referred the matter to the professor, who said, with +that cold grin of his which I hated: + +“Perhaps we shall wait for business to purge and live cleanly. Then it +will have some use for the education of a gentleman.” + +“I see,” said the banker, “that I have touched the quick in both of you, +when I hadn’t the least notion of doing so. But I shouldn’t really like to +prophesy which will adapt itself to the other--education or business. Let +us hope there will be mutual concessions. There are some pessimists who +say that business methods, especially on the large scale of the trusts and +combinations, have grown worse instead of better; but this may be merely +what is called a ‘transition state.’ Hamlet must be cruel to be kind; the +darkest hour comes before dawn--and so on. Perhaps when business gets +the whole affair of life into its hands, and runs the republic, as its +enemies now accuse it of doing, the process of purging and living cleanly +will begin. I have known lots of fellows who started in life rather +scampishly; but when they felt secure of themselves, and believed that +they could afford to be honest, they became so. There’s no reason why the +same thing shouldn’t happen on a large scale. We must never forget that we +are still a very novel experiment, though we have matured so rapidly in +some respects that we have come to regard ourselves as an accomplished +fact. We are really less so than we were forty years ago, with all the +tremendous changes since the war. Before that we could take certain +matters for granted. If a man got out of work, he turned his hand to +something else; if a man failed in business, he started in again from some +other direction; as a last resort, in both cases, he went West, pre-empted +a quarter-section of public land, and grew up with the country. Now the +country is grown up; the public land is gone; business is full on all +sides, and the hand that turned itself to something else has lost its +cunning. The struggle for life has changed from a free-fight to an +encounter of disciplined forces, and the free-fighters that are left get +ground to pieces between organized labor and organized capital. Decidedly, +we are in a transition state, and if the higher education tried to adapt +itself to business needs, there are chances that it might sacrifice itself +without helping business. After all, how much education does business +need? Were our great fortunes made by educated men, or men of university +training? I don’t know but these young fellows are right about that.” + +“Yes, that may all be,” I put in. “But it seems to me that you give Mr. +Homos, somehow, a wrong impression of our economic life by your +generalizations. You are a Harvard man yourself.” + +“Yes, and I am not a rich man. A million or two, more or less; but what is +that? I have suffered, at the start and all along, from the question as to +what a man with the education of a gentleman ought to do in such and such +a juncture. The fellows who have not that sort of education have not that +sort of question, and they go in and win.” + +“So you admit, then,” said the professor, “that the higher education +elevates a business man’s standard of morals?” + +“Undoubtedly. That is one of its chief drawbacks,” said the banker, with a +laugh. + +“Well,” I said, with the deference due even to a man who had only a +million or two, more or less, “we must allow _you_ to say such things. But +if the case is so bad with the business men who have made the great +fortunes--the business men who have never had the disadvantage of a +university education--I wish you would explain to Mr. Homos why, in every +public exigency, we instinctively appeal to the business sense of the +community as if it were the fountain of wisdom, probity, and equity. +Suppose there were some question of vital interest--I won’t say financial, +but political or moral or social--on which it was necessary to rouse +public opinion, what would be the first thing to do? To call a meeting +over the signatures of the leading business men, because no other names +appeal with such force to the public. You might get up a call signed by +all the novelists, artists, ministers, lawyers, and doctors in the state, +and it would not have a tithe of the effect, with the people at large, +that a call signed by a few leading merchants, bank presidents, railroad +men, and trust officers would have. What is the reason? It seems strange +that I should be asking you to defend yourself against yourself.” + +“Not at all, my dear fellow, not at all,” the banker replied, with his +caressing bonhomie. “Though I will confess, to begin with, that I do not +expect to answer your question to your entire satisfaction. I can only do +my best--on the instalment plan.” + +He turned to the Altrurian, and then went on: “As I said the other night, +this is a business man’s country. We are a purely commercial people; money +is absolutely to the fore; and business, which is the means of getting the +most money, is the American ideal. If you like, you may call it the +American fetish; I don’t mind calling it so myself. The fact that business +is our ideal, or our fetish, will account for the popular faith in +business men, who form its priesthood, its hierarchy. I don’t know, +myself, any other reason for regarding business men as solider than +novelists or artists or ministers, not to mention lawyers and doctors. +They are supposed to have long heads; but it appears that ninety-five +times out of a hundred they haven’t. They are supposed to be very +reliable; but it is almost invariably a business man of some sort who gets +out to Canada while the state examiner is balancing his books, and it is +usually the longest headed business men who get plundered by him. No, it +is simply because business is our national ideal that the business man is +honored above all other men among us. In the aristocratic countries they +forward a public object under the patronage of the nobility and gentry; in +a plutocratic country they get the business men to indorse it. I suppose +that the average American citizen feels that they wouldn’t indorse a thing +unless it was safe; and the average American citizen likes to be safe--he +is cautious. As a matter of fact, business men are always taking risks, +and business is a game of chance, in a certain degree. Have I made myself +intelligible?” + +“Entirely so,” said the Altrurian; and he seemed so thoroughly well +satisfied that he forbore asking any further question. + +No one else spoke. The banker lighted a cigar, and resumed at the point +where he left off when I ventured to enter upon the defence of his class +with him. I must say that he had not convinced me at all. At that moment +I would rather have trusted him, in any serious matter of practical +concern, than all the novelists I ever heard of. But I thought I would +leave the word to him, without further attempt to reinstate him in his +self-esteem. In fact, he seemed to be getting along very well without it, +or else he was feeling that mysterious control from the Altrurian which I +had already suspected him of using. Voluntarily or involuntarily, the +banker proceeded with his contribution to the Altrurian’s stock of +knowledge concerning our civilization: + +“I don’t believe, however, that the higher education is any more of a +failure, as a provision for a business career, than the lower education is +for the life of labor. I suppose that the hypercritical observer might say +that in a wholly commercial civilization like ours the business man really +needed nothing beyond the three R’s, and the working-man needed no R at +all. As a practical affair, there is a good deal to be said in favor of +that view. The higher education is part of the social ideal which we have +derived from the past, from Europe. It is part of the provision for the +life of leisure, the life of the aristocrat, which nobody of our +generation leads, except women. Our women really have some use for the +education of a gentleman, but our men have none. How will that do for a +generalization?” the banker asked of me. + +“Oh,” I admitted, with a laugh, “it is a good deal like one of my own. I +have always been struck with that phase of our civilization.” + +“Well, then,” the banker resumed, “take the lower education. That is part +of the civic ideal which, I suppose, I may say we evolved from the depths +of our inner consciousness of what an American citizen ought to be. It +includes instruction in all the R’s, and in several other letters of the +alphabet. It is given free by the state, and no one can deny that it is +thoroughly socialistic in conception and application.” + +“Distinctly so,” said the professor. “Now that the text-books are +furnished by the state, we have only to go a step further and provide a +good, hot lunch for the children every day, as they do in Paris.” + +“Well,” the banker returned, “I don’t know that I should have much to say +against that. It seems as reasonable as anything in the system of +education which we force upon the working classes. _They_ know perfectly +well, whether we do or not, that the three R’s will not make their +children better mechanics or laborers, and that, if the fight for a mere +living is to go on from generation to generation, they will have no +leisure to apply the little learning they get in the public schools for +their personal culture. In the mean time we deprive the parents of their +children’s labor, in order that they may be better citizens for their +schooling, as we imagine; I don’t know whether they are or not. We offer +them no sort of compensation for their time, and I think we ought to feel +obliged to them for not wanting wages for their children while we are +teaching them to be better citizens.” + +“You know,” said the professor, “that has been suggested by some of their +leaders.” + +“No, really? Well, that is too good!” The banker threw back his head and +roared, and we all laughed with him. When we had sobered down again, he +said: “I suppose that when a working-man makes all the use he can of his +lower education he becomes a business man, and then he doesn’t need the +higher. Professor, you seem to be left out in the cold by our system, +whichever way you take it.” + +“Oh,” said the professor, “the law of supply and demand works both ways: +it creates the demand, if the supply comes first; and if we keep on giving +the sons of business men the education of a gentleman, we may yet make +them feel the need of it. We shall evolve a new sort of business man.” + +“The sort that can’t make money, or wouldn’t exactly like to, on some +terms?” asked the banker. “Well, perhaps we shall work out our democratic +salvation in that way. When you have educated your new business man to the +point where he can’t consent to get rich at the obvious cost of others, +you’ve got him on the way back to work with his hands. He will sink into +the ranks of labor, and give the fellow with the lower education a chance. +I’ve no doubt he’ll take it. I don’t know but you’re right, professor.” + +The lawyer had not spoken as yet. Now he said: “Then it is education, +after all, that is to bridge the chasm between the classes and the masses, +though it seems destined to go a long way around about it. There was a +time, I believe, when we expected religion to do that.” + +“Well, it may still be doing it, for all I know,” said the banker. “What +do you say?” he asked, turning to the minister. “You ought to be able to +give us some statistics on the subject with that large congregation of +yours. You preach to more people than any other pulpit in your city.” + +The banker named one of the principal cities in the East, and the minister +answered, with, modest pride: “I am not sure of that; but our society is +certainly a very large one.” + +“Well, and how many of the lower classes are there in it--people who work +for their living with their hands?” + +The minister stirred uneasily in his chair, and at last he said, with +evident unhappiness: “They--I suppose--they have their own churches. I +have never thought that such a separation of the classes was right; and I +have had some of the very best people--socially and financially--with me +in the wish that there might be more brotherliness between the rich and +poor among us. But as yet--” + +He stopped; the banker pursued: “Do you mean there are _no_ working-people +in your congregation?” + +“I cannot think of any,” returned the minister, so miserably that the +banker forbore to press the point. + +The lawyer broke the awkward pause which followed: “I have heard it +asserted that there is no country in the world where the separation of the +classes is so absolute as in ours. In fact, I once heard a Russian +revolutionist, who had lived in exile all over Europe, say that he had +never seen anywhere such a want of kindness or sympathy between rich and +poor as he had observed in America. I doubted whether he was right. But he +believed that, if it ever came to the industrial revolution with us, the +fight would be more uncompromising than any such fight that the world had +ever seen. There was no respect from low to high, he said, and no +consideration from high to low, as there were in countries with traditions +and old associations.” + +“Well,” said the banker, “there may be something in that. Certainly, so +far as the two forces have come into conflict here, there has been no +disposition, on either side, to ‘make war with the water of roses.’ It’s +astonishing, in fact, to see how ruthless the fellows who have just got up +are toward the fellows who are still down. And the best of us have been up +only a generation or two--and the fellows who are still down know it.” + +“And what do you think would be the outcome of such a conflict?” I asked, +with my soul divided between fear of it and the perception of its +excellence as material. My fancy vividly sketched the outline of a story +which should forecast the struggle and its event, somewhat on the plan of +the Battle of Dorking. + +“We should beat,” said the banker, breaking his cigar-ash off with his +little finger; and I instantly cast him, with his ironic calm, for the +part of a great patrician leader in my “Fall of the Republic.” Of course, +I disguised him somewhat, and travestied his worldly bonhomie with the +bluff sang-froid of the soldier; these things are easily done. + +“What makes you think we should beat?” asked the manufacturer, with a +certain curiosity. + +“Well, all the good jingo reasons: we have got the materials for beating. +Those fellows throw away their strength whenever they begin to fight, and +they’ve been so badly generalled, up to the present time, that they have +wanted to fight at the outset of every quarrel. They have been beaten in +every quarrel, but still they always want to begin by fighting. That is +all right. When they have learned enough to begin by _voting_, then we +shall have to look out. But if they keep on fighting, and always putting +themselves in the wrong and getting the worst of it, perhaps we can fix +the voting so we needn’t be any more afraid of that than we are of the +fighting. It’s astonishing how short-sighted they are. They, have no +conception of any cure for their grievances except more wages and fewer +hours.” + +“But,” I asked, “do you really think they have any just grievances?” + +“Of course not, as a business man,” said the banker. “If I were a +working-man, I should probably think differently. But we will suppose, for +the sake of argument, that their day is too long and their pay is too +short. How do they go about to better themselves? They strike. Well, a +strike is a fight, and in a fight, nowadays, it is always skill and money +that win. The working-men can’t stop till they have put themselves outside +of the public sympathy which the newspapers say is so potent in their +behalf; I never saw that it did them the least good. They begin by +boycotting, and breaking the heads of the men who want to work. They +destroy property, and they interfere with business--the two absolutely +sacred things in the American religion. Then we call out the militia and +shoot a few of them, and their leaders declare the strike off. It is +perfectly simple.” + +“But will it be quite as simple,” I asked, reluctant in behalf of my +projected romance, to have the matter so soon disposed of--“will it be +quite so simple if their leaders ever persuade the working-men to leave +the militia, as they threaten to do, from time to time?” + +“No, not quite so simple,” the banker admitted. “Still, the fight would be +comparatively simple. In the first place, I doubt--though I won’t be +certain about it--whether there are a great many working-men in the +militia now. I rather fancy it is made up, for the most part, of clerks +and small tradesmen and book-keepers, and such employés of business as +have time and money for it. I may be mistaken.” + +No one seemed able to say whether he was mistaken or not; and, after +waiting a moment, he proceeded: “I feel pretty sure that it is so in the +city companies and regiments, at any rate, and that if every working-man +left them it would not seriously impair their effectiveness. But when the +working-men have left the militia, what have they done? They have +eliminated the only thing that disqualifies it for prompt and unsparing +use against strikers. As long as they are in it we might have our +misgivings, but if they were once out of it we should have none. And what +would they gain? They would not be allowed to arm and organize as an +inimical force. _That_ was settled once for all in Chicago, in the case of +the International Groups. A few squads of policemen would break them up. +Why,” the banker exclaimed, with his good-humored laugh, “how preposterous +they are when you come to look at it! They are in the majority, the +immense majority, if you count the farmers, and they prefer to behave as +if they were the hopeless minority. They say they want an eight-hour law, +and every now and then they strike and try to fight it. Why don’t they +_vote_ it? They could _make_ it the law in six months by such overwhelming +numbers that no one would dare to evade or defy it. They can make any law +they want, but they prefer to break such laws as we have. That ‘alienates +public sympathy,’ the newspapers say; but the spectacle of their stupidity +and helpless wilfulness is so lamentable that I could almost pity them. If +they chose, it would take only a few years to transform our government +into the likeness of anything they wanted. But they would rather not have +what they want, apparently, if they can only keep themselves from getting +it, and they have to work hard to do that!” + +“I suppose,” I said, “that they are misled by the un-American principles +and methods of the Socialists among them.” + +“Why, no,” returned the banker, “I shouldn’t say that. As far as I +understand it, the Socialists are the only fellows among them who propose +to vote their ideas into laws, and nothing can be more American than that. +I don’t believe the Socialists stir up the strikes--at least, among our +working-men; though the newspapers convict them of it, generally without +trying them. The Socialists seem to accept the strikes as the inevitable +outcome of the situation, and they make use of them as proofs of the +industrial discontent. But, luckily for the status, our labor leaders are +not Socialists, for your Socialist, whatever you may say against him, has +generally thought himself into a Socialist. He knows that until the +working-men stop fighting, and get down to voting--until they consent to +be the majority--there is no hope for them. I am not talking of +anarchists, mind you, but of Socialists, whose philosophy is more law, not +less, and who look forward to an order so just that it can’t be +disturbed.” + +“And what,” the minister faintly said, “do you think will be the outcome +of it all?” + +“We had that question the other night, didn’t we? Our legal friend here +seemed to feel that we might rub along indefinitely as we are doing, or +work out an Altruria of our own; or go back to the patriarchal stage and +own our working-men. He seemed not to have so much faith in the logic of +events as I have. I doubt if it is altogether a woman’s logic. _Parole +femmine, fatti maschi,_ and the logic of events isn’t altogether words; +it’s full of hard knocks, too. But I’m no prophet. I can’t forecast the +future; I prefer to take it as it comes. There’s a little tract of William +Morris’s, though--I forget just what he calls it--that is full of curious +and interesting speculation on this point. He thinks that, if we keep the +road we are now going, the last state of labor will be like its first, and +it will be owned.” + +“Oh, I don’t believe that will ever happen in America,” I protested. + +“Why not?” asked the banker. “Practically, it is owned already in a vastly +greater measure than we recognize. And where would the great harm be? The +new slavery would not be like the old. There needn’t be irresponsible +whipping and separation of families, and private buying and selling. The +proletariate would probably be owned by the state, as it was at one time +in Greece; or by large corporations, which would be much more in keeping +with the genius of our free institutions; and an enlightened public +opinion would cast safeguards about it in the form of law to guard it from +abuse. But it would be strictly policed, localized, and controlled. There +would probably be less suffering than there is now, when a man may be +cowed into submission to any terms through the suffering of his family; +when he may be starved out and turned out if he is unruly. You may be sure +that nothing of that kind would happen in the new slavery. We have not had +nineteen hundred years of Christianity for nothing.” + +The banker paused, and, as the silence continued, he broke it with a +laugh, which was a prodigious relief to my feelings, and I suppose to the +feelings of all. I perceived that he had been joking, and I was confirmed +in this when he turned to the Altrurian and laid his hand upon his +shoulder. “You see,” he said, “I’m a kind of Altrurian myself. What is the +reason why we should not found a new Altruria here on the lines I’ve +drawn? Have you never had philosophers--well, call them philanthropists; I +don’t mind--of my way of thinking among you?” + +“Oh yes,” said the Altrurian. “At one time, just before we emerged from +the competitive conditions, there was much serious question whether +capital should not own labor instead of labor owning capital. That was +many hundred years ago.” + +“I am proud to find myself such an advanced thinker,” said the banker. +“And how came you to decide that labor should own capital?” + +“We voted it,” answered the Altrurian. + +“Well,” said the banker, “our fellows are still fighting it, and getting +beaten.” + +I found him later in the evening talking with Mrs. Makely. “My dear sir,” + I said, “I liked your frankness with my Altrurian friend immensely; and it +may be well to put the worst foot foremost; but what is the advantage of +not leaving us a leg to stand upon?” + +He was not in the least offended at my boldness, as I had feared he might +be, but he said, with that jolly laugh of his: “Capital! Well, perhaps I +have worked my candor a little too hard; I suppose there is such a thing. +But don’t you see that it leaves me in the best possible position to carry +the war into Altruria when we get him to open up about his native land?” + +“Ah! If you can get him to do it.” + +“Well, we were just talking about that. Mrs. Makely has a plan.” + +“Yes,” said the lady, turning an empty chair near her own toward me. “Sit +down and listen.” + + + + +X + + +I sat down, and Mrs. Makely continued: “I have thought it all out, and I +want you to confess that in all practical matters a woman’s brain is +better than a man’s. Mr. Bullion, here, says it is, and I want you to say +so, too.” + +“Yes,” the banker admitted, “when it comes down to business a woman is +worth any two of us.” + +“And we have just been agreeing,” I coincided, “that the only gentlemen +among us are women. Mrs. Makely, I admit, without further dispute, that +the most unworldly woman is worldlier than the worldliest man; and that in +all practical matters we fade into dreamers and doctrinaires beside you. +Now, go on.” + +But she did not mean to let me off so easily. She began to brag herself +up, as women do whenever you make them the slightest concession. + +“Here, you men,” she said, “have been trying for a whole week to get +something out of Mr. Homos about his country, and you have left it to a +poor, weak woman, at last, to think how to manage it. I do believe that +you get so much interested in your own talk, when you are with him, that +you don’t let him get in a word, and that’s the reason you haven’t found +out anything about Altruria yet from him.” + +In view of the manner in which she had cut in at Mrs. Camp’s, and stopped +Homos on the very verge of the only full and free confession he had ever +been near making about Altruria, I thought this was pretty cool; but, for +fear of worse, I said: + +“You’re quite right, Mrs. Makely. I’m sorry to say that there has been a +shameful want of self-control among us, and that, if we learn anything at +all from him, it will be because you have taught us how.” + +She could not resist this bit of taffy. She scarcely gave herself time to +gulp it before she said: + +“Oh, it’s very well to say that now! But where would you have been if I +hadn’t set my wits to work? Now, listen! It just popped into my mind, like +an inspiration, when I was thinking of something altogether different. It +flashed upon me in an instant: a good object, and a public occasion.” + +“Well?” I said, finding this explosion and electrical inspiration rather +enigmatical. + +“Why, you know, the Union Chapel, over in the village, is in a languishing +condition, and the ladies have been talking all summer about doing +something for it, getting up something--a concert or theatricals or a +dance or something--and applying the proceeds to repainting and papering +the visible church; it needs it dreadfully. But, of course, those things +are not exactly religious, don’t you know; and a fair is so much trouble; +and _such_ a bore, when you get the articles ready, even; and everybody +feels swindled; and now people frown on raffles, so there is no use +thinking of them. What you want is something striking. We did think of a +parlor-reading, or perhaps ventriloquism; but the performers all charge so +much that there wouldn’t be anything left after paying expenses.” + +She seemed to expect some sort of prompting at this point; so I said: +“Well?” + +“Well,” she repeated, “that is just where your Mr. Homos comes in.” + +“Oh! How does he come in there?” + +“Why, get him to deliver a Talk on Altruria. As soon as he knows it’s for +a good object, he will be on fire to do it; and they must live so much in +common there that the public occasion will be just the thing that will +appeal to him.” + +It did seem a good plan to me, and I said so. But Mrs. Makely was so much +in love with it that she was not satisfied with my modest recognition. + +“Good? It’s magnificent! It’s the very thing! And I have thought it out, +down to the last detail--” + +“Excuse me,” I interrupted. “Do you think there is sufficient general +interest in the subject, outside of the hotel, to get a full house for +him? I shouldn’t like to see him subjected to the mortification of empty +benches.” + +“What in the world are you thinking of? Why, there isn’t a farm-house, +anywhere within ten miles, where they haven’t heard of Mr. Homos; and +there isn’t a servant under this roof, or in any of the boarding-houses, +who doesn’t know something about Altruria and want to know more. It seems +that your friend has been much oftener with the porters and the +stable-boys than he has been with us.” + +I had only too great reason to fear so. In spite of my warnings and +entreaties, he had continued to behave toward every human being he met +exactly as if they were equals. He apparently could not conceive of that +social difference which difference of occupation creates among us. He +owned that he saw it, and from the talk of our little group he knew it +existed; but, when I expostulated with him upon some act in gross +violation of society usage, he only answered that he could not imagine +that what he saw and knew could actually be. It was quite impossible to +keep him from bowing with the greatest deference to our waitress; he shook +hands with the head-waiter every morning as well as with me; there was a +fearful story current in the house, that he had been seen running down one +of the corridors to relieve a chambermaid laden with two heavy water-pails +which she was carrying to the rooms to fill up the pitchers. This was +probably not true; but I myself saw him helping in the hotel hay-field one +afternoon, shirt-sleeved like any of the hired men. He said that it was +the best possible exercise, and that he was ashamed he could give no +better excuse for it than the fact that without something of the kind he +should suffer from indigestion. It was grotesque, and out of all keeping +with a man of his cultivation and breeding. He was a gentleman and a +scholar, there was no denying, and yet he did things in contravention of +good form at every opportunity, and nothing I could say had any effect +with him. I was perplexed beyond measure, the day after I had reproached +him for his labor in the hay-field, to find him in a group of table-girls, +who were listening while the head-waiter read aloud to them in the shade +of the house; there was a corner looking toward the stables which was +given up to them by tacit consent of the guests during a certain part of +the afternoon. + +I feigned not to see him, but I could not forbear speaking to him about it +afterward. He took it in good part, but he said he had been rather +disappointed in the kind of literature they liked and the comments they +made on it; he had expected that with the education they had received, and +with their experience of the seriousness of life, they would prefer +something less trivial. He supposed, however, that a romantic love-story, +where a poor American girl marries an English lord, formed a refuge for +them from the real world which promised them so little and held them so +cheap. It was quite useless for one to try to make him realize his +behavior in consorting with servants as a kind of scandal. + +The worst of it was that his behavior, as I could see, had already begun +to demoralize the objects of his misplaced politeness. At first the +servants stared and resented it, as if it were some tasteless joke; but in +an incredibly short time, when they saw that he meant his courtesy in good +faith, they took it as their due. I had always had a good understanding +with the head-waiter, and I thought I could safely smile with him at the +queer conduct of my friend toward himself and his fellow-servants. +To my astonishment he said: “I don’t see why he shouldn’t treat them as if +they were ladies and gentlemen. Doesn’t he treat you and your friends so?” + +It was impossible to answer this, and I could only suffer in silence, and +hope the Altrurian would soon go. I had dreaded the moment when the +landlord should tell me that his room was wanted; now I almost desired it; +but he never did. On the contrary, the Altrurian was in high favor with +him. He said he liked to see a man make himself pleasant with everybody; +and that he did not believe he had ever had a guest in the house who was +so popular all round. + +“Of course,” Mrs. Makely went on, “I don’t criticise him--with his +peculiar traditions. I presume I should be just so myself if I had been +brought up in Altruria, which, thank goodness, I wasn’t. But Mr. Homos is +a perfect dear, and all the women in the house are in love with him, from +the cook’s helpers, up and down. No, the only danger is that there won’t +be room in the hotel parlors for all the people that will want to hear +him, and we shall have to make the admission something that will be +prohibitive in most cases. We shall have to make it a dollar.” + +“Well,” I said, “I think that will settle the question as far as the +farming population is concerned. It’s twice as much as they ever pay for a +reserved seat in the circus, and four times as much as a simple admission. +I’m afraid, Mrs. Makely, you’re going to be very few, though fit.” + +“Well, I’ve thought it all over, and I’m going to put the tickets at one +dollar.” + +“Very good. Have you caught your hare?” + +“No, I haven’t yet. And I want you to help me catch him. What do you think +is the best way to go about it?” + +The banker said he would leave us to the discussion of that question, but +Mrs. Makely could count upon him in everything if she could only get the +man to talk. At the end of our conference we decided to interview the +Altrurian together. + +I shall always be ashamed of the way that woman wheedled the Altrurian, +when we found him the next morning, walking up and down the piazza, before +breakfast--that is, it was before our breakfast; when we asked him to go +in with us, he said he had just had his breakfast, and was waiting for +Reuben Camp, who had promised to take him up as he passed with a load of +hay for one of the hotels in the village. + +“Ah, that reminds me, Mr. Homos,” the unscrupulous woman began on him at +once. “We want to interest you in a little movement we’re getting up for +the Union Chapel in the village. You know it’s the church where all the +different sects have their services; alternately. Of course, it’s rather +an original way of doing, but there is sense in it where the people are +too poor to go into debt for different churches, and--” + +“It’s admirable!” said the Altrurian. “I have heard about it from the +Camps. It is an emblem of the unity which ought to prevail among +Christians of all professions. How can I help you, Mrs. Makely?” + +“I knew you would approve of it!” she exulted. “Well, it’s simply this: +The poor little place has got so shabby that _I’m_ almost ashamed to be +seen going into it, for one; and want to raise money enough to give it a +new coat of paint outside and put on some kind of pretty paper, of an +ecclesiastical pattern, on the inside. I declare, those staring white +walls, with the cracks in the plastering zigzagging every _which_ way, +distract me so that I can’t put my mind on the sermon. Don’t you think +that paper, say of a Gothic design, would be a great improvement? I’m sure +it would; and it’s Mr. Twelvemough’s idea, too.” + +I learned this fact now for the first time; but, with Mrs. Makely’s +warning eye upon me, I could not say so, and I made what sounded to me +like a Gothic murmur of acquiescence. It sufficed for Mrs. Makely’s +purpose, at any rate, and she went on, without giving the Altrurian a +chance to say what he thought the educational effect of wall-paper would +be: + +“Well, the long and short of it is that we want you to make this money for +us, Mr. Homos.” + +“I?” He started in a kind of horror. “My dear lady, I never made any money +in my life. I should think it _wrong_ to make money.” + +“In Altruria, yes. We all know how it is in your delightful country, and I +assure you that no one could respect your conscientious scruples more than +I do. But you must remember that you are in America now. In America you +have to make money, or else--get left. And then you must consider the +object, and all the good you can do, indirectly, by a little Talk on +Altruria.” + +He answered, blandly: “A little Talk on Altruria? How in the world should +I get money by that?” + +She was only too eager to explain, and she did it with so much volubility +and at such great length that I, who am good for nothing till I have had +my cup of coffee in the morning, almost perished of an elucidation which +the Altrurian bore with the sweetest patience. + +When she gave him a chance to answer, at last, he said: “I shall be very +happy to do what you wish, madam.” + +“_Will_ you?” she screamed. “Oh, I’m so glad! You _have_ been so slippery +about Altruria, you know, that I expected nothing but a point-blank +refusal. Of course, I knew you would be kind about it. Oh, I can hardly +believe my senses! You can’t think what a dear you are.” I knew she had +got that word from some English people who had been in the hotel; and she +was working it rather wildly, but it was not my business to check her. +“Well, then, all you have got to do is to leave the whole thing to me, and +not bother about it a bit till I send and tell you we are ready to listen. +There comes Reuben, with his ox-team. Thank you so much, Mr. Homos. No one +need be ashamed to enter the house of God”--she said Gawd, in an access of +piety--“after we get that paint and paper on it; and we shall have them on +before two Sabbaths have passed over it.” + +She wrung the Altrurian’s hand; I was only afraid she was going to kiss +him. + +“There is but one stipulation I should like to make,” he began. + +“Oh, a thousand,” she cut in. + +“And that is, there shall be no exclusion from my lecture on account of +occupation or condition. That is a thing that I can in no wise +countenance, even in America; it is far more abhorrent to me even than +money-making, though they are each a part and parcel of the other.” + +“I thought it was that,” she retorted, joyously. “And I can assure you, +Mr. Homos, there shall be nothing of that kind. Every one--I don’t care +who it is or what they do--shall hear you who buys a ticket. Now, will +that do?” + +“Perfectly,” said the Altrurian, and he let her wring his hand again. + +She pushed hers through my arm as we started for the dining-room, and +leaned over to whisper jubilantly: “That will fix it. He will see how much +his precious lower classes care for Altruria if they have to pay a dollar +apiece to hear about it. And I shall keep faith with him to the letter.” + +I could not feel that she would keep it in the spirit; but I could only +groan inwardly and chuckle outwardly at the woman’s depravity. + +It seemed to me, though I could not approve of it, a capital joke, and so +it seemed to all the members of the little group whom I had made +especially acquainted with the Altrurian. It is true that the minister was +somewhat troubled with the moral question, which did not leave me wholly +at peace; and the banker affected to find a question of taste involved, +which he said he must let me settle, however, as the man’s host; if I +could stand it, he could. No one said anything against the plan to Mrs. +Makely, and this energetic woman made us take two tickets apiece, as soon +as she got them printed, over in the village. She got little hand-bills +printed, and had them scattered about through the neighborhood, at all the +hotels, boarding-houses, and summer cottages, to give notice of the time +and place of the talk on Altruria. She fixed this for the following +Saturday afternoon, in our hotel parlor; she had it in the afternoon so as +not to interfere with the hop in the evening; she put tickets on sale at +the principal houses and at the village drug-store, and she made me go +about with her and help her sell them at some of the cottages in person. + +I must say I found this extremely distasteful, especially where the people +were not very willing to buy, and she had to urge them. They all admitted +the excellence of the object, but they were not so sure about the means. +At several places the ladies asked who was this Mr. Homos, anyway; and how +did she know he was really from Altruria? He might be an impostor. + +Then Mrs. Makely would put me forward, and I would be obliged to give such +account of him as I could, and to explain just how and why he came to be +my guest; with the cumulative effect of bringing back all the misgivings +which I had myself felt at the outset concerning him, and which I had +dismissed as too fantastic. + +The tickets went off rather slowly, even in our own hotel; people thought +them too dear; and some, as soon as they knew the price, said frankly they +had heard enough about Altruria already, and were sick of the whole thing. + +Mrs. Makely said this was quite what she had expected of those people; +that they were horrid and stingy and vulgar; and she should see what face +they would have to ask her to take tickets when _they_ were trying to get +up something. She began to be vexed with herself, she confessed, at the +joke she was playing on Mr. Homos, and I noticed that she put herself +rather defiantly _en evidence_ in his company whenever she could in the +presence of these reluctant ladies. She told me she had not the courage to +ask the clerk how many of the tickets he had sold out of those she had +left at the desk. + +One morning, the third or fourth, as I was going in to breakfast with her, +the head-waiter stopped her as he opened the door, and asked modestly if +she could spare him a few tickets, for he thought he could sell some. To +my amazement the unprincipled creature said: “Why, certainly. How many?” + and instantly took a package out of her pocket, where she seemed always to +have them. He asked, Would twenty be more than she could spare? and she +answered: “Not at all. Here are twenty-five.” and bestowed the whole +package upon him. + +That afternoon Reuben Camp came lounging up toward us, where I sat with +her on the corner of the piazza, and said that if she would like to let +him try his luck with some tickets for the Talk he would see what he could +do. + +“You can have all you want, Reuben,” she said, “and I hope you’ll have +better luck than I have. I’m perfectly disgusted with people.” + +She fished several packages out of her pocket this time, and he asked: “Do +you mean that I can have them all?” + +“Every one, and a band of music into the bargain,” she answered, +recklessly. But she seemed a little daunted when he quietly took them. +“You know there are a hundred here?” + +“Yes, I should like to see what I can do among the natives. Then there is +a construction train over at the junction, and I know a lot of the +fellows. I guess some of ‘em would like to come.” + +“The tickets are a dollar each, you know,” she suggested. + +“That’s all right,” said Camp. “Well, good-afternoon.” + +Mrs. Makely turned to me with a kind of gasp as he shambled away. “I don’t +know about that.” + +“About having the whole crew of a construction train at the Talk? I dare +say it won’t be pleasant to the ladies who have bought tickets.” + +“_Oh_!” said Mrs. Makely, with astonishing contempt, “I don’t care what +_they_ think. But Reuben has got all my tickets, and suppose he keeps them +so long that I won’t have time to sell any, and then throws them back on +my hands? _I_ know!” she added, joyously. “I can go around now and tell +people that my tickets are all gone; and I’ll go instantly and have the +clerk hold all he has left at a premium.” + +She came back looking rather blank. + +“He hasn’t got a single one left. He says an old native came in this +morning and took every last one of them--he doesn’t remember just how +many. I believe they’re going to speculate on them; and if Reuben Camp +serves me a trick like that--Why,” she broke off, “I believe I’ll +speculate on them myself. I should like to know why I shouldn’t. Oh, I +should just _like_ to make some of those creatures pay double, or treble, +for the chances they’ve refused. Ah, Mrs. Bulkham,” she called out to a +lady who was coming down the veranda toward us, “you’ll be glad to know +I’ve got rid of all my tickets. _Such_ a relief!” + +“You _have_?” Mrs. Bulkham retorted. + +“Every one.” + +“I thought,” said Mrs. Bulkham, “that you understood I wanted one for my +daughter and myself, if she came.” + +“I certainly didn’t,” said Mrs. Makely, with a wink of concentrated +wickedness at me. “But, if you do, you will have to say so now, without +any ifs or ands about it; and if any of the tickets come back--I let +friends have a few on sale--I will give you two.” + +“Well, I do,” said Mrs. Bulkham, after a moment. + +“Very well; it will be five dollars for the two. I feel bound to get all I +can for the cause. Shall I put your name down?” + +“Yes,” said Mrs. Bulkham, rather crossly; but Mrs. Makely inscribed her +name on her tablets with a radiant amiability, which suffered no eclipse +when, within the next fifteen minutes, a dozen other ladies hurried up and +bought in at the same rate. + +I could not stand it, and I got up to go away, feeling extremely +_particeps criminis_. Mrs. Makely seemed to have a conscience as light as +air. + +“If Reuben Camp or the head-waiter don’t bring back some of those tickets, +I don’t know what I shall do. I shall have to put chairs into the aisles +and charge five dollars apiece for as many people as I can crowd in there. +I never knew anything so perfectly providential.” + +“I envy you the ability to see it in that light, Mrs. Makely,” I said, +faint at heart. “Suppose Camp crowds the place full of his trainmen, how +will the ladies that you’ve sold tickets to at five dollars apiece like +it?” + +“Pooh! What do I care how they like it! Horrid things! And for repairs on +the house of Gawd, it’s the same as being in church, where everybody is +equal.” + +The time passed. Mrs. Makely sold chances to all the ladies in the house; +on Friday night Reuben Camp brought her a hundred dollars; the head-waiter +had already paid in twenty-five. “I didn’t dare to ask them if they +speculated on them,” she confided to me. “Do you suppose they would have +the conscience?” + +They had secured the large parlor of the hotel, where the young people +danced in the evening, and where entertainments were held, of the sort +usually given in summer hotels; we had already had a dramatic reading, a +time with the phonograph, an exhibition of necromancy, a concert by a +college glee club, and I do not know what else. The room would hold +perhaps two hundred people, if they were closely seated, and, by her own +showing, Mrs. Makely had sold above two hundred and fifty tickets and +chances. All Saturday forenoon she consoled herself with the belief that a +great many people at the other hotels and cottages had bought seats +merely to aid the cause, and would not really come; she estimated that at +least fifty would stay away; but, if Reuben Camp had sold his tickets +among the natives, we might expect every one of them to come and get his +money’s worth; she did not dare to ask the head-waiter how he had got rid +of his twenty-five tickets. + +The hour set for the Talk to begin was three o’clock, so that people could +have their naps comfortably over, after the one o’clock dinner, and be +just in the right frame of mind for listening. But long before the +appointed time the people who dine at twelve, and never take an afternoon +nap, began to arrive, on foot, in farm-wagons, smart buggies, mud-crusted +carryalls, and all manner of ramshackle vehicles. They arrived as if +coming to a circus, old husbands and wives, young couples and their +children, pretty girls and their fellows, and hitched their horses to the +tails of their wagons, and began to make a picnic lunch in the shadow of +the grove lying between the hotel and the station. About two we heard the +snorting of a locomotive at a time when no train was due, and a +construction train came in view, with the men waving their handkerchiefs +from the windows, and apparently ready for all the fun there was to be in +the thing. Some of them had a small flag in each hand, the American Stars +and Stripes and the white flag of Altruria, in compliment to my guest, I +suppose. A good many of the farmers came over to the hotel to buy tickets, +which they said they expected to get after they came, and Mrs. Makely was +obliged to pacify them with all sorts of lying promises. From moment to +moment she was in consultation with the landlord, who decided to throw +open the dining-room, which connected with the parlor, so as to allow the +help and the neighbors to hear without incommoding the hotel guests. She +said that this took a great burden off her mind, and that now she should +feel perfectly easy, for now no one could complain about being mixed up +with the servants and the natives, and yet every one could hear perfectly. + +She could not rest until she had sent for Homos and told him of this +admirable arrangement. I did not know whether to be glad or not when he +instantly told her that, if there was to be any such separation of his +auditors, in recognition of our class distinctions, he must refuse to +speak at all. + +“Then what in the world are we to do?” she wailed out, and the tears came +into her eyes. + +“Have you got the money for all your tickets?” he asked, with a sort of +disgust for the whole transaction in his tone. + +“Yes, and more, too. I don’t believe there’s a soul, in the hotel or out +of it, that hasn’t paid at least a dollar to hear you; and that makes it +so very embarrassing. Oh, _dear_ Mr. Homos! You won’t be so implacably +high-principled as all that! Think that you are doing it for the house of +Gawd.” + +The woman made me sick. + +“Then no one,” said the Altrurian, “can feel aggrieved, or unfairly used, +if I say what I have to say in the open air, where all can listen equally, +without any manner of preference or distinction. We will go up to the edge +of the grove overlooking the tennis-court, and hold our meeting there, as +the Altrurian meetings are always held, with the sky for a roof, and with +no walls but the horizon.” + +“The very thing!” cried Mrs. Makely. “Who would ever have thought you were +so practical, Mr. Homos? I don’t believe you’re an Altrurian, after all; I +believe you are an American in disguise.” + +The Altrurian turned away, without making any response to this flattering +attribution of our nationality to him; but Mrs. Makely had not waited for +any. She had flown off, and I next saw her attacking the landlord, with +such apparent success that he slapped himself on the leg and vanished, and +immediately the porters and bell-boys and all the men-servants began +carrying out chairs to the tennis-court, which was already well set round +with benches. In a little while the whole space was covered, and settees +were placed well up the ground toward the grove. + +By half-past two the guests of the hotel came out and took the best seats, +as by right, and the different tallyhoes and mountain wagons began to +arrive from the other hotels, with their silly hotel cries, and their gay +groups dismounted and dispersed themselves over the tennis-court until all +the chairs were taken. It was fine to see how the natives and the trainmen +and the hotel servants, with an instinctive perception of the proprieties, +yielded these places to their superiors, and, after the summer folks were +all seated, scattered themselves on the grass and the pine-needles about +the border of the grove. I should have liked to instance the fact to the +Altrurian, as a proof that this sort of subordination was a part of human +nature, and that a principle which pervaded our civilization, after the +democratic training of our whole national life, must be divinely +implanted. But there was no opportunity for me to speak with him after the +fact had accomplished itself, for by this time he had taken his place in +front of a little clump of low pines and was waiting for the assembly to +quiet itself before he began to speak. I do not think there could have +been less than five hundred present, and the scene had that accidental +picturesqueness which results from the grouping of all sorts of faces and +costumes. Many of our ladies had pretty hats and brilliant parasols, but I +must say that the soberer tone of some of the old farm-wives’ brown +calicoes and outdated bonnets contributed to enrich the coloring, and +there was a certain gayety in the sunny glisten of the men’s straw hats +everywhere that was very good. + +The sky overhead was absolutely stainless, and the light of the cool +afternoon sun streamed upon the slopes of the solemn mountains to the +east. The tall pines in the background blackened themselves against the +horizon; nearer they showed more and more decidedly their bluish green, +and the yellow of the newly fallen needles painted their aisles deep into +the airy shadows. + +A little wind stirred their tops, and for a moment, just before the +Altrurian began to speak, drew from them an organ-tone that melted +delicately away as his powerful voice rose. + + + + +XI + + +“I could not give you a clear account of the present state of things in my +country,” the Altrurian began, “without first telling you something of our +conditions before the time of our Evolution. It seems to be the law of all +life that nothing can come to fruition without dying and seeming to make +an end. It must be sown in corruption before it can be raised in +incorruption. The truth itself must perish to our senses before it can +live to our souls; the Son of Man must suffer upon the cross before we can +know the Son, of God. + +“It was so with His message to the world, which we received in the old +time as an ideal realized by the earliest Christians, who loved one +another and who had all things common. The apostle cast away upon our +heathen coasts won us with the story of this first Christian republic, and +he established a commonwealth of peace and good-will among us in its +likeness. That commonwealth perished, just as its prototype perished, or +seemed to perish; and long ages of civic and economic warfare succeeded, +when every man’s hand was against his neighbor, and might was the rule +that got itself called right. Religion ceased to be the hope of this +world, and became the vague promise of the next. We descended into the +valley of the shadow, and dwelt amid chaos for ages before we groped again +into the light. + +“The first glimmerings were few and indistinct, but men formed themselves +about the luminous points here and there, and, when these broke and +dispersed into lesser gleams, still men formed themselves about each of +them. There arose a system of things better, indeed, than that darkness, +but full of war and lust and greed, in which the weak rendered homage to +the strong, and served them in the field and in the camp, and the strong +in turn gave the weak protection against the other strong. It was a juggle +in which the weak did not see that their safety was, after all, from +themselves; but it was an image of peace, however false and fitful, and it +endured for a time. It endured for a limited time, if we measure by the +life of the race; it endured for an unlimited time if we measure by the +lives of the men who were born and died while it endured. + +“But that disorder, cruel and fierce and stupid, which endured because it +sometimes masked itself as order, did at last pass away. Here and there +one of the strong overpowered the rest; then the strong became fewer and +fewer, and in their turn they all yielded to a supreme lord, and +throughout the land there was one rule, as it was called then, or one +misrule, as we should call it now. This rule, or this misrule, continued +for ages more; and again, in the immortality of the race, men toiled and +struggled, and died without the hope of better things. + +“Then the time came when the long nightmare was burst with the vision of a +future in which all men were the law, and not one man, or any less number +of men than all. + +“The poor dumb beast of humanity rose, and the throne tumbled, and the +sceptre was broken, and the crown rolled away into that darkness of the +past. We thought that heaven had descended to us, and that liberty, +equality, and fraternity were ours. We could not see what should again +alienate us from one another, or how one brother could again oppress +another. With a free field and no favor we believed we should prosper on +together, and there would be peace and plenty for all. We had the republic +again after so many ages now, and the republic, as we knew it in our dim +annals, was brotherhood and universal happiness. All but a very few, who +prophesied evil of our lawless freedom, were wrapped in a delirium of +hope. Men’s minds and men’s hands were suddenly released to an activity +unheard of before. Invention followed invention; our rivers and seas +became the warp of commerce where the steam-sped shuttles carried the woof +of enterprise to and fro with tireless celerity; machines to save labor +multiplied themselves as if they had been procreative forces, and wares of +every sort were produced with incredible swiftness and cheapness. Money +seemed to flow from the ground; vast fortunes ‘rose like an exhalation,’ +as your Milton says. + +“At first we did not know that they were the breath of the nethermost pits +of hell, and that the love of money, which was becoming universal with us, +was filling the earth with the hate of men. It was long before we came to +realize that in the depths of our steamships were those who fed the fires +with their lives, and that our mines from which we dug our wealth were the +graves of those who had died to the free light and air, without finding +the rest of death. We did not see that the machines for saving labor were +monsters that devoured women and children, and wasted men at the bidding +of the power which no man must touch. + +“That is, we thought we must not touch it, for it called itself prosperity +and wealth and the public good, and it said that it gave bread, and it +impudently bade the toiling myriads consider what would become of them if +it took away their means of wearing themselves out in its service. It +demanded of the state absolute immunity and absolute impunity, the right +to do its will wherever and however it would, without question from the +people who were the final law. It had its way, and under its rule we +became the richest people under the sun. The Accumulation, as we called +this power, because we feared to call it by its true name, rewarded its +own with gains of twenty, of a hundred, of a thousand per cent., and to +satisfy its need, to produce the labor that operated its machines, there +came into existence a hapless race of men who bred their kind for its +service, and whose little ones were its prey almost from their cradles. +Then the infamy became too great, and the law, the voice of the people, so +long guiltily silent, was lifted in behalf of those who had no helper. The +Accumulation came under control for the first time, and could no longer +work its slaves twenty hours a day amid perils to life and limb from its +machinery and in conditions that forbade them decency and morality. The +time of a hundred and a thousand per cent. passed; but still the +Accumulation demanded immunity and impunity, and, in spite of its +conviction of the enormities it had practised, it declared itself the only +means of civilization and progress. It began to give out that it was +timid, though its history was full of the boldest frauds and crimes, and +it threatened to withdraw itself if it were ruled or even crossed; and +again it had its way, and we seemed to prosper more and more. The land was +filled with cities where the rich flaunted their splendor in palaces, and +the poor swarmed in squalid tenements. The country was drained of its life +and force, to feed the centres of commerce and industry. The whole land +was bound together with a network of iron roads that linked the factories +and founderies to the fields and mines, and blasted the landscape with the +enterprise that spoiled the lives of men. + +“Then, all at once, when its work seemed perfect and its dominion sure, +the Accumulation was stricken with consciousness of the lie always at its +heart. It had hitherto cried out for a free field and no favor, for +unrestricted competition; but, in truth, it had never prospered except as +a monopoly. Whenever and wherever competition had play there had been +nothing but disaster to the rival enterprises, till one rose over the +rest. Then there was prosperity for that one. + +“The Accumulation began to act upon its new consciousness. The iron roads +united; the warring industries made peace, each kind under a single +leadership. Monopoly, not competition, was seen to be the beneficent means +of distributing the favors and blessings of the Accumulation to mankind. +But, as before, there was alternately a glut and dearth of things, and +it often happened that when starving men went ragged through the streets +the storehouses were piled full of rotting harvests that the farmers +toiled from dawn till dusk to grow, and the warehouses fed the moth with +the stuffs that the operative had woven his life into at his loom. Then +followed, with a blind and mad succession, a time of famine, when money +could not buy the super-abundance that vanished, none knew how or why. + +“The money itself vanished from time to time, and disappeared into the +vaults of the Accumulation, for no better reason than that for which it +poured itself out at other times. Our theory was that the people--that is +to say, the government of the people--made the people’s money, but, as a +matter of fact, the Accumulation made it and controlled it and juggled +with it; and now you saw it, and now you did not see it. The government +made gold coins, but the people had nothing but the paper money that the +Accumulation made. But whether there was scarcity or plenty, the failures +went on with a continuous ruin that nothing could check, while our larger +economic life proceeded in a series of violent shocks, which we called +financial panics, followed by long periods of exhaustion and recuperation. + +“There was no law in our economy, but as the Accumulation had never cared +for the nature of law, it did not trouble itself for its name in our order +of things. It had always bought the law it needed for its own use, first +through the voter at the polls in the more primitive days, and then, as +civilization advanced, in the legislatures and the courts. But the +corruption even of these methods was far surpassed when the era of +consolidation came, and the necessity for statutes and verdicts and +decisions became more stringent. Then we had such a burlesque of--” + +“Look here!” a sharp, nasal voice snarled across the rich, full pipe of +the Altrurian, and we all instantly looked there. The voice came from an +old farmer, holding himself stiffly up, with his hands in his pockets and +his lean frame bent toward the speaker. “When are you goin’ to get to +Altrury? We know all about Ameriky.” + +He sat down again, and it was a moment before the crowd caught on. Then a +yell of delight and a roar of volleyed laughter went up from the lower +classes, in which, I am sorry to say, my friend the banker joined, so far +as the laughter was concerned. “Good! That’s it! First-rate!” came from a +hundred vulgar throats. + +“Isn’t it a perfect shame?” Mrs. Makely demanded. “I think some of you +gentlemen ought to say something. What will Mr. Homos think of our +civilization if we let such interruptions go unrebuked?” + +She was sitting between the banker and myself, and her indignation made +him laugh more and more. “Oh, it serves him right,” he said. “Don’t you +see that he is hoist with his own petard? Let him alone. He’s in the hands +of his friends.” + +The Altrurian waited for the tumult to die away, and then he said, gently: +“I don’t understand.” + +The old farmer jerked himself to his feet again. “It’s like this: I paid +my dolla’ to hear about a country where there wa’n’t no co’perations nor +no monop’lies nor no buyin’ up cou’ts; and I ain’t agoin’ to have no +allegory shoved down my throat, instead of a true history, noways. I know +all about how it is _here_. Fi’st, run their line through your backya’d, +and then kill off your cattle, and keep kerryin’ on it up from cou’t to +cou’t, till there ain’t hide or hair on ‘em left--” + +“Oh, set down, set down! Let the man go on! He’ll make it all right with +you,” one of the construction gang called out; but the farmer stood his +ground, and I could hear him through the laughing and shouting keep saying +something, from time to time, about not wanting to pay no dolla’ for no +talk about co’perations and monop’lies that we had right under our own +noses the whole while, and, you might say, in your very bread-troughs; +till, at last, I saw Reuben Camp make his way toward him, and, after an +energetic expostulation, turn to leave him again. + +Then he faltered out, “I guess it’s all right,” and dropped out of sight +in the group he had risen from. I fancied his wife scolding him there, and +all but shaking him in public. + +“I should be very sorry,” the Altrurian proceeded, “to have any one +believe that I have not been giving you a _bona fide_ account of +conditions in my country before the Evolution, when we first took the name +of Altruria in our great, peaceful campaign against the Accumulation. As +for offering you any allegory or travesty of your own conditions, I will +simply say that I do not know them well enough to do so intelligently. +But, whatever they are, God forbid that the likeness which you seem to +recognize should ever go so far as the desperate state of things which we +finally reached. I will not trouble you with details; in fact, I have been +afraid that I had already treated of our affairs too abstractly; but, +since your own experience furnishes you the means of seizing my meaning, I +will go on as before. + +“You will understand me when I explain that the Accumulation had not +erected itself into the sovereignty with us unopposed. The working-men, +who suffered most from its oppression had early begun to band themselves +against it, with the instinct of self-preservation, first trade by trade +and art by art, and then in congresses and federations of the trades and +arts, until finally they enrolled themselves in one vast union, which +included all the working-men, whom their necessity or their interest did +not leave on the side of the Accumulation. This beneficent and generous +association of the weak for the sake of the weakest did not accomplish +itself fully till the baleful instinct of the Accumulation had reduced the +monopolies to one vast monopoly, till the stronger had devoured the weaker +among its members, and the supreme agent stood at the head of our affairs, +in everything but name, our imperial ruler. We had hugged so long the +delusion of each man for himself that we had suffered all realty to be +taken from us. The Accumulation owned the land as well as the mines under +it and the shops over it; the Accumulation owned the seas and the ships +that sailed the seas, and the fish that swam in their depths; it owned +transportation and distribution, and the wares and products that were to +be carried to and fro; and, by a logic irresistible and inexorable, the +Accumulation _was_, and we were _not_. + +“But the Accumulation, too, had forgotten something. It had found it so +easy to buy legislatures and courts that it did not trouble itself about +the polls. It left us the suffrage, and let us amuse ourselves with the +periodical election of the political clay images which it manipulated and +moulded to any shape and effect at its pleasure. The Accumulation knew +that it was the sovereignty, whatever figure-head we called president or +governor or mayor: we had other names for these officials, but I use their +analogues for the sake of clearness, and I hope my good friend over there +will not think I am still talking about America.” + +“No,” the old farmer called back, without rising, “we hain’t got there +quite yit.” + +“No hurry,” said a trainman. “All in good time. Go on!” he called to the +Altrurian. + +The Altrurian resumed: + +“There had been, from the beginning, an almost ceaseless struggle between +the Accumulation and the proletariate. The Accumulation always said that +it was the best friend of the proletariate, and it denounced, through the +press which it controlled, the proletarian leaders who taught that it was +the enemy of the proletariate, and who stirred up strikes and tumults of +all sorts, for higher wages and fewer hours. But the friend of the +proletariate, whenever occasion served, treated the proletariate like a +deadly enemy. In seasons of overproduction, as it was called, it locked +the workmen out or laid them off, and left their families to starve, or +ran light work and claimed the credit of public benefactors for running at +all. It sought every chance to reduce wages; it had laws passed to forbid +or cripple the workmen in their strikes; and the judges convicted them of +conspiracy, and wrested the statutes to their hurt, in cases where there +had been no thought of embarrassing them, even among the legislators. God +forbid that you should ever come to such a pass in America; but, if you +ever should, God grant that you may find your way out as simply as we did +at last, when freedom had perished in everything but name among us, and +justice had become a mockery. + +“The Accumulation had advanced so smoothly, so lightly, in all its steps +to the supreme power, and had at last so thoroughly quelled the uprisings +of the proletariate, that it forgot one thing: it forgot the despised and +neglected suffrage. The ballot, because it had been so easy to annul its +effect, had been left in the people’s hands; and when, at last, the +leaders of the proletariate ceased to counsel strikes, or any form of +resistance to the Accumulation that could be tormented into the likeness +of insurrection against the government, and began to urge them to attack +it in the political way, the deluge that swept the Accumulation out of +existence came trickling and creeping over the land. It appeared first in +the country, a spring from the ground; then it gathered head in the +villages; then it swelled to a torrent in the cities. I cannot stay to +trace its course; but suddenly, one day, when the Accumulation’s abuse of +a certain power became too gross, it was voted out of that power. You will +perhaps be interested to know that it was with the telegraphs that the +rebellion against the Accumulation began, and the government was forced, +by the overwhelming majority which the proletariate sent to our +parliament, to assume a function which the Accumulation had impudently +usurped. Then the transportation of smaller and more perishable wares--” + +“Yes,” a voice called--“express business. Go on!” + +“Was legislated a function of the post-office,” the Altrurian went on. +“Then all transportation was taken into the hands of the political +government, which had always been accused of great corruption in its +administration, but which showed itself immaculately pure compared with +the Accumulation. The common ownership of mines necessarily followed, with +an allotment of lands to any one who wished to live by tilling the land; +but not a foot of the land was remitted to private hands for the purposes +of selfish pleasure or the exclusion of any other from the landscape. As +all business had been gathered into the grasp of the Accumulation, and the +manufacture of everything they used and the production of everything that +they ate was in the control of the Accumulation, its transfer to the +government was the work of a single clause in the statute. + +“The Accumulation, which had treated the first menaces of resistance with +contempt, awoke to its peril too late. When it turned to wrest the +suffrage from the proletariate, at the first election where it attempted +to make head against them, it was simply snowed under, as your picturesque +phrase is. The Accumulation had no voters, except the few men at its head +and the creatures devoted to it by interest and ignorance. It seemed, at +one moment, as if it would offer an armed resistance to the popular will, +but, happily, that moment of madness passed. Our Evolution was +accomplished without a drop of bloodshed, and the first great political +brotherhood, the commonwealth of Altruria, was founded. + +“I wish that I had time to go into a study of some of the curious phases +of the transformation from a civility in which the people lived _upon_ +each other to one in which they lived _for_ each other. There is a famous +passage in the inaugural message of our first Altrurian president which +compares the new civic consciousness with that of a disembodied spirit +released to the life beyond this and freed from all the selfish cares +and greeds of the flesh. But perhaps I shall give a sufficiently clear +notion of the triumph of the change among us when I say that within half +a decade after the fall of the old plutocratic oligarchy one of the chief +directors of the Accumulation publicly expressed his gratitude to God +that the Accumulation had passed away forever. You will realize the +importance of such an expression in recalling the declarations some of +your slave-holders have made since the Civil War, that they would not have +slavery restored for any earthly consideration. + +“But now, after this preamble, which has been so much longer than I meant +it to be, how shall I give you a sufficiently just conception of the +existing Altruria, the actual state from which I come?” + +“Yes,” came the nasal of the old farmer again, “that’s what we are here +fur. I wouldn’t give a copper to know all you went through beforehand. +It’s too dumn like what we have been through ourselves, as fur as heard +from.” + +A shout of laughter went up from most of the crowd, but the Altrurian did +not seem to see any fun in it. + +“Well,” he resumed, “I will tell you, as well as I can, what Altruria is +like; but, in the first place, you will have to cast out of your minds all +images of civilization with which your experience has filled them. For a +time the shell of the old Accumulation remained for our social habitation, +and we dwelt in the old competitive and monopolistic forms after the life +had gone out of them--that is, we continued to live in populous cities, +and we toiled to heap up riches for the moth to corrupt, and we slaved on +in making utterly useless things, merely because we had the habit of +making them to sell. For a while we made the old sham things, which +pretended to be useful things and were worse than the confessedly useless +things. I will give you an illustration from the trades, which you will +all understand. The proletariate, in the competitive and monopolistic +time, used to make a kind of shoes for the proletariate, or the women of +the proletariate, which looked like fine shoes of the best quality. It +took just as much work to make these shoes as to make the best fine shoes; +but they were shams through and through. They wore out in a week, and the +people called them, because they were bought fresh for every Sunday--” + +“Sat’d’y-night shoes,” screamed the old farmer. “I know ‘em. My gals buy +‘em. Half-dolla’ a pai’, and not wo’th the money.” + +“Well,” said the Altrurian, “they were a cheat and a lie in every way, +and under the new system it was not possible, when public attention +was called to the fact, to continue the falsehood they embodied. As soon +as the Saturday-night shoes realized itself to the public conscience, +an investigation began, and it was found that the principle of the +Saturday-night shoe underlay half our industries and made half the work +that was done. + +“Then an immense reform took place. We renounced, in the most solemn +convocation of the whole economy, the principle of the Saturday-night +shoe, and those who had spent their lives in producing sham shoes--” + +“Yes,” said the professor, rising from his seat near us and addressing the +speaker, “I shall be very glad to know what became of the worthy and +industrious operatives who were thrown out of employment by this explosion +of economic virtue.” + +“Why,” the Altrurian replied, “they were set to work making honest shoes; +and, as it took no more time to make a pair of honest shoes which lasted a +year than it took to make a pair of dishonest shoes that lasted a week, +the amount of labor in shoemaking was at once enormously reduced.” + +“Yes,” said the professor, “I understand that. What became of the +shoemakers?” + +“They joined the vast army of other laborers who had been employed, +directly or indirectly, in the fabrication of fraudulent wares. These +shoemakers--lasters, button-holers, binders, and so on--no longer wore +themselves out over their machines. One hour sufficed where twelve hours +were needed before, and the operatives were released to the happy labor of +the fields, where no one with us toils killingly, from dawn till dusk, but +does only as much work as is needed to keep the body in health. We had a +continent to refine and beautify; we had climates to change and seasons to +modify, a whole system of meteorology to readjust, and the public works +gave employment to the multitudes emancipated from the soul-destroying +service of shams. I can scarcely give you a notion of the vastness of the +improvements undertaken and carried through, or still in process of +accomplishment. But a single one will, perhaps, afford a sufficient +illustration. Our southeast coast, from its vicinity to the pole, had +always suffered from a winter of antarctic rigor; but our first president +conceived the plan of cutting off a peninsula, which kept the equatorial +current from making in to our shores; and the work was begun in his term, +though the entire strip, twenty miles in width and ninety-three in length, +was not severed before the end of the first Altrurian decade. Since that +time the whole region of our southeastern coast has enjoyed the climate of +your Mediterranean countries. + +“It was not only the makers of fraudulent things who were released to +these useful and wholesome labors, but those who had spent themselves in +contriving ugly and stupid and foolish things were set free to the public +employment. The multitude of these monstrosities and iniquities was as +great as that of the shams--” + +Here I lost some words, for the professor leaned over and whispered to me: +“He has got _that_ out of William Morris. Depend upon it, the man is a +humbug. He is not an Altrurian at all.” + +I confess that my heart misgave me; but I signalled the professor to be +silent, and again gave the Altrurian--if he was an Altrurian--my whole +attention. + + + + +XII + + +“And so,” the Altrurian continued, “when the labor of the community was +emancipated from the bondage of the false to the free service of the true, +it was also, by an inevitable implication, dedicated to beauty and rescued +from the old slavery to the ugly, the stupid, and the trivial. The thing +that was honest and useful became, by the operation of a natural law, a +beautiful thing. + +“Once we had not time enough to make things beautiful, we were so +overworked in making false and hideous things to sell; but now we had all +the time there was, and a glad emulation arose among the trades and +occupations to the end that everything done should be done finely as well +as done honestly. The artist, the man of genius, who worked from the love +of his work, became the normal man, and in the measure of his ability and +of his calling each wrought in the spirit of the artist. We got back the +pleasure of doing a thing beautifully, which was God’s primal blessing +upon all His working children, but which we had lost in the horrible days +of our need and greed. There is not a working-man within the sound of my +voice but has known this divine delight, and would gladly know it always +if he only had the time. Well, now we had the time, the Evolution had +given us the time, and in all Altruria there was not a furrow driven or a +swath mown, not a hammer struck on house or on ship, not a stitch sewn or +a stone laid, not a line written or a sheet printed, not a temple raised +or an engine built, but it was done with an eye to beauty as well as to +use. + +“As soon as we were freed from the necessity of preying upon one another, +we found that there was no hurry. The good work would wait to be well +done; and one of the earliest effects of the Evolution was the disuse of +the swift trains which had traversed the continent, night and day, that +one man might overreach another, or make haste to undersell his rival, or +seize some advantage of him, or plot some profit to his loss. Nine-tenths +of the railroads, which in the old times had ruinously competed, and then, +in the hands of the Accumulation, had been united to impoverish and +oppress the people, fell into disuse. The commonwealth operated the few +lines that were necessary for the collection of materials and the +distribution of manufactures, and for pleasure travel and the affairs of +state; but the roads that had been built to invest capital, or parallel +other roads, or ‘make work,’ as it was called, or to develop resources, +or boom localities, were suffered to fall into ruin; the rails were +stripped from the landscape, which they had bound as with shackles, and +the road-beds became highways for the use of kindly neighborhoods, or +nature recovered them wholly and hid the memory of their former abuse in +grass and flowers and wild vines. The ugly towns that they had forced into +being, as Frankenstein was fashioned, from the materials of the charnel, +and that had no life in or from the good of the community, soon tumbled +into decay. The administration used parts of them in the construction of +the villages in which the Altrurians now mostly live; but generally these +towns were built of materials so fraudulent, in form so vile, that it was +judged best to burn them. In this way their sites were at once purified +and obliterated. + +“We had, of course, a great many large cities under the old egoistic +conditions, which increased and fattened upon the country, and fed their +cancerous life with fresh infusions of its blood. We had several cities of +half a million, and one of more than a million; we had a score of them +with a population of a hundred thousand or more. We were very proud of +them, and vaunted them as a proof of our unparalleled prosperity, though +really they never were anything but congeries of millionaires and the +wretched creatures who served them and supplied them. Of course, there was +everywhere the appearance of enterprise and activity, but it meant final +loss for the great mass of the business men, large and small, and final +gain for the millionaires. These and their parasites dwelt together, the +rich starving the poor and the poor plundering and misgoverning the rich; +and it was the intolerable suffering in the cities that chiefly hastened +the fall of the old Accumulation and the rise of the commonwealth. + +“Almost from the moment of the Evolution the competitive and monopolistic +centres of population began to decline. In the clear light of the new +order it was seen that they were not fit dwelling-places for men, either +in the complicated and luxurious palaces where the rich fenced themselves +from their kind, or in the vast tenements, towering height upon height, +ten and twelve stories up, where the swarming poor festered in vice and +sickness and famine. If I were to tell you of the fashion of those cities +of our egoistic epoch, how the construction was one error from the first, +and every correction of an error bred a new defect, I should make you +laugh, I should make you weep. We let them fall to ruin as quickly as they +would, and their sites are still so pestilential, after the lapse of +centuries, that travelers are publicly guarded against them. Ravening +beasts and poisonous reptiles lurk in those abodes of the riches and the +poverty that are no longer known to our life. A part of one of the less +malarial of the old cities, however, is maintained by the commonwealth in +the form of its prosperity, and is studied by antiquarians for the +instruction, and by moralists for the admonition, it affords. A section of +a street is exposed, and you see the foundations of the houses; you see +the filthy drains that belched into the common sewers, trapped and +retrapped to keep the poison gases down; you see the sewers that rolled +their loathsome tides under the streets, amid a tangle of gas-pipes, +steam-pipes, water-pipes, telegraph-wires, electric lighting-wires, +electric motor-wires, and grip-cables--all without a plan, but makeshifts, +expedients, devices, to repair and evade the fundamental mistake of having +any such cities at all. + +“There are now no cities in Altruria, in your meaning, but there are +capitals, one for each of the regions of our country and one for the whole +commonwealth. These capitals are for the transaction of public affairs, in +which every citizen of Altruria is schooled, and they are the residences +of the administrative officials, who are alternated every year, from the +highest to the lowest. A public employment with us is of no greater honor +or profit than any other, for with our absolute economic equality there +can be no ambition, and there is no opportunity for one citizen to +outshine another. But as the capitals are the centres of all the arts, +which we consider the chief of our public affairs, they are oftenest +frequented by poets, actors, painters, sculptors, musicians, and +architects. We regard all artists, who are in a sort creators, as the +human type which is likest the divine, and we try to conform our whole +industrial life to the artistic temperament. Even in the labors of the +field and shop, which are obligatory upon all, we study the inspiration of +this temperament, and in the voluntary pursuits we allow it full control. +Each, in these, follows his fancy as to what he shall do, and when he +shall do it, or whether he shall do anything at all. In the capitals are +the universities, theatres, galleries, museums, cathedrals, laboratories +and conservatories, and the appliances of every art and science, as well +as the administration buildings; and beauty as well as use is studied in +every edifice. Our capitals are as clean and quiet and healthful as the +country, and these advantages are secured simply by the elimination of the +horse, an animal which we should be as much surprised to find in the +streets of a town as the plesiosaurus or the pterodactyl. All +transportation in the capitals, whether for pleasure or business, is by +electricity, and swift electrical expresses connect the capital of each +region with the villages which radiate from it to the cardinal points. +These expresses run at the rate of a hundred and fifty miles an hour, and +they enable the artist, the scientist, the literary man, of the remotest +hamlet, to visit the capital (when he is not actually resident there in +some public use) every day, after the hours of the obligatory industries; +or, if he likes, he may remain there a whole week or fortnight, giving six +hours a day instead of three to the obligatories, until the time is made +up. In case of very evident merit, or for the purpose of allowing him to +complete some work requiring continuous application, a vote of the local +agents may release him from the obligatories indefinitely. Generally, +however, our artists prefer not to ask this, but avail themselves of the +stated means we have of allowing them to work at the obligatories, and get +the needed exercise and variety of occupation in the immediate vicinity of +the capital. + +“We do not think it well to connect the hamlets on the different lines of +radiation from the capital, except by the good country roads which +traverse each region in every direction. The villages are mainly inhabited +by those who prefer a rural life; they are farming villages; but in +Altruria it can hardly be said that one man is more a farmer than another. +We do not like to distinguish men by their callings; we do not speak of +the poet This or the shoemaker That, for the poet may very likely be a +shoemaker in the obligatories, and the shoemaker a poet in the +voluntaries. If it can be said that one occupation is honored above +another with us, it is that which we all share, and that is the +cultivation of the earth. We believe that this, when not followed +slavishly, or for gain, brings man into the closest relations to the +Deity, through a grateful sense of the divine bounty, and that it not only +awakens a natural piety in him, but that it endears to the worker that +piece of soil which he tills, and so strengthens his love of home. The +home is the very heart of the Altrurian system, and we do not think it +well that people should be away from their homes very long or very often. +In the competitive and monopolistic times men spent half their days in +racing back and forth across our continent; families were scattered by the +chase for fortune, and there was a perpetual paying and repaying of +visits. One-half the income of those railroads which we let fall into +disuse came from the ceaseless unrest. Now a man is born and lives and +dies among his own kindred, and the sweet sense of neighborhood, of +brotherhood, which blessed the golden age of the first Christian republic +is ours again. Every year the people of each region meet one another on +Evolution day, in the regionic capital; once in four years they all visit +the national capital. There is no danger of the decay of patriotism among +us; our country is our mother, and we love her as it is impossible to love +the step-mother that a competitive or monopolistic nation must be to its +citizens. + +“I can only touch upon this feature and that of our system as I chance to +think of it. If any of you are curious about others, I shall be glad to +answer questions as well as I can. We have, of course,” the Altrurian +proceeded, after a little indefinite pause, to let any speak who liked, +“no money in your sense. As the whole people control affairs, no man works +for another, and no man pays another. Every one does his share of labor, +and receives his share of food, clothing, and shelter, which is neither +more nor less than another’s. If you can imagine the justice and +impartiality of a well-ordered family, you can conceive of the social and +economic life of Altruria. We are, properly speaking, a family rather than +a nation like yours. + +“Of course, we are somewhat favored by our insular, or continental, +position; but I do not know that we are more so than you are. Certainly, +however, we are self-sufficing in a degree unknown to most European +countries; and we have within our borders the materials of every comfort +and the resources of every need. We have no commerce with the egoistic +world, as we call that outside, and I believe that I am the first +Altrurian to visit foreign countries avowedly in my national character, +though we have always had emissaries living abroad incognito. I hope that +I may say without offence that they find it a sorrowful exile, and that +the reports of the egoistic world, with its wars, its bankruptcies, its +civic commotions, and its social unhappiness, do not make us discontented +with our own condition. Before the Evolution we had completed the round of +your inventions and discoveries, impelled by the force that drives you on; +and we have since disused most of them as idle and unfit. But we profit, +now and then, by the advances you make in science, for we are passionately +devoted to the study of the natural laws, open or occult, under which all +men have their being. Occasionally an emissary returns with a sum of +money, and explains to the students of the national university the +processes by which it is lost and won; and at a certain time there was a +movement for its introduction among us, not for its use as you know it, +but for a species of counters in games of chance. It was considered, +however, to contain an element of danger, and the scheme was discouraged. + +“Nothing amuses and puzzles our people more than the accounts our +emissaries give of the changes of fashion in the outside world, and of the +ruin of soul and body which the love of dress often works. Our own dress, +for men and for women, is studied, in one ideal of use and beauty, from +the antique; caprice and vagary in it would be thought an effect of vulgar +vanity. Nothing is worn that is not simple and honest in texture; we do +not know whether a thing is cheap or dear, except as it is easy or hard to +come by, and that which is hard to come by is forbidden as wasteful and +foolish. The community builds the dwellings of the community, and these, +too, are of a classic simplicity, though always beautiful and fit in form; +the splendors of the arts are lavished upon the public edifices, which we +all enjoy in common.” + +“Isn’t this the greatest rehash of ‘Utopia,’ ‘New Atlantis,’ and ‘City of +the Sun’ that you ever imagined?” the professor whispered across me to the +banker. “The man is a fraud, and a very bungling fraud at that.” + +“Well, you must expose him, when he gets through,” the banker whispered +back. + +But the professor could not wait. He got upon his feet and called out: +“May I ask the gentleman from Altruria a question?” + +“Certainly,” the Altrurian blandly assented. + +“Make it short!” Reuben Camp’s voice broke in, impatiently. “We didn’t +come here to listen to your questions.” + +The professor contemptuously ignored him. “I suppose you occasionally +receive emissaries from, as well as send them to, the world outside?” + +“Yes, now and then castaways land on our coasts, and ships out of their +reckonings put in at our ports for water or provision.” + +“And how are they pleased with your system?” + +“Why, I cannot better answer than by saying that they mostly refuse to +leave us.” + +“Ah, just as Bacon reports!” cried the professor. + +“You mean in the _New Atlantis_?” returned the Altrurian. “Yes; it is +astonishing how well Bacon in that book, and Sir Thomas More in his +_Utopia_, have divined certain phases of our civilization and polity.” + +“I think he rather _has_ you, professor,” the banker whispered, with a +laugh. + +“But all those inspired visionaries,” the Altrurian continued, while the +professor sat grimly silent, watching for another chance, “who have borne +testimony of us in their dreams, conceived of states perfect without the +discipline of a previous competitive condition. What I thought, however, +might specially interest you Americans in Altruria is the fact that our +economy was evolved from one so like that in which you actually have your +being. I had even hoped you might feel that, in all these points of +resemblance, America prophesies another Altruria. I know that to some of +you all that I have told of my country will seem a baseless fabric, with +no more foundation, in fact, than More’s fairy-tale of another land where +men dealt kindly and justly by one another, and dwelt, a whole nation, in +the unity and equality of a family. But why should not a part of that +fable have come true in our polity, as another part of it has come true in +yours? When Sir Thomas More wrote that book, he noted with abhorrence the +monstrous injustice of the fact that men were hanged for small thefts in +England; and in the preliminary conversation between its characters he +denounced the killing of men for any sort of thefts. Now you no longer put +men to death for theft; you look back upon that cruel code of your mother +England with an abhorrence as great as his own. We, for our part, who have +realized the Utopian dream of brotherly equality, look back with the same +abhorrence upon a state where some were rich and some poor, some taught +and some untaught, some high and some low, and the hardest toil often +failed to supply a sufficiency of the food which luxury wasted in its +riots. That state seems as atrocious to us as the state which hanged a man +for stealing a loaf of bread seems to you. + +“But we do not regret the experience of competition and monopoly. They +taught us some things in the operation of the industries. The labor-saving +inventions which the Accumulation perverted to money-making we have +restored to the use intended by their inventors and the Creator of their +inventors. After serving the advantage of socializing the industries which +the Accumulation effected for its own purposes, we continued the work in +large mills and shops, in the interest of the workers, whom we wished to +guard against the evil effects of solitude. But our mills and shops are +beautiful as well as useful. They look like temples, and they are temples, +dedicated to that sympathy between the divine and human which expresses +itself in honest and exquisite workmanship. They rise amid leafy boscages +beside the streams, which form their only power; for we have disused steam +altogether, with all the offences to the eye and ear which its use brought +into the world. Our life is so simple and our needs are so few that the +hand-work of the primitive toilers could easily supply our wants; but +machinery works so much more thoroughly and beautifully that we have in +great measure retained it. Only, the machines that were once the workmen’s +enemies and masters are now their friends and servants; and, if any man +chooses to work alone with his own hands, the state will buy what he makes +at the same price that it sells the wares made collectively. This secures +every right of individuality. + +“The farm-work, as well as the mill-work and the shop-work, is done by +companies of workers; and there is nothing of that loneliness in our woods +and fields which, I understand, is the cause of so much insanity among +you. It is not good for man to be alone, was the first thought of his +Creator when he considered him, and we act upon this truth in everything. +The privacy of the family is sacredly guarded in essentials, but the +social instinct is so highly developed with us that we like to eat +together in large refectories, and we meet constantly to argue and dispute +on questions of aesthetics and metaphysics. We do not, perhaps, read so +many books as you do, for most of our reading, when not for special +research, but for culture and entertainment, is done by public readers, to +large groups of listeners. We have no social meetings which are not free +to all; and we encourage joking and the friendly give and take of witty +encounters.” + +“A little hint from Sparta,” suggested the professor. + +The banker leaned over to whisper to me: “From what I have seen of your +friend when offered a piece of American humor, I should fancy the +Altrurian article was altogether different. Upon the whole, I would rather +not be present at one of their witty encounters, if I were obliged to stay +it out.” + +The Altrurian had paused to drink a glass of water, and now he went on: +“But we try, in everything that does not inconvenience or injure others, +to let every one live the life he likes best. If a man prefers to dwell +apart, and have his meals in private for himself alone or for his family, +it is freely permitted; only he must not expect to be served as in public, +where service is one of the voluntaries; private service is not permitted; +those wishing to live alone must wait upon themselves, cook their own +food, and care for their own tables. Very few, however, wish to withdraw +from the public life, for most of the discussions and debates take place +at our mid-day meal, which falls at the end of the obligatory labors, and +is prolonged indefinitely, or as long as people like to chat and joke or +listen to the reading of some pleasant book. + +“In Altruria _there is no hurry_, for no one wishes to outstrip another, +or in any wise surpass him. We are all assured of enough, and are +forbidden any and every sort of superfluity. If any one, after the +obligatories, wishes to be entirely idle, he may be so, but I cannot now +think of a single person without some voluntary occupation; doubtless +there are such persons, but I do not know them. It used to be said, in the +old times, that ‘it was human nature’ to shirk and malinger and loaf, but +we have found that it is no such thing. We have found that it is human +nature to work cheerfully, willingly, eagerly, at the tasks which all +share for the supply of the common necessities. In like manner we have +found out that it is not human nature to hoard and grudge, but that when +the fear, and even the imagination, of want is taken away, it is human +nature to give and to help generously. We used to say: ‘A man will lie, or +a man will cheat, in his own interest; that is human nature’; but that is +no longer human nature with us, perhaps because no man has any interest to +serve; he has only the interests of others to serve, while others serve +his. It is in no wise possible for the individual to separate his good +from the common good; he is prosperous and happy only as all the rest are +so; and therefore it is not human nature with us for any one to lie in +wait to betray another or seize an advantage. That would be ungentlemanly, +and in Altruria every man is a gentleman and every woman a lady. If you +will excuse me here for being so frank, I would like to say something by +way of illustration which may be offensive if you take it personally.” + +He looked at our little group, as if he were addressing himself more +especially to us, and the banker called out, jollily: “Go on! I guess we +can stand it,” and “Go ahead!” came from all sides, from all kinds of +listeners. + +“It is merely this: that as we look back at the old competitive conditions +we do not see how any man could be a gentleman in them, since a gentleman +must think first of others, and these conditions _compelled_ every man to +think first of himself.” + +There was a silence broken by some conscious and hardy laughter, while we +each swallowed this pill as we could. + +“What are competitive conditions?” Mrs. Makely demanded of me. + +“Well, ours are competitive conditions,” I said. + +“Very well, then,” she returned, “I don’t think Mr. Homos is much of a +gentleman to say such a thing to an American audience. Or, wait a moment! +Ask him if the same rule applies to women.” + +I rose, strengthened by the resentment I felt, and said: “Do I understand +that in your former competitive conditions it was also impossible for a +woman to be a lady?” + +The professor gave me an applausive nod as I sat down. “I envy you the +chance of that little dig,” he whispered. + +The Altrurian was thoughtful a moment, and then he answered: “No, I should +not say it was. From what we know historically of those conditions in our +country, it appears that the great mass of women were not directly +affected by them. They constituted an altruistic dominion of the egoistic +empire, and, except as they were tainted by social or worldly ambitions, +it was possible for every woman to be a lady, even in competitive +conditions. Her instincts were unselfish, and her first thoughts were +nearly always of others.” + +Mrs. Makely jumped to her feet and clapped violently with her fan on the +palm of her left hand. “Three cheers for Mr. Homos!” she shrieked, and all +the women took up the cry, supported by all the natives and the +construction gang. I fancied these fellows gave their support largely in a +spirit of burlesque; but they gave it robustly, and from that time on, +Mrs. Makely led the applause, and they roared in after her. + +It is impossible to follow closely the course of the Altrurian’s account +of his country, which grew more and more incredible as he went on, and +implied every insulting criticism of ours. Some one asked him about war in +Altruria, and he said: “The very name of our country implies the absence +of war. At the time of the Evolution our country bore to the rest of our +continent the same relative proportion that your country bears to your +continent. The egoistic nations to the north and the south of us entered +into an offensive and defensive alliance to put down, the new altruistic +commonwealth, and declared war against us. Their forces were met at the +frontier by our entire population in arms, and full of the martial spirit +bred of the constant hostilities of the competitive and monopolistic epoch +just ended. Negotiations began in the face of the imposing demonstration +we made, and we were never afterward molested by our neighbors, who +finally yielded to the spectacle of our civilization and united their +political and social fate with ours. At present, our whole continent is +Altrurian. For a long time we kept up a system of coast defences, but it +is also a long time since we abandoned these; for it is a maxim with us +that where every citizen’s life is a pledge of the public safety, that +country can never be in danger of foreign enemies. + +“In this, as in all other things, we believe ourselves the true followers +of Christ, whose doctrine we seek to make our life as He made it His. We +have several forms of ritual, but no form of creed, and our religious +differences may be said to be aesthetic and temperamental rather than +theological and essential. We have no denominations, for we fear in this, +as in other matters, to give names to things lest we should cling to the +names instead of the things. We love the realities, and for this reason we +look at the life of a man rather than his profession for proof that he is +a religious man. + +“I have been several times asked, during my sojourn among you, what are +the sources of compassion, of sympathy, of humanity, of charity with us, +if we have not only no want, or fear of want, but not even any economic +inequality. I suppose this is because you are so constantly struck by the +misery arising from economic inequality and want, or the fear of want, +among yourselves, that you instinctively look in that direction. But have +you ever seen sweeter compassion, tenderer sympathy, warmer humanity, +heavenlier charity than that shown in the family where all are +economically equal and no one can want while any other has to give? +Altruria, I say again, is a family, and, as we are mortal, we are still +subject to those nobler sorrows which God has appointed to men, and which +are so different from the squalid accidents that they have made for +themselves. Sickness and death call out the most angelic ministries of +love; and those who wish to give themselves to others may do so without +hinderance from those cares, and even those duties, resting upon men where +each must look out first for himself and for his own. Oh, believe me, +believe me, you can know nothing of the divine rapture of self-sacrifice +while you must dread the sacrifice of another in it. You are not _free_, +as we are, to do everything for others, for it is your _duty_ to do rather +for those of your own household! + +“There is something,” he continued, “which I hardly know how to speak of,” + and here we all began to prick our ears. I prepared myself as well as I +could for another affront, though I shuddered when the banker hardily +called out: “Don’t hesitate to say anything you wish, Mr. Homos. I, for +one, should like to hear you express yourself fully.” + +It was always the unexpected, certainly, that happened from the Altrurian. +“It is merely this,” he said: “Having come to live rightly upon earth, as +we believe, or having at least ceased to deny God in our statutes and +customs, the fear of death, as it once, weighed upon us, has been lifted +from our souls. The mystery of it has so far been taken away that we +perceive it as something just and natural. Now that all unkindness has +been banished from among us, we can conceive of no such cruelty as death +once seemed. If we do not know yet the full meaning of death, we know that +the Creator of it and of us meant mercy and blessing by it. When one dies +we grieve, but not as those without hope. We do not say that the dead have +gone to a better place, and then selfishly bewail them, for we have the +kingdom of heaven upon earth already, and we know that wherever they go +they will be homesick for Altruria; and when we think of the years that +may pass before we meet them again our hearts ache, as theirs must. But +the presence of the risen Christ in our daily lives is our assurance that +no one ceases to be, and that we shall see our dead again. I cannot +explain this to you; I can only affirm it.” + +The Altrurian spoke very solemnly, and a reverent hush fell upon the +assembly. It was broken by the voice of a woman wailing out: “Oh, do you +suppose, if we lived so, we should feel so, too? That I should know my +little girl was living?” + +“Why not?” asked the Altrurian. + +To my vast astonishment, the manufacturer, who sat the farthest from me in +the same line with Mrs. Makely, the professor, and the banker, rose and +asked, tremulously: “And have--have you had any direct communication with +the other world? Has any disembodied spirit returned to testify of the +life beyond the grave?” + +The professor nodded significantly across Mrs. Makely to me, and then +frowned and shook his head. I asked her if she knew what he meant. “Why, +didn’t you know that spiritualism was that poor man’s foible? He lost his +son in a railroad accident, and ever since--” + +She stopped and gave her attention to the Altrurian, who was replying to +the manufacturer’s question. + +“We do not need any such testimony. Our life here makes us sure of the +life there. At any rate, no externation of the supernatural, no objective +miracle, has been wrought in our behalf. We have had faith to do what we +prayed for, and the prescience of which I speak has been added unto us.” + +The manufacturer asked, as the bereaved mother had asked: “And if I lived +so, should I feel so?” + +Again the Altrurian answered: “Why not?” + +The poor woman quavered: “Oh, I do believe it! I just _know_ it must be +true!” + +The manufacturer shook his head sorrowfully and sat down, and remained +there, looking at the ground. + +“I am aware,” the Altrurian went on, “that what I have said as to our +realizing the kingdom of heaven on the earth must seem boastful and +arrogant. That is what you pray for every day, but you do not believe it +possible for God’s will to be done on earth as it is done in heaven--that +is, you do not if you are like the competitive and monopolistic people we +once were. We once regarded that petition as a formula vaguely pleasing +to the Deity, but we no more expected His kingdom to come than we expected +Him to give us each day our daily bread; we knew that if we wanted +something to eat we should have to hustle for it, and get there first; I +use the slang of that far-off time, which, I confess, had a vulgar vigor. + +“But now everything is changed, and the change has taken place chiefly +from one cause--namely, the disuse of money. At first, it was thought that +some sort of circulating medium _must_ be used, that life could not be +transacted without it. But life began to go on perfectly well, when each +dwelt in the place assigned him, which was no better and no worse than any +other; and when, after he had given his three hours a day to the +obligatory labors, he had a right to his share of food, light, heat, and +raiment; the voluntary labors, to which he gave much time or little, +brought him no increase of those necessaries, but only credit and +affection. We had always heard it said that the love of money was the root +of all evil, but we had taken this for a saying, merely; now we realized +it as an active, vital truth. As soon as money was abolished the power to +purchase was gone, and even if there had been any means of buying beyond +the daily needs, with overwork, the community had no power to sell to the +individual. No man owned anything, but every man had the right to anything +that he could use; when he could not use it, his right lapsed. + +“With the expropriation of the individual the whole vast catalogue of +crimes against property shrank to nothing. The thief could only steal from +the community; but if he stole, what was he to do with his booty? It was +still possible for a depredator to destroy, but few men’s hate is so +comprehensive as to include all other men, and when the individual could +no longer hurt some other individual in his property destruction ceased. + +“All the many murders done from love of money, or of what money could buy, +were at an end. Where there was no want, men no longer bartered their +souls, or women their bodies, for the means to keep themselves alive. The +vices vanished with the crimes, and the diseases almost as largely +disappeared. People were no longer sickened by sloth and surfeit, or +deformed and depleted by overwork and famine. They were wholesomely housed +in healthful places, and they were clad fitly for their labor and fitly +for their leisure; the caprices of vanity were not suffered to attaint the +beauty of the national dress. + +“With the stress of superfluous social and business duties, and the +perpetual fear of want which all classes felt, more or less; with the +tumult of the cities and the solitude of the country, insanity had +increased among us till the whole land was dotted with asylums and the mad +were numbered by hundreds of thousands. In every region they were an army, +an awful army of anguish and despair. Now they have decreased to a number +so small, and are of a type so mild, that we can hardly count insanity +among our causes of unhappiness. + +“We have totally eliminated chance from our economic life. There is still +a chance that a man will be tall or short in Altruria, that he will be +strong or weak, well or ill, gay or grave, happy or unhappy in love, but +none that he will be rich or poor, busy or idle, live splendidly or +meanly. These stupid and vulgar accidents of human contrivance cannot +befall us; but I shall not be able to tell you just how or why, or to +detail the process of eliminating chance. I may say, however, that it +began with the nationalization of telegraphs, expresses, railroads, mines, +and all large industries operated by stock companies. This at once struck +a fatal blow at the speculation in values, real and unreal, and at the +stock-exchange, or bourse; we had our own name for that gambler’s +paradise, or gambler’s hell, whose baleful influence penetrated every +branch of business. + +“There were still business fluctuations as long as we had business, but +they were on a smaller and smaller scale, and with the final lapse of +business they necessarily vanished; all economic chance vanished. The +founders of the commonwealth understood perfectly that business was the +sterile activity of the function interposed between the demand and the +supply; that it was nothing structural; and they intended its extinction, +and expected it from the moment that money was abolished.” + +“This is all pretty tiresome,” said the professor to our immediate party. +“I don’t see why we oblige ourselves to listen to that fellow’s stuff. As +if a civilized state could exist for a day without money or business.” + +He went on to give his opinion of the Altrurian’s pretended description, +in a tone so audible that it attracted the notice of the nearest group of +railroad hands, who were listening closely to Homos, and one of them sang +out to the professor: “Can’t you wait and let the first man finish?” and +another yelled: “Put him out!” and then they all laughed with a humorous +perception of the impossibility of literally executing the suggestion. + +By the time all was quiet again I heard the Altrurian saying: “As to our +social life, I cannot describe it in detail, but I can give you some +notion of its spirit. We make our pleasures civic and public as far as +possible, and the ideal is inclusive and not exclusive. There are, of +course, festivities which all cannot share, but our distribution into +small communities favors the possibility of all doing so. Our daily life, +however, is so largely social that we seldom meet by special invitation or +engagement. When we do, it is with the perfect understanding that the +assemblage confers no social distinction, but is for a momentary +convenience. In fact, these occasions are rather avoided, recalling, as +they do, the vapid and tedious entertainments of the competitive epoch, +the receptions and balls and dinners of a semi-barbaric people striving +for social prominence by shutting a certain number in and a certain number +out, and overdressing, overfeeding, and overdrinking. Anything +premeditated in the way of a pleasure we think stupid and mistaken; we +like to meet suddenly, or on the spur of the moment, out-of-doors, if +possible, and arrange a picnic or a dance or a play; and let people come +and go without ceremony. No one is more host than guest; all are hosts and +guests. People consort much according to their tastes--literary, musical, +artistic, scientific, or mechanical--but these tastes are made approaches, +not barriers; and we find out that we have many more tastes in common than +was formerly supposed. + +“But, after all, our life is serious, and no one among us is quite happy, +in the general esteem, unless he has dedicated himself, in some special +way, to the general good. Our ideal is not rights, but duties.” + +“Mazzini!” whispered the professor. + +“The greatest distinction which any one can enjoy with us is to have found +out some new and signal way of serving the community; and then it is not +good form for him to seek recognition. The doing any fine thing is the +purest pleasure it can give; applause flatters, but it hurts, too, and our +benefactors, as we call them, have learned to shun it. + +“We are still far from thinking our civilization perfect; but we are sure +that our civic ideals are perfect. What we have already accomplished is to +have given a whole continent perpetual peace; to have founded an economy +in which there is no possibility of want; to have killed out political and +social ambition; to have disused money and eliminated chance; to have +realized the brotherhood of the race, and to have outlived the fear of +death.” + +The Altrurian suddenly stopped with these words and sat down. He had +spoken a long time, and with a fulness which my report gives little notion +of; but, though most of his cultivated listeners were weary, and a good +many ladies had left their seats and gone back to the hotel, not one of +the natives, or the work-people of any sort, had stirred; now they +remained a moment motionless and silent before they rose from all parts of +the field and shouted: “Go on! Don’t stop! Tell us all about it!” + +I saw Reuben Camp climb the shoulders of a big fellow near where the +Altrurian had stood; he waved the crowd to silence with out-spread arms. +“He isn’t going to say anything more; he’s tired. But if any man don’t +think he’s got his dollar’s worth, let him walk up to the door and the +ticket-agent will refund him his money.” + +The crowd laughed, and some one shouted: “Good for you, Reub!” + +Camp continued: “But our friend here will shake the hand of any man, +woman, or child that wants to speak to him; and you needn’t wipe it on the +grass first, either. He’s a _man_! And I want to say that he’s going to +spend the next week with us, at my mother’s house, and we shall be glad to +have you call.” + +The crowd, the rustic and ruder part of it, cheered and cheered till the +mountain echoes answered; then a railroader called for three times three, +with a tiger, and got it. The guests of the hotel broke away and went +toward the house over the long shadows of the meadow. The lower classes +pressed forward, on Camp’s invitation. + +“Well, did you ever hear a more disgusting rigmarole?” asked Mrs. Makely, +as our little group halted indecisively about her. + +“With all those imaginary commonwealths to draw upon, from Plato, through +More, Bacon, and Campanella, down to Bellamy and Morris, he has +constructed the shakiest effigy ever made of old clothes stuffed with +straw,” said the professor. + +The manufacturer was silent. The banker said: “I don’t know. He grappled +pretty boldly with your insinuations. That frank declaration that Altruria +was all these pretty soap-bubble worlds solidified was rather fine.” + +“It was splendid!” cried Mrs. Makely. The lawyer and the minister came +toward us from where they had been sitting together. She called out to +them: “Why in the world didn’t one of your gentlemen get up and propose a +vote of thanks?” + +“The difficulty with me is,” continued the banker, “that he has rendered +Altruria incredible. I have no doubt that he is an Altrurian, but I doubt +very much if he comes from anywhere in particular, and I find this quite a +blow, for we had got Altruria nicely located on the map, and were +beginning to get accounts of it in the newspapers.” + +“Yes, that is just exactly the way I feel about it,” sighed Mrs. Makely. +“But still, don’t you think there ought to have been a vote of thanks, Mr. +Bullion?” + +“Why, certainly. The fellow was immensely amusing, and you must have got a +lot of money by him. It was an oversight not to make him a formal +acknowledgment of some kind. If we offered him money, he would have to +leave it all behind him here when he went home to Altruria.” + +“Just as _we_ do when we go to heaven,” I suggested; the banker did not +answer, and I instantly felt that in the presence of the minister my +remark was out of taste. + +“Well, then, don’t you think,” said Mrs. Makely, who had a leathery +insensibility to everything but the purpose possessing her, “that we ought +at least to go and say something to him personally?” + +“Yes, I think we ought,” said the banker, and we all walked up to where +the Altrurian stood, still thickly surrounded by the lower classes, who +were shaking hands with him and getting in a word with him now and then. + +One of the construction gang said, carelessly: “No all-rail route to +Altruria, I suppose?” + +“No,” answered Homos, “it’s a far sea voyage.” + +“Well, I shouldn’t mind working my passage, if you think they’d let me +stay after I got there.” + +“Ah, you mustn’t go to Altruria. You must let Altruria come to _you_” + returned Homos, with that confounded smile of his that always won my +heart. + +“Yes,” shouted Reuben Camp, whose thin face was red with excitement, +“that’s the word. Have Altruria right here, and right now.” + +The old farmer, who had several times spoken, cackled out: “I didn’t know, +one while, when you was talk’n’ about not havin’ no money, but what some +on us had had Altrury here for quite a spell, already. I don’t pass more’n +fifty dolla’s through my hands most years.” + +A laugh went up, and then, at sight of Mrs. Makely heading our little +party, the people round Homos civilly made way for us. She rushed upon +him, and seized his hand in both of hers; she dropped her fan, parasol, +gloves, handkerchief, and vinaigrette in the grass to do so. “Oh, Mr. +Homos,” she fluted, and the tears came into her eyes, “it was beautiful, +_beautiful_, every word of it! I sat in a perfect trance from beginning to +end, and I felt that it was all as true as it was beautiful. People all +around me were breathless with interest, and I don’t know how I can ever +thank you enough.” + +“Yes, indeed,” the professor hastened to say, before the Altrurian could +answer, and he beamed malignantly upon him through his spectacles while he +spoke, “it was like some strange romance.” + +“I don’t know that I should go so far as that,” said the banker, in his +turn, “but it certainly seemed too good to be true.” + +“Yes,” the Altrurian responded, simply, but a little sadly; “now that I am +away from it all, and in conditions so different, I sometimes had to ask +myself, as I went on, if my whole life had not hitherto been a dream, and +Altruria were not some blessed vision of the night.” + +“Then you know how to account for a feeling which I must acknowledge, +too?” the lawyer asked, courteously. “But it was most interesting.” + +“The kingdom of God upon earth,” said the minister--“It ought not to be +incredible; but that, more than anything else you told us of, gave me +pause.” + +“You of all men?” returned the Altrurian, gently. + +“Yes,” said the minister, with a certain dejection, “when I remember what +I have seen of men, when I reflect what human nature is, how can I believe +that the kingdom of God will ever come upon the earth?” + +“But in heaven, where He reigns, who is it does His will? The spirits of +men?” pursued the Altrurian. + +“Yes, but conditioned as men are here--” + +“But if they were conditioned as men are there?” + +“Now, I can’t let you two good people get into a theological dispute,” + Mrs. Makely pushed in. “Here is Mr. Twelvemough dying to shake hands with +Mr. Homos and compliment his distinguished guest.” + +“Ah, Mr. Homos knows what I must have thought of his talk without my +telling him,” I began, skilfully. “But I am sorry that I am to lose my +distinguished guest so soon.” + +Reuben Camp broke out: “That was my blunder, Mr. Twelvemough. Mr. Homos +and I had talked it over conditionally, and I was not to speak of it till +he had told you; but it slipped out in the excitement of the moment.” + +“Oh, it’s all right,” I said, and I shook hands cordially with both of +them. “It will be the greatest possible advantage for Mr. Homos to see +certain phases of American life at close range, and he couldn’t possibly +see them under better auspices than yours, Camp.” + +“Yes, I’m going to drive him through the hill country after haying, and +then I’m going to take him down and show him one of our big factory +towns.” + +I believe this was done, but finally the Altrurian went on to New York, +where he was to pass the winter. We parted friends; I even offered him +some introductions; but his acquaintance had become more and more +difficult, and I was not sorry to part with him. That taste of his for low +company was incurable, and I was glad that I was not to be responsible any +longer for whatever strange thing he might do next. I think he remained +very popular with the classes he most affected; a throng of natives, +construction hands, and table-girls saw him off on his train; and he left +large numbers of such admirers in our house and neighborhood, devout in +the faith that there was such a commonwealth as Altruria, and that he was +really an Altrurian. As for the more cultivated people who had met him, +they continued of two minds upon both points. + +THE END + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Traveler from Altruria: Romance, by +William Dean Howells + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A TRAVELER FROM ALTRURIA: ROMANCE *** + +***** This file should be named 8449-0.txt or 8449-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/8/4/4/8449/ + +Produced by Suzanne Shell, Charles Bidwell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: A Traveler from Altruria: Romance + +Author: William Dean Howells + + +Release Date: July, 2005 [EBook #8449] +This file was first posted on July 11, 2003 +Last Updated: April 8, 2013 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A TRAVELER FROM ALTRURIA: ROMANCE *** + + + + +Produced by Suzanne Shell, Charles Bidwell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + + + + +A TRAVELER FROM ALTRURIA + +Romance + +By W. D. Howells + +Author Of "The Coast Of Bohemia", "The Quality Of Mercy", +"A Hazard Of New Fortunes" Etc. + +Harper & Brothers Publishers + +New York And London + +1908 + + + + +A TRAVELER FROM ALTRURIA + + + + +I + + +I confess that with all my curiosity to meet an Altrurian, I was in no +hospitable mood toward the traveler when he finally presented himself, +pursuant to the letter of advice sent me by the friend who introduced him. +It would be easy enough to take care of him in the hotel; I had merely to +engage a room for him, and have the clerk tell him his money was not good +if he tried to pay for anything. But I had swung fairly into my story; its +people were about me all the time; I dwelt amid its events and places, and +I did not see how I could welcome my guest among them, or abandon them for +him. Still, when he actually arrived, and I took his hand as he stepped +from the train, I found it less difficult to say that I was glad to see +him than I expected. In fact, I was glad, for I could not look upon his +face without feeling a glow of kindness for him. I had not the least +trouble in identifying him, for he was so unlike all the Americans who +dismounted from the train with him, and who all looked hot, worried, and +anxious. He was a man no longer young, but in what we call the heyday of +life, when our own people are so absorbed in making provision for the +future that they may be said not to live in the present at all. This +Altrurian's whole countenance, and especially his quiet, gentle eyes, +expressed a vast contemporaneity, with bounds of leisure removed to the +end of time; or, at least, this was the effect of something in them which +I am obliged to report in rather fantastic terms. He was above the middle +height, and he carried himself vigorously. His face was sunburned, or +sea-burned, where it was not bearded; and, although I knew from my +friend's letter that he was a man of learning and distinction in his own +country, I should never have supposed him a person of scholarly life, he +was so far from sicklied over with anything like the pale cast of thought. +When he took the hand I offered him in my half-hearted welcome he gave it +a grasp that decided me to confine our daily greetings to something much +less muscular. + +"Let me have your bag," I said, as we do when we meet people at the train, +and he instantly bestowed a rather heavy valise upon me, with a smile in +his benignant eyes, as if it had been the greatest favor. "Have you got +any checks?" I asked. + +"Yes," he said, in very good English, but with an accent new to me, "I +bought two." He gave them to me, and I passed them to our hotel porter, +who was waiting there with the baggage-cart. Then I proposed that we +should walk across the meadow to the house, which is a quarter of a mile +or so from the station. We started, but he stopped suddenly and looked +back over his shoulder. "Oh, you needn't be troubled about your trunks," I +said. "The porter will get them to the house all right. They'll be in your +room by the time we get there." + +"But he's putting them into the wagon himself," said the Altrurian. + +"Yes; he always does that. He's a strong young fellow. He'll manage it. +You needn't--" I could not finish saying he need not mind the porter; he +was rushing back to the station, and I had the mortification of seeing him +take an end of each trunk and help the porter toss it into the wagon; some +lighter pieces he put in himself, and he did not stop till all the baggage +the train had left was disposed of. + +I stood holding his valise, unable to put it down in my embarrassment at +this eccentric performance, which had been evident not to me alone, but to +all the people who arrived by the train, and all their friends who came +from the hotel to meet them. A number of these passed me on the tally-ho +coach; and a lady, who had got her husband with her for over Sunday, and +was in very good spirits, called gayly down to me: "Your friend seems fond +of exercise!" + +"Yes," I answered, dryly; the sparkling repartee which ought to have come +to my help failed to show up. But it was impossible to be vexed with the +Altrurian when he returned to me, unruffled by his bout with the baggage +and serenely smiling. + +"Do you know," he said, "I fancied that good fellow was ashamed of my +helping him. I hope it didn't seem a reflection upon him in any way before +your people? I ought to have thought of that." + +"I guess we can make it right with him. I dare say he felt more surprised +than disgraced. But we must make haste a little now; your train was half +an hour late, and we shall not stand so good a chance for supper if we are +not there pretty promptly." + +"No?" said the Altrurian. "Why?" + +"Well," I said, with evasive lightness, "first come, first served, you +know. That's human nature." + +"Is it?" he returned, and he looked at me as one does who suspects another +of joking. + +"Well, isn't it?" I retorted; but I hurried to add: "Besides, I want to +have time after supper to show you a bit of our landscape. I think you'll +enjoy it." I knew he had arrived in Boston that morning by steamer, and I +now thought it high time to ask him: "Well, what do you think of America, +anyway?" I ought really to have asked him this the moment he stepped from +the train. + +"Oh," he said, "I'm intensely interested," and I perceived that he spoke +with a certain reservation. "As the most advanced country of its time, +I've always been very curious to see it." + +The last sentence raised my dashed spirits again, and I said, confidently: +"You must find our system of baggage-checks delightful." I said this +because it is one of the first things we brag of to foreigners, and I had +the habit of it. "By-the-way," I ventured to add, "I suppose you meant to +say you _brought_ two checks when I asked you for them at the train just +now? But you really said you _bought_ them." + +"Yes," the Altrurian replied, "I gave half a dollar apiece for them at the +station in Boston. I saw other people doing it," he explained, noting my +surprise. "Isn't it the custom?" + +"I'm happy to say it isn't yet, on most of our roads. They were tipping +the baggage-man, to make sure that he checked their baggage in time and +put it on the train. I had to do that myself when I came up; otherwise it +might have got along here some time next day. But the system is perfect." + +"The poor man looked quite worn out," said the Altrurian, "and I am glad I +gave him something. He seemed to have several hundred pieces of baggage to +look after, and he wasn't embarrassed like your porter by my helping him +put my trunks into the car. May I confess that the meanness of the +station, its insufficient facilities, its shabby waiting-rooms, and its +whole crowded and confused appearance gave me rather a bad impression?" + +"I know," I had to own, "it's shameful; but you wouldn't have found +another station in the city so bad." + +"Ah, then," said the Altrurian, "I suppose this particular road is too +poor to employ more baggage-men or build new stations; they seemed rather +shabby all the way up." + +"Well, no," I was obliged to confess, "it's one of the richest roads in +the country. The stock stands at about 180. But I'm really afraid we shall +be late to supper if we don't get on," I broke off; though I was not +altogether sorry to arrive after the porter had disposed of the baggage. I +dreaded another display of active sympathy on the part of my strange +companion; I have often felt sorry myself for the porters of hotels, but I +have never thought of offering to help them handle the heavy trunks that +they manage. + +The Altrurian was delighted with the hotel; and in fact it did look +extremely pretty, with its branching piazzas full of well-dressed people, +and its green lawns where the children were playing. I led the way to the +room which I had taken for him next my own; it was simply furnished, but +it was sweet with matting, fresh linen, and pure whitewashed walls. I +flung open the window-blinds and let him get a glimpse of the mountains +purpling under the sunset, the lake beneath, and the deeply foliaged +shores. + +"Glorious! glorious!" he sighed. + +"Yes," I modestly assented. "We think that's rather fine." He stood +tranced before the window, and I thought I had better say: "Well, now I +can't give you much time to get the dust of travel off; the dining-room +doors close at eight, and we must hurry down." + +"I'll be with you in a moment," he said, pulling off his coat. + +I waited impatiently at the foot of the stairs, avoiding the question I +met on the lips and in the eyes of my acquaintance. The fame of my +friend's behavior at the station must have spread through the whole place; +and everybody wished to know who he was. I answered simply he was a +traveler from Altruria; and in some cases I went further and explained +that the Altrurians were peculiar. + +In much less time than it seemed my friend found me; and then I had a +little compensation for my suffering in his behalf. I could see that, +whatever people said of him, they felt the same mysterious liking at +sight of him that I had felt. He had made a little change in his dress, +and I perceived that the women thought him not only good-looking but +well-dressed. They followed him with their eyes as we went into the +dining-room, and I was rather proud of being with him, as if I somehow +shared the credit of his clothes and good looks. The Altrurian himself +seemed most struck with the head-waiter, who showed us to our places, and +while we were waiting for our supper I found a chance to explain that he +was a divinity student from one of the fresh-water colleges, and was +serving here during his summer vacation. This seemed to interest my friend +so much that I went on to tell him that many of the waitresses, whom he +saw standing there subject to the order of the guests, were country +school-mistresses in the winter. + +"Ah, that is as it should be," he said; "that is the kind of thing I +expected to meet with in America." + +"Yes," I responded, in my flattered national vanity, "if America means +anything at all it means the honor of work and the recognition of personal +worth everywhere. I hope you are going to make a long stay with us. We +like to have travelers visit us who can interpret the spirit of our +institutions as well as read their letter. As a rule Europeans never quite +get our point of view. Now a great many of these waitresses are ladies, in +the true sense of the word--selfrespectful, intelligent, refined, and fit +to grace--" + +I was interrupted by the noise my friend made in suddenly pushing back his +chair and getting to his feet. "What's the matter?" I asked. "You're not +ill, I hope?" + +But he did not hear me. He had run half down the dining-hall toward the +slender young girl who was bringing us our supper. I had ordered rather +generously, for my friend had owned to a good appetite, and I was hungry +myself with waiting for him, so that the tray the girl carried was piled +up with heavy dishes. To my dismay I saw, rather than heard at that +distance, the Altrurian enter into a polite controversy with her, and +then, as if overcoming all her scruples by sheer strength of will, possess +himself of the tray and make off with it toward our table. The poor child +followed him, blushing to her hair; the head-waiter stood looking +helplessly on; the guests, who at that late hour were fortunately few, +were simply aghast at the scandal; the Altrurian alone seemed to think +his conduct the most natural thing in the world. He put the tray on the +side-table near us, and in spite of our waitress's protests insisted upon +arranging the little bird-bath dishes before our plates. Then at last he +sat down, and the girl, flushed and tremulous, left the room, as I could +not help suspecting, to have a good cry in the kitchen. She did not come +back, and the head-waiter, who was perhaps afraid to send another in her +place, looked after our few wants himself. He kept a sharp eye on my +friend, as if he were not quite sure he was safe, but the Altrurian +resumed the conversation with all that lightness of spirits which I +noticed in him after he helped the porter with the baggage. I did not +think it the moment to take him to task for what he had just done; I was +not even sure that it was the part of a host to do so at all, and between +the one doubt and the other I left the burden of talk to him. + +"What a charming young creature!" he began. "I never saw anything prettier +than the way she had of refusing my help, absolutely without coquetry or +affectation of any kind. She is, as you said, a perfect lady, and she +graces her work, as I am sure she would grace any exigency of life. She +quite realizes my ideal of an American girl, and I see now what the spirit +of your country must be from such an expression of it." + +I wished to tell him that while a country school-teacher who waits at +table in a summer hotel is very much to be respected in her sphere, she is +not regarded with that high honor which some other women command among us; +but I did not find this very easy, after what I had said of our esteem for +labor; and while I was thinking how I could hedge, my friend went on. + +"I liked England greatly, and I liked the English, but I could not like +the theory of their civilization or the aristocratic structure of their +society. It seemed to me iniquitous, for we believe that inequality and +iniquity are the same in the last analysis." + +At this I found myself able to say: "Yes, there is something terrible, +something shocking, in the frank brutality with which Englishmen affirm +the essential inequality of men. The affirmation of the essential equality +of men was the first point of departure with us when we separated from +them." + +"I know," said the Altrurian. "How grandly it is expressed in your +glorious Declaration!" + +"Ah, you have read our Declaration of Independence, then?" + +"Every Altrurian has read that," answered my friend. + +"Well," I went on smoothly, and I hoped to render what I was going to say +the means of enlightening him without offence concerning the little +mistake he had just made with the waitress, "of course we don't take that +in its closest literality." + +"I don't understand you," he said. + +"Why, you know it was rather the political than the social traditions of +England that we broke with, in the Revolution." + +"How is that?" he returned. "Didn't you break with monarchy and nobility, +and ranks and classes?" + +"Yes, we broke with all those things." + +"But I found them a part of the social as well as the political structure +in England. You have no kings or nobles here. Have you any ranks or +classes?" + +"Well, not exactly in the English sense. Our ranks and classes, such as we +have, are what I may call voluntary." + +"Oh, I understand. I suppose that from time to time certain ones among you +feel the need of serving, and ask leave of the commonwealth to subordinate +themselves to the rest of the state and perform all the lowlier offices in +it. Such persons must be held in peculiar honor. Is it something like +that?" + +"Well, no, I can't say it's quite like that. In fact I think I'd better +let you trust to your own observation of our life." + +"But I'm sure," said the Altrurian, with a simplicity so fine that it was +a long time before I could believe it quite real, "that I shall approach +it so much more intelligently with a little instruction from you. You say +that your social divisions are voluntary. But do I understand that those +who serve among you do not wish to do so?" + +"Well, I don't suppose they would serve if they could help it," I replied. + +"Surely," said the Altrurian, with a look of horror, "you don't mean that +they are slaves." + +"Oh no! oh no!" I said; "the war put an end to that. We are all free now, +black and white." + +"But if they do not wish to serve, and are not held in peculiar honor for +serving--" + +"I see that my word 'voluntary' has misled you," I put in. "It isn't the +word exactly. The divisions among us are rather a process of natural +selection. You will see, as you get better acquainted with the workings of +our institutions, that there are no arbitrary distinctions here but the +fitness of the work for the man and the man for the work determines the +social rank that each one holds." + +"Ah, that is fine!" cried the Altrurian, with a glow of enthusiasm. "Then +I suppose that these intelligent young people who teach school in winter +and serve at table in the summer are in a sort of provisional state, +waiting for the process of natural selection to determine whether they +shall finally be teachers or waiters." + +"Yes, it might be stated in some such terms," I assented, though I was not +altogether easy in my mind. It seemed to me that I was not quite candid +with this most candid spirit. I added: "You know we are a sort of +fatalists here in America. We are great believers in the doctrine that it +will all come out right in the end." + +"Ah, I don't wonder at that," said the Altrurian, "if the process of +natural selection works so perfectly among you as you say. But I am afraid +I don't understand this matter of your domestic service yet. I believe you +said that all honest work is honored in America. Then no social slight +attaches to service, I suppose?" + +"Well, I can't say that, exactly. The fact is, a certain social slight +does attach to service, and that is one reason why I don't quite like to +have students wait at table. It won't be pleasant for them to remember it +in after-life, and it won't be pleasant for their children to remember +it." + +"Then the slight would descend?" + +"I think it would. One wouldn't like to think one's father or mother had +been at service." + +The Altrurian said nothing for a moment. Then he remarked: "So it seems +that while all honest work is honored among you, there are some kinds of +honest work that are not honored so much as others." + +"Yes." + +"Why?" + +"Because some occupations are more degrading than others." + +"But why?" he persisted, as I thought, a little unreasonably. + +"Really," I said, "I think I must leave you to imagine." + +"I am afraid I can't," he said, sadly. "Then, if domestic service is +degrading in your eyes, and people are not willing servants among you, may +I ask why any are servants?" + +"It is a question of bread-and-butter. They are obliged to be." + +"That is, they are forced to do work that is hateful and disgraceful to +them because they cannot live without?" + +"Excuse me," I said, not at all liking this sort of pursuit, and feeling +it fair to turn even upon a guest who kept it up. "Isn't it so with you in +Altruria?" + +"It was so once," he admitted, "but not now. In fact, it is like a waking +dream to find one's self in the presence of conditions here that we +outlived so long ago." + +There was an unconscious superiority in this speech that nettled me, and +stung me to retort: "We do not expect to outlive them. We regard them as +final, and as indestructibly based in human nature itself." + +"Ah," said the Altrurian, with a delicate and caressing courtesy, "have I +said something offensive?" + +"Not at all," I hastened to answer. "It is not surprising that you did not +get our point of view exactly. You will by-and-by, and then, I think, you +will see that it is the true one. We have found that the logic of our +convictions could not be applied to the problem of domestic service. It is +everywhere a very curious and perplexing problem. The simple old solution +of the problem was to own your servants; but we found that this was not +consistent with the spirit of our free institutions. As soon as it was +abandoned the anomaly began. We had outlived the primitive period when the +housekeeper worked with her domestics and they were her help, and were +called so; and we had begun to have servants to do all the household work, +and to call them so. This state of things never seemed right to some of +our purest and best people. They fancied, as you seem to have done, that +to compel people through their necessities to do your hateful drudgery, +and to wound and shame them with a name which every American instinctively +resents, was neither republican nor Christian. Some of our thinkers tried +to mend matters by making their domestics a part of their families; and in +the life of Emerson you'll find an amusing account of his attempt to have +his servant eat at the same table with himself and his wife. It wouldn't +work. He and his wife could stand it, but the servant couldn't." + +I paused, for this was where the laugh ought to have come in. The +Altrurian did not laugh, he merely asked, "Why?" + +"Well, because the servant knew, if they didn't, that they were a whole +world apart in their traditions, and were no more fit to associate than +New-Englanders and New-Zealanders. In the mere matter of education--" + +"But I thought you said that these young girls who wait at table here were +teachers." + +"Oh, I beg your pardon; I ought to have explained. By this time it had +become impossible, as it now is, to get American girls to take service +except on some such unusual terms as we have in a summer hotel; and the +domestics were already ignorant foreigners, fit for nothing else. In such +a place as this it isn't so bad. It is more as if the girls worked in a +shop or a factory. They command their own time, in a measure, their hours +are tolerably fixed, and they have one another's society. In a private +family they would be subject to order at all times, and they would have no +social life. They would be in the family, out not of it. American girls +understand this, and so they won't go out to service in the usual way. +Even in a summer hotel the relation has its odious aspects. The system of +giving fees seems to me degrading to those who have to take them. To offer +a student or a teacher a dollar for personal service--it isn't right, or I +can't make it so. In fact, the whole thing is rather anomalous with us. +The best that you can say of it is that it works, and we don't know what +else to do." + +"But I don't see yet," said the Altrurian, "just why domestic service is +degrading in a country where all kinds of work are honored." + +"Well, my dear fellow, I have done my best to explain. As I intimated +before, we distinguish; and in the different kinds of labor we distinguish +against domestic service. I dare say it is partly because of the loss of +independence which it involves. People naturally despise a dependant." + +"Why?" asked the Altrurian, with that innocence of his which I was +beginning to find rather trying. + +"Why?" I retorted. "Because it implies weakness." + +"And is weakness considered despicable among you?" he pursued. + +"In every community it is despised practically, if not theoretically," I +tried to explain. "The great thing that America has done is to offer the +race an opportunity--the opportunity for any man to rise above the rest +and to take the highest place, if he is able." I had always been proud of +this fact, and I thought I had put it very well, but the Altrurian did not +seem much impressed by it. + +He said: "I do not see how it differs from any country of the past in +that. But perhaps you mean that to rise carries with it an obligation +to those below 'If any is first among you, let him be your servant.' Is it +something like that?" + +"Well, it is not quite like that," I answered, remembering how very little +our self-made men as a class had done for others. "Every one is expected +to look out for himself here. I fancy that there would be very little +rising if men were expected to rise for the sake of others, in America. +How is it with you in Altruria?" I demanded, hoping to get out of a +certain discomfort I felt in that way. "Do your risen men generally devote +themselves to the good of the community after they get to the top?" + +"There is no rising among us," he said, with what seemed a perception of +the harsh spirit of my question; and he paused a moment before he asked in +his turn: "How do men rise among you?" + +"That would be rather a long story," I replied. "But, putting it in the +rough, I should say that they rose by their talents, their shrewdness, +their ability to seize an advantage and turn it to their own account." + +"And is that considered noble?" + +"It is considered smart. It is considered at the worst far better than a +dead level of equality. Are all men equal in Altruria? Are they all alike +gifted or beautiful, or short or tall?" + +"No, they are only equal in duties and in rights. But, as you said just +now, that is a very long story. Are they equal in nothing here?" + +"They are equal in opportunities." + +"Ah!" breathed the Altrurian, "I am glad to hear that." + +I began to feel a little uneasy, and I was not quite sure that this last +assertion of mine would hold water. Everybody but ourselves had now left +the dining-room, and I saw the head-waiter eying us impatiently. I pushed +back my chair and said: "I'm sorry to seem to hurry you, but I should like +to show you a very pretty sunset effect we have here before it is too +dark. When we get back, I want to introduce you to a few of my friends. Of +course, I needn't tell you that there is a good deal of curiosity about +you, especially among the ladies." + +"Yes, I found that the case in England, largely. It was the women who +cared most to meet me. I understand that in America society is managed +even more by women than it is in England." + +"It's entirely in their hands," I said, with the satisfaction we all feel +in the fact. "We have no other leisure class. The richest men among us are +generally hard workers; devotion to business is the rule; but, as soon as +a man reaches the point where he can afford to pay for domestic service, +his wife and daughters expect to be released from it to the cultivation of +their minds and the enjoyment of social pleasures. It's quite right. +That is what makes them so delightful to foreigners. You must have heard +their praises chanted in England. The English find our men rather stupid, +I believe; but they think our women are charming." + +"Yes, I was told that the wives of their nobility were sometimes +Americans," said the Altrurian. "The English think that you regard such +marriages as a great honor, and that they are very gratifying to your +national pride." + +"Well, I suppose that is so in a measure," I confessed. "I imagine that it +will not be long before the English aristocracy derives as largely from +American millionaires as from kings' mistresses. Not," I added, +virtuously, "that we approve of aristocracy." + +"No, I understand that," said the Altrurian. "I shall hope to get your +point of view in this matter more distinctly by-and-by. As yet, I'm a +little vague about it." + +"I think I can gradually make it clear to you," I returned. + + + + +II + +We left the hotel, and I began to walk my friend across the meadow toward +the lake. I wished him to see the reflection of the afterglow in its still +waters, with the noble lines of the mountain-range that glassed itself +there; the effect is one of the greatest charms of that lovely region, the +sojourn of the sweetest summer in the world, and I am always impatient to +show it to strangers. + +We climbed the meadow wall and passed through a stretch of woods to a path +leading down to the shore, and, as we loitered along in the tender gloom +of the forest, the music of the hermit-thrushes rang all round us like +crystal bells, like silver flutes, like the drip of fountains, like the +choiring of still-eyed cherubim. We stopped from time to time and +listened, while the shy birds sang unseen in their covert of shadows; but +we did not speak till we emerged from the trees and suddenly stood upon +the naked knoll overlooking the lake. + +Then I explained: "The woods used to come down to the shore here, and we +had their mystery and music to the water's edge; but last winter the owner +cut the timber off. It looks rather ragged now." I had to recognize the +fact, for I saw the Altrurian staring about him over the clearing in a +kind of horror. It was a squalid ruin, a graceless desolation, which not +even the pitying twilight could soften. The stumps showed their hideous +mutilation everywhere; the brush had been burned, and the fires had +scorched and blackened the lean soil of the hill-slope and blasted it with +sterility. A few weak saplings, withered by the flames, drooped and +straggled about; it would be a century before the forces of nature could +repair the waste. + +"You say the owner did this?" said the Altrurian. "Who is the owner?" + +"Well, it does seem too bad," I answered, evasively. "There has been a +good deal of feeling about it. The neighbors tried to buy him off before +he began the destruction, for they knew the value of the woods as an +attraction to summer-boarders; the city cottagers, of course, wanted to +save them, and together they offered for the land pretty nearly as much as +the timber was worth. But he had got it into his head that the land here +by the lake would sell for building lots if it was cleared, and he could +make money on that as well as on the trees; and so they had to go. Of +course, one might say that he was deficient in public spirit, but I don't +blame him, altogether." + +"No," the Altrurian assented, somewhat to my surprise, I confess. + +I resumed: "There was no one else to look after his interests, and it was +not only his right but his duty to get the most he could for himself and +his own, according to his best light. That is what I tell people when they +fall foul of him for his want of public spirit." + +"The trouble seems to be, then, in the system that obliges each man to be +the guardian of his own interests. Is that what you blame?" + +"No, I consider it a very perfect system. It is based upon individuality, +and we believe that individuality is the principle that differences +civilized men from savages, from the lower animals, and makes us a nation +instead of a tribe or a herd. There isn't one of us, no matter how much he +censured this man's want of public spirit, but would resent the slightest +interference with his property rights. The woods were his; he had the +right to do what he pleased with his own." + +"Do I understand you that, in America, a man may do what is wrong with his +own?" + +"He may do anything with his own." + +"To the injury of others?" + +"Well, not in person or property. But he may hurt them in taste and +sentiment as much as he likes. Can't a man do what he pleases with his own +in Altruria?" + +"No, he can only do right with his own." + +"And if he tries to do wrong, or what the community thinks is wrong?" + +"Then the community takes his own from him." Before I could think of +anything to say to this he went on: "But I wish you would explain to me +why it was left to this man's neighbors to try and get him to sell his +portion of the landscape?" + +"Why, bless my soul!" I exclaimed, "who else was there? You wouldn't have +expected to take up a collection among the summer-boarders?" + +"That wouldn't have been so unreasonable; but I didn't mean that. Was +there no provision for such an exigency in your laws? Wasn't the state +empowered to buy him off at the full value of his timber and his land?" + +"Certainly not," I replied. "That would be rank paternalism." + +It began to get dark, and I suggested that we had better be going back +to the hotel. The talk seemed already to have taken us away from all +pleasure in the prospect; I said, as we found our way through the rich, +balsam-scented twilight of the woods, where one joy-haunted thrush was +still singing: "You know that in America the law is careful not to meddle +with a man's private affairs, and we don't attempt to legislate personal +virtue." + +"But marriage," he said--"surely you have the institution of marriage?" + +I was really annoyed at this. I returned, sarcastically; "Yes, I am glad +to say that there we can meet your expectation; we have marriage, not only +consecrated by the church, but established and defended by the state. +What has that to do with the question?" + +"And you consider marriage," he pursued, "the citadel of morality, the +fountain of all that is pure and good in your private life, the source of +home and the image of heaven?" + +"There are some marriages," I said, with a touch of our national humor, +"that do not quite fill the bill, but that is certainly our ideal of +marriage." + +"Then why do you say that you have not legislated personal virtue in +America?" he asked. "You have laws, I believe, against theft and murder, +and slander and incest, and perjury and drunkenness?" + +"Why, certainly." + +"Then it appears to me that you have legislated honesty, regard for human +life, regard for character, abhorrence of unnatural vice, good faith, and +sobriety. I was told on the train coming up, by a gentleman who was +shocked at the sight of a man beating his horse, that you even had laws +against cruelty to animals." + +"Yes, and I am happy to say that they are enforced to such a degree that a +man cannot kill a cat cruelly without being punished for it." The +Altrurian did not follow up his advantage, and I resolved not to be +outdone in magnanimity. "Come, I will own that you have the best of me on +those points. I must say you've trapped me very neatly, too; I can enjoy a +thing of that kind when it's well done, and I frankly knock under. But I +had in mind something altogether different when I spoke. I was thinking of +those idealists who want to bind us hand and foot and render us the slaves +of a state where the most intimate relations of life shall be penetrated +by legislation and the very hearthstone shall be a tablet of laws." + +"Isn't marriage a rather intimate relation of life?" asked the Altrurian. +"And I understood that gentleman on the train to say that you had laws +against cruelty to children, and societies established to see them +enforced. You don't consider such laws an invasion of the home, do you, or +a violation of its immunities? I imagine," he went on, "that the +difference between your civilization and ours is only one of degree, after +all, and that America and Altruria are really one at heart." + +I thought his compliment a bit hyperbolical, but I saw that it was +honestly meant, and as we Americans are first of all patriots, and vain +for our country before we are vain for ourselves, I was not proof against +the flattery it conveyed to me civically if not personally. + +We were now drawing near the hotel, and I felt a certain glow of pleasure +in its gay effect on the pretty knoll where it stood. In its artless and +accidental architecture it was not unlike one of our immense coastwise +steamboats. The twilight had thickened to dusk, and the edifice was +brilliantly lighted with electrics, story above story, which streamed into +the gloom around like the lights of saloon and state-room. The corner of +wood making into the meadow hid the station; there was no other building +in sight; the hotel seemed riding at anchor on the swell of a placid sea. +I was going to call the Altrurian's attention to this fanciful resemblance +when I remembered that he had not been in our country long enough to have +seen a Fall River boat, and I made toward the house without wasting the +comparison upon him. But I treasured it up in my own mind, intending some +day to make a literary use of it. + +The guests were sitting in friendly groups about the piazzas or in rows +against the walls, the ladies with their gossip and the gentlemen with +their cigars. The night had fallen cool after a hot day, and they all had +the effect of having cast off care with the burden of the week that was +past, and to be steeping themselves in the innocent and simple enjoyment +of the hour. They were mostly middle-aged married folk, but some were old +enough to have sons and daughters among the young people who went and came +in a long, wandering promenade of the piazzas, or wove themselves through +the waltz past the open windows of the great parlor; the music seemed one +with the light that streamed far out on the lawn flanking the piazzas. +Every one was well-dressed and comfortable and at peace, and I felt that +our hotel was in some sort a microcosm of the republic. + +We involuntarily paused, and I heard the Altrurian murmur: "Charming, +charming! This is really delightful!" + +"Yes, isn't it?" I returned, with a glow of pride. "Our hotel here is a +type of the summer hotel everywhere; it's characteristic in not having +anything characteristic about it; and I rather like the notion of the +people in it being so much like the people in all the others that you +would feel yourself at home wherever you met such a company in such a +house. All over the country, north and south, wherever you find a group of +hills or a pleasant bit of water or a stretch of coast, you'll find some +such refuge as this for our weary toilers. We began to discover some time +ago that it would not do to cut open the goose that laid our golden eggs, +even if it looked like an eagle, and kept on perching on our banners just +as if nothing had happened. We discovered that, if we continued to kill +ourselves with hard work, there would be no Americans pretty soon." + +The Altrurian laughed. "How delightfully you put it! How quaint! How +picturesque! Excuse me, but I can't help expressing my pleasure in it. Our +own humor is so very different." + +"Ah," I said; "what is your humor like?" + +"I could hardly tell you, I'm afraid; I've never been much of a humorist +myself." + +Again a cold doubt of something ironical in the man went through me, but I +had no means of verifying it, and so I simply remained silent, waiting for +him to prompt me if he wished to know anything further about our national +transformation from bees perpetually busy into butterflies occasionally +idle. "And when you had made that discovery?" he suggested. + +"Why, we're nothing if not practical, you know, and as soon as we made +that discovery we stopped killing ourselves and invented the summer +resort. There are very few of our business or professional men now who +don't take their four or five weeks' vacation. Their wives go off early in +the summer, and, if they go to some resort within three or four hours of +the city, the men leave town Saturday afternoon and run out, or come up, +and spend Sunday with their families. For thirty-eight hours or so a hotel +like this is a nest of happy homes." + +"That is admirable," said the Altrurian. "You are truly a practical +people. The ladies come early in the summer, you say?" + +"Yes, sometimes in the beginning of June." + +"What do they come for?" asked the Altrurian. + +"What for? Why, for rest!" I retorted, with some little temper. + +"But I thought you told me awhile ago that as soon as a husband could +afford it he relieved his wife and daughters from all household work." + +"So he does." + +"Then what do the ladies wish to rest from?" + +"From care. It is not work alone that kills. They are not relieved from +household care even when they are relieved from household work. There is +nothing so killing as household care. Besides, the sex seems to be born +tired. To be sure, there are some observers of our life who contend that +with the advance of athletics among our ladies, with boating and bathing, +and lawn-tennis and mountain-climbing and freedom from care, and these +long summers of repose, our women are likely to become as superior to the +men physically as they now are intellectually. It is all right. We should +like to see it happen. It would be part of the national joke." + +"Oh, have you a national joke?" asked the Altrurian. "But, of course! You +have so much humor. I wish you could give me some notion of it." + +"Well, it is rather damaging to any joke to explain it," I replied, "and +your only hope of getting at ours is to live into it. One feature of it is +the confusion of foreigners at the sight of our men's willingness to +subordinate themselves to our women." + +"Oh, I don't find that very bewildering," said the Altrurian. "It seems to +me a generous and manly trait of the American character. I'm proud to say +that it is one of the points at which your civilization and our own touch. +There can be no doubt that the influence of women in your public affairs +must be of the greatest advantage to you; it has been so with us." + +I turned and stared at him, but he remained insensible to my astonishment, +perhaps because it was now too dark for him to see it. "Our women have no +influence in public affairs," I said, quietly, after a moment. + +"They haven't? Is it possible? But didn't I understand you to imply just +now that your women were better educated than your men?" + +"Well, I suppose that, taking all sorts and conditions among us, the women +are as a rule better schooled, if not better educated." + +"Then, apart from the schooling, they are not more cultivated?" + +"In a sense you might say they were. They certainly go in for a lot of +things: art and music, and Browning and the drama, and foreign travel and +psychology, and political economy and Heaven knows what all. They have +more leisure for it; they have all the leisure there is, in fact; our +young men have to go into business. I suppose you may say our women are +more cultivated than our men; yes, I think there's no questioning that. +They are the great readers among us. We poor devils of authors would be +badly off if it were not for our women. In fact, no author could make a +reputation among us without them. American literature exists because +American women appreciate it and love it." + +"But surely your men read books?" + +"Some of them; not many, comparatively. You will often hear a complacent +ass of a husband and father say to an author: 'My wife and daughters know +your books, but I can't find time for anything but the papers nowadays. I +skim them over at breakfast, or when I'm going in to business on the +train.' He isn't the least ashamed to say that he reads nothing but the +newspapers." + +"Then you think that it would be better for him to read books?" + +"Well, in the presence of four or five thousand journalists with drawn +scalping-knives I should not like to say so. Besides, modesty forbids." + +"No, but, really," the Altrurian persisted, "you think that the literature +of a book is more carefully pondered than the literature of a daily +newspaper?" + +"I suppose even the four or five thousand journalists with drawn +scalping-knives would hardly deny that." + +"And it stands to reason, doesn't it, that the habitual reader of +carefully pondered literature ought to be more thoughtful than the readers +of literature which is not carefully pondered and which they merely skim +over on their way to business?" + +"I believe we began by assuming the superior culture of our women, didn't +we? You'll hardly find an American that isn't proud of it." + +"Then," said the Altrurian, "if your women are generally better schooled +than your men, and more cultivated and more thoughtful, and are relieved +of household work in such great measure, and even of domestic cares, why +have they no part in your public affairs?" + +I laughed, for I thought I had my friend at last. "For the best of all +possible reasons: they don't want it." + +"Ah, that's no reason," he returned. "Why don't they want it?" + +"Really," I said, out of all patience, "I think I must let you ask the +ladies themselves," and I turned and moved again toward the hotel, but the +Altrurian gently detained me. + +"Excuse me," he began. + +"No, no," I said. + "'The feast is set, the guests are met, + May'st hear the merry din.' +Come in and see the young people dance." + +"Wait," he entreated; "tell me a little more about the old people first. +This digression about the ladies has been very interesting, but I thought +you were going to speak of the men here. Who are they, or, rather, what +are they?" + +"Why, as I said before, they are all business men and professional men; +people who spend their lives in studies and counting-rooms and offices, +and have come up here for a few weeks or a few days of well-earned repose. +They are of all kinds of occupations: they are lawyers and doctors, and +clergymen and merchants, and brokers and bankers. There's hardly any +calling you Won't find represented among them. As I was thinking +just now, our hotel is a sort of microcosm of the American republic." + +"I am most fortunate in finding you here, where I can avail myself of your +intelligence in making my observations of your life under such +advantageous circumstances. It seems to me that with your help I might +penetrate the fact of American life, possess myself of the mystery of your +national joke, without stirring beyond the piazza of your hospitable +hotel," said my friend. I doubted it, but one does not lightly put aside a +compliment like that to one's intelligence, and I said I should be very +happy to be of use to him. He thanked me, and said: "Then, to begin with, +I understand that these gentlemen are here because they are all +overworked." + +"Of course. You can have no conception of how hard our business men and +our professional men work. I suppose there is nothing like it anywhere +else in the world. But, as I said before, we are beginning to find that we +cannot burn the candle at both ends and have it last long. So we put one +end out for a little while every summer. Still, there are frightful wrecks +of men strewn all along the course of our prosperity, wrecks of mind and +body. Our insane asylums are full of madmen who have broken under the +tremendous strain, and every country in Europe abounds in our dyspeptics." +I was rather proud of this terrible fact; there is no doubt but we +Americans are proud of overworking ourselves; Heaven knows why. + +The Altrurian murmured: "Awful! Shocking!" But I thought somehow he had +not really followed me very attentively in my celebration of our national +violation of the laws of life and its consequences. "I am glad," he went +on, "that your business men and professional men are beginning to realize +the folly and wickedness of overwork. Shall I find some of your other +weary workers here, too?" + +"What other weary workers?" I asked in turn, for I imagined I had gone +over pretty much the whole list. + +"Why," said the Altrurian, "your mechanics and day laborers, your +iron-moulders and glass-blowers, your miners and farmers, your printers +and mill-operatives, your trainmen and quarry-hands. Or do they prefer to +go to resorts of their own?" + + + + +III + +It was not easy to make sure of such innocence as prompted this inquiry of +my Altrurian friend. The doubt whether he could really be in earnest was +something that I had already felt; and it was destined to beset me, as it +did now, again and again. My first thought was that, of course, he was +trying a bit of cheap irony on me, a mixture of the feeble sarcasm and +false sentiment that makes us smile when we find it in the philippics of +the industrial agitators. For a moment I did not know but I had fallen +victim to a walking delegate on his vacation, who was employing his summer +leisure in going about the country in the guise of a traveler from +Altruria, and foisting himself upon people who would have had nothing to +do with him in his real character. But in another moment I perceived that +this was impossible. I could not suppose that the friend who had +introduced him to me would be capable of seconding so poor a joke, and, +besides, I could not imagine why a walking delegate should wish to address +his clumsy satire to me particularly. For the present, at least, there was +nothing for it but to deal with this inquiry as if it were made in good +faith and in the pursuit of useful information. It struck me as grotesque; +but it would not have been decent to treat it as if it were so. I was +obliged to regard it seriously, and so I decided to shirk it. + +"Well," I said, "that opens up rather a large field, which lies somewhat +outside of the province of my own activities. You know, I am a writer of +romantic fiction, and my time is so fully occupied in manipulating the +destinies of the good old-fashioned hero and heroine, and trying always to +make them end in a happy marriage, that I have hardly had a chance to look +much into the lives of agriculturists or artisans; and, to tell you the +truth, I don't know what they do with their leisure. I'm pretty certain, +though, you won't meet any of them in this hotel; they couldn't afford it, +and I fancy they would find themselves out of their element among our +guests. We respect them thoroughly; every American does, and we know that +the prosperity of the country rests with them; we have a theory that they +are politically sovereign, but we see very little of them, and we don't +associate with them. In fact, our cultivated people have so little +interest in them socially that they don't like to meet them, even in +fiction; they prefer refined and polished ladies and gentlemen, whom they +can have some sympathy with; and I always go to the upper classes for my +types. It won't do to suppose, though, that we are indifferent to the +working classes in their place. Their condition is being studied a good +deal just now, and there are several persons here who will be able to +satisfy your curiosity on the points you have made, I think. I will +introduce you to them." + +The Altrurian did not try to detain me this time. He said he should be +very glad indeed to meet my friends, and I led the way toward a little +group at the corner of the piazza. They were men whom I particularly +liked, for one reason or another; they were intelligent and open-minded, +and they were thoroughly American. One was a banker; another was a +minister; there was a lawyer, and there was a doctor; there was a +professor of political economy in one of our colleges; and there was a +retired manufacturer--I do not know what he used to manufacture: cotton or +iron, or something like that. They all rose politely as I came up with my +Altrurian, and I fancied in them a sensation of expectancy created by the +rumor of his eccentric behavior which must have spread through the hotel. +But they controlled this if they had it, and I could see, as the light +fell upon his face from a spray of electrics on the nearest pillar, that +sort of liking kindle in theirs which I had felt myself at first sight of +him. + +I said, "Gentlemen, I wish to introduce my friend, Mr. Homos," and then I +presented them severally to him by name. We all sat down, and I explained: +"Mr. Homos is from Altruria. He is visiting our country for the first +time, and is greatly interested in the working of our institutions. He has +been asking me some rather hard questions about certain phases of our +civilization; and the fact is that I have launched him upon you because I +don't feel quite able to cope with him." + +They all laughed civilly at this sally of mine, but the professor asked, +with a sarcasm that I thought I hardly merited, "What point in our polity +can be obscure to the author of 'Glove and Gauntlet' and 'Airs and +Graces'?" + +They all laughed again, not so civilly, I felt, and then the banker asked +my friend: "Is it long since you left Altruria?" + +"It seems a great while ago," the Altrurian answered, "but it is really +only a few weeks." + +"You came by way of England, I suppose?" + +"Yes; there is no direct line to America," said the Altrurian. + +"That seems rather odd," I ventured, with some patriotic grudge. + +"Oh, the English have direct lines everywhere," the banker instructed me. + +"The tariff has killed our shipbuilding," said the professor. No one took +up this firebrand, and the professor added: "Your name is Greek, isn't it, +Mr. Homos?" + +"Yes; we are of one of the early Hellenic families," said the Altrurian. + +"And do you think," asked the lawyer, who, like most lawyers, was a lover +of romance, and was well read in legendary lore especially, "that there is +any reason for supposing that Altruria is identical with the fabled +Atlantis'?" + +"No, I can't say that I do. We have no traditions of a submergence of the +continent, and there are only the usual evidences of a glacial epoch which +you find everywhere to support such a theory. Besides, our civilization is +strictly Christian, and dates back to no earlier period than that of the +first Christian commune after Christ. It is a matter of history with us +that one of these communists, when they were dispersed, brought the Gospel +to our continent; he was cast away on our eastern coast on his way to +Britain." + +"Yes, we know that," the minister intervened, "but it is perfectly +astonishing that an island so large as Altruria should have been lost to +the knowledge of the rest of the world ever since the beginning of our +era. You would hardly think that there was a space of the ocean's surface +a mile square which had not been traversed by a thousand keels since +Columbus sailed westward." + +"No, you wouldn't. And I wish," the doctor suggested in his turn, "that +Mr. Homos would tell us something about his country, instead of asking us +about ours." + +"Yes," I coincided, "I'm sure we should all find it a good deal easier. At +least I should; but I brought our friend up in the hope that the professor +would like nothing better than to train a battery of hard facts upon a +defenceless stranger." Since the professor had given me that little stab, +I was rather anxious to see how he would handle the desire for information +in the Altrurian which I had found so prickly. + +This turned the laugh on the professor, and he pretended to be as curious +about Altruria as the rest, and said he would rather hear of it. But the +Altrurian said: "I hope you will excuse me. Sometime I shall be glad to +talk of Altruria as long as you like; or, if you will come to us, I shall +be still happier to show you many things that I couldn't make you +understand at a distance. But I am in America to learn, not to teach, and +I hope you will have patience with my ignorance. I begin to be afraid that +it is so great as to seem a little incredible. I have fancied in my friend +here," he went on, with a smile toward me, "a suspicion that I was not +entirely single in some of the inquiries I have made, but that I had some +ulterior motive, some wish to censure or satirize." + +"Oh, not at all," I protested, for it was not polite to admit a conjecture +so accurate. "We are so well satisfied with our condition that we have +nothing but pity for the darkened mind of the foreigner, though we believe +in it fully: we are used to the English tourist." + +My friends laughed, and the Altrurian continued: "I am very glad to hear +it, for I feel myself at a peculiar disadvantage among you. I am not only +a foreigner, but I am so alien to you in all the traditions and habitudes +that I find it very difficult to get upon common ground with you. Of +course, I know theoretically what you are, but to realize it practically +is another thing. I had read so much about America and understood so +little that I could not rest without coming to see for myself. Some of the +apparent contradictions were so colossal--" + +"We have everything on a large scale here," said the banker, breaking off +the ash of his cigar with the end of his little finger, "and we rather +pride ourselves on the size of our inconsistencies, even. I know something +of the state of things in Altruria, and, to be frank with you, I will say +that it seems to me preposterous. I should say it was impossible, if it +were not an accomplished fact; but I always feel bound to recognize the +thing done. You have hitched your wagon to a star, and you have made the +star go; there is never any trouble with wagons, but stars are not easily +broken to harness, and you have managed to get yours well in hand. As I +said, I don't believe in you, but I respect you." I thought this charming, +myself; perhaps because it stated my own mind about Altruria so exactly +and in terms so just and generous. + +"Pretty good," said the doctor, in a murmur of satisfaction, at my ear, +"for a bloated bond-holder." + +"Yes," I whispered back, "I wish I had said it. What an American way of +putting it! Emerson would have liked it himself. After all, he was our +prophet." + +"He must have thought so from the way we kept stoning him," said the +doctor, with a soft laugh. + +"Which of our contradictions," asked the banker, in the same tone of +gentle bonhomie, "has given you and our friend pause just now?" + +The Altrurian answered, after a moment: "I am not sure that it is a +contradiction, for as yet I have not ascertained the facts I was seeking. +Our friend was telling me of the great change that had taken place +in regard to work, and the increased leisure that your professional people +are now allowing themselves; and I was asking him where your working-men +spent their leisure." + +He went over the list of those he had specified, and I hung my head in +shame and pity; it really had such an effect of mawkish sentimentality. +But my friends received it in the best possible way. They did not laugh; +they heard him out, and then they quietly deferred to the banker, who made +answer for us all: + +"Well, I can be almost as brief as the historian of Iceland in his chapter +on snakes: those people have no leisure to spend." + +"Except when they go out on a strike," said the manufacturer, with a +certain grim humor of his own; I never heard anything more dramatic than +the account he once gave of the way he broke up a labor union. "I have +seen a good many of them at leisure then." + +"Yes," the doctor chimed in, "and in my younger days, when I necessarily +had a good deal of charity practice, I used to find them at leisure when +they were 'laid off.' It always struck me as such a pretty euphemism. It +seemed to minify the harm of the thing so. It seemed to take all the +hunger and cold and sickness out of the fact. To be simply 'laid off' was +so different from losing your work and having to face beggary or +starvation." + +"Those people," said the professor, "never put anything by. They are +wasteful and improvident, almost to a man; and they learn nothing by +experience, though they know as well as we do that it is simply a question +of demand and supply, and that the day of overproduction is sure to come, +when their work must stop unless the men that give them work are willing +to lose money." + +"And I've seen them lose it, sometimes, rather than shut down," the +manufacturer remarked; "lose it hand over hand, to keep the men at work; +and then as soon as the tide turned the men would strike for higher wages. +You have no idea of the ingratitude of those people." He said this toward +the minister, as if he did not wish to be thought hard; and, in fact, he +was a very kindly man. + +"Yes," replied the minister, "that is one of the most sinister features of +the situation. They seem really to regard their employers as their +enemies. I don't know how it will end." + +"I know how it would end if I had my way," said the professor. "There +wouldn't be any labor unions, and there wouldn't be any strikes." + +"That is all very well," said the lawyer, from that judicial mind which I +always liked in him, "as far as the strikes are concerned, but I don't +understand that the abolition of the unions would affect the impersonal +process of 'laying off.' The law of demand and supply I respect as much as +any one--it's something like the constitution; but, all the same, I should +object extremely to have my income stopped by it every now and then. I'm +probably not so wasteful as a working-man generally is; still, I haven't +laid by enough to make it a matter of indifference to me whether my income +went on or not. Perhaps the professor has." The professor did not say, and +we all took leave to laugh. The lawyer concluded: "I don't see how those +fellows stand it." + +"They don't, all of them," said the doctor. "Or their wives and children +don't. Some of them die." + +"I wonder," the lawyer pursued, "what has become of the good old American +fact that there is always work for those who are willing to work? I notice +that wherever five thousand men strike in the forenoon, there are five +thousand men to take their places in the afternoon--and not men who are +turning their hands to something new, but men who are used to doing the +very thing the strikers have done." + +"That is one of the things that teach the futility of strikes," the +professor made haste to interpose, as if he had not quite liked to appear +averse to the interests of the workman; no one likes to do that. "If there +were anything at all to be hoped from them, it would be another matter." + +"Yes, but that isn't the point, quite," said the lawyer. + +"By-the-way, what is the point?" I asked, with my humorous lightness. + +"Why, I supposed," said the banker, "it was the question how the working +classes amused their elegant leisure. But it seems to be almost anything +else." + +We all applauded the neat touch, but the Altrurian eagerly entreated: +"No, no; never mind that now. That is a matter of comparatively little +interest. I would so much rather know something about the status of the +working-man among you." + +"Do you mean his political status? It's that of every other citizen." + +"I don't mean that. I suppose that in America you have learned, as we have +in Altruria, that equal political rights are only means to an end, and as +an end have no value or reality. I meant the economic status of the +working-man, and his social status." + +I do not know why we were so long girding up our loins to meet this simple +question. I myself could not have hopefully undertaken to answer it; but +the others were each in their way men of affairs, and practically +acquainted with the facts, except perhaps the professor; but he had +devoted a great deal of thought to them, and ought to have been qualified +to make some sort of response. But even he was silent; and I had a vague +feeling that they were all somehow reluctant to formulate their knowledge, +as if it were uncomfortable or discreditable. The banker continued to +smoke quietly on for a moment; then he suddenly threw his cigar away. + +"I like to free my mind of cant," he said, with a short laugh, "when I can +afford it, and I propose to cast all sorts of American cant out of it in +answering your question. The economic status of the working-man among us +is essentially the same as that of the working-man all over the civilized +world. You will find plenty of people here, especially about election +time, to tell you differently, but they will not be telling you the truth, +though a great many of them think they are. In fact, I suppose most +Americans honestly believe because we have a republican form of +government, and manhood suffrage, and so on, that our economic conditions +are peculiar, and that our working-man has a status higher and better than +that of the working-man anywhere else. But he has nothing of the kind. His +circumstances are better, and provisionally his wages are higher, but it +is only a question of years or decades when his circumstances will be the +same and his wages the same as the European working-man's. There is +nothing in our conditions to prevent this." + +"Yes, I understood from our friend here," said the Altrurian, nodding +toward me, "that you had broken only with the political tradition of +Europe in your Revolution; and he has explained to me that you do not hold +all kinds of labor in equal esteem; but--" + +"What kind of labor did he say we did hold in esteem?" asked the banker. + +"Why, I understood him to say that if America meant anything at all it +meant the honor of work, but that you distinguished and did not honor some +kinds of work so much as others; for instance, domestic service, or +personal attendance of any kind." + +The banker laughed again. "Oh, he drew the line there, did he? Well, we +all have to draw the line somewhere. Our friend is a novelist, and I will +tell you in strict confidence that the line he has drawn is imaginary. We +don't honor any kind of work any more than any other people. If a fellow +gets up, the papers make a great ado over his having been a woodchopper or +a bobbin-boy, or something of that kind, but I doubt if the fellow himself +likes it; he doesn't if he's got any sense. The rest of us feel that it's +_infra dig._, and hope nobody will find out that we ever worked with our +hands for a living. I'll go further," said the banker, with the effect of +whistling prudence down the wind, "and I will challenge any of you to +gainsay me from his own experience or observation. How does esteem usually +express itself? When we wish, to honor a man, what do we do?" + +"Ask him to dinner," said the lawyer. + +"Exactly. We offer him some sort of social recognition. Well, as soon as a +fellow gets up, if he gets up high enough, we offer him some sort of +social recognition; in fact, all sorts; but upon condition that he has +left off working with his hands for a living. We forgive all you please to +his past on account of the present. But there isn't a working-man, I +venture to say, in any city or town, or even large village, in the whole +length and breadth of the United States who has any social recognition, if +he is still working at his trade. I don't mean, merely, that he is +excluded from rich and fashionable society, but from the society of the +average educated and cultivated people. I'm not saying he is fit for it; +but I don't care how intelligent and agreeable he might be--and some of +them are astonishingly intelligent, and so agreeable in their tone of mind +and their original way of looking at things that I like nothing better +than to talk with them--all of our invisible fences are up against him." + +The minister said: "I wonder if that sort of exclusiveness is quite +natural? Children seem to feel no sort of social difference among +themselves." + +"We can hardly go to children for a type of social order," the professor +suggested. + +"True," the minister meekly admitted. "But somehow there is a protest in +us somewhere against these arbitrary distinctions--something that +questions whether they are altogether right. We know that they must be, +and always have been, and always will be, and yet--well, I will confess +it--I never feel at peace when I face them." + +"Oh," said the banker, "if you come to the question of right and wrong, +that is another matter. I don't say it's right. I'm not discussing that +question; though I'm certainly not proposing to level the fences; I should +be the last to take my own down. I say simply that you are no more likely +to meet a working-man in American society than you are to meet a colored +man. Now you can judge," he ended, turning directly to the Altrurian, "how +much we honor labor. And I hope I have indirectly satisfied your curiosity +as to the social status of the working-man among us." + +We were all silent. + +Perhaps the others were occupied like myself in trying to recall some +instance of a working-man whom they had met in society, and perhaps we +said nothing because we all failed. + +The Altrurian spoke at last. + +"You have been so very full and explicit that I feel as if it were almost +unseemly to press any further inquiry; but I should very much like to know +how your working-men bear this social exclusion." + +"I'm sure I can't say," returned the banker. "A man does not care much to +get into society until he has something to eat, and how to get that is +always the first question with the working-man." + +"But you wouldn't like it yourself?" + +"No, certainly, I shouldn't like it myself. I shouldn't complain of not +being asked to people's houses, and the working-men don't; you can't do +that; but I should feel it an incalculable loss. We may laugh at the +emptiness of society, or pretend to be sick of it, but there is no doubt +that society is the flower of civilization, and to be shut out from it is +to be denied the best privilege of a civilized man. There are society +women--we have all met them--whose graciousness and refinement of presence +are something of incomparable value; it is more than a liberal education +to have been admitted to it, but it is as inaccessible to the working-man +as--what shall I say? The thing is too grotesquely impossible for any sort +of comparison. Merely to conceive of its possibility is something that +passes a joke; it is a kind of offence." + +Again we were silent. + +"I don't know," the banker continued, "how the notion of our social +equality originated, but I think it has been fostered mainly by the +expectation of foreigners, who argued it from our political equality. +As a matter of fact, it never existed, except in our poorest and most +primitive communities, in the pioneer days of the West and among the +gold-hunters of California. It was not dreamed of in our colonial society, +either in Virginia or Pennsylvania or New York or Massachusetts; and the +fathers of the republic, who were mostly slave-holders, were practically +as stiff-necked aristocrats as any people of their day. We have not a +political aristocracy, that is all; but there is as absolute a division +between the orders of men and as little love, in this country as in any +country on the globe. The severance of the man who works for his living +with his hands from the man who does not work for his living with his +hands is so complete, and apparently so final, that nobody even imagines +anything else, not even in fiction. Or, how is that?" he asked, turning to +me. "Do you fellows still put the intelligent, high-spirited, handsome +young artisan, who wins the millionaire's daughter, into your books? I +used sometimes to find him there." + +"You might still find him in the fiction of the weekly story-papers; but," +I was obliged to own, "he would not go down with my readers. Even in the +story-paper fiction he would leave off working as soon as he married the +millionaire's daughter, and go to Europe, or he would stay here and become +a social leader, but he would not receive working-men in his gilded +halls." + +The others rewarded my humor with a smile, but the banker said: "Then I +wonder you were not ashamed of filling our friend up with that stuff about +our honoring some kinds of labor. It is true that we don't go about openly +and explicitly despising any kind of honest toil--people don't do that +anywhere now; but we contemn it in terms quite as unmistakable. The +working-man acquiesces as completely as anybody else. He does not remain a +working-man a moment longer that he can help; and after he gets up, if he +is weak enough to be proud of having been one, it is because he feels that +his low origin is a proof of his prowess in rising to the top against +unusual odds. I don't suppose there is a man in the whole civilized +world--outside of Altruria, of course---who is proud of working at a +trade, except the shoemaker Tolstoy, and is a count, and he does not make +very good shoes." + +We all laughed again: those shoes of Count Tolstoy's are always such an +infallible joke. + +The Altrurian, however, was cocked and primed with another question; he +instantly exploded it: "But are all the working-men in America eager to +rise above their condition? Is there none willing to remain among the mass +because the rest could not rise with him, and from the hope of yet +bringing labor to honor?" + +The banker answered: "I never heard of any. No, the American ideal is not +to change the conditions for all, but for each to rise above the rest if +he can." + +"Do you think it is really so bad as that?" asked the minister, timidly. + +The banker answered: "Bad? Do you call that bad? I thought it was very +good. But, good or bad, I don't think you'll find it deniable, if you +look into the facts. There may be working-men willing to remain so for +other working-men's sake, but I have never met any--perhaps because the +working-man never goes into society." + +The unfailing question of the Altrurian broke the silence which ensued: +"Are there many of your working-men who are intelligent and agreeable--of +the type you mentioned a moment since?" + +"Perhaps," said the banker, "I had better refer you to one of our friends +here, who has had a great deal more to do with them than I have. He is a +manufacturer, and he has had to do with all kinds of work-people." + +"Yes, for my sins," the manufacturer assented; and he added: "They are +often confoundedly intelligent, though I haven't often found them very +agreeable, either in their tone of mind or their original way of looking +at things." + +The banker amiably acknowledged his thrust, and the Altrurian asked: "Ah, +they are opposed to your own?" + +"Well, we have the same trouble here that you must have heard of in +England. As you know now that the conditions are the same here, you won't +be surprised at the fact." + +"But the conditions," the Altrurian pursued--"do you expect them always to +continue the same?" + +"Well, I don't know," said the manufacturer. "We can't expect them to +change of themselves, and I shouldn't know how to change them. It was +expected that the rise of the trusts and the syndicates would break the +unions, but somehow they haven't. The situation remains the same. The +unions are not cutting one another's throats now any more than we are. The +war is on a larger scale--that's all." + +"Then let me see," said the Altrurian, "whether I clearly understand the +situation as regards the working-man in America. He is dependent upon the +employer for his chance to earn a living, and he is never sure of this. He +may be thrown out of work by his employer's disfavor or disaster, and his +willingness to work goes for nothing; there is no public provision of work +for him; there is nothing to keep him from want nor the prospect of +anything." + +"We are all in the same boat," said the professor. + +"But some of us have provisioned ourselves rather better and can generally +weather it through till we are picked up," the lawyer put in. + +"I am always saying the working-man is improvident," returned the +professor. + +"There are the charities," the minister suggested. + +"But his economical status," the Altrurian pursued, "is in a state of +perpetual uncertainty, and to save himself in some measure he has +organized, and so has constituted himself a danger to the public peace?" + +"A very great danger," said the professor. + +"I guess we can manage him," the manufacturer remarked. + +"And socially he is non-existent?" + +The Altrurian turned with this question to the banker, who said: "He is +certainly not in society." + +"Then," said my guest, "if the working-man's wages are provisionally so +much better here than in Europe, why should they be discontented? What is +the real cause of their discontent?" + +I have always been suspicious, in the company of practical men, of an +atmosphere of condescension to men of my calling, if nothing worse. I +fancy they commonly regard artists of all kinds as a sort of harmless +eccentrics, and that literary people they look upon as something droll, as +weak and soft, as not quite right. I believed that this particular group, +indeed, was rather abler to conceive of me as a rational person than most +others, but I knew that if even they had expected me to be as reasonable +as themselves they would not have been greatly disappointed if I were not; +and it seemed to me that I had put myself wrong with them in imparting to +the Altrurian that romantic impression that we hold labor in honor here. I +had really thought so, but I could not say so now, and I wished to +retrieve myself somehow. I wished to show that I was a practical man, too, +and so I made answer: "What is the cause of the working-man's discontent? +It is very simple: the walking delegate." + + + + +IV + +I suppose I could not have fairly claimed any great originality for my +notion that the walking delegate was the cause of the labor troubles: he +is regularly assigned as the reason of a strike in the newspapers, and is +reprobated for his evil agency by the editors, who do not fail to read the +working-men many solemn lessons and fervently warn them against him, as +soon as the strike begins to go wrong--as it nearly always does. I +understand from them that the walking delegate is an irresponsible tyrant, +who emerges from the mystery that habitually hides him and from time to +time orders a strike in mere rancor of spirit and plenitude of power, and +then leaves the working-men and their families to suffer the consequences, +while he goes off somewhere and rolls in the lap of luxury, careless of +the misery he has created. Between his debauches of vicious idleness and +his accesses of baleful activity he is employed in poisoning the mind of +the working-men against his real interests and real friends. This is +perfectly easy, because the American working-man, though singularly shrewd +and sensible in other respects, is the victim of an unaccountable +obliquity of vision which keeps him from seeing his real interests and +real friends--or, at least, from knowing them when he sees them. + +There could be no doubt, I thought, in the mind of any reasonable person +that the walking delegate was the source of the discontent among our +proletariate, and I alleged him with a confidence which met the approval +of the professor, apparently, for he nodded, as if to say that I had hit +the nail on the head this time; and the minister seemed to be freshly +impressed with a notion that could not be new to him. The lawyer and the +doctor were silent, as if waiting for the banker to speak again; but he +was silent, too. The manufacturer, to my chagrin, broke into a laugh. "I'm +afraid," he said, with a sardonic levity which surprised me, "you'll have +to go a good deal deeper than the walking delegate. He's a symptom; he +isn't the disease. The thing keeps on and on, and it seems to be always +about wages; but it isn't about wages at the bottom. Some of those fellows +know it and some of them don't, but the real discontent is with the whole +system, with the nature of things. I had a curious revelation on that +point the last time I tried to deal with my men as a union. They were +always bothering me about this and about that, and there was no end to the +bickering. I yielded point after point, but it didn't make any difference. +It seemed as if the more I gave the more they asked. At last I made up my +mind to try to get at the real inwardness of the matter, and I didn't wait +for their committee to come to me--I sent for their leading man, and said +I wanted to have it out with him. He wasn't a bad fellow, and when I got +at him, man to man that way, I found he had sense, and he had ideas--it's +no use pretending those fellows are fools; he had thought about his side +of the question, anyway. I said: 'Now what does it all mean? Do you want +the earth, or don't you? When is it going to end?' I offered him something +to take, but he said he didn't drink, and we compromised on cigars. 'Now +when is it going to end?' said I, and I pressed it home, and wouldn't let +him fight off from the point. 'Do you mean when is it all going to end?' +said he. 'Yes,' said I, 'all. I'm sick of it. If there's any way out I'd +like to know it.' 'Well,' said he, 'I'll tell you, if you want to know. +It's all going to end when you get the same amount of money for the same +amount of work as we do.'" + +We all laughed uproariously. The thing was deliciously comical; and +nothing, I thought, attested the Altrurian's want of humor like his +failure to appreciate this joke. He did not even smile in asking: "And +what did you say?" + +"Well," returned the manufacturer, with cosey enjoyment, "I asked him if +the men would take the concern and run it themselves." We laughed again; +this seemed even better than the other joke. "But he said, 'No'; they +would not like to do that. And then I asked him just what they would like, +if they could have their own way, and he said they would like to have me +run the business, and all share alike. I asked him what was the sense of +that, and why, if I could do something that all of them put together +couldn't do, I shouldn't be paid more than all of them put together; and +he said that if a man did his best he ought to be paid as much as the best +man. I asked him if that was the principle their union was founded on, and +he said, 'Yes,' that the very meaning of their union was the protection of +the weak by the strong and the equalization of earnings among all who do +their best." + +We waited for the manufacturer to go on, but he made a dramatic pause at +this point, as if to let it sink into our minds; and he did not speak +until the Altrurian prompted him with the question, "And what did you +finally do?" + +"I saw there was only one way out for me, and I told the fellow I did not +think I could do business on that principle. We parted friends, but the +next Saturday I locked them out and smashed their union. They came back, +most of them--they had to--but I've treated with them ever since 'as +individuals.'" + +"And they're much better off in your hands than they were in the union," +said the professor. + +"I don't know about that," said the manufacturer, "but I'm sure I am." + +We laughed with him, all but the minister, whose mind seemed to have +caught upon some other point, and who sat absently by. + +"And is it your opinion, from what you know of the working-man generally, +that they all have this twist in their heads?" the professor asked. + +"They have, until they begin to rise. Then they get rid of it mighty soon. +Let a man save something--enough to get a house of his own, and take a +boarder or two, and perhaps have a little money at interest--and he sees +the matter in another light." + +"Do you think he sees it more clearly?" asked the minister. + +"He sees it differently." + +"What do you think?" the minister pursued, turning to the lawyer. "You are +used to dealing with questions of justice--" + +"Rather more with questions of law, I'm afraid," the other returned, +pleasantly, putting his feet together before him and looking down at them +in a way he had. "But, still, I have a great interest in questions of +justice, and I confess that I find a certain wild equity in this +principle, which I see nobody could do business on. It strikes me as +idyllic--it's a touch of real poetry in the rough-and-tumble prose of our +economic life." + +He referred this to me as something I might appreciate in my quality of +literary man, and I responded in my quality of practical man: "There's +certainly more rhyme than reason in it." + +He turned again to the minister: + +"I suppose the ideal of the Christian state is the family?" + +"I hope so," said the minister, with the gratitude that I have seen people +of his cloth show when men of the world conceded premises which the world +usually contests; it has seemed to me pathetic. + +"And if that is the case, why, the logic of the postulate is that the +prosperity of the weakest is the sacred charge and highest happiness of +all the stronger. But the law has not recognized any such principle, in +economics at least, and if the labor unions are based upon it they are +outlaw, so far as any hope of enforcing it is concerned; and it is bad for +men to feel themselves outlaw. How is it," the lawyer continued, turning +to the Altrurian, "in your country? We can see no issue here, if the first +principle of organized labor antagonizes the first principle of business." + +"But I don't understand precisely yet what the first principle of business +is," returned my guest. + +"Ah, that raises another interesting question," said the lawyer. "Of +course, every business man solves the problem practically according to his +temperament and education, and I suppose that on first thoughts every +business man would answer you accordingly. But perhaps the personal +equation is something you wish to eliminate from the definition." + +"Yes, of course." + +"Still, I would rather not venture upon it first," said the lawyer. +"Professor, what should you say was the first principle of business?" + +"Buying in the cheapest market and selling in the dearest," the professor +promptly answered. + +"We will pass the parson and the doctor and the novelist as witnesses of +no value. They can't possibly have any cognizance of the first principle +of business; their affair is to look after the souls and bodies and +fancies of other people. But what should you say it was?" he asked the +banker. + +"I should say it was an enlightened conception of one's own interests." + +"And you?" + +The manufacturer had no hesitation in answering: "The good of Number One, +first, last, and all the time. There may be a difference of opinion about +the best way to get at it; the long way may be the better, or the short +way; the direct way or the oblique way, or the purely selfish way, or the +partly selfish way; but if you ever lose sight of that end you might as +well shut up shop. That seems to be the first law of nature, as well as +the first law of business." + +"Ah, we mustn't go to nature for our morality," the minister protested. + +"We were not talking of morality," said the manufacturer; "we were talking +of business." + +This brought the laugh on the minister, but the lawyer cut it short: +"Well, then, I don't really see why the trades-unions are not as +business-like as the syndicates in their dealings with all those outside +of themselves. Within themselves they practise an altruism of the highest +order, but it is a tribal altruism; it is like that which prompts a Sioux +to share his last mouthful with a starving Sioux, and to take the scalp of +a starving Apache. How is it with your trades-unions in Altruria?" he +asked my friend. + +"We have no trades-unions in Altruria," he began. + +"Happy Altruria!" cried the professor. + +"We had them formerly," the Altrurian went on, "as you have them now. They +claimed, as I suppose yours do, that they were forced into existence by +the necessities of the case; that without union the working-man was unable +to meet the capitalist on anything like equal terms, or to withstand his +encroachments and oppressions. But to maintain themselves they had to +extinguish industrial liberty among the working-men themselves, and they +had to practise great cruelties against those who refused to join them or +who rebelled against them." + +"They simply destroy them here," said the professor. + +"Well," said the lawyer, from his judicial mind, "the great syndicates +have no scruples in destroying a capitalist who won't come into them or +who tries to go out. They don't club him or stone him, but they under-sell +him and freeze him out; they don't break his head, but they bankrupt him. +The principle is the same." + +"Don't interrupt Mr. Homos," the banker entreated. "I am very curious to +know just how they got rid of labor unions in Altruria." + +"We had syndicates, too, and finally we had the _reductio ad absurdum_--we +had a federation of labor unions find a federation of syndicates, that +divided the nation into two camps. The situation was not only impossible, +but it was insupportably ridiculous." + +I ventured to say: "It hasn't become quite so much of a joke with us yet." + +"Isn't it in a fair way to become so?" asked the doctor; and he turned to +the lawyer: "What should you say was the logic of events among us for the +last ten or twenty years?" + +"There's nothing so capricious as the logic of events. It's like a woman's +reasoning--you can't tell what it's aimed at, or where it's going to fetch +up; all that you can do is to keep out of the way if possible. We may come +to some such condition of things as they have in Altruria, where the faith +of the whole nation is pledged to secure every citizen in the pursuit of +happiness; or we may revert to some former condition, and the master may +again own the man; or we may hitch and joggle along indefinitely, as we +are doing now." + +"But come, now," said the banker, while he laid a caressing touch on the +Altrurian's shoulder, "you don't mean to say honestly that everybody works +with his hands in Altruria?" + +"Yes, certainly. We are mindful, as a whole people, of the divine law--'In +the sweat of thy brow shalt thou eat bread.'" + +"But the capitalists? I'm anxious about Number One, you see." + +"We have none." + +"I forgot, of course. But the lawyers, the doctors, the parsons, the +novelists?" + +"They all do their share of hand-work." + +The lawyer said: "That seems to dispose of the question of the working-man +in society. But how about your minds? When do you cultivate your minds? +When do the ladies of Altruria cultivate their minds, if they have to do +their own work, as I suppose they do? Or is it only the men who work, if +they happen to be the husbands and fathers of the upper classes?" + +The Altrurian seemed to be sensible of the kindly scepticism which +persisted in our reception of his statements, after all we had read of +Altruria. He smiled indulgently, and said: "You mustn't imagine that work +in Altruria is the same as it is here. As we all work, the amount that +each one need do is very little, a few hours each day at the most, so that +every man and woman has abundant leisure and perfect spirits for the +higher pleasures which the education of their whole youth has fitted them +to enjoy. If you can understand a state of things where the sciences and +arts and letters are cultivated for their own sake, and not as a means of +livelihood--" + +"No," said the lawyer, smiling, "I'm afraid we can't conceive of that. We +consider the pinch of poverty the highest incentive that a man can have. +If our gifted friend here," he said, indicating me, "were not kept like a +toad under the harrow, with his nose on the grindstone, and the poorhouse +staring him in the face--" + +"For Heaven's sake," I cried out, "don't mix your metaphors so, anyway!" + +"If it were not for that and all the other hardships that literary men +undergo-- + + 'Toil, envy, want, the patron and the jail'-- + +his novels probably wouldn't be worth reading." + +"Ah!" said the Altrurian, as if he did not quite follow this joking; and, +to tell the truth, I never find the personal thing in very good taste. +"You will understand, then, how extremely difficult it is for me to +imagine a condition of things like yours--although I have it under my very +eyes--where the money consideration is the first consideration." + +"Oh, excuse me," urged the minister; "I don't think that's quite the +case." + +"I beg your pardon," said the Altrurian, sweetly; "you can see how easily +I go astray." + +"Why, I don't know," the banker interposed, "that you are so far out in +what you say. If you had said that money was always the first motive, I +should have been inclined to dispute you, too; but when you say that money +is the first consideration, I think you are quite right. Unless a man +secures his financial basis for his work, he can't do his work. It's +nonsense to pretend otherwise. So the money consideration is the first +consideration. People here have to live by their work, and to live they +must have money. Of course, we all recognize a difference in the +qualities, as well as in the kinds, of work. The work of the laborer may +be roughly defined as the necessity of his life; the work of the business +man as the means, and the work of the artist and scientist as the end. +We might refine upon these definitions and make them closer, but they +will serve for illustration as they are. I don't think there can be +any question as to which is the highest kind of work; some truths are +self-evident. He is a fortunate man whose work is an end, and every +business man sees this, and owns it to himself, at least when he meets +some man of an aesthetic or scientific occupation. He knows that this +luckier fellow has a joy in his work which he can never feel in business; +that his success in it can never be embittered by the thought that it is +the failure of another; that if he does it well, it is pure good; that +there cannot be any competition in it--there can be only a noble +emulation, as far as the work itself is concerned. He can always look up +to his work, for it is something above him; and a business man often has +to look down upon his business, for it is often beneath him, unless he is +a pretty low fellow." + +I listened to all this in surprise; I knew that the banker was a +cultivated man, a man of university training, and that he was a reader and +a thinker; but he had always kept a certain reserve in his talk, which he +now seemed to have thrown aside for the sake of the Altrurian, or because +the subject had a charm that lured him out of himself. "Well, now," he +continued, "the question is of the money consideration, which is the first +consideration with us all: does it, or doesn't it degrade the work, which +is the life, of those among us whose work is the highest? I understand +that this is the misgiving which troubles you in view of our conditions?" + +The Altrurian assented, and I thought it a proof of the banker's innate +delicacy that he did not refer the matter, so far as it concerned the +aesthetic life and work, to me; I was afraid he was going to do so. But he +courteously proposed to keep the question impersonal, and he went on to +consider it himself: "Well, I don't suppose any one can satisfy you fully. +But I should say that it put such men under a double strain, and perhaps +that is the reason why so many of them break down in a calling that is +certainly far less exhausting than business. On one side, the artist is +kept to the level of the working-man, of the animal, of the creature whose +sole affair is to get something to eat and somewhere to sleep. This is +through his necessity. On the other side, he is exalted to the height of +beings who have no concern but with the excellence of their work, which +they were born and divinely authorized to do. This is through his purpose. +Between the two, I should say that he got mixed, and that his work shows +it." + +None of the others said anything, and, since I had not been personally +appealed to, I felt the freer to speak. "If you will suppose me to be +speaking from observation rather than experience--" I began. + +"By all means," said the banker, "go on;" and the rest made haste in +various forms to yield me the word. + +"I should say that such a man certainly got mixed, but that his work kept +itself pure from the money consideration, as it were, in spite of him. A +painter or actor, or even a novelist, is glad to get all he can for his +work, and, such is our fallen nature, he does get all he knows how to get: +but, when he has once fairly passed into his work, he loses himself in it. +He does not think whether it will pay or not, whether it will be popular +or not, but whether he can make it good or not." + +"Well, that is conceivable," said the banker. "But wouldn't he rather do +something he would get less for, if he could afford it, than the thing he +knows he will get more for? Doesn't the money consideration influence his +choice of subject?" + +"Oddly enough, I don't believe it does," I answered, after a moment's +reflection. "A man makes his choice once for all when he embraces the +aesthetic life, or, rather, it is made for him; no other life seems +possible. I know there is a general belief that an artist does the kind of +thing he has made go because it pays; but this only shows the prevalence +of business ideals. If he did not love to do the thing he does, he could +not do it well, no matter how richly it paid." + +"I am glad to hear it," said the banker, and he added to the Altrurian: +"So, you see, we are not so bad as one would think. We are illogically +better, in fact." + +"Yes," the other assented. "I knew something of your literature as well as +your conditions before I left home, and I perceived that by some anomaly +the one was not tainted by the other. It is a miraculous proof of the +divine mission of the poet." + +"And the popular novelist," the lawyer whispered in my ear, but loud +enough for the rest to hear, and they all testified their amusement at my +cost. + +The Altrurian, with his weak sense of humor, passed the joke. "It shows no +signs of corruption from greed, but I can't help thinking that, fine as it +is, it might have been much finer if the authors who produced it had been +absolutely freed to their work, and had never felt the spur of need." + +"Are they absolutely freed to it in Altruria?" asked the professor. "I +understood you that everybody had to work for his living in Altruria." + +"That is a mistake. Nobody works for his living in Altruria; he works for +others' living." + +"Ah, that is precisely what our working-men object to doing here," said +the manufacturer. "In that last interview of mine with the walking +delegate he had the impudence to ask me why my men should work for my +living as well as their own." + +"He couldn't imagine that you were giving them the work to do--the very +means of life," said the professor. + +"Oh no, that's the last thing those fellows want to think of." + +"Perhaps," the Altrurian suggested, "they might not have found it such a +hardship to work for your living if their own had been assured, as it is +with us. If you will excuse my saying it, we should think it monstrous in +Altruria for any man to have another's means of life in his power; and in +our condition it is hardly imaginable. Do you really have it in your power +to take away a man's opportunity to earn a living?" + +The manufacturer laughed uneasily. "It is in my power to take away his +life; but I don't habitually shoot my fellow-men, and I never dismissed a +man yet without good reason." + +"Oh, I beg your pardon," said the Altrurian. "I didn't dream of accusing +you of such inhumanity. But, you see, our whole system is so very +different that, as I said, it is hard for me to conceive of yours, and I +am very curious to understand its workings. If you shot your fellow-man, +as you say, the law would punish you; but if, for some reason that you +decided to be good, you took away his means of living, and he actually +starved to death--" + +"Then the law would have nothing to do with it," the professor replied for +the manufacturer, who did not seem ready to answer. "But that is not the +way things fall out. The man would be supported in idleness, probably, +till he got another job, by his union, which would take the matter up." + +"But I thought that our friend did not employ union labor," returned the +Altrurian. + +I found all this very uncomfortable, and tried to turn the talk back to a +point that I felt curious about: "But in Altruria, if the literary class +is not exempt from the rule of manual labor, where do they find time and +strength to write?" + +"Why, you must realize that our manual labor is never engrossing or +exhausting. It is no more than is necessary to keep the body in health. I +do not see how you remain well here, you people of sedentary occupations." + +"Oh, we all take some sort of exercise. We walk several hours a day, or we +row, or we ride a bicycle, or a horse, or we fence." + +"But to us," returned the Altrurian, with a growing frankness which +nothing but the sweetness of his manner would have excused, "exercise for +exercise would appear stupid. The barren expenditure of force that began +and ended in itself, and produced nothing, we should--if you will excuse +my saying so--look upon as childish, if not insane or immoral." + + + + +V + +At this moment the lady who had hailed me so gayly from the top of the +coach while I stood waiting for the Altrurian to help the porter with the +baggage, just after the arrival of the train, came up with her husband to +our little group and said to me: "I want to introduce my husband to you. +He adores your books." She went on much longer to this effect, while the +other men grinned round and her husband tried to look as if it were all +true, and her eyes wandered to the Altrurian, who listened gravely. I knew +perfectly well that she was using her husband's zeal for my fiction to +make me present my friend; but I did not mind that, and I introduced him +to both of them. She took possession of him at once and began walking him +off down the piazza, while her husband remained with me, and the members +of our late conference drifted apart. I was not sorry to have it broken up +for the present; it seemed to me that it had lasted quite long enough, and +I lighted a cigar with the husband, and we strolled together in the +direction his wife had taken. + +He began, apparently in compliment to literature in my person: "Yes, I +like to have a book where I can get at it when we're not going out to the +theatre, and I want to quiet my mind down after business. I don't care +much what the book is; my wife reads to me till I drop off, and then she +finishes the book herself and tells me the rest of the story. You see, +business takes it out of you so! Well, I let my wife do most of the +reading, anyway. She knows pretty much everything that's going in that +line. We haven't got any children, and it occupies her mind. She's up to +all sorts of things--she's artistic, and she's musical, and she's +dramatic, and she's literary. Well, I like to have her. Women are funny, +anyway." + +He was a good-looking, good-natured, average American of the money-making +type; I believe he was some sort of a broker, but I do not quite know what +his business was. As we walked up and down the piazza, keeping a discreet +little distance from the corner where his wife had run off to with her +capture, he said he wished he could get more time with her in the +summer--but he supposed I knew what business was. He was glad she could +have the rest, anyway; she needed it. + +"By-the-way," he asked, "who is this friend of yours? The women are all +crazy about him, and it's been an even thing between my wife and Miss +Groundsel which would fetch him first. But I'll bet on my wife every time, +when it comes to a thing like that. He's a good-looking fellow--some kind +of foreigner, I believe; pretty eccentric, too, I guess. Where is +Altruria, anyway?" + +I told him, and he said: "Oh yes. Well, if we are going to restrict +immigration, I suppose we sha'n't see many more Altrurians, and we'd +better make the most of this one. Heigh?" + +I do not know why this innocent pleasantry piqued me to say: "If I +understand the Altrurians, my dear fellow, nothing could induce them to +emigrate to America. As far as I can make out, they would regard it very +much as we should regard settling among the Eskimos." + +"Is that so?" asked my new acquaintance, with perfect good temper. "Why?" + +"Really, I can't say, and I don't know that I've explicit authority for my +statement." + +"They are worse than the English used to be," he went on. "I didn't know +that there were any foreigners who looked at us in that light now. I +thought the war settled all that." + +I sighed. "There are a good many things that the war didn't settle so +definitely as we've been used to thinking, I'm afraid. But, for that +matter, I fancy an Altrurian would regard the English as a little lower in +the scale of savagery than ourselves even." + +"Is that so? Well, that's pretty good on the English, anyway," said my +companion, and he laughed with an easy satisfaction that I envied him. + +"My dear!" his wife called to him from where she was sitting with the +Altrurian, "I wish you would go for my shawl. I begin to feel the air a +little." + +"I'll go if you'll tell me where," he said, and he confided to me, "Never +knows where her shawl is one-quarter of the time." + +"Well, I think I left it in the office somewhere. You might ask at the +desk; or perhaps it's in the rack by the dining-room door--or maybe up in +our room." + +"I thought so," said her husband, with another glance at me, as if it were +the greatest fun in the world, and he started amiably off. + +I went and took a chair by the lady and the Altrurian, and she began at +once: "Oh, I'm so glad you've come! I have been trying to enlighten Mr. +Homos about some of the little social peculiarities among us that he finds +so hard to understand. He was just now," the lady continued, "wanting to +know why all the natives out here were not invited to go in and join our +young people in the dance, and I've been trying to tell him that we +consider it a great favor to let them come and take up so much of the +piazza and look in at the windows." + +She gave a little laugh of superiority, and twitched her pretty head in +the direction of the young country girls and country fellows who were +thronging the place that night in rather unusual numbers. They were well +enough looking, and, as it was Saturday night, they were in their best. I +suppose their dress could have been criticised; the young fellows were +clothed by the ready-made clothing-store, and the young girls after their +own devices from the fashion papers; but their general effect was good, +and their behavior was irreproachable; they were very quiet--if anything, +too quiet. They took up a part of the piazza that was yielded them by +common usage, and sat watching the hop inside, not so much enviously, I +thought, as wistfully; and for the first time it struck me as odd that +they should have no part in the gayety. I had often seen them there +before, but I had never thought it strange they should be shut out. It had +always seemed quite normal, but now, suddenly, for one baleful moment, it +seemed abnormal. I suppose it was the talk we had been having about the +working-men in society which caused me to see the thing as the Altrurian +must have seen it; but I was, nevertheless, vexed with him for having +asked such a question, after he had been so fully instructed upon the +point. It was malicious of him, or it was stupid. I hardened my heart, and +answered: "You might have told him, for one thing, that they were not +dancing because they had not paid the piper." + +"Then the money consideration enters even into your social pleasures?" +asked the Altrurian. + +"Very much. Doesn't it with you?" + +He evaded this question, as he evaded all straightforward questions +concerning his country: "We have no money consideration, you know. But do +I understand that all your social entertainments are paid for by the +guests?" + +"Oh no, not so bad as that, quite. There are a great many that the host +pays for. Even here, in a hotel, the host furnishes the music and the room +free to the guests of the house." + +"And none are admitted from the outside?" + +"Oh yes, people are welcome from all the other hotels and boarding-houses +and the private cottages. The young men are especially welcome; there are +not enough young men in the hotel to go round, you see." In fact, we could +see that some of the pretty girls within were dancing with other girls; +half-grown boys were dangling from the waists of tall young ladies and +waltzing on tiptoe. + +"Isn't that rather droll?" asked the Altrurian. + +"It's grotesque!" I said, and I felt ashamed of it. "But what are you to +do? The young men are hard at work in the cities, as many as can get work +there, and the rest are out West, growing up with the country. There are +twenty young girls for every young man at all the summer resorts in the +East." + +"But what would happen if these young farmers--I suppose they are +farmers--were invited in to take part in the dance?" asked my friend. + +"But that is impossible." + +"Why?" + +"Really, Mrs. Makely, I think I shall have to give him back to you," I +said. + +The lady laughed. "I am not sure that I want him back." + +"Oh yes," the Altrurian entreated, with unwonted perception of the humor. +"I know that I must be very trying with my questions; but do not abandon +me to the solitude of my own conjectures. They are dreadful!" + +"Well, I won't," said the lady, with another laugh. "And I will try to +tell you what would happen if those farmers, or farm-hands, or whatever +they are, were asked in. The mammas would be very indignant, and the young +ladies would be scared, and nobody would know what to do, and the dance +would stop." + +"Then the young ladies prefer to dance with one another and with little +boys--" + +"No, they prefer to dance with young men of their own station; they would +rather not dance at all than dance with people beneath them. I don't say +anything against these natives here; they are very civil and decent. But +they have not the same social traditions as the young ladies; they would +be out of place with them, and they would feel it." + +"Yes, I can see that they are not fit to associate with them," said the +Altrurian, with a gleam of commonsense that surprised me, "and that as +long as your present conditions endure they never can be. You must excuse +the confusion which the difference between your political ideals and your +economic ideals constantly creates in me. I always think of you +politically first, and realize you as a perfect democracy; then come these +other facts, in which I cannot perceive that you differ from the +aristocratic countries of Europe in theory, or practice. It is very +puzzling. Am I right in supposing that the effect of your economy is to +establish insuperable inequalities among you, and to forbid the hope of +the brotherhood which your policy proclaims?" + +Mrs. Makely looked at me as if she were helpless to grapple with his +meaning, and, for fear of worse, I thought best to evade it. I said: "I +don't believe that anybody is troubled by those distinctions. We are used +to them, and everybody acquiesces in them, which is a proof that they are +a very good thing." + +Mrs. Makely now came to my support. "The Americans are very high-spirited, +in every class, and I don't believe one of those nice farm-boys would like +being asked in any better than the young ladies. You can't imagine how +proud some of them are." + +"So that they suffer from being excluded as inferiors?" + +"Oh, I assure you they don't feel themselves inferior! They consider +themselves as good as anybody. There are some very interesting characters +among them. Now, there is a young girl sitting at the first window, with +her profile outlined by the light, whom I feel it an honor to speak to. +That's her brother, standing there with her--that tall, gaunt young man +with a Roman face; it's such a common type here in the mountains. Their +father was a soldier, and he distinguished himself so in one of the last +battles that he was promoted. He was badly wounded, but he never took a +pension; he just came back to his farm and worked on till he died. Now the +son has the farm, and he and his sister live there with their mother. The +daughter takes in sewing, and in that way they manage to make both ends +meet. The girl is really a first-rate seamstress, and so cheap! I give her +a good deal of my work in the summer, and we are quite friends. She's very +fond of reading; the mother is an invalid, but she reads aloud while the +daughter sews, and you've no idea how many books they get through. When +she comes for sewing, I like to talk with her about them; I always have +her sit down; it's hard to realize that she isn't a lady. I'm a good deal +criticised, I know, and I suppose I do spoil her a little; it puts notions +into such people's heads, if you meet them in that way; they're pretty +free and independent as it is. But when I'm with Lizzie I forget that +there is any difference between us; I can't help loving the child. You +must take Mr. Homos to see them, Mr. Twelvemough. They've got the father's +sword hung up over the head of the mother's bed; it's very touching. But +the poor little place is so bare!" + +Mrs. Makely sighed, and there fell a little pause, which she broke with a +question she had the effect of having kept back. + +"There is one thing I should like to ask you, too, Mr. Homos. Is it true +that everybody in Altruria does some kind of manual labor?" + +"Why, certainly," he answered, quite as if he had been an American. + +"Ladies, too? Or perhaps you have none." + +I thought this rather offensive, but I could not see that the Altrurian +had taken it ill. "Perhaps we had better try to understand each other +clearly before I answer that question. You have no titles of nobility as +they have in England--" + +"No, indeed! I hope we have outgrown those superstitions," said Mrs. +Makely, with a republican fervor that did my heart good. "It is a word +that we apply first of all to the moral qualities of a person." + +"But you said just now that you sometimes forgot that your seamstress was +not a lady. Just what did you mean by that?" + +Mrs. Makely hesitated. "I meant--I suppose I meant--that she had not the +surroundings of a lady; the social traditions." + +"Then it has something to do with social as well as moral qualities--with +ranks and classes?" + +"Classes, yes; but, as you know, we have no ranks in America." The +Altrurian took off his hat and rubbed an imaginable perspiration from his +forehead. He sighed deeply. "It is all very difficult." + +"Yes," Mrs. Makely assented, "I suppose it is. All foreigners find it so. +In fact, it is something that you have to live into the notion of; it +can't be explained." + +"Well, then, my dear madam, will you tell me without further question what +you understand by a lady, and let me live into the notion of it at my +leisure?" + +"I will do my best," said Mrs. Makely. "But it would be so much easier to +tell you _who_ was or who was not a lady. However, your acquaintance is so +limited yet that I must try to do something in the abstract and impersonal +for you. In the first place, a lady must be above the sordid anxieties in +every way. She need not be very rich, but she must have enough, so that +she need not be harassed about making both ends meet, when she ought to be +devoting herself to her social duties. The time is past with us when a +lady could look after the dinner, and perhaps cook part of it herself, and +then rush in to receive her guests and do the amenities. She must have a +certain kind of house, so that her entourage won't seem cramped and mean, +and she must have nice frocks, of course, and plenty of them. She needn't +be of the smart set; that isn't at all necessary; but she can't afford to +be out of the fashion. Of course, she must have a certain training. She +must have cultivated tastes; she must know about art and literature and +music, and all those kind of things, and, though it isn't necessary to go +in for anything in particular, it won't hurt her to have a fad or two. The +nicest kind of fad is charity; and people go in for that a great deal. I +think sometimes they use it to work up with, and there are some who use +religion in the same way; I think it's horrid; but it's perfectly safe; +you can't accuse them of doing it. I'm happy to say, though, that mere +church association doesn't count socially so much as it used to. Charity +is a great deal more insidious. But you see how hard it is to define +a lady. So much has to be left to the nerves, in all these things. And +then it's changing all the time; Europe's coming in, and the old American +ideals are passing away. Things that people did ten years ago would be +impossible now, or at least ridiculous. You wouldn't be considered vulgar, +quite, but you would certainly be considered a back number, and that's +almost as bad. Really," said Mrs. Makely, "I don't believe I can tell you +what a lady is." + +We all laughed together at her frank confession. The Altrurian asked: "But +do I understand that one of her conditions is that she shall have nothing +whatever to do?" + +"Nothing to _do_!" cried Mrs. Makely. "A lady is busy from morning till +night. She always goes to bed perfectly worn out." + +"But with what?" asked the Altrurian. + +"With making herself agreeable and her house attractive, with going to +lunches and teas and dinners and concerts and theatres and art +exhibitions, and charity meetings and receptions, and with writing a +thousand and one notes about them, and accepting and declining, and giving +lunches and dinners, and making calls and receiving them, and I don't know +what all. It's the most hideous slavery!" Her voice rose into something +like a shriek; one could see that her nerves were going at the mere +thought of it all. "You don't have a moment to yourself; your life isn't +your own." + +"But the lady isn't allowed to do any useful kind of work?" + +"_Work_! Don't you call all that work, and _useful_? I'm sure I envy the +cook in my kitchen at times; I envy the woman that scrubs my floors. Stop! +Don't ask why I don't go into my kitchen, or get down on my knees with the +mop. It isn't possible. You simply can't. Perhaps you could if you were +very _grande dame_, but if you're anywhere near the line of necessity, or +ever have been, you can't. Besides, if we did do our own household work, +as I understand your Altrurian ladies do, what would become of the servant +class? We should be taking away their living, and that would be wicked." + +"It would certainly be wrong to take away the living of a +fellow-creature," the Altrurian gravely admitted, "and I see the obstacle +in your way." + +"It's a mountain," said the lady, with exhaustion in her voice, but a +returning amiability; his forbearance must have placated her. + +"May I ask what the use of your society life is?" he ventured, after a +moment. + +"Use? Why should it have any? It kills time." + +"Then you are shut up to a hideous slavery without use, except to kill +time, and you cannot escape from it without taking away the living of +those dependent on you?" + +"Yes," I put in, "and that is a difficulty that meets us at every turn. It +is something that Matthew Arnold urged with great effect in his paper on +that crank of a Tolstoy. He asked what would become of the people who need +the work if we served and waited on ourselves, as Tolstoy preached. The +question is unanswerable." + +"That is true; in your conditions, it is unanswerable," said the +Altrurian. + +"I think," said Mrs. Makely, "that, under the circumstances, we do pretty +well." + +"Oh, I don't presume to censure you. And if you believe that your +conditions are the best--" + +"We believe them the best in the best of all possible worlds," I said, +devoutly; and it struck me that, if ever we came to have a national +church, some such affirmation as that concerning our economical conditions +ought to be in the confession of faith. + +The Altrurian's mind had not followed mine so far. "And your young girls," +he asked of Mrs. Makely--"how is their time occupied?" + +"You mean after they come out in society?" + +"I suppose so." + +She seemed to reflect. "I don't know that it is very differently occupied. +Of course, they have their own amusements; they have their dances, and +little clubs, and their sewing-societies. I suppose that even an Altrurian +would applaud their sewing for the poor?" Mrs. Makely asked, rather +satirically. + +"Yes," he answered; and then he asked: "Isn't it taking work away from +some needy seamstress, though? But I suppose you excuse it to the +thoughtlessness of youth." + +Mrs. Makely did not say, and he went on: "What I find it so hard to +understand is how you ladies can endure a life of mere nervous exertion, +such as you have been describing to me. I don't see how you keep well." + +"We _don't_ keep well," said Mrs. Makely, with the greatest amusement. "I +don't suppose that when you get above the working classes, till you reach +the very rich, you would find a perfectly well woman in America." + +"Isn't that rather extreme?" I ventured to ask. + +"No," said Mrs. Makely, "it's shamefully moderate," and she seemed to +delight in having made out such a bad case for her sex. You can't stop a +woman of that kind when she gets started; I had better left it alone. + +"But," said the Altrurian, "if you are forbidden by motives of humanity +from doing any sort of manual labor, which you must leave to those who +live by it, I suppose you take some sort of exercise?" + +"Well," said Mrs. Makely, shaking her head gayly, "we prefer to take +medicine." + +"You must approve of that," I said to the Altrurian, "as you consider +exercise for its own sake insane or immoral. But, Mrs. Makely," I +entreated, "you're giving me away at a tremendous rate. I have just been +telling Mr. Homos that you ladies go in for athletics so much now in your +summer outings that there is danger of your becoming physically as well as +intellectually superior to us poor fellows. Don't take that consolation +from me." + +"I won't, altogether," she said. "I couldn't have the heart to, after the +pretty way you've put it. I don't call it very athletic, sitting around on +hotel piazzas all summer long, as nineteen-twentieths of us do. But I +don't deny that there is a Remnant, as Matthew Arnold calls them, who do +go in for tennis and boating and bathing and tramping and climbing." She +paused, and then she concluded, gleefully: "And you ought to see what +wrecks they get home in the fall!" + +The joke was on me; I could not help laughing, though I felt rather +sheepish before the Altrurian. Fortunately, he did not pursue the inquiry; +his curiosity had been given a slant aside from it. + +"But your ladies," he asked, "they have the summer for rest, however they +use it. Do they generally leave town? I understood Mr. Twelvemough to say +so," he added, with a deferential glance at me. + +"Yes, you may say it is the universal custom in the class that can afford +it," said Mrs. Makely. She proceeded as if she felt a tacit censure in his +question. "It wouldn't be the least use for us to stay and fry through our +summers in the city simply because our fathers and brothers had to. +Besides, we are worn out, at the end of the season, and they want us to +come away as much as we want to come." + +"Ah, I have always heard that the Americans are beautiful in their +attitude toward women." + +"They are perfect dears," said Mrs. Makely, "and here comes one of the +best of them." + +At that moment her husband came up and laid her shawl across her +shoulders. "Whose character is it you're blasting?" he asked, jocosely. + +"Where in the world did you find it?" she asked, meaning the shawl. + +"It was where you left it--on the sofa, in the side parlor. I had to take +my life in my hand when I crossed among all those waltzers in there. There +must have been as many as three couples on the floor. Poor girls! I pity +them, off at these places. The fellows in town have a good deal better +time. They've got their clubs, and they've got the theatre, and when the +weather gets too much for them they can run off down to the shore for the +night. The places anywhere within an hour's ride are full of fellows. The +girls don't have to dance with one another there, or with little boys. Of +course, that's all right if they like it better." He laughed at his wife, +and winked at me, and smoked swiftly, in emphasis of his irony. + +"Then the young gentlemen whom the young ladies here usually meet in +society are all at work in the cities?" the Altrurian asked him, rather +needlessly, as I had already said so. + +"Yes, those who are not out West, growing up with the country, except, of +course, the fellows who have inherited a fortune. They're mostly off on +yachts." + +"But why do your young men go West to grow up with the country?" pursued +my friend. + +"Because the East is _grown_ up. They have got to hustle, and the West is +the place to hustle. To make money," added Makely, in response to a +puzzled glance of the Altrurian. + +"Sometimes," said his wife, "I almost hate the name of money." + +"Well, so long as you don't hate the thing, Peggy." + +"Oh, we must have it, I suppose," she sighed. "They used to say about the +girls who grew into old maids just after the Rebellion that they had lost +their chance in the war for the Union. I think quite as many lose their +chance now in the war for the dollar." + +"Mars hath slain his thousands, but Mammon hath slain his tens of +thousands," I suggested, lightly; we all like to recognize the facts, so +long as we are not expected to do anything about them; then, we deny them. + +"Yes, quite as bad as that," said Mrs. Makely. + +"Well, my dear, you are expensive, you know," said her husband, "and if we +want to have you--why, we've got to hustle first." + +"Oh, I don't blame you, you poor things! There's nothing to be done about +it; it's just got to go on and on; I don't see how it's ever to end." + +The Altrurian had been following us with that air of polite mystification +which I had begun to dread in him. "Then, in your good society you +postpone, and even forego, the happiness of life in the struggle to be +rich?" + +"Well, you see," said Makely, "a fellow don't like to ask a girl to share +a home that isn't as nice as the home she has left." + +"Sometimes," his wife put in, rather sadly, "I think that it's all a +mistake, and that we'd be willing to share the privations of the man we +loved." + +"Well," said Makely, with a laugh, "we wouldn't like to risk it." + +I laughed with him, but his wife did not, and in the silence that ensued +there was nothing to prevent the Altrurian from coming in with another of +his questions: "How far does this state of things extend downward? Does it +include the working classes, too?" + +"Oh no!" we all answered together, and Mrs. Makely said: "With your +Altrurian ideas, I suppose you would naturally sympathize a great deal +more with the lower classes, and think they had to endure all the +hardships in our system; but if you could realize how the struggle goes on +in the best society, and how we all have to fight for what we get, or +don't get, you would be disposed to pity our upper classes, too." + +"I am sure I should," said the Altrurian. + +Makely remarked: "I used to hear my father say that slavery was harder on +the whites than it was on the blacks, and that he wanted it done away with +for the sake of the masters." + +Makely rather faltered in conclusion, as if he were not quite satisfied +with his remark, and I distinctly felt a want of proportion in it; but I +did not wish to say anything. His wife had no reluctance. + +"Well, there's no comparison between the two things, but the struggle +certainly doesn't affect the working classes as it does us. They go on +marrying and giving in marriage in the old way. They have nothing to lose, +and so they can afford it." + +"Blessed am dem what don't expect nuffin! Oh, I tell you, it's a +working-man's country," said Makely, through his cigar-smoke. "You ought +to see them in town, these summer nights, in the parks and squares and +cheap theatres. Their girls are not off for their health, anywhere, and +their fellows are not off growing up with the country. Their day's work is +over, and they're going in for a good time. And, then, walk through the +streets where they live, and see them out on the stoops with their wives +and children! I tell you, it's enough to make a fellow wish he was poor +himself." + +"Yes," said Mrs. Makely, "it's astonishing how strong and well those women +keep, with their great families and their hard work. Sometimes I really +envy them." + +"Do you suppose," said the Altrurian, "that they are aware of the +sacrifices which the ladies of the upper classes make in leaving all the +work to them, and suffering from the nervous debility which seems to be +the outcome of your society life?" + +"They have not the remotest idea of it. They have no conception of what a +society woman goes through with. They think we do nothing. They envy us, +too, and sometimes they're so ungrateful and indifferent, if you try to +help them, or get on terms with them, that I believe they hate us." + +"But that comes from ignorance?" + +"Yes, though I don't know that they are really any more ignorant of us +than we are of them. It's the other half on both sides." + +"Isn't that a pity, rather?" + +"Of course it's a pity, but what can you do? You can't know what people +are like unless you live like them, and then the question is whether the +game is worth the candle. I should like to know how you manage in +Altruria." + +"Why, we have solved the problem in the only way, as you say, that it can +be solved. We all live alike." + +"Isn't that a little, just a very trifling little bit, monotonous?" Mrs. +Makely asked, with a smile. "But there is everything, of course, in being +used to it. To an unregenerate spirit--like mine, for example--it seems +intolerable." + +"But why? When you were younger, before you were married, you all lived at +home together--or, perhaps, you were an only child?" + +"Oh, no indeed! There were ten of us." + +"Then you all lived alike, and shared equally?" + +"Yes, but we were a family." + +"We do not conceive of the human race except as a family." + +"Now, excuse me, Mr. Homos, that is all nonsense. You cannot have the +family feeling without love, and it is impossible to love other people. +That talk about the neighbor, and all that, is all well enough--" She +stopped herself, as if she dimly remembered who began that talk, and then +went on: "Of course, I accept it as a matter of faith, and the spirit of +it, nobody denies that; but what I mean is, that you must have frightful +quarrels all the time." She tried to look as if this were where she really +meant to bring up, and he took her on the ground she had chosen. + +"Yes, we have quarrels. Hadn't you at home?" + +"We fought like little cats and dogs, at times." + +Makely and I burst into a laugh at her magnanimous frankness. The +Altrurian remained serious. "But, because you lived alike, you knew each +other, and so you easily made up your quarrels. It is quite as simple with +us, in our life as a human family." + +This notion of a human family seemed to amuse Mrs. Makely more and more; +she laughed and laughed again. "You must excuse me," she panted, at last, +"but I cannot imagine it! No, it is too ludicrous. Just fancy the jars of +an ordinary family multiplied by the population of a whole continent! Why, +you must be in a perpetual squabble. You can't have any peace of your +lives. It's worse, far worse, than our way." + +"But, madam," he began, "you are supposing our family to be made up of +people with all the antagonistic interests of your civilization. As a +matter of fact--" + +"No, no! _I know human nature_, Mr. Homos!" She suddenly jumped up and +gave him her hand. "Good-night," she said, sweetly, and as she drifted off +on her husband's arm she looked back at us and nodded in gay triumph. + +The Altrurian turned upon me with unabated interest. "And have you no +provision in your system for finally making the lower classes understand +the sufferings and sacrifices of the upper classes in their behalf? Do you +expect to do nothing to bring them together in mutual kindness?" + +"Well, not this evening," I said, throwing the end of my cigar away. "I'm +going to bed--aren't you?" + +"Not yet." + +"Well, good-night. Are you sure you can find your room?" + +"Oh yes. Good-night." + + + + +VI + +I left my guest abruptly, with a feeling of vexation not very easily +definable. His repetition of questions about questions which society has +so often answered, and always in the same way, was not so bad in him as it +would have been in a person of our civilization; he represented a wholly +different state of things, the inversion of our own, and much could be +forgiven him for that reason, just as in Russia much could be forgiven to +an American if he formulated his curiosity concerning imperialism from a +purely republican experience. I knew that in Altruria, for instance, the +possession of great gifts, of any kind of superiority, involved the sense +of obligation to others, and the wish to identify one's self with the +great mass of men, rather than the ambition to distinguish one's self from +them; and that the Altrurians honored their gifted men in the measure they +did this. A man reared in such a civilization must naturally find it +difficult to get our point of view; with social inclusion as the ideal, he +would with difficulty conceive of our ideal of social exclusion; but I +think we had all been very patient with him; we should have made short +work with an American who had approached us with the same inquiries. +Even from a foreigner, the citizen of a republic founded on the notion, +elsewhere exploded ever since Cain, that one is his brother's keeper, +the things he asked seemed inoffensive only because they were puerile; +but they certainly were puerile. I felt that it ought to have been +self-evident to him that when a commonwealth of sixty million Americans +based itself upon the great principle of self-seeking, self-seeking was +the best thing, and, whatever hardship it seemed to work, it must carry +with it unseen blessings in tenfold measure. If a few hundred thousand +favored Americans enjoyed the privilege of socially contemning all the +rest, it was as clearly right and just that they should do so as that four +thousand American millionaires should be richer than all the other +Americans put together. Such a status, growing out of our political +equality and our material prosperity, must evince a divine purpose to any +one intimate with the designs of Providence, and it seemed a kind of +impiety to doubt its perfection. I excused the misgivings which I could +not help seeing in the Altrurian to his alien traditions, and I was aware +that my friends had done so, too. But, if I could judge from myself, he +must have left them all sensible of their effort; and this was not +pleasant. I could not blink the fact that although I had openly disagreed +with him on every point of ethics and economics, I was still responsible +for him as a guest. It was as if an English gentleman had introduced a +blatant American Democrat into Tory society; or, rather, as if a +Southerner of the olden time had harbored a Northern Abolitionist and +permitted him to inquire into the workings of slavery among his neighbors. +People would tolerate him as my guest for a time, but there must be an end +of their patience with the tacit enmity of his sentiments and the explicit +vulgarity of his ideals, and when the end came I must be attainted with +him. + +I did not like the notion of this, and I meant to escape it if I could. I +confess that I would have willingly disowned him, as I had already +disavowed his opinions, but there was no way of doing it short of telling +him to go away, and I was not ready to do that. Something in the man, I do +not know what, mysteriously appealed to me. He was not contemptibly +puerile without being lovably childlike, and I could only make up my mind +to be more and more frank with him and to try and shield him, as well as +myself, from the effects I dreaded. + +I fell asleep planning an excursion farther into the mountains, which +should take up the rest of the week that I expected him to stay with me, +and would keep him from following up his studies of American life where +they would be so injurious to both of us as they must in our hotel. A +knock at my door roused me, and I sent a drowsy "Come in!" toward it from +the bedclothes without looking that way. + +"Good-morning!" came back in the rich, gentle voice of the Altrurian. I +lifted my head with a jerk from the pillow, and saw him standing against +the closed door, with my shoes in his hand. "Oh, I am sorry I waked you. I +thought--" + +"Not at all, not at all," I said. "It's quite time, I dare say. But you +oughtn't to have taken the trouble to bring my shoes in." + +"I wasn't altogether disinterested in it," he returned. "I wished you to +compliment me on them. Don't you think they are pretty well done, for an +amateur?" He came toward my bed, and turned them about in his hands, so +that they would catch the light, and smiled down upon me. + +"I don't understand," I began. + +"Why," he said, "I blacked them, you know." + +"You blacked them?" + +"Yes," he returned, easily. "I thought I would go into the baggage-room, +after we parted last night, to look for a piece of mine that had not been +taken to my room, and I found the porter there, with his wrist bound up. +He said he had strained it in handling a lady's Saratoga--he said a +Saratoga was a large trunk--and I begged him to let me relieve him at the +boots he was blacking. He refused at first, but I insisted upon trying my +hand at a pair, and then he let me go on with the men's boots; he said he +could varnish the ladies' without hurting his wrist. It needed less skill +than I supposed, and after I had done a few pairs he said I could black +boots as well as he." + +"Did anybody see you?" I gasped, and I felt a cold perspiration break out +on me. + +"No, we had the whole midnight hour to ourselves. The porter's work with +the baggage was all over, and there was nothing to interrupt the +delightful chat we fell into. He is a very intelligent man, and he told me +all about that custom of feeing which you deprecate. He says that the +servants hate it as much as the guests; they have to take the tips now +because the landlords figure on them in the wages, and they cannot live +without them. He is a fine, manly fellow, and--" + +"Mr. Homos," I broke in, with the strength I found in his assurance that +no one had seen him helping the porter black boots, "I want to speak very +seriously with you, and I hope you will not be hurt if I speak very +plainly about a matter in which I have your good solely at heart." This +was not quite true, and I winced inwardly a little when he thanked me with +that confounded sincerity of his which was so much like irony; but I went +on: "It is my duty to you, as my guest, to tell you that this thing of +doing for others is not such a simple matter here, as your peculiar +training leads you to think. You have been deceived by a superficial +likeness; but, really, I do not understand how you could have read all you +have done about us and not realize before coming here that America and +Altruria are absolutely distinct and diverse in their actuating +principles. They are both republics, I know; but America is a republic +where every man is for himself, and you cannot help others as you do at +home; it is dangerous--it is ridiculous. You must keep this fact in mind, +or you will fall into errors that will be very embarrassing to you in your +stay among us, and," I was forced to add, "to all your friends. Now, I +certainly hoped, after what I had said to you and what my friends had +explained of our civilization, that you would not have done a thing of +this kind. I will see the porter, as soon as I am up, and ask him not to +mention the matter to any one, but, I confess, I don't like to take an +apologetic tone with him; your conditions are so alien to ours that they +will seem incredible to him, and he will think I am stuffing him." + +"I don't believe he will think that," said the Altrurian, "and I hope you +won't find the case so bad as it seems to you. I am extremely sorry to +have done wrong--" + +"Oh, the thing wasn't wrong in itself. It was only wrong under the +circumstances. Abstractly, it is quite right to help a fellow-being who +needs help; no one denies that, even in a country where every one is for +himself." + +"I am so glad to hear it," said the Altrurian. "Then, at least, I have not +gone radically astray; and I do not think you need take the trouble to +explain the Altrurian ideas to the porter. I have done that already, and +they seemed quite conceivable to him; he said that poor folks had to act +upon them, even here, more or less, and that if they did not act upon them +there would be no chance for them at all. He says they have to help one +another very much as we do at home, and that it is only the rich folks +among you who are independent. I really don't think you need speak to him +at all, unless you wish; and I was very careful to guard my offer of help +at the point where I understood from you and your friends that it might do +harm. I asked him if there was not some one who would help him out with +his boot-blacking for money, because in that case I should be glad to pay +him; but he said there was no one about who would take the job; that he +had to agree to black the boots, or else he would not have got the place +of porter, but that all the rest of the help would consider it a disgrace, +and would not help him for love or money. So it seemed quite safe to offer +him my services." + +I felt that the matter was almost hopeless, but I asked: "And what he +said--didn't that suggest anything else to you?" + +"How anything else?" asked the Altrurian, in his turn. + +"Didn't it occur to you that if none of his fellow-servants were willing +to help him black boots, and if he did it only because he was obliged to, +it was hardly the sort of work for you?" + +"Why, no," said the Altrurian, with absolute simplicity. He must have +perceived the despair I fell into at this answer, for he asked: "Why +should I have minded doing for others what I should have been willing to +do for myself?" + +"There are a great many things we are willing to do for ourselves that we +are not willing to do for others. But even on that principle, which I +think false and illogical, you could not be justified. A gentleman is not +willing to black _his own_ boots. It is offensive to his feelings, to his +self-respect; it is something he will not do if he can get anybody else to +do it for him." + +"Then in America," said the Altrurian, "it is not offensive to the +feelings of a gentleman to let another do for him what he would not do for +himself?" + +"Certainly not." + +"Ah," he returned, "then we understand something altogether different by +the word gentleman in Altruria. I see, now, how I have committed a +mistake. I shall be more careful hereafter." + +I thought I had better leave the subject, and, "By-the-way," I said, "how +would you like to take a little tramp with me to-day farther up into the +mountains?" + +"I should be delighted," said the Altrurian, so gratefully that I was +ashamed to think why I was proposing the pleasure to him. + +"Well, then, I shall be ready to start as soon as we have had breakfast. I +will join you down-stairs in half an hour." + +He left me at this hint, though really I was half afraid he might stay and +offer to lend me a hand at my toilet, in the expression of his national +character. I found him with Mrs. Makely, when I went down, and she began, +with a parenthetical tribute to the beauty of the mountains in the morning +light: "Don't be surprised to see me up at this unnatural hour. I don't +know whether it was the excitement of our talk last night, or what it was, +but my sulphonal wouldn't act, though I took fifteen grains, and I was up +with the lark, or should have been, if there had been any lark outside of +literature to be up with. However, this air is so glorious that I don't +mind losing a night's sleep now and then. I believe that with a little +practice one could get along without any sleep at all here; at least, _I_ +could. I'm sorry to say poor Mr. Makely _can't_, apparently. He's making +up for his share of my vigils, and I'm going to breakfast without him. Do +you know, I've done a very bold thing: I've got the head-waiter to give +you places at our table; I know you'll hate it, Mr. Twelvemough, because +you naturally want to keep Mr. Homos to yourself, and I don't blame you at +all; but I'm simply not going to _let_ you, and that's all there is about +it." + +The pleasure I felt at this announcement was not unmixed, but I tried to +keep Mrs. Makely from thinking so, and I was immensely relieved when she +found a chance to say to me, in a low voice: "I know just how you're +feeling, Mr. Twelvemough, and I'm going to help you keep him from doing +anything ridiculous, if I can. I _like_ him, and I think it's a perfect +shame to have people laughing at him. I know we can manage him between +us." + +We so far failed, however, that the Altrurian shook hands with the +head-waiter when he pressed open the wire-netting door to let us into the +dining-room, and made a bow to our waitress of the sort one makes to a +lady. But we thought it best to ignore these little errors of his and +reserve our moral strength for anything more spectacular. Fortunately we +got through our breakfast with nothing worse than his jumping up and +stooping to hand the waitress a spoon she let fall; but this could easily +pass for some attention to Mrs. Makely at a little distance. There were +not many people down to breakfast yet; but I could see that there was a +good deal of subdued sensation among the waitresses, standing with folded +arms behind their tables, and that the head-waiter's handsome face was red +with anxiety. + +Mrs. Makely asked if we were going to church. She said she was driving +that way, and would be glad to drop us. "I'm not going myself," she +explained, "because I couldn't make anything of the sermon, with my head +in the state it is, and I'm going to compromise on a good action. I want +to carry some books and papers over to Mrs. Camp. Don't you think that +will be quite as acceptable, Mr. Homos?" + +"I should venture to hope it," he said, with a tolerant seriousness not +altogether out of keeping with her lightness. + +"Who is Mrs. Camp?" I asked, not caring to commit myself on the question. + +"Lizzie's mother. You know I told you about them last night. I think she +must have got through the books I lent her, and I know Lizzie didn't like +to ask me for more, because she saw me talking with you, and didn't want +to interrupt us. Such a nice girl! I think the Sunday papers must have +come, and I'll take them over, too; Mrs. Camp is always so glad to get +them, and she is so delightful when she gets going about public events. +But perhaps you don't approve of Sunday papers, Mr. Homos." + +"I'm sure I don't know, madam. I haven't seen them yet. You know this is +the first Sunday I've been in America." + +"Well, I'm sorry to say you won't see the old Puritan Sabbath," said Mrs. +Makely, with an abrupt deflection from the question of the Sunday papers. +"Though you ought to, up in these hills. The only thing left of it is +rye-and-Indian bread, and these baked beans and fish-balls." + +"But they are very good?" + +"Yes, I dare say they are not the worst of it." + +She was a woman who tended to levity, and I was a little afraid she might +be going to say something irreverent; but, if she were, she was +forestalled by the Altrurian asking: "Would it be very indiscreet, madam, +if I were to ask you some time to introduce me to that family?" + +"The Camps?" she returned. "Not at all. I should be perfectly delighted." +The thought seemed to strike her, and she asked: "Why not go with me this +morning, unless you are inflexibly bent on going to church, you and Mr. +Twelvemough?" + +The Altrurian glanced at me, and I said I should be only too glad, if I +could carry some books, so that I could compromise on a good action, too. +"Take one of your own," she instantly suggested. + +"Do you think they wouldn't be too severe upon it?" I asked. + +"Well, Mrs. Camp might," Mrs. Makely consented, with a smile. "She goes +in for rather serious fiction; but I think Lizzie would enjoy a good, +old-fashioned love-story, where everybody got married, as they do in your +charming books." + +I winced a little, for every one likes to be regarded seriously, and I did +not enjoy being remanded to the young-girl public; but I put a bold face +on it, and said: "My good action shall be done in behalf of Miss Lizzie." + +Half an hour later, Mrs. Makely having left word with the clerk where we +were gone, so that her husband need not be alarmed when he got up, we were +striking into the hills on a two-seated buckboard, with one of the best +teams of our hotel, and one of the most taciturn drivers. Mrs. Makely had +the Altrurian get into the back seat with her, and, after some attempts to +make talk with the driver, I leaned over and joined in their talk. The +Altrurian was greatly interested, not so much in the landscape--though he +owned its beauty when we cried out over it from point to point--but in the +human incidents and features. He noticed the cattle in the fields, and the +horses we met on the road, and the taste and comfort of the buildings, the +variety of the crops, and the promise of the harvest. I was glad of the +respite his questions gave me from the study of the intimate character of +our civilization, for they were directed now at these more material facts, +and I willingly joined Mrs. Makely in answering them. We explained that +the finest teams we met were from the different hotels or boarding-houses, +or at least from the farms where the people took city people to board; and +that certain shabby equipages belonged to the natives who lived solely by +cultivating the soil. There was not very much of the soil cultivated, for +the chief crop was hay, with here and there a patch of potatoes or beans, +and a few acres in sweet-corn. The houses of the natives, when they were +for their use only, were no better than their turnouts; it was where the +city boarder had found shelter that they were modern and pleasant. Now and +then we came to a deserted homestead, and I tried to make the Altrurian +understand how farming in New England had yielded to the competition of +the immense agricultural operations of the West. "You know," I said, "that +agriculture is really an operation out there, as much as coal-mining is in +Pennsylvania, or finance in Wall Street; you have no idea of the vastness +of the scale." Perhaps I swelled a little with pride in my celebration of +the national prosperity, as it flowed from our Western farms of five and +ten and twenty thousand acres; I could not very well help putting on the +pedal in these passages. Mrs. Makely listened almost, as eagerly, as the +Altrurian, for, as a cultivated American woman, she was necessarily +quite ignorant of her own country, geographically, politically, and +historically. "The only people left in the hill country of New England," I +concluded, "are those who are too old or too lazy to get away. Any young +man of energy would be ashamed to stay, unless he wanted to keep a +boarding-house or live on the city vacationists in summer. If he doesn't, +he goes West and takes up some of the new land, and comes back in +middle-life and buys a deserted farm to spend his summers on." + +"Dear me!" said the Altrurian. "Is it so simple as that? Then we can +hardly wonder at their owners leaving these worn-out farms; though I +suppose it must be with the pang of exile, sometimes." + +"Oh, I fancy there isn't much sentiment involved," I answered, lightly. + +"Whoa!" said Mrs. Makely, speaking to the horses before she spoke to the +driver, as some women will. He pulled them up, and looked round at her. + +"Isn't that Reuben Camp, _now_, over there by that house?" she asked, as +if we had been talking of him; that is another way some women have. + +"Yes, ma'am," said the driver. + +"Oh, well, then!" and "Reuben!" she called to the young man, who was +prowling about the door-yard of a sad-colored old farm-house, and peering +into a window here and there. "Come here a moment--won't you, please?" + +He lifted his head and looked round, and, when he had located the appeal +made to him, he came down the walk to the gate and leaned over it, waiting +for further instructions. I saw that it was the young man whom we had +noticed with the girl Mrs. Makely called Lizzie on the hotel piazza the +night before. + +"Do you know whether I should find Lizzie at home this morning?" + +"Yes, she's there with mother," said the young fellow, with neither liking +nor disliking in his tone. + +"Oh, I'm so glad!" said the lady. "I didn't know but she might be at +church. What in the world has happened here? Is there anything unusual +going on inside?" + +"No, I was just looking to see if it was all right. The folks wanted I +should come round." + +"Why, where are they?" + +"Oh, they're gone." + +"Gone?" + +"Yes; gone West. They've left the old place, because they couldn't make a +living here any longer." + +"Why, this is quite a case in point," I said. "Now, Mr. Homos, here is a +chance to inform yourself at first hand about a very interesting fact of +our civilization"; and I added, in a low voice, to Mrs. Makely: "Won't you +introduce us?" + +"Oh yes. Mr. Camp, this is Mr. Twelvemough, the author--you know his +books, of course; and Mr. Homos, a gentleman from Altruria." + +The young fellow opened the gate he leaned on and came out to us. He took +no notice of me, but he seized the Altrurian's hand and wrung it. "I've +heard of _you_" he said. "Mrs. Makely, were you going to our place?" + +"Why, yes." + +"So do, then. Mother would give almost anything to see Mr. Homos. We've +heard of Altruria, over our way," he added to our friend. "Mother's been +reading up all she can about it. She'll want to talk with you, and she +won't give the rest of us much of a chance, I guess." + +"Oh, I shall be glad to see her," said the Altrurian, "and to tell her +everything I can. But won't you explain to me first something about your +deserted farms here? It's quite a new thing to me." + +"It isn't a new thing to us," said the young fellow, with a short laugh. +"And there isn't much to explain about it. You'll see them all through New +England. When a man finds he can't get his funeral expenses out of the +land, he don't feel like staying to be buried in it, and he pulls up and +goes." + +"But people used to get their living expenses here," I suggested. "Why +can't they now?" + +"Well, they didn't use to have Western prices to fight with; and then the +land wasn't worn out so, and the taxes were not so heavy. How would you +like to pay twenty to thirty dollars on the thousand, and assessed up to +the last notch, in the city?" + +"Why, what in the world makes your taxes so heavy?" + +"Schools and roads. We've got to have schools, and you city folks want +good roads when you come here in the summer, don't you? Then the season is +short, and sometimes we can't make a crop. The frost catches the corn in +the field, and you have your trouble for your pains. Potatoes are the only +thing we can count on, except grass, and, when everybody raises potatoes, +you know where the price goes." + +"Oh, but now, Mr. Camp," said Mrs. Makely, leaning over toward him, and +speaking in a cosey and coaxing tone, as if he must not really keep the +truth from an old friend like her, "isn't it a good deal because the +farmers' daughters want pianos, and the farmers' sons want buggies? I +heard Professor Lumen saying, the other day, that, if the farmers were +willing to work as they used to work, they could still get a good living +off their farms, and that they gave up their places because they were too +lazy, in many cases, to farm them properly." + +"He'd better not let _me_ hear him saying that," said the young fellow, +while a hot flush passed over his face. He added, bitterly: "If he wants +to see how easy it is to make a living up here, he can take this place and +try for a year or two; he can get it cheap. But I guess he wouldn't want +it the year round; he'd only want it a few months in the summer, when he +could enjoy the sightliness of it, and see me working over there on my +farm, while he smoked on his front porch." He turned round and looked at +the old house in silence a moment. Then, as he went on, his voice lost its +angry ring. "The folks here bought this place from the Indians, and they'd +been here more than two hundred years. Do you think they left it because +they were too lazy to run it, or couldn't get pianos and buggies out of +it, or were such fools as not to know whether they were well off? It was +their _home_; they were born and lived and died here. There is the family +burying-ground over there." + +Neither Mrs. Makely nor myself was ready with a reply, and we left the +word with the Altrurian, who suggested: "Still, I suppose they will be +more prosperous in the West on the new land they take up?" + +The young fellow leaned his arms on the wheel by which he stood. "What do +you mean by taking up new land?" + +"Why, out of the public domain--" + +"There _ain't_ any public domain that's worth having. All the good land is +in the hands of railroads and farm syndicates and speculators; and if you +want a farm in the West you've got to buy it; the East is the only place +where folks give them away, because they ain't worth keeping. If you +haven't got the ready money, you can buy one on credit, and pay ten, +twenty, and thirty per cent. interest, and live in a dugout on the +plains--till your mortgage matures." The young man took his arms from the +wheel and moved a few steps backward, as he added: "I'll see you over at +the house later." + +The driver touched his horses, and we started briskly off again. But I +confess I had quite enough of his pessimism, and as we drove away I leaned +back toward the Altrurian and said: "Now, it is all perfect nonsense to +pretend that things are at that pass with us. There are more millionaires +in America, probably, than there are in all the other civilized countries +of the globe, and it is not possible that the farming population should be +in such a hopeless condition. All wealth comes out of the earth, and you +may be sure they get their full share of it." + +"I am glad to hear you say so," said the Altrurian. "What is the meaning +of this new party in the West that seems to have held a convention lately? +I read something of it in the train yesterday." + +"Oh, that is a lot of crazy Hayseeds, who don't want to pay back the money +they have borrowed, or who find themselves unable to meet their interest. +It will soon blow over. We are always having these political flurries. A +good crop will make it all right with them." + +"But is it true that they have to pay such rates of interest as our young +friend mentioned?" + +"Well," I said, seeing the thing in the humorous light which softens for +us Americans so many of the hardships of others, "I suppose that man likes +to squeeze his brother man when he gets him in his grip. That's human +nature, you know." + +"Is it?" asked the Altrurian. + +It seemed to me that he had asked something like that before when I +alleged human nature in defence of some piece of every-day selfishness. +But I thought best not to notice it, and I went on: "The land is so rich +out there that a farm will often pay for itself with a single crop." + +"Is it possible?" cried the Altrurian. "Then I suppose it seldom really +happens that a mortgage is foreclosed, in the way our young friend +insinuated?" + +"Well, I can't say that exactly"; and, having admitted so much, I did not +feel bound to impart a fact that popped perversely into my mind. I was +once talking with a Western money-lender, a very good sort of fellow, +frank and open as the day; I asked him whether the farmers generally paid +off their mortgages, and he answered me that if the mortgage was to the +value of a fourth of the land, the farmer might pay it off, but if it were +to a half, or a third even, he never paid it, but slaved on and died in +his debts. "You may be sure, however," I concluded, "that our young friend +takes a jaundiced view of the situation." + +"Now, really," said Mrs. Makely, "I must insist upon dropping this +everlasting talk about money. I think it is perfectly disgusting, and I +believe it was Mr. Makely's account of his speculations that kept me awake +last night. My brain got running on figures till the dark seemed to be all +sown with dollar-marks, like the stars in the Milky Way. I--ugh! What in +the world is it? Oh, you dreadful little things!" + +Mrs. Makely passed swiftly from terror to hysterical laughter as the +driver pulled up short and a group of barefooted children broke in front +of his horses and scuttled out of the dust into the road-side bushes like +a covey of quails. There seemed to be a dozen of them, nearly all the same +in size, but there turned out to be only five or six; or at least no more +showed their gleaming eyes and teeth through the underbrush in quiet +enjoyment of the lady's alarm. + +"Don't you know that you might have got killed?" she demanded, with that +severity good women feel for people who have just escaped with their +lives. "How lovely the dirty little dears are!" she added, in the next +wave of emotion. One bold fellow of six showed a half-length above the +bushes, and she asked: "Don't you know that you oughtn't to play in the +road when there are so many teams passing? Are all those your brothers and +sisters?" + +He ignored the first question. "One's my cousin." I pulled out a +half-dozen coppers, and held my hand toward him. "See if there is one +for each." They had no difficulty in solving the simple mathematical +problem except the smallest girl, who cried for fear and baffled longing. +I tossed the coin to her, and a little fat dog darted out at her feet and +caught it up in his mouth. "Oh, good gracious!" I called out in my light, +humorous way. "Do you suppose he's going to spend it for candy?" The +little people thought that a famous joke, and they laughed with the +gratitude that even small favors inspire. "Bring your sister here," I said +to the boldest boy, and, when he came up with the little woman, I put +another copper into her hand. "Look out that the greedy dog doesn't get +it," I said, and my gayety met with fresh applause. "Where do you live?" I +asked, with some vague purpose of showing the Altrurian the kindliness +that exists between our upper and lower classes. + +"Over there," said the boy. I followed the twist of his head, and glimpsed +a wooden cottage on the border of the forest, so very new that the +sheathing had not yet been covered with clapboards. I stood up in the +buckboard and saw that it was a story and a half high, and could have had +four or five rooms in it. The bare, curtainless windows were set in the +unpainted frames, but the front door seemed not to be hung yet. The people +meant to winter there, however, for the sod was banked up against the +wooden underpinning; a stovepipe stuck out of the roof of a little wing +behind. While I gazed a young-looking woman came to the door, as if she +had been drawn by our talk with the children, and then she jumped down +from the threshold, which still wanted a doorstep, and came slowly out to +us. The children ran to her with their coppers, and then followed her back +to us. + +Mrs. Makely called to her before she reached us: "I hope you weren't +frightened. We didn't drive over any of them." + +"Oh, I wasn't frightened," said the young woman. "It's a very safe place +to bring up children, in the country, and I never feel uneasy about them." + +"Yes, if they are not under the horses' feet," said Mrs. Makely, mingling +instruction and amusement very judiciously in her reply. "Are they all +yours?" + +"Only five," said the mother, and she pointed to the alien in her flock. +"He's my sister's. She lives just below here." Her children had grouped +themselves about her, and she kept passing her hands caressingly over +their little heads as she talked. "My sister has nine children, but she +has the rest at church with her to-day." + +"You don't speak like an American," Mrs. Makely suggested. + +"No, we're English. Our husbands work in the quarry. That's _my_ little +palace." The woman nodded her head toward the cottage. + +"It's going to be very nice," said Mrs. Makely, with an evident perception +of her pride in it. + +"Yes, if we ever get money to finish it. Thank you for the children." + +"Oh, it was this gentleman." Mrs. Makely indicated me, and I bore the +merit of my good action as modestly as I could. + +"Then thank _you_, sir," said the young woman, and she asked Mrs. Makely: +"You're not living about here, ma'am?" + +"Oh no, we're staying at the hotel." + +"At the hotel! It must be very dear, there." + +"Yes, it is expensive," said Mrs. Makely, with a note of that satisfaction +in her voice which we all feel in spending a great deal of money. + +"But I suppose you can afford it," said the woman, whose eye was running +hungrily over Mrs. Makely's pretty costume. "Some are poor, and some are +rich. That's the way the world has to be made up, isn't it?" + +"Yes," said Mrs. Makely, very dryly, and the talk languished from this +point, so that the driver felt warranted in starting up his horses. When +we had driven beyond earshot she said: "I knew she was not an American, +as soon as she spoke, by her accent, and then those foreigners have no +self-respect. That was a pretty bold bid for a contribution to finish up +her 'little palace'! I'm glad you didn't give her anything, Mr. +Twelvemough. I was afraid your sympathies had been wrought upon." + +"Oh, not at all," I answered. "I saw the mischief I had done with the +children." + +The Altrurian, who has not asked anything for a long time, but had +listened with eager interest to all that passed, now came up smiling with +his question: "Will you kindly tell me what harm would have been done by +offering the woman a little money to help finish up her cottage?" + +I did not allow Mrs. Makely to answer, I was so eager to air my political +economy. "The very greatest harm. It would have pauperized her. You have +no idea how quickly they give way to the poison of that sort of thing. As +soon as they get any sort of help they expect more; they count upon it, +and they begin to live upon it. The sight of those coppers which I gave +her children--more out of joke than charity--demoralized the woman. She +took us for rich people, and wanted us to build her a house. You have to +guard against every approach to a thing of that sort." + +"I don't believe," said Mrs. Makely, "that an American would have hinted, +as she did." + +"'No, an American would not have done that, I'm thankful to say. They take +fees, but they don't ask charity, yet." We went on to exult in the noble +independence of the American character in all classes, at some length. We +talked at the Altrurian, but he did not seem to hear us. At last he asked, +with a faint sigh: "Then, in your conditions, a kindly impulse to aid one +who needs your help is something to be guarded against as possibly +pernicious?" + +"Exactly," I said. "And now you see what difficulties beset us in dealing +with the problem of poverty. We cannot let people suffer, for that would +be cruel; and we cannot relieve their need without pauperizing them." + +"I see," he answered. "It is a terrible quandary." + +"I wish," said Mrs. Makely, "that you would tell us just how you manage +with the poor in Altruria." + +"We have none," he replied. + +"But the comparatively poor--you have some people who are richer than +others?" + +"No. We should regard that as the worst incivism." + +"What is incivism?" + +I interpreted, "Bad citizenship." + +"Well, then, if you will excuse me, Mr. Homos," she said, "I think that is +simply impossible. There _must_ be rich and there _must_ be poor. There +always have been, and there always will be. That woman said it as well as +anybody. Didn't Christ Himself say, 'The poor ye have always with you'?" + + + + +VII + + +The Altrurian looked at Mrs. Makely with an amazement visibly heightened +by the air of complacency she put on after delivering this poser: "Do you +really think Christ meant that you _ought_ always to have the poor with +you?" he asked. + +"Why, of course!" she answered, triumphantly. "How else are the sympathies +of the rich to be cultivated? The poverty of some and the wealth of +others, isn't that what forms the great tie of human brotherhood? If we +were all comfortable, or all shared alike, there could not be anything +like charity, and Paul said, 'The greatest of these is charity.' I believe +it's 'love' in the new version, but it comes to the same thing." + +The Altrurian gave a kind of gasp, and then lapsed into a silence that +lasted until we came in sight of the Camp farm-house. It stood on the +crest of a road-side upland, and looked down the beautiful valley, bathed +in Sabbath sunlight, and away to the ranges of hills, so far that it was +hard to say whether it was sun or shadow that dimmed their distance. +Decidedly, the place was what the country people call sightly. The old +house, once painted a Brandon red, crouched low to the ground, with its +lean-to in the rear, and its flat-arched wood-sheds and wagon-houses +stretching away at the side of the barn, and covering the approach to it +with an unbroken roof. There were flowers in the beds along the +underpinning of the house, which stood close to the street, and on one +side of the door was a clump of Spanish willow; an old-fashioned June rose +climbed over it from the other. An aged dog got stiffly to his feet from +the threshold stone and whimpered as our buckboard drew up; the poultry +picking about the path and among the chips lazily made way for us, and as +our wheels ceased to crunch upon the gravel we heard hasty steps, and +Reuben Camp came round the corner of the house in time to give Mrs. Makely +his hand and help her spring to the ground, which she did very lightly; +her remarkable mind had kept her body in a sort of sympathetic activity, +and at thirty-five she had the gracile ease and self-command of a girl. + +"Ah, Reuben," she sighed, permitting herself to call him by his first +name, with the emotion which expressed itself more definitely in the words +that followed, "how I envy you all this dear, old, homelike place! I never +come here without thinking of my grandfather's farm in Massachusetts, +where I used to go every summer when I was a little girl. If I had a place +like this, I should never leave it." + +"Well, Mrs. Makely," said young Camp, "you can have this place cheap, if +you really want it. Or almost any other place in the neighborhood." + +"Don't say such a thing!" she returned. "It makes one feel as if the +foundations of the great deep were giving way. I don't know what that +means exactly, but I suppose it's equivalent to mislaying George's hatchet +and going back on the Declaration generally; and I don't like to hear you +talk so." + +Camp seemed to have lost his bitter mood, and he answered, pleasantly: +"The Declaration is all right, as far as it goes, but it don't help us to +compete with the Western farm operations." + +"Why, you believe every one was born free and equal, don't you?" Mrs. +Makely asked. + +"Oh yes, I believe that; but--" + +"Then why do you object to free and equal competition?" + +The young fellow laughed, and said, as he opened the door for us: "Walk +right into the parlor, please. Mother will be ready for you in a minute." +He added: "I guess she's putting on her best cap for you, Mr. Homos. It's +a great event for her, your coming here. It is for all of us. We're glad +to have you." + +"And I'm glad to be here," said the Altrurian, as simply as the other. He +looked about the best room of a farm-house that had never adapted itself +to the tastes or needs of the city boarder, and was as stiffly repellent +in its upholstery and as severe in its decoration as hair-cloth chairs and +dark-brown wall-paper of a trellis pattern, with drab roses, could make +it. The windows were shut tight, and our host did not offer to open them. +A fly or two crossed the doorway into the hall, but made no attempt +to penetrate the interior, where we sat in an obscurity that left the +high-hung family photographs on the walls vague and uncertain. I made a +mental note of it as a place where it would be very characteristic to have +a rustic funeral take place; and I was pleased to have Mrs. Makely drop +into a sort of mortuary murmur, as she said: "I hope your mother is as +well as usual this morning?" I perceived that this murmur was produced by +the sepulchral influence of the room. + +"Oh yes," said Camp, and at that moment a door opened from the room across +the hall, and his sister seemed to bring in some of the light from it to +us where we sat. She shook hands with Mrs. Makely, who introduced me to +her, and then presented the Altrurian. She bowed very civilly to me, but +with a touch of severity, such as country people find necessary for the +assertion of their self-respect with strangers. I thought it very pretty, +and instantly saw that I could work it into some picture of character; and +I was not at all sorry that she made a difference in favor of the +Altrurian. + +"Mother will be so glad to see you," she said to him, and, "Won't you come +right in?" she added to us all. + +We followed her and found ourselves in a large, low, sunny room on +the southeast corner of the house, which had no doubt once been the +living-room, but which was now given up to the bedridden invalid; a door +opened into the kitchen behind, where the table was already laid for the +midday meal, with the plates turned down in the country fashion, and some +netting drawn over the dishes to keep the flies away. + +Mrs. Makely bustled up to the bedside with her energetic, patronizing +cheerfulness. "Ah, Mrs. Camp, I am glad to see you looking so well this +morning. I've been meaning to run over for several days past, but I +couldn't find a moment till this morning, and I knew you didn't object to +Sunday visits." She took the invalid's hand in hers, and, with the air of +showing how little she felt any inequality between them, she leaned over +and kissed her, where Mrs. Camp sat propped against her pillows. She had a +large, nobly moulded face of rather masculine contour, and at the same +time the most motherly look in the world. Mrs. Makely bubbled and babbled +on, and every one waited patiently till she had done, and turned and said, +toward the Altrurian: "I have ventured to bring my friend, Mr. Homos, with +me. He is from Altruria." Then she turned to me and said: "Mr. Twelvemough +you know already through his delightful books"; but, although she paid me +this perfunctory compliment it was perfectly apparent to me that in the +esteem of this disingenuous woman the distinguished stranger was a far +more important person than the distinguished author. Whether Mrs. Camp +read my perception of this fact in my face or not I cannot say, but she +was evidently determined that I should not feel a difference in her. She +held out her hand to me first, and said that I never could know how many +heavy hours I had helped to lighten for her, and then she turned to the +Altrurian and took his hand. "Oh!" she said, with a long, deep-drawn sigh, +as if that were the supreme moment of her life. "And are you really from +Altruria? It seems too good to be true!" Her devout look and her earnest +tone gave the commonplace words a quality that did not inhere in them, but +Mrs. Makely took them on their surface. + +"Yes, doesn't it?" she made haste to interpose, before the Altrurian could +say anything. "That is just the way we all feel about it, Mrs. Camp. I +assure you, if it were not for the accounts in the papers and the talk +about it everywhere, I couldn't believe there _was_ any such place as +Altruria; and if it were not for Mr. Twelvemough here--who has to keep all +his inventions for his novels, as a mere matter of business routine--I +might really suspect him and Mr. Homos of--well, _working_ us, as my +husband calls it." + +The Altrurian smiled politely, but vaguely, as if he had not quite caught +her meaning, and I made answer for both: "I am sure, Mrs. Makely, if you +could understand my peculiar state of mind about Mr. Homos, you would +never believe that I was in collusion with him. I find him quite as +incredible as you do. There are moments when he seems so entirely +subjective with me that I feel as if he were no more definite or tangible +than a bad conscience." + +"Exactly!" said Mrs. Makely, and she laughed out her delight in my +illustration. + +The Altrurian must have perceived that we were joking, though the Camps +all remained soberly silent. "I hope it isn't so bad as that," he said, +"though I have noticed that I seem to affect you all with a kind of +misgiving. I don't know just what it is; but, if I could remove it, I +should be very glad to do so." + +Mrs. Makely very promptly seized her chance: "Well, then, in the first +place, my husband and I were talking it over last night after we left you, +and that was one of the things that kept us awake; it turned into money +afterward. It isn't so much that a whole continent, as big as Australia, +remained undiscovered till within such a very few years, as it is the +condition of things among you: this sort of all living for one another, +and not each one for himself. My husband says that is simply moonshine; +such a thing never was and never can be; it is opposed to human nature, +and would take away incentive and all motive for exertion and advancement +and enterprise. I don't know _what_ he didn't say against it; but one +thing, he says it's perfectly un-American." The Altrurian remained silent, +gravely smiling, and Mrs. Makely added, with her most engaging little +manner: "I hope you won't feel hurt, personally or patriotically, by what +I've repeated to you. I know my husband is awfully Philistine, though he +_is_ such a good fellow, and I don't, by any means, agree with him on all +those points; but I _would_ like to know what you think of them. The +trouble is, Mrs. Camp," she said, turning to the invalid, "that Mr. Homos +is so dreadfully reticent about his own country, and I am so curious to +hear of it at first hands, that I consider it justifiable to use any means +to make him open up about it." + +"There is no offence," the Altrurian answered for himself, "in what Mr. +Makely says, though, from the Altrurian point of view, there is a good +deal of error. + +"Does it seem so strange to you," he asked, addressing himself to Mrs. +Camp, "that people should found a civilization on the idea of living for +one another instead of each for himself?" + +"No indeed!" she answered. "Poor people have always had to live that way, +or they could not have lived at all." + +"That was what I understood your porter to say last night," said the +Altrurian to me. He added, to the company generally: "I suppose that even +in America there are more poor people than there are rich people?" + +"Well, I don't know about that," I said. "I suppose there are more people +independently rich than there are people independently poor." + +"We will let that formulation of it stand. If it is true, I do not see why +the Altrurian system should be considered so very un-American. Then, as to +whether there is or ever was really a practical altruism, a civic +expression of it, I think it cannot be denied that among the first +Christians, those who immediately followed Christ, and might be supposed +to be directly influenced by His life, there was an altruism practised as +radical as that which we have organized into a national polity and a +working economy in Altruria." + +"Ah, but you know," said Mrs. Makely, with the air of advancing a point +not to be put aside, "they had to drop _that_. It was a dead failure. They +found that they couldn't make it go at all among cultivated people, and +that, if Christianity was to advance, they would have to give up all that +crankish kind of idolatry of the mere letter. At any rate," she went on, +with the satisfaction we all feel in getting an opponent into close +quarters, "you must confess that there is a much greater play of +individuality here." + +Before the Altrurian could reply, young Camp said: "If you want to see +American individuality, the real, simon-pure article, you ought to go down +to one of our big factory towns and look at the mill-hands coming home in +droves after a day's work, young girls and old women, boys and men, all +fluffed over with cotton, and so dead tired that they can hardly walk. +They come shambling along with all the individuality of a flock of sheep." + +"Some," said Mrs. Makely, heroically, as if she were one of these, "must +be sacrificed. Of course, some are not so individual as others. A great +deal depends upon temperament." + +"A great deal more depends upon capital," said Camp, with an offensive +laugh. "If you have capital in America, you can have individuality; if you +haven't, you can't." + +His sister, who had not taken part in the talk before, said, demurely: "It +seems to me you've got a good deal of individuality, Reub, and you haven't +got a great deal of capital, either," and the two young people laughed +together. + +Mrs. Makely was one of those fatuous women whose eagerness to make a point +excludes the consideration even of their own advantage. "I'm sure," she +said, as if speaking for the upper classes, "we haven't got any +individuality at all. We are as like as so many peas or pins. In fact, you +have to be so in society. If you keep asserting your own individuality too +much, people avoid you. It's very vulgar and the greatest bore." + +"Then you don't find individuality so desirable, after all," said the +Altrurian. + +"I perfectly detest it!" cried the lady, and evidently she had not the +least notion where she was in the argument. "For my part, I'm never happy +except when I've forgotten myself and the whole individual bother." + +Her declaration seemed somehow to close the incident, and we were all +silent a moment, which I employed in looking about the room, and taking in +with my literary sense the simplicity and even bareness of its furnishing. +There was the bed where the invalid lay, and near the head a table with a +pile of books and a kerosene-lamp on it, and I decided that she was a good +deal wakeful, and that she read by that lamp when she could not sleep at +night. Then there were the hard chairs we sat on, and some home-made +hooked rugs, in rounds and ovals, scattered about the clean floor; there +was a small melodeon pushed against the wall; the windows had paper +shades, and I recalled that I had not seen any blinds on the outside of +the house. Over the head of the bed hung a cavalryman's sword, with its +belt--the sword that Mrs. Makely had spoken of. It struck me as a room +where a great many things might have happened, and I said: "You can't +think, Mrs. Camp, how glad I am to see the inside of your house. It seems +to me so typical." + +A pleased intelligence showed itself in her face, and she answered: "Yes, +it is a real old-fashioned farmhouse. We have never taken boarders, and so +we have kept it as it was built pretty much, and only made such changes in +it as we needed or wanted for ourselves." + +"It's a pity," I went on, following up what I thought a fortunate lead, +"that we city people see so little of the farming life when we come into +the country. I have been here now for several seasons, and this is the +first time I have been inside a farmer's house." + +"Is it possible!" cried the Altrurian, with an air of utter astonishment; +and, when I found the fact appeared so singular to him, I began to be +rather proud of its singularity. + +"Yes, I suppose that most city people come and go, year after year, in the +country, and never make any sort of acquaintance with the people who live +there the year round. We keep to ourselves in the hotels, or, if we go out +at all, it is to make a call upon some city cottager, and so we do not get +out of the vicious circle of our own over-intimacy with ourselves and our +ignorance of others." + +"And you regard that as a great misfortune?" asked the Altrurian. + +"Why, it's inevitable. There is nothing to bring us together, unless it's +some happy accident, like the present. But we don't have a traveler from +Altruria to exploit every day, and so we have no business to come into +people's houses." + +"You would have been welcome in ours long ago, Mr. Twelvemough," said Mrs. +Camp. + +"But, excuse me," said the Altrurian, "what you say really seems dreadful +to me. Why, it is as if you were not the same race or kind of men!" + +"Yes," I answered. "It has sometimes seemed to me as if our big hotel +there were a ship anchored off some strange coast. The inhabitants come +out with supplies, and carry on their barter with the ship's steward, and +we sometimes see them over the side, but we never speak to them or have +anything to do with them. We sail away at the close of the season, and +that is the end of it till next summer." + +The Altrurian turned to Mrs. Camp. "And how do you look at it? How does it +seem to you?" + +"I don't believe we have thought about it very much; but, now that Mr. +Twelvemough has spoken of it, I can see that it does look that way. And it +seems very strange, doesn't it, for we are all the same people, and have +the same language and religion and country--the country that my husband +fought for and, I suppose I may say, died for; he was never the same man +after the war. It does appear as if we had some interests in common, and +might find it out if we ever came together." + +"It's a great advantage, the city people going into the country so much as +they do now," said Mrs. Makely. "They bring five million dollars into the +State of New Hampshire, alone, every summer." + +She looked round for the general approval which this fact merited, and +young Camp said: "And it shows how worthless the natives are, that they +can't make both ends meet, with all that money, but have to give up their +farms and go West, after all. I suppose you think it comes from wanting +buggies and pianos." + +"Well, it certainly comes from something," said Mrs. Makely, with the +courage of her convictions. + +She was evidently not going to be put down by that sour young fellow, and +I was glad of it, though I must say I thought the thing she left to rankle +in his mind from our former meeting had not been said in very good taste. +I thought, too, that she would not fare best in any encounter of wits with +him, and I rather trembled for the result. I said, to relieve the strained +situation: "I wish there was some way of our knowing each other better. +I'm sure there's a great deal of good-will on both sides." + +"No, there isn't," said Camp, "or at least I can answer for our side that +there isn't. You come into the country to get as much for your money as +you can, and we mean to let you have as little as we can. That's the whole +story, and if Mr. Homos believes anything different, he's very much +mistaken." + +"I hadn't formed any conclusion in regard to the matter, which is quite +new to me," said the Altrurian, mildly. "But why is there no basis of +mutual kindness between you?" + +"Because it's like everything else with us; it's a question of supply and +demand, and there is no room for any mutual kindness in a question of that +kind. Even if there were, there is another thing that would kill it. The +summer folks, as we call them, look down on the natives, as they call us, +and we know it." + +"Now, Mr. Camp, I am sure that you cannot say _I_ look down on the +natives," said Mrs. Makely, with an air of argument. + +The young fellow laughed. "Oh yes, you do," he said, not unamiably, and he +added, "and you've got the right to. We're not fit to associate with you, +and you know it, and we know it. You've got more money, and you've got +nicer clothes, and you've got prettier manners. You talk about things that +most natives never heard of, and you care for things they never saw. I +know it's the custom to pretend differently, but I'm not going to pretend +differently." + +I recalled what my friend the banker said about throwing away cant, and I +asked myself if I were in the presence of some such free spirit again. I +did not see how young Camp could afford it; but then I reflected that he +had really nothing to lose by it, for he did not expect to make anything +out of us; Mrs. Makely would probably not give up his sister as seamstress +if the girl continued to work so well and so cheaply as she said. + +"Suppose," he went on, "that some old native took you at your word, and +came to call upon you at the hotel, with his wife, just as one of the city +cottagers would do if he wanted to make your acquaintance?" + +"I should be perfectly delighted," said Mrs. Makely, "and I should receive +them with the greatest possible cordiality." + +"The same kind of cordiality that you would show to the cottagers?" + +"I suppose that I should feel that I had more in common with the +cottagers. We should be interested in the same things, and we should +probably know the same people and have more to talk about--" + +"You would both belong to the same class, and that tells the whole story. +If you were out West, and the owner of one of those big twenty-thousand-acre +farms called on you with his wife, would you act toward them as you +would toward our natives? You wouldn't. You would all be rich people +together, and you would understand one another because you had money." + +"Now, that is not so," Mrs. Makely interrupted. "There are plenty of rich +people one wouldn't wish to know at all, and who really can't get into +society--who are ignorant and vulgar. And then, when you come to money, I +don't see but what country people are as glad to get it as anybody." + +"Oh, gladder," said the young man. + +"Well?" demanded Mrs. Makely, as if this were a final stroke of logic. The +young man did not reply, and Mrs. Makely continued: "Now I will appeal to +your sister to say whether she has ever seen any difference in my manner +toward her from what I show to all the young ladies in the hotel." The +young girl flushed and seemed reluctant to answer. "Why, Lizzie!" cried +Mrs. Makely, and her tone showed that she was really hurt. + +The scene appeared to me rather cruel, and I glanced at Mrs. Camp with an +expectation that she would say something to relieve it. But she did not. +Her large, benevolent face expressed only a quiet interest in the +discussion. + +"You know very well, Mrs. Makely," said the girl, "you don't regard me as +you do the young ladies in the hotel." + +There was no resentment in her voice or look, but only a sort of regret, +as if, but for this grievance, she could have loved the woman from whom +she had probably had much kindness. The tears came into Mrs. Makely's +eyes, and she turned toward Mrs. Camp. "And is this the way you _all_ feel +toward us?" she asked. + +"Why shouldn't we?" asked the invalid, in her turn. "But, no, it isn't the +way all the country people feel. Many of them feel as you would like to +have them feel; but that is because they do not think. When they think, +they feel as we do. But I don't blame you. You can't help yourselves any +more than we can. We're all bound up together in that, at least." + +At this apparent relenting Mrs. Makely tricked her beams a little, and +said, plaintively, as if offering herself for further condolence: "Yes, +that is what that woman at the little shanty back there said: some have to +be rich, and some have to be poor; it takes all kinds to make a world." + +"How would you like to be one of those that have to be poor?" asked young +Camp, with an evil grin. + +"I don't know," said Mrs. Makely, with unexpected spirit; "but I am sure +that I should respect the feelings of all, rich or poor." + +"I am sorry if we have hurt yours, Mrs. Makely," said Mrs. Camp, with +dignity. "You asked us certain questions, and we thought you wished us to +reply truthfully. We could not answer you with smooth things." + +"But sometimes you do," said Mrs. Makely, and the tears stood in her eyes +again. "And you know how fond I am of you all!" + +Mrs. Camp wore a bewildered look. "Perhaps we have said more than we +ought. But I couldn't help it, and I don't see how the children could, +when you asked them here, before Mr. Homos." + +I glanced at the Altrurian, sitting attentive and silent, and a sudden +misgiving crossed my mind concerning him. Was he really a man, a human +entity, a personality like ourselves, or was he merely a sort of spiritual +solvent, sent for the moment to precipitate whatever sincerity there was +in us, and show us what the truth was concerning our relations to one +another? It was a fantastic conception, but I thought it was one that I +might employ in some sort of purely romantic design, and I was +professionally grateful for it. I said, with a humorous gayety: "Yes, we +all seem to have been compelled to be much more honest than we like; and +if Mr. Homos is going to write an account of his travels when he gets +home, he can't accuse us of hypocrisy, at any rate. And I always used to +think it was one of our virtues! What with Mr. Camp, here, and my friend +the banker at the hotel, I don't think he'll have much reason to complain +even of our reticence." + +"Well, whatever he says of us," sighed Mrs. Makely, with a pious glance at +the sword over the bed, "he will have to say that, in spite of our +divisions and classes, we are all Americans, and, if we haven't the same +opinions and ideas on minor matters, we all have the same country." + +"I don't know about that," came from Reuben Camp, with shocking +promptness. "I don't believe we all have the same country. America is one +thing for you, and it's quite another thing for us. America means ease and +comfort and amusement for you, year in and year out, and if it means work, +it's work that you _wish_ to do. For us, America means work that we _have_ +to do, and hard work all the time if we're going to make both ends meet. +It means liberty for you; but what liberty has a man got who doesn't know +where his next meal is coming from? Once I was in a strike, when I was +working on the railroad, and I've seen men come and give up their liberty +for a chance to earn their family's living. They knew they were right, and +that they ought to have stood up for their rights; but they had to lie +down and lick the hand that fed them. Yes, we are all Americans, but I +guess we haven't all got the same country, Mrs. Makely. What sort of a +country has a blacklisted man got?" + +"A blacklisted man?" she repeated. "I don't know what you mean." + +"Well, a kind of man I've seen in the mill towns, that the bosses have all +got on their books as a man that isn't to be given work on any account; +that's to be punished with hunger and cold, and turned into the street, +for having offended them; and that's to be made to suffer through his +helpless family for having offended them." + +"Excuse me, Mr. Camp," I interposed, "but isn't a blacklisted man usually +a man who has made himself prominent in some labor trouble?" + +"Yes," the young fellow answered, without seeming sensible of the point I +had made. + +"Ah!" I returned. "Then you can hardly blame the employers for taking it +out of him in any way they can. That's human nature." + +"Good heavens!" the Altrurian cried out. "Is it possible that in America +it is human nature to take away the bread of a man's family because he has +gone counter to your interest or pleasure on some economical question?" + +"Well, Mr. Twelvemough seems to think so," sneered the young man. "But +whether it's human nature or not, it's a fact that they do it, and you can +guess how much a blacklisted man must love the country where such a thing +can happen to him. What should you call such a thing as blacklisting in +Altruria?" + +"Oh yes," Mrs. Makely pleaded, "do let us get him to talking about +Altruria on any terms. I think all this about the labor question is so +tiresome; don't you, Mrs. Camp?" + +Mrs. Camp did not answer; but the Altrurian said, in reply to her son: "We +should have no name for such a thing, for with us such a thing would be +impossible. There is no crime so heinous with us that the punishment would +take away the criminal's chance of earning his living." + +"Oh, if he was a criminal," said young Camp, "he would be all right +_here_. The state would give him a chance to earn his living then." + +"But if he had no other chance of earning his living, and had committed no +offence against the laws--" + +"Then the state would let him take to the road--like that fellow." + +He pulled aside the shade of the window where he sat, and we saw pausing +before the house, and glancing doubtfully at the doorstep, where the dog +lay, a vile and loathsome-looking tramp, a blot upon the sweet and +wholesome landscape, a scandal to the sacred day. His rags burlesqued the +form which they did not wholly hide; his broken shoes were covered with +dust; his coarse hair came in a plume through his tattered hat; his red, +sodden face, at once fierce and timid, was rusty with a fortnight's beard. +He offended the eye like a visible stench, and the wretched carrion seemed +to shrink away from our gaze as if he were aware of his loathsomeness. + +"Really," said Mrs. Makely, "I thought those fellows were arrested now. It +is too bad to leave them at large. They are dangerous." Young Camp left +the room, and we saw him going out toward the tramp. + +"Ah, that's quite right," said the lady. "I hope Reuben is going to send +him about his business. Why, surely, he's not going to feed the horrid +creature!" she added, as Camp, after a moment's parley with the tramp, +turned with him and disappeared round a corner of the house. "Now, Mrs. +Camp, I think that is really a very bad example. It's encouraging them. +Very likely he'll go to sleep in your barn, and set it on fire with his +pipe. What do you do with tramps in Altruria, Mr. Homos?" + +The Altrurian seemed not to have heard her. He said to Mrs. Camp: "Then I +understand from something your son let fall that he has not always been at +home with you here. Does he reconcile himself easily to the country after +the excitement of town life? I have read that the cities in America are +draining the country of the young people." + +"I don't think he was sorry to come home," said the mother, with a touch +of fond pride. "But there was no choice for him after his father died; he +was always a good boy, and he has not made us feel that we were keeping +him away from anything better. When his father was alive we let him go, +because then we were not so dependent, and I wished him to try his fortune +in the world, as all boys long to do. But he is rather peculiar, and he +seems to have got quite enough of the world. To be sure, I don't suppose +he's seen the brightest side of it. He first went to work in the mills +down at Ponkwasset, but he was 'laid off' there when the hard times came +and there was so much overproduction, and he took a job of railroading, +and was braking on a freight-train when his father left us." + +Mrs. Makely said, smiling: "No, I don't think that was the brightest +outlook in the world. No wonder he has brought back such gloomy +impressions. I am sure that if he could have seen life under brighter +auspices he would not have the ideas he has." + +"Very likely," said the mother, dryly. "Our experiences have a great deal +to do with forming our opinions. But I am not dissatisfied with my son's +ideas. I suppose Reuben got a good many of his ideas from his father: he's +his father all over again. My husband thought slavery was wrong, and he +went into the war to fight against it. He used to say when the war was +over that the negroes were emancipated, but slavery was not abolished +yet." + +"What in the world did he mean by that?" demanded Mrs. Makely. + +"Something you wouldn't understand as we do. I tried to carry on the farm +after he first went, and before Reuben was large enough to help me much +and ought to be in school, and I suppose I overdid. At any rate, that was +when I had my first shock of paralysis. I never was very strong, and I +presume my health was weakened by my teaching school so much, and +studying, before I was married. But that doesn't matter now, and hasn't +for many a year. The place was clear of debt then, but I had to get a +mortgage put on it. The savings-bank down in the village took it, and +we've been paying the interest ever since. My husband died paying it, and +my son will pay it all my life, and then I suppose the bank will +foreclose. The treasurer was an old playmate of my husband's, and he said +that as long as either of us lived the mortgage could lie." + +"How splendid of him!" said Mrs. Makely. "I should think you had been very +fortunate." + +"I said that you would not see it as we do," said the invalid, patiently. + +The Altrurian asked: "Are there mortgages on many of the farms in the +neighborhood?" + +"Nearly all," said Mrs. Camp. "We seem to own them, but in fact they own +us." + +Mrs. Makely hastened to say: "My husband thinks it's the best way to have +your property. If you mortgage it close up, you have all your capital +free, and you can keep turning it over. That's what you ought to do, Mrs. +Camp. But what was the slavery that Captain Camp said was not abolished +yet?" + +The invalid looked at her a moment without replying, and just then the +door of the kitchen opened, and Young Camp came in and began to gather +some food from the table on a plate. + +"Why don't you bring him to the table, Reub?" his sister called to him. + +"Oh, he says he'd rather not come in, as long as we have company. He says +he isn't dressed for dinner; left his spike-tail in the city." + +The young man laughed, and his sister with him. + + + + +VIII + + +Young Camp carried out the plate of victuals to the tramp, and Mrs. Makely +said to his mother: "I suppose you would make the tramp do some sort of +work to earn his breakfast on week-days?" + +"Not always," Mrs. Camp replied. "Do the boarders at the hotel always work +to earn their breakfast?" + +"No, certainly not," said Mrs. Makely, with the sharpness of offence. "But +they always pay for it." + +"I don't think that paying for a thing is earning it. Perhaps some one +else earned the money that pays for it. But I believe there is too much +work in the world. If I were to live my life over again, I should not work +half so hard. My husband and I took this place when we were young married +people, and began working to pay for it. We wanted to feel that it was +ours, that we owned it, and that our children should own it afterward. We +both worked all day long like slaves, and many a moonlight night we were +up till morning, almost, gathering the stones from our fields and burying +them in deep graves that we had dug for them. But we buried our youth and +strength and health in those graves, too, and what for? I don't own the +farm that we worked so hard to pay for, and my children won't. That is +what it has all come to. We were rightly punished for our greed, I +suppose. Perhaps no one has a right to own any portion of the earth. +Sometimes I think so, but my husband and I earned this farm, and now the +savings-bank owns it. That seems strange, doesn't it? I suppose you'll say +that the bank paid for it. Well, perhaps so; but the bank didn't earn it. +When I think of that I don't always think that a person who pays for his +breakfast has the best right to a breakfast." + +I could see the sophistry of all this, but I had not the heart to point it +out; I felt the pathos of it, too. Mrs. Makely seemed not to see the one +nor to feel the other very distinctly. "Yes, but surely," she said, "if +you give a tramp his breakfast without making him work for it, you must +see that it is encouraging idleness. And idleness is very corrupting--the +sight of it." + +"You mean to the country people? Well, they have to stand a good deal of +that. The summer folks that spend four or five months of the year here +don't seem to do anything from morning till night." + +"Ah, but you must recollect that they are _resting_! You have no idea how +hard they all work in town during the winter," Mrs. Makely urged, with an +air of argument. + +"Perhaps the tramps are resting, too. At any rate, I don't think the sight +of idleness in rags, and begging at back doors, is very corrupting to the +country people; I never heard of a single tramp who had started from the +country; they all come from the cities. It's the other kind of idleness +that tempts our young people. The only tramps that my son says he ever +envies are the well-dressed, strong young fellows from town that go +tramping through the mountains for exercise every summer." + +The ladies both paused. They seemed to have got to the end of their +tether; at least, Mrs. Makely had apparently nothing else to advance, and +I said, lightly: "But that is just the kind of tramps that Mr. Homos would +most disapprove of. He says that in Altruria they would consider exercise +for exercise' sake a wicked waste of force and little short of lunacy." + +I thought my exaggeration might provoke him to denial, but he seemed not +to have found it unjust. "Why, you know," he said to Mrs. Camp, "in +Altruria every one works with his hands, so that the hard work shall not +all fall to any one class; and this manual labor of each is sufficient to +keep the body in health, as well as to earn a living. After the three, +hours' work, which constitutes a day's work with us, is done, the young +people have all sorts of games and sports, and they carry them as late +into life as the temperament of each demands. But what I was saying to Mr. +Twelvemough--perhaps I did not make myself clear--was that we should +regard the sterile putting forth of strength in exercise, if others were +each day worn out with hard manual labor, as insane or immoral. But I can +account for it differently with you, because I understand that in your +conditions a person of leisure could not do any manual labor without +taking away the work of some one who needed it to live by; and could not +even relieve an overworked laborer, and give him the money for the work, +without teaching him habits of idleness. In Altruria we can all keep +ourselves well by doing each his share of hard work, and we can help those +who are exhausted, when such a thing happens, without injuring them +materially or morally." + +Young Camp entered at this moment, and the Altrurian hesitated. "Oh, do go +on!" Mrs. Makely entreated. She added to Camp: "We've got him to talking +about Altruria at last, and we wouldn't have him stopped for worlds." + +The Altrurian looked around at all our faces, and no doubt read our eager +curiosity in them. He smiled and said: "I shall be very glad, I'm sure. +But I do not think you will find anything so remarkable in our +civilization, if you will conceive of it as the outgrowth of the +neighborly instinct. In fact, neighborliness is the essence of +Altrurianism. If you will imagine having the same feeling toward all," he +explained to Mrs. Makely, "as you have toward your next-door neighbor--" + +"My next-door neighbor!" she cried. "But I don't _know_ the people next +door! We live in a large apartment house, some forty families, and I +assure you I do not know a soul among them." + +He looked at her with a puzzled air, and she continued: "Sometimes it +_does_ seem rather hard. One day the people on the same landing with us +lost one of their children, and I should never have been a whit the wiser +if my cook hadn't happened to mention it. The servants all know each +other; they meet in the back elevator, and get acquainted. I don't +encourage it. You can't tell what kind of families they belong to." + +"But surely," the Altrurian persisted, "you have friends in the city whom +you think of as your neighbors?" + +"No, I can't say that I have," said Mrs. Makely. "I have my visiting-list, +but I shouldn't think of anybody on _that_ as a neighbor." + +The Altrurian looked so blank and baffled that I could hardly help +laughing. "Then I should not know how to explain Altruria to you, I'm +afraid." + +"Well," she returned, lightly, "if it's anything like neighborliness as +I've seen it in small places, deliver me from it! I like being +independent. That's why I like the city. You're let alone." + +"I was down in New York once, and I went through some of the streets and +houses where the poor people live," said young Camp, "and they seemed to +know each other and to be quite neighborly." + +"And would you like to be all messed in with one another that way?" +demanded the lady. + +"Well, I thought it was better than living as we do in the country, so far +apart that we never see one another, hardly. And it seems to me better +than not having any neighbors at all." + +"Well, every one to his taste," said Mrs. Makely. "I wish you would tell +us how people manage with you socially, Mr. Homos." + +"Why, you know," he began, "we have neither city nor country in your +sense, and so we are neither so isolated nor so crowded together. You feel +that you lose a great deal in not seeing one another oftener?" he asked +Camp. + +"Yes. Folks rust out living alone. It's Human nature to want to get +together." + +"And I understand Mrs. Makely that it is human nature to want to keep +apart?" + +"Oh no, but to come together independently," she answered. + +"Well, that is what we have contrived in our life at home. I should have +to say, in the first place, that--" + +"Excuse me just one moment, Mr. Homos," said Mrs. Makely. This perverse +woman was as anxious to hear about Altruria as any of us, but she was a +woman who would rather hear the sound of her own voice than any other, +even if she were dying, as she would call it, to hear the other. The +Altrurian stopped politely, and Mrs. Makely went on: "I have been thinking +of what Mr. Camp was saying about the blacklisted men, and their all +turning into tramps--" + +"But I didn't say that, Mrs. Makely," the young fellow protested, in +astonishment. + +"Well, it stands to reason that if the tramps have all been blacklisted +men--" + +"But I didn't say that, either." + +"No matter! What I am trying to get at is this: if a workman has made +himself a nuisance to the employers, haven't they a right to punish him in +any way they can?" + +"I believe there's no law yet against blacklisting," said Camp. + +"Very well, then, I don't see what they've got to complain of. The +employers surely know their own business." + +"They claim to know the men's, too. That's what they're always saying; +they will manage their own affairs in their own way. But no man, or +company, that does business on a large scale has any affairs that are not +partly other folks' affairs, too. All the saying in the world won't make +it different." + +"Very well, then," said Mrs. Makely, with a force of argument which she +seemed to think was irresistible, "I think the workmen had better leave +things to the employers, and then they won't get blacklisted. It's as +broad as it's long." + +I confess that, although I agreed with Mrs. Makely in regard to what the +workmen had better do, her position had been arrived at by such +extraordinary reasoning that I blushed for her; at the same time, I wanted +to laugh. She continued, triumphantly: "You see, the employers have ever +so much more at stake." + +"Then men have everything at stake--the work of their hands," said the +young fellow. + +"Oh, but surely," said Mrs. Makely, "you wouldn't set that against +capital? You wouldn't compare the two?" + +"Yes, I should," said Camp, and I could see his eye kindle and his jaw +stiffen. + +"Then I suppose you would say that a man ought to get as much for his work +as an employer gets for his capital. If you think one has as much at stake +as the other, you must think they ought to be paid alike." + +"That is _just_ what I think," said Camp, and Mrs. Makely burst into a +peal of amiable laughter. + +"Now, that is too preposterous!" + +"Why is it preposterous?" he demanded, with a quivering nostril. + +"Why, simply because it _is_" said the lady, but she did not say why, and +although I thought so, too, I was glad she did not attempt to do it, for +her conclusions seemed to me much better than her reasons. + +The old wooden clock in the kitchen began to strike, and she rose briskly +to her feet and went and laid the books she had been holding in her lap on +the table beside Mrs. Camp's bed. "We must really be going," she said, as +she leaned over and kissed the invalid. "It is your dinner-time, and we +shall barely get back for lunch if we go by the Loop road; and I want very +much to have Mr. Homos see the Witch's Falls on the way. I have got two or +three of the books here that Mr. Makely brought me last night--I sha'n't +have time to read them at once--and I'm smuggling in one of Mr. +Twelvemough's, that he's too modest to present for himself." She turned a +gay glance upon me, and Mrs. Camp thanked me, and a number of civilities +followed from all sides. In the process of their exchange, Mrs. Makely's +spirits perceptibly rose, and she came away in high good-humor with the +whole Camp family. "Well, now, I am sure," she said to the Altrurian, as +we began the long ascent of the Loop road, "you must allow that you have +seen some very original characters. But how _warped_ people get living +alone so much! That is the great drawback of the country. Mrs. Camp thinks +the savings-bank did her a real injury in taking a mortgage on her place, +and Reuben seems to have seen just enough of the outside world to get it +all wrong. But they are the best-hearted creatures in the world, and I +know you won't misunderstand them. That unsparing country bluntness--don't +you think it's perfectly delightful? I do like to stir poor Reuben up, and +get him talking. He is a good boy, if he _is_ so wrong-headed, and he's +the most devoted son and brother in the world. Very few young fellows +would waste their lives on an old farm like that; I suppose, when his +mother dies, he will marry and strike out for himself in some growing +place." + +"He did not seem to think the world held out any very bright inducements +for him to leave home," the Altrurian suggested. + +"Oh, let him get one of these lively, pushing Yankee girls for a wife, and +he will think very differently," said Mrs. Makely. + +The Altrurian disappeared that afternoon, and I saw little or nothing of +him till the next day at supper. Then he said he had been spending the +time with young Camp, who had shown him something of the farm-work, and +introduced him to several of the neighbors; he was very much interested in +it all, because at home he was, at present, engaged in farm-work himself, +and he was curious to contrast the American and Altrurian methods. We +began to talk of the farming interest again, later in the day, when the +members of our little group came together, and I told them what the +Altrurian had been doing. The doctor had been suddenly called back to +town; but the minister was there, and the lawyer and the professor and the +banker and the manufacturer. + +It was the banker who began to comment on what I said, and he seemed to be +in the frank humor of the Saturday night before. "Yes," he said, "it's a +hard life, and they have to look sharp if they expect to make both ends +meet. I would not like to undertake it myself with their resources." + +The professor smiled, in asking the Altrurian: "Did your agricultural +friends tell you anything of the little rural traffic in votes that they +carry on about election time? That is one of the side means they have of +making both ends meet." + +"I don't understand," said the Altrurian. + +"Why, you know, you can buy votes among our virtuous yeomen from two +dollars up at the ordinary elections. When party feeling runs high, and +there are vital questions at stake, the votes cost more." + +The Altrurian looked round at us all aghast. "Do, you mean that Americans +buy votes?" + +The professor smiled again. "Oh no; I only mean that they sell them. Well, +I don't wonder that they rather prefer to blink the fact; but it is a +fact, nevertheless, and pretty notorious." + +"Good heavens!" cried the Altrurian. "And what defence have they for such +treason? I don't mean those who sell; from what I have seen of the +bareness and hardship of their lives, I could well imagine that there +might sometimes come a pinch when they would be glad of the few dollars +that they could get in that way; but what have those who buy to say?" + +"Well," said the professor, "it isn't a transaction that's apt to be +talked about much on either side." + +"I think," the banker interposed, "that there is some exaggeration about +that business; but it certainly exists, and I suppose it is a growing evil +in the country. I fancy it arises, somewhat, from a want of, clear +thinking on the subject. Then there is no doubt but it comes, sometimes, +from poverty. A man sells his vote, as a woman sells her person, for +money, when neither can turn virtue into cash. They feel that they must +live, and neither of them would be satisfied if Dr. Johnson told them he +didn't see the necessity. In fact, I shouldn't myself, if I were in their +places. You can't have the good of a civilization like ours without having +the bad; but I am not going to deny that the bad is bad. Some people like +to do that; but I don't find my account in it. In either case, I confess +that I think the buyer is worse than the seller--incomparably worse. I +suppose you are not troubled with either case in Altruria?" + +"Oh no!" said the Altrurian, with an utter horror, which no repetition of +his words can give the sense of. "It would be unimaginable." + +"Still," the banker suggested, "you have cakes and ale, and at times the +ginger is hot in the mouth?" + +"I don't pretend that we have immunity from error; but upon such terms as +you have described we have none. It would be impossible." + +The Altrurian's voice expressed no contempt, but only a sad patience, a +melancholy surprise, such as a celestial angel might feel in being +suddenly confronted with some secret shame and horror of the Pit. + +"Well," said the banker, "with us the only way is to take the business +view and try to strike an average somewhere." + +"Talking of business," said the professor, turning to the manufacturer, +who had been quietly smoking, "why don't some of you capitalists take hold +of farming here in the East, and make a business of it as they do in the +West?" + +"Thank you," said the other; "if you mean me, I would rather not invest." +He was silent a moment, and then he went on, as if the notion were +beginning to win upon him: "It may come to something like that, though. If +it does, the natural course, I should think, would be through the +railroads. It would be a very easy matter for them to buy up all the good +farms along their lines and put tenants on them, and run them in their own +interest. Really, it isn't a bad scheme. The waste in the present method +is enormous, and there is no reason why the roads should not own the +farms, as they are beginning to own the mines. They could manage them +better than the small farmers do in every way. I wonder the thing hasn't +occurred to some smart railroad man." + +We all laughed a little, perceiving the semi-ironical spirit of his talk; +but the Altrurian must have taken it in dead earnest: "But, in that case, +the number of people thrown out of work would be very great, wouldn't it? +And what would become of them?" + +"Well, they would have whatever their farms brought to make a new start +with somewhere else; and, besides, that question of what would become of +people thrown out of work by a given improvement is something that capital +cannot consider. We used to introduce a bit of machinery in the mill, +every now and then, that threw out a dozen or a hundred people; but we +couldn't stop for that." + +"And you never knew what became of them?" + +"Sometimes. Generally not. We took it for granted that they would light on +their feet somehow." + +"And the state--the whole people--the government--did nothing for them?" + +"If it became a question of the poor-house, yes." + +"Or the jail," the lawyer suggested. + +"Speaking of the poor-house," said the professor, "did our exemplary rural +friends tell you how they sell out their paupers to the lowest bidder, and +get them boarded sometimes as low as a dollar and a quarter a week?" + +"Yes, young Mr. Camp told me of that. He seemed to think it was terrible." + +"Did he? Well, I'm glad to hear that of young Mr. Camp. From all that I've +been told before, he seems to reserve his conscience for the use of +capitalists. What does he propose to do about it?" + +"He seems to think the state ought to find work for them." + +"Oh, paternalism! Well, I guess the state won't." + +"That was his opinion, too." + +"It seems a hard fate," said the minister, "that the only provision the +law makes for people who are worn out by sickness or a life of work should +be something that assorts them with idiots and lunatics, and brings such +shame upon them that it is almost as terrible as death." + +"It is the only way to encourage independence and individuality," said the +professor. "Of course, it has its dark side. But anything else would be +sentimental and unbusinesslike, and, in fact, un-American." + +"I am not so sure that it would be un-Christian," the minister timidly +ventured, in the face of such an authority on political economy. + +"Oh, as to that, I must leave the question to the reverend clergy," said +the professor. + +A very unpleasant little silence followed. It was broken by the lawyer, +who put his feet together, and, after a glance down at them, began to say: +"I was very much interested this afternoon by a conversation I had with +some of the young fellows in the hotel. You know most of them are +graduates, and they are taking a sort of supernumerary vacation this +summer before they plunge into the battle of life in the autumn. They were +talking of some other fellows, classmates of theirs, who were not so +lucky, but had been obliged to begin the fight at once. It seems that our +fellows here are all going in for some sort of profession: medicine or law +or engineering or teaching or the church, and they were commiserating +those other fellows not only because they were not having the +supernumerary vacation, but because they were going into business. That +struck me as rather odd, and I tried to find out what it meant, and, as +nearly as I could find out, it meant that most college graduates would not +go into business if they could help it. They seemed to feel a sort of +incongruity between their education and the business life. They pitied the +fellows that had to go in for it, and apparently the fellows that had to +go in for it pitied themselves, for the talk seemed to have begun about a +letter that one of the chaps here had got from poor Jack or Jim somebody, +who had been obliged to go into his father's business, and was groaning +over it. The fellows who were going to study professions were hugging +themselves at the contrast between their fate and his, and were making +remarks about business that were, to say the least, unbusinesslike. A few +years ago we should have made a summary disposition of the matter, and I +believe some of the newspapers still are in doubt about the value of a +college education to men who have got to make their way. What do you +think?" + +The lawyer addressed his question to the manufacturer, who answered, with +a comfortable satisfaction, that he did not think those young men if they +went into business would find that they knew too much. + +"But they pointed out," said the lawyer, "that the great American fortunes +had been made by men who had never had their educational advantages, and +they seemed to think that what we call the education of a gentleman was a +little too good for money-making purposes." + +"Well," said the other, "they can console themselves with the reflection +that going into business isn't necessarily making money; it isn't +necessarily making a living, even." + +"Some of them seem to have caught on to that fact; and they pitied Jack or +Jim partly because the chances were so much against him. But they pitied +him mostly because in the life before him he would have no use for his +academic training, and he had better not gone to college at all. They said +he would be none the better for it, and would always be miserable when he +looked back to it." + +The manufacturer did not reply, and the professor, after a preliminary +hemming, held his peace. It was the banker who took the word: "Well, so +far as business is concerned, they were right. It is no use to pretend +that there is any relation between business and the higher education. +There is no business man who will pretend that there is not often an +actual incompatibility if he is honest. I know that when we get together +at a commercial or financial dinner we talk as if great merchants and +great financiers were beneficent geniuses, who evoked the prosperity of +mankind by their schemes from the conditions that would otherwise have +remained barren. Well, very likely they are, but we must all confess that +they do not know it at the time. What they are consciously looking out for +then is the main chance. If general prosperity follows, all well and good; +they are willing to be given the credit for it. But, as I said, with +business as business, the 'education of a gentleman' has nothing to do. +That education is always putting the old Ciceronian question: whether the +fellow arriving at a starving city with a cargo of grain is bound to tell +the people before he squeezes them that there are half a dozen other +fellows with grain just below the horizon. As a gentleman he would have to +tell them, because he could not take advantage of their necessities; but, +as a business man, he would think it bad business to tell them, or no +business at all. The principle goes all through; I say, business is +business; and I am not going to pretend that business will ever be +anything else. In our business battles we don't take off our hats to the +other side and say, 'Gentlemen of the French Guard, have the goodness to +fire.' That may be war, but it is not business. We seize all the +advantages we can; very few of us would actually deceive; but if a fellow +believes a thing, and we know he is wrong, we do not usually take the +trouble to set him right, if we are going to lose anything by undeceiving +him. That would not be business. I suppose you think that is dreadful?" He +turned smilingly to the minister. + +"I wish--I wish," said the minister, gently, "it could be otherwise." + +"Well, I wish so, too," returned the banker. "But it isn't. Am I right or +am I wrong?" he demanded of the manufacturer, who laughed. + +"I am not conducting this discussion. I will not deprive you of the +floor." + +"What you say," I ventured to put in, "reminds me of the experience of a +friend of mine, a brother novelist. He wrote a story where the failure of +a business man turned on a point just like that you have instanced. The +man could have retrieved himself if he had let some people believe that +what was so was not so, but his conscience stepped in and obliged him to +own the truth. There was a good deal of talk about the case, I suppose, +because it was not in real life, and my friend heard divers criticisms. He +heard of a group of ministers who blamed him for exalting a case of common +honesty, as if it were something extraordinary; and he heard of some +business men who talked it over and said he had worked the case up +splendidly, but he was all wrong in the outcome--the fellow would never +have told the other fellows. They said it would not have been business." + +We all laughed except the minister and the Altrurian; the manufacturer +said: "Twenty-five years hence, the fellow who is going into business may +pity the fellows who are pitying him for his hard fate now." + +"Very possibly, but not necessarily," said the banker. "Of course, the +business man is on top, as far as money goes; he is the fellow who makes +the big fortunes; the millionaire lawyers and doctors and ministers are +exceptional. But his risks are tremendous. Ninety-five times out of a +hundred he fails. To be sure, he picks up and goes on, but he seldom gets +there, after all." + +"Then in your system," said the Altrurian, "the great majority of those +who go into what you call the battle of life are defeated?" + +"The killed, wounded, and missing sum up a frightful total," the banker +admitted. "But whatever the end is, there is a great deal of prosperity on +the way. The statistics are correct, but they do not tell the whole truth. +It is not so bad as it seems. Still, simply looking at the material +chances, I don't blame those young fellows for not wanting to go into +business. And when you come to other considerations! We used to cut the +knot of the difficulty pretty sharply; we said a college education was +wrong, or the hot and hot American spread-eaglers did. Business is the +national ideal, and the successful business man is the American type. It +is a business man's country." + +"Then, if I understand you," said the Altrurian, "and I am very anxious to +have a clear understanding of the matter, the effect of the university +with you is to unfit a youth for business life." + +"Oh no. It may give him great advantages in it, and that is the theory and +expectation of most fathers who send their sons to the university. But, +undoubtedly, the effect is to render business life distasteful. The +university nurtures all sorts of lofty ideals, which business has no use +for." + +"Then the effect is undemocratic?" + +"No, it is simply unbusinesslike. The boy is a better democrat when he +leaves college than he will be later, if he goes into business. The +university has taught him and equipped him to use his own gifts and powers +for his advancement; but the first lesson of business, and the last, is to +use other men's gifts and powers. If he looks about him at all, he sees +that no man gets rich simply by his own labor, no matter how mighty a +genius he is, and that, if you want to get rich, you must make other men +work for you, and pay you for the privilege of doing so. Isn't that true?" + +The banker turned to the manufacturer with this question, and the other +said: "The theory is, that we give people work," and they both laughed. + +The minister said: "I believe that in Altruria no man works for the profit +of another?" + +"No; each works for the profit of all," replied the Altrurian. + +"Well," said the banker, "you seem to have made it go. Nobody can deny +that. But we couldn't make it go here." + +"Why? I am very curious to know why our system seems so impossible to +you." + +"Well, it is contrary to the American spirit. It is alien to our love of +individuality." + +"But we prize individuality, too, and we think we secure it under our +system. Under yours, it seems to me that while the individuality of the +man who makes other men work for him is safe, except from itself, the +individuality of the workers--" + +"Well, that is their lookout. We have found that, upon the whole, it is +best to let every man look out for himself. I know that, in a certain +light, the result has an ugly aspect; but, nevertheless, in spite of all, +the country is enormously prosperous. The pursuit of happiness, which is +one of the inalienable rights secured to us by the Declaration, is, and +always has been, a dream; but the pursuit of the dollar yields tangible +proceeds, and we get a good deal of excitement out of it as it goes on. +You can't deny that we are the richest nation in the world. Do you call +Altruria a rich country?" + +I could not quite make out whether the banker was serious or not in all +this talk; sometimes I suspected him of a fine mockery, but the Altrurian +took him upon the surface of his words. + +"I hardly know whether it is or not. The question of wealth does not enter +into our scheme. I can say that we all have enough, and that no one is +even in the fear of want." + +"Yes, that is very well. But we should think it was paying too much for it +if we had to give up the hope of ever having more than we wanted," and at +this point the banker uttered his jolly laugh, and I perceived that he had +been trying to draw the Altrurian out and practise upon his patriotism. It +was a great relief to find that he had been joking in so much that seemed +a dead give-away of our economical position. "In Altruria," he asked, "who +is your ideal great man? I don't mean personally, but abstractly." + +The Altrurian thought a moment. "With us there is so little ambition for +distinction, as you understand it, that your question is hard to answer. +But I should say, speaking largely, that it was some man who had been able +for the time being to give the greatest happiness to the greatest +number--some artist or poet or inventor or physician." + +I was somewhat surprised to have the banker take this preposterous +statement seriously, respectfully. "Well, that is quite conceivable with +your system. What should you say," he demanded of the rest of us +generally, "was our ideal of greatness?" + +No one replied at once, or at all, till the manufacturer said: "We will +let you continue to run it." + +"Well, it is a very curious inquiry, and I have thought it over a good +deal. I should say that within a generation our ideal has changed twice. +Before the war, and during all the time from the Revolution onward, it was +undoubtedly the great politician, the publicist, the statesman. As we grew +older and began to have an intellectual life of our own, I think the +literary fellows had a pretty good share of the honors that were going--that +is, such a man as Longfellow was popularly considered a type of +greatness. When the war came, it brought the soldier to the front, and +there was a period of ten or fifteen years when he dominated the national +imagination. That period passed, and the great era of material prosperity +set in. The big fortunes began to tower up, and heroes of another sort +began to appeal to our admiration. I don't think there is any doubt but +the millionaire is now the American ideal. It isn't very pleasant to think +so, even for people who have got on, but it can't very hopefully be +denied. It is the man with the most money who now takes the prize in our +national cake-walk." + +The Altrurian turned curiously toward me, and I did my best to tell him +what a cake-walk was. When I had finished, the banker resumed, only to +say, as he rose from his chair to bid us good-night: "In any average +assembly of Americans the greatest millionaire would take the eyes of all +from the greatest statesman, the greatest poet, or the greatest soldier we +ever had. That," he added to the Altrurian, "will account to you for many +things as you travel through our country." + + + + +IX + + +The next time the members of our little group came together, the +manufacturer began at once upon the banker: + +"I should think that our friend the professor, here, would hardly like +that notion of yours, that business, as business, has nothing to do with +the education of a gentleman. If this is a business man's country, and if +the professor has nothing in stock but the sort of education that business +has no use for, I should suppose that he would want to go into some other +line." + +The banker mutely referred the matter to the professor, who said, with +that cold grin of his which I hated: + +"Perhaps we shall wait for business to purge and live cleanly. Then it +will have some use for the education of a gentleman." + +"I see," said the banker, "that I have touched the quick in both of you, +when I hadn't the least notion of doing so. But I shouldn't really like to +prophesy which will adapt itself to the other--education or business. Let +us hope there will be mutual concessions. There are some pessimists who +say that business methods, especially on the large scale of the trusts and +combinations, have grown worse instead of better; but this may be merely +what is called a 'transition state.' Hamlet must be cruel to be kind; the +darkest hour comes before dawn--and so on. Perhaps when business gets +the whole affair of life into its hands, and runs the republic, as its +enemies now accuse it of doing, the process of purging and living cleanly +will begin. I have known lots of fellows who started in life rather +scampishly; but when they felt secure of themselves, and believed that +they could afford to be honest, they became so. There's no reason why the +same thing shouldn't happen on a large scale. We must never forget that we +are still a very novel experiment, though we have matured so rapidly in +some respects that we have come to regard ourselves as an accomplished +fact. We are really less so than we were forty years ago, with all the +tremendous changes since the war. Before that we could take certain +matters for granted. If a man got out of work, he turned his hand to +something else; if a man failed in business, he started in again from some +other direction; as a last resort, in both cases, he went West, pre-empted +a quarter-section of public land, and grew up with the country. Now the +country is grown up; the public land is gone; business is full on all +sides, and the hand that turned itself to something else has lost its +cunning. The struggle for life has changed from a free-fight to an +encounter of disciplined forces, and the free-fighters that are left get +ground to pieces between organized labor and organized capital. Decidedly, +we are in a transition state, and if the higher education tried to adapt +itself to business needs, there are chances that it might sacrifice itself +without helping business. After all, how much education does business +need? Were our great fortunes made by educated men, or men of university +training? I don't know but these young fellows are right about that." + +"Yes, that may all be," I put in. "But it seems to me that you give Mr. +Homos, somehow, a wrong impression of our economic life by your +generalizations. You are a Harvard man yourself." + +"Yes, and I am not a rich man. A million or two, more or less; but what is +that? I have suffered, at the start and all along, from the question as to +what a man with the education of a gentleman ought to do in such and such +a juncture. The fellows who have not that sort of education have not that +sort of question, and they go in and win." + +"So you admit, then," said the professor, "that the higher education +elevates a business man's standard of morals?" + +"Undoubtedly. That is one of its chief drawbacks," said the banker, with a +laugh. + +"Well," I said, with the deference due even to a man who had only a +million or two, more or less, "we must allow _you_ to say such things. But +if the case is so bad with the business men who have made the great +fortunes--the business men who have never had the disadvantage of a +university education--I wish you would explain to Mr. Homos why, in every +public exigency, we instinctively appeal to the business sense of the +community as if it were the fountain of wisdom, probity, and equity. +Suppose there were some question of vital interest--I won't say financial, +but political or moral or social--on which it was necessary to rouse +public opinion, what would be the first thing to do? To call a meeting +over the signatures of the leading business men, because no other names +appeal with such force to the public. You might get up a call signed by +all the novelists, artists, ministers, lawyers, and doctors in the state, +and it would not have a tithe of the effect, with the people at large, +that a call signed by a few leading merchants, bank presidents, railroad +men, and trust officers would have. What is the reason? It seems strange +that I should be asking you to defend yourself against yourself." + +"Not at all, my dear fellow, not at all," the banker replied, with his +caressing bonhomie. "Though I will confess, to begin with, that I do not +expect to answer your question to your entire satisfaction. I can only do +my best--on the instalment plan." + +He turned to the Altrurian, and then went on: "As I said the other night, +this is a business man's country. We are a purely commercial people; money +is absolutely to the fore; and business, which is the means of getting the +most money, is the American ideal. If you like, you may call it the +American fetish; I don't mind calling it so myself. The fact that business +is our ideal, or our fetish, will account for the popular faith in +business men, who form its priesthood, its hierarchy. I don't know, +myself, any other reason for regarding business men as solider than +novelists or artists or ministers, not to mention lawyers and doctors. +They are supposed to have long heads; but it appears that ninety-five +times out of a hundred they haven't. They are supposed to be very +reliable; but it is almost invariably a business man of some sort who gets +out to Canada while the state examiner is balancing his books, and it is +usually the longest headed business men who get plundered by him. No, it +is simply because business is our national ideal that the business man is +honored above all other men among us. In the aristocratic countries they +forward a public object under the patronage of the nobility and gentry; in +a plutocratic country they get the business men to indorse it. I suppose +that the average American citizen feels that they wouldn't indorse a thing +unless it was safe; and the average American citizen likes to be safe--he +is cautious. As a matter of fact, business men are always taking risks, +and business is a game of chance, in a certain degree. Have I made myself +intelligible?" + +"Entirely so," said the Altrurian; and he seemed so thoroughly well +satisfied that he forbore asking any further question. + +No one else spoke. The banker lighted a cigar, and resumed at the point +where he left off when I ventured to enter upon the defence of his class +with him. I must say that he had not convinced me at all. At that moment +I would rather have trusted him, in any serious matter of practical +concern, than all the novelists I ever heard of. But I thought I would +leave the word to him, without further attempt to reinstate him in his +self-esteem. In fact, he seemed to be getting along very well without it, +or else he was feeling that mysterious control from the Altrurian which I +had already suspected him of using. Voluntarily or involuntarily, the +banker proceeded with his contribution to the Altrurian's stock of +knowledge concerning our civilization: + +"I don't believe, however, that the higher education is any more of a +failure, as a provision for a business career, than the lower education is +for the life of labor. I suppose that the hypercritical observer might say +that in a wholly commercial civilization like ours the business man really +needed nothing beyond the three R's, and the working-man needed no R at +all. As a practical affair, there is a good deal to be said in favor of +that view. The higher education is part of the social ideal which we have +derived from the past, from Europe. It is part of the provision for the +life of leisure, the life of the aristocrat, which nobody of our +generation leads, except women. Our women really have some use for the +education of a gentleman, but our men have none. How will that do for a +generalization?" the banker asked of me. + +"Oh," I admitted, with a laugh, "it is a good deal like one of my own. I +have always been struck with that phase of our civilization." + +"Well, then," the banker resumed, "take the lower education. That is part +of the civic ideal which, I suppose, I may say we evolved from the depths +of our inner consciousness of what an American citizen ought to be. It +includes instruction in all the R's, and in several other letters of the +alphabet. It is given free by the state, and no one can deny that it is +thoroughly socialistic in conception and application." + +"Distinctly so," said the professor. "Now that the text-books are +furnished by the state, we have only to go a step further and provide a +good, hot lunch for the children every day, as they do in Paris." + +"Well," the banker returned, "I don't know that I should have much to say +against that. It seems as reasonable as anything in the system of +education which we force upon the working classes. _They_ know perfectly +well, whether we do or not, that the three R's will not make their +children better mechanics or laborers, and that, if the fight for a mere +living is to go on from generation to generation, they will have no +leisure to apply the little learning they get in the public schools for +their personal culture. In the mean time we deprive the parents of their +children's labor, in order that they may be better citizens for their +schooling, as we imagine; I don't know whether they are or not. We offer +them no sort of compensation for their time, and I think we ought to feel +obliged to them for not wanting wages for their children while we are +teaching them to be better citizens." + +"You know," said the professor, "that has been suggested by some of their +leaders." + +"No, really? Well, that is too good!" The banker threw back his head and +roared, and we all laughed with him. When we had sobered down again, he +said: "I suppose that when a working-man makes all the use he can of his +lower education he becomes a business man, and then he doesn't need the +higher. Professor, you seem to be left out in the cold by our system, +whichever way you take it." + +"Oh," said the professor, "the law of supply and demand works both ways: +it creates the demand, if the supply comes first; and if we keep on giving +the sons of business men the education of a gentleman, we may yet make +them feel the need of it. We shall evolve a new sort of business man." + +"The sort that can't make money, or wouldn't exactly like to, on some +terms?" asked the banker. "Well, perhaps we shall work out our democratic +salvation in that way. When you have educated your new business man to the +point where he can't consent to get rich at the obvious cost of others, +you've got him on the way back to work with his hands. He will sink into +the ranks of labor, and give the fellow with the lower education a chance. +I've no doubt he'll take it. I don't know but you're right, professor." + +The lawyer had not spoken as yet. Now he said: "Then it is education, +after all, that is to bridge the chasm between the classes and the masses, +though it seems destined to go a long way around about it. There was a +time, I believe, when we expected religion to do that." + +"Well, it may still be doing it, for all I know," said the banker. "What +do you say?" he asked, turning to the minister. "You ought to be able to +give us some statistics on the subject with that large congregation of +yours. You preach to more people than any other pulpit in your city." + +The banker named one of the principal cities in the East, and the minister +answered, with, modest pride: "I am not sure of that; but our society is +certainly a very large one." + +"Well, and how many of the lower classes are there in it--people who work +for their living with their hands?" + +The minister stirred uneasily in his chair, and at last he said, with +evident unhappiness: "They--I suppose--they have their own churches. I +have never thought that such a separation of the classes was right; and I +have had some of the very best people--socially and financially--with me +in the wish that there might be more brotherliness between the rich and +poor among us. But as yet--" + +He stopped; the banker pursued: "Do you mean there are _no_ working-people +in your congregation?" + +"I cannot think of any," returned the minister, so miserably that the +banker forbore to press the point. + +The lawyer broke the awkward pause which followed: "I have heard it +asserted that there is no country in the world where the separation of the +classes is so absolute as in ours. In fact, I once heard a Russian +revolutionist, who had lived in exile all over Europe, say that he had +never seen anywhere such a want of kindness or sympathy between rich and +poor as he had observed in America. I doubted whether he was right. But he +believed that, if it ever came to the industrial revolution with us, the +fight would be more uncompromising than any such fight that the world had +ever seen. There was no respect from low to high, he said, and no +consideration from high to low, as there were in countries with traditions +and old associations." + +"Well," said the banker, "there may be something in that. Certainly, so +far as the two forces have come into conflict here, there has been no +disposition, on either side, to 'make war with the water of roses.' It's +astonishing, in fact, to see how ruthless the fellows who have just got up +are toward the fellows who are still down. And the best of us have been up +only a generation or two--and the fellows who are still down know it." + +"And what do you think would be the outcome of such a conflict?" I asked, +with my soul divided between fear of it and the perception of its +excellence as material. My fancy vividly sketched the outline of a story +which should forecast the struggle and its event, somewhat on the plan of +the Battle of Dorking. + +"We should beat," said the banker, breaking his cigar-ash off with his +little finger; and I instantly cast him, with his ironic calm, for the +part of a great patrician leader in my "Fall of the Republic." Of course, +I disguised him somewhat, and travestied his worldly bonhomie with the +bluff sang-froid of the soldier; these things are easily done. + +"What makes you think we should beat?" asked the manufacturer, with a +certain curiosity. + +"Well, all the good jingo reasons: we have got the materials for beating. +Those fellows throw away their strength whenever they begin to fight, and +they've been so badly generalled, up to the present time, that they have +wanted to fight at the outset of every quarrel. They have been beaten in +every quarrel, but still they always want to begin by fighting. That is +all right. When they have learned enough to begin by _voting_, then we +shall have to look out. But if they keep on fighting, and always putting +themselves in the wrong and getting the worst of it, perhaps we can fix +the voting so we needn't be any more afraid of that than we are of the +fighting. It's astonishing how short-sighted they are. They, have no +conception of any cure for their grievances except more wages and fewer +hours." + +"But," I asked, "do you really think they have any just grievances?" + +"Of course not, as a business man," said the banker. "If I were a +working-man, I should probably think differently. But we will suppose, for +the sake of argument, that their day is too long and their pay is too +short. How do they go about to better themselves? They strike. Well, a +strike is a fight, and in a fight, nowadays, it is always skill and money +that win. The working-men can't stop till they have put themselves outside +of the public sympathy which the newspapers say is so potent in their +behalf; I never saw that it did them the least good. They begin by +boycotting, and breaking the heads of the men who want to work. They +destroy property, and they interfere with business--the two absolutely +sacred things in the American religion. Then we call out the militia and +shoot a few of them, and their leaders declare the strike off. It is +perfectly simple." + +"But will it be quite as simple," I asked, reluctant in behalf of my +projected romance, to have the matter so soon disposed of--"will it be +quite so simple if their leaders ever persuade the working-men to leave +the militia, as they threaten to do, from time to time?" + +"No, not quite so simple," the banker admitted. "Still, the fight would be +comparatively simple. In the first place, I doubt--though I won't be +certain about it--whether there are a great many working-men in the +militia now. I rather fancy it is made up, for the most part, of clerks +and small tradesmen and book-keepers, and such employs of business as +have time and money for it. I may be mistaken." + +No one seemed able to say whether he was mistaken or not; and, after +waiting a moment, he proceeded: "I feel pretty sure that it is so in the +city companies and regiments, at any rate, and that if every working-man +left them it would not seriously impair their effectiveness. But when the +working-men have left the militia, what have they done? They have +eliminated the only thing that disqualifies it for prompt and unsparing +use against strikers. As long as they are in it we might have our +misgivings, but if they were once out of it we should have none. And what +would they gain? They would not be allowed to arm and organize as an +inimical force. _That_ was settled once for all in Chicago, in the case of +the International Groups. A few squads of policemen would break them up. +Why," the banker exclaimed, with his good-humored laugh, "how preposterous +they are when you come to look at it! They are in the majority, the +immense majority, if you count the farmers, and they prefer to behave as +if they were the hopeless minority. They say they want an eight-hour law, +and every now and then they strike and try to fight it. Why don't they +_vote_ it? They could _make_ it the law in six months by such overwhelming +numbers that no one would dare to evade or defy it. They can make any law +they want, but they prefer to break such laws as we have. That 'alienates +public sympathy,' the newspapers say; but the spectacle of their stupidity +and helpless wilfulness is so lamentable that I could almost pity them. If +they chose, it would take only a few years to transform our government +into the likeness of anything they wanted. But they would rather not have +what they want, apparently, if they can only keep themselves from getting +it, and they have to work hard to do that!" + +"I suppose," I said, "that they are misled by the un-American principles +and methods of the Socialists among them." + +"Why, no," returned the banker, "I shouldn't say that. As far as I +understand it, the Socialists are the only fellows among them who propose +to vote their ideas into laws, and nothing can be more American than that. +I don't believe the Socialists stir up the strikes--at least, among our +working-men; though the newspapers convict them of it, generally without +trying them. The Socialists seem to accept the strikes as the inevitable +outcome of the situation, and they make use of them as proofs of the +industrial discontent. But, luckily for the status, our labor leaders are +not Socialists, for your Socialist, whatever you may say against him, has +generally thought himself into a Socialist. He knows that until the +working-men stop fighting, and get down to voting--until they consent to +be the majority--there is no hope for them. I am not talking of +anarchists, mind you, but of Socialists, whose philosophy is more law, not +less, and who look forward to an order so just that it can't be +disturbed." + +"And what," the minister faintly said, "do you think will be the outcome +of it all?" + +"We had that question the other night, didn't we? Our legal friend here +seemed to feel that we might rub along indefinitely as we are doing, or +work out an Altruria of our own; or go back to the patriarchal stage and +own our working-men. He seemed not to have so much faith in the logic of +events as I have. I doubt if it is altogether a woman's logic. _Parole +femmine, fatti maschi,_ and the logic of events isn't altogether words; +it's full of hard knocks, too. But I'm no prophet. I can't forecast the +future; I prefer to take it as it comes. There's a little tract of William +Morris's, though--I forget just what he calls it--that is full of curious +and interesting speculation on this point. He thinks that, if we keep the +road we are now going, the last state of labor will be like its first, and +it will be owned." + +"Oh, I don't believe that will ever happen in America," I protested. + +"Why not?" asked the banker. "Practically, it is owned already in a vastly +greater measure than we recognize. And where would the great harm be? The +new slavery would not be like the old. There needn't be irresponsible +whipping and separation of families, and private buying and selling. The +proletariate would probably be owned by the state, as it was at one time +in Greece; or by large corporations, which would be much more in keeping +with the genius of our free institutions; and an enlightened public +opinion would cast safeguards about it in the form of law to guard it from +abuse. But it would be strictly policed, localized, and controlled. There +would probably be less suffering than there is now, when a man may be +cowed into submission to any terms through the suffering of his family; +when he may be starved out and turned out if he is unruly. You may be sure +that nothing of that kind would happen in the new slavery. We have not had +nineteen hundred years of Christianity for nothing." + +The banker paused, and, as the silence continued, he broke it with a +laugh, which was a prodigious relief to my feelings, and I suppose to the +feelings of all. I perceived that he had been joking, and I was confirmed +in this when he turned to the Altrurian and laid his hand upon his +shoulder. "You see," he said, "I'm a kind of Altrurian myself. What is the +reason why we should not found a new Altruria here on the lines I've +drawn? Have you never had philosophers--well, call them philanthropists; I +don't mind--of my way of thinking among you?" + +"Oh yes," said the Altrurian. "At one time, just before we emerged from +the competitive conditions, there was much serious question whether +capital should not own labor instead of labor owning capital. That was +many hundred years ago." + +"I am proud to find myself such an advanced thinker," said the banker. +"And how came you to decide that labor should own capital?" + +"We voted it," answered the Altrurian. + +"Well," said the banker, "our fellows are still fighting it, and getting +beaten." + +I found him later in the evening talking with Mrs. Makely. "My dear sir," +I said, "I liked your frankness with my Altrurian friend immensely; and it +may be well to put the worst foot foremost; but what is the advantage of +not leaving us a leg to stand upon?" + +He was not in the least offended at my boldness, as I had feared he might +be, but he said, with that jolly laugh of his: "Capital! Well, perhaps I +have worked my candor a little too hard; I suppose there is such a thing. +But don't you see that it leaves me in the best possible position to carry +the war into Altruria when we get him to open up about his native land?" + +"Ah! If you can get him to do it." + +"Well, we were just talking about that. Mrs. Makely has a plan." + +"Yes," said the lady, turning an empty chair near her own toward me. "Sit +down and listen." + + + + +X + + +I sat down, and Mrs. Makely continued: "I have thought it all out, and I +want you to confess that in all practical matters a woman's brain is +better than a man's. Mr. Bullion, here, says it is, and I want you to say +so, too." + +"Yes," the banker admitted, "when it comes down to business a woman is +worth any two of us." + +"And we have just been agreeing," I coincided, "that the only gentlemen +among us are women. Mrs. Makely, I admit, without further dispute, that +the most unworldly woman is worldlier than the worldliest man; and that in +all practical matters we fade into dreamers and doctrinaires beside you. +Now, go on." + +But she did not mean to let me off so easily. She began to brag herself +up, as women do whenever you make them the slightest concession. + +"Here, you men," she said, "have been trying for a whole week to get +something out of Mr. Homos about his country, and you have left it to a +poor, weak woman, at last, to think how to manage it. I do believe that +you get so much interested in your own talk, when you are with him, that +you don't let him get in a word, and that's the reason you haven't found +out anything about Altruria yet from him." + +In view of the manner in which she had cut in at Mrs. Camp's, and stopped +Homos on the very verge of the only full and free confession he had ever +been near making about Altruria, I thought this was pretty cool; but, for +fear of worse, I said: + +"You're quite right, Mrs. Makely. I'm sorry to say that there has been a +shameful want of self-control among us, and that, if we learn anything at +all from him, it will be because you have taught us how." + +She could not resist this bit of taffy. She scarcely gave herself time to +gulp it before she said: + +"Oh, it's very well to say that now! But where would you have been if I +hadn't set my wits to work? Now, listen! It just popped into my mind, like +an inspiration, when I was thinking of something altogether different. It +flashed upon me in an instant: a good object, and a public occasion." + +"Well?" I said, finding this explosion and electrical inspiration rather +enigmatical. + +"Why, you know, the Union Chapel, over in the village, is in a languishing +condition, and the ladies have been talking all summer about doing +something for it, getting up something--a concert or theatricals or a +dance or something--and applying the proceeds to repainting and papering +the visible church; it needs it dreadfully. But, of course, those things +are not exactly religious, don't you know; and a fair is so much trouble; +and _such_ a bore, when you get the articles ready, even; and everybody +feels swindled; and now people frown on raffles, so there is no use +thinking of them. What you want is something striking. We did think of a +parlor-reading, or perhaps ventriloquism; but the performers all charge so +much that there wouldn't be anything left after paying expenses." + +She seemed to expect some sort of prompting at this point; so I said: +"Well?" + +"Well," she repeated, "that is just where your Mr. Homos comes in." + +"Oh! How does he come in there?" + +"Why, get him to deliver a Talk on Altruria. As soon as he knows it's for +a good object, he will be on fire to do it; and they must live so much in +common there that the public occasion will be just the thing that will +appeal to him." + +It did seem a good plan to me, and I said so. But Mrs. Makely was so much +in love with it that she was not satisfied with my modest recognition. + +"Good? It's magnificent! It's the very thing! And I have thought it out, +down to the last detail--" + +"Excuse me," I interrupted. "Do you think there is sufficient general +interest in the subject, outside of the hotel, to get a full house for +him? I shouldn't like to see him subjected to the mortification of empty +benches." + +"What in the world are you thinking of? Why, there isn't a farm-house, +anywhere within ten miles, where they haven't heard of Mr. Homos; and +there isn't a servant under this roof, or in any of the boarding-houses, +who doesn't know something about Altruria and want to know more. It seems +that your friend has been much oftener with the porters and the +stable-boys than he has been with us." + +I had only too great reason to fear so. In spite of my warnings and +entreaties, he had continued to behave toward every human being he met +exactly as if they were equals. He apparently could not conceive of that +social difference which difference of occupation creates among us. He +owned that he saw it, and from the talk of our little group he knew it +existed; but, when I expostulated with him upon some act in gross +violation of society usage, he only answered that he could not imagine +that what he saw and knew could actually be. It was quite impossible to +keep him from bowing with the greatest deference to our waitress; he shook +hands with the head-waiter every morning as well as with me; there was a +fearful story current in the house, that he had been seen running down one +of the corridors to relieve a chambermaid laden with two heavy water-pails +which she was carrying to the rooms to fill up the pitchers. This was +probably not true; but I myself saw him helping in the hotel hay-field one +afternoon, shirt-sleeved like any of the hired men. He said that it was +the best possible exercise, and that he was ashamed he could give no +better excuse for it than the fact that without something of the kind he +should suffer from indigestion. It was grotesque, and out of all keeping +with a man of his cultivation and breeding. He was a gentleman and a +scholar, there was no denying, and yet he did things in contravention of +good form at every opportunity, and nothing I could say had any effect +with him. I was perplexed beyond measure, the day after I had reproached +him for his labor in the hay-field, to find him in a group of table-girls, +who were listening while the head-waiter read aloud to them in the shade +of the house; there was a corner looking toward the stables which was +given up to them by tacit consent of the guests during a certain part of +the afternoon. + +I feigned not to see him, but I could not forbear speaking to him about it +afterward. He took it in good part, but he said he had been rather +disappointed in the kind of literature they liked and the comments they +made on it; he had expected that with the education they had received, and +with their experience of the seriousness of life, they would prefer +something less trivial. He supposed, however, that a romantic love-story, +where a poor American girl marries an English lord, formed a refuge for +them from the real world which promised them so little and held them so +cheap. It was quite useless for one to try to make him realize his +behavior in consorting with servants as a kind of scandal. + +The worst of it was that his behavior, as I could see, had already begun +to demoralize the objects of his misplaced politeness. At first the +servants stared and resented it, as if it were some tasteless joke; but in +an incredibly short time, when they saw that he meant his courtesy in good +faith, they took it as their due. I had always had a good understanding +with the head-waiter, and I thought I could safely smile with him at the +queer conduct of my friend toward himself and his fellow-servants. +To my astonishment he said: "I don't see why he shouldn't treat them as if +they were ladies and gentlemen. Doesn't he treat you and your friends so?" + +It was impossible to answer this, and I could only suffer in silence, and +hope the Altrurian would soon go. I had dreaded the moment when the +landlord should tell me that his room was wanted; now I almost desired it; +but he never did. On the contrary, the Altrurian was in high favor with +him. He said he liked to see a man make himself pleasant with everybody; +and that he did not believe he had ever had a guest in the house who was +so popular all round. + +"Of course," Mrs. Makely went on, "I don't criticise him--with his +peculiar traditions. I presume I should be just so myself if I had been +brought up in Altruria, which, thank goodness, I wasn't. But Mr. Homos is +a perfect dear, and all the women in the house are in love with him, from +the cook's helpers, up and down. No, the only danger is that there won't +be room in the hotel parlors for all the people that will want to hear +him, and we shall have to make the admission something that will be +prohibitive in most cases. We shall have to make it a dollar." + +"Well," I said, "I think that will settle the question as far as the +farming population is concerned. It's twice as much as they ever pay for a +reserved seat in the circus, and four times as much as a simple admission. +I'm afraid, Mrs. Makely, you're going to be very few, though fit." + +"Well, I've thought it all over, and I'm going to put the tickets at one +dollar." + +"Very good. Have you caught your hare?" + +"No, I haven't yet. And I want you to help me catch him. What do you think +is the best way to go about it?" + +The banker said he would leave us to the discussion of that question, but +Mrs. Makely could count upon him in everything if she could only get the +man to talk. At the end of our conference we decided to interview the +Altrurian together. + +I shall always be ashamed of the way that woman wheedled the Altrurian, +when we found him the next morning, walking up and down the piazza, before +breakfast--that is, it was before our breakfast; when we asked him to go +in with us, he said he had just had his breakfast, and was waiting for +Reuben Camp, who had promised to take him up as he passed with a load of +hay for one of the hotels in the village. + +"Ah, that reminds me, Mr. Homos," the unscrupulous woman began on him at +once. "We want to interest you in a little movement we're getting up for +the Union Chapel in the village. You know it's the church where all the +different sects have their services; alternately. Of course, it's rather +an original way of doing, but there is sense in it where the people are +too poor to go into debt for different churches, and--" + +"It's admirable!" said the Altrurian. "I have heard about it from the +Camps. It is an emblem of the unity which ought to prevail among +Christians of all professions. How can I help you, Mrs. Makely?" + +"I knew you would approve of it!" she exulted. "Well, it's simply this: +The poor little place has got so shabby that _I'm_ almost ashamed to be +seen going into it, for one; and want to raise money enough to give it a +new coat of paint outside and put on some kind of pretty paper, of an +ecclesiastical pattern, on the inside. I declare, those staring white +walls, with the cracks in the plastering zigzagging every _which_ way, +distract me so that I can't put my mind on the sermon. Don't you think +that paper, say of a Gothic design, would be a great improvement? I'm sure +it would; and it's Mr. Twelvemough's idea, too." + +I learned this fact now for the first time; but, with Mrs. Makely's +warning eye upon me, I could not say so, and I made what sounded to me +like a Gothic murmur of acquiescence. It sufficed for Mrs. Makely's +purpose, at any rate, and she went on, without giving the Altrurian a +chance to say what he thought the educational effect of wall-paper would +be: + +"Well, the long and short of it is that we want you to make this money for +us, Mr. Homos." + +"I?" He started in a kind of horror. "My dear lady, I never made any money +in my life. I should think it _wrong_ to make money." + +"In Altruria, yes. We all know how it is in your delightful country, and I +assure you that no one could respect your conscientious scruples more than +I do. But you must remember that you are in America now. In America you +have to make money, or else--get left. And then you must consider the +object, and all the good you can do, indirectly, by a little Talk on +Altruria." + +He answered, blandly: "A little Talk on Altruria? How in the world should +I get money by that?" + +She was only too eager to explain, and she did it with so much volubility +and at such great length that I, who am good for nothing till I have had +my cup of coffee in the morning, almost perished of an elucidation which +the Altrurian bore with the sweetest patience. + +When she gave him a chance to answer, at last, he said: "I shall be very +happy to do what you wish, madam." + +"_Will_ you?" she screamed. "Oh, I'm so glad! You _have_ been so slippery +about Altruria, you know, that I expected nothing but a point-blank +refusal. Of course, I knew you would be kind about it. Oh, I can hardly +believe my senses! You can't think what a dear you are." I knew she had +got that word from some English people who had been in the hotel; and she +was working it rather wildly, but it was not my business to check her. +"Well, then, all you have got to do is to leave the whole thing to me, and +not bother about it a bit till I send and tell you we are ready to listen. +There comes Reuben, with his ox-team. Thank you so much, Mr. Homos. No one +need be ashamed to enter the house of God"--she said Gawd, in an access of +piety--"after we get that paint and paper on it; and we shall have them on +before two Sabbaths have passed over it." + +She wrung the Altrurian's hand; I was only afraid she was going to kiss +him. + +"There is but one stipulation I should like to make," he began. + +"Oh, a thousand," she cut in. + +"And that is, there shall be no exclusion from my lecture on account of +occupation or condition. That is a thing that I can in no wise +countenance, even in America; it is far more abhorrent to me even than +money-making, though they are each a part and parcel of the other." + +"I thought it was that," she retorted, joyously. "And I can assure you, +Mr. Homos, there shall be nothing of that kind. Every one--I don't care +who it is or what they do--shall hear you who buys a ticket. Now, will +that do?" + +"Perfectly," said the Altrurian, and he let her wring his hand again. + +She pushed hers through my arm as we started for the dining-room, and +leaned over to whisper jubilantly: "That will fix it. He will see how much +his precious lower classes care for Altruria if they have to pay a dollar +apiece to hear about it. And I shall keep faith with him to the letter." + +I could not feel that she would keep it in the spirit; but I could only +groan inwardly and chuckle outwardly at the woman's depravity. + +It seemed to me, though I could not approve of it, a capital joke, and so +it seemed to all the members of the little group whom I had made +especially acquainted with the Altrurian. It is true that the minister was +somewhat troubled with the moral question, which did not leave me wholly +at peace; and the banker affected to find a question of taste involved, +which he said he must let me settle, however, as the man's host; if I +could stand it, he could. No one said anything against the plan to Mrs. +Makely, and this energetic woman made us take two tickets apiece, as soon +as she got them printed, over in the village. She got little hand-bills +printed, and had them scattered about through the neighborhood, at all the +hotels, boarding-houses, and summer cottages, to give notice of the time +and place of the talk on Altruria. She fixed this for the following +Saturday afternoon, in our hotel parlor; she had it in the afternoon so as +not to interfere with the hop in the evening; she put tickets on sale at +the principal houses and at the village drug-store, and she made me go +about with her and help her sell them at some of the cottages in person. + +I must say I found this extremely distasteful, especially where the people +were not very willing to buy, and she had to urge them. They all admitted +the excellence of the object, but they were not so sure about the means. +At several places the ladies asked who was this Mr. Homos, anyway; and how +did she know he was really from Altruria? He might be an impostor. + +Then Mrs. Makely would put me forward, and I would be obliged to give such +account of him as I could, and to explain just how and why he came to be +my guest; with the cumulative effect of bringing back all the misgivings +which I had myself felt at the outset concerning him, and which I had +dismissed as too fantastic. + +The tickets went off rather slowly, even in our own hotel; people thought +them too dear; and some, as soon as they knew the price, said frankly they +had heard enough about Altruria already, and were sick of the whole thing. + +Mrs. Makely said this was quite what she had expected of those people; +that they were horrid and stingy and vulgar; and she should see what face +they would have to ask her to take tickets when _they_ were trying to get +up something. She began to be vexed with herself, she confessed, at the +joke she was playing on Mr. Homos, and I noticed that she put herself +rather defiantly _en evidence_ in his company whenever she could in the +presence of these reluctant ladies. She told me she had not the courage to +ask the clerk how many of the tickets he had sold out of those she had +left at the desk. + +One morning, the third or fourth, as I was going in to breakfast with her, +the head-waiter stopped her as he opened the door, and asked modestly if +she could spare him a few tickets, for he thought he could sell some. To +my amazement the unprincipled creature said: "Why, certainly. How many?" +and instantly took a package out of her pocket, where she seemed always to +have them. He asked, Would twenty be more than she could spare? and she +answered: "Not at all. Here are twenty-five." and bestowed the whole +package upon him. + +That afternoon Reuben Camp came lounging up toward us, where I sat with +her on the corner of the piazza, and said that if she would like to let +him try his luck with some tickets for the Talk he would see what he could +do. + +"You can have all you want, Reuben," she said, "and I hope you'll have +better luck than I have. I'm perfectly disgusted with people." + +She fished several packages out of her pocket this time, and he asked: "Do +you mean that I can have them all?" + +"Every one, and a band of music into the bargain," she answered, +recklessly. But she seemed a little daunted when he quietly took them. +"You know there are a hundred here?" + +"Yes, I should like to see what I can do among the natives. Then there is +a construction train over at the junction, and I know a lot of the +fellows. I guess some of 'em would like to come." + +"The tickets are a dollar each, you know," she suggested. + +"That's all right," said Camp. "Well, good-afternoon." + +Mrs. Makely turned to me with a kind of gasp as he shambled away. "I don't +know about that." + +"About having the whole crew of a construction train at the Talk? I dare +say it won't be pleasant to the ladies who have bought tickets." + +"_Oh_!" said Mrs. Makely, with astonishing contempt, "I don't care what +_they_ think. But Reuben has got all my tickets, and suppose he keeps them +so long that I won't have time to sell any, and then throws them back on +my hands? _I_ know!" she added, joyously. "I can go around now and tell +people that my tickets are all gone; and I'll go instantly and have the +clerk hold all he has left at a premium." + +She came back looking rather blank. + +"He hasn't got a single one left. He says an old native came in this +morning and took every last one of them--he doesn't remember just how +many. I believe they're going to speculate on them; and if Reuben Camp +serves me a trick like that--Why," she broke off, "I believe I'll +speculate on them myself. I should like to know why I shouldn't. Oh, I +should just _like_ to make some of those creatures pay double, or treble, +for the chances they've refused. Ah, Mrs. Bulkham," she called out to a +lady who was coming down the veranda toward us, "you'll be glad to know +I've got rid of all my tickets. _Such_ a relief!" + +"You _have_?" Mrs. Bulkham retorted. + +"Every one." + +"I thought," said Mrs. Bulkham, "that you understood I wanted one for my +daughter and myself, if she came." + +"I certainly didn't," said Mrs. Makely, with a wink of concentrated +wickedness at me. "But, if you do, you will have to say so now, without +any ifs or ands about it; and if any of the tickets come back--I let +friends have a few on sale--I will give you two." + +"Well, I do," said Mrs. Bulkham, after a moment. + +"Very well; it will be five dollars for the two. I feel bound to get all I +can for the cause. Shall I put your name down?" + +"Yes," said Mrs. Bulkham, rather crossly; but Mrs. Makely inscribed her +name on her tablets with a radiant amiability, which suffered no eclipse +when, within the next fifteen minutes, a dozen other ladies hurried up and +bought in at the same rate. + +I could not stand it, and I got up to go away, feeling extremely +_particeps criminis_. Mrs. Makely seemed to have a conscience as light as +air. + +"If Reuben Camp or the head-waiter don't bring back some of those tickets, +I don't know what I shall do. I shall have to put chairs into the aisles +and charge five dollars apiece for as many people as I can crowd in there. +I never knew anything so perfectly providential." + +"I envy you the ability to see it in that light, Mrs. Makely," I said, +faint at heart. "Suppose Camp crowds the place full of his trainmen, how +will the ladies that you've sold tickets to at five dollars apiece like +it?" + +"Pooh! What do I care how they like it! Horrid things! And for repairs on +the house of Gawd, it's the same as being in church, where everybody is +equal." + +The time passed. Mrs. Makely sold chances to all the ladies in the house; +on Friday night Reuben Camp brought her a hundred dollars; the head-waiter +had already paid in twenty-five. "I didn't dare to ask them if they +speculated on them," she confided to me. "Do you suppose they would have +the conscience?" + +They had secured the large parlor of the hotel, where the young people +danced in the evening, and where entertainments were held, of the sort +usually given in summer hotels; we had already had a dramatic reading, a +time with the phonograph, an exhibition of necromancy, a concert by a +college glee club, and I do not know what else. The room would hold +perhaps two hundred people, if they were closely seated, and, by her own +showing, Mrs. Makely had sold above two hundred and fifty tickets and +chances. All Saturday forenoon she consoled herself with the belief that a +great many people at the other hotels and cottages had bought seats +merely to aid the cause, and would not really come; she estimated that at +least fifty would stay away; but, if Reuben Camp had sold his tickets +among the natives, we might expect every one of them to come and get his +money's worth; she did not dare to ask the head-waiter how he had got rid +of his twenty-five tickets. + +The hour set for the Talk to begin was three o'clock, so that people could +have their naps comfortably over, after the one o'clock dinner, and be +just in the right frame of mind for listening. But long before the +appointed time the people who dine at twelve, and never take an afternoon +nap, began to arrive, on foot, in farm-wagons, smart buggies, mud-crusted +carryalls, and all manner of ramshackle vehicles. They arrived as if +coming to a circus, old husbands and wives, young couples and their +children, pretty girls and their fellows, and hitched their horses to the +tails of their wagons, and began to make a picnic lunch in the shadow of +the grove lying between the hotel and the station. About two we heard the +snorting of a locomotive at a time when no train was due, and a +construction train came in view, with the men waving their handkerchiefs +from the windows, and apparently ready for all the fun there was to be in +the thing. Some of them had a small flag in each hand, the American Stars +and Stripes and the white flag of Altruria, in compliment to my guest, I +suppose. A good many of the farmers came over to the hotel to buy tickets, +which they said they expected to get after they came, and Mrs. Makely was +obliged to pacify them with all sorts of lying promises. From moment to +moment she was in consultation with the landlord, who decided to throw +open the dining-room, which connected with the parlor, so as to allow the +help and the neighbors to hear without incommoding the hotel guests. She +said that this took a great burden off her mind, and that now she should +feel perfectly easy, for now no one could complain about being mixed up +with the servants and the natives, and yet every one could hear perfectly. + +She could not rest until she had sent for Homos and told him of this +admirable arrangement. I did not know whether to be glad or not when he +instantly told her that, if there was to be any such separation of his +auditors, in recognition of our class distinctions, he must refuse to +speak at all. + +"Then what in the world are we to do?" she wailed out, and the tears came +into her eyes. + +"Have you got the money for all your tickets?" he asked, with a sort of +disgust for the whole transaction in his tone. + +"Yes, and more, too. I don't believe there's a soul, in the hotel or out +of it, that hasn't paid at least a dollar to hear you; and that makes it +so very embarrassing. Oh, _dear_ Mr. Homos! You won't be so implacably +high-principled as all that! Think that you are doing it for the house of +Gawd." + +The woman made me sick. + +"Then no one," said the Altrurian, "can feel aggrieved, or unfairly used, +if I say what I have to say in the open air, where all can listen equally, +without any manner of preference or distinction. We will go up to the edge +of the grove overlooking the tennis-court, and hold our meeting there, as +the Altrurian meetings are always held, with the sky for a roof, and with +no walls but the horizon." + +"The very thing!" cried Mrs. Makely. "Who would ever have thought you were +so practical, Mr. Homos? I don't believe you're an Altrurian, after all; I +believe you are an American in disguise." + +The Altrurian turned away, without making any response to this flattering +attribution of our nationality to him; but Mrs. Makely had not waited for +any. She had flown off, and I next saw her attacking the landlord, with +such apparent success that he slapped himself on the leg and vanished, and +immediately the porters and bell-boys and all the men-servants began +carrying out chairs to the tennis-court, which was already well set round +with benches. In a little while the whole space was covered, and settees +were placed well up the ground toward the grove. + +By half-past two the guests of the hotel came out and took the best seats, +as by right, and the different tallyhoes and mountain wagons began to +arrive from the other hotels, with their silly hotel cries, and their gay +groups dismounted and dispersed themselves over the tennis-court until all +the chairs were taken. It was fine to see how the natives and the trainmen +and the hotel servants, with an instinctive perception of the proprieties, +yielded these places to their superiors, and, after the summer folks were +all seated, scattered themselves on the grass and the pine-needles about +the border of the grove. I should have liked to instance the fact to the +Altrurian, as a proof that this sort of subordination was a part of human +nature, and that a principle which pervaded our civilization, after the +democratic training of our whole national life, must be divinely +implanted. But there was no opportunity for me to speak with him after the +fact had accomplished itself, for by this time he had taken his place in +front of a little clump of low pines and was waiting for the assembly to +quiet itself before he began to speak. I do not think there could have +been less than five hundred present, and the scene had that accidental +picturesqueness which results from the grouping of all sorts of faces and +costumes. Many of our ladies had pretty hats and brilliant parasols, but I +must say that the soberer tone of some of the old farm-wives' brown +calicoes and outdated bonnets contributed to enrich the coloring, and +there was a certain gayety in the sunny glisten of the men's straw hats +everywhere that was very good. + +The sky overhead was absolutely stainless, and the light of the cool +afternoon sun streamed upon the slopes of the solemn mountains to the +east. The tall pines in the background blackened themselves against the +horizon; nearer they showed more and more decidedly their bluish green, +and the yellow of the newly fallen needles painted their aisles deep into +the airy shadows. + +A little wind stirred their tops, and for a moment, just before the +Altrurian began to speak, drew from them an organ-tone that melted +delicately away as his powerful voice rose. + + + + +XI + + +"I could not give you a clear account of the present state of things in my +country," the Altrurian began, "without first telling you something of our +conditions before the time of our Evolution. It seems to be the law of all +life that nothing can come to fruition without dying and seeming to make +an end. It must be sown in corruption before it can be raised in +incorruption. The truth itself must perish to our senses before it can +live to our souls; the Son of Man must suffer upon the cross before we can +know the Son, of God. + +"It was so with His message to the world, which we received in the old +time as an ideal realized by the earliest Christians, who loved one +another and who had all things common. The apostle cast away upon our +heathen coasts won us with the story of this first Christian republic, and +he established a commonwealth of peace and good-will among us in its +likeness. That commonwealth perished, just as its prototype perished, or +seemed to perish; and long ages of civic and economic warfare succeeded, +when every man's hand was against his neighbor, and might was the rule +that got itself called right. Religion ceased to be the hope of this +world, and became the vague promise of the next. We descended into the +valley of the shadow, and dwelt amid chaos for ages before we groped again +into the light. + +"The first glimmerings were few and indistinct, but men formed themselves +about the luminous points here and there, and, when these broke and +dispersed into lesser gleams, still men formed themselves about each of +them. There arose a system of things better, indeed, than that darkness, +but full of war and lust and greed, in which the weak rendered homage to +the strong, and served them in the field and in the camp, and the strong +in turn gave the weak protection against the other strong. It was a juggle +in which the weak did not see that their safety was, after all, from +themselves; but it was an image of peace, however false and fitful, and it +endured for a time. It endured for a limited time, if we measure by the +life of the race; it endured for an unlimited time if we measure by the +lives of the men who were born and died while it endured. + +"But that disorder, cruel and fierce and stupid, which endured because it +sometimes masked itself as order, did at last pass away. Here and there +one of the strong overpowered the rest; then the strong became fewer and +fewer, and in their turn they all yielded to a supreme lord, and +throughout the land there was one rule, as it was called then, or one +misrule, as we should call it now. This rule, or this misrule, continued +for ages more; and again, in the immortality of the race, men toiled and +struggled, and died without the hope of better things. + +"Then the time came when the long nightmare was burst with the vision of a +future in which all men were the law, and not one man, or any less number +of men than all. + +"The poor dumb beast of humanity rose, and the throne tumbled, and the +sceptre was broken, and the crown rolled away into that darkness of the +past. We thought that heaven had descended to us, and that liberty, +equality, and fraternity were ours. We could not see what should again +alienate us from one another, or how one brother could again oppress +another. With a free field and no favor we believed we should prosper on +together, and there would be peace and plenty for all. We had the republic +again after so many ages now, and the republic, as we knew it in our dim +annals, was brotherhood and universal happiness. All but a very few, who +prophesied evil of our lawless freedom, were wrapped in a delirium of +hope. Men's minds and men's hands were suddenly released to an activity +unheard of before. Invention followed invention; our rivers and seas +became the warp of commerce where the steam-sped shuttles carried the woof +of enterprise to and fro with tireless celerity; machines to save labor +multiplied themselves as if they had been procreative forces, and wares of +every sort were produced with incredible swiftness and cheapness. Money +seemed to flow from the ground; vast fortunes 'rose like an exhalation,' +as your Milton says. + +"At first we did not know that they were the breath of the nethermost pits +of hell, and that the love of money, which was becoming universal with us, +was filling the earth with the hate of men. It was long before we came to +realize that in the depths of our steamships were those who fed the fires +with their lives, and that our mines from which we dug our wealth were the +graves of those who had died to the free light and air, without finding +the rest of death. We did not see that the machines for saving labor were +monsters that devoured women and children, and wasted men at the bidding +of the power which no man must touch. + +"That is, we thought we must not touch it, for it called itself prosperity +and wealth and the public good, and it said that it gave bread, and it +impudently bade the toiling myriads consider what would become of them if +it took away their means of wearing themselves out in its service. It +demanded of the state absolute immunity and absolute impunity, the right +to do its will wherever and however it would, without question from the +people who were the final law. It had its way, and under its rule we +became the richest people under the sun. The Accumulation, as we called +this power, because we feared to call it by its true name, rewarded its +own with gains of twenty, of a hundred, of a thousand per cent., and to +satisfy its need, to produce the labor that operated its machines, there +came into existence a hapless race of men who bred their kind for its +service, and whose little ones were its prey almost from their cradles. +Then the infamy became too great, and the law, the voice of the people, so +long guiltily silent, was lifted in behalf of those who had no helper. The +Accumulation came under control for the first time, and could no longer +work its slaves twenty hours a day amid perils to life and limb from its +machinery and in conditions that forbade them decency and morality. The +time of a hundred and a thousand per cent. passed; but still the +Accumulation demanded immunity and impunity, and, in spite of its +conviction of the enormities it had practised, it declared itself the only +means of civilization and progress. It began to give out that it was +timid, though its history was full of the boldest frauds and crimes, and +it threatened to withdraw itself if it were ruled or even crossed; and +again it had its way, and we seemed to prosper more and more. The land was +filled with cities where the rich flaunted their splendor in palaces, and +the poor swarmed in squalid tenements. The country was drained of its life +and force, to feed the centres of commerce and industry. The whole land +was bound together with a network of iron roads that linked the factories +and founderies to the fields and mines, and blasted the landscape with the +enterprise that spoiled the lives of men. + +"Then, all at once, when its work seemed perfect and its dominion sure, +the Accumulation was stricken with consciousness of the lie always at its +heart. It had hitherto cried out for a free field and no favor, for +unrestricted competition; but, in truth, it had never prospered except as +a monopoly. Whenever and wherever competition had play there had been +nothing but disaster to the rival enterprises, till one rose over the +rest. Then there was prosperity for that one. + +"The Accumulation began to act upon its new consciousness. The iron roads +united; the warring industries made peace, each kind under a single +leadership. Monopoly, not competition, was seen to be the beneficent means +of distributing the favors and blessings of the Accumulation to mankind. +But, as before, there was alternately a glut and dearth of things, and +it often happened that when starving men went ragged through the streets +the storehouses were piled full of rotting harvests that the farmers +toiled from dawn till dusk to grow, and the warehouses fed the moth with +the stuffs that the operative had woven his life into at his loom. Then +followed, with a blind and mad succession, a time of famine, when money +could not buy the super-abundance that vanished, none knew how or why. + +"The money itself vanished from time to time, and disappeared into the +vaults of the Accumulation, for no better reason than that for which it +poured itself out at other times. Our theory was that the people--that is +to say, the government of the people--made the people's money, but, as a +matter of fact, the Accumulation made it and controlled it and juggled +with it; and now you saw it, and now you did not see it. The government +made gold coins, but the people had nothing but the paper money that the +Accumulation made. But whether there was scarcity or plenty, the failures +went on with a continuous ruin that nothing could check, while our larger +economic life proceeded in a series of violent shocks, which we called +financial panics, followed by long periods of exhaustion and recuperation. + +"There was no law in our economy, but as the Accumulation had never cared +for the nature of law, it did not trouble itself for its name in our order +of things. It had always bought the law it needed for its own use, first +through the voter at the polls in the more primitive days, and then, as +civilization advanced, in the legislatures and the courts. But the +corruption even of these methods was far surpassed when the era of +consolidation came, and the necessity for statutes and verdicts and +decisions became more stringent. Then we had such a burlesque of--" + +"Look here!" a sharp, nasal voice snarled across the rich, full pipe of +the Altrurian, and we all instantly looked there. The voice came from an +old farmer, holding himself stiffly up, with his hands in his pockets and +his lean frame bent toward the speaker. "When are you goin' to get to +Altrury? We know all about Ameriky." + +He sat down again, and it was a moment before the crowd caught on. Then a +yell of delight and a roar of volleyed laughter went up from the lower +classes, in which, I am sorry to say, my friend the banker joined, so far +as the laughter was concerned. "Good! That's it! First-rate!" came from a +hundred vulgar throats. + +"Isn't it a perfect shame?" Mrs. Makely demanded. "I think some of you +gentlemen ought to say something. What will Mr. Homos think of our +civilization if we let such interruptions go unrebuked?" + +She was sitting between the banker and myself, and her indignation made +him laugh more and more. "Oh, it serves him right," he said. "Don't you +see that he is hoist with his own petard? Let him alone. He's in the hands +of his friends." + +The Altrurian waited for the tumult to die away, and then he said, gently: +"I don't understand." + +The old farmer jerked himself to his feet again. "It's like this: I paid +my dolla' to hear about a country where there wa'n't no co'perations nor +no monop'lies nor no buyin' up cou'ts; and I ain't agoin' to have no +allegory shoved down my throat, instead of a true history, noways. I know +all about how it is _here_. Fi'st, run their line through your backya'd, +and then kill off your cattle, and keep kerryin' on it up from cou't to +cou't, till there ain't hide or hair on 'em left--" + +"Oh, set down, set down! Let the man go on! He'll make it all right with +you," one of the construction gang called out; but the farmer stood his +ground, and I could hear him through the laughing and shouting keep saying +something, from time to time, about not wanting to pay no dolla' for no +talk about co'perations and monop'lies that we had right under our own +noses the whole while, and, you might say, in your very bread-troughs; +till, at last, I saw Reuben Camp make his way toward him, and, after an +energetic expostulation, turn to leave him again. + +Then he faltered out, "I guess it's all right," and dropped out of sight +in the group he had risen from. I fancied his wife scolding him there, and +all but shaking him in public. + +"I should be very sorry," the Altrurian proceeded, "to have any one +believe that I have not been giving you a _bona fide_ account of +conditions in my country before the Evolution, when we first took the name +of Altruria in our great, peaceful campaign against the Accumulation. As +for offering you any allegory or travesty of your own conditions, I will +simply say that I do not know them well enough to do so intelligently. +But, whatever they are, God forbid that the likeness which you seem to +recognize should ever go so far as the desperate state of things which we +finally reached. I will not trouble you with details; in fact, I have been +afraid that I had already treated of our affairs too abstractly; but, +since your own experience furnishes you the means of seizing my meaning, I +will go on as before. + +"You will understand me when I explain that the Accumulation had not +erected itself into the sovereignty with us unopposed. The working-men, +who suffered most from its oppression had early begun to band themselves +against it, with the instinct of self-preservation, first trade by trade +and art by art, and then in congresses and federations of the trades and +arts, until finally they enrolled themselves in one vast union, which +included all the working-men, whom their necessity or their interest did +not leave on the side of the Accumulation. This beneficent and generous +association of the weak for the sake of the weakest did not accomplish +itself fully till the baleful instinct of the Accumulation had reduced the +monopolies to one vast monopoly, till the stronger had devoured the weaker +among its members, and the supreme agent stood at the head of our affairs, +in everything but name, our imperial ruler. We had hugged so long the +delusion of each man for himself that we had suffered all realty to be +taken from us. The Accumulation owned the land as well as the mines under +it and the shops over it; the Accumulation owned the seas and the ships +that sailed the seas, and the fish that swam in their depths; it owned +transportation and distribution, and the wares and products that were to +be carried to and fro; and, by a logic irresistible and inexorable, the +Accumulation _was_, and we were _not_. + +"But the Accumulation, too, had forgotten something. It had found it so +easy to buy legislatures and courts that it did not trouble itself about +the polls. It left us the suffrage, and let us amuse ourselves with the +periodical election of the political clay images which it manipulated and +moulded to any shape and effect at its pleasure. The Accumulation knew +that it was the sovereignty, whatever figure-head we called president or +governor or mayor: we had other names for these officials, but I use their +analogues for the sake of clearness, and I hope my good friend over there +will not think I am still talking about America." + +"No," the old farmer called back, without rising, "we hain't got there +quite yit." + +"No hurry," said a trainman. "All in good time. Go on!" he called to the +Altrurian. + +The Altrurian resumed: + +"There had been, from the beginning, an almost ceaseless struggle between +the Accumulation and the proletariate. The Accumulation always said that +it was the best friend of the proletariate, and it denounced, through the +press which it controlled, the proletarian leaders who taught that it was +the enemy of the proletariate, and who stirred up strikes and tumults of +all sorts, for higher wages and fewer hours. But the friend of the +proletariate, whenever occasion served, treated the proletariate like a +deadly enemy. In seasons of overproduction, as it was called, it locked +the workmen out or laid them off, and left their families to starve, or +ran light work and claimed the credit of public benefactors for running at +all. It sought every chance to reduce wages; it had laws passed to forbid +or cripple the workmen in their strikes; and the judges convicted them of +conspiracy, and wrested the statutes to their hurt, in cases where there +had been no thought of embarrassing them, even among the legislators. God +forbid that you should ever come to such a pass in America; but, if you +ever should, God grant that you may find your way out as simply as we did +at last, when freedom had perished in everything but name among us, and +justice had become a mockery. + +"The Accumulation had advanced so smoothly, so lightly, in all its steps +to the supreme power, and had at last so thoroughly quelled the uprisings +of the proletariate, that it forgot one thing: it forgot the despised and +neglected suffrage. The ballot, because it had been so easy to annul its +effect, had been left in the people's hands; and when, at last, the +leaders of the proletariate ceased to counsel strikes, or any form of +resistance to the Accumulation that could be tormented into the likeness +of insurrection against the government, and began to urge them to attack +it in the political way, the deluge that swept the Accumulation out of +existence came trickling and creeping over the land. It appeared first in +the country, a spring from the ground; then it gathered head in the +villages; then it swelled to a torrent in the cities. I cannot stay to +trace its course; but suddenly, one day, when the Accumulation's abuse of +a certain power became too gross, it was voted out of that power. You will +perhaps be interested to know that it was with the telegraphs that the +rebellion against the Accumulation began, and the government was forced, +by the overwhelming majority which the proletariate sent to our +parliament, to assume a function which the Accumulation had impudently +usurped. Then the transportation of smaller and more perishable wares--" + +"Yes," a voice called--"express business. Go on!" + +"Was legislated a function of the post-office," the Altrurian went on. +"Then all transportation was taken into the hands of the political +government, which had always been accused of great corruption in its +administration, but which showed itself immaculately pure compared with +the Accumulation. The common ownership of mines necessarily followed, with +an allotment of lands to any one who wished to live by tilling the land; +but not a foot of the land was remitted to private hands for the purposes +of selfish pleasure or the exclusion of any other from the landscape. As +all business had been gathered into the grasp of the Accumulation, and the +manufacture of everything they used and the production of everything that +they ate was in the control of the Accumulation, its transfer to the +government was the work of a single clause in the statute. + +"The Accumulation, which had treated the first menaces of resistance with +contempt, awoke to its peril too late. When it turned to wrest the +suffrage from the proletariate, at the first election where it attempted +to make head against them, it was simply snowed under, as your picturesque +phrase is. The Accumulation had no voters, except the few men at its head +and the creatures devoted to it by interest and ignorance. It seemed, at +one moment, as if it would offer an armed resistance to the popular will, +but, happily, that moment of madness passed. Our Evolution was +accomplished without a drop of bloodshed, and the first great political +brotherhood, the commonwealth of Altruria, was founded. + +"I wish that I had time to go into a study of some of the curious phases +of the transformation from a civility in which the people lived _upon_ +each other to one in which they lived _for_ each other. There is a famous +passage in the inaugural message of our first Altrurian president which +compares the new civic consciousness with that of a disembodied spirit +released to the life beyond this and freed from all the selfish cares +and greeds of the flesh. But perhaps I shall give a sufficiently clear +notion of the triumph of the change among us when I say that within half +a decade after the fall of the old plutocratic oligarchy one of the chief +directors of the Accumulation publicly expressed his gratitude to God +that the Accumulation had passed away forever. You will realize the +importance of such an expression in recalling the declarations some of +your slave-holders have made since the Civil War, that they would not have +slavery restored for any earthly consideration. + +"But now, after this preamble, which has been so much longer than I meant +it to be, how shall I give you a sufficiently just conception of the +existing Altruria, the actual state from which I come?" + +"Yes," came the nasal of the old farmer again, "that's what we are here +fur. I wouldn't give a copper to know all you went through beforehand. +It's too dumn like what we have been through ourselves, as fur as heard +from." + +A shout of laughter went up from most of the crowd, but the Altrurian did +not seem to see any fun in it. + +"Well," he resumed, "I will tell you, as well as I can, what Altruria is +like; but, in the first place, you will have to cast out of your minds all +images of civilization with which your experience has filled them. For a +time the shell of the old Accumulation remained for our social habitation, +and we dwelt in the old competitive and monopolistic forms after the life +had gone out of them--that is, we continued to live in populous cities, +and we toiled to heap up riches for the moth to corrupt, and we slaved on +in making utterly useless things, merely because we had the habit of +making them to sell. For a while we made the old sham things, which +pretended to be useful things and were worse than the confessedly useless +things. I will give you an illustration from the trades, which you will +all understand. The proletariate, in the competitive and monopolistic +time, used to make a kind of shoes for the proletariate, or the women of +the proletariate, which looked like fine shoes of the best quality. It +took just as much work to make these shoes as to make the best fine shoes; +but they were shams through and through. They wore out in a week, and the +people called them, because they were bought fresh for every Sunday--" + +"Sat'd'y-night shoes," screamed the old farmer. "I know 'em. My gals buy +'em. Half-dolla' a pai', and not wo'th the money." + +"Well," said the Altrurian, "they were a cheat and a lie in every way, +and under the new system it was not possible, when public attention +was called to the fact, to continue the falsehood they embodied. As soon +as the Saturday-night shoes realized itself to the public conscience, +an investigation began, and it was found that the principle of the +Saturday-night shoe underlay half our industries and made half the work +that was done. + +"Then an immense reform took place. We renounced, in the most solemn +convocation of the whole economy, the principle of the Saturday-night +shoe, and those who had spent their lives in producing sham shoes--" + +"Yes," said the professor, rising from his seat near us and addressing the +speaker, "I shall be very glad to know what became of the worthy and +industrious operatives who were thrown out of employment by this explosion +of economic virtue." + +"Why," the Altrurian replied, "they were set to work making honest shoes; +and, as it took no more time to make a pair of honest shoes which lasted a +year than it took to make a pair of dishonest shoes that lasted a week, +the amount of labor in shoemaking was at once enormously reduced." + +"Yes," said the professor, "I understand that. What became of the +shoemakers?" + +"They joined the vast army of other laborers who had been employed, +directly or indirectly, in the fabrication of fraudulent wares. These +shoemakers--lasters, button-holers, binders, and so on--no longer wore +themselves out over their machines. One hour sufficed where twelve hours +were needed before, and the operatives were released to the happy labor of +the fields, where no one with us toils killingly, from dawn till dusk, but +does only as much work as is needed to keep the body in health. We had a +continent to refine and beautify; we had climates to change and seasons to +modify, a whole system of meteorology to readjust, and the public works +gave employment to the multitudes emancipated from the soul-destroying +service of shams. I can scarcely give you a notion of the vastness of the +improvements undertaken and carried through, or still in process of +accomplishment. But a single one will, perhaps, afford a sufficient +illustration. Our southeast coast, from its vicinity to the pole, had +always suffered from a winter of antarctic rigor; but our first president +conceived the plan of cutting off a peninsula, which kept the equatorial +current from making in to our shores; and the work was begun in his term, +though the entire strip, twenty miles in width and ninety-three in length, +was not severed before the end of the first Altrurian decade. Since that +time the whole region of our southeastern coast has enjoyed the climate of +your Mediterranean countries. + +"It was not only the makers of fraudulent things who were released to +these useful and wholesome labors, but those who had spent themselves in +contriving ugly and stupid and foolish things were set free to the public +employment. The multitude of these monstrosities and iniquities was as +great as that of the shams--" + +Here I lost some words, for the professor leaned over and whispered to me: +"He has got _that_ out of William Morris. Depend upon it, the man is a +humbug. He is not an Altrurian at all." + +I confess that my heart misgave me; but I signalled the professor to be +silent, and again gave the Altrurian--if he was an Altrurian--my whole +attention. + + + + +XII + + +"And so," the Altrurian continued, "when the labor of the community was +emancipated from the bondage of the false to the free service of the true, +it was also, by an inevitable implication, dedicated to beauty and rescued +from the old slavery to the ugly, the stupid, and the trivial. The thing +that was honest and useful became, by the operation of a natural law, a +beautiful thing. + +"Once we had not time enough to make things beautiful, we were so +overworked in making false and hideous things to sell; but now we had all +the time there was, and a glad emulation arose among the trades and +occupations to the end that everything done should be done finely as well +as done honestly. The artist, the man of genius, who worked from the love +of his work, became the normal man, and in the measure of his ability and +of his calling each wrought in the spirit of the artist. We got back the +pleasure of doing a thing beautifully, which was God's primal blessing +upon all His working children, but which we had lost in the horrible days +of our need and greed. There is not a working-man within the sound of my +voice but has known this divine delight, and would gladly know it always +if he only had the time. Well, now we had the time, the Evolution had +given us the time, and in all Altruria there was not a furrow driven or a +swath mown, not a hammer struck on house or on ship, not a stitch sewn or +a stone laid, not a line written or a sheet printed, not a temple raised +or an engine built, but it was done with an eye to beauty as well as to +use. + +"As soon as we were freed from the necessity of preying upon one another, +we found that there was no hurry. The good work would wait to be well +done; and one of the earliest effects of the Evolution was the disuse of +the swift trains which had traversed the continent, night and day, that +one man might overreach another, or make haste to undersell his rival, or +seize some advantage of him, or plot some profit to his loss. Nine-tenths +of the railroads, which in the old times had ruinously competed, and then, +in the hands of the Accumulation, had been united to impoverish and +oppress the people, fell into disuse. The commonwealth operated the few +lines that were necessary for the collection of materials and the +distribution of manufactures, and for pleasure travel and the affairs of +state; but the roads that had been built to invest capital, or parallel +other roads, or 'make work,' as it was called, or to develop resources, +or boom localities, were suffered to fall into ruin; the rails were +stripped from the landscape, which they had bound as with shackles, and +the road-beds became highways for the use of kindly neighborhoods, or +nature recovered them wholly and hid the memory of their former abuse in +grass and flowers and wild vines. The ugly towns that they had forced into +being, as Frankenstein was fashioned, from the materials of the charnel, +and that had no life in or from the good of the community, soon tumbled +into decay. The administration used parts of them in the construction of +the villages in which the Altrurians now mostly live; but generally these +towns were built of materials so fraudulent, in form so vile, that it was +judged best to burn them. In this way their sites were at once purified +and obliterated. + +"We had, of course, a great many large cities under the old egoistic +conditions, which increased and fattened upon the country, and fed their +cancerous life with fresh infusions of its blood. We had several cities of +half a million, and one of more than a million; we had a score of them +with a population of a hundred thousand or more. We were very proud of +them, and vaunted them as a proof of our unparalleled prosperity, though +really they never were anything but congeries of millionaires and the +wretched creatures who served them and supplied them. Of course, there was +everywhere the appearance of enterprise and activity, but it meant final +loss for the great mass of the business men, large and small, and final +gain for the millionaires. These and their parasites dwelt together, the +rich starving the poor and the poor plundering and misgoverning the rich; +and it was the intolerable suffering in the cities that chiefly hastened +the fall of the old Accumulation and the rise of the commonwealth. + +"Almost from the moment of the Evolution the competitive and monopolistic +centres of population began to decline. In the clear light of the new +order it was seen that they were not fit dwelling-places for men, either +in the complicated and luxurious palaces where the rich fenced themselves +from their kind, or in the vast tenements, towering height upon height, +ten and twelve stories up, where the swarming poor festered in vice and +sickness and famine. If I were to tell you of the fashion of those cities +of our egoistic epoch, how the construction was one error from the first, +and every correction of an error bred a new defect, I should make you +laugh, I should make you weep. We let them fall to ruin as quickly as they +would, and their sites are still so pestilential, after the lapse of +centuries, that travelers are publicly guarded against them. Ravening +beasts and poisonous reptiles lurk in those abodes of the riches and the +poverty that are no longer known to our life. A part of one of the less +malarial of the old cities, however, is maintained by the commonwealth in +the form of its prosperity, and is studied by antiquarians for the +instruction, and by moralists for the admonition, it affords. A section of +a street is exposed, and you see the foundations of the houses; you see +the filthy drains that belched into the common sewers, trapped and +retrapped to keep the poison gases down; you see the sewers that rolled +their loathsome tides under the streets, amid a tangle of gas-pipes, +steam-pipes, water-pipes, telegraph-wires, electric lighting-wires, +electric motor-wires, and grip-cables--all without a plan, but makeshifts, +expedients, devices, to repair and evade the fundamental mistake of having +any such cities at all. + +"There are now no cities in Altruria, in your meaning, but there are +capitals, one for each of the regions of our country and one for the whole +commonwealth. These capitals are for the transaction of public affairs, in +which every citizen of Altruria is schooled, and they are the residences +of the administrative officials, who are alternated every year, from the +highest to the lowest. A public employment with us is of no greater honor +or profit than any other, for with our absolute economic equality there +can be no ambition, and there is no opportunity for one citizen to +outshine another. But as the capitals are the centres of all the arts, +which we consider the chief of our public affairs, they are oftenest +frequented by poets, actors, painters, sculptors, musicians, and +architects. We regard all artists, who are in a sort creators, as the +human type which is likest the divine, and we try to conform our whole +industrial life to the artistic temperament. Even in the labors of the +field and shop, which are obligatory upon all, we study the inspiration of +this temperament, and in the voluntary pursuits we allow it full control. +Each, in these, follows his fancy as to what he shall do, and when he +shall do it, or whether he shall do anything at all. In the capitals are +the universities, theatres, galleries, museums, cathedrals, laboratories +and conservatories, and the appliances of every art and science, as well +as the administration buildings; and beauty as well as use is studied in +every edifice. Our capitals are as clean and quiet and healthful as the +country, and these advantages are secured simply by the elimination of the +horse, an animal which we should be as much surprised to find in the +streets of a town as the plesiosaurus or the pterodactyl. All +transportation in the capitals, whether for pleasure or business, is by +electricity, and swift electrical expresses connect the capital of each +region with the villages which radiate from it to the cardinal points. +These expresses run at the rate of a hundred and fifty miles an hour, and +they enable the artist, the scientist, the literary man, of the remotest +hamlet, to visit the capital (when he is not actually resident there in +some public use) every day, after the hours of the obligatory industries; +or, if he likes, he may remain there a whole week or fortnight, giving six +hours a day instead of three to the obligatories, until the time is made +up. In case of very evident merit, or for the purpose of allowing him to +complete some work requiring continuous application, a vote of the local +agents may release him from the obligatories indefinitely. Generally, +however, our artists prefer not to ask this, but avail themselves of the +stated means we have of allowing them to work at the obligatories, and get +the needed exercise and variety of occupation in the immediate vicinity of +the capital. + +"We do not think it well to connect the hamlets on the different lines of +radiation from the capital, except by the good country roads which +traverse each region in every direction. The villages are mainly inhabited +by those who prefer a rural life; they are farming villages; but in +Altruria it can hardly be said that one man is more a farmer than another. +We do not like to distinguish men by their callings; we do not speak of +the poet This or the shoemaker That, for the poet may very likely be a +shoemaker in the obligatories, and the shoemaker a poet in the +voluntaries. If it can be said that one occupation is honored above +another with us, it is that which we all share, and that is the +cultivation of the earth. We believe that this, when not followed +slavishly, or for gain, brings man into the closest relations to the +Deity, through a grateful sense of the divine bounty, and that it not only +awakens a natural piety in him, but that it endears to the worker that +piece of soil which he tills, and so strengthens his love of home. The +home is the very heart of the Altrurian system, and we do not think it +well that people should be away from their homes very long or very often. +In the competitive and monopolistic times men spent half their days in +racing back and forth across our continent; families were scattered by the +chase for fortune, and there was a perpetual paying and repaying of +visits. One-half the income of those railroads which we let fall into +disuse came from the ceaseless unrest. Now a man is born and lives and +dies among his own kindred, and the sweet sense of neighborhood, of +brotherhood, which blessed the golden age of the first Christian republic +is ours again. Every year the people of each region meet one another on +Evolution day, in the regionic capital; once in four years they all visit +the national capital. There is no danger of the decay of patriotism among +us; our country is our mother, and we love her as it is impossible to love +the step-mother that a competitive or monopolistic nation must be to its +citizens. + +"I can only touch upon this feature and that of our system as I chance to +think of it. If any of you are curious about others, I shall be glad to +answer questions as well as I can. We have, of course," the Altrurian +proceeded, after a little indefinite pause, to let any speak who liked, +"no money in your sense. As the whole people control affairs, no man works +for another, and no man pays another. Every one does his share of labor, +and receives his share of food, clothing, and shelter, which is neither +more nor less than another's. If you can imagine the justice and +impartiality of a well-ordered family, you can conceive of the social and +economic life of Altruria. We are, properly speaking, a family rather than +a nation like yours. + +"Of course, we are somewhat favored by our insular, or continental, +position; but I do not know that we are more so than you are. Certainly, +however, we are self-sufficing in a degree unknown to most European +countries; and we have within our borders the materials of every comfort +and the resources of every need. We have no commerce with the egoistic +world, as we call that outside, and I believe that I am the first +Altrurian to visit foreign countries avowedly in my national character, +though we have always had emissaries living abroad incognito. I hope that +I may say without offence that they find it a sorrowful exile, and that +the reports of the egoistic world, with its wars, its bankruptcies, its +civic commotions, and its social unhappiness, do not make us discontented +with our own condition. Before the Evolution we had completed the round of +your inventions and discoveries, impelled by the force that drives you on; +and we have since disused most of them as idle and unfit. But we profit, +now and then, by the advances you make in science, for we are passionately +devoted to the study of the natural laws, open or occult, under which all +men have their being. Occasionally an emissary returns with a sum of +money, and explains to the students of the national university the +processes by which it is lost and won; and at a certain time there was a +movement for its introduction among us, not for its use as you know it, +but for a species of counters in games of chance. It was considered, +however, to contain an element of danger, and the scheme was discouraged. + +"Nothing amuses and puzzles our people more than the accounts our +emissaries give of the changes of fashion in the outside world, and of the +ruin of soul and body which the love of dress often works. Our own dress, +for men and for women, is studied, in one ideal of use and beauty, from +the antique; caprice and vagary in it would be thought an effect of vulgar +vanity. Nothing is worn that is not simple and honest in texture; we do +not know whether a thing is cheap or dear, except as it is easy or hard to +come by, and that which is hard to come by is forbidden as wasteful and +foolish. The community builds the dwellings of the community, and these, +too, are of a classic simplicity, though always beautiful and fit in form; +the splendors of the arts are lavished upon the public edifices, which we +all enjoy in common." + +"Isn't this the greatest rehash of 'Utopia,' 'New Atlantis,' and 'City of +the Sun' that you ever imagined?" the professor whispered across me to the +banker. "The man is a fraud, and a very bungling fraud at that." + +"Well, you must expose him, when he gets through," the banker whispered +back. + +But the professor could not wait. He got upon his feet and called out: +"May I ask the gentleman from Altruria a question?" + +"Certainly," the Altrurian blandly assented. + +"Make it short!" Reuben Camp's voice broke in, impatiently. "We didn't +come here to listen to your questions." + +The professor contemptuously ignored him. "I suppose you occasionally +receive emissaries from, as well as send them to, the world outside?" + +"Yes, now and then castaways land on our coasts, and ships out of their +reckonings put in at our ports for water or provision." + +"And how are they pleased with your system?" + +"Why, I cannot better answer than by saying that they mostly refuse to +leave us." + +"Ah, just as Bacon reports!" cried the professor. + +"You mean in the _New Atlantis_?" returned the Altrurian. "Yes; it is +astonishing how well Bacon in that book, and Sir Thomas More in his +_Utopia_, have divined certain phases of our civilization and polity." + +"I think he rather _has_ you, professor," the banker whispered, with a +laugh. + +"But all those inspired visionaries," the Altrurian continued, while the +professor sat grimly silent, watching for another chance, "who have borne +testimony of us in their dreams, conceived of states perfect without the +discipline of a previous competitive condition. What I thought, however, +might specially interest you Americans in Altruria is the fact that our +economy was evolved from one so like that in which you actually have your +being. I had even hoped you might feel that, in all these points of +resemblance, America prophesies another Altruria. I know that to some of +you all that I have told of my country will seem a baseless fabric, with +no more foundation, in fact, than More's fairy-tale of another land where +men dealt kindly and justly by one another, and dwelt, a whole nation, in +the unity and equality of a family. But why should not a part of that +fable have come true in our polity, as another part of it has come true in +yours? When Sir Thomas More wrote that book, he noted with abhorrence the +monstrous injustice of the fact that men were hanged for small thefts in +England; and in the preliminary conversation between its characters he +denounced the killing of men for any sort of thefts. Now you no longer put +men to death for theft; you look back upon that cruel code of your mother +England with an abhorrence as great as his own. We, for our part, who have +realized the Utopian dream of brotherly equality, look back with the same +abhorrence upon a state where some were rich and some poor, some taught +and some untaught, some high and some low, and the hardest toil often +failed to supply a sufficiency of the food which luxury wasted in its +riots. That state seems as atrocious to us as the state which hanged a man +for stealing a loaf of bread seems to you. + +"But we do not regret the experience of competition and monopoly. They +taught us some things in the operation of the industries. The labor-saving +inventions which the Accumulation perverted to money-making we have +restored to the use intended by their inventors and the Creator of their +inventors. After serving the advantage of socializing the industries which +the Accumulation effected for its own purposes, we continued the work in +large mills and shops, in the interest of the workers, whom we wished to +guard against the evil effects of solitude. But our mills and shops are +beautiful as well as useful. They look like temples, and they are temples, +dedicated to that sympathy between the divine and human which expresses +itself in honest and exquisite workmanship. They rise amid leafy boscages +beside the streams, which form their only power; for we have disused steam +altogether, with all the offences to the eye and ear which its use brought +into the world. Our life is so simple and our needs are so few that the +hand-work of the primitive toilers could easily supply our wants; but +machinery works so much more thoroughly and beautifully that we have in +great measure retained it. Only, the machines that were once the workmen's +enemies and masters are now their friends and servants; and, if any man +chooses to work alone with his own hands, the state will buy what he makes +at the same price that it sells the wares made collectively. This secures +every right of individuality. + +"The farm-work, as well as the mill-work and the shop-work, is done by +companies of workers; and there is nothing of that loneliness in our woods +and fields which, I understand, is the cause of so much insanity among +you. It is not good for man to be alone, was the first thought of his +Creator when he considered him, and we act upon this truth in everything. +The privacy of the family is sacredly guarded in essentials, but the +social instinct is so highly developed with us that we like to eat +together in large refectories, and we meet constantly to argue and dispute +on questions of aesthetics and metaphysics. We do not, perhaps, read so +many books as you do, for most of our reading, when not for special +research, but for culture and entertainment, is done by public readers, to +large groups of listeners. We have no social meetings which are not free +to all; and we encourage joking and the friendly give and take of witty +encounters." + +"A little hint from Sparta," suggested the professor. + +The banker leaned over to whisper to me: "From what I have seen of your +friend when offered a piece of American humor, I should fancy the +Altrurian article was altogether different. Upon the whole, I would rather +not be present at one of their witty encounters, if I were obliged to stay +it out." + +The Altrurian had paused to drink a glass of water, and now he went on: +"But we try, in everything that does not inconvenience or injure others, +to let every one live the life he likes best. If a man prefers to dwell +apart, and have his meals in private for himself alone or for his family, +it is freely permitted; only he must not expect to be served as in public, +where service is one of the voluntaries; private service is not permitted; +those wishing to live alone must wait upon themselves, cook their own +food, and care for their own tables. Very few, however, wish to withdraw +from the public life, for most of the discussions and debates take place +at our mid-day meal, which falls at the end of the obligatory labors, and +is prolonged indefinitely, or as long as people like to chat and joke or +listen to the reading of some pleasant book. + +"In Altruria _there is no hurry_, for no one wishes to outstrip another, +or in any wise surpass him. We are all assured of enough, and are +forbidden any and every sort of superfluity. If any one, after the +obligatories, wishes to be entirely idle, he may be so, but I cannot now +think of a single person without some voluntary occupation; doubtless +there are such persons, but I do not know them. It used to be said, in the +old times, that 'it was human nature' to shirk and malinger and loaf, but +we have found that it is no such thing. We have found that it is human +nature to work cheerfully, willingly, eagerly, at the tasks which all +share for the supply of the common necessities. In like manner we have +found out that it is not human nature to hoard and grudge, but that when +the fear, and even the imagination, of want is taken away, it is human +nature to give and to help generously. We used to say: 'A man will lie, or +a man will cheat, in his own interest; that is human nature'; but that is +no longer human nature with us, perhaps because no man has any interest to +serve; he has only the interests of others to serve, while others serve +his. It is in no wise possible for the individual to separate his good +from the common good; he is prosperous and happy only as all the rest are +so; and therefore it is not human nature with us for any one to lie in +wait to betray another or seize an advantage. That would be ungentlemanly, +and in Altruria every man is a gentleman and every woman a lady. If you +will excuse me here for being so frank, I would like to say something by +way of illustration which may be offensive if you take it personally." + +He looked at our little group, as if he were addressing himself more +especially to us, and the banker called out, jollily: "Go on! I guess we +can stand it," and "Go ahead!" came from all sides, from all kinds of +listeners. + +"It is merely this: that as we look back at the old competitive conditions +we do not see how any man could be a gentleman in them, since a gentleman +must think first of others, and these conditions _compelled_ every man to +think first of himself." + +There was a silence broken by some conscious and hardy laughter, while we +each swallowed this pill as we could. + +"What are competitive conditions?" Mrs. Makely demanded of me. + +"Well, ours are competitive conditions," I said. + +"Very well, then," she returned, "I don't think Mr. Homos is much of a +gentleman to say such a thing to an American audience. Or, wait a moment! +Ask him if the same rule applies to women." + +I rose, strengthened by the resentment I felt, and said: "Do I understand +that in your former competitive conditions it was also impossible for a +woman to be a lady?" + +The professor gave me an applausive nod as I sat down. "I envy you the +chance of that little dig," he whispered. + +The Altrurian was thoughtful a moment, and then he answered: "No, I should +not say it was. From what we know historically of those conditions in our +country, it appears that the great mass of women were not directly +affected by them. They constituted an altruistic dominion of the egoistic +empire, and, except as they were tainted by social or worldly ambitions, +it was possible for every woman to be a lady, even in competitive +conditions. Her instincts were unselfish, and her first thoughts were +nearly always of others." + +Mrs. Makely jumped to her feet and clapped violently with her fan on the +palm of her left hand. "Three cheers for Mr. Homos!" she shrieked, and all +the women took up the cry, supported by all the natives and the +construction gang. I fancied these fellows gave their support largely in a +spirit of burlesque; but they gave it robustly, and from that time on, +Mrs. Makely led the applause, and they roared in after her. + +It is impossible to follow closely the course of the Altrurian's account +of his country, which grew more and more incredible as he went on, and +implied every insulting criticism of ours. Some one asked him about war in +Altruria, and he said: "The very name of our country implies the absence +of war. At the time of the Evolution our country bore to the rest of our +continent the same relative proportion that your country bears to your +continent. The egoistic nations to the north and the south of us entered +into an offensive and defensive alliance to put down, the new altruistic +commonwealth, and declared war against us. Their forces were met at the +frontier by our entire population in arms, and full of the martial spirit +bred of the constant hostilities of the competitive and monopolistic epoch +just ended. Negotiations began in the face of the imposing demonstration +we made, and we were never afterward molested by our neighbors, who +finally yielded to the spectacle of our civilization and united their +political and social fate with ours. At present, our whole continent is +Altrurian. For a long time we kept up a system of coast defences, but it +is also a long time since we abandoned these; for it is a maxim with us +that where every citizen's life is a pledge of the public safety, that +country can never be in danger of foreign enemies. + +"In this, as in all other things, we believe ourselves the true followers +of Christ, whose doctrine we seek to make our life as He made it His. We +have several forms of ritual, but no form of creed, and our religious +differences may be said to be aesthetic and temperamental rather than +theological and essential. We have no denominations, for we fear in this, +as in other matters, to give names to things lest we should cling to the +names instead of the things. We love the realities, and for this reason we +look at the life of a man rather than his profession for proof that he is +a religious man. + +"I have been several times asked, during my sojourn among you, what are +the sources of compassion, of sympathy, of humanity, of charity with us, +if we have not only no want, or fear of want, but not even any economic +inequality. I suppose this is because you are so constantly struck by the +misery arising from economic inequality and want, or the fear of want, +among yourselves, that you instinctively look in that direction. But have +you ever seen sweeter compassion, tenderer sympathy, warmer humanity, +heavenlier charity than that shown in the family where all are +economically equal and no one can want while any other has to give? +Altruria, I say again, is a family, and, as we are mortal, we are still +subject to those nobler sorrows which God has appointed to men, and which +are so different from the squalid accidents that they have made for +themselves. Sickness and death call out the most angelic ministries of +love; and those who wish to give themselves to others may do so without +hinderance from those cares, and even those duties, resting upon men where +each must look out first for himself and for his own. Oh, believe me, +believe me, you can know nothing of the divine rapture of self-sacrifice +while you must dread the sacrifice of another in it. You are not _free_, +as we are, to do everything for others, for it is your _duty_ to do rather +for those of your own household! + +"There is something," he continued, "which I hardly know how to speak of," +and here we all began to prick our ears. I prepared myself as well as I +could for another affront, though I shuddered when the banker hardily +called out: "Don't hesitate to say anything you wish, Mr. Homos. I, for +one, should like to hear you express yourself fully." + +It was always the unexpected, certainly, that happened from the Altrurian. +"It is merely this," he said: "Having come to live rightly upon earth, as +we believe, or having at least ceased to deny God in our statutes and +customs, the fear of death, as it once, weighed upon us, has been lifted +from our souls. The mystery of it has so far been taken away that we +perceive it as something just and natural. Now that all unkindness has +been banished from among us, we can conceive of no such cruelty as death +once seemed. If we do not know yet the full meaning of death, we know that +the Creator of it and of us meant mercy and blessing by it. When one dies +we grieve, but not as those without hope. We do not say that the dead have +gone to a better place, and then selfishly bewail them, for we have the +kingdom of heaven upon earth already, and we know that wherever they go +they will be homesick for Altruria; and when we think of the years that +may pass before we meet them again our hearts ache, as theirs must. But +the presence of the risen Christ in our daily lives is our assurance that +no one ceases to be, and that we shall see our dead again. I cannot +explain this to you; I can only affirm it." + +The Altrurian spoke very solemnly, and a reverent hush fell upon the +assembly. It was broken by the voice of a woman wailing out: "Oh, do you +suppose, if we lived so, we should feel so, too? That I should know my +little girl was living?" + +"Why not?" asked the Altrurian. + +To my vast astonishment, the manufacturer, who sat the farthest from me in +the same line with Mrs. Makely, the professor, and the banker, rose and +asked, tremulously: "And have--have you had any direct communication with +the other world? Has any disembodied spirit returned to testify of the +life beyond the grave?" + +The professor nodded significantly across Mrs. Makely to me, and then +frowned and shook his head. I asked her if she knew what he meant. "Why, +didn't you know that spiritualism was that poor man's foible? He lost his +son in a railroad accident, and ever since--" + +She stopped and gave her attention to the Altrurian, who was replying to +the manufacturer's question. + +"We do not need any such testimony. Our life here makes us sure of the +life there. At any rate, no externation of the supernatural, no objective +miracle, has been wrought in our behalf. We have had faith to do what we +prayed for, and the prescience of which I speak has been added unto us." + +The manufacturer asked, as the bereaved mother had asked: "And if I lived +so, should I feel so?" + +Again the Altrurian answered: "Why not?" + +The poor woman quavered: "Oh, I do believe it! I just _know_ it must be +true!" + +The manufacturer shook his head sorrowfully and sat down, and remained +there, looking at the ground. + +"I am aware," the Altrurian went on, "that what I have said as to our +realizing the kingdom of heaven on the earth must seem boastful and +arrogant. That is what you pray for every day, but you do not believe it +possible for God's will to be done on earth as it is done in heaven--that +is, you do not if you are like the competitive and monopolistic people we +once were. We once regarded that petition as a formula vaguely pleasing +to the Deity, but we no more expected His kingdom to come than we expected +Him to give us each day our daily bread; we knew that if we wanted +something to eat we should have to hustle for it, and get there first; I +use the slang of that far-off time, which, I confess, had a vulgar vigor. + +"But now everything is changed, and the change has taken place chiefly +from one cause--namely, the disuse of money. At first, it was thought that +some sort of circulating medium _must_ be used, that life could not be +transacted without it. But life began to go on perfectly well, when each +dwelt in the place assigned him, which was no better and no worse than any +other; and when, after he had given his three hours a day to the +obligatory labors, he had a right to his share of food, light, heat, and +raiment; the voluntary labors, to which he gave much time or little, +brought him no increase of those necessaries, but only credit and +affection. We had always heard it said that the love of money was the root +of all evil, but we had taken this for a saying, merely; now we realized +it as an active, vital truth. As soon as money was abolished the power to +purchase was gone, and even if there had been any means of buying beyond +the daily needs, with overwork, the community had no power to sell to the +individual. No man owned anything, but every man had the right to anything +that he could use; when he could not use it, his right lapsed. + +"With the expropriation of the individual the whole vast catalogue of +crimes against property shrank to nothing. The thief could only steal from +the community; but if he stole, what was he to do with his booty? It was +still possible for a depredator to destroy, but few men's hate is so +comprehensive as to include all other men, and when the individual could +no longer hurt some other individual in his property destruction ceased. + +"All the many murders done from love of money, or of what money could buy, +were at an end. Where there was no want, men no longer bartered their +souls, or women their bodies, for the means to keep themselves alive. The +vices vanished with the crimes, and the diseases almost as largely +disappeared. People were no longer sickened by sloth and surfeit, or +deformed and depleted by overwork and famine. They were wholesomely housed +in healthful places, and they were clad fitly for their labor and fitly +for their leisure; the caprices of vanity were not suffered to attaint the +beauty of the national dress. + +"With the stress of superfluous social and business duties, and the +perpetual fear of want which all classes felt, more or less; with the +tumult of the cities and the solitude of the country, insanity had +increased among us till the whole land was dotted with asylums and the mad +were numbered by hundreds of thousands. In every region they were an army, +an awful army of anguish and despair. Now they have decreased to a number +so small, and are of a type so mild, that we can hardly count insanity +among our causes of unhappiness. + +"We have totally eliminated chance from our economic life. There is still +a chance that a man will be tall or short in Altruria, that he will be +strong or weak, well or ill, gay or grave, happy or unhappy in love, but +none that he will be rich or poor, busy or idle, live splendidly or +meanly. These stupid and vulgar accidents of human contrivance cannot +befall us; but I shall not be able to tell you just how or why, or to +detail the process of eliminating chance. I may say, however, that it +began with the nationalization of telegraphs, expresses, railroads, mines, +and all large industries operated by stock companies. This at once struck +a fatal blow at the speculation in values, real and unreal, and at the +stock-exchange, or bourse; we had our own name for that gambler's +paradise, or gambler's hell, whose baleful influence penetrated every +branch of business. + +"There were still business fluctuations as long as we had business, but +they were on a smaller and smaller scale, and with the final lapse of +business they necessarily vanished; all economic chance vanished. The +founders of the commonwealth understood perfectly that business was the +sterile activity of the function interposed between the demand and the +supply; that it was nothing structural; and they intended its extinction, +and expected it from the moment that money was abolished." + +"This is all pretty tiresome," said the professor to our immediate party. +"I don't see why we oblige ourselves to listen to that fellow's stuff. As +if a civilized state could exist for a day without money or business." + +He went on to give his opinion of the Altrurian's pretended description, +in a tone so audible that it attracted the notice of the nearest group of +railroad hands, who were listening closely to Homos, and one of them sang +out to the professor: "Can't you wait and let the first man finish?" and +another yelled: "Put him out!" and then they all laughed with a humorous +perception of the impossibility of literally executing the suggestion. + +By the time all was quiet again I heard the Altrurian saying: "As to our +social life, I cannot describe it in detail, but I can give you some +notion of its spirit. We make our pleasures civic and public as far as +possible, and the ideal is inclusive and not exclusive. There are, of +course, festivities which all cannot share, but our distribution into +small communities favors the possibility of all doing so. Our daily life, +however, is so largely social that we seldom meet by special invitation or +engagement. When we do, it is with the perfect understanding that the +assemblage confers no social distinction, but is for a momentary +convenience. In fact, these occasions are rather avoided, recalling, as +they do, the vapid and tedious entertainments of the competitive epoch, +the receptions and balls and dinners of a semi-barbaric people striving +for social prominence by shutting a certain number in and a certain number +out, and overdressing, overfeeding, and overdrinking. Anything +premeditated in the way of a pleasure we think stupid and mistaken; we +like to meet suddenly, or on the spur of the moment, out-of-doors, if +possible, and arrange a picnic or a dance or a play; and let people come +and go without ceremony. No one is more host than guest; all are hosts and +guests. People consort much according to their tastes--literary, musical, +artistic, scientific, or mechanical--but these tastes are made approaches, +not barriers; and we find out that we have many more tastes in common than +was formerly supposed. + +"But, after all, our life is serious, and no one among us is quite happy, +in the general esteem, unless he has dedicated himself, in some special +way, to the general good. Our ideal is not rights, but duties." + +"Mazzini!" whispered the professor. + +"The greatest distinction which any one can enjoy with us is to have found +out some new and signal way of serving the community; and then it is not +good form for him to seek recognition. The doing any fine thing is the +purest pleasure it can give; applause flatters, but it hurts, too, and our +benefactors, as we call them, have learned to shun it. + +"We are still far from thinking our civilization perfect; but we are sure +that our civic ideals are perfect. What we have already accomplished is to +have given a whole continent perpetual peace; to have founded an economy +in which there is no possibility of want; to have killed out political and +social ambition; to have disused money and eliminated chance; to have +realized the brotherhood of the race, and to have outlived the fear of +death." + +The Altrurian suddenly stopped with these words and sat down. He had +spoken a long time, and with a fulness which my report gives little notion +of; but, though most of his cultivated listeners were weary, and a good +many ladies had left their seats and gone back to the hotel, not one of +the natives, or the work-people of any sort, had stirred; now they +remained a moment motionless and silent before they rose from all parts of +the field and shouted: "Go on! Don't stop! Tell us all about it!" + +I saw Reuben Camp climb the shoulders of a big fellow near where the +Altrurian had stood; he waved the crowd to silence with out-spread arms. +"He isn't going to say anything more; he's tired. But if any man don't +think he's got his dollar's worth, let him walk up to the door and the +ticket-agent will refund him his money." + +The crowd laughed, and some one shouted: "Good for you, Reub!" + +Camp continued: "But our friend here will shake the hand of any man, +woman, or child that wants to speak to him; and you needn't wipe it on the +grass first, either. He's a _man_! And I want to say that he's going to +spend the next week with us, at my mother's house, and we shall be glad to +have you call." + +The crowd, the rustic and ruder part of it, cheered and cheered till the +mountain echoes answered; then a railroader called for three times three, +with a tiger, and got it. The guests of the hotel broke away and went +toward the house over the long shadows of the meadow. The lower classes +pressed forward, on Camp's invitation. + +"Well, did you ever hear a more disgusting rigmarole?" asked Mrs. Makely, +as our little group halted indecisively about her. + +"With all those imaginary commonwealths to draw upon, from Plato, through +More, Bacon, and Campanella, down to Bellamy and Morris, he has +constructed the shakiest effigy ever made of old clothes stuffed with +straw," said the professor. + +The manufacturer was silent. The banker said: "I don't know. He grappled +pretty boldly with your insinuations. That frank declaration that Altruria +was all these pretty soap-bubble worlds solidified was rather fine." + +"It was splendid!" cried Mrs. Makely. The lawyer and the minister came +toward us from where they had been sitting together. She called out to +them: "Why in the world didn't one of your gentlemen get up and propose a +vote of thanks?" + +"The difficulty with me is," continued the banker, "that he has rendered +Altruria incredible. I have no doubt that he is an Altrurian, but I doubt +very much if he comes from anywhere in particular, and I find this quite a +blow, for we had got Altruria nicely located on the map, and were +beginning to get accounts of it in the newspapers." + +"Yes, that is just exactly the way I feel about it," sighed Mrs. Makely. +"But still, don't you think there ought to have been a vote of thanks, Mr. +Bullion?" + +"Why, certainly. The fellow was immensely amusing, and you must have got a +lot of money by him. It was an oversight not to make him a formal +acknowledgment of some kind. If we offered him money, he would have to +leave it all behind him here when he went home to Altruria." + +"Just as _we_ do when we go to heaven," I suggested; the banker did not +answer, and I instantly felt that in the presence of the minister my +remark was out of taste. + +"Well, then, don't you think," said Mrs. Makely, who had a leathery +insensibility to everything but the purpose possessing her, "that we ought +at least to go and say something to him personally?" + +"Yes, I think we ought," said the banker, and we all walked up to where +the Altrurian stood, still thickly surrounded by the lower classes, who +were shaking hands with him and getting in a word with him now and then. + +One of the construction gang said, carelessly: "No all-rail route to +Altruria, I suppose?" + +"No," answered Homos, "it's a far sea voyage." + +"Well, I shouldn't mind working my passage, if you think they'd let me +stay after I got there." + +"Ah, you mustn't go to Altruria. You must let Altruria come to _you_" +returned Homos, with that confounded smile of his that always won my +heart. + +"Yes," shouted Reuben Camp, whose thin face was red with excitement, +"that's the word. Have Altruria right here, and right now." + +The old farmer, who had several times spoken, cackled out: "I didn't know, +one while, when you was talk'n' about not havin' no money, but what some +on us had had Altrury here for quite a spell, already. I don't pass more'n +fifty dolla's through my hands most years." + +A laugh went up, and then, at sight of Mrs. Makely heading our little +party, the people round Homos civilly made way for us. She rushed upon +him, and seized his hand in both of hers; she dropped her fan, parasol, +gloves, handkerchief, and vinaigrette in the grass to do so. "Oh, Mr. +Homos," she fluted, and the tears came into her eyes, "it was beautiful, +_beautiful_, every word of it! I sat in a perfect trance from beginning to +end, and I felt that it was all as true as it was beautiful. People all +around me were breathless with interest, and I don't know how I can ever +thank you enough." + +"Yes, indeed," the professor hastened to say, before the Altrurian could +answer, and he beamed malignantly upon him through his spectacles while he +spoke, "it was like some strange romance." + +"I don't know that I should go so far as that," said the banker, in his +turn, "but it certainly seemed too good to be true." + +"Yes," the Altrurian responded, simply, but a little sadly; "now that I am +away from it all, and in conditions so different, I sometimes had to ask +myself, as I went on, if my whole life had not hitherto been a dream, and +Altruria were not some blessed vision of the night." + +"Then you know how to account for a feeling which I must acknowledge, +too?" the lawyer asked, courteously. "But it was most interesting." + +"The kingdom of God upon earth," said the minister--"It ought not to be +incredible; but that, more than anything else you told us of, gave me +pause." + +"You of all men?" returned the Altrurian, gently. + +"Yes," said the minister, with a certain dejection, "when I remember what +I have seen of men, when I reflect what human nature is, how can I believe +that the kingdom of God will ever come upon the earth?" + +"But in heaven, where He reigns, who is it does His will? The spirits of +men?" pursued the Altrurian. + +"Yes, but conditioned as men are here--" + +"But if they were conditioned as men are there?" + +"Now, I can't let you two good people get into a theological dispute," +Mrs. Makely pushed in. "Here is Mr. Twelvemough dying to shake hands with +Mr. Homos and compliment his distinguished guest." + +"Ah, Mr. Homos knows what I must have thought of his talk without my +telling him," I began, skilfully. "But I am sorry that I am to lose my +distinguished guest so soon." + +Reuben Camp broke out: "That was my blunder, Mr. Twelvemough. Mr. Homos +and I had talked it over conditionally, and I was not to speak of it till +he had told you; but it slipped out in the excitement of the moment." + +"Oh, it's all right," I said, and I shook hands cordially with both of +them. "It will be the greatest possible advantage for Mr. Homos to see +certain phases of American life at close range, and he couldn't possibly +see them under better auspices than yours, Camp." + +"Yes, I'm going to drive him through the hill country after haying, and +then I'm going to take him down and show him one of our big factory +towns." + +I believe this was done, but finally the Altrurian went on to New York, +where he was to pass the winter. We parted friends; I even offered him +some introductions; but his acquaintance had become more and more +difficult, and I was not sorry to part with him. That taste of his for low +company was incurable, and I was glad that I was not to be responsible any +longer for whatever strange thing he might do next. I think he remained +very popular with the classes he most affected; a throng of natives, +construction hands, and table-girls saw him off on his train; and he left +large numbers of such admirers in our house and neighborhood, devout in +the faith that there was such a commonwealth as Altruria, and that he was +really an Altrurian. As for the more cultivated people who had met him, +they continued of two minds upon both points. + +THE END + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Traveler from Altruria: Romance, by +William Dean Howells + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A TRAVELER FROM ALTRURIA: ROMANCE *** + +***** This file should be named 8449-8.txt or 8449-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/8/4/4/8449/ + +Produced by Suzanne Shell, Charles Bidwell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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D. Howells + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Traveler from Altruria: Romance, by +William Dean Howells + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: A Traveler from Altruria: Romance + +Author: William Dean Howells + + +Release Date: July, 2005 [EBook #8449] +This file was first posted on July 11, 2003 +Last Updated: August 21, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A TRAVELER FROM ALTRURIA: ROMANCE *** + + + + +Produced by Suzanne Shell, Charles Bidwell, David Widger and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + + +</pre> + + + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + A TRAVELER FROM ALTRURIA + </h1> + <h2> + Romance + </h2> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h3> + <b> By W. D. Howells </b> + </h3> + <h5> + Author Of “The Coast Of Bohemia”, “The Quality Of Mercy”, “A Hazard Of New + Fortunes” Etc. + </h5> + <h4> + Harper & Brothers Publishers <br /><br /> New York And London <br /><br /><br /> + 1908 + </h4> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + <b>CONTENTS</b> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> A TRAVELER FROM ALTRURIA </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> VI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> VII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> VIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> IX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> X </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> XI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> XII </a> + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A TRAVELER FROM ALTRURIA + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + I + </h2> + <p> + I confess that with all my curiosity to meet an Altrurian, I was in no + hospitable mood toward the traveler when he finally presented himself, + pursuant to the letter of advice sent me by the friend who introduced him. + It would be easy enough to take care of him in the hotel; I had merely to + engage a room for him, and have the clerk tell him his money was not good + if he tried to pay for anything. But I had swung fairly into my story; its + people were about me all the time; I dwelt amid its events and places, and + I did not see how I could welcome my guest among them, or abandon them for + him. Still, when he actually arrived, and I took his hand as he stepped + from the train, I found it less difficult to say that I was glad to see + him than I expected. In fact, I was glad, for I could not look upon his + face without feeling a glow of kindness for him. I had not the least + trouble in identifying him, for he was so unlike all the Americans who + dismounted from the train with him, and who all looked hot, worried, and + anxious. He was a man no longer young, but in what we call the heyday of + life, when our own people are so absorbed in making provision for the + future that they may be said not to live in the present at all. This + Altrurian’s whole countenance, and especially his quiet, gentle eyes, + expressed a vast contemporaneity, with bounds of leisure removed to the + end of time; or, at least, this was the effect of something in them which + I am obliged to report in rather fantastic terms. He was above the middle + height, and he carried himself vigorously. His face was sunburned, or + sea-burned, where it was not bearded; and, although I knew from my + friend’s letter that he was a man of learning and distinction in his own + country, I should never have supposed him a person of scholarly life, he + was so far from sicklied over with anything like the pale cast of thought. + When he took the hand I offered him in my half-hearted welcome he gave it + a grasp that decided me to confine our daily greetings to something much + less muscular. + </p> + <p> + “Let me have your bag,” I said, as we do when we meet people at the train, + and he instantly bestowed a rather heavy valise upon me, with a smile in + his benignant eyes, as if it had been the greatest favor. “Have you got + any checks?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said, in very good English, but with an accent new to me, “I + bought two.” He gave them to me, and I passed them to our hotel porter, + who was waiting there with the baggage-cart. Then I proposed that we + should walk across the meadow to the house, which is a quarter of a mile + or so from the station. We started, but he stopped suddenly and looked + back over his shoulder. “Oh, you needn’t be troubled about your trunks,” I + said. “The porter will get them to the house all right. They’ll be in your + room by the time we get there.” + </p> + <p> + “But he’s putting them into the wagon himself,” said the Altrurian. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; he always does that. He’s a strong young fellow. He’ll manage it. + You needn’t—” I could not finish saying he need not mind the porter; + he was rushing back to the station, and I had the mortification of seeing + him take an end of each trunk and help the porter toss it into the wagon; + some lighter pieces he put in himself, and he did not stop till all the + baggage the train had left was disposed of. + </p> + <p> + I stood holding his valise, unable to put it down in my embarrassment at + this eccentric performance, which had been evident not to me alone, but to + all the people who arrived by the train, and all their friends who came + from the hotel to meet them. A number of these passed me on the tally-ho + coach; and a lady, who had got her husband with her for over Sunday, and + was in very good spirits, called gayly down to me: “Your friend seems fond + of exercise!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I answered, dryly; the sparkling repartee which ought to have come + to my help failed to show up. But it was impossible to be vexed with the + Altrurian when he returned to me, unruffled by his bout with the baggage + and serenely smiling. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know,” he said, “I fancied that good fellow was ashamed of my + helping him. I hope it didn’t seem a reflection upon him in any way before + your people? I ought to have thought of that.” + </p> + <p> + “I guess we can make it right with him. I dare say he felt more surprised + than disgraced. But we must make haste a little now; your train was half + an hour late, and we shall not stand so good a chance for supper if we are + not there pretty promptly.” + </p> + <p> + “No?” said the Altrurian. “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” I said, with evasive lightness, “first come, first served, you + know. That’s human nature.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it?” he returned, and he looked at me as one does who suspects another + of joking. + </p> + <p> + “Well, isn’t it?” I retorted; but I hurried to add: “Besides, I want to + have time after supper to show you a bit of our landscape. I think you’ll + enjoy it.” I knew he had arrived in Boston that morning by steamer, and I + now thought it high time to ask him: “Well, what do you think of America, + anyway?” I ought really to have asked him this the moment he stepped from + the train. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” he said, “I’m intensely interested,” and I perceived that he spoke + with a certain reservation. “As the most advanced country of its time, + I’ve always been very curious to see it.” + </p> + <p> + The last sentence raised my dashed spirits again, and I said, confidently: + “You must find our system of baggage-checks delightful.” I said this + because it is one of the first things we brag of to foreigners, and I had + the habit of it. “By-the-way,” I ventured to add, “I suppose you meant to + say you <i>brought</i> two checks when I asked you for them at the train + just now? But you really said you <i>bought</i> them.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” the Altrurian replied, “I gave half a dollar apiece for them at the + station in Boston. I saw other people doing it,” he explained, noting my + surprise. “Isn’t it the custom?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m happy to say it isn’t yet, on most of our roads. They were tipping + the baggage-man, to make sure that he checked their baggage in time and + put it on the train. I had to do that myself when I came up; otherwise it + might have got along here some time next day. But the system is perfect.” + </p> + <p> + “The poor man looked quite worn out,” said the Altrurian, “and I am glad I + gave him something. He seemed to have several hundred pieces of baggage to + look after, and he wasn’t embarrassed like your porter by my helping him + put my trunks into the car. May I confess that the meanness of the + station, its insufficient facilities, its shabby waiting-rooms, and its + whole crowded and confused appearance gave me rather a bad impression?” + </p> + <p> + “I know,” I had to own, “it’s shameful; but you wouldn’t have found + another station in the city so bad.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, then,” said the Altrurian, “I suppose this particular road is too + poor to employ more baggage-men or build new stations; they seemed rather + shabby all the way up.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, no,” I was obliged to confess, “it’s one of the richest roads in + the country. The stock stands at about 180. But I’m really afraid we shall + be late to supper if we don’t get on,” I broke off; though I was not + altogether sorry to arrive after the porter had disposed of the baggage. I + dreaded another display of active sympathy on the part of my strange + companion; I have often felt sorry myself for the porters of hotels, but I + have never thought of offering to help them handle the heavy trunks that + they manage. + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian was delighted with the hotel; and in fact it did look + extremely pretty, with its branching piazzas full of well-dressed people, + and its green lawns where the children were playing. I led the way to the + room which I had taken for him next my own; it was simply furnished, but + it was sweet with matting, fresh linen, and pure whitewashed walls. I + flung open the window-blinds and let him get a glimpse of the mountains + purpling under the sunset, the lake beneath, and the deeply foliaged + shores. + </p> + <p> + “Glorious! glorious!” he sighed. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I modestly assented. “We think that’s rather fine.” He stood + tranced before the window, and I thought I had better say: “Well, now I + can’t give you much time to get the dust of travel off; the dining-room + doors close at eight, and we must hurry down.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll be with you in a moment,” he said, pulling off his coat. + </p> + <p> + I waited impatiently at the foot of the stairs, avoiding the question I + met on the lips and in the eyes of my acquaintance. The fame of my + friend’s behavior at the station must have spread through the whole place; + and everybody wished to know who he was. I answered simply he was a + traveler from Altruria; and in some cases I went further and explained + that the Altrurians were peculiar. + </p> + <p> + In much less time than it seemed my friend found me; and then I had a + little compensation for my suffering in his behalf. I could see that, + whatever people said of him, they felt the same mysterious liking at sight + of him that I had felt. He had made a little change in his dress, and I + perceived that the women thought him not only good-looking but + well-dressed. They followed him with their eyes as we went into the + dining-room, and I was rather proud of being with him, as if I somehow + shared the credit of his clothes and good looks. The Altrurian himself + seemed most struck with the head-waiter, who showed us to our places, and + while we were waiting for our supper I found a chance to explain that he + was a divinity student from one of the fresh-water colleges, and was + serving here during his summer vacation. This seemed to interest my friend + so much that I went on to tell him that many of the waitresses, whom he + saw standing there subject to the order of the guests, were country + school-mistresses in the winter. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, that is as it should be,” he said; “that is the kind of thing I + expected to meet with in America.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I responded, in my flattered national vanity, “if America means + anything at all it means the honor of work and the recognition of personal + worth everywhere. I hope you are going to make a long stay with us. We + like to have travelers visit us who can interpret the spirit of our + institutions as well as read their letter. As a rule Europeans never quite + get our point of view. Now a great many of these waitresses are ladies, in + the true sense of the word—selfrespectful, intelligent, refined, and + fit to grace—” + </p> + <p> + I was interrupted by the noise my friend made in suddenly pushing back his + chair and getting to his feet. “What’s the matter?” I asked. “You’re not + ill, I hope?” + </p> + <p> + But he did not hear me. He had run half down the dining-hall toward the + slender young girl who was bringing us our supper. I had ordered rather + generously, for my friend had owned to a good appetite, and I was hungry + myself with waiting for him, so that the tray the girl carried was piled + up with heavy dishes. To my dismay I saw, rather than heard at that + distance, the Altrurian enter into a polite controversy with her, and + then, as if overcoming all her scruples by sheer strength of will, possess + himself of the tray and make off with it toward our table. The poor child + followed him, blushing to her hair; the head-waiter stood looking + helplessly on; the guests, who at that late hour were fortunately few, + were simply aghast at the scandal; the Altrurian alone seemed to think his + conduct the most natural thing in the world. He put the tray on the + side-table near us, and in spite of our waitress’s protests insisted upon + arranging the little bird-bath dishes before our plates. Then at last he + sat down, and the girl, flushed and tremulous, left the room, as I could + not help suspecting, to have a good cry in the kitchen. She did not come + back, and the head-waiter, who was perhaps afraid to send another in her + place, looked after our few wants himself. He kept a sharp eye on my + friend, as if he were not quite sure he was safe, but the Altrurian + resumed the conversation with all that lightness of spirits which I + noticed in him after he helped the porter with the baggage. I did not + think it the moment to take him to task for what he had just done; I was + not even sure that it was the part of a host to do so at all, and between + the one doubt and the other I left the burden of talk to him. + </p> + <p> + “What a charming young creature!” he began. “I never saw anything prettier + than the way she had of refusing my help, absolutely without coquetry or + affectation of any kind. She is, as you said, a perfect lady, and she + graces her work, as I am sure she would grace any exigency of life. She + quite realizes my ideal of an American girl, and I see now what the spirit + of your country must be from such an expression of it.” + </p> + <p> + I wished to tell him that while a country school-teacher who waits at + table in a summer hotel is very much to be respected in her sphere, she is + not regarded with that high honor which some other women command among us; + but I did not find this very easy, after what I had said of our esteem for + labor; and while I was thinking how I could hedge, my friend went on. + </p> + <p> + “I liked England greatly, and I liked the English, but I could not like + the theory of their civilization or the aristocratic structure of their + society. It seemed to me iniquitous, for we believe that inequality and + iniquity are the same in the last analysis.” + </p> + <p> + At this I found myself able to say: “Yes, there is something terrible, + something shocking, in the frank brutality with which Englishmen affirm + the essential inequality of men. The affirmation of the essential equality + of men was the first point of departure with us when we separated from + them.” + </p> + <p> + “I know,” said the Altrurian. “How grandly it is expressed in your + glorious Declaration!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, you have read our Declaration of Independence, then?” + </p> + <p> + “Every Altrurian has read that,” answered my friend. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” I went on smoothly, and I hoped to render what I was going to say + the means of enlightening him without offence concerning the little + mistake he had just made with the waitress, “of course we don’t take that + in its closest literality.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t understand you,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Why, you know it was rather the political than the social traditions of + England that we broke with, in the Revolution.” + </p> + <p> + “How is that?” he returned. “Didn’t you break with monarchy and nobility, + and ranks and classes?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, we broke with all those things.” + </p> + <p> + “But I found them a part of the social as well as the political structure + in England. You have no kings or nobles here. Have you any ranks or + classes?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, not exactly in the English sense. Our ranks and classes, such as we + have, are what I may call voluntary.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I understand. I suppose that from time to time certain ones among you + feel the need of serving, and ask leave of the commonwealth to subordinate + themselves to the rest of the state and perform all the lowlier offices in + it. Such persons must be held in peculiar honor. Is it something like + that?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, no, I can’t say it’s quite like that. In fact I think I’d better + let you trust to your own observation of our life.” + </p> + <p> + “But I’m sure,” said the Altrurian, with a simplicity so fine that it was + a long time before I could believe it quite real, “that I shall approach + it so much more intelligently with a little instruction from you. You say + that your social divisions are voluntary. But do I understand that those + who serve among you do not wish to do so?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don’t suppose they would serve if they could help it,” I replied. + </p> + <p> + “Surely,” said the Altrurian, with a look of horror, “you don’t mean that + they are slaves.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no! oh no!” I said; “the war put an end to that. We are all free now, + black and white.” + </p> + <p> + “But if they do not wish to serve, and are not held in peculiar honor for + serving—” + </p> + <p> + “I see that my word ‘voluntary’ has misled you,” I put in. “It isn’t the + word exactly. The divisions among us are rather a process of natural + selection. You will see, as you get better acquainted with the workings of + our institutions, that there are no arbitrary distinctions here but the + fitness of the work for the man and the man for the work determines the + social rank that each one holds.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, that is fine!” cried the Altrurian, with a glow of enthusiasm. “Then + I suppose that these intelligent young people who teach school in winter + and serve at table in the summer are in a sort of provisional state, + waiting for the process of natural selection to determine whether they + shall finally be teachers or waiters.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it might be stated in some such terms,” I assented, though I was not + altogether easy in my mind. It seemed to me that I was not quite candid + with this most candid spirit. I added: “You know we are a sort of + fatalists here in America. We are great believers in the doctrine that it + will all come out right in the end.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, I don’t wonder at that,” said the Altrurian, “if the process of + natural selection works so perfectly among you as you say. But I am afraid + I don’t understand this matter of your domestic service yet. I believe you + said that all honest work is honored in America. Then no social slight + attaches to service, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I can’t say that, exactly. The fact is, a certain social slight + does attach to service, and that is one reason why I don’t quite like to + have students wait at table. It won’t be pleasant for them to remember it + in after-life, and it won’t be pleasant for their children to remember + it.” + </p> + <p> + “Then the slight would descend?” + </p> + <p> + “I think it would. One wouldn’t like to think one’s father or mother had + been at service.” + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian said nothing for a moment. Then he remarked: “So it seems + that while all honest work is honored among you, there are some kinds of + honest work that are not honored so much as others.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Because some occupations are more degrading than others.” + </p> + <p> + “But why?” he persisted, as I thought, a little unreasonably. + </p> + <p> + “Really,” I said, “I think I must leave you to imagine.” + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid I can’t,” he said, sadly. “Then, if domestic service is + degrading in your eyes, and people are not willing servants among you, may + I ask why any are servants?” + </p> + <p> + “It is a question of bread-and-butter. They are obliged to be.” + </p> + <p> + “That is, they are forced to do work that is hateful and disgraceful to + them because they cannot live without?” + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me,” I said, not at all liking this sort of pursuit, and feeling + it fair to turn even upon a guest who kept it up. “Isn’t it so with you in + Altruria?” + </p> + <p> + “It was so once,” he admitted, “but not now. In fact, it is like a waking + dream to find one’s self in the presence of conditions here that we + outlived so long ago.” + </p> + <p> + There was an unconscious superiority in this speech that nettled me, and + stung me to retort: “We do not expect to outlive them. We regard them as + final, and as indestructibly based in human nature itself.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” said the Altrurian, with a delicate and caressing courtesy, “have I + said something offensive?” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all,” I hastened to answer. “It is not surprising that you did not + get our point of view exactly. You will by-and-by, and then, I think, you + will see that it is the true one. We have found that the logic of our + convictions could not be applied to the problem of domestic service. It is + everywhere a very curious and perplexing problem. The simple old solution + of the problem was to own your servants; but we found that this was not + consistent with the spirit of our free institutions. As soon as it was + abandoned the anomaly began. We had outlived the primitive period when the + housekeeper worked with her domestics and they were her help, and were + called so; and we had begun to have servants to do all the household work, + and to call them so. This state of things never seemed right to some of + our purest and best people. They fancied, as you seem to have done, that + to compel people through their necessities to do your hateful drudgery, + and to wound and shame them with a name which every American instinctively + resents, was neither republican nor Christian. Some of our thinkers tried + to mend matters by making their domestics a part of their families; and in + the life of Emerson you’ll find an amusing account of his attempt to have + his servant eat at the same table with himself and his wife. It wouldn’t + work. He and his wife could stand it, but the servant couldn’t.” + </p> + <p> + I paused, for this was where the laugh ought to have come in. The + Altrurian did not laugh, he merely asked, “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, because the servant knew, if they didn’t, that they were a whole + world apart in their traditions, and were no more fit to associate than + New-Englanders and New-Zealanders. In the mere matter of education—” + </p> + <p> + “But I thought you said that these young girls who wait at table here were + teachers.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I beg your pardon; I ought to have explained. By this time it had + become impossible, as it now is, to get American girls to take service + except on some such unusual terms as we have in a summer hotel; and the + domestics were already ignorant foreigners, fit for nothing else. In such + a place as this it isn’t so bad. It is more as if the girls worked in a + shop or a factory. They command their own time, in a measure, their hours + are tolerably fixed, and they have one another’s society. In a private + family they would be subject to order at all times, and they would have no + social life. They would be in the family, out not of it. American girls + understand this, and so they won’t go out to service in the usual way. + Even in a summer hotel the relation has its odious aspects. The system of + giving fees seems to me degrading to those who have to take them. To offer + a student or a teacher a dollar for personal service—it isn’t right, + or I can’t make it so. In fact, the whole thing is rather anomalous with + us. The best that you can say of it is that it works, and we don’t know + what else to do.” + </p> + <p> + “But I don’t see yet,” said the Altrurian, “just why domestic service is + degrading in a country where all kinds of work are honored.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, my dear fellow, I have done my best to explain. As I intimated + before, we distinguish; and in the different kinds of labor we distinguish + against domestic service. I dare say it is partly because of the loss of + independence which it involves. People naturally despise a dependant.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” asked the Altrurian, with that innocence of his which I was + beginning to find rather trying. + </p> + <p> + “Why?” I retorted. “Because it implies weakness.” + </p> + <p> + “And is weakness considered despicable among you?” he pursued. + </p> + <p> + “In every community it is despised practically, if not theoretically,” I + tried to explain. “The great thing that America has done is to offer the + race an opportunity—the opportunity for any man to rise above the + rest and to take the highest place, if he is able.” I had always been + proud of this fact, and I thought I had put it very well, but the + Altrurian did not seem much impressed by it. + </p> + <p> + He said: “I do not see how it differs from any country of the past in + that. But perhaps you mean that to rise carries with it an obligation to + those below ‘If any is first among you, let him be your servant.’ Is it + something like that?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it is not quite like that,” I answered, remembering how very little + our self-made men as a class had done for others. “Every one is expected + to look out for himself here. I fancy that there would be very little + rising if men were expected to rise for the sake of others, in America. + How is it with you in Altruria?” I demanded, hoping to get out of a + certain discomfort I felt in that way. “Do your risen men generally devote + themselves to the good of the community after they get to the top?” + </p> + <p> + “There is no rising among us,” he said, with what seemed a perception of + the harsh spirit of my question; and he paused a moment before he asked in + his turn: “How do men rise among you?” + </p> + <p> + “That would be rather a long story,” I replied. “But, putting it in the + rough, I should say that they rose by their talents, their shrewdness, + their ability to seize an advantage and turn it to their own account.” + </p> + <p> + “And is that considered noble?” + </p> + <p> + “It is considered smart. It is considered at the worst far better than a + dead level of equality. Are all men equal in Altruria? Are they all alike + gifted or beautiful, or short or tall?” + </p> + <p> + “No, they are only equal in duties and in rights. But, as you said just + now, that is a very long story. Are they equal in nothing here?” + </p> + <p> + “They are equal in opportunities.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” breathed the Altrurian, “I am glad to hear that.” + </p> + <p> + I began to feel a little uneasy, and I was not quite sure that this last + assertion of mine would hold water. Everybody but ourselves had now left + the dining-room, and I saw the head-waiter eying us impatiently. I pushed + back my chair and said: “I’m sorry to seem to hurry you, but I should like + to show you a very pretty sunset effect we have here before it is too + dark. When we get back, I want to introduce you to a few of my friends. Of + course, I needn’t tell you that there is a good deal of curiosity about + you, especially among the ladies.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I found that the case in England, largely. It was the women who + cared most to meet me. I understand that in America society is managed + even more by women than it is in England.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s entirely in their hands,” I said, with the satisfaction we all feel + in the fact. “We have no other leisure class. The richest men among us are + generally hard workers; devotion to business is the rule; but, as soon as + a man reaches the point where he can afford to pay for domestic service, + his wife and daughters expect to be released from it to the cultivation of + their minds and the enjoyment of social pleasures. It’s quite right. That + is what makes them so delightful to foreigners. You must have heard their + praises chanted in England. The English find our men rather stupid, I + believe; but they think our women are charming.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I was told that the wives of their nobility were sometimes + Americans,” said the Altrurian. “The English think that you regard such + marriages as a great honor, and that they are very gratifying to your + national pride.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I suppose that is so in a measure,” I confessed. “I imagine that it + will not be long before the English aristocracy derives as largely from + American millionaires as from kings’ mistresses. Not,” I added, + virtuously, “that we approve of aristocracy.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I understand that,” said the Altrurian. “I shall hope to get your + point of view in this matter more distinctly by-and-by. As yet, I’m a + little vague about it.” + </p> + <p> + “I think I can gradually make it clear to you,” I returned. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II + </h2> + <p> + We left the hotel, and I began to walk my friend across the meadow toward + the lake. I wished him to see the reflection of the afterglow in its still + waters, with the noble lines of the mountain-range that glassed itself + there; the effect is one of the greatest charms of that lovely region, the + sojourn of the sweetest summer in the world, and I am always impatient to + show it to strangers. + </p> + <p> + We climbed the meadow wall and passed through a stretch of woods to a path + leading down to the shore, and, as we loitered along in the tender gloom + of the forest, the music of the hermit-thrushes rang all round us like + crystal bells, like silver flutes, like the drip of fountains, like the + choiring of still-eyed cherubim. We stopped from time to time and + listened, while the shy birds sang unseen in their covert of shadows; but + we did not speak till we emerged from the trees and suddenly stood upon + the naked knoll overlooking the lake. + </p> + <p> + Then I explained: “The woods used to come down to the shore here, and we + had their mystery and music to the water’s edge; but last winter the owner + cut the timber off. It looks rather ragged now.” I had to recognize the + fact, for I saw the Altrurian staring about him over the clearing in a + kind of horror. It was a squalid ruin, a graceless desolation, which not + even the pitying twilight could soften. The stumps showed their hideous + mutilation everywhere; the brush had been burned, and the fires had + scorched and blackened the lean soil of the hill-slope and blasted it with + sterility. A few weak saplings, withered by the flames, drooped and + straggled about; it would be a century before the forces of nature could + repair the waste. + </p> + <p> + “You say the owner did this?” said the Altrurian. “Who is the owner?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it does seem too bad,” I answered, evasively. “There has been a + good deal of feeling about it. The neighbors tried to buy him off before + he began the destruction, for they knew the value of the woods as an + attraction to summer-boarders; the city cottagers, of course, wanted to + save them, and together they offered for the land pretty nearly as much as + the timber was worth. But he had got it into his head that the land here + by the lake would sell for building lots if it was cleared, and he could + make money on that as well as on the trees; and so they had to go. Of + course, one might say that he was deficient in public spirit, but I don’t + blame him, altogether.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” the Altrurian assented, somewhat to my surprise, I confess. + </p> + <p> + I resumed: “There was no one else to look after his interests, and it was + not only his right but his duty to get the most he could for himself and + his own, according to his best light. That is what I tell people when they + fall foul of him for his want of public spirit.” + </p> + <p> + “The trouble seems to be, then, in the system that obliges each man to be + the guardian of his own interests. Is that what you blame?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I consider it a very perfect system. It is based upon individuality, + and we believe that individuality is the principle that differences + civilized men from savages, from the lower animals, and makes us a nation + instead of a tribe or a herd. There isn’t one of us, no matter how much he + censured this man’s want of public spirit, but would resent the slightest + interference with his property rights. The woods were his; he had the + right to do what he pleased with his own.” + </p> + <p> + “Do I understand you that, in America, a man may do what is wrong with his + own?” + </p> + <p> + “He may do anything with his own.” + </p> + <p> + “To the injury of others?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, not in person or property. But he may hurt them in taste and + sentiment as much as he likes. Can’t a man do what he pleases with his own + in Altruria?” + </p> + <p> + “No, he can only do right with his own.” + </p> + <p> + “And if he tries to do wrong, or what the community thinks is wrong?” + </p> + <p> + “Then the community takes his own from him.” Before I could think of + anything to say to this he went on: “But I wish you would explain to me + why it was left to this man’s neighbors to try and get him to sell his + portion of the landscape?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, bless my soul!” I exclaimed, “who else was there? You wouldn’t have + expected to take up a collection among the summer-boarders?” + </p> + <p> + “That wouldn’t have been so unreasonable; but I didn’t mean that. Was + there no provision for such an exigency in your laws? Wasn’t the state + empowered to buy him off at the full value of his timber and his land?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not,” I replied. “That would be rank paternalism.” + </p> + <p> + It began to get dark, and I suggested that we had better be going back to + the hotel. The talk seemed already to have taken us away from all pleasure + in the prospect; I said, as we found our way through the rich, + balsam-scented twilight of the woods, where one joy-haunted thrush was + still singing: “You know that in America the law is careful not to meddle + with a man’s private affairs, and we don’t attempt to legislate personal + virtue.” + </p> + <p> + “But marriage,” he said—“surely you have the institution of + marriage?” + </p> + <p> + I was really annoyed at this. I returned, sarcastically; “Yes, I am glad + to say that there we can meet your expectation; we have marriage, not only + consecrated by the church, but established and defended by the state. What + has that to do with the question?” + </p> + <p> + “And you consider marriage,” he pursued, “the citadel of morality, the + fountain of all that is pure and good in your private life, the source of + home and the image of heaven?” + </p> + <p> + “There are some marriages,” I said, with a touch of our national humor, + “that do not quite fill the bill, but that is certainly our ideal of + marriage.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why do you say that you have not legislated personal virtue in + America?” he asked. “You have laws, I believe, against theft and murder, + and slander and incest, and perjury and drunkenness?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, certainly.” + </p> + <p> + “Then it appears to me that you have legislated honesty, regard for human + life, regard for character, abhorrence of unnatural vice, good faith, and + sobriety. I was told on the train coming up, by a gentleman who was + shocked at the sight of a man beating his horse, that you even had laws + against cruelty to animals.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and I am happy to say that they are enforced to such a degree that a + man cannot kill a cat cruelly without being punished for it.” The + Altrurian did not follow up his advantage, and I resolved not to be + outdone in magnanimity. “Come, I will own that you have the best of me on + those points. I must say you’ve trapped me very neatly, too; I can enjoy a + thing of that kind when it’s well done, and I frankly knock under. But I + had in mind something altogether different when I spoke. I was thinking of + those idealists who want to bind us hand and foot and render us the slaves + of a state where the most intimate relations of life shall be penetrated + by legislation and the very hearthstone shall be a tablet of laws.” + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t marriage a rather intimate relation of life?” asked the Altrurian. + “And I understood that gentleman on the train to say that you had laws + against cruelty to children, and societies established to see them + enforced. You don’t consider such laws an invasion of the home, do you, or + a violation of its immunities? I imagine,” he went on, “that the + difference between your civilization and ours is only one of degree, after + all, and that America and Altruria are really one at heart.” + </p> + <p> + I thought his compliment a bit hyperbolical, but I saw that it was + honestly meant, and as we Americans are first of all patriots, and vain + for our country before we are vain for ourselves, I was not proof against + the flattery it conveyed to me civically if not personally. + </p> + <p> + We were now drawing near the hotel, and I felt a certain glow of pleasure + in its gay effect on the pretty knoll where it stood. In its artless and + accidental architecture it was not unlike one of our immense coastwise + steamboats. The twilight had thickened to dusk, and the edifice was + brilliantly lighted with electrics, story above story, which streamed into + the gloom around like the lights of saloon and state-room. The corner of + wood making into the meadow hid the station; there was no other building + in sight; the hotel seemed riding at anchor on the swell of a placid sea. + I was going to call the Altrurian’s attention to this fanciful resemblance + when I remembered that he had not been in our country long enough to have + seen a Fall River boat, and I made toward the house without wasting the + comparison upon him. But I treasured it up in my own mind, intending some + day to make a literary use of it. + </p> + <p> + The guests were sitting in friendly groups about the piazzas or in rows + against the walls, the ladies with their gossip and the gentlemen with + their cigars. The night had fallen cool after a hot day, and they all had + the effect of having cast off care with the burden of the week that was + past, and to be steeping themselves in the innocent and simple enjoyment + of the hour. They were mostly middle-aged married folk, but some were old + enough to have sons and daughters among the young people who went and came + in a long, wandering promenade of the piazzas, or wove themselves through + the waltz past the open windows of the great parlor; the music seemed one + with the light that streamed far out on the lawn flanking the piazzas. + Every one was well-dressed and comfortable and at peace, and I felt that + our hotel was in some sort a microcosm of the republic. + </p> + <p> + We involuntarily paused, and I heard the Altrurian murmur: “Charming, + charming! This is really delightful!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, isn’t it?” I returned, with a glow of pride. “Our hotel here is a + type of the summer hotel everywhere; it’s characteristic in not having + anything characteristic about it; and I rather like the notion of the + people in it being so much like the people in all the others that you + would feel yourself at home wherever you met such a company in such a + house. All over the country, north and south, wherever you find a group of + hills or a pleasant bit of water or a stretch of coast, you’ll find some + such refuge as this for our weary toilers. We began to discover some time + ago that it would not do to cut open the goose that laid our golden eggs, + even if it looked like an eagle, and kept on perching on our banners just + as if nothing had happened. We discovered that, if we continued to kill + ourselves with hard work, there would be no Americans pretty soon.” + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian laughed. “How delightfully you put it! How quaint! How + picturesque! Excuse me, but I can’t help expressing my pleasure in it. Our + own humor is so very different.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” I said; “what is your humor like?” + </p> + <p> + “I could hardly tell you, I’m afraid; I’ve never been much of a humorist + myself.” + </p> + <p> + Again a cold doubt of something ironical in the man went through me, but I + had no means of verifying it, and so I simply remained silent, waiting for + him to prompt me if he wished to know anything further about our national + transformation from bees perpetually busy into butterflies occasionally + idle. “And when you had made that discovery?” he suggested. + </p> + <p> + “Why, we’re nothing if not practical, you know, and as soon as we made + that discovery we stopped killing ourselves and invented the summer + resort. There are very few of our business or professional men now who + don’t take their four or five weeks’ vacation. Their wives go off early in + the summer, and, if they go to some resort within three or four hours of + the city, the men leave town Saturday afternoon and run out, or come up, + and spend Sunday with their families. For thirty-eight hours or so a hotel + like this is a nest of happy homes.” + </p> + <p> + “That is admirable,” said the Altrurian. “You are truly a practical + people. The ladies come early in the summer, you say?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sometimes in the beginning of June.” + </p> + <p> + “What do they come for?” asked the Altrurian. + </p> + <p> + “What for? Why, for rest!” I retorted, with some little temper. + </p> + <p> + “But I thought you told me awhile ago that as soon as a husband could + afford it he relieved his wife and daughters from all household work.” + </p> + <p> + “So he does.” + </p> + <p> + “Then what do the ladies wish to rest from?” + </p> + <p> + “From care. It is not work alone that kills. They are not relieved from + household care even when they are relieved from household work. There is + nothing so killing as household care. Besides, the sex seems to be born + tired. To be sure, there are some observers of our life who contend that + with the advance of athletics among our ladies, with boating and bathing, + and lawn-tennis and mountain-climbing and freedom from care, and these + long summers of repose, our women are likely to become as superior to the + men physically as they now are intellectually. It is all right. We should + like to see it happen. It would be part of the national joke.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, have you a national joke?” asked the Altrurian. “But, of course! You + have so much humor. I wish you could give me some notion of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it is rather damaging to any joke to explain it,” I replied, “and + your only hope of getting at ours is to live into it. One feature of it is + the confusion of foreigners at the sight of our men’s willingness to + subordinate themselves to our women.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don’t find that very bewildering,” said the Altrurian. “It seems to + me a generous and manly trait of the American character. I’m proud to say + that it is one of the points at which your civilization and our own touch. + There can be no doubt that the influence of women in your public affairs + must be of the greatest advantage to you; it has been so with us.” + </p> + <p> + I turned and stared at him, but he remained insensible to my astonishment, + perhaps because it was now too dark for him to see it. “Our women have no + influence in public affairs,” I said, quietly, after a moment. + </p> + <p> + “They haven’t? Is it possible? But didn’t I understand you to imply just + now that your women were better educated than your men?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I suppose that, taking all sorts and conditions among us, the women + are as a rule better schooled, if not better educated.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, apart from the schooling, they are not more cultivated?” + </p> + <p> + “In a sense you might say they were. They certainly go in for a lot of + things: art and music, and Browning and the drama, and foreign travel and + psychology, and political economy and Heaven knows what all. They have + more leisure for it; they have all the leisure there is, in fact; our + young men have to go into business. I suppose you may say our women are + more cultivated than our men; yes, I think there’s no questioning that. + They are the great readers among us. We poor devils of authors would be + badly off if it were not for our women. In fact, no author could make a + reputation among us without them. American literature exists because + American women appreciate it and love it.” + </p> + <p> + “But surely your men read books?” + </p> + <p> + “Some of them; not many, comparatively. You will often hear a complacent + ass of a husband and father say to an author: ‘My wife and daughters know + your books, but I can’t find time for anything but the papers nowadays. I + skim them over at breakfast, or when I’m going in to business on the + train.’ He isn’t the least ashamed to say that he reads nothing but the + newspapers.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you think that it would be better for him to read books?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, in the presence of four or five thousand journalists with drawn + scalping-knives I should not like to say so. Besides, modesty forbids.” + </p> + <p> + “No, but, really,” the Altrurian persisted, “you think that the literature + of a book is more carefully pondered than the literature of a daily + newspaper?” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose even the four or five thousand journalists with drawn + scalping-knives would hardly deny that.” + </p> + <p> + “And it stands to reason, doesn’t it, that the habitual reader of + carefully pondered literature ought to be more thoughtful than the readers + of literature which is not carefully pondered and which they merely skim + over on their way to business?” + </p> + <p> + “I believe we began by assuming the superior culture of our women, didn’t + we? You’ll hardly find an American that isn’t proud of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Then,” said the Altrurian, “if your women are generally better schooled + than your men, and more cultivated and more thoughtful, and are relieved + of household work in such great measure, and even of domestic cares, why + have they no part in your public affairs?” + </p> + <p> + I laughed, for I thought I had my friend at last. “For the best of all + possible reasons: they don’t want it.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, that’s no reason,” he returned. “Why don’t they want it?” + </p> + <p> + “Really,” I said, out of all patience, “I think I must let you ask the + ladies themselves,” and I turned and moved again toward the hotel, but the + Altrurian gently detained me. + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me,” he began. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“No, no,” I said. + “‘The feast is set, the guests are met, + May’st hear the merry din.’ +Come in and see the young people dance.” + </pre> + <p> + “Wait,” he entreated; “tell me a little more about the old people first. + This digression about the ladies has been very interesting, but I thought + you were going to speak of the men here. Who are they, or, rather, what + are they?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, as I said before, they are all business men and professional men; + people who spend their lives in studies and counting-rooms and offices, + and have come up here for a few weeks or a few days of well-earned repose. + They are of all kinds of occupations: they are lawyers and doctors, and + clergymen and merchants, and brokers and bankers. There’s hardly any + calling you Won’t find represented among them. As I was thinking just now, + our hotel is a sort of microcosm of the American republic.” + </p> + <p> + “I am most fortunate in finding you here, where I can avail myself of your + intelligence in making my observations of your life under such + advantageous circumstances. It seems to me that with your help I might + penetrate the fact of American life, possess myself of the mystery of your + national joke, without stirring beyond the piazza of your hospitable + hotel,” said my friend. I doubted it, but one does not lightly put aside a + compliment like that to one’s intelligence, and I said I should be very + happy to be of use to him. He thanked me, and said: “Then, to begin with, + I understand that these gentlemen are here because they are all + overworked.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course. You can have no conception of how hard our business men and + our professional men work. I suppose there is nothing like it anywhere + else in the world. But, as I said before, we are beginning to find that we + cannot burn the candle at both ends and have it last long. So we put one + end out for a little while every summer. Still, there are frightful wrecks + of men strewn all along the course of our prosperity, wrecks of mind and + body. Our insane asylums are full of madmen who have broken under the + tremendous strain, and every country in Europe abounds in our dyspeptics.” + I was rather proud of this terrible fact; there is no doubt but we + Americans are proud of overworking ourselves; Heaven knows why. + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian murmured: “Awful! Shocking!” But I thought somehow he had + not really followed me very attentively in my celebration of our national + violation of the laws of life and its consequences. “I am glad,” he went + on, “that your business men and professional men are beginning to realize + the folly and wickedness of overwork. Shall I find some of your other + weary workers here, too?” + </p> + <p> + “What other weary workers?” I asked in turn, for I imagined I had gone + over pretty much the whole list. + </p> + <p> + “Why,” said the Altrurian, “your mechanics and day laborers, your + iron-moulders and glass-blowers, your miners and farmers, your printers + and mill-operatives, your trainmen and quarry-hands. Or do they prefer to + go to resorts of their own?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III + </h2> + <p> + It was not easy to make sure of such innocence as prompted this inquiry of + my Altrurian friend. The doubt whether he could really be in earnest was + something that I had already felt; and it was destined to beset me, as it + did now, again and again. My first thought was that, of course, he was + trying a bit of cheap irony on me, a mixture of the feeble sarcasm and + false sentiment that makes us smile when we find it in the philippics of + the industrial agitators. For a moment I did not know but I had fallen + victim to a walking delegate on his vacation, who was employing his summer + leisure in going about the country in the guise of a traveler from + Altruria, and foisting himself upon people who would have had nothing to + do with him in his real character. But in another moment I perceived that + this was impossible. I could not suppose that the friend who had + introduced him to me would be capable of seconding so poor a joke, and, + besides, I could not imagine why a walking delegate should wish to address + his clumsy satire to me particularly. For the present, at least, there was + nothing for it but to deal with this inquiry as if it were made in good + faith and in the pursuit of useful information. It struck me as grotesque; + but it would not have been decent to treat it as if it were so. I was + obliged to regard it seriously, and so I decided to shirk it. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” I said, “that opens up rather a large field, which lies somewhat + outside of the province of my own activities. You know, I am a writer of + romantic fiction, and my time is so fully occupied in manipulating the + destinies of the good old-fashioned hero and heroine, and trying always to + make them end in a happy marriage, that I have hardly had a chance to look + much into the lives of agriculturists or artisans; and, to tell you the + truth, I don’t know what they do with their leisure. I’m pretty certain, + though, you won’t meet any of them in this hotel; they couldn’t afford it, + and I fancy they would find themselves out of their element among our + guests. We respect them thoroughly; every American does, and we know that + the prosperity of the country rests with them; we have a theory that they + are politically sovereign, but we see very little of them, and we don’t + associate with them. In fact, our cultivated people have so little + interest in them socially that they don’t like to meet them, even in + fiction; they prefer refined and polished ladies and gentlemen, whom they + can have some sympathy with; and I always go to the upper classes for my + types. It won’t do to suppose, though, that we are indifferent to the + working classes in their place. Their condition is being studied a good + deal just now, and there are several persons here who will be able to + satisfy your curiosity on the points you have made, I think. I will + introduce you to them.” + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian did not try to detain me this time. He said he should be + very glad indeed to meet my friends, and I led the way toward a little + group at the corner of the piazza. They were men whom I particularly + liked, for one reason or another; they were intelligent and open-minded, + and they were thoroughly American. One was a banker; another was a + minister; there was a lawyer, and there was a doctor; there was a + professor of political economy in one of our colleges; and there was a + retired manufacturer—I do not know what he used to manufacture: + cotton or iron, or something like that. They all rose politely as I came + up with my Altrurian, and I fancied in them a sensation of expectancy + created by the rumor of his eccentric behavior which must have spread + through the hotel. But they controlled this if they had it, and I could + see, as the light fell upon his face from a spray of electrics on the + nearest pillar, that sort of liking kindle in theirs which I had felt + myself at first sight of him. + </p> + <p> + I said, “Gentlemen, I wish to introduce my friend, Mr. Homos,” and then I + presented them severally to him by name. We all sat down, and I explained: + “Mr. Homos is from Altruria. He is visiting our country for the first + time, and is greatly interested in the working of our institutions. He has + been asking me some rather hard questions about certain phases of our + civilization; and the fact is that I have launched him upon you because I + don’t feel quite able to cope with him.” + </p> + <p> + They all laughed civilly at this sally of mine, but the professor asked, + with a sarcasm that I thought I hardly merited, “What point in our polity + can be obscure to the author of ‘Glove and Gauntlet’ and ‘Airs and + Graces’?” + </p> + <p> + They all laughed again, not so civilly, I felt, and then the banker asked + my friend: “Is it long since you left Altruria?” + </p> + <p> + “It seems a great while ago,” the Altrurian answered, “but it is really + only a few weeks.” + </p> + <p> + “You came by way of England, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; there is no direct line to America,” said the Altrurian. + </p> + <p> + “That seems rather odd,” I ventured, with some patriotic grudge. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, the English have direct lines everywhere,” the banker instructed me. + </p> + <p> + “The tariff has killed our shipbuilding,” said the professor. No one took + up this firebrand, and the professor added: “Your name is Greek, isn’t it, + Mr. Homos?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; we are of one of the early Hellenic families,” said the Altrurian. + </p> + <p> + “And do you think,” asked the lawyer, who, like most lawyers, was a lover + of romance, and was well read in legendary lore especially, “that there is + any reason for supposing that Altruria is identical with the fabled + Atlantis’?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I can’t say that I do. We have no traditions of a submergence of the + continent, and there are only the usual evidences of a glacial epoch which + you find everywhere to support such a theory. Besides, our civilization is + strictly Christian, and dates back to no earlier period than that of the + first Christian commune after Christ. It is a matter of history with us + that one of these communists, when they were dispersed, brought the Gospel + to our continent; he was cast away on our eastern coast on his way to + Britain.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, we know that,” the minister intervened, “but it is perfectly + astonishing that an island so large as Altruria should have been lost to + the knowledge of the rest of the world ever since the beginning of our + era. You would hardly think that there was a space of the ocean’s surface + a mile square which had not been traversed by a thousand keels since + Columbus sailed westward.” + </p> + <p> + “No, you wouldn’t. And I wish,” the doctor suggested in his turn, “that + Mr. Homos would tell us something about his country, instead of asking us + about ours.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I coincided, “I’m sure we should all find it a good deal easier. At + least I should; but I brought our friend up in the hope that the professor + would like nothing better than to train a battery of hard facts upon a + defenceless stranger.” Since the professor had given me that little stab, + I was rather anxious to see how he would handle the desire for information + in the Altrurian which I had found so prickly. + </p> + <p> + This turned the laugh on the professor, and he pretended to be as curious + about Altruria as the rest, and said he would rather hear of it. But the + Altrurian said: “I hope you will excuse me. Sometime I shall be glad to + talk of Altruria as long as you like; or, if you will come to us, I shall + be still happier to show you many things that I couldn’t make you + understand at a distance. But I am in America to learn, not to teach, and + I hope you will have patience with my ignorance. I begin to be afraid that + it is so great as to seem a little incredible. I have fancied in my friend + here,” he went on, with a smile toward me, “a suspicion that I was not + entirely single in some of the inquiries I have made, but that I had some + ulterior motive, some wish to censure or satirize.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, not at all,” I protested, for it was not polite to admit a conjecture + so accurate. “We are so well satisfied with our condition that we have + nothing but pity for the darkened mind of the foreigner, though we believe + in it fully: we are used to the English tourist.” + </p> + <p> + My friends laughed, and the Altrurian continued: “I am very glad to hear + it, for I feel myself at a peculiar disadvantage among you. I am not only + a foreigner, but I am so alien to you in all the traditions and habitudes + that I find it very difficult to get upon common ground with you. Of + course, I know theoretically what you are, but to realize it practically + is another thing. I had read so much about America and understood so + little that I could not rest without coming to see for myself. Some of the + apparent contradictions were so colossal—” + </p> + <p> + “We have everything on a large scale here,” said the banker, breaking off + the ash of his cigar with the end of his little finger, “and we rather + pride ourselves on the size of our inconsistencies, even. I know something + of the state of things in Altruria, and, to be frank with you, I will say + that it seems to me preposterous. I should say it was impossible, if it + were not an accomplished fact; but I always feel bound to recognize the + thing done. You have hitched your wagon to a star, and you have made the + star go; there is never any trouble with wagons, but stars are not easily + broken to harness, and you have managed to get yours well in hand. As I + said, I don’t believe in you, but I respect you.” I thought this charming, + myself; perhaps because it stated my own mind about Altruria so exactly + and in terms so just and generous. + </p> + <p> + “Pretty good,” said the doctor, in a murmur of satisfaction, at my ear, + “for a bloated bond-holder.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I whispered back, “I wish I had said it. What an American way of + putting it! Emerson would have liked it himself. After all, he was our + prophet.” + </p> + <p> + “He must have thought so from the way we kept stoning him,” said the + doctor, with a soft laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Which of our contradictions,” asked the banker, in the same tone of + gentle bonhomie, “has given you and our friend pause just now?” + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian answered, after a moment: “I am not sure that it is a + contradiction, for as yet I have not ascertained the facts I was seeking. + Our friend was telling me of the great change that had taken place in + regard to work, and the increased leisure that your professional people + are now allowing themselves; and I was asking him where your working-men + spent their leisure.” + </p> + <p> + He went over the list of those he had specified, and I hung my head in + shame and pity; it really had such an effect of mawkish sentimentality. + But my friends received it in the best possible way. They did not laugh; + they heard him out, and then they quietly deferred to the banker, who made + answer for us all: + </p> + <p> + “Well, I can be almost as brief as the historian of Iceland in his chapter + on snakes: those people have no leisure to spend.” + </p> + <p> + “Except when they go out on a strike,” said the manufacturer, with a + certain grim humor of his own; I never heard anything more dramatic than + the account he once gave of the way he broke up a labor union. “I have + seen a good many of them at leisure then.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” the doctor chimed in, “and in my younger days, when I necessarily + had a good deal of charity practice, I used to find them at leisure when + they were ‘laid off.’ It always struck me as such a pretty euphemism. It + seemed to minify the harm of the thing so. It seemed to take all the + hunger and cold and sickness out of the fact. To be simply ‘laid off’ was + so different from losing your work and having to face beggary or + starvation.” + </p> + <p> + “Those people,” said the professor, “never put anything by. They are + wasteful and improvident, almost to a man; and they learn nothing by + experience, though they know as well as we do that it is simply a question + of demand and supply, and that the day of overproduction is sure to come, + when their work must stop unless the men that give them work are willing + to lose money.” + </p> + <p> + “And I’ve seen them lose it, sometimes, rather than shut down,” the + manufacturer remarked; “lose it hand over hand, to keep the men at work; + and then as soon as the tide turned the men would strike for higher wages. + You have no idea of the ingratitude of those people.” He said this toward + the minister, as if he did not wish to be thought hard; and, in fact, he + was a very kindly man. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied the minister, “that is one of the most sinister features of + the situation. They seem really to regard their employers as their + enemies. I don’t know how it will end.” + </p> + <p> + “I know how it would end if I had my way,” said the professor. “There + wouldn’t be any labor unions, and there wouldn’t be any strikes.” + </p> + <p> + “That is all very well,” said the lawyer, from that judicial mind which I + always liked in him, “as far as the strikes are concerned, but I don’t + understand that the abolition of the unions would affect the impersonal + process of ‘laying off.’ The law of demand and supply I respect as much as + any one—it’s something like the constitution; but, all the same, I + should object extremely to have my income stopped by it every now and + then. I’m probably not so wasteful as a working-man generally is; still, I + haven’t laid by enough to make it a matter of indifference to me whether + my income went on or not. Perhaps the professor has.” The professor did + not say, and we all took leave to laugh. The lawyer concluded: “I don’t + see how those fellows stand it.” + </p> + <p> + “They don’t, all of them,” said the doctor. “Or their wives and children + don’t. Some of them die.” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder,” the lawyer pursued, “what has become of the good old American + fact that there is always work for those who are willing to work? I notice + that wherever five thousand men strike in the forenoon, there are five + thousand men to take their places in the afternoon—and not men who + are turning their hands to something new, but men who are used to doing + the very thing the strikers have done.” + </p> + <p> + “That is one of the things that teach the futility of strikes,” the + professor made haste to interpose, as if he had not quite liked to appear + averse to the interests of the workman; no one likes to do that. “If there + were anything at all to be hoped from them, it would be another matter.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but that isn’t the point, quite,” said the lawyer. + </p> + <p> + “By-the-way, what is the point?” I asked, with my humorous lightness. + </p> + <p> + “Why, I supposed,” said the banker, “it was the question how the working + classes amused their elegant leisure. But it seems to be almost anything + else.” + </p> + <p> + We all applauded the neat touch, but the Altrurian eagerly entreated: “No, + no; never mind that now. That is a matter of comparatively little + interest. I would so much rather know something about the status of the + working-man among you.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean his political status? It’s that of every other citizen.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t mean that. I suppose that in America you have learned, as we have + in Altruria, that equal political rights are only means to an end, and as + an end have no value or reality. I meant the economic status of the + working-man, and his social status.” + </p> + <p> + I do not know why we were so long girding up our loins to meet this simple + question. I myself could not have hopefully undertaken to answer it; but + the others were each in their way men of affairs, and practically + acquainted with the facts, except perhaps the professor; but he had + devoted a great deal of thought to them, and ought to have been qualified + to make some sort of response. But even he was silent; and I had a vague + feeling that they were all somehow reluctant to formulate their knowledge, + as if it were uncomfortable or discreditable. The banker continued to + smoke quietly on for a moment; then he suddenly threw his cigar away. + </p> + <p> + “I like to free my mind of cant,” he said, with a short laugh, “when I can + afford it, and I propose to cast all sorts of American cant out of it in + answering your question. The economic status of the working-man among us + is essentially the same as that of the working-man all over the civilized + world. You will find plenty of people here, especially about election + time, to tell you differently, but they will not be telling you the truth, + though a great many of them think they are. In fact, I suppose most + Americans honestly believe because we have a republican form of + government, and manhood suffrage, and so on, that our economic conditions + are peculiar, and that our working-man has a status higher and better than + that of the working-man anywhere else. But he has nothing of the kind. His + circumstances are better, and provisionally his wages are higher, but it + is only a question of years or decades when his circumstances will be the + same and his wages the same as the European working-man’s. There is + nothing in our conditions to prevent this.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I understood from our friend here,” said the Altrurian, nodding + toward me, “that you had broken only with the political tradition of + Europe in your Revolution; and he has explained to me that you do not hold + all kinds of labor in equal esteem; but—” + </p> + <p> + “What kind of labor did he say we did hold in esteem?” asked the banker. + </p> + <p> + “Why, I understood him to say that if America meant anything at all it + meant the honor of work, but that you distinguished and did not honor some + kinds of work so much as others; for instance, domestic service, or + personal attendance of any kind.” + </p> + <p> + The banker laughed again. “Oh, he drew the line there, did he? Well, we + all have to draw the line somewhere. Our friend is a novelist, and I will + tell you in strict confidence that the line he has drawn is imaginary. We + don’t honor any kind of work any more than any other people. If a fellow + gets up, the papers make a great ado over his having been a woodchopper or + a bobbin-boy, or something of that kind, but I doubt if the fellow himself + likes it; he doesn’t if he’s got any sense. The rest of us feel that it’s + <i>infra dig.</i>, and hope nobody will find out that we ever worked with + our hands for a living. I’ll go further,” said the banker, with the effect + of whistling prudence down the wind, “and I will challenge any of you to + gainsay me from his own experience or observation. How does esteem usually + express itself? When we wish, to honor a man, what do we do?” + </p> + <p> + “Ask him to dinner,” said the lawyer. + </p> + <p> + “Exactly. We offer him some sort of social recognition. Well, as soon as a + fellow gets up, if he gets up high enough, we offer him some sort of + social recognition; in fact, all sorts; but upon condition that he has + left off working with his hands for a living. We forgive all you please to + his past on account of the present. But there isn’t a working-man, I + venture to say, in any city or town, or even large village, in the whole + length and breadth of the United States who has any social recognition, if + he is still working at his trade. I don’t mean, merely, that he is + excluded from rich and fashionable society, but from the society of the + average educated and cultivated people. I’m not saying he is fit for it; + but I don’t care how intelligent and agreeable he might be—and some + of them are astonishingly intelligent, and so agreeable in their tone of + mind and their original way of looking at things that I like nothing + better than to talk with them—all of our invisible fences are up + against him.” + </p> + <p> + The minister said: “I wonder if that sort of exclusiveness is quite + natural? Children seem to feel no sort of social difference among + themselves.” + </p> + <p> + “We can hardly go to children for a type of social order,” the professor + suggested. + </p> + <p> + “True,” the minister meekly admitted. “But somehow there is a protest in + us somewhere against these arbitrary distinctions—something that + questions whether they are altogether right. We know that they must be, + and always have been, and always will be, and yet—well, I will + confess it—I never feel at peace when I face them.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said the banker, “if you come to the question of right and wrong, + that is another matter. I don’t say it’s right. I’m not discussing that + question; though I’m certainly not proposing to level the fences; I should + be the last to take my own down. I say simply that you are no more likely + to meet a working-man in American society than you are to meet a colored + man. Now you can judge,” he ended, turning directly to the Altrurian, “how + much we honor labor. And I hope I have indirectly satisfied your curiosity + as to the social status of the working-man among us.” + </p> + <p> + We were all silent. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps the others were occupied like myself in trying to recall some + instance of a working-man whom they had met in society, and perhaps we + said nothing because we all failed. + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian spoke at last. + </p> + <p> + “You have been so very full and explicit that I feel as if it were almost + unseemly to press any further inquiry; but I should very much like to know + how your working-men bear this social exclusion.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m sure I can’t say,” returned the banker. “A man does not care much to + get into society until he has something to eat, and how to get that is + always the first question with the working-man.” + </p> + <p> + “But you wouldn’t like it yourself?” + </p> + <p> + “No, certainly, I shouldn’t like it myself. I shouldn’t complain of not + being asked to people’s houses, and the working-men don’t; you can’t do + that; but I should feel it an incalculable loss. We may laugh at the + emptiness of society, or pretend to be sick of it, but there is no doubt + that society is the flower of civilization, and to be shut out from it is + to be denied the best privilege of a civilized man. There are society + women—we have all met them—whose graciousness and refinement + of presence are something of incomparable value; it is more than a liberal + education to have been admitted to it, but it is as inaccessible to the + working-man as—what shall I say? The thing is too grotesquely + impossible for any sort of comparison. Merely to conceive of its + possibility is something that passes a joke; it is a kind of offence.” + </p> + <p> + Again we were silent. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know,” the banker continued, “how the notion of our social + equality originated, but I think it has been fostered mainly by the + expectation of foreigners, who argued it from our political equality. As a + matter of fact, it never existed, except in our poorest and most primitive + communities, in the pioneer days of the West and among the gold-hunters of + California. It was not dreamed of in our colonial society, either in + Virginia or Pennsylvania or New York or Massachusetts; and the fathers of + the republic, who were mostly slave-holders, were practically as + stiff-necked aristocrats as any people of their day. We have not a + political aristocracy, that is all; but there is as absolute a division + between the orders of men and as little love, in this country as in any + country on the globe. The severance of the man who works for his living + with his hands from the man who does not work for his living with his + hands is so complete, and apparently so final, that nobody even imagines + anything else, not even in fiction. Or, how is that?” he asked, turning to + me. “Do you fellows still put the intelligent, high-spirited, handsome + young artisan, who wins the millionaire’s daughter, into your books? I + used sometimes to find him there.” + </p> + <p> + “You might still find him in the fiction of the weekly story-papers; but,” + I was obliged to own, “he would not go down with my readers. Even in the + story-paper fiction he would leave off working as soon as he married the + millionaire’s daughter, and go to Europe, or he would stay here and become + a social leader, but he would not receive working-men in his gilded + halls.” + </p> + <p> + The others rewarded my humor with a smile, but the banker said: “Then I + wonder you were not ashamed of filling our friend up with that stuff about + our honoring some kinds of labor. It is true that we don’t go about openly + and explicitly despising any kind of honest toil—people don’t do + that anywhere now; but we contemn it in terms quite as unmistakable. The + working-man acquiesces as completely as anybody else. He does not remain a + working-man a moment longer that he can help; and after he gets up, if he + is weak enough to be proud of having been one, it is because he feels that + his low origin is a proof of his prowess in rising to the top against + unusual odds. I don’t suppose there is a man in the whole civilized world—outside + of Altruria, of course—-who is proud of working at a trade, except + the shoemaker Tolstoy, and is a count, and he does not make very good + shoes.” + </p> + <p> + We all laughed again: those shoes of Count Tolstoy’s are always such an + infallible joke. + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian, however, was cocked and primed with another question; he + instantly exploded it: “But are all the working-men in America eager to + rise above their condition? Is there none willing to remain among the mass + because the rest could not rise with him, and from the hope of yet + bringing labor to honor?” + </p> + <p> + The banker answered: “I never heard of any. No, the American ideal is not + to change the conditions for all, but for each to rise above the rest if + he can.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think it is really so bad as that?” asked the minister, timidly. + </p> + <p> + The banker answered: “Bad? Do you call that bad? I thought it was very + good. But, good or bad, I don’t think you’ll find it deniable, if you look + into the facts. There may be working-men willing to remain so for other + working-men’s sake, but I have never met any—perhaps because the + working-man never goes into society.” + </p> + <p> + The unfailing question of the Altrurian broke the silence which ensued: + “Are there many of your working-men who are intelligent and agreeable—of + the type you mentioned a moment since?” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps,” said the banker, “I had better refer you to one of our friends + here, who has had a great deal more to do with them than I have. He is a + manufacturer, and he has had to do with all kinds of work-people.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, for my sins,” the manufacturer assented; and he added: “They are + often confoundedly intelligent, though I haven’t often found them very + agreeable, either in their tone of mind or their original way of looking + at things.” + </p> + <p> + The banker amiably acknowledged his thrust, and the Altrurian asked: “Ah, + they are opposed to your own?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, we have the same trouble here that you must have heard of in + England. As you know now that the conditions are the same here, you won’t + be surprised at the fact.” + </p> + <p> + “But the conditions,” the Altrurian pursued—“do you expect them + always to continue the same?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don’t know,” said the manufacturer. “We can’t expect them to + change of themselves, and I shouldn’t know how to change them. It was + expected that the rise of the trusts and the syndicates would break the + unions, but somehow they haven’t. The situation remains the same. The + unions are not cutting one another’s throats now any more than we are. The + war is on a larger scale—that’s all.” + </p> + <p> + “Then let me see,” said the Altrurian, “whether I clearly understand the + situation as regards the working-man in America. He is dependent upon the + employer for his chance to earn a living, and he is never sure of this. He + may be thrown out of work by his employer’s disfavor or disaster, and his + willingness to work goes for nothing; there is no public provision of work + for him; there is nothing to keep him from want nor the prospect of + anything.” + </p> + <p> + “We are all in the same boat,” said the professor. + </p> + <p> + “But some of us have provisioned ourselves rather better and can generally + weather it through till we are picked up,” the lawyer put in. + </p> + <p> + “I am always saying the working-man is improvident,” returned the + professor. + </p> + <p> + “There are the charities,” the minister suggested. + </p> + <p> + “But his economical status,” the Altrurian pursued, “is in a state of + perpetual uncertainty, and to save himself in some measure he has + organized, and so has constituted himself a danger to the public peace?” + </p> + <p> + “A very great danger,” said the professor. + </p> + <p> + “I guess we can manage him,” the manufacturer remarked. + </p> + <p> + “And socially he is non-existent?” + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian turned with this question to the banker, who said: “He is + certainly not in society.” + </p> + <p> + “Then,” said my guest, “if the working-man’s wages are provisionally so + much better here than in Europe, why should they be discontented? What is + the real cause of their discontent?” + </p> + <p> + I have always been suspicious, in the company of practical men, of an + atmosphere of condescension to men of my calling, if nothing worse. I + fancy they commonly regard artists of all kinds as a sort of harmless + eccentrics, and that literary people they look upon as something droll, as + weak and soft, as not quite right. I believed that this particular group, + indeed, was rather abler to conceive of me as a rational person than most + others, but I knew that if even they had expected me to be as reasonable + as themselves they would not have been greatly disappointed if I were not; + and it seemed to me that I had put myself wrong with them in imparting to + the Altrurian that romantic impression that we hold labor in honor here. I + had really thought so, but I could not say so now, and I wished to + retrieve myself somehow. I wished to show that I was a practical man, too, + and so I made answer: “What is the cause of the working-man’s discontent? + It is very simple: the walking delegate.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IV + </h2> + <p> + I suppose I could not have fairly claimed any great originality for my + notion that the walking delegate was the cause of the labor troubles: he + is regularly assigned as the reason of a strike in the newspapers, and is + reprobated for his evil agency by the editors, who do not fail to read the + working-men many solemn lessons and fervently warn them against him, as + soon as the strike begins to go wrong—as it nearly always does. I + understand from them that the walking delegate is an irresponsible tyrant, + who emerges from the mystery that habitually hides him and from time to + time orders a strike in mere rancor of spirit and plenitude of power, and + then leaves the working-men and their families to suffer the consequences, + while he goes off somewhere and rolls in the lap of luxury, careless of + the misery he has created. Between his debauches of vicious idleness and + his accesses of baleful activity he is employed in poisoning the mind of + the working-men against his real interests and real friends. This is + perfectly easy, because the American working-man, though singularly shrewd + and sensible in other respects, is the victim of an unaccountable + obliquity of vision which keeps him from seeing his real interests and + real friends—or, at least, from knowing them when he sees them. + </p> + <p> + There could be no doubt, I thought, in the mind of any reasonable person + that the walking delegate was the source of the discontent among our + proletariate, and I alleged him with a confidence which met the approval + of the professor, apparently, for he nodded, as if to say that I had hit + the nail on the head this time; and the minister seemed to be freshly + impressed with a notion that could not be new to him. The lawyer and the + doctor were silent, as if waiting for the banker to speak again; but he + was silent, too. The manufacturer, to my chagrin, broke into a laugh. “I’m + afraid,” he said, with a sardonic levity which surprised me, “you’ll have + to go a good deal deeper than the walking delegate. He’s a symptom; he + isn’t the disease. The thing keeps on and on, and it seems to be always + about wages; but it isn’t about wages at the bottom. Some of those fellows + know it and some of them don’t, but the real discontent is with the whole + system, with the nature of things. I had a curious revelation on that + point the last time I tried to deal with my men as a union. They were + always bothering me about this and about that, and there was no end to the + bickering. I yielded point after point, but it didn’t make any difference. + It seemed as if the more I gave the more they asked. At last I made up my + mind to try to get at the real inwardness of the matter, and I didn’t wait + for their committee to come to me—I sent for their leading man, and + said I wanted to have it out with him. He wasn’t a bad fellow, and when I + got at him, man to man that way, I found he had sense, and he had ideas—it’s + no use pretending those fellows are fools; he had thought about his side + of the question, anyway. I said: ‘Now what does it all mean? Do you want + the earth, or don’t you? When is it going to end?’ I offered him something + to take, but he said he didn’t drink, and we compromised on cigars. ‘Now + when is it going to end?’ said I, and I pressed it home, and wouldn’t let + him fight off from the point. ‘Do you mean when is it all going to end?’ + said he. ‘Yes,’ said I, ‘all. I’m sick of it. If there’s any way out I’d + like to know it.’ ‘Well,’ said he, ‘I’ll tell you, if you want to know. + It’s all going to end when you get the same amount of money for the same + amount of work as we do.’” + </p> + <p> + We all laughed uproariously. The thing was deliciously comical; and + nothing, I thought, attested the Altrurian’s want of humor like his + failure to appreciate this joke. He did not even smile in asking: “And + what did you say?” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” returned the manufacturer, with cosey enjoyment, “I asked him if + the men would take the concern and run it themselves.” We laughed again; + this seemed even better than the other joke. “But he said, ‘No’; they + would not like to do that. And then I asked him just what they would like, + if they could have their own way, and he said they would like to have me + run the business, and all share alike. I asked him what was the sense of + that, and why, if I could do something that all of them put together + couldn’t do, I shouldn’t be paid more than all of them put together; and + he said that if a man did his best he ought to be paid as much as the best + man. I asked him if that was the principle their union was founded on, and + he said, ‘Yes,’ that the very meaning of their union was the protection of + the weak by the strong and the equalization of earnings among all who do + their best.” + </p> + <p> + We waited for the manufacturer to go on, but he made a dramatic pause at + this point, as if to let it sink into our minds; and he did not speak + until the Altrurian prompted him with the question, “And what did you + finally do?” + </p> + <p> + “I saw there was only one way out for me, and I told the fellow I did not + think I could do business on that principle. We parted friends, but the + next Saturday I locked them out and smashed their union. They came back, + most of them—they had to—but I’ve treated with them ever since + ‘as individuals.’” + </p> + <p> + “And they’re much better off in your hands than they were in the union,” + said the professor. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know about that,” said the manufacturer, “but I’m sure I am.” + </p> + <p> + We laughed with him, all but the minister, whose mind seemed to have + caught upon some other point, and who sat absently by. + </p> + <p> + “And is it your opinion, from what you know of the working-man generally, + that they all have this twist in their heads?” the professor asked. + </p> + <p> + “They have, until they begin to rise. Then they get rid of it mighty soon. + Let a man save something—enough to get a house of his own, and take + a boarder or two, and perhaps have a little money at interest—and he + sees the matter in another light.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think he sees it more clearly?” asked the minister. + </p> + <p> + “He sees it differently.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you think?” the minister pursued, turning to the lawyer. “You are + used to dealing with questions of justice—” + </p> + <p> + “Rather more with questions of law, I’m afraid,” the other returned, + pleasantly, putting his feet together before him and looking down at them + in a way he had. “But, still, I have a great interest in questions of + justice, and I confess that I find a certain wild equity in this + principle, which I see nobody could do business on. It strikes me as + idyllic—it’s a touch of real poetry in the rough-and-tumble prose of + our economic life.” + </p> + <p> + He referred this to me as something I might appreciate in my quality of + literary man, and I responded in my quality of practical man: “There’s + certainly more rhyme than reason in it.” + </p> + <p> + He turned again to the minister: + </p> + <p> + “I suppose the ideal of the Christian state is the family?” + </p> + <p> + “I hope so,” said the minister, with the gratitude that I have seen people + of his cloth show when men of the world conceded premises which the world + usually contests; it has seemed to me pathetic. + </p> + <p> + “And if that is the case, why, the logic of the postulate is that the + prosperity of the weakest is the sacred charge and highest happiness of + all the stronger. But the law has not recognized any such principle, in + economics at least, and if the labor unions are based upon it they are + outlaw, so far as any hope of enforcing it is concerned; and it is bad for + men to feel themselves outlaw. How is it,” the lawyer continued, turning + to the Altrurian, “in your country? We can see no issue here, if the first + principle of organized labor antagonizes the first principle of business.” + </p> + <p> + “But I don’t understand precisely yet what the first principle of business + is,” returned my guest. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, that raises another interesting question,” said the lawyer. “Of + course, every business man solves the problem practically according to his + temperament and education, and I suppose that on first thoughts every + business man would answer you accordingly. But perhaps the personal + equation is something you wish to eliminate from the definition.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, of course.” + </p> + <p> + “Still, I would rather not venture upon it first,” said the lawyer. + “Professor, what should you say was the first principle of business?” + </p> + <p> + “Buying in the cheapest market and selling in the dearest,” the professor + promptly answered. + </p> + <p> + “We will pass the parson and the doctor and the novelist as witnesses of + no value. They can’t possibly have any cognizance of the first principle + of business; their affair is to look after the souls and bodies and + fancies of other people. But what should you say it was?” he asked the + banker. + </p> + <p> + “I should say it was an enlightened conception of one’s own interests.” + </p> + <p> + “And you?” + </p> + <p> + The manufacturer had no hesitation in answering: “The good of Number One, + first, last, and all the time. There may be a difference of opinion about + the best way to get at it; the long way may be the better, or the short + way; the direct way or the oblique way, or the purely selfish way, or the + partly selfish way; but if you ever lose sight of that end you might as + well shut up shop. That seems to be the first law of nature, as well as + the first law of business.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, we mustn’t go to nature for our morality,” the minister protested. + </p> + <p> + “We were not talking of morality,” said the manufacturer; “we were talking + of business.” + </p> + <p> + This brought the laugh on the minister, but the lawyer cut it short: + “Well, then, I don’t really see why the trades-unions are not as + business-like as the syndicates in their dealings with all those outside + of themselves. Within themselves they practise an altruism of the highest + order, but it is a tribal altruism; it is like that which prompts a Sioux + to share his last mouthful with a starving Sioux, and to take the scalp of + a starving Apache. How is it with your trades-unions in Altruria?” he + asked my friend. + </p> + <p> + “We have no trades-unions in Altruria,” he began. + </p> + <p> + “Happy Altruria!” cried the professor. + </p> + <p> + “We had them formerly,” the Altrurian went on, “as you have them now. They + claimed, as I suppose yours do, that they were forced into existence by + the necessities of the case; that without union the working-man was unable + to meet the capitalist on anything like equal terms, or to withstand his + encroachments and oppressions. But to maintain themselves they had to + extinguish industrial liberty among the working-men themselves, and they + had to practise great cruelties against those who refused to join them or + who rebelled against them.” + </p> + <p> + “They simply destroy them here,” said the professor. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the lawyer, from his judicial mind, “the great syndicates + have no scruples in destroying a capitalist who won’t come into them or + who tries to go out. They don’t club him or stone him, but they under-sell + him and freeze him out; they don’t break his head, but they bankrupt him. + The principle is the same.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t interrupt Mr. Homos,” the banker entreated. “I am very curious to + know just how they got rid of labor unions in Altruria.” + </p> + <p> + “We had syndicates, too, and finally we had the <i>reductio ad absurdum</i>—we + had a federation of labor unions find a federation of syndicates, that + divided the nation into two camps. The situation was not only impossible, + but it was insupportably ridiculous.” + </p> + <p> + I ventured to say: “It hasn’t become quite so much of a joke with us yet.” + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t it in a fair way to become so?” asked the doctor; and he turned to + the lawyer: “What should you say was the logic of events among us for the + last ten or twenty years?” + </p> + <p> + “There’s nothing so capricious as the logic of events. It’s like a woman’s + reasoning—you can’t tell what it’s aimed at, or where it’s going to + fetch up; all that you can do is to keep out of the way if possible. We + may come to some such condition of things as they have in Altruria, where + the faith of the whole nation is pledged to secure every citizen in the + pursuit of happiness; or we may revert to some former condition, and the + master may again own the man; or we may hitch and joggle along + indefinitely, as we are doing now.” + </p> + <p> + “But come, now,” said the banker, while he laid a caressing touch on the + Altrurian’s shoulder, “you don’t mean to say honestly that everybody works + with his hands in Altruria?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, certainly. We are mindful, as a whole people, of the divine law—‘In + the sweat of thy brow shalt thou eat bread.’” + </p> + <p> + “But the capitalists? I’m anxious about Number One, you see.” + </p> + <p> + “We have none.” + </p> + <p> + “I forgot, of course. But the lawyers, the doctors, the parsons, the + novelists?” + </p> + <p> + “They all do their share of hand-work.” + </p> + <p> + The lawyer said: “That seems to dispose of the question of the working-man + in society. But how about your minds? When do you cultivate your minds? + When do the ladies of Altruria cultivate their minds, if they have to do + their own work, as I suppose they do? Or is it only the men who work, if + they happen to be the husbands and fathers of the upper classes?” + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian seemed to be sensible of the kindly scepticism which + persisted in our reception of his statements, after all we had read of + Altruria. He smiled indulgently, and said: “You mustn’t imagine that work + in Altruria is the same as it is here. As we all work, the amount that + each one need do is very little, a few hours each day at the most, so that + every man and woman has abundant leisure and perfect spirits for the + higher pleasures which the education of their whole youth has fitted them + to enjoy. If you can understand a state of things where the sciences and + arts and letters are cultivated for their own sake, and not as a means of + livelihood—” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said the lawyer, smiling, “I’m afraid we can’t conceive of that. We + consider the pinch of poverty the highest incentive that a man can have. + If our gifted friend here,” he said, indicating me, “were not kept like a + toad under the harrow, with his nose on the grindstone, and the poorhouse + staring him in the face—” + </p> + <p> + “For Heaven’s sake,” I cried out, “don’t mix your metaphors so, anyway!” + </p> + <p> + “If it were not for that and all the other hardships that literary men + undergo— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘Toil, envy, want, the patron and the jail’— +</pre> + <p> + his novels probably wouldn’t be worth reading.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said the Altrurian, as if he did not quite follow this joking; and, + to tell the truth, I never find the personal thing in very good taste. + “You will understand, then, how extremely difficult it is for me to + imagine a condition of things like yours—although I have it under my + very eyes—where the money consideration is the first consideration.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, excuse me,” urged the minister; “I don’t think that’s quite the + case.” + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon,” said the Altrurian, sweetly; “you can see how easily + I go astray.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, I don’t know,” the banker interposed, “that you are so far out in + what you say. If you had said that money was always the first motive, I + should have been inclined to dispute you, too; but when you say that money + is the first consideration, I think you are quite right. Unless a man + secures his financial basis for his work, he can’t do his work. It’s + nonsense to pretend otherwise. So the money consideration is the first + consideration. People here have to live by their work, and to live they + must have money. Of course, we all recognize a difference in the + qualities, as well as in the kinds, of work. The work of the laborer may + be roughly defined as the necessity of his life; the work of the business + man as the means, and the work of the artist and scientist as the end. We + might refine upon these definitions and make them closer, but they will + serve for illustration as they are. I don’t think there can be any + question as to which is the highest kind of work; some truths are + self-evident. He is a fortunate man whose work is an end, and every + business man sees this, and owns it to himself, at least when he meets + some man of an aesthetic or scientific occupation. He knows that this + luckier fellow has a joy in his work which he can never feel in business; + that his success in it can never be embittered by the thought that it is + the failure of another; that if he does it well, it is pure good; that + there cannot be any competition in it—there can be only a noble + emulation, as far as the work itself is concerned. He can always look up + to his work, for it is something above him; and a business man often has + to look down upon his business, for it is often beneath him, unless he is + a pretty low fellow.” + </p> + <p> + I listened to all this in surprise; I knew that the banker was a + cultivated man, a man of university training, and that he was a reader and + a thinker; but he had always kept a certain reserve in his talk, which he + now seemed to have thrown aside for the sake of the Altrurian, or because + the subject had a charm that lured him out of himself. “Well, now,” he + continued, “the question is of the money consideration, which is the first + consideration with us all: does it, or doesn’t it degrade the work, which + is the life, of those among us whose work is the highest? I understand + that this is the misgiving which troubles you in view of our conditions?” + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian assented, and I thought it a proof of the banker’s innate + delicacy that he did not refer the matter, so far as it concerned the + aesthetic life and work, to me; I was afraid he was going to do so. But he + courteously proposed to keep the question impersonal, and he went on to + consider it himself: “Well, I don’t suppose any one can satisfy you fully. + But I should say that it put such men under a double strain, and perhaps + that is the reason why so many of them break down in a calling that is + certainly far less exhausting than business. On one side, the artist is + kept to the level of the working-man, of the animal, of the creature whose + sole affair is to get something to eat and somewhere to sleep. This is + through his necessity. On the other side, he is exalted to the height of + beings who have no concern but with the excellence of their work, which + they were born and divinely authorized to do. This is through his purpose. + Between the two, I should say that he got mixed, and that his work shows + it.” + </p> + <p> + None of the others said anything, and, since I had not been personally + appealed to, I felt the freer to speak. “If you will suppose me to be + speaking from observation rather than experience—” I began. + </p> + <p> + “By all means,” said the banker, “go on;” and the rest made haste in + various forms to yield me the word. + </p> + <p> + “I should say that such a man certainly got mixed, but that his work kept + itself pure from the money consideration, as it were, in spite of him. A + painter or actor, or even a novelist, is glad to get all he can for his + work, and, such is our fallen nature, he does get all he knows how to get: + but, when he has once fairly passed into his work, he loses himself in it. + He does not think whether it will pay or not, whether it will be popular + or not, but whether he can make it good or not.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that is conceivable,” said the banker. “But wouldn’t he rather do + something he would get less for, if he could afford it, than the thing he + knows he will get more for? Doesn’t the money consideration influence his + choice of subject?” + </p> + <p> + “Oddly enough, I don’t believe it does,” I answered, after a moment’s + reflection. “A man makes his choice once for all when he embraces the + aesthetic life, or, rather, it is made for him; no other life seems + possible. I know there is a general belief that an artist does the kind of + thing he has made go because it pays; but this only shows the prevalence + of business ideals. If he did not love to do the thing he does, he could + not do it well, no matter how richly it paid.” + </p> + <p> + “I am glad to hear it,” said the banker, and he added to the Altrurian: + “So, you see, we are not so bad as one would think. We are illogically + better, in fact.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” the other assented. “I knew something of your literature as well as + your conditions before I left home, and I perceived that by some anomaly + the one was not tainted by the other. It is a miraculous proof of the + divine mission of the poet.” + </p> + <p> + “And the popular novelist,” the lawyer whispered in my ear, but loud + enough for the rest to hear, and they all testified their amusement at my + cost. + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian, with his weak sense of humor, passed the joke. “It shows no + signs of corruption from greed, but I can’t help thinking that, fine as it + is, it might have been much finer if the authors who produced it had been + absolutely freed to their work, and had never felt the spur of need.” + </p> + <p> + “Are they absolutely freed to it in Altruria?” asked the professor. “I + understood you that everybody had to work for his living in Altruria.” + </p> + <p> + “That is a mistake. Nobody works for his living in Altruria; he works for + others’ living.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, that is precisely what our working-men object to doing here,” said + the manufacturer. “In that last interview of mine with the walking + delegate he had the impudence to ask me why my men should work for my + living as well as their own.” + </p> + <p> + “He couldn’t imagine that you were giving them the work to do—the + very means of life,” said the professor. + </p> + <p> + “Oh no, that’s the last thing those fellows want to think of.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps,” the Altrurian suggested, “they might not have found it such a + hardship to work for your living if their own had been assured, as it is + with us. If you will excuse my saying it, we should think it monstrous in + Altruria for any man to have another’s means of life in his power; and in + our condition it is hardly imaginable. Do you really have it in your power + to take away a man’s opportunity to earn a living?” + </p> + <p> + The manufacturer laughed uneasily. “It is in my power to take away his + life; but I don’t habitually shoot my fellow-men, and I never dismissed a + man yet without good reason.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I beg your pardon,” said the Altrurian. “I didn’t dream of accusing + you of such inhumanity. But, you see, our whole system is so very + different that, as I said, it is hard for me to conceive of yours, and I + am very curious to understand its workings. If you shot your fellow-man, + as you say, the law would punish you; but if, for some reason that you + decided to be good, you took away his means of living, and he actually + starved to death—” + </p> + <p> + “Then the law would have nothing to do with it,” the professor replied for + the manufacturer, who did not seem ready to answer. “But that is not the + way things fall out. The man would be supported in idleness, probably, + till he got another job, by his union, which would take the matter up.” + </p> + <p> + “But I thought that our friend did not employ union labor,” returned the + Altrurian. + </p> + <p> + I found all this very uncomfortable, and tried to turn the talk back to a + point that I felt curious about: “But in Altruria, if the literary class + is not exempt from the rule of manual labor, where do they find time and + strength to write?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, you must realize that our manual labor is never engrossing or + exhausting. It is no more than is necessary to keep the body in health. I + do not see how you remain well here, you people of sedentary occupations.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, we all take some sort of exercise. We walk several hours a day, or we + row, or we ride a bicycle, or a horse, or we fence.” + </p> + <p> + “But to us,” returned the Altrurian, with a growing frankness which + nothing but the sweetness of his manner would have excused, “exercise for + exercise would appear stupid. The barren expenditure of force that began + and ended in itself, and produced nothing, we should—if you will + excuse my saying so—look upon as childish, if not insane or + immoral.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + V + </h2> + <p> + At this moment the lady who had hailed me so gayly from the top of the + coach while I stood waiting for the Altrurian to help the porter with the + baggage, just after the arrival of the train, came up with her husband to + our little group and said to me: “I want to introduce my husband to you. + He adores your books.” She went on much longer to this effect, while the + other men grinned round and her husband tried to look as if it were all + true, and her eyes wandered to the Altrurian, who listened gravely. I knew + perfectly well that she was using her husband’s zeal for my fiction to + make me present my friend; but I did not mind that, and I introduced him + to both of them. She took possession of him at once and began walking him + off down the piazza, while her husband remained with me, and the members + of our late conference drifted apart. I was not sorry to have it broken up + for the present; it seemed to me that it had lasted quite long enough, and + I lighted a cigar with the husband, and we strolled together in the + direction his wife had taken. + </p> + <p> + He began, apparently in compliment to literature in my person: “Yes, I + like to have a book where I can get at it when we’re not going out to the + theatre, and I want to quiet my mind down after business. I don’t care + much what the book is; my wife reads to me till I drop off, and then she + finishes the book herself and tells me the rest of the story. You see, + business takes it out of you so! Well, I let my wife do most of the + reading, anyway. She knows pretty much everything that’s going in that + line. We haven’t got any children, and it occupies her mind. She’s up to + all sorts of things—she’s artistic, and she’s musical, and she’s + dramatic, and she’s literary. Well, I like to have her. Women are funny, + anyway.” + </p> + <p> + He was a good-looking, good-natured, average American of the money-making + type; I believe he was some sort of a broker, but I do not quite know what + his business was. As we walked up and down the piazza, keeping a discreet + little distance from the corner where his wife had run off to with her + capture, he said he wished he could get more time with her in the summer—but + he supposed I knew what business was. He was glad she could have the rest, + anyway; she needed it. + </p> + <p> + “By-the-way,” he asked, “who is this friend of yours? The women are all + crazy about him, and it’s been an even thing between my wife and Miss + Groundsel which would fetch him first. But I’ll bet on my wife every time, + when it comes to a thing like that. He’s a good-looking fellow—some + kind of foreigner, I believe; pretty eccentric, too, I guess. Where is + Altruria, anyway?” + </p> + <p> + I told him, and he said: “Oh yes. Well, if we are going to restrict + immigration, I suppose we sha’n’t see many more Altrurians, and we’d + better make the most of this one. Heigh?” + </p> + <p> + I do not know why this innocent pleasantry piqued me to say: “If I + understand the Altrurians, my dear fellow, nothing could induce them to + emigrate to America. As far as I can make out, they would regard it very + much as we should regard settling among the Eskimos.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that so?” asked my new acquaintance, with perfect good temper. “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Really, I can’t say, and I don’t know that I’ve explicit authority for my + statement.” + </p> + <p> + “They are worse than the English used to be,” he went on. “I didn’t know + that there were any foreigners who looked at us in that light now. I + thought the war settled all that.” + </p> + <p> + I sighed. “There are a good many things that the war didn’t settle so + definitely as we’ve been used to thinking, I’m afraid. But, for that + matter, I fancy an Altrurian would regard the English as a little lower in + the scale of savagery than ourselves even.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that so? Well, that’s pretty good on the English, anyway,” said my + companion, and he laughed with an easy satisfaction that I envied him. + </p> + <p> + “My dear!” his wife called to him from where she was sitting with the + Altrurian, “I wish you would go for my shawl. I begin to feel the air a + little.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll go if you’ll tell me where,” he said, and he confided to me, “Never + knows where her shawl is one-quarter of the time.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I think I left it in the office somewhere. You might ask at the + desk; or perhaps it’s in the rack by the dining-room door—or maybe + up in our room.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought so,” said her husband, with another glance at me, as if it were + the greatest fun in the world, and he started amiably off. + </p> + <p> + I went and took a chair by the lady and the Altrurian, and she began at + once: “Oh, I’m so glad you’ve come! I have been trying to enlighten Mr. + Homos about some of the little social peculiarities among us that he finds + so hard to understand. He was just now,” the lady continued, “wanting to + know why all the natives out here were not invited to go in and join our + young people in the dance, and I’ve been trying to tell him that we + consider it a great favor to let them come and take up so much of the + piazza and look in at the windows.” + </p> + <p> + She gave a little laugh of superiority, and twitched her pretty head in + the direction of the young country girls and country fellows who were + thronging the place that night in rather unusual numbers. They were well + enough looking, and, as it was Saturday night, they were in their best. I + suppose their dress could have been criticised; the young fellows were + clothed by the ready-made clothing-store, and the young girls after their + own devices from the fashion papers; but their general effect was good, + and their behavior was irreproachable; they were very quiet—if + anything, too quiet. They took up a part of the piazza that was yielded + them by common usage, and sat watching the hop inside, not so much + enviously, I thought, as wistfully; and for the first time it struck me as + odd that they should have no part in the gayety. I had often seen them + there before, but I had never thought it strange they should be shut out. + It had always seemed quite normal, but now, suddenly, for one baleful + moment, it seemed abnormal. I suppose it was the talk we had been having + about the working-men in society which caused me to see the thing as the + Altrurian must have seen it; but I was, nevertheless, vexed with him for + having asked such a question, after he had been so fully instructed upon + the point. It was malicious of him, or it was stupid. I hardened my heart, + and answered: “You might have told him, for one thing, that they were not + dancing because they had not paid the piper.” + </p> + <p> + “Then the money consideration enters even into your social pleasures?” + asked the Altrurian. + </p> + <p> + “Very much. Doesn’t it with you?” + </p> + <p> + He evaded this question, as he evaded all straightforward questions + concerning his country: “We have no money consideration, you know. But do + I understand that all your social entertainments are paid for by the + guests?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no, not so bad as that, quite. There are a great many that the host + pays for. Even here, in a hotel, the host furnishes the music and the room + free to the guests of the house.” + </p> + <p> + “And none are admitted from the outside?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes, people are welcome from all the other hotels and boarding-houses + and the private cottages. The young men are especially welcome; there are + not enough young men in the hotel to go round, you see.” In fact, we could + see that some of the pretty girls within were dancing with other girls; + half-grown boys were dangling from the waists of tall young ladies and + waltzing on tiptoe. + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t that rather droll?” asked the Altrurian. + </p> + <p> + “It’s grotesque!” I said, and I felt ashamed of it. “But what are you to + do? The young men are hard at work in the cities, as many as can get work + there, and the rest are out West, growing up with the country. There are + twenty young girls for every young man at all the summer resorts in the + East.” + </p> + <p> + “But what would happen if these young farmers—I suppose they are + farmers—were invited in to take part in the dance?” asked my friend. + </p> + <p> + “But that is impossible.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Really, Mrs. Makely, I think I shall have to give him back to you,” I + said. + </p> + <p> + The lady laughed. “I am not sure that I want him back.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes,” the Altrurian entreated, with unwonted perception of the humor. + “I know that I must be very trying with my questions; but do not abandon + me to the solitude of my own conjectures. They are dreadful!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I won’t,” said the lady, with another laugh. “And I will try to + tell you what would happen if those farmers, or farm-hands, or whatever + they are, were asked in. The mammas would be very indignant, and the young + ladies would be scared, and nobody would know what to do, and the dance + would stop.” + </p> + <p> + “Then the young ladies prefer to dance with one another and with little + boys—” + </p> + <p> + “No, they prefer to dance with young men of their own station; they would + rather not dance at all than dance with people beneath them. I don’t say + anything against these natives here; they are very civil and decent. But + they have not the same social traditions as the young ladies; they would + be out of place with them, and they would feel it.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I can see that they are not fit to associate with them,” said the + Altrurian, with a gleam of commonsense that surprised me, “and that as + long as your present conditions endure they never can be. You must excuse + the confusion which the difference between your political ideals and your + economic ideals constantly creates in me. I always think of you + politically first, and realize you as a perfect democracy; then come these + other facts, in which I cannot perceive that you differ from the + aristocratic countries of Europe in theory, or practice. It is very + puzzling. Am I right in supposing that the effect of your economy is to + establish insuperable inequalities among you, and to forbid the hope of + the brotherhood which your policy proclaims?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Makely looked at me as if she were helpless to grapple with his + meaning, and, for fear of worse, I thought best to evade it. I said: “I + don’t believe that anybody is troubled by those distinctions. We are used + to them, and everybody acquiesces in them, which is a proof that they are + a very good thing.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Makely now came to my support. “The Americans are very high-spirited, + in every class, and I don’t believe one of those nice farm-boys would like + being asked in any better than the young ladies. You can’t imagine how + proud some of them are.” + </p> + <p> + “So that they suffer from being excluded as inferiors?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I assure you they don’t feel themselves inferior! They consider + themselves as good as anybody. There are some very interesting characters + among them. Now, there is a young girl sitting at the first window, with + her profile outlined by the light, whom I feel it an honor to speak to. + That’s her brother, standing there with her—that tall, gaunt young + man with a Roman face; it’s such a common type here in the mountains. + Their father was a soldier, and he distinguished himself so in one of the + last battles that he was promoted. He was badly wounded, but he never took + a pension; he just came back to his farm and worked on till he died. Now + the son has the farm, and he and his sister live there with their mother. + The daughter takes in sewing, and in that way they manage to make both + ends meet. The girl is really a first-rate seamstress, and so cheap! I + give her a good deal of my work in the summer, and we are quite friends. + She’s very fond of reading; the mother is an invalid, but she reads aloud + while the daughter sews, and you’ve no idea how many books they get + through. When she comes for sewing, I like to talk with her about them; I + always have her sit down; it’s hard to realize that she isn’t a lady. I’m + a good deal criticised, I know, and I suppose I do spoil her a little; it + puts notions into such people’s heads, if you meet them in that way; + they’re pretty free and independent as it is. But when I’m with Lizzie I + forget that there is any difference between us; I can’t help loving the + child. You must take Mr. Homos to see them, Mr. Twelvemough. They’ve got + the father’s sword hung up over the head of the mother’s bed; it’s very + touching. But the poor little place is so bare!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Makely sighed, and there fell a little pause, which she broke with a + question she had the effect of having kept back. + </p> + <p> + “There is one thing I should like to ask you, too, Mr. Homos. Is it true + that everybody in Altruria does some kind of manual labor?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, certainly,” he answered, quite as if he had been an American. + </p> + <p> + “Ladies, too? Or perhaps you have none.” + </p> + <p> + I thought this rather offensive, but I could not see that the Altrurian + had taken it ill. “Perhaps we had better try to understand each other + clearly before I answer that question. You have no titles of nobility as + they have in England—” + </p> + <p> + “No, indeed! I hope we have outgrown those superstitions,” said Mrs. + Makely, with a republican fervor that did my heart good. “It is a word + that we apply first of all to the moral qualities of a person.” + </p> + <p> + “But you said just now that you sometimes forgot that your seamstress was + not a lady. Just what did you mean by that?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Makely hesitated. “I meant—I suppose I meant—that she had + not the surroundings of a lady; the social traditions.” + </p> + <p> + “Then it has something to do with social as well as moral qualities—with + ranks and classes?” + </p> + <p> + “Classes, yes; but, as you know, we have no ranks in America.” The + Altrurian took off his hat and rubbed an imaginable perspiration from his + forehead. He sighed deeply. “It is all very difficult.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” Mrs. Makely assented, “I suppose it is. All foreigners find it so. + In fact, it is something that you have to live into the notion of; it + can’t be explained.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, my dear madam, will you tell me without further question what + you understand by a lady, and let me live into the notion of it at my + leisure?” + </p> + <p> + “I will do my best,” said Mrs. Makely. “But it would be so much easier to + tell you <i>who</i> was or who was not a lady. However, your acquaintance + is so limited yet that I must try to do something in the abstract and + impersonal for you. In the first place, a lady must be above the sordid + anxieties in every way. She need not be very rich, but she must have + enough, so that she need not be harassed about making both ends meet, when + she ought to be devoting herself to her social duties. The time is past + with us when a lady could look after the dinner, and perhaps cook part of + it herself, and then rush in to receive her guests and do the amenities. + She must have a certain kind of house, so that her entourage won’t seem + cramped and mean, and she must have nice frocks, of course, and plenty of + them. She needn’t be of the smart set; that isn’t at all necessary; but + she can’t afford to be out of the fashion. Of course, she must have a + certain training. She must have cultivated tastes; she must know about art + and literature and music, and all those kind of things, and, though it + isn’t necessary to go in for anything in particular, it won’t hurt her to + have a fad or two. The nicest kind of fad is charity; and people go in for + that a great deal. I think sometimes they use it to work up with, and + there are some who use religion in the same way; I think it’s horrid; but + it’s perfectly safe; you can’t accuse them of doing it. I’m happy to say, + though, that mere church association doesn’t count socially so much as it + used to. Charity is a great deal more insidious. But you see how hard it + is to define a lady. So much has to be left to the nerves, in all these + things. And then it’s changing all the time; Europe’s coming in, and the + old American ideals are passing away. Things that people did ten years ago + would be impossible now, or at least ridiculous. You wouldn’t be + considered vulgar, quite, but you would certainly be considered a back + number, and that’s almost as bad. Really,” said Mrs. Makely, “I don’t + believe I can tell you what a lady is.” + </p> + <p> + We all laughed together at her frank confession. The Altrurian asked: “But + do I understand that one of her conditions is that she shall have nothing + whatever to do?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing to <i>do</i>!” cried Mrs. Makely. “A lady is busy from morning + till night. She always goes to bed perfectly worn out.” + </p> + <p> + “But with what?” asked the Altrurian. + </p> + <p> + “With making herself agreeable and her house attractive, with going to + lunches and teas and dinners and concerts and theatres and art + exhibitions, and charity meetings and receptions, and with writing a + thousand and one notes about them, and accepting and declining, and giving + lunches and dinners, and making calls and receiving them, and I don’t know + what all. It’s the most hideous slavery!” Her voice rose into something + like a shriek; one could see that her nerves were going at the mere + thought of it all. “You don’t have a moment to yourself; your life isn’t + your own.” + </p> + <p> + “But the lady isn’t allowed to do any useful kind of work?” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Work</i>! Don’t you call all that work, and <i>useful</i>? I’m sure I + envy the cook in my kitchen at times; I envy the woman that scrubs my + floors. Stop! Don’t ask why I don’t go into my kitchen, or get down on my + knees with the mop. It isn’t possible. You simply can’t. Perhaps you could + if you were very <i>grande dame</i>, but if you’re anywhere near the line + of necessity, or ever have been, you can’t. Besides, if we did do our own + household work, as I understand your Altrurian ladies do, what would + become of the servant class? We should be taking away their living, and + that would be wicked.” + </p> + <p> + “It would certainly be wrong to take away the living of a + fellow-creature,” the Altrurian gravely admitted, “and I see the obstacle + in your way.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s a mountain,” said the lady, with exhaustion in her voice, but a + returning amiability; his forbearance must have placated her. + </p> + <p> + “May I ask what the use of your society life is?” he ventured, after a + moment. + </p> + <p> + “Use? Why should it have any? It kills time.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you are shut up to a hideous slavery without use, except to kill + time, and you cannot escape from it without taking away the living of + those dependent on you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I put in, “and that is a difficulty that meets us at every turn. It + is something that Matthew Arnold urged with great effect in his paper on + that crank of a Tolstoy. He asked what would become of the people who need + the work if we served and waited on ourselves, as Tolstoy preached. The + question is unanswerable.” + </p> + <p> + “That is true; in your conditions, it is unanswerable,” said the + Altrurian. + </p> + <p> + “I think,” said Mrs. Makely, “that, under the circumstances, we do pretty + well.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don’t presume to censure you. And if you believe that your + conditions are the best—” + </p> + <p> + “We believe them the best in the best of all possible worlds,” I said, + devoutly; and it struck me that, if ever we came to have a national + church, some such affirmation as that concerning our economical conditions + ought to be in the confession of faith. + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian’s mind had not followed mine so far. “And your young girls,” + he asked of Mrs. Makely—“how is their time occupied?” + </p> + <p> + “You mean after they come out in society?” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose so.” + </p> + <p> + She seemed to reflect. “I don’t know that it is very differently occupied. + Of course, they have their own amusements; they have their dances, and + little clubs, and their sewing-societies. I suppose that even an Altrurian + would applaud their sewing for the poor?” Mrs. Makely asked, rather + satirically. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he answered; and then he asked: “Isn’t it taking work away from + some needy seamstress, though? But I suppose you excuse it to the + thoughtlessness of youth.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Makely did not say, and he went on: “What I find it so hard to + understand is how you ladies can endure a life of mere nervous exertion, + such as you have been describing to me. I don’t see how you keep well.” + </p> + <p> + “We <i>don’t</i> keep well,” said Mrs. Makely, with the greatest + amusement. “I don’t suppose that when you get above the working classes, + till you reach the very rich, you would find a perfectly well woman in + America.” + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t that rather extreme?” I ventured to ask. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Mrs. Makely, “it’s shamefully moderate,” and she seemed to + delight in having made out such a bad case for her sex. You can’t stop a + woman of that kind when she gets started; I had better left it alone. + </p> + <p> + “But,” said the Altrurian, “if you are forbidden by motives of humanity + from doing any sort of manual labor, which you must leave to those who + live by it, I suppose you take some sort of exercise?” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Mrs. Makely, shaking her head gayly, “we prefer to take + medicine.” + </p> + <p> + “You must approve of that,” I said to the Altrurian, “as you consider + exercise for its own sake insane or immoral. But, Mrs. Makely,” I + entreated, “you’re giving me away at a tremendous rate. I have just been + telling Mr. Homos that you ladies go in for athletics so much now in your + summer outings that there is danger of your becoming physically as well as + intellectually superior to us poor fellows. Don’t take that consolation + from me.” + </p> + <p> + “I won’t, altogether,” she said. “I couldn’t have the heart to, after the + pretty way you’ve put it. I don’t call it very athletic, sitting around on + hotel piazzas all summer long, as nineteen-twentieths of us do. But I + don’t deny that there is a Remnant, as Matthew Arnold calls them, who do + go in for tennis and boating and bathing and tramping and climbing.” She + paused, and then she concluded, gleefully: “And you ought to see what + wrecks they get home in the fall!” + </p> + <p> + The joke was on me; I could not help laughing, though I felt rather + sheepish before the Altrurian. Fortunately, he did not pursue the inquiry; + his curiosity had been given a slant aside from it. + </p> + <p> + “But your ladies,” he asked, “they have the summer for rest, however they + use it. Do they generally leave town? I understood Mr. Twelvemough to say + so,” he added, with a deferential glance at me. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you may say it is the universal custom in the class that can afford + it,” said Mrs. Makely. She proceeded as if she felt a tacit censure in his + question. “It wouldn’t be the least use for us to stay and fry through our + summers in the city simply because our fathers and brothers had to. + Besides, we are worn out, at the end of the season, and they want us to + come away as much as we want to come.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, I have always heard that the Americans are beautiful in their + attitude toward women.” + </p> + <p> + “They are perfect dears,” said Mrs. Makely, “and here comes one of the + best of them.” + </p> + <p> + At that moment her husband came up and laid her shawl across her + shoulders. “Whose character is it you’re blasting?” he asked, jocosely. + </p> + <p> + “Where in the world did you find it?” she asked, meaning the shawl. + </p> + <p> + “It was where you left it—on the sofa, in the side parlor. I had to + take my life in my hand when I crossed among all those waltzers in there. + There must have been as many as three couples on the floor. Poor girls! I + pity them, off at these places. The fellows in town have a good deal + better time. They’ve got their clubs, and they’ve got the theatre, and + when the weather gets too much for them they can run off down to the shore + for the night. The places anywhere within an hour’s ride are full of + fellows. The girls don’t have to dance with one another there, or with + little boys. Of course, that’s all right if they like it better.” He + laughed at his wife, and winked at me, and smoked swiftly, in emphasis of + his irony. + </p> + <p> + “Then the young gentlemen whom the young ladies here usually meet in + society are all at work in the cities?” the Altrurian asked him, rather + needlessly, as I had already said so. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, those who are not out West, growing up with the country, except, of + course, the fellows who have inherited a fortune. They’re mostly off on + yachts.” + </p> + <p> + “But why do your young men go West to grow up with the country?” pursued + my friend. + </p> + <p> + “Because the East is <i>grown</i> up. They have got to hustle, and the + West is the place to hustle. To make money,” added Makely, in response to + a puzzled glance of the Altrurian. + </p> + <p> + “Sometimes,” said his wife, “I almost hate the name of money.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, so long as you don’t hate the thing, Peggy.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, we must have it, I suppose,” she sighed. “They used to say about the + girls who grew into old maids just after the Rebellion that they had lost + their chance in the war for the Union. I think quite as many lose their + chance now in the war for the dollar.” + </p> + <p> + “Mars hath slain his thousands, but Mammon hath slain his tens of + thousands,” I suggested, lightly; we all like to recognize the facts, so + long as we are not expected to do anything about them; then, we deny them. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, quite as bad as that,” said Mrs. Makely. + </p> + <p> + “Well, my dear, you are expensive, you know,” said her husband, “and if we + want to have you—why, we’ve got to hustle first.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don’t blame you, you poor things! There’s nothing to be done about + it; it’s just got to go on and on; I don’t see how it’s ever to end.” + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian had been following us with that air of polite mystification + which I had begun to dread in him. “Then, in your good society you + postpone, and even forego, the happiness of life in the struggle to be + rich?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you see,” said Makely, “a fellow don’t like to ask a girl to share + a home that isn’t as nice as the home she has left.” + </p> + <p> + “Sometimes,” his wife put in, rather sadly, “I think that it’s all a + mistake, and that we’d be willing to share the privations of the man we + loved.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Makely, with a laugh, “we wouldn’t like to risk it.” + </p> + <p> + I laughed with him, but his wife did not, and in the silence that ensued + there was nothing to prevent the Altrurian from coming in with another of + his questions: “How far does this state of things extend downward? Does it + include the working classes, too?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no!” we all answered together, and Mrs. Makely said: “With your + Altrurian ideas, I suppose you would naturally sympathize a great deal + more with the lower classes, and think they had to endure all the + hardships in our system; but if you could realize how the struggle goes on + in the best society, and how we all have to fight for what we get, or + don’t get, you would be disposed to pity our upper classes, too.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure I should,” said the Altrurian. + </p> + <p> + Makely remarked: “I used to hear my father say that slavery was harder on + the whites than it was on the blacks, and that he wanted it done away with + for the sake of the masters.” + </p> + <p> + Makely rather faltered in conclusion, as if he were not quite satisfied + with his remark, and I distinctly felt a want of proportion in it; but I + did not wish to say anything. His wife had no reluctance. + </p> + <p> + “Well, there’s no comparison between the two things, but the struggle + certainly doesn’t affect the working classes as it does us. They go on + marrying and giving in marriage in the old way. They have nothing to lose, + and so they can afford it.” + </p> + <p> + “Blessed am dem what don’t expect nuffin! Oh, I tell you, it’s a + working-man’s country,” said Makely, through his cigar-smoke. “You ought + to see them in town, these summer nights, in the parks and squares and + cheap theatres. Their girls are not off for their health, anywhere, and + their fellows are not off growing up with the country. Their day’s work is + over, and they’re going in for a good time. And, then, walk through the + streets where they live, and see them out on the stoops with their wives + and children! I tell you, it’s enough to make a fellow wish he was poor + himself.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Mrs. Makely, “it’s astonishing how strong and well those women + keep, with their great families and their hard work. Sometimes I really + envy them.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you suppose,” said the Altrurian, “that they are aware of the + sacrifices which the ladies of the upper classes make in leaving all the + work to them, and suffering from the nervous debility which seems to be + the outcome of your society life?” + </p> + <p> + “They have not the remotest idea of it. They have no conception of what a + society woman goes through with. They think we do nothing. They envy us, + too, and sometimes they’re so ungrateful and indifferent, if you try to + help them, or get on terms with them, that I believe they hate us.” + </p> + <p> + “But that comes from ignorance?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, though I don’t know that they are really any more ignorant of us + than we are of them. It’s the other half on both sides.” + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t that a pity, rather?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course it’s a pity, but what can you do? You can’t know what people + are like unless you live like them, and then the question is whether the + game is worth the candle. I should like to know how you manage in + Altruria.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, we have solved the problem in the only way, as you say, that it can + be solved. We all live alike.” + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t that a little, just a very trifling little bit, monotonous?” Mrs. + Makely asked, with a smile. “But there is everything, of course, in being + used to it. To an unregenerate spirit—like mine, for example—it + seems intolerable.” + </p> + <p> + “But why? When you were younger, before you were married, you all lived at + home together—or, perhaps, you were an only child?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no indeed! There were ten of us.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you all lived alike, and shared equally?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but we were a family.” + </p> + <p> + “We do not conceive of the human race except as a family.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, excuse me, Mr. Homos, that is all nonsense. You cannot have the + family feeling without love, and it is impossible to love other people. + That talk about the neighbor, and all that, is all well enough—” She + stopped herself, as if she dimly remembered who began that talk, and then + went on: “Of course, I accept it as a matter of faith, and the spirit of + it, nobody denies that; but what I mean is, that you must have frightful + quarrels all the time.” She tried to look as if this were where she really + meant to bring up, and he took her on the ground she had chosen. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, we have quarrels. Hadn’t you at home?” + </p> + <p> + “We fought like little cats and dogs, at times.” + </p> + <p> + Makely and I burst into a laugh at her magnanimous frankness. The + Altrurian remained serious. “But, because you lived alike, you knew each + other, and so you easily made up your quarrels. It is quite as simple with + us, in our life as a human family.” + </p> + <p> + This notion of a human family seemed to amuse Mrs. Makely more and more; + she laughed and laughed again. “You must excuse me,” she panted, at last, + “but I cannot imagine it! No, it is too ludicrous. Just fancy the jars of + an ordinary family multiplied by the population of a whole continent! Why, + you must be in a perpetual squabble. You can’t have any peace of your + lives. It’s worse, far worse, than our way.” + </p> + <p> + “But, madam,” he began, “you are supposing our family to be made up of + people with all the antagonistic interests of your civilization. As a + matter of fact—” + </p> + <p> + “No, no! <i>I know human nature</i>, Mr. Homos!” She suddenly jumped up + and gave him her hand. “Good-night,” she said, sweetly, and as she drifted + off on her husband’s arm she looked back at us and nodded in gay triumph. + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian turned upon me with unabated interest. “And have you no + provision in your system for finally making the lower classes understand + the sufferings and sacrifices of the upper classes in their behalf? Do you + expect to do nothing to bring them together in mutual kindness?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, not this evening,” I said, throwing the end of my cigar away. “I’m + going to bed—aren’t you?” + </p> + <p> + “Not yet.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, good-night. Are you sure you can find your room?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes. Good-night.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VI + </h2> + <p> + I left my guest abruptly, with a feeling of vexation not very easily + definable. His repetition of questions about questions which society has + so often answered, and always in the same way, was not so bad in him as it + would have been in a person of our civilization; he represented a wholly + different state of things, the inversion of our own, and much could be + forgiven him for that reason, just as in Russia much could be forgiven to + an American if he formulated his curiosity concerning imperialism from a + purely republican experience. I knew that in Altruria, for instance, the + possession of great gifts, of any kind of superiority, involved the sense + of obligation to others, and the wish to identify one’s self with the + great mass of men, rather than the ambition to distinguish one’s self from + them; and that the Altrurians honored their gifted men in the measure they + did this. A man reared in such a civilization must naturally find it + difficult to get our point of view; with social inclusion as the ideal, he + would with difficulty conceive of our ideal of social exclusion; but I + think we had all been very patient with him; we should have made short + work with an American who had approached us with the same inquiries. Even + from a foreigner, the citizen of a republic founded on the notion, + elsewhere exploded ever since Cain, that one is his brother’s keeper, the + things he asked seemed inoffensive only because they were puerile; but + they certainly were puerile. I felt that it ought to have been + self-evident to him that when a commonwealth of sixty million Americans + based itself upon the great principle of self-seeking, self-seeking was + the best thing, and, whatever hardship it seemed to work, it must carry + with it unseen blessings in tenfold measure. If a few hundred thousand + favored Americans enjoyed the privilege of socially contemning all the + rest, it was as clearly right and just that they should do so as that four + thousand American millionaires should be richer than all the other + Americans put together. Such a status, growing out of our political + equality and our material prosperity, must evince a divine purpose to any + one intimate with the designs of Providence, and it seemed a kind of + impiety to doubt its perfection. I excused the misgivings which I could + not help seeing in the Altrurian to his alien traditions, and I was aware + that my friends had done so, too. But, if I could judge from myself, he + must have left them all sensible of their effort; and this was not + pleasant. I could not blink the fact that although I had openly disagreed + with him on every point of ethics and economics, I was still responsible + for him as a guest. It was as if an English gentleman had introduced a + blatant American Democrat into Tory society; or, rather, as if a + Southerner of the olden time had harbored a Northern Abolitionist and + permitted him to inquire into the workings of slavery among his neighbors. + People would tolerate him as my guest for a time, but there must be an end + of their patience with the tacit enmity of his sentiments and the explicit + vulgarity of his ideals, and when the end came I must be attainted with + him. + </p> + <p> + I did not like the notion of this, and I meant to escape it if I could. I + confess that I would have willingly disowned him, as I had already + disavowed his opinions, but there was no way of doing it short of telling + him to go away, and I was not ready to do that. Something in the man, I do + not know what, mysteriously appealed to me. He was not contemptibly + puerile without being lovably childlike, and I could only make up my mind + to be more and more frank with him and to try and shield him, as well as + myself, from the effects I dreaded. + </p> + <p> + I fell asleep planning an excursion farther into the mountains, which + should take up the rest of the week that I expected him to stay with me, + and would keep him from following up his studies of American life where + they would be so injurious to both of us as they must in our hotel. A + knock at my door roused me, and I sent a drowsy “Come in!” toward it from + the bedclothes without looking that way. + </p> + <p> + “Good-morning!” came back in the rich, gentle voice of the Altrurian. I + lifted my head with a jerk from the pillow, and saw him standing against + the closed door, with my shoes in his hand. “Oh, I am sorry I waked you. I + thought—” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all, not at all,” I said. “It’s quite time, I dare say. But you + oughtn’t to have taken the trouble to bring my shoes in.” + </p> + <p> + “I wasn’t altogether disinterested in it,” he returned. “I wished you to + compliment me on them. Don’t you think they are pretty well done, for an + amateur?” He came toward my bed, and turned them about in his hands, so + that they would catch the light, and smiled down upon me. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t understand,” I began. + </p> + <p> + “Why,” he said, “I blacked them, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “You blacked them?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he returned, easily. “I thought I would go into the baggage-room, + after we parted last night, to look for a piece of mine that had not been + taken to my room, and I found the porter there, with his wrist bound up. + He said he had strained it in handling a lady’s Saratoga—he said a + Saratoga was a large trunk—and I begged him to let me relieve him at + the boots he was blacking. He refused at first, but I insisted upon trying + my hand at a pair, and then he let me go on with the men’s boots; he said + he could varnish the ladies’ without hurting his wrist. It needed less + skill than I supposed, and after I had done a few pairs he said I could + black boots as well as he.” + </p> + <p> + “Did anybody see you?” I gasped, and I felt a cold perspiration break out + on me. + </p> + <p> + “No, we had the whole midnight hour to ourselves. The porter’s work with + the baggage was all over, and there was nothing to interrupt the + delightful chat we fell into. He is a very intelligent man, and he told me + all about that custom of feeing which you deprecate. He says that the + servants hate it as much as the guests; they have to take the tips now + because the landlords figure on them in the wages, and they cannot live + without them. He is a fine, manly fellow, and—” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Homos,” I broke in, with the strength I found in his assurance that + no one had seen him helping the porter black boots, “I want to speak very + seriously with you, and I hope you will not be hurt if I speak very + plainly about a matter in which I have your good solely at heart.” This + was not quite true, and I winced inwardly a little when he thanked me with + that confounded sincerity of his which was so much like irony; but I went + on: “It is my duty to you, as my guest, to tell you that this thing of + doing for others is not such a simple matter here, as your peculiar + training leads you to think. You have been deceived by a superficial + likeness; but, really, I do not understand how you could have read all you + have done about us and not realize before coming here that America and + Altruria are absolutely distinct and diverse in their actuating + principles. They are both republics, I know; but America is a republic + where every man is for himself, and you cannot help others as you do at + home; it is dangerous—it is ridiculous. You must keep this fact in + mind, or you will fall into errors that will be very embarrassing to you + in your stay among us, and,” I was forced to add, “to all your friends. + Now, I certainly hoped, after what I had said to you and what my friends + had explained of our civilization, that you would not have done a thing of + this kind. I will see the porter, as soon as I am up, and ask him not to + mention the matter to any one, but, I confess, I don’t like to take an + apologetic tone with him; your conditions are so alien to ours that they + will seem incredible to him, and he will think I am stuffing him.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t believe he will think that,” said the Altrurian, “and I hope you + won’t find the case so bad as it seems to you. I am extremely sorry to + have done wrong—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, the thing wasn’t wrong in itself. It was only wrong under the + circumstances. Abstractly, it is quite right to help a fellow-being who + needs help; no one denies that, even in a country where every one is for + himself.” + </p> + <p> + “I am so glad to hear it,” said the Altrurian. “Then, at least, I have not + gone radically astray; and I do not think you need take the trouble to + explain the Altrurian ideas to the porter. I have done that already, and + they seemed quite conceivable to him; he said that poor folks had to act + upon them, even here, more or less, and that if they did not act upon them + there would be no chance for them at all. He says they have to help one + another very much as we do at home, and that it is only the rich folks + among you who are independent. I really don’t think you need speak to him + at all, unless you wish; and I was very careful to guard my offer of help + at the point where I understood from you and your friends that it might do + harm. I asked him if there was not some one who would help him out with + his boot-blacking for money, because in that case I should be glad to pay + him; but he said there was no one about who would take the job; that he + had to agree to black the boots, or else he would not have got the place + of porter, but that all the rest of the help would consider it a disgrace, + and would not help him for love or money. So it seemed quite safe to offer + him my services.” + </p> + <p> + I felt that the matter was almost hopeless, but I asked: “And what he said—didn’t + that suggest anything else to you?” + </p> + <p> + “How anything else?” asked the Altrurian, in his turn. + </p> + <p> + “Didn’t it occur to you that if none of his fellow-servants were willing + to help him black boots, and if he did it only because he was obliged to, + it was hardly the sort of work for you?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, no,” said the Altrurian, with absolute simplicity. He must have + perceived the despair I fell into at this answer, for he asked: “Why + should I have minded doing for others what I should have been willing to + do for myself?” + </p> + <p> + “There are a great many things we are willing to do for ourselves that we + are not willing to do for others. But even on that principle, which I + think false and illogical, you could not be justified. A gentleman is not + willing to black <i>his own</i> boots. It is offensive to his feelings, to + his self-respect; it is something he will not do if he can get anybody + else to do it for him.” + </p> + <p> + “Then in America,” said the Altrurian, “it is not offensive to the + feelings of a gentleman to let another do for him what he would not do for + himself?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” he returned, “then we understand something altogether different by + the word gentleman in Altruria. I see, now, how I have committed a + mistake. I shall be more careful hereafter.” + </p> + <p> + I thought I had better leave the subject, and, “By-the-way,” I said, “how + would you like to take a little tramp with me to-day farther up into the + mountains?” + </p> + <p> + “I should be delighted,” said the Altrurian, so gratefully that I was + ashamed to think why I was proposing the pleasure to him. + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, I shall be ready to start as soon as we have had breakfast. I + will join you down-stairs in half an hour.” + </p> + <p> + He left me at this hint, though really I was half afraid he might stay and + offer to lend me a hand at my toilet, in the expression of his national + character. I found him with Mrs. Makely, when I went down, and she began, + with a parenthetical tribute to the beauty of the mountains in the morning + light: “Don’t be surprised to see me up at this unnatural hour. I don’t + know whether it was the excitement of our talk last night, or what it was, + but my sulphonal wouldn’t act, though I took fifteen grains, and I was up + with the lark, or should have been, if there had been any lark outside of + literature to be up with. However, this air is so glorious that I don’t + mind losing a night’s sleep now and then. I believe that with a little + practice one could get along without any sleep at all here; at least, <i>I</i> + could. I’m sorry to say poor Mr. Makely <i>can’t</i>, apparently. He’s + making up for his share of my vigils, and I’m going to breakfast without + him. Do you know, I’ve done a very bold thing: I’ve got the head-waiter to + give you places at our table; I know you’ll hate it, Mr. Twelvemough, + because you naturally want to keep Mr. Homos to yourself, and I don’t + blame you at all; but I’m simply not going to <i>let</i> you, and that’s + all there is about it.” + </p> + <p> + The pleasure I felt at this announcement was not unmixed, but I tried to + keep Mrs. Makely from thinking so, and I was immensely relieved when she + found a chance to say to me, in a low voice: “I know just how you’re + feeling, Mr. Twelvemough, and I’m going to help you keep him from doing + anything ridiculous, if I can. I <i>like</i> him, and I think it’s a + perfect shame to have people laughing at him. I know we can manage him + between us.” + </p> + <p> + We so far failed, however, that the Altrurian shook hands with the + head-waiter when he pressed open the wire-netting door to let us into the + dining-room, and made a bow to our waitress of the sort one makes to a + lady. But we thought it best to ignore these little errors of his and + reserve our moral strength for anything more spectacular. Fortunately we + got through our breakfast with nothing worse than his jumping up and + stooping to hand the waitress a spoon she let fall; but this could easily + pass for some attention to Mrs. Makely at a little distance. There were + not many people down to breakfast yet; but I could see that there was a + good deal of subdued sensation among the waitresses, standing with folded + arms behind their tables, and that the head-waiter’s handsome face was red + with anxiety. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Makely asked if we were going to church. She said she was driving + that way, and would be glad to drop us. “I’m not going myself,” she + explained, “because I couldn’t make anything of the sermon, with my head + in the state it is, and I’m going to compromise on a good action. I want + to carry some books and papers over to Mrs. Camp. Don’t you think that + will be quite as acceptable, Mr. Homos?” + </p> + <p> + “I should venture to hope it,” he said, with a tolerant seriousness not + altogether out of keeping with her lightness. + </p> + <p> + “Who is Mrs. Camp?” I asked, not caring to commit myself on the question. + </p> + <p> + “Lizzie’s mother. You know I told you about them last night. I think she + must have got through the books I lent her, and I know Lizzie didn’t like + to ask me for more, because she saw me talking with you, and didn’t want + to interrupt us. Such a nice girl! I think the Sunday papers must have + come, and I’ll take them over, too; Mrs. Camp is always so glad to get + them, and she is so delightful when she gets going about public events. + But perhaps you don’t approve of Sunday papers, Mr. Homos.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m sure I don’t know, madam. I haven’t seen them yet. You know this is + the first Sunday I’ve been in America.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I’m sorry to say you won’t see the old Puritan Sabbath,” said Mrs. + Makely, with an abrupt deflection from the question of the Sunday papers. + “Though you ought to, up in these hills. The only thing left of it is + rye-and-Indian bread, and these baked beans and fish-balls.” + </p> + <p> + “But they are very good?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I dare say they are not the worst of it.” + </p> + <p> + She was a woman who tended to levity, and I was a little afraid she might + be going to say something irreverent; but, if she were, she was + forestalled by the Altrurian asking: “Would it be very indiscreet, madam, + if I were to ask you some time to introduce me to that family?” + </p> + <p> + “The Camps?” she returned. “Not at all. I should be perfectly delighted.” + The thought seemed to strike her, and she asked: “Why not go with me this + morning, unless you are inflexibly bent on going to church, you and Mr. + Twelvemough?” + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian glanced at me, and I said I should be only too glad, if I + could carry some books, so that I could compromise on a good action, too. + “Take one of your own,” she instantly suggested. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think they wouldn’t be too severe upon it?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Mrs. Camp might,” Mrs. Makely consented, with a smile. “She goes in + for rather serious fiction; but I think Lizzie would enjoy a good, + old-fashioned love-story, where everybody got married, as they do in your + charming books.” + </p> + <p> + I winced a little, for every one likes to be regarded seriously, and I did + not enjoy being remanded to the young-girl public; but I put a bold face + on it, and said: “My good action shall be done in behalf of Miss Lizzie.” + </p> + <p> + Half an hour later, Mrs. Makely having left word with the clerk where we + were gone, so that her husband need not be alarmed when he got up, we were + striking into the hills on a two-seated buckboard, with one of the best + teams of our hotel, and one of the most taciturn drivers. Mrs. Makely had + the Altrurian get into the back seat with her, and, after some attempts to + make talk with the driver, I leaned over and joined in their talk. The + Altrurian was greatly interested, not so much in the landscape—though + he owned its beauty when we cried out over it from point to point—but + in the human incidents and features. He noticed the cattle in the fields, + and the horses we met on the road, and the taste and comfort of the + buildings, the variety of the crops, and the promise of the harvest. I was + glad of the respite his questions gave me from the study of the intimate + character of our civilization, for they were directed now at these more + material facts, and I willingly joined Mrs. Makely in answering them. We + explained that the finest teams we met were from the different hotels or + boarding-houses, or at least from the farms where the people took city + people to board; and that certain shabby equipages belonged to the natives + who lived solely by cultivating the soil. There was not very much of the + soil cultivated, for the chief crop was hay, with here and there a patch + of potatoes or beans, and a few acres in sweet-corn. The houses of the + natives, when they were for their use only, were no better than their + turnouts; it was where the city boarder had found shelter that they were + modern and pleasant. Now and then we came to a deserted homestead, and I + tried to make the Altrurian understand how farming in New England had + yielded to the competition of the immense agricultural operations of the + West. “You know,” I said, “that agriculture is really an operation out + there, as much as coal-mining is in Pennsylvania, or finance in Wall + Street; you have no idea of the vastness of the scale.” Perhaps I swelled + a little with pride in my celebration of the national prosperity, as it + flowed from our Western farms of five and ten and twenty thousand acres; I + could not very well help putting on the pedal in these passages. Mrs. + Makely listened almost, as eagerly, as the Altrurian, for, as a cultivated + American woman, she was necessarily quite ignorant of her own country, + geographically, politically, and historically. “The only people left in + the hill country of New England,” I concluded, “are those who are too old + or too lazy to get away. Any young man of energy would be ashamed to stay, + unless he wanted to keep a boarding-house or live on the city vacationists + in summer. If he doesn’t, he goes West and takes up some of the new land, + and comes back in middle-life and buys a deserted farm to spend his + summers on.” + </p> + <p> + “Dear me!” said the Altrurian. “Is it so simple as that? Then we can + hardly wonder at their owners leaving these worn-out farms; though I + suppose it must be with the pang of exile, sometimes.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I fancy there isn’t much sentiment involved,” I answered, lightly. + </p> + <p> + “Whoa!” said Mrs. Makely, speaking to the horses before she spoke to the + driver, as some women will. He pulled them up, and looked round at her. + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t that Reuben Camp, <i>now</i>, over there by that house?” she asked, + as if we had been talking of him; that is another way some women have. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, ma’am,” said the driver. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well, then!” and “Reuben!” she called to the young man, who was + prowling about the door-yard of a sad-colored old farm-house, and peering + into a window here and there. “Come here a moment—won’t you, + please?” + </p> + <p> + He lifted his head and looked round, and, when he had located the appeal + made to him, he came down the walk to the gate and leaned over it, waiting + for further instructions. I saw that it was the young man whom we had + noticed with the girl Mrs. Makely called Lizzie on the hotel piazza the + night before. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know whether I should find Lizzie at home this morning?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, she’s there with mother,” said the young fellow, with neither liking + nor disliking in his tone. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I’m so glad!” said the lady. “I didn’t know but she might be at + church. What in the world has happened here? Is there anything unusual + going on inside?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I was just looking to see if it was all right. The folks wanted I + should come round.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, where are they?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, they’re gone.” + </p> + <p> + “Gone?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; gone West. They’ve left the old place, because they couldn’t make a + living here any longer.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, this is quite a case in point,” I said. “Now, Mr. Homos, here is a + chance to inform yourself at first hand about a very interesting fact of + our civilization”; and I added, in a low voice, to Mrs. Makely: “Won’t you + introduce us?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes. Mr. Camp, this is Mr. Twelvemough, the author—you know his + books, of course; and Mr. Homos, a gentleman from Altruria.” + </p> + <p> + The young fellow opened the gate he leaned on and came out to us. He took + no notice of me, but he seized the Altrurian’s hand and wrung it. “I’ve + heard of <i>you</i>” he said. “Mrs. Makely, were you going to our place?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes.” + </p> + <p> + “So do, then. Mother would give almost anything to see Mr. Homos. We’ve + heard of Altruria, over our way,” he added to our friend. “Mother’s been + reading up all she can about it. She’ll want to talk with you, and she + won’t give the rest of us much of a chance, I guess.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I shall be glad to see her,” said the Altrurian, “and to tell her + everything I can. But won’t you explain to me first something about your + deserted farms here? It’s quite a new thing to me.” + </p> + <p> + “It isn’t a new thing to us,” said the young fellow, with a short laugh. + “And there isn’t much to explain about it. You’ll see them all through New + England. When a man finds he can’t get his funeral expenses out of the + land, he don’t feel like staying to be buried in it, and he pulls up and + goes.” + </p> + <p> + “But people used to get their living expenses here,” I suggested. “Why + can’t they now?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, they didn’t use to have Western prices to fight with; and then the + land wasn’t worn out so, and the taxes were not so heavy. How would you + like to pay twenty to thirty dollars on the thousand, and assessed up to + the last notch, in the city?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, what in the world makes your taxes so heavy?” + </p> + <p> + “Schools and roads. We’ve got to have schools, and you city folks want + good roads when you come here in the summer, don’t you? Then the season is + short, and sometimes we can’t make a crop. The frost catches the corn in + the field, and you have your trouble for your pains. Potatoes are the only + thing we can count on, except grass, and, when everybody raises potatoes, + you know where the price goes.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but now, Mr. Camp,” said Mrs. Makely, leaning over toward him, and + speaking in a cosey and coaxing tone, as if he must not really keep the + truth from an old friend like her, “isn’t it a good deal because the + farmers’ daughters want pianos, and the farmers’ sons want buggies? I + heard Professor Lumen saying, the other day, that, if the farmers were + willing to work as they used to work, they could still get a good living + off their farms, and that they gave up their places because they were too + lazy, in many cases, to farm them properly.” + </p> + <p> + “He’d better not let <i>me</i> hear him saying that,” said the young + fellow, while a hot flush passed over his face. He added, bitterly: “If he + wants to see how easy it is to make a living up here, he can take this + place and try for a year or two; he can get it cheap. But I guess he + wouldn’t want it the year round; he’d only want it a few months in the + summer, when he could enjoy the sightliness of it, and see me working over + there on my farm, while he smoked on his front porch.” He turned round and + looked at the old house in silence a moment. Then, as he went on, his + voice lost its angry ring. “The folks here bought this place from the + Indians, and they’d been here more than two hundred years. Do you think + they left it because they were too lazy to run it, or couldn’t get pianos + and buggies out of it, or were such fools as not to know whether they were + well off? It was their <i>home</i>; they were born and lived and died + here. There is the family burying-ground over there.” + </p> + <p> + Neither Mrs. Makely nor myself was ready with a reply, and we left the + word with the Altrurian, who suggested: “Still, I suppose they will be + more prosperous in the West on the new land they take up?” + </p> + <p> + The young fellow leaned his arms on the wheel by which he stood. “What do + you mean by taking up new land?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, out of the public domain—” + </p> + <p> + “There <i>ain’t</i> any public domain that’s worth having. All the good + land is in the hands of railroads and farm syndicates and speculators; and + if you want a farm in the West you’ve got to buy it; the East is the only + place where folks give them away, because they ain’t worth keeping. If you + haven’t got the ready money, you can buy one on credit, and pay ten, + twenty, and thirty per cent. interest, and live in a dugout on the plains—till + your mortgage matures.” The young man took his arms from the wheel and + moved a few steps backward, as he added: “I’ll see you over at the house + later.” + </p> + <p> + The driver touched his horses, and we started briskly off again. But I + confess I had quite enough of his pessimism, and as we drove away I leaned + back toward the Altrurian and said: “Now, it is all perfect nonsense to + pretend that things are at that pass with us. There are more millionaires + in America, probably, than there are in all the other civilized countries + of the globe, and it is not possible that the farming population should be + in such a hopeless condition. All wealth comes out of the earth, and you + may be sure they get their full share of it.” + </p> + <p> + “I am glad to hear you say so,” said the Altrurian. “What is the meaning + of this new party in the West that seems to have held a convention lately? + I read something of it in the train yesterday.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that is a lot of crazy Hayseeds, who don’t want to pay back the money + they have borrowed, or who find themselves unable to meet their interest. + It will soon blow over. We are always having these political flurries. A + good crop will make it all right with them.” + </p> + <p> + “But is it true that they have to pay such rates of interest as our young + friend mentioned?” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” I said, seeing the thing in the humorous light which softens for + us Americans so many of the hardships of others, “I suppose that man likes + to squeeze his brother man when he gets him in his grip. That’s human + nature, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it?” asked the Altrurian. + </p> + <p> + It seemed to me that he had asked something like that before when I + alleged human nature in defence of some piece of every-day selfishness. + But I thought best not to notice it, and I went on: “The land is so rich + out there that a farm will often pay for itself with a single crop.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it possible?” cried the Altrurian. “Then I suppose it seldom really + happens that a mortgage is foreclosed, in the way our young friend + insinuated?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I can’t say that exactly”; and, having admitted so much, I did not + feel bound to impart a fact that popped perversely into my mind. I was + once talking with a Western money-lender, a very good sort of fellow, + frank and open as the day; I asked him whether the farmers generally paid + off their mortgages, and he answered me that if the mortgage was to the + value of a fourth of the land, the farmer might pay it off, but if it were + to a half, or a third even, he never paid it, but slaved on and died in + his debts. “You may be sure, however,” I concluded, “that our young friend + takes a jaundiced view of the situation.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, really,” said Mrs. Makely, “I must insist upon dropping this + everlasting talk about money. I think it is perfectly disgusting, and I + believe it was Mr. Makely’s account of his speculations that kept me awake + last night. My brain got running on figures till the dark seemed to be all + sown with dollar-marks, like the stars in the Milky Way. I—ugh! What + in the world is it? Oh, you dreadful little things!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Makely passed swiftly from terror to hysterical laughter as the + driver pulled up short and a group of barefooted children broke in front + of his horses and scuttled out of the dust into the road-side bushes like + a covey of quails. There seemed to be a dozen of them, nearly all the same + in size, but there turned out to be only five or six; or at least no more + showed their gleaming eyes and teeth through the underbrush in quiet + enjoyment of the lady’s alarm. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you know that you might have got killed?” she demanded, with that + severity good women feel for people who have just escaped with their + lives. “How lovely the dirty little dears are!” she added, in the next + wave of emotion. One bold fellow of six showed a half-length above the + bushes, and she asked: “Don’t you know that you oughtn’t to play in the + road when there are so many teams passing? Are all those your brothers and + sisters?” + </p> + <p> + He ignored the first question. “One’s my cousin.” I pulled out a + half-dozen coppers, and held my hand toward him. “See if there is one for + each.” They had no difficulty in solving the simple mathematical problem + except the smallest girl, who cried for fear and baffled longing. I tossed + the coin to her, and a little fat dog darted out at her feet and caught it + up in his mouth. “Oh, good gracious!” I called out in my light, humorous + way. “Do you suppose he’s going to spend it for candy?” The little people + thought that a famous joke, and they laughed with the gratitude that even + small favors inspire. “Bring your sister here,” I said to the boldest boy, + and, when he came up with the little woman, I put another copper into her + hand. “Look out that the greedy dog doesn’t get it,” I said, and my gayety + met with fresh applause. “Where do you live?” I asked, with some vague + purpose of showing the Altrurian the kindliness that exists between our + upper and lower classes. + </p> + <p> + “Over there,” said the boy. I followed the twist of his head, and glimpsed + a wooden cottage on the border of the forest, so very new that the + sheathing had not yet been covered with clapboards. I stood up in the + buckboard and saw that it was a story and a half high, and could have had + four or five rooms in it. The bare, curtainless windows were set in the + unpainted frames, but the front door seemed not to be hung yet. The people + meant to winter there, however, for the sod was banked up against the + wooden underpinning; a stovepipe stuck out of the roof of a little wing + behind. While I gazed a young-looking woman came to the door, as if she + had been drawn by our talk with the children, and then she jumped down + from the threshold, which still wanted a doorstep, and came slowly out to + us. The children ran to her with their coppers, and then followed her back + to us. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Makely called to her before she reached us: “I hope you weren’t + frightened. We didn’t drive over any of them.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I wasn’t frightened,” said the young woman. “It’s a very safe place + to bring up children, in the country, and I never feel uneasy about them.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, if they are not under the horses’ feet,” said Mrs. Makely, mingling + instruction and amusement very judiciously in her reply. “Are they all + yours?” + </p> + <p> + “Only five,” said the mother, and she pointed to the alien in her flock. + “He’s my sister’s. She lives just below here.” Her children had grouped + themselves about her, and she kept passing her hands caressingly over + their little heads as she talked. “My sister has nine children, but she + has the rest at church with her to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t speak like an American,” Mrs. Makely suggested. + </p> + <p> + “No, we’re English. Our husbands work in the quarry. That’s <i>my</i> + little palace.” The woman nodded her head toward the cottage. + </p> + <p> + “It’s going to be very nice,” said Mrs. Makely, with an evident perception + of her pride in it. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, if we ever get money to finish it. Thank you for the children.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it was this gentleman.” Mrs. Makely indicated me, and I bore the + merit of my good action as modestly as I could. + </p> + <p> + “Then thank <i>you</i>, sir,” said the young woman, and she asked Mrs. + Makely: “You’re not living about here, ma’am?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no, we’re staying at the hotel.” + </p> + <p> + “At the hotel! It must be very dear, there.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it is expensive,” said Mrs. Makely, with a note of that satisfaction + in her voice which we all feel in spending a great deal of money. + </p> + <p> + “But I suppose you can afford it,” said the woman, whose eye was running + hungrily over Mrs. Makely’s pretty costume. “Some are poor, and some are + rich. That’s the way the world has to be made up, isn’t it?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Mrs. Makely, very dryly, and the talk languished from this + point, so that the driver felt warranted in starting up his horses. When + we had driven beyond earshot she said: “I knew she was not an American, as + soon as she spoke, by her accent, and then those foreigners have no + self-respect. That was a pretty bold bid for a contribution to finish up + her ‘little palace’! I’m glad you didn’t give her anything, Mr. + Twelvemough. I was afraid your sympathies had been wrought upon.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, not at all,” I answered. “I saw the mischief I had done with the + children.” + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian, who has not asked anything for a long time, but had + listened with eager interest to all that passed, now came up smiling with + his question: “Will you kindly tell me what harm would have been done by + offering the woman a little money to help finish up her cottage?” + </p> + <p> + I did not allow Mrs. Makely to answer, I was so eager to air my political + economy. “The very greatest harm. It would have pauperized her. You have + no idea how quickly they give way to the poison of that sort of thing. As + soon as they get any sort of help they expect more; they count upon it, + and they begin to live upon it. The sight of those coppers which I gave + her children—more out of joke than charity—demoralized the + woman. She took us for rich people, and wanted us to build her a house. + You have to guard against every approach to a thing of that sort.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t believe,” said Mrs. Makely, “that an American would have hinted, + as she did.” + </p> + <p> + “‘No, an American would not have done that, I’m thankful to say. They take + fees, but they don’t ask charity, yet.” We went on to exult in the noble + independence of the American character in all classes, at some length. We + talked at the Altrurian, but he did not seem to hear us. At last he asked, + with a faint sigh: “Then, in your conditions, a kindly impulse to aid one + who needs your help is something to be guarded against as possibly + pernicious?” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly,” I said. “And now you see what difficulties beset us in dealing + with the problem of poverty. We cannot let people suffer, for that would + be cruel; and we cannot relieve their need without pauperizing them.” + </p> + <p> + “I see,” he answered. “It is a terrible quandary.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish,” said Mrs. Makely, “that you would tell us just how you manage + with the poor in Altruria.” + </p> + <p> + “We have none,” he replied. + </p> + <p> + “But the comparatively poor—you have some people who are richer than + others?” + </p> + <p> + “No. We should regard that as the worst incivism.” + </p> + <p> + “What is incivism?” + </p> + <p> + I interpreted, “Bad citizenship.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, if you will excuse me, Mr. Homos,” she said, “I think that is + simply impossible. There <i>must</i> be rich and there <i>must</i> be + poor. There always have been, and there always will be. That woman said it + as well as anybody. Didn’t Christ Himself say, ‘The poor ye have always + with you’?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VII + </h2> + <p> + The Altrurian looked at Mrs. Makely with an amazement visibly heightened + by the air of complacency she put on after delivering this poser: “Do you + really think Christ meant that you <i>ought</i> always to have the poor + with you?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Why, of course!” she answered, triumphantly. “How else are the sympathies + of the rich to be cultivated? The poverty of some and the wealth of + others, isn’t that what forms the great tie of human brotherhood? If we + were all comfortable, or all shared alike, there could not be anything + like charity, and Paul said, ‘The greatest of these is charity.’ I believe + it’s ‘love’ in the new version, but it comes to the same thing.” + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian gave a kind of gasp, and then lapsed into a silence that + lasted until we came in sight of the Camp farm-house. It stood on the + crest of a road-side upland, and looked down the beautiful valley, bathed + in Sabbath sunlight, and away to the ranges of hills, so far that it was + hard to say whether it was sun or shadow that dimmed their distance. + Decidedly, the place was what the country people call sightly. The old + house, once painted a Brandon red, crouched low to the ground, with its + lean-to in the rear, and its flat-arched wood-sheds and wagon-houses + stretching away at the side of the barn, and covering the approach to it + with an unbroken roof. There were flowers in the beds along the + underpinning of the house, which stood close to the street, and on one + side of the door was a clump of Spanish willow; an old-fashioned June rose + climbed over it from the other. An aged dog got stiffly to his feet from + the threshold stone and whimpered as our buckboard drew up; the poultry + picking about the path and among the chips lazily made way for us, and as + our wheels ceased to crunch upon the gravel we heard hasty steps, and + Reuben Camp came round the corner of the house in time to give Mrs. Makely + his hand and help her spring to the ground, which she did very lightly; + her remarkable mind had kept her body in a sort of sympathetic activity, + and at thirty-five she had the gracile ease and self-command of a girl. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Reuben,” she sighed, permitting herself to call him by his first + name, with the emotion which expressed itself more definitely in the words + that followed, “how I envy you all this dear, old, homelike place! I never + come here without thinking of my grandfather’s farm in Massachusetts, + where I used to go every summer when I was a little girl. If I had a place + like this, I should never leave it.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Mrs. Makely,” said young Camp, “you can have this place cheap, if + you really want it. Or almost any other place in the neighborhood.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t say such a thing!” she returned. “It makes one feel as if the + foundations of the great deep were giving way. I don’t know what that + means exactly, but I suppose it’s equivalent to mislaying George’s hatchet + and going back on the Declaration generally; and I don’t like to hear you + talk so.” + </p> + <p> + Camp seemed to have lost his bitter mood, and he answered, pleasantly: + “The Declaration is all right, as far as it goes, but it don’t help us to + compete with the Western farm operations.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, you believe every one was born free and equal, don’t you?” Mrs. + Makely asked. + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes, I believe that; but—” + </p> + <p> + “Then why do you object to free and equal competition?” + </p> + <p> + The young fellow laughed, and said, as he opened the door for us: “Walk + right into the parlor, please. Mother will be ready for you in a minute.” + He added: “I guess she’s putting on her best cap for you, Mr. Homos. It’s + a great event for her, your coming here. It is for all of us. We’re glad + to have you.” + </p> + <p> + “And I’m glad to be here,” said the Altrurian, as simply as the other. He + looked about the best room of a farm-house that had never adapted itself + to the tastes or needs of the city boarder, and was as stiffly repellent + in its upholstery and as severe in its decoration as hair-cloth chairs and + dark-brown wall-paper of a trellis pattern, with drab roses, could make + it. The windows were shut tight, and our host did not offer to open them. + A fly or two crossed the doorway into the hall, but made no attempt to + penetrate the interior, where we sat in an obscurity that left the + high-hung family photographs on the walls vague and uncertain. I made a + mental note of it as a place where it would be very characteristic to have + a rustic funeral take place; and I was pleased to have Mrs. Makely drop + into a sort of mortuary murmur, as she said: “I hope your mother is as + well as usual this morning?” I perceived that this murmur was produced by + the sepulchral influence of the room. + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes,” said Camp, and at that moment a door opened from the room across + the hall, and his sister seemed to bring in some of the light from it to + us where we sat. She shook hands with Mrs. Makely, who introduced me to + her, and then presented the Altrurian. She bowed very civilly to me, but + with a touch of severity, such as country people find necessary for the + assertion of their self-respect with strangers. I thought it very pretty, + and instantly saw that I could work it into some picture of character; and + I was not at all sorry that she made a difference in favor of the + Altrurian. + </p> + <p> + “Mother will be so glad to see you,” she said to him, and, “Won’t you come + right in?” she added to us all. + </p> + <p> + We followed her and found ourselves in a large, low, sunny room on the + southeast corner of the house, which had no doubt once been the + living-room, but which was now given up to the bedridden invalid; a door + opened into the kitchen behind, where the table was already laid for the + midday meal, with the plates turned down in the country fashion, and some + netting drawn over the dishes to keep the flies away. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Makely bustled up to the bedside with her energetic, patronizing + cheerfulness. “Ah, Mrs. Camp, I am glad to see you looking so well this + morning. I’ve been meaning to run over for several days past, but I + couldn’t find a moment till this morning, and I knew you didn’t object to + Sunday visits.” She took the invalid’s hand in hers, and, with the air of + showing how little she felt any inequality between them, she leaned over + and kissed her, where Mrs. Camp sat propped against her pillows. She had a + large, nobly moulded face of rather masculine contour, and at the same + time the most motherly look in the world. Mrs. Makely bubbled and babbled + on, and every one waited patiently till she had done, and turned and said, + toward the Altrurian: “I have ventured to bring my friend, Mr. Homos, with + me. He is from Altruria.” Then she turned to me and said: “Mr. Twelvemough + you know already through his delightful books”; but, although she paid me + this perfunctory compliment it was perfectly apparent to me that in the + esteem of this disingenuous woman the distinguished stranger was a far + more important person than the distinguished author. Whether Mrs. Camp + read my perception of this fact in my face or not I cannot say, but she + was evidently determined that I should not feel a difference in her. She + held out her hand to me first, and said that I never could know how many + heavy hours I had helped to lighten for her, and then she turned to the + Altrurian and took his hand. “Oh!” she said, with a long, deep-drawn sigh, + as if that were the supreme moment of her life. “And are you really from + Altruria? It seems too good to be true!” Her devout look and her earnest + tone gave the commonplace words a quality that did not inhere in them, but + Mrs. Makely took them on their surface. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, doesn’t it?” she made haste to interpose, before the Altrurian could + say anything. “That is just the way we all feel about it, Mrs. Camp. I + assure you, if it were not for the accounts in the papers and the talk + about it everywhere, I couldn’t believe there <i>was</i> any such place as + Altruria; and if it were not for Mr. Twelvemough here—who has to + keep all his inventions for his novels, as a mere matter of business + routine—I might really suspect him and Mr. Homos of—well, <i>working</i> + us, as my husband calls it.” + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian smiled politely, but vaguely, as if he had not quite caught + her meaning, and I made answer for both: “I am sure, Mrs. Makely, if you + could understand my peculiar state of mind about Mr. Homos, you would + never believe that I was in collusion with him. I find him quite as + incredible as you do. There are moments when he seems so entirely + subjective with me that I feel as if he were no more definite or tangible + than a bad conscience.” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly!” said Mrs. Makely, and she laughed out her delight in my + illustration. + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian must have perceived that we were joking, though the Camps + all remained soberly silent. “I hope it isn’t so bad as that,” he said, + “though I have noticed that I seem to affect you all with a kind of + misgiving. I don’t know just what it is; but, if I could remove it, I + should be very glad to do so.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Makely very promptly seized her chance: “Well, then, in the first + place, my husband and I were talking it over last night after we left you, + and that was one of the things that kept us awake; it turned into money + afterward. It isn’t so much that a whole continent, as big as Australia, + remained undiscovered till within such a very few years, as it is the + condition of things among you: this sort of all living for one another, + and not each one for himself. My husband says that is simply moonshine; + such a thing never was and never can be; it is opposed to human nature, + and would take away incentive and all motive for exertion and advancement + and enterprise. I don’t know <i>what</i> he didn’t say against it; but one + thing, he says it’s perfectly un-American.” The Altrurian remained silent, + gravely smiling, and Mrs. Makely added, with her most engaging little + manner: “I hope you won’t feel hurt, personally or patriotically, by what + I’ve repeated to you. I know my husband is awfully Philistine, though he + <i>is</i> such a good fellow, and I don’t, by any means, agree with him on + all those points; but I <i>would</i> like to know what you think of them. + The trouble is, Mrs. Camp,” she said, turning to the invalid, “that Mr. + Homos is so dreadfully reticent about his own country, and I am so curious + to hear of it at first hands, that I consider it justifiable to use any + means to make him open up about it.” + </p> + <p> + “There is no offence,” the Altrurian answered for himself, “in what Mr. + Makely says, though, from the Altrurian point of view, there is a good + deal of error. + </p> + <p> + “Does it seem so strange to you,” he asked, addressing himself to Mrs. + Camp, “that people should found a civilization on the idea of living for + one another instead of each for himself?” + </p> + <p> + “No indeed!” she answered. “Poor people have always had to live that way, + or they could not have lived at all.” + </p> + <p> + “That was what I understood your porter to say last night,” said the + Altrurian to me. He added, to the company generally: “I suppose that even + in America there are more poor people than there are rich people?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don’t know about that,” I said. “I suppose there are more people + independently rich than there are people independently poor.” + </p> + <p> + “We will let that formulation of it stand. If it is true, I do not see why + the Altrurian system should be considered so very un-American. Then, as to + whether there is or ever was really a practical altruism, a civic + expression of it, I think it cannot be denied that among the first + Christians, those who immediately followed Christ, and might be supposed + to be directly influenced by His life, there was an altruism practised as + radical as that which we have organized into a national polity and a + working economy in Altruria.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, but you know,” said Mrs. Makely, with the air of advancing a point + not to be put aside, “they had to drop <i>that</i>. It was a dead failure. + They found that they couldn’t make it go at all among cultivated people, + and that, if Christianity was to advance, they would have to give up all + that crankish kind of idolatry of the mere letter. At any rate,” she went + on, with the satisfaction we all feel in getting an opponent into close + quarters, “you must confess that there is a much greater play of + individuality here.” + </p> + <p> + Before the Altrurian could reply, young Camp said: “If you want to see + American individuality, the real, simon-pure article, you ought to go down + to one of our big factory towns and look at the mill-hands coming home in + droves after a day’s work, young girls and old women, boys and men, all + fluffed over with cotton, and so dead tired that they can hardly walk. + They come shambling along with all the individuality of a flock of sheep.” + </p> + <p> + “Some,” said Mrs. Makely, heroically, as if she were one of these, “must + be sacrificed. Of course, some are not so individual as others. A great + deal depends upon temperament.” + </p> + <p> + “A great deal more depends upon capital,” said Camp, with an offensive + laugh. “If you have capital in America, you can have individuality; if you + haven’t, you can’t.” + </p> + <p> + His sister, who had not taken part in the talk before, said, demurely: “It + seems to me you’ve got a good deal of individuality, Reub, and you haven’t + got a great deal of capital, either,” and the two young people laughed + together. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Makely was one of those fatuous women whose eagerness to make a point + excludes the consideration even of their own advantage. “I’m sure,” she + said, as if speaking for the upper classes, “we haven’t got any + individuality at all. We are as like as so many peas or pins. In fact, you + have to be so in society. If you keep asserting your own individuality too + much, people avoid you. It’s very vulgar and the greatest bore.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you don’t find individuality so desirable, after all,” said the + Altrurian. + </p> + <p> + “I perfectly detest it!” cried the lady, and evidently she had not the + least notion where she was in the argument. “For my part, I’m never happy + except when I’ve forgotten myself and the whole individual bother.” + </p> + <p> + Her declaration seemed somehow to close the incident, and we were all + silent a moment, which I employed in looking about the room, and taking in + with my literary sense the simplicity and even bareness of its furnishing. + There was the bed where the invalid lay, and near the head a table with a + pile of books and a kerosene-lamp on it, and I decided that she was a good + deal wakeful, and that she read by that lamp when she could not sleep at + night. Then there were the hard chairs we sat on, and some home-made + hooked rugs, in rounds and ovals, scattered about the clean floor; there + was a small melodeon pushed against the wall; the windows had paper + shades, and I recalled that I had not seen any blinds on the outside of + the house. Over the head of the bed hung a cavalryman’s sword, with its + belt—the sword that Mrs. Makely had spoken of. It struck me as a + room where a great many things might have happened, and I said: “You can’t + think, Mrs. Camp, how glad I am to see the inside of your house. It seems + to me so typical.” + </p> + <p> + A pleased intelligence showed itself in her face, and she answered: “Yes, + it is a real old-fashioned farmhouse. We have never taken boarders, and so + we have kept it as it was built pretty much, and only made such changes in + it as we needed or wanted for ourselves.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s a pity,” I went on, following up what I thought a fortunate lead, + “that we city people see so little of the farming life when we come into + the country. I have been here now for several seasons, and this is the + first time I have been inside a farmer’s house.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it possible!” cried the Altrurian, with an air of utter astonishment; + and, when I found the fact appeared so singular to him, I began to be + rather proud of its singularity. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I suppose that most city people come and go, year after year, in the + country, and never make any sort of acquaintance with the people who live + there the year round. We keep to ourselves in the hotels, or, if we go out + at all, it is to make a call upon some city cottager, and so we do not get + out of the vicious circle of our own over-intimacy with ourselves and our + ignorance of others.” + </p> + <p> + “And you regard that as a great misfortune?” asked the Altrurian. + </p> + <p> + “Why, it’s inevitable. There is nothing to bring us together, unless it’s + some happy accident, like the present. But we don’t have a traveler from + Altruria to exploit every day, and so we have no business to come into + people’s houses.” + </p> + <p> + “You would have been welcome in ours long ago, Mr. Twelvemough,” said Mrs. + Camp. + </p> + <p> + “But, excuse me,” said the Altrurian, “what you say really seems dreadful + to me. Why, it is as if you were not the same race or kind of men!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I answered. “It has sometimes seemed to me as if our big hotel + there were a ship anchored off some strange coast. The inhabitants come + out with supplies, and carry on their barter with the ship’s steward, and + we sometimes see them over the side, but we never speak to them or have + anything to do with them. We sail away at the close of the season, and + that is the end of it till next summer.” + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian turned to Mrs. Camp. “And how do you look at it? How does it + seem to you?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t believe we have thought about it very much; but, now that Mr. + Twelvemough has spoken of it, I can see that it does look that way. And it + seems very strange, doesn’t it, for we are all the same people, and have + the same language and religion and country—the country that my + husband fought for and, I suppose I may say, died for; he was never the + same man after the war. It does appear as if we had some interests in + common, and might find it out if we ever came together.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s a great advantage, the city people going into the country so much as + they do now,” said Mrs. Makely. “They bring five million dollars into the + State of New Hampshire, alone, every summer.” + </p> + <p> + She looked round for the general approval which this fact merited, and + young Camp said: “And it shows how worthless the natives are, that they + can’t make both ends meet, with all that money, but have to give up their + farms and go West, after all. I suppose you think it comes from wanting + buggies and pianos.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it certainly comes from something,” said Mrs. Makely, with the + courage of her convictions. + </p> + <p> + She was evidently not going to be put down by that sour young fellow, and + I was glad of it, though I must say I thought the thing she left to rankle + in his mind from our former meeting had not been said in very good taste. + I thought, too, that she would not fare best in any encounter of wits with + him, and I rather trembled for the result. I said, to relieve the strained + situation: “I wish there was some way of our knowing each other better. + I’m sure there’s a great deal of good-will on both sides.” + </p> + <p> + “No, there isn’t,” said Camp, “or at least I can answer for our side that + there isn’t. You come into the country to get as much for your money as + you can, and we mean to let you have as little as we can. That’s the whole + story, and if Mr. Homos believes anything different, he’s very much + mistaken.” + </p> + <p> + “I hadn’t formed any conclusion in regard to the matter, which is quite + new to me,” said the Altrurian, mildly. “But why is there no basis of + mutual kindness between you?” + </p> + <p> + “Because it’s like everything else with us; it’s a question of supply and + demand, and there is no room for any mutual kindness in a question of that + kind. Even if there were, there is another thing that would kill it. The + summer folks, as we call them, look down on the natives, as they call us, + and we know it.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, Mr. Camp, I am sure that you cannot say <i>I</i> look down on the + natives,” said Mrs. Makely, with an air of argument. + </p> + <p> + The young fellow laughed. “Oh yes, you do,” he said, not unamiably, and he + added, “and you’ve got the right to. We’re not fit to associate with you, + and you know it, and we know it. You’ve got more money, and you’ve got + nicer clothes, and you’ve got prettier manners. You talk about things that + most natives never heard of, and you care for things they never saw. I + know it’s the custom to pretend differently, but I’m not going to pretend + differently.” + </p> + <p> + I recalled what my friend the banker said about throwing away cant, and I + asked myself if I were in the presence of some such free spirit again. I + did not see how young Camp could afford it; but then I reflected that he + had really nothing to lose by it, for he did not expect to make anything + out of us; Mrs. Makely would probably not give up his sister as seamstress + if the girl continued to work so well and so cheaply as she said. + </p> + <p> + “Suppose,” he went on, “that some old native took you at your word, and + came to call upon you at the hotel, with his wife, just as one of the city + cottagers would do if he wanted to make your acquaintance?” + </p> + <p> + “I should be perfectly delighted,” said Mrs. Makely, “and I should receive + them with the greatest possible cordiality.” + </p> + <p> + “The same kind of cordiality that you would show to the cottagers?” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose that I should feel that I had more in common with the + cottagers. We should be interested in the same things, and we should + probably know the same people and have more to talk about—” + </p> + <p> + “You would both belong to the same class, and that tells the whole story. + If you were out West, and the owner of one of those big + twenty-thousand-acre farms called on you with his wife, would you act + toward them as you would toward our natives? You wouldn’t. You would all + be rich people together, and you would understand one another because you + had money.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, that is not so,” Mrs. Makely interrupted. “There are plenty of rich + people one wouldn’t wish to know at all, and who really can’t get into + society—who are ignorant and vulgar. And then, when you come to + money, I don’t see but what country people are as glad to get it as + anybody.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, gladder,” said the young man. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” demanded Mrs. Makely, as if this were a final stroke of logic. The + young man did not reply, and Mrs. Makely continued: “Now I will appeal to + your sister to say whether she has ever seen any difference in my manner + toward her from what I show to all the young ladies in the hotel.” The + young girl flushed and seemed reluctant to answer. “Why, Lizzie!” cried + Mrs. Makely, and her tone showed that she was really hurt. + </p> + <p> + The scene appeared to me rather cruel, and I glanced at Mrs. Camp with an + expectation that she would say something to relieve it. But she did not. + Her large, benevolent face expressed only a quiet interest in the + discussion. + </p> + <p> + “You know very well, Mrs. Makely,” said the girl, “you don’t regard me as + you do the young ladies in the hotel.” + </p> + <p> + There was no resentment in her voice or look, but only a sort of regret, + as if, but for this grievance, she could have loved the woman from whom + she had probably had much kindness. The tears came into Mrs. Makely’s + eyes, and she turned toward Mrs. Camp. “And is this the way you <i>all</i> + feel toward us?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Why shouldn’t we?” asked the invalid, in her turn. “But, no, it isn’t the + way all the country people feel. Many of them feel as you would like to + have them feel; but that is because they do not think. When they think, + they feel as we do. But I don’t blame you. You can’t help yourselves any + more than we can. We’re all bound up together in that, at least.” + </p> + <p> + At this apparent relenting Mrs. Makely tricked her beams a little, and + said, plaintively, as if offering herself for further condolence: “Yes, + that is what that woman at the little shanty back there said: some have to + be rich, and some have to be poor; it takes all kinds to make a world.” + </p> + <p> + “How would you like to be one of those that have to be poor?” asked young + Camp, with an evil grin. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know,” said Mrs. Makely, with unexpected spirit; “but I am sure + that I should respect the feelings of all, rich or poor.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry if we have hurt yours, Mrs. Makely,” said Mrs. Camp, with + dignity. “You asked us certain questions, and we thought you wished us to + reply truthfully. We could not answer you with smooth things.” + </p> + <p> + “But sometimes you do,” said Mrs. Makely, and the tears stood in her eyes + again. “And you know how fond I am of you all!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Camp wore a bewildered look. “Perhaps we have said more than we + ought. But I couldn’t help it, and I don’t see how the children could, + when you asked them here, before Mr. Homos.” + </p> + <p> + I glanced at the Altrurian, sitting attentive and silent, and a sudden + misgiving crossed my mind concerning him. Was he really a man, a human + entity, a personality like ourselves, or was he merely a sort of spiritual + solvent, sent for the moment to precipitate whatever sincerity there was + in us, and show us what the truth was concerning our relations to one + another? It was a fantastic conception, but I thought it was one that I + might employ in some sort of purely romantic design, and I was + professionally grateful for it. I said, with a humorous gayety: “Yes, we + all seem to have been compelled to be much more honest than we like; and + if Mr. Homos is going to write an account of his travels when he gets + home, he can’t accuse us of hypocrisy, at any rate. And I always used to + think it was one of our virtues! What with Mr. Camp, here, and my friend + the banker at the hotel, I don’t think he’ll have much reason to complain + even of our reticence.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, whatever he says of us,” sighed Mrs. Makely, with a pious glance at + the sword over the bed, “he will have to say that, in spite of our + divisions and classes, we are all Americans, and, if we haven’t the same + opinions and ideas on minor matters, we all have the same country.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know about that,” came from Reuben Camp, with shocking + promptness. “I don’t believe we all have the same country. America is one + thing for you, and it’s quite another thing for us. America means ease and + comfort and amusement for you, year in and year out, and if it means work, + it’s work that you <i>wish</i> to do. For us, America means work that we + <i>have</i> to do, and hard work all the time if we’re going to make both + ends meet. It means liberty for you; but what liberty has a man got who + doesn’t know where his next meal is coming from? Once I was in a strike, + when I was working on the railroad, and I’ve seen men come and give up + their liberty for a chance to earn their family’s living. They knew they + were right, and that they ought to have stood up for their rights; but + they had to lie down and lick the hand that fed them. Yes, we are all + Americans, but I guess we haven’t all got the same country, Mrs. Makely. + What sort of a country has a blacklisted man got?” + </p> + <p> + “A blacklisted man?” she repeated. “I don’t know what you mean.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, a kind of man I’ve seen in the mill towns, that the bosses have all + got on their books as a man that isn’t to be given work on any account; + that’s to be punished with hunger and cold, and turned into the street, + for having offended them; and that’s to be made to suffer through his + helpless family for having offended them.” + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me, Mr. Camp,” I interposed, “but isn’t a blacklisted man usually + a man who has made himself prominent in some labor trouble?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” the young fellow answered, without seeming sensible of the point I + had made. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” I returned. “Then you can hardly blame the employers for taking it + out of him in any way they can. That’s human nature.” + </p> + <p> + “Good heavens!” the Altrurian cried out. “Is it possible that in America + it is human nature to take away the bread of a man’s family because he has + gone counter to your interest or pleasure on some economical question?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Mr. Twelvemough seems to think so,” sneered the young man. “But + whether it’s human nature or not, it’s a fact that they do it, and you can + guess how much a blacklisted man must love the country where such a thing + can happen to him. What should you call such a thing as blacklisting in + Altruria?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes,” Mrs. Makely pleaded, “do let us get him to talking about + Altruria on any terms. I think all this about the labor question is so + tiresome; don’t you, Mrs. Camp?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Camp did not answer; but the Altrurian said, in reply to her son: “We + should have no name for such a thing, for with us such a thing would be + impossible. There is no crime so heinous with us that the punishment would + take away the criminal’s chance of earning his living.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, if he was a criminal,” said young Camp, “he would be all right <i>here</i>. + The state would give him a chance to earn his living then.” + </p> + <p> + “But if he had no other chance of earning his living, and had committed no + offence against the laws—” + </p> + <p> + “Then the state would let him take to the road—like that fellow.” + </p> + <p> + He pulled aside the shade of the window where he sat, and we saw pausing + before the house, and glancing doubtfully at the doorstep, where the dog + lay, a vile and loathsome-looking tramp, a blot upon the sweet and + wholesome landscape, a scandal to the sacred day. His rags burlesqued the + form which they did not wholly hide; his broken shoes were covered with + dust; his coarse hair came in a plume through his tattered hat; his red, + sodden face, at once fierce and timid, was rusty with a fortnight’s beard. + He offended the eye like a visible stench, and the wretched carrion seemed + to shrink away from our gaze as if he were aware of his loathsomeness. + </p> + <p> + “Really,” said Mrs. Makely, “I thought those fellows were arrested now. It + is too bad to leave them at large. They are dangerous.” Young Camp left + the room, and we saw him going out toward the tramp. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, that’s quite right,” said the lady. “I hope Reuben is going to send + him about his business. Why, surely, he’s not going to feed the horrid + creature!” she added, as Camp, after a moment’s parley with the tramp, + turned with him and disappeared round a corner of the house. “Now, Mrs. + Camp, I think that is really a very bad example. It’s encouraging them. + Very likely he’ll go to sleep in your barn, and set it on fire with his + pipe. What do you do with tramps in Altruria, Mr. Homos?” + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian seemed not to have heard her. He said to Mrs. Camp: “Then I + understand from something your son let fall that he has not always been at + home with you here. Does he reconcile himself easily to the country after + the excitement of town life? I have read that the cities in America are + draining the country of the young people.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think he was sorry to come home,” said the mother, with a touch + of fond pride. “But there was no choice for him after his father died; he + was always a good boy, and he has not made us feel that we were keeping + him away from anything better. When his father was alive we let him go, + because then we were not so dependent, and I wished him to try his fortune + in the world, as all boys long to do. But he is rather peculiar, and he + seems to have got quite enough of the world. To be sure, I don’t suppose + he’s seen the brightest side of it. He first went to work in the mills + down at Ponkwasset, but he was ‘laid off’ there when the hard times came + and there was so much overproduction, and he took a job of railroading, + and was braking on a freight-train when his father left us.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Makely said, smiling: “No, I don’t think that was the brightest + outlook in the world. No wonder he has brought back such gloomy + impressions. I am sure that if he could have seen life under brighter + auspices he would not have the ideas he has.” + </p> + <p> + “Very likely,” said the mother, dryly. “Our experiences have a great deal + to do with forming our opinions. But I am not dissatisfied with my son’s + ideas. I suppose Reuben got a good many of his ideas from his father: he’s + his father all over again. My husband thought slavery was wrong, and he + went into the war to fight against it. He used to say when the war was + over that the negroes were emancipated, but slavery was not abolished + yet.” + </p> + <p> + “What in the world did he mean by that?” demanded Mrs. Makely. + </p> + <p> + “Something you wouldn’t understand as we do. I tried to carry on the farm + after he first went, and before Reuben was large enough to help me much + and ought to be in school, and I suppose I overdid. At any rate, that was + when I had my first shock of paralysis. I never was very strong, and I + presume my health was weakened by my teaching school so much, and + studying, before I was married. But that doesn’t matter now, and hasn’t + for many a year. The place was clear of debt then, but I had to get a + mortgage put on it. The savings-bank down in the village took it, and + we’ve been paying the interest ever since. My husband died paying it, and + my son will pay it all my life, and then I suppose the bank will + foreclose. The treasurer was an old playmate of my husband’s, and he said + that as long as either of us lived the mortgage could lie.” + </p> + <p> + “How splendid of him!” said Mrs. Makely. “I should think you had been very + fortunate.” + </p> + <p> + “I said that you would not see it as we do,” said the invalid, patiently. + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian asked: “Are there mortgages on many of the farms in the + neighborhood?” + </p> + <p> + “Nearly all,” said Mrs. Camp. “We seem to own them, but in fact they own + us.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Makely hastened to say: “My husband thinks it’s the best way to have + your property. If you mortgage it close up, you have all your capital + free, and you can keep turning it over. That’s what you ought to do, Mrs. + Camp. But what was the slavery that Captain Camp said was not abolished + yet?” + </p> + <p> + The invalid looked at her a moment without replying, and just then the + door of the kitchen opened, and Young Camp came in and began to gather + some food from the table on a plate. + </p> + <p> + “Why don’t you bring him to the table, Reub?” his sister called to him. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he says he’d rather not come in, as long as we have company. He says + he isn’t dressed for dinner; left his spike-tail in the city.” + </p> + <p> + The young man laughed, and his sister with him. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VIII + </h2> + <p> + Young Camp carried out the plate of victuals to the tramp, and Mrs. Makely + said to his mother: “I suppose you would make the tramp do some sort of + work to earn his breakfast on week-days?” + </p> + <p> + “Not always,” Mrs. Camp replied. “Do the boarders at the hotel always work + to earn their breakfast?” + </p> + <p> + “No, certainly not,” said Mrs. Makely, with the sharpness of offence. “But + they always pay for it.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think that paying for a thing is earning it. Perhaps some one + else earned the money that pays for it. But I believe there is too much + work in the world. If I were to live my life over again, I should not work + half so hard. My husband and I took this place when we were young married + people, and began working to pay for it. We wanted to feel that it was + ours, that we owned it, and that our children should own it afterward. We + both worked all day long like slaves, and many a moonlight night we were + up till morning, almost, gathering the stones from our fields and burying + them in deep graves that we had dug for them. But we buried our youth and + strength and health in those graves, too, and what for? I don’t own the + farm that we worked so hard to pay for, and my children won’t. That is + what it has all come to. We were rightly punished for our greed, I + suppose. Perhaps no one has a right to own any portion of the earth. + Sometimes I think so, but my husband and I earned this farm, and now the + savings-bank owns it. That seems strange, doesn’t it? I suppose you’ll say + that the bank paid for it. Well, perhaps so; but the bank didn’t earn it. + When I think of that I don’t always think that a person who pays for his + breakfast has the best right to a breakfast.” + </p> + <p> + I could see the sophistry of all this, but I had not the heart to point it + out; I felt the pathos of it, too. Mrs. Makely seemed not to see the one + nor to feel the other very distinctly. “Yes, but surely,” she said, “if + you give a tramp his breakfast without making him work for it, you must + see that it is encouraging idleness. And idleness is very corrupting—the + sight of it.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean to the country people? Well, they have to stand a good deal of + that. The summer folks that spend four or five months of the year here + don’t seem to do anything from morning till night.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, but you must recollect that they are <i>resting</i>! You have no idea + how hard they all work in town during the winter,” Mrs. Makely urged, with + an air of argument. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps the tramps are resting, too. At any rate, I don’t think the sight + of idleness in rags, and begging at back doors, is very corrupting to the + country people; I never heard of a single tramp who had started from the + country; they all come from the cities. It’s the other kind of idleness + that tempts our young people. The only tramps that my son says he ever + envies are the well-dressed, strong young fellows from town that go + tramping through the mountains for exercise every summer.” + </p> + <p> + The ladies both paused. They seemed to have got to the end of their + tether; at least, Mrs. Makely had apparently nothing else to advance, and + I said, lightly: “But that is just the kind of tramps that Mr. Homos would + most disapprove of. He says that in Altruria they would consider exercise + for exercise’ sake a wicked waste of force and little short of lunacy.” + </p> + <p> + I thought my exaggeration might provoke him to denial, but he seemed not + to have found it unjust. “Why, you know,” he said to Mrs. Camp, “in + Altruria every one works with his hands, so that the hard work shall not + all fall to any one class; and this manual labor of each is sufficient to + keep the body in health, as well as to earn a living. After the three, + hours’ work, which constitutes a day’s work with us, is done, the young + people have all sorts of games and sports, and they carry them as late + into life as the temperament of each demands. But what I was saying to Mr. + Twelvemough—perhaps I did not make myself clear—was that we + should regard the sterile putting forth of strength in exercise, if others + were each day worn out with hard manual labor, as insane or immoral. But I + can account for it differently with you, because I understand that in your + conditions a person of leisure could not do any manual labor without + taking away the work of some one who needed it to live by; and could not + even relieve an overworked laborer, and give him the money for the work, + without teaching him habits of idleness. In Altruria we can all keep + ourselves well by doing each his share of hard work, and we can help those + who are exhausted, when such a thing happens, without injuring them + materially or morally.” + </p> + <p> + Young Camp entered at this moment, and the Altrurian hesitated. “Oh, do go + on!” Mrs. Makely entreated. She added to Camp: “We’ve got him to talking + about Altruria at last, and we wouldn’t have him stopped for worlds.” + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian looked around at all our faces, and no doubt read our eager + curiosity in them. He smiled and said: “I shall be very glad, I’m sure. + But I do not think you will find anything so remarkable in our + civilization, if you will conceive of it as the outgrowth of the + neighborly instinct. In fact, neighborliness is the essence of + Altrurianism. If you will imagine having the same feeling toward all,” he + explained to Mrs. Makely, “as you have toward your next-door neighbor—” + </p> + <p> + “My next-door neighbor!” she cried. “But I don’t <i>know</i> the people + next door! We live in a large apartment house, some forty families, and I + assure you I do not know a soul among them.” + </p> + <p> + He looked at her with a puzzled air, and she continued: “Sometimes it <i>does</i> + seem rather hard. One day the people on the same landing with us lost one + of their children, and I should never have been a whit the wiser if my + cook hadn’t happened to mention it. The servants all know each other; they + meet in the back elevator, and get acquainted. I don’t encourage it. You + can’t tell what kind of families they belong to.” + </p> + <p> + “But surely,” the Altrurian persisted, “you have friends in the city whom + you think of as your neighbors?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I can’t say that I have,” said Mrs. Makely. “I have my visiting-list, + but I shouldn’t think of anybody on <i>that</i> as a neighbor.” + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian looked so blank and baffled that I could hardly help + laughing. “Then I should not know how to explain Altruria to you, I’m + afraid.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” she returned, lightly, “if it’s anything like neighborliness as + I’ve seen it in small places, deliver me from it! I like being + independent. That’s why I like the city. You’re let alone.” + </p> + <p> + “I was down in New York once, and I went through some of the streets and + houses where the poor people live,” said young Camp, “and they seemed to + know each other and to be quite neighborly.” + </p> + <p> + “And would you like to be all messed in with one another that way?” + demanded the lady. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I thought it was better than living as we do in the country, so far + apart that we never see one another, hardly. And it seems to me better + than not having any neighbors at all.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, every one to his taste,” said Mrs. Makely. “I wish you would tell + us how people manage with you socially, Mr. Homos.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, you know,” he began, “we have neither city nor country in your + sense, and so we are neither so isolated nor so crowded together. You feel + that you lose a great deal in not seeing one another oftener?” he asked + Camp. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Folks rust out living alone. It’s Human nature to want to get + together.” + </p> + <p> + “And I understand Mrs. Makely that it is human nature to want to keep + apart?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no, but to come together independently,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + “Well, that is what we have contrived in our life at home. I should have + to say, in the first place, that—” + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me just one moment, Mr. Homos,” said Mrs. Makely. This perverse + woman was as anxious to hear about Altruria as any of us, but she was a + woman who would rather hear the sound of her own voice than any other, + even if she were dying, as she would call it, to hear the other. The + Altrurian stopped politely, and Mrs. Makely went on: “I have been thinking + of what Mr. Camp was saying about the blacklisted men, and their all + turning into tramps—” + </p> + <p> + “But I didn’t say that, Mrs. Makely,” the young fellow protested, in + astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it stands to reason that if the tramps have all been blacklisted + men—” + </p> + <p> + “But I didn’t say that, either.” + </p> + <p> + “No matter! What I am trying to get at is this: if a workman has made + himself a nuisance to the employers, haven’t they a right to punish him in + any way they can?” + </p> + <p> + “I believe there’s no law yet against blacklisting,” said Camp. + </p> + <p> + “Very well, then, I don’t see what they’ve got to complain of. The + employers surely know their own business.” + </p> + <p> + “They claim to know the men’s, too. That’s what they’re always saying; + they will manage their own affairs in their own way. But no man, or + company, that does business on a large scale has any affairs that are not + partly other folks’ affairs, too. All the saying in the world won’t make + it different.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, then,” said Mrs. Makely, with a force of argument which she + seemed to think was irresistible, “I think the workmen had better leave + things to the employers, and then they won’t get blacklisted. It’s as + broad as it’s long.” + </p> + <p> + I confess that, although I agreed with Mrs. Makely in regard to what the + workmen had better do, her position had been arrived at by such + extraordinary reasoning that I blushed for her; at the same time, I wanted + to laugh. She continued, triumphantly: “You see, the employers have ever + so much more at stake.” + </p> + <p> + “Then men have everything at stake—the work of their hands,” said + the young fellow. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but surely,” said Mrs. Makely, “you wouldn’t set that against + capital? You wouldn’t compare the two?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I should,” said Camp, and I could see his eye kindle and his jaw + stiffen. + </p> + <p> + “Then I suppose you would say that a man ought to get as much for his work + as an employer gets for his capital. If you think one has as much at stake + as the other, you must think they ought to be paid alike.” + </p> + <p> + “That is <i>just</i> what I think,” said Camp, and Mrs. Makely burst into + a peal of amiable laughter. + </p> + <p> + “Now, that is too preposterous!” + </p> + <p> + “Why is it preposterous?” he demanded, with a quivering nostril. + </p> + <p> + “Why, simply because it <i>is</i>” said the lady, but she did not say why, + and although I thought so, too, I was glad she did not attempt to do it, + for her conclusions seemed to me much better than her reasons. + </p> + <p> + The old wooden clock in the kitchen began to strike, and she rose briskly + to her feet and went and laid the books she had been holding in her lap on + the table beside Mrs. Camp’s bed. “We must really be going,” she said, as + she leaned over and kissed the invalid. “It is your dinner-time, and we + shall barely get back for lunch if we go by the Loop road; and I want very + much to have Mr. Homos see the Witch’s Falls on the way. I have got two or + three of the books here that Mr. Makely brought me last night—I + sha’n’t have time to read them at once—and I’m smuggling in one of + Mr. Twelvemough’s, that he’s too modest to present for himself.” She + turned a gay glance upon me, and Mrs. Camp thanked me, and a number of + civilities followed from all sides. In the process of their exchange, Mrs. + Makely’s spirits perceptibly rose, and she came away in high good-humor + with the whole Camp family. “Well, now, I am sure,” she said to the + Altrurian, as we began the long ascent of the Loop road, “you must allow + that you have seen some very original characters. But how <i>warped</i> + people get living alone so much! That is the great drawback of the + country. Mrs. Camp thinks the savings-bank did her a real injury in taking + a mortgage on her place, and Reuben seems to have seen just enough of the + outside world to get it all wrong. But they are the best-hearted creatures + in the world, and I know you won’t misunderstand them. That unsparing + country bluntness—don’t you think it’s perfectly delightful? I do + like to stir poor Reuben up, and get him talking. He is a good boy, if he + <i>is</i> so wrong-headed, and he’s the most devoted son and brother in + the world. Very few young fellows would waste their lives on an old farm + like that; I suppose, when his mother dies, he will marry and strike out + for himself in some growing place.” + </p> + <p> + “He did not seem to think the world held out any very bright inducements + for him to leave home,” the Altrurian suggested. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, let him get one of these lively, pushing Yankee girls for a wife, and + he will think very differently,” said Mrs. Makely. + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian disappeared that afternoon, and I saw little or nothing of + him till the next day at supper. Then he said he had been spending the + time with young Camp, who had shown him something of the farm-work, and + introduced him to several of the neighbors; he was very much interested in + it all, because at home he was, at present, engaged in farm-work himself, + and he was curious to contrast the American and Altrurian methods. We + began to talk of the farming interest again, later in the day, when the + members of our little group came together, and I told them what the + Altrurian had been doing. The doctor had been suddenly called back to + town; but the minister was there, and the lawyer and the professor and the + banker and the manufacturer. + </p> + <p> + It was the banker who began to comment on what I said, and he seemed to be + in the frank humor of the Saturday night before. “Yes,” he said, “it’s a + hard life, and they have to look sharp if they expect to make both ends + meet. I would not like to undertake it myself with their resources.” + </p> + <p> + The professor smiled, in asking the Altrurian: “Did your agricultural + friends tell you anything of the little rural traffic in votes that they + carry on about election time? That is one of the side means they have of + making both ends meet.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t understand,” said the Altrurian. + </p> + <p> + “Why, you know, you can buy votes among our virtuous yeomen from two + dollars up at the ordinary elections. When party feeling runs high, and + there are vital questions at stake, the votes cost more.” + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian looked round at us all aghast. “Do, you mean that Americans + buy votes?” + </p> + <p> + The professor smiled again. “Oh no; I only mean that they sell them. Well, + I don’t wonder that they rather prefer to blink the fact; but it is a + fact, nevertheless, and pretty notorious.” + </p> + <p> + “Good heavens!” cried the Altrurian. “And what defence have they for such + treason? I don’t mean those who sell; from what I have seen of the + bareness and hardship of their lives, I could well imagine that there + might sometimes come a pinch when they would be glad of the few dollars + that they could get in that way; but what have those who buy to say?” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the professor, “it isn’t a transaction that’s apt to be + talked about much on either side.” + </p> + <p> + “I think,” the banker interposed, “that there is some exaggeration about + that business; but it certainly exists, and I suppose it is a growing evil + in the country. I fancy it arises, somewhat, from a want of, clear + thinking on the subject. Then there is no doubt but it comes, sometimes, + from poverty. A man sells his vote, as a woman sells her person, for + money, when neither can turn virtue into cash. They feel that they must + live, and neither of them would be satisfied if Dr. Johnson told them he + didn’t see the necessity. In fact, I shouldn’t myself, if I were in their + places. You can’t have the good of a civilization like ours without having + the bad; but I am not going to deny that the bad is bad. Some people like + to do that; but I don’t find my account in it. In either case, I confess + that I think the buyer is worse than the seller—incomparably worse. + I suppose you are not troubled with either case in Altruria?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no!” said the Altrurian, with an utter horror, which no repetition of + his words can give the sense of. “It would be unimaginable.” + </p> + <p> + “Still,” the banker suggested, “you have cakes and ale, and at times the + ginger is hot in the mouth?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t pretend that we have immunity from error; but upon such terms as + you have described we have none. It would be impossible.” + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian’s voice expressed no contempt, but only a sad patience, a + melancholy surprise, such as a celestial angel might feel in being + suddenly confronted with some secret shame and horror of the Pit. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the banker, “with us the only way is to take the business + view and try to strike an average somewhere.” + </p> + <p> + “Talking of business,” said the professor, turning to the manufacturer, + who had been quietly smoking, “why don’t some of you capitalists take hold + of farming here in the East, and make a business of it as they do in the + West?” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” said the other; “if you mean me, I would rather not invest.” + He was silent a moment, and then he went on, as if the notion were + beginning to win upon him: “It may come to something like that, though. If + it does, the natural course, I should think, would be through the + railroads. It would be a very easy matter for them to buy up all the good + farms along their lines and put tenants on them, and run them in their own + interest. Really, it isn’t a bad scheme. The waste in the present method + is enormous, and there is no reason why the roads should not own the + farms, as they are beginning to own the mines. They could manage them + better than the small farmers do in every way. I wonder the thing hasn’t + occurred to some smart railroad man.” + </p> + <p> + We all laughed a little, perceiving the semi-ironical spirit of his talk; + but the Altrurian must have taken it in dead earnest: “But, in that case, + the number of people thrown out of work would be very great, wouldn’t it? + And what would become of them?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, they would have whatever their farms brought to make a new start + with somewhere else; and, besides, that question of what would become of + people thrown out of work by a given improvement is something that capital + cannot consider. We used to introduce a bit of machinery in the mill, + every now and then, that threw out a dozen or a hundred people; but we + couldn’t stop for that.” + </p> + <p> + “And you never knew what became of them?” + </p> + <p> + “Sometimes. Generally not. We took it for granted that they would light on + their feet somehow.” + </p> + <p> + “And the state—the whole people—the government—did + nothing for them?” + </p> + <p> + “If it became a question of the poor-house, yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Or the jail,” the lawyer suggested. + </p> + <p> + “Speaking of the poor-house,” said the professor, “did our exemplary rural + friends tell you how they sell out their paupers to the lowest bidder, and + get them boarded sometimes as low as a dollar and a quarter a week?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, young Mr. Camp told me of that. He seemed to think it was terrible.” + </p> + <p> + “Did he? Well, I’m glad to hear that of young Mr. Camp. From all that I’ve + been told before, he seems to reserve his conscience for the use of + capitalists. What does he propose to do about it?” + </p> + <p> + “He seems to think the state ought to find work for them.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, paternalism! Well, I guess the state won’t.” + </p> + <p> + “That was his opinion, too.” + </p> + <p> + “It seems a hard fate,” said the minister, “that the only provision the + law makes for people who are worn out by sickness or a life of work should + be something that assorts them with idiots and lunatics, and brings such + shame upon them that it is almost as terrible as death.” + </p> + <p> + “It is the only way to encourage independence and individuality,” said the + professor. “Of course, it has its dark side. But anything else would be + sentimental and unbusinesslike, and, in fact, un-American.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not so sure that it would be un-Christian,” the minister timidly + ventured, in the face of such an authority on political economy. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, as to that, I must leave the question to the reverend clergy,” said + the professor. + </p> + <p> + A very unpleasant little silence followed. It was broken by the lawyer, + who put his feet together, and, after a glance down at them, began to say: + “I was very much interested this afternoon by a conversation I had with + some of the young fellows in the hotel. You know most of them are + graduates, and they are taking a sort of supernumerary vacation this + summer before they plunge into the battle of life in the autumn. They were + talking of some other fellows, classmates of theirs, who were not so + lucky, but had been obliged to begin the fight at once. It seems that our + fellows here are all going in for some sort of profession: medicine or law + or engineering or teaching or the church, and they were commiserating + those other fellows not only because they were not having the + supernumerary vacation, but because they were going into business. That + struck me as rather odd, and I tried to find out what it meant, and, as + nearly as I could find out, it meant that most college graduates would not + go into business if they could help it. They seemed to feel a sort of + incongruity between their education and the business life. They pitied the + fellows that had to go in for it, and apparently the fellows that had to + go in for it pitied themselves, for the talk seemed to have begun about a + letter that one of the chaps here had got from poor Jack or Jim somebody, + who had been obliged to go into his father’s business, and was groaning + over it. The fellows who were going to study professions were hugging + themselves at the contrast between their fate and his, and were making + remarks about business that were, to say the least, unbusinesslike. A few + years ago we should have made a summary disposition of the matter, and I + believe some of the newspapers still are in doubt about the value of a + college education to men who have got to make their way. What do you + think?” + </p> + <p> + The lawyer addressed his question to the manufacturer, who answered, with + a comfortable satisfaction, that he did not think those young men if they + went into business would find that they knew too much. + </p> + <p> + “But they pointed out,” said the lawyer, “that the great American fortunes + had been made by men who had never had their educational advantages, and + they seemed to think that what we call the education of a gentleman was a + little too good for money-making purposes.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the other, “they can console themselves with the reflection + that going into business isn’t necessarily making money; it isn’t + necessarily making a living, even.” + </p> + <p> + “Some of them seem to have caught on to that fact; and they pitied Jack or + Jim partly because the chances were so much against him. But they pitied + him mostly because in the life before him he would have no use for his + academic training, and he had better not gone to college at all. They said + he would be none the better for it, and would always be miserable when he + looked back to it.” + </p> + <p> + The manufacturer did not reply, and the professor, after a preliminary + hemming, held his peace. It was the banker who took the word: “Well, so + far as business is concerned, they were right. It is no use to pretend + that there is any relation between business and the higher education. + There is no business man who will pretend that there is not often an + actual incompatibility if he is honest. I know that when we get together + at a commercial or financial dinner we talk as if great merchants and + great financiers were beneficent geniuses, who evoked the prosperity of + mankind by their schemes from the conditions that would otherwise have + remained barren. Well, very likely they are, but we must all confess that + they do not know it at the time. What they are consciously looking out for + then is the main chance. If general prosperity follows, all well and good; + they are willing to be given the credit for it. But, as I said, with + business as business, the ‘education of a gentleman’ has nothing to do. + That education is always putting the old Ciceronian question: whether the + fellow arriving at a starving city with a cargo of grain is bound to tell + the people before he squeezes them that there are half a dozen other + fellows with grain just below the horizon. As a gentleman he would have to + tell them, because he could not take advantage of their necessities; but, + as a business man, he would think it bad business to tell them, or no + business at all. The principle goes all through; I say, business is + business; and I am not going to pretend that business will ever be + anything else. In our business battles we don’t take off our hats to the + other side and say, ‘Gentlemen of the French Guard, have the goodness to + fire.’ That may be war, but it is not business. We seize all the + advantages we can; very few of us would actually deceive; but if a fellow + believes a thing, and we know he is wrong, we do not usually take the + trouble to set him right, if we are going to lose anything by undeceiving + him. That would not be business. I suppose you think that is dreadful?” He + turned smilingly to the minister. + </p> + <p> + “I wish—I wish,” said the minister, gently, “it could be otherwise.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I wish so, too,” returned the banker. “But it isn’t. Am I right or + am I wrong?” he demanded of the manufacturer, who laughed. + </p> + <p> + “I am not conducting this discussion. I will not deprive you of the + floor.” + </p> + <p> + “What you say,” I ventured to put in, “reminds me of the experience of a + friend of mine, a brother novelist. He wrote a story where the failure of + a business man turned on a point just like that you have instanced. The + man could have retrieved himself if he had let some people believe that + what was so was not so, but his conscience stepped in and obliged him to + own the truth. There was a good deal of talk about the case, I suppose, + because it was not in real life, and my friend heard divers criticisms. He + heard of a group of ministers who blamed him for exalting a case of common + honesty, as if it were something extraordinary; and he heard of some + business men who talked it over and said he had worked the case up + splendidly, but he was all wrong in the outcome—the fellow would + never have told the other fellows. They said it would not have been + business.” + </p> + <p> + We all laughed except the minister and the Altrurian; the manufacturer + said: “Twenty-five years hence, the fellow who is going into business may + pity the fellows who are pitying him for his hard fate now.” + </p> + <p> + “Very possibly, but not necessarily,” said the banker. “Of course, the + business man is on top, as far as money goes; he is the fellow who makes + the big fortunes; the millionaire lawyers and doctors and ministers are + exceptional. But his risks are tremendous. Ninety-five times out of a + hundred he fails. To be sure, he picks up and goes on, but he seldom gets + there, after all.” + </p> + <p> + “Then in your system,” said the Altrurian, “the great majority of those + who go into what you call the battle of life are defeated?” + </p> + <p> + “The killed, wounded, and missing sum up a frightful total,” the banker + admitted. “But whatever the end is, there is a great deal of prosperity on + the way. The statistics are correct, but they do not tell the whole truth. + It is not so bad as it seems. Still, simply looking at the material + chances, I don’t blame those young fellows for not wanting to go into + business. And when you come to other considerations! We used to cut the + knot of the difficulty pretty sharply; we said a college education was + wrong, or the hot and hot American spread-eaglers did. Business is the + national ideal, and the successful business man is the American type. It + is a business man’s country.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, if I understand you,” said the Altrurian, “and I am very anxious to + have a clear understanding of the matter, the effect of the university + with you is to unfit a youth for business life.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no. It may give him great advantages in it, and that is the theory and + expectation of most fathers who send their sons to the university. But, + undoubtedly, the effect is to render business life distasteful. The + university nurtures all sorts of lofty ideals, which business has no use + for.” + </p> + <p> + “Then the effect is undemocratic?” + </p> + <p> + “No, it is simply unbusinesslike. The boy is a better democrat when he + leaves college than he will be later, if he goes into business. The + university has taught him and equipped him to use his own gifts and powers + for his advancement; but the first lesson of business, and the last, is to + use other men’s gifts and powers. If he looks about him at all, he sees + that no man gets rich simply by his own labor, no matter how mighty a + genius he is, and that, if you want to get rich, you must make other men + work for you, and pay you for the privilege of doing so. Isn’t that true?” + </p> + <p> + The banker turned to the manufacturer with this question, and the other + said: “The theory is, that we give people work,” and they both laughed. + </p> + <p> + The minister said: “I believe that in Altruria no man works for the profit + of another?” + </p> + <p> + “No; each works for the profit of all,” replied the Altrurian. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the banker, “you seem to have made it go. Nobody can deny + that. But we couldn’t make it go here.” + </p> + <p> + “Why? I am very curious to know why our system seems so impossible to + you.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it is contrary to the American spirit. It is alien to our love of + individuality.” + </p> + <p> + “But we prize individuality, too, and we think we secure it under our + system. Under yours, it seems to me that while the individuality of the + man who makes other men work for him is safe, except from itself, the + individuality of the workers—” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that is their lookout. We have found that, upon the whole, it is + best to let every man look out for himself. I know that, in a certain + light, the result has an ugly aspect; but, nevertheless, in spite of all, + the country is enormously prosperous. The pursuit of happiness, which is + one of the inalienable rights secured to us by the Declaration, is, and + always has been, a dream; but the pursuit of the dollar yields tangible + proceeds, and we get a good deal of excitement out of it as it goes on. + You can’t deny that we are the richest nation in the world. Do you call + Altruria a rich country?” + </p> + <p> + I could not quite make out whether the banker was serious or not in all + this talk; sometimes I suspected him of a fine mockery, but the Altrurian + took him upon the surface of his words. + </p> + <p> + “I hardly know whether it is or not. The question of wealth does not enter + into our scheme. I can say that we all have enough, and that no one is + even in the fear of want.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that is very well. But we should think it was paying too much for it + if we had to give up the hope of ever having more than we wanted,” and at + this point the banker uttered his jolly laugh, and I perceived that he had + been trying to draw the Altrurian out and practise upon his patriotism. It + was a great relief to find that he had been joking in so much that seemed + a dead give-away of our economical position. “In Altruria,” he asked, “who + is your ideal great man? I don’t mean personally, but abstractly.” + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian thought a moment. “With us there is so little ambition for + distinction, as you understand it, that your question is hard to answer. + But I should say, speaking largely, that it was some man who had been able + for the time being to give the greatest happiness to the greatest number—some + artist or poet or inventor or physician.” + </p> + <p> + I was somewhat surprised to have the banker take this preposterous + statement seriously, respectfully. “Well, that is quite conceivable with + your system. What should you say,” he demanded of the rest of us + generally, “was our ideal of greatness?” + </p> + <p> + No one replied at once, or at all, till the manufacturer said: “We will + let you continue to run it.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it is a very curious inquiry, and I have thought it over a good + deal. I should say that within a generation our ideal has changed twice. + Before the war, and during all the time from the Revolution onward, it was + undoubtedly the great politician, the publicist, the statesman. As we grew + older and began to have an intellectual life of our own, I think the + literary fellows had a pretty good share of the honors that were going—that + is, such a man as Longfellow was popularly considered a type of greatness. + When the war came, it brought the soldier to the front, and there was a + period of ten or fifteen years when he dominated the national imagination. + That period passed, and the great era of material prosperity set in. The + big fortunes began to tower up, and heroes of another sort began to appeal + to our admiration. I don’t think there is any doubt but the millionaire is + now the American ideal. It isn’t very pleasant to think so, even for + people who have got on, but it can’t very hopefully be denied. It is the + man with the most money who now takes the prize in our national + cake-walk.” + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian turned curiously toward me, and I did my best to tell him + what a cake-walk was. When I had finished, the banker resumed, only to + say, as he rose from his chair to bid us good-night: “In any average + assembly of Americans the greatest millionaire would take the eyes of all + from the greatest statesman, the greatest poet, or the greatest soldier we + ever had. That,” he added to the Altrurian, “will account to you for many + things as you travel through our country.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IX + </h2> + <p> + The next time the members of our little group came together, the + manufacturer began at once upon the banker: + </p> + <p> + “I should think that our friend the professor, here, would hardly like + that notion of yours, that business, as business, has nothing to do with + the education of a gentleman. If this is a business man’s country, and if + the professor has nothing in stock but the sort of education that business + has no use for, I should suppose that he would want to go into some other + line.” + </p> + <p> + The banker mutely referred the matter to the professor, who said, with + that cold grin of his which I hated: + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps we shall wait for business to purge and live cleanly. Then it + will have some use for the education of a gentleman.” + </p> + <p> + “I see,” said the banker, “that I have touched the quick in both of you, + when I hadn’t the least notion of doing so. But I shouldn’t really like to + prophesy which will adapt itself to the other—education or business. + Let us hope there will be mutual concessions. There are some pessimists + who say that business methods, especially on the large scale of the trusts + and combinations, have grown worse instead of better; but this may be + merely what is called a ‘transition state.’ Hamlet must be cruel to be + kind; the darkest hour comes before dawn—and so on. Perhaps when + business gets the whole affair of life into its hands, and runs the + republic, as its enemies now accuse it of doing, the process of purging + and living cleanly will begin. I have known lots of fellows who started in + life rather scampishly; but when they felt secure of themselves, and + believed that they could afford to be honest, they became so. There’s no + reason why the same thing shouldn’t happen on a large scale. We must never + forget that we are still a very novel experiment, though we have matured + so rapidly in some respects that we have come to regard ourselves as an + accomplished fact. We are really less so than we were forty years ago, + with all the tremendous changes since the war. Before that we could take + certain matters for granted. If a man got out of work, he turned his hand + to something else; if a man failed in business, he started in again from + some other direction; as a last resort, in both cases, he went West, + pre-empted a quarter-section of public land, and grew up with the country. + Now the country is grown up; the public land is gone; business is full on + all sides, and the hand that turned itself to something else has lost its + cunning. The struggle for life has changed from a free-fight to an + encounter of disciplined forces, and the free-fighters that are left get + ground to pieces between organized labor and organized capital. Decidedly, + we are in a transition state, and if the higher education tried to adapt + itself to business needs, there are chances that it might sacrifice itself + without helping business. After all, how much education does business + need? Were our great fortunes made by educated men, or men of university + training? I don’t know but these young fellows are right about that.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that may all be,” I put in. “But it seems to me that you give Mr. + Homos, somehow, a wrong impression of our economic life by your + generalizations. You are a Harvard man yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and I am not a rich man. A million or two, more or less; but what is + that? I have suffered, at the start and all along, from the question as to + what a man with the education of a gentleman ought to do in such and such + a juncture. The fellows who have not that sort of education have not that + sort of question, and they go in and win.” + </p> + <p> + “So you admit, then,” said the professor, “that the higher education + elevates a business man’s standard of morals?” + </p> + <p> + “Undoubtedly. That is one of its chief drawbacks,” said the banker, with a + laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” I said, with the deference due even to a man who had only a + million or two, more or less, “we must allow <i>you</i> to say such + things. But if the case is so bad with the business men who have made the + great fortunes—the business men who have never had the disadvantage + of a university education—I wish you would explain to Mr. Homos why, + in every public exigency, we instinctively appeal to the business sense of + the community as if it were the fountain of wisdom, probity, and equity. + Suppose there were some question of vital interest—I won’t say + financial, but political or moral or social—on which it was + necessary to rouse public opinion, what would be the first thing to do? To + call a meeting over the signatures of the leading business men, because no + other names appeal with such force to the public. You might get up a call + signed by all the novelists, artists, ministers, lawyers, and doctors in + the state, and it would not have a tithe of the effect, with the people at + large, that a call signed by a few leading merchants, bank presidents, + railroad men, and trust officers would have. What is the reason? It seems + strange that I should be asking you to defend yourself against yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all, my dear fellow, not at all,” the banker replied, with his + caressing bonhomie. “Though I will confess, to begin with, that I do not + expect to answer your question to your entire satisfaction. I can only do + my best—on the instalment plan.” + </p> + <p> + He turned to the Altrurian, and then went on: “As I said the other night, + this is a business man’s country. We are a purely commercial people; money + is absolutely to the fore; and business, which is the means of getting the + most money, is the American ideal. If you like, you may call it the + American fetish; I don’t mind calling it so myself. The fact that business + is our ideal, or our fetish, will account for the popular faith in + business men, who form its priesthood, its hierarchy. I don’t know, + myself, any other reason for regarding business men as solider than + novelists or artists or ministers, not to mention lawyers and doctors. + They are supposed to have long heads; but it appears that ninety-five + times out of a hundred they haven’t. They are supposed to be very + reliable; but it is almost invariably a business man of some sort who gets + out to Canada while the state examiner is balancing his books, and it is + usually the longest headed business men who get plundered by him. No, it + is simply because business is our national ideal that the business man is + honored above all other men among us. In the aristocratic countries they + forward a public object under the patronage of the nobility and gentry; in + a plutocratic country they get the business men to indorse it. I suppose + that the average American citizen feels that they wouldn’t indorse a thing + unless it was safe; and the average American citizen likes to be safe—he + is cautious. As a matter of fact, business men are always taking risks, + and business is a game of chance, in a certain degree. Have I made myself + intelligible?” + </p> + <p> + “Entirely so,” said the Altrurian; and he seemed so thoroughly well + satisfied that he forbore asking any further question. + </p> + <p> + No one else spoke. The banker lighted a cigar, and resumed at the point + where he left off when I ventured to enter upon the defence of his class + with him. I must say that he had not convinced me at all. At that moment I + would rather have trusted him, in any serious matter of practical concern, + than all the novelists I ever heard of. But I thought I would leave the + word to him, without further attempt to reinstate him in his self-esteem. + In fact, he seemed to be getting along very well without it, or else he + was feeling that mysterious control from the Altrurian which I had already + suspected him of using. Voluntarily or involuntarily, the banker proceeded + with his contribution to the Altrurian’s stock of knowledge concerning our + civilization: + </p> + <p> + “I don’t believe, however, that the higher education is any more of a + failure, as a provision for a business career, than the lower education is + for the life of labor. I suppose that the hypercritical observer might say + that in a wholly commercial civilization like ours the business man really + needed nothing beyond the three R’s, and the working-man needed no R at + all. As a practical affair, there is a good deal to be said in favor of + that view. The higher education is part of the social ideal which we have + derived from the past, from Europe. It is part of the provision for the + life of leisure, the life of the aristocrat, which nobody of our + generation leads, except women. Our women really have some use for the + education of a gentleman, but our men have none. How will that do for a + generalization?” the banker asked of me. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” I admitted, with a laugh, “it is a good deal like one of my own. I + have always been struck with that phase of our civilization.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then,” the banker resumed, “take the lower education. That is part + of the civic ideal which, I suppose, I may say we evolved from the depths + of our inner consciousness of what an American citizen ought to be. It + includes instruction in all the R’s, and in several other letters of the + alphabet. It is given free by the state, and no one can deny that it is + thoroughly socialistic in conception and application.” + </p> + <p> + “Distinctly so,” said the professor. “Now that the text-books are + furnished by the state, we have only to go a step further and provide a + good, hot lunch for the children every day, as they do in Paris.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” the banker returned, “I don’t know that I should have much to say + against that. It seems as reasonable as anything in the system of + education which we force upon the working classes. <i>They</i> know + perfectly well, whether we do or not, that the three R’s will not make + their children better mechanics or laborers, and that, if the fight for a + mere living is to go on from generation to generation, they will have no + leisure to apply the little learning they get in the public schools for + their personal culture. In the mean time we deprive the parents of their + children’s labor, in order that they may be better citizens for their + schooling, as we imagine; I don’t know whether they are or not. We offer + them no sort of compensation for their time, and I think we ought to feel + obliged to them for not wanting wages for their children while we are + teaching them to be better citizens.” + </p> + <p> + “You know,” said the professor, “that has been suggested by some of their + leaders.” + </p> + <p> + “No, really? Well, that is too good!” The banker threw back his head and + roared, and we all laughed with him. When we had sobered down again, he + said: “I suppose that when a working-man makes all the use he can of his + lower education he becomes a business man, and then he doesn’t need the + higher. Professor, you seem to be left out in the cold by our system, + whichever way you take it.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said the professor, “the law of supply and demand works both ways: + it creates the demand, if the supply comes first; and if we keep on giving + the sons of business men the education of a gentleman, we may yet make + them feel the need of it. We shall evolve a new sort of business man.” + </p> + <p> + “The sort that can’t make money, or wouldn’t exactly like to, on some + terms?” asked the banker. “Well, perhaps we shall work out our democratic + salvation in that way. When you have educated your new business man to the + point where he can’t consent to get rich at the obvious cost of others, + you’ve got him on the way back to work with his hands. He will sink into + the ranks of labor, and give the fellow with the lower education a chance. + I’ve no doubt he’ll take it. I don’t know but you’re right, professor.” + </p> + <p> + The lawyer had not spoken as yet. Now he said: “Then it is education, + after all, that is to bridge the chasm between the classes and the masses, + though it seems destined to go a long way around about it. There was a + time, I believe, when we expected religion to do that.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it may still be doing it, for all I know,” said the banker. “What + do you say?” he asked, turning to the minister. “You ought to be able to + give us some statistics on the subject with that large congregation of + yours. You preach to more people than any other pulpit in your city.” + </p> + <p> + The banker named one of the principal cities in the East, and the minister + answered, with, modest pride: “I am not sure of that; but our society is + certainly a very large one.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, and how many of the lower classes are there in it—people who + work for their living with their hands?” + </p> + <p> + The minister stirred uneasily in his chair, and at last he said, with + evident unhappiness: “They—I suppose—they have their own + churches. I have never thought that such a separation of the classes was + right; and I have had some of the very best people—socially and + financially—with me in the wish that there might be more + brotherliness between the rich and poor among us. But as yet—” + </p> + <p> + He stopped; the banker pursued: “Do you mean there are <i>no</i> + working-people in your congregation?” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot think of any,” returned the minister, so miserably that the + banker forbore to press the point. + </p> + <p> + The lawyer broke the awkward pause which followed: “I have heard it + asserted that there is no country in the world where the separation of the + classes is so absolute as in ours. In fact, I once heard a Russian + revolutionist, who had lived in exile all over Europe, say that he had + never seen anywhere such a want of kindness or sympathy between rich and + poor as he had observed in America. I doubted whether he was right. But he + believed that, if it ever came to the industrial revolution with us, the + fight would be more uncompromising than any such fight that the world had + ever seen. There was no respect from low to high, he said, and no + consideration from high to low, as there were in countries with traditions + and old associations.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the banker, “there may be something in that. Certainly, so + far as the two forces have come into conflict here, there has been no + disposition, on either side, to ‘make war with the water of roses.’ It’s + astonishing, in fact, to see how ruthless the fellows who have just got up + are toward the fellows who are still down. And the best of us have been up + only a generation or two—and the fellows who are still down know + it.” + </p> + <p> + “And what do you think would be the outcome of such a conflict?” I asked, + with my soul divided between fear of it and the perception of its + excellence as material. My fancy vividly sketched the outline of a story + which should forecast the struggle and its event, somewhat on the plan of + the Battle of Dorking. + </p> + <p> + “We should beat,” said the banker, breaking his cigar-ash off with his + little finger; and I instantly cast him, with his ironic calm, for the + part of a great patrician leader in my “Fall of the Republic.” Of course, + I disguised him somewhat, and travestied his worldly bonhomie with the + bluff sang-froid of the soldier; these things are easily done. + </p> + <p> + “What makes you think we should beat?” asked the manufacturer, with a + certain curiosity. + </p> + <p> + “Well, all the good jingo reasons: we have got the materials for beating. + Those fellows throw away their strength whenever they begin to fight, and + they’ve been so badly generalled, up to the present time, that they have + wanted to fight at the outset of every quarrel. They have been beaten in + every quarrel, but still they always want to begin by fighting. That is + all right. When they have learned enough to begin by <i>voting</i>, then + we shall have to look out. But if they keep on fighting, and always + putting themselves in the wrong and getting the worst of it, perhaps we + can fix the voting so we needn’t be any more afraid of that than we are of + the fighting. It’s astonishing how short-sighted they are. They, have no + conception of any cure for their grievances except more wages and fewer + hours.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” I asked, “do you really think they have any just grievances?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course not, as a business man,” said the banker. “If I were a + working-man, I should probably think differently. But we will suppose, for + the sake of argument, that their day is too long and their pay is too + short. How do they go about to better themselves? They strike. Well, a + strike is a fight, and in a fight, nowadays, it is always skill and money + that win. The working-men can’t stop till they have put themselves outside + of the public sympathy which the newspapers say is so potent in their + behalf; I never saw that it did them the least good. They begin by + boycotting, and breaking the heads of the men who want to work. They + destroy property, and they interfere with business—the two + absolutely sacred things in the American religion. Then we call out the + militia and shoot a few of them, and their leaders declare the strike off. + It is perfectly simple.” + </p> + <p> + “But will it be quite as simple,” I asked, reluctant in behalf of my + projected romance, to have the matter so soon disposed of—“will it + be quite so simple if their leaders ever persuade the working-men to leave + the militia, as they threaten to do, from time to time?” + </p> + <p> + “No, not quite so simple,” the banker admitted. “Still, the fight would be + comparatively simple. In the first place, I doubt—though I won’t be + certain about it—whether there are a great many working-men in the + militia now. I rather fancy it is made up, for the most part, of clerks + and small tradesmen and book-keepers, and such employés of business as + have time and money for it. I may be mistaken.” + </p> + <p> + No one seemed able to say whether he was mistaken or not; and, after + waiting a moment, he proceeded: “I feel pretty sure that it is so in the + city companies and regiments, at any rate, and that if every working-man + left them it would not seriously impair their effectiveness. But when the + working-men have left the militia, what have they done? They have + eliminated the only thing that disqualifies it for prompt and unsparing + use against strikers. As long as they are in it we might have our + misgivings, but if they were once out of it we should have none. And what + would they gain? They would not be allowed to arm and organize as an + inimical force. <i>That</i> was settled once for all in Chicago, in the + case of the International Groups. A few squads of policemen would break + them up. Why,” the banker exclaimed, with his good-humored laugh, “how + preposterous they are when you come to look at it! They are in the + majority, the immense majority, if you count the farmers, and they prefer + to behave as if they were the hopeless minority. They say they want an + eight-hour law, and every now and then they strike and try to fight it. + Why don’t they <i>vote</i> it? They could <i>make</i> it the law in six + months by such overwhelming numbers that no one would dare to evade or + defy it. They can make any law they want, but they prefer to break such + laws as we have. That ‘alienates public sympathy,’ the newspapers say; but + the spectacle of their stupidity and helpless wilfulness is so lamentable + that I could almost pity them. If they chose, it would take only a few + years to transform our government into the likeness of anything they + wanted. But they would rather not have what they want, apparently, if they + can only keep themselves from getting it, and they have to work hard to do + that!” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose,” I said, “that they are misled by the un-American principles + and methods of the Socialists among them.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, no,” returned the banker, “I shouldn’t say that. As far as I + understand it, the Socialists are the only fellows among them who propose + to vote their ideas into laws, and nothing can be more American than that. + I don’t believe the Socialists stir up the strikes—at least, among + our working-men; though the newspapers convict them of it, generally + without trying them. The Socialists seem to accept the strikes as the + inevitable outcome of the situation, and they make use of them as proofs + of the industrial discontent. But, luckily for the status, our labor + leaders are not Socialists, for your Socialist, whatever you may say + against him, has generally thought himself into a Socialist. He knows that + until the working-men stop fighting, and get down to voting—until + they consent to be the majority—there is no hope for them. I am not + talking of anarchists, mind you, but of Socialists, whose philosophy is + more law, not less, and who look forward to an order so just that it can’t + be disturbed.” + </p> + <p> + “And what,” the minister faintly said, “do you think will be the outcome + of it all?” + </p> + <p> + “We had that question the other night, didn’t we? Our legal friend here + seemed to feel that we might rub along indefinitely as we are doing, or + work out an Altruria of our own; or go back to the patriarchal stage and + own our working-men. He seemed not to have so much faith in the logic of + events as I have. I doubt if it is altogether a woman’s logic. <i>Parole + femmine, fatti maschi,</i> and the logic of events isn’t altogether words; + it’s full of hard knocks, too. But I’m no prophet. I can’t forecast the + future; I prefer to take it as it comes. There’s a little tract of William + Morris’s, though—I forget just what he calls it—that is full + of curious and interesting speculation on this point. He thinks that, if + we keep the road we are now going, the last state of labor will be like + its first, and it will be owned.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don’t believe that will ever happen in America,” I protested. + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” asked the banker. “Practically, it is owned already in a vastly + greater measure than we recognize. And where would the great harm be? The + new slavery would not be like the old. There needn’t be irresponsible + whipping and separation of families, and private buying and selling. The + proletariate would probably be owned by the state, as it was at one time + in Greece; or by large corporations, which would be much more in keeping + with the genius of our free institutions; and an enlightened public + opinion would cast safeguards about it in the form of law to guard it from + abuse. But it would be strictly policed, localized, and controlled. There + would probably be less suffering than there is now, when a man may be + cowed into submission to any terms through the suffering of his family; + when he may be starved out and turned out if he is unruly. You may be sure + that nothing of that kind would happen in the new slavery. We have not had + nineteen hundred years of Christianity for nothing.” + </p> + <p> + The banker paused, and, as the silence continued, he broke it with a + laugh, which was a prodigious relief to my feelings, and I suppose to the + feelings of all. I perceived that he had been joking, and I was confirmed + in this when he turned to the Altrurian and laid his hand upon his + shoulder. “You see,” he said, “I’m a kind of Altrurian myself. What is the + reason why we should not found a new Altruria here on the lines I’ve + drawn? Have you never had philosophers—well, call them + philanthropists; I don’t mind—of my way of thinking among you?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes,” said the Altrurian. “At one time, just before we emerged from + the competitive conditions, there was much serious question whether + capital should not own labor instead of labor owning capital. That was + many hundred years ago.” + </p> + <p> + “I am proud to find myself such an advanced thinker,” said the banker. + “And how came you to decide that labor should own capital?” + </p> + <p> + “We voted it,” answered the Altrurian. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the banker, “our fellows are still fighting it, and getting + beaten.” + </p> + <p> + I found him later in the evening talking with Mrs. Makely. “My dear sir,” + I said, “I liked your frankness with my Altrurian friend immensely; and it + may be well to put the worst foot foremost; but what is the advantage of + not leaving us a leg to stand upon?” + </p> + <p> + He was not in the least offended at my boldness, as I had feared he might + be, but he said, with that jolly laugh of his: “Capital! Well, perhaps I + have worked my candor a little too hard; I suppose there is such a thing. + But don’t you see that it leaves me in the best possible position to carry + the war into Altruria when we get him to open up about his native land?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! If you can get him to do it.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, we were just talking about that. Mrs. Makely has a plan.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the lady, turning an empty chair near her own toward me. “Sit + down and listen.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + X + </h2> + <p> + I sat down, and Mrs. Makely continued: “I have thought it all out, and I + want you to confess that in all practical matters a woman’s brain is + better than a man’s. Mr. Bullion, here, says it is, and I want you to say + so, too.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” the banker admitted, “when it comes down to business a woman is + worth any two of us.” + </p> + <p> + “And we have just been agreeing,” I coincided, “that the only gentlemen + among us are women. Mrs. Makely, I admit, without further dispute, that + the most unworldly woman is worldlier than the worldliest man; and that in + all practical matters we fade into dreamers and doctrinaires beside you. + Now, go on.” + </p> + <p> + But she did not mean to let me off so easily. She began to brag herself + up, as women do whenever you make them the slightest concession. + </p> + <p> + “Here, you men,” she said, “have been trying for a whole week to get + something out of Mr. Homos about his country, and you have left it to a + poor, weak woman, at last, to think how to manage it. I do believe that + you get so much interested in your own talk, when you are with him, that + you don’t let him get in a word, and that’s the reason you haven’t found + out anything about Altruria yet from him.” + </p> + <p> + In view of the manner in which she had cut in at Mrs. Camp’s, and stopped + Homos on the very verge of the only full and free confession he had ever + been near making about Altruria, I thought this was pretty cool; but, for + fear of worse, I said: + </p> + <p> + “You’re quite right, Mrs. Makely. I’m sorry to say that there has been a + shameful want of self-control among us, and that, if we learn anything at + all from him, it will be because you have taught us how.” + </p> + <p> + She could not resist this bit of taffy. She scarcely gave herself time to + gulp it before she said: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it’s very well to say that now! But where would you have been if I + hadn’t set my wits to work? Now, listen! It just popped into my mind, like + an inspiration, when I was thinking of something altogether different. It + flashed upon me in an instant: a good object, and a public occasion.” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” I said, finding this explosion and electrical inspiration rather + enigmatical. + </p> + <p> + “Why, you know, the Union Chapel, over in the village, is in a languishing + condition, and the ladies have been talking all summer about doing + something for it, getting up something—a concert or theatricals or a + dance or something—and applying the proceeds to repainting and + papering the visible church; it needs it dreadfully. But, of course, those + things are not exactly religious, don’t you know; and a fair is so much + trouble; and <i>such</i> a bore, when you get the articles ready, even; + and everybody feels swindled; and now people frown on raffles, so there is + no use thinking of them. What you want is something striking. We did think + of a parlor-reading, or perhaps ventriloquism; but the performers all + charge so much that there wouldn’t be anything left after paying + expenses.” + </p> + <p> + She seemed to expect some sort of prompting at this point; so I said: + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” she repeated, “that is just where your Mr. Homos comes in.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! How does he come in there?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, get him to deliver a Talk on Altruria. As soon as he knows it’s for + a good object, he will be on fire to do it; and they must live so much in + common there that the public occasion will be just the thing that will + appeal to him.” + </p> + <p> + It did seem a good plan to me, and I said so. But Mrs. Makely was so much + in love with it that she was not satisfied with my modest recognition. + </p> + <p> + “Good? It’s magnificent! It’s the very thing! And I have thought it out, + down to the last detail—” + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me,” I interrupted. “Do you think there is sufficient general + interest in the subject, outside of the hotel, to get a full house for + him? I shouldn’t like to see him subjected to the mortification of empty + benches.” + </p> + <p> + “What in the world are you thinking of? Why, there isn’t a farm-house, + anywhere within ten miles, where they haven’t heard of Mr. Homos; and + there isn’t a servant under this roof, or in any of the boarding-houses, + who doesn’t know something about Altruria and want to know more. It seems + that your friend has been much oftener with the porters and the + stable-boys than he has been with us.” + </p> + <p> + I had only too great reason to fear so. In spite of my warnings and + entreaties, he had continued to behave toward every human being he met + exactly as if they were equals. He apparently could not conceive of that + social difference which difference of occupation creates among us. He + owned that he saw it, and from the talk of our little group he knew it + existed; but, when I expostulated with him upon some act in gross + violation of society usage, he only answered that he could not imagine + that what he saw and knew could actually be. It was quite impossible to + keep him from bowing with the greatest deference to our waitress; he shook + hands with the head-waiter every morning as well as with me; there was a + fearful story current in the house, that he had been seen running down one + of the corridors to relieve a chambermaid laden with two heavy water-pails + which she was carrying to the rooms to fill up the pitchers. This was + probably not true; but I myself saw him helping in the hotel hay-field one + afternoon, shirt-sleeved like any of the hired men. He said that it was + the best possible exercise, and that he was ashamed he could give no + better excuse for it than the fact that without something of the kind he + should suffer from indigestion. It was grotesque, and out of all keeping + with a man of his cultivation and breeding. He was a gentleman and a + scholar, there was no denying, and yet he did things in contravention of + good form at every opportunity, and nothing I could say had any effect + with him. I was perplexed beyond measure, the day after I had reproached + him for his labor in the hay-field, to find him in a group of table-girls, + who were listening while the head-waiter read aloud to them in the shade + of the house; there was a corner looking toward the stables which was + given up to them by tacit consent of the guests during a certain part of + the afternoon. + </p> + <p> + I feigned not to see him, but I could not forbear speaking to him about it + afterward. He took it in good part, but he said he had been rather + disappointed in the kind of literature they liked and the comments they + made on it; he had expected that with the education they had received, and + with their experience of the seriousness of life, they would prefer + something less trivial. He supposed, however, that a romantic love-story, + where a poor American girl marries an English lord, formed a refuge for + them from the real world which promised them so little and held them so + cheap. It was quite useless for one to try to make him realize his + behavior in consorting with servants as a kind of scandal. + </p> + <p> + The worst of it was that his behavior, as I could see, had already begun + to demoralize the objects of his misplaced politeness. At first the + servants stared and resented it, as if it were some tasteless joke; but in + an incredibly short time, when they saw that he meant his courtesy in good + faith, they took it as their due. I had always had a good understanding + with the head-waiter, and I thought I could safely smile with him at the + queer conduct of my friend toward himself and his fellow-servants. To my + astonishment he said: “I don’t see why he shouldn’t treat them as if they + were ladies and gentlemen. Doesn’t he treat you and your friends so?” + </p> + <p> + It was impossible to answer this, and I could only suffer in silence, and + hope the Altrurian would soon go. I had dreaded the moment when the + landlord should tell me that his room was wanted; now I almost desired it; + but he never did. On the contrary, the Altrurian was in high favor with + him. He said he liked to see a man make himself pleasant with everybody; + and that he did not believe he had ever had a guest in the house who was + so popular all round. + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” Mrs. Makely went on, “I don’t criticise him—with his + peculiar traditions. I presume I should be just so myself if I had been + brought up in Altruria, which, thank goodness, I wasn’t. But Mr. Homos is + a perfect dear, and all the women in the house are in love with him, from + the cook’s helpers, up and down. No, the only danger is that there won’t + be room in the hotel parlors for all the people that will want to hear + him, and we shall have to make the admission something that will be + prohibitive in most cases. We shall have to make it a dollar.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” I said, “I think that will settle the question as far as the + farming population is concerned. It’s twice as much as they ever pay for a + reserved seat in the circus, and four times as much as a simple admission. + I’m afraid, Mrs. Makely, you’re going to be very few, though fit.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I’ve thought it all over, and I’m going to put the tickets at one + dollar.” + </p> + <p> + “Very good. Have you caught your hare?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I haven’t yet. And I want you to help me catch him. What do you think + is the best way to go about it?” + </p> + <p> + The banker said he would leave us to the discussion of that question, but + Mrs. Makely could count upon him in everything if she could only get the + man to talk. At the end of our conference we decided to interview the + Altrurian together. + </p> + <p> + I shall always be ashamed of the way that woman wheedled the Altrurian, + when we found him the next morning, walking up and down the piazza, before + breakfast—that is, it was before our breakfast; when we asked him to + go in with us, he said he had just had his breakfast, and was waiting for + Reuben Camp, who had promised to take him up as he passed with a load of + hay for one of the hotels in the village. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, that reminds me, Mr. Homos,” the unscrupulous woman began on him at + once. “We want to interest you in a little movement we’re getting up for + the Union Chapel in the village. You know it’s the church where all the + different sects have their services; alternately. Of course, it’s rather + an original way of doing, but there is sense in it where the people are + too poor to go into debt for different churches, and—” + </p> + <p> + “It’s admirable!” said the Altrurian. “I have heard about it from the + Camps. It is an emblem of the unity which ought to prevail among + Christians of all professions. How can I help you, Mrs. Makely?” + </p> + <p> + “I knew you would approve of it!” she exulted. “Well, it’s simply this: + The poor little place has got so shabby that <i>I’m</i> almost ashamed to + be seen going into it, for one; and want to raise money enough to give it + a new coat of paint outside and put on some kind of pretty paper, of an + ecclesiastical pattern, on the inside. I declare, those staring white + walls, with the cracks in the plastering zigzagging every <i>which</i> + way, distract me so that I can’t put my mind on the sermon. Don’t you + think that paper, say of a Gothic design, would be a great improvement? + I’m sure it would; and it’s Mr. Twelvemough’s idea, too.” + </p> + <p> + I learned this fact now for the first time; but, with Mrs. Makely’s + warning eye upon me, I could not say so, and I made what sounded to me + like a Gothic murmur of acquiescence. It sufficed for Mrs. Makely’s + purpose, at any rate, and she went on, without giving the Altrurian a + chance to say what he thought the educational effect of wall-paper would + be: + </p> + <p> + “Well, the long and short of it is that we want you to make this money for + us, Mr. Homos.” + </p> + <p> + “I?” He started in a kind of horror. “My dear lady, I never made any money + in my life. I should think it <i>wrong</i> to make money.” + </p> + <p> + “In Altruria, yes. We all know how it is in your delightful country, and I + assure you that no one could respect your conscientious scruples more than + I do. But you must remember that you are in America now. In America you + have to make money, or else—get left. And then you must consider the + object, and all the good you can do, indirectly, by a little Talk on + Altruria.” + </p> + <p> + He answered, blandly: “A little Talk on Altruria? How in the world should + I get money by that?” + </p> + <p> + She was only too eager to explain, and she did it with so much volubility + and at such great length that I, who am good for nothing till I have had + my cup of coffee in the morning, almost perished of an elucidation which + the Altrurian bore with the sweetest patience. + </p> + <p> + When she gave him a chance to answer, at last, he said: “I shall be very + happy to do what you wish, madam.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Will</i> you?” she screamed. “Oh, I’m so glad! You <i>have</i> been so + slippery about Altruria, you know, that I expected nothing but a + point-blank refusal. Of course, I knew you would be kind about it. Oh, I + can hardly believe my senses! You can’t think what a dear you are.” I knew + she had got that word from some English people who had been in the hotel; + and she was working it rather wildly, but it was not my business to check + her. “Well, then, all you have got to do is to leave the whole thing to + me, and not bother about it a bit till I send and tell you we are ready to + listen. There comes Reuben, with his ox-team. Thank you so much, Mr. + Homos. No one need be ashamed to enter the house of God”—she said + Gawd, in an access of piety—“after we get that paint and paper on + it; and we shall have them on before two Sabbaths have passed over it.” + </p> + <p> + She wrung the Altrurian’s hand; I was only afraid she was going to kiss + him. + </p> + <p> + “There is but one stipulation I should like to make,” he began. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, a thousand,” she cut in. + </p> + <p> + “And that is, there shall be no exclusion from my lecture on account of + occupation or condition. That is a thing that I can in no wise + countenance, even in America; it is far more abhorrent to me even than + money-making, though they are each a part and parcel of the other.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought it was that,” she retorted, joyously. “And I can assure you, + Mr. Homos, there shall be nothing of that kind. Every one—I don’t + care who it is or what they do—shall hear you who buys a ticket. + Now, will that do?” + </p> + <p> + “Perfectly,” said the Altrurian, and he let her wring his hand again. + </p> + <p> + She pushed hers through my arm as we started for the dining-room, and + leaned over to whisper jubilantly: “That will fix it. He will see how much + his precious lower classes care for Altruria if they have to pay a dollar + apiece to hear about it. And I shall keep faith with him to the letter.” + </p> + <p> + I could not feel that she would keep it in the spirit; but I could only + groan inwardly and chuckle outwardly at the woman’s depravity. + </p> + <p> + It seemed to me, though I could not approve of it, a capital joke, and so + it seemed to all the members of the little group whom I had made + especially acquainted with the Altrurian. It is true that the minister was + somewhat troubled with the moral question, which did not leave me wholly + at peace; and the banker affected to find a question of taste involved, + which he said he must let me settle, however, as the man’s host; if I + could stand it, he could. No one said anything against the plan to Mrs. + Makely, and this energetic woman made us take two tickets apiece, as soon + as she got them printed, over in the village. She got little hand-bills + printed, and had them scattered about through the neighborhood, at all the + hotels, boarding-houses, and summer cottages, to give notice of the time + and place of the talk on Altruria. She fixed this for the following + Saturday afternoon, in our hotel parlor; she had it in the afternoon so as + not to interfere with the hop in the evening; she put tickets on sale at + the principal houses and at the village drug-store, and she made me go + about with her and help her sell them at some of the cottages in person. + </p> + <p> + I must say I found this extremely distasteful, especially where the people + were not very willing to buy, and she had to urge them. They all admitted + the excellence of the object, but they were not so sure about the means. + At several places the ladies asked who was this Mr. Homos, anyway; and how + did she know he was really from Altruria? He might be an impostor. + </p> + <p> + Then Mrs. Makely would put me forward, and I would be obliged to give such + account of him as I could, and to explain just how and why he came to be + my guest; with the cumulative effect of bringing back all the misgivings + which I had myself felt at the outset concerning him, and which I had + dismissed as too fantastic. + </p> + <p> + The tickets went off rather slowly, even in our own hotel; people thought + them too dear; and some, as soon as they knew the price, said frankly they + had heard enough about Altruria already, and were sick of the whole thing. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Makely said this was quite what she had expected of those people; + that they were horrid and stingy and vulgar; and she should see what face + they would have to ask her to take tickets when <i>they</i> were trying to + get up something. She began to be vexed with herself, she confessed, at + the joke she was playing on Mr. Homos, and I noticed that she put herself + rather defiantly <i>en evidence</i> in his company whenever she could in + the presence of these reluctant ladies. She told me she had not the + courage to ask the clerk how many of the tickets he had sold out of those + she had left at the desk. + </p> + <p> + One morning, the third or fourth, as I was going in to breakfast with her, + the head-waiter stopped her as he opened the door, and asked modestly if + she could spare him a few tickets, for he thought he could sell some. To + my amazement the unprincipled creature said: “Why, certainly. How many?” + and instantly took a package out of her pocket, where she seemed always to + have them. He asked, Would twenty be more than she could spare? and she + answered: “Not at all. Here are twenty-five.” and bestowed the whole + package upon him. + </p> + <p> + That afternoon Reuben Camp came lounging up toward us, where I sat with + her on the corner of the piazza, and said that if she would like to let + him try his luck with some tickets for the Talk he would see what he could + do. + </p> + <p> + “You can have all you want, Reuben,” she said, “and I hope you’ll have + better luck than I have. I’m perfectly disgusted with people.” + </p> + <p> + She fished several packages out of her pocket this time, and he asked: “Do + you mean that I can have them all?” + </p> + <p> + “Every one, and a band of music into the bargain,” she answered, + recklessly. But she seemed a little daunted when he quietly took them. + “You know there are a hundred here?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I should like to see what I can do among the natives. Then there is + a construction train over at the junction, and I know a lot of the + fellows. I guess some of ‘em would like to come.” + </p> + <p> + “The tickets are a dollar each, you know,” she suggested. + </p> + <p> + “That’s all right,” said Camp. “Well, good-afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Makely turned to me with a kind of gasp as he shambled away. “I don’t + know about that.” + </p> + <p> + “About having the whole crew of a construction train at the Talk? I dare + say it won’t be pleasant to the ladies who have bought tickets.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Oh</i>!” said Mrs. Makely, with astonishing contempt, “I don’t care + what <i>they</i> think. But Reuben has got all my tickets, and suppose he + keeps them so long that I won’t have time to sell any, and then throws + them back on my hands? <i>I</i> know!” she added, joyously. “I can go + around now and tell people that my tickets are all gone; and I’ll go + instantly and have the clerk hold all he has left at a premium.” + </p> + <p> + She came back looking rather blank. + </p> + <p> + “He hasn’t got a single one left. He says an old native came in this + morning and took every last one of them—he doesn’t remember just how + many. I believe they’re going to speculate on them; and if Reuben Camp + serves me a trick like that—Why,” she broke off, “I believe I’ll + speculate on them myself. I should like to know why I shouldn’t. Oh, I + should just <i>like</i> to make some of those creatures pay double, or + treble, for the chances they’ve refused. Ah, Mrs. Bulkham,” she called out + to a lady who was coming down the veranda toward us, “you’ll be glad to + know I’ve got rid of all my tickets. <i>Such</i> a relief!” + </p> + <p> + “You <i>have</i>?” Mrs. Bulkham retorted. + </p> + <p> + “Every one.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought,” said Mrs. Bulkham, “that you understood I wanted one for my + daughter and myself, if she came.” + </p> + <p> + “I certainly didn’t,” said Mrs. Makely, with a wink of concentrated + wickedness at me. “But, if you do, you will have to say so now, without + any ifs or ands about it; and if any of the tickets come back—I let + friends have a few on sale—I will give you two.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I do,” said Mrs. Bulkham, after a moment. + </p> + <p> + “Very well; it will be five dollars for the two. I feel bound to get all I + can for the cause. Shall I put your name down?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Mrs. Bulkham, rather crossly; but Mrs. Makely inscribed her + name on her tablets with a radiant amiability, which suffered no eclipse + when, within the next fifteen minutes, a dozen other ladies hurried up and + bought in at the same rate. + </p> + <p> + I could not stand it, and I got up to go away, feeling extremely <i>particeps + criminis</i>. Mrs. Makely seemed to have a conscience as light as air. + </p> + <p> + “If Reuben Camp or the head-waiter don’t bring back some of those tickets, + I don’t know what I shall do. I shall have to put chairs into the aisles + and charge five dollars apiece for as many people as I can crowd in there. + I never knew anything so perfectly providential.” + </p> + <p> + “I envy you the ability to see it in that light, Mrs. Makely,” I said, + faint at heart. “Suppose Camp crowds the place full of his trainmen, how + will the ladies that you’ve sold tickets to at five dollars apiece like + it?” + </p> + <p> + “Pooh! What do I care how they like it! Horrid things! And for repairs on + the house of Gawd, it’s the same as being in church, where everybody is + equal.” + </p> + <p> + The time passed. Mrs. Makely sold chances to all the ladies in the house; + on Friday night Reuben Camp brought her a hundred dollars; the head-waiter + had already paid in twenty-five. “I didn’t dare to ask them if they + speculated on them,” she confided to me. “Do you suppose they would have + the conscience?” + </p> + <p> + They had secured the large parlor of the hotel, where the young people + danced in the evening, and where entertainments were held, of the sort + usually given in summer hotels; we had already had a dramatic reading, a + time with the phonograph, an exhibition of necromancy, a concert by a + college glee club, and I do not know what else. The room would hold + perhaps two hundred people, if they were closely seated, and, by her own + showing, Mrs. Makely had sold above two hundred and fifty tickets and + chances. All Saturday forenoon she consoled herself with the belief that a + great many people at the other hotels and cottages had bought seats merely + to aid the cause, and would not really come; she estimated that at least + fifty would stay away; but, if Reuben Camp had sold his tickets among the + natives, we might expect every one of them to come and get his money’s + worth; she did not dare to ask the head-waiter how he had got rid of his + twenty-five tickets. + </p> + <p> + The hour set for the Talk to begin was three o’clock, so that people could + have their naps comfortably over, after the one o’clock dinner, and be + just in the right frame of mind for listening. But long before the + appointed time the people who dine at twelve, and never take an afternoon + nap, began to arrive, on foot, in farm-wagons, smart buggies, mud-crusted + carryalls, and all manner of ramshackle vehicles. They arrived as if + coming to a circus, old husbands and wives, young couples and their + children, pretty girls and their fellows, and hitched their horses to the + tails of their wagons, and began to make a picnic lunch in the shadow of + the grove lying between the hotel and the station. About two we heard the + snorting of a locomotive at a time when no train was due, and a + construction train came in view, with the men waving their handkerchiefs + from the windows, and apparently ready for all the fun there was to be in + the thing. Some of them had a small flag in each hand, the American Stars + and Stripes and the white flag of Altruria, in compliment to my guest, I + suppose. A good many of the farmers came over to the hotel to buy tickets, + which they said they expected to get after they came, and Mrs. Makely was + obliged to pacify them with all sorts of lying promises. From moment to + moment she was in consultation with the landlord, who decided to throw + open the dining-room, which connected with the parlor, so as to allow the + help and the neighbors to hear without incommoding the hotel guests. She + said that this took a great burden off her mind, and that now she should + feel perfectly easy, for now no one could complain about being mixed up + with the servants and the natives, and yet every one could hear perfectly. + </p> + <p> + She could not rest until she had sent for Homos and told him of this + admirable arrangement. I did not know whether to be glad or not when he + instantly told her that, if there was to be any such separation of his + auditors, in recognition of our class distinctions, he must refuse to + speak at all. + </p> + <p> + “Then what in the world are we to do?” she wailed out, and the tears came + into her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Have you got the money for all your tickets?” he asked, with a sort of + disgust for the whole transaction in his tone. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and more, too. I don’t believe there’s a soul, in the hotel or out + of it, that hasn’t paid at least a dollar to hear you; and that makes it + so very embarrassing. Oh, <i>dear</i> Mr. Homos! You won’t be so + implacably high-principled as all that! Think that you are doing it for + the house of Gawd.” + </p> + <p> + The woman made me sick. + </p> + <p> + “Then no one,” said the Altrurian, “can feel aggrieved, or unfairly used, + if I say what I have to say in the open air, where all can listen equally, + without any manner of preference or distinction. We will go up to the edge + of the grove overlooking the tennis-court, and hold our meeting there, as + the Altrurian meetings are always held, with the sky for a roof, and with + no walls but the horizon.” + </p> + <p> + “The very thing!” cried Mrs. Makely. “Who would ever have thought you were + so practical, Mr. Homos? I don’t believe you’re an Altrurian, after all; I + believe you are an American in disguise.” + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian turned away, without making any response to this flattering + attribution of our nationality to him; but Mrs. Makely had not waited for + any. She had flown off, and I next saw her attacking the landlord, with + such apparent success that he slapped himself on the leg and vanished, and + immediately the porters and bell-boys and all the men-servants began + carrying out chairs to the tennis-court, which was already well set round + with benches. In a little while the whole space was covered, and settees + were placed well up the ground toward the grove. + </p> + <p> + By half-past two the guests of the hotel came out and took the best seats, + as by right, and the different tallyhoes and mountain wagons began to + arrive from the other hotels, with their silly hotel cries, and their gay + groups dismounted and dispersed themselves over the tennis-court until all + the chairs were taken. It was fine to see how the natives and the trainmen + and the hotel servants, with an instinctive perception of the proprieties, + yielded these places to their superiors, and, after the summer folks were + all seated, scattered themselves on the grass and the pine-needles about + the border of the grove. I should have liked to instance the fact to the + Altrurian, as a proof that this sort of subordination was a part of human + nature, and that a principle which pervaded our civilization, after the + democratic training of our whole national life, must be divinely + implanted. But there was no opportunity for me to speak with him after the + fact had accomplished itself, for by this time he had taken his place in + front of a little clump of low pines and was waiting for the assembly to + quiet itself before he began to speak. I do not think there could have + been less than five hundred present, and the scene had that accidental + picturesqueness which results from the grouping of all sorts of faces and + costumes. Many of our ladies had pretty hats and brilliant parasols, but I + must say that the soberer tone of some of the old farm-wives’ brown + calicoes and outdated bonnets contributed to enrich the coloring, and + there was a certain gayety in the sunny glisten of the men’s straw hats + everywhere that was very good. + </p> + <p> + The sky overhead was absolutely stainless, and the light of the cool + afternoon sun streamed upon the slopes of the solemn mountains to the + east. The tall pines in the background blackened themselves against the + horizon; nearer they showed more and more decidedly their bluish green, + and the yellow of the newly fallen needles painted their aisles deep into + the airy shadows. + </p> + <p> + A little wind stirred their tops, and for a moment, just before the + Altrurian began to speak, drew from them an organ-tone that melted + delicately away as his powerful voice rose. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XI + </h2> + <p> + “I could not give you a clear account of the present state of things in my + country,” the Altrurian began, “without first telling you something of our + conditions before the time of our Evolution. It seems to be the law of all + life that nothing can come to fruition without dying and seeming to make + an end. It must be sown in corruption before it can be raised in + incorruption. The truth itself must perish to our senses before it can + live to our souls; the Son of Man must suffer upon the cross before we can + know the Son, of God. + </p> + <p> + “It was so with His message to the world, which we received in the old + time as an ideal realized by the earliest Christians, who loved one + another and who had all things common. The apostle cast away upon our + heathen coasts won us with the story of this first Christian republic, and + he established a commonwealth of peace and good-will among us in its + likeness. That commonwealth perished, just as its prototype perished, or + seemed to perish; and long ages of civic and economic warfare succeeded, + when every man’s hand was against his neighbor, and might was the rule + that got itself called right. Religion ceased to be the hope of this + world, and became the vague promise of the next. We descended into the + valley of the shadow, and dwelt amid chaos for ages before we groped again + into the light. + </p> + <p> + “The first glimmerings were few and indistinct, but men formed themselves + about the luminous points here and there, and, when these broke and + dispersed into lesser gleams, still men formed themselves about each of + them. There arose a system of things better, indeed, than that darkness, + but full of war and lust and greed, in which the weak rendered homage to + the strong, and served them in the field and in the camp, and the strong + in turn gave the weak protection against the other strong. It was a juggle + in which the weak did not see that their safety was, after all, from + themselves; but it was an image of peace, however false and fitful, and it + endured for a time. It endured for a limited time, if we measure by the + life of the race; it endured for an unlimited time if we measure by the + lives of the men who were born and died while it endured. + </p> + <p> + “But that disorder, cruel and fierce and stupid, which endured because it + sometimes masked itself as order, did at last pass away. Here and there + one of the strong overpowered the rest; then the strong became fewer and + fewer, and in their turn they all yielded to a supreme lord, and + throughout the land there was one rule, as it was called then, or one + misrule, as we should call it now. This rule, or this misrule, continued + for ages more; and again, in the immortality of the race, men toiled and + struggled, and died without the hope of better things. + </p> + <p> + “Then the time came when the long nightmare was burst with the vision of a + future in which all men were the law, and not one man, or any less number + of men than all. + </p> + <p> + “The poor dumb beast of humanity rose, and the throne tumbled, and the + sceptre was broken, and the crown rolled away into that darkness of the + past. We thought that heaven had descended to us, and that liberty, + equality, and fraternity were ours. We could not see what should again + alienate us from one another, or how one brother could again oppress + another. With a free field and no favor we believed we should prosper on + together, and there would be peace and plenty for all. We had the republic + again after so many ages now, and the republic, as we knew it in our dim + annals, was brotherhood and universal happiness. All but a very few, who + prophesied evil of our lawless freedom, were wrapped in a delirium of + hope. Men’s minds and men’s hands were suddenly released to an activity + unheard of before. Invention followed invention; our rivers and seas + became the warp of commerce where the steam-sped shuttles carried the woof + of enterprise to and fro with tireless celerity; machines to save labor + multiplied themselves as if they had been procreative forces, and wares of + every sort were produced with incredible swiftness and cheapness. Money + seemed to flow from the ground; vast fortunes ‘rose like an exhalation,’ + as your Milton says. + </p> + <p> + “At first we did not know that they were the breath of the nethermost pits + of hell, and that the love of money, which was becoming universal with us, + was filling the earth with the hate of men. It was long before we came to + realize that in the depths of our steamships were those who fed the fires + with their lives, and that our mines from which we dug our wealth were the + graves of those who had died to the free light and air, without finding + the rest of death. We did not see that the machines for saving labor were + monsters that devoured women and children, and wasted men at the bidding + of the power which no man must touch. + </p> + <p> + “That is, we thought we must not touch it, for it called itself prosperity + and wealth and the public good, and it said that it gave bread, and it + impudently bade the toiling myriads consider what would become of them if + it took away their means of wearing themselves out in its service. It + demanded of the state absolute immunity and absolute impunity, the right + to do its will wherever and however it would, without question from the + people who were the final law. It had its way, and under its rule we + became the richest people under the sun. The Accumulation, as we called + this power, because we feared to call it by its true name, rewarded its + own with gains of twenty, of a hundred, of a thousand per cent., and to + satisfy its need, to produce the labor that operated its machines, there + came into existence a hapless race of men who bred their kind for its + service, and whose little ones were its prey almost from their cradles. + Then the infamy became too great, and the law, the voice of the people, so + long guiltily silent, was lifted in behalf of those who had no helper. The + Accumulation came under control for the first time, and could no longer + work its slaves twenty hours a day amid perils to life and limb from its + machinery and in conditions that forbade them decency and morality. The + time of a hundred and a thousand per cent. passed; but still the + Accumulation demanded immunity and impunity, and, in spite of its + conviction of the enormities it had practised, it declared itself the only + means of civilization and progress. It began to give out that it was + timid, though its history was full of the boldest frauds and crimes, and + it threatened to withdraw itself if it were ruled or even crossed; and + again it had its way, and we seemed to prosper more and more. The land was + filled with cities where the rich flaunted their splendor in palaces, and + the poor swarmed in squalid tenements. The country was drained of its life + and force, to feed the centres of commerce and industry. The whole land + was bound together with a network of iron roads that linked the factories + and founderies to the fields and mines, and blasted the landscape with the + enterprise that spoiled the lives of men. + </p> + <p> + “Then, all at once, when its work seemed perfect and its dominion sure, + the Accumulation was stricken with consciousness of the lie always at its + heart. It had hitherto cried out for a free field and no favor, for + unrestricted competition; but, in truth, it had never prospered except as + a monopoly. Whenever and wherever competition had play there had been + nothing but disaster to the rival enterprises, till one rose over the + rest. Then there was prosperity for that one. + </p> + <p> + “The Accumulation began to act upon its new consciousness. The iron roads + united; the warring industries made peace, each kind under a single + leadership. Monopoly, not competition, was seen to be the beneficent means + of distributing the favors and blessings of the Accumulation to mankind. + But, as before, there was alternately a glut and dearth of things, and it + often happened that when starving men went ragged through the streets the + storehouses were piled full of rotting harvests that the farmers toiled + from dawn till dusk to grow, and the warehouses fed the moth with the + stuffs that the operative had woven his life into at his loom. Then + followed, with a blind and mad succession, a time of famine, when money + could not buy the super-abundance that vanished, none knew how or why. + </p> + <p> + “The money itself vanished from time to time, and disappeared into the + vaults of the Accumulation, for no better reason than that for which it + poured itself out at other times. Our theory was that the people—that + is to say, the government of the people—made the people’s money, + but, as a matter of fact, the Accumulation made it and controlled it and + juggled with it; and now you saw it, and now you did not see it. The + government made gold coins, but the people had nothing but the paper money + that the Accumulation made. But whether there was scarcity or plenty, the + failures went on with a continuous ruin that nothing could check, while + our larger economic life proceeded in a series of violent shocks, which we + called financial panics, followed by long periods of exhaustion and + recuperation. + </p> + <p> + “There was no law in our economy, but as the Accumulation had never cared + for the nature of law, it did not trouble itself for its name in our order + of things. It had always bought the law it needed for its own use, first + through the voter at the polls in the more primitive days, and then, as + civilization advanced, in the legislatures and the courts. But the + corruption even of these methods was far surpassed when the era of + consolidation came, and the necessity for statutes and verdicts and + decisions became more stringent. Then we had such a burlesque of—” + </p> + <p> + “Look here!” a sharp, nasal voice snarled across the rich, full pipe of + the Altrurian, and we all instantly looked there. The voice came from an + old farmer, holding himself stiffly up, with his hands in his pockets and + his lean frame bent toward the speaker. “When are you goin’ to get to + Altrury? We know all about Ameriky.” + </p> + <p> + He sat down again, and it was a moment before the crowd caught on. Then a + yell of delight and a roar of volleyed laughter went up from the lower + classes, in which, I am sorry to say, my friend the banker joined, so far + as the laughter was concerned. “Good! That’s it! First-rate!” came from a + hundred vulgar throats. + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t it a perfect shame?” Mrs. Makely demanded. “I think some of you + gentlemen ought to say something. What will Mr. Homos think of our + civilization if we let such interruptions go unrebuked?” + </p> + <p> + She was sitting between the banker and myself, and her indignation made + him laugh more and more. “Oh, it serves him right,” he said. “Don’t you + see that he is hoist with his own petard? Let him alone. He’s in the hands + of his friends.” + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian waited for the tumult to die away, and then he said, gently: + “I don’t understand.” + </p> + <p> + The old farmer jerked himself to his feet again. “It’s like this: I paid + my dolla’ to hear about a country where there wa’n’t no co’perations nor + no monop’lies nor no buyin’ up cou’ts; and I ain’t agoin’ to have no + allegory shoved down my throat, instead of a true history, noways. I know + all about how it is <i>here</i>. Fi’st, run their line through your + backya’d, and then kill off your cattle, and keep kerryin’ on it up from + cou’t to cou’t, till there ain’t hide or hair on ‘em left—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, set down, set down! Let the man go on! He’ll make it all right with + you,” one of the construction gang called out; but the farmer stood his + ground, and I could hear him through the laughing and shouting keep saying + something, from time to time, about not wanting to pay no dolla’ for no + talk about co’perations and monop’lies that we had right under our own + noses the whole while, and, you might say, in your very bread-troughs; + till, at last, I saw Reuben Camp make his way toward him, and, after an + energetic expostulation, turn to leave him again. + </p> + <p> + Then he faltered out, “I guess it’s all right,” and dropped out of sight + in the group he had risen from. I fancied his wife scolding him there, and + all but shaking him in public. + </p> + <p> + “I should be very sorry,” the Altrurian proceeded, “to have any one + believe that I have not been giving you a <i>bona fide</i> account of + conditions in my country before the Evolution, when we first took the name + of Altruria in our great, peaceful campaign against the Accumulation. As + for offering you any allegory or travesty of your own conditions, I will + simply say that I do not know them well enough to do so intelligently. + But, whatever they are, God forbid that the likeness which you seem to + recognize should ever go so far as the desperate state of things which we + finally reached. I will not trouble you with details; in fact, I have been + afraid that I had already treated of our affairs too abstractly; but, + since your own experience furnishes you the means of seizing my meaning, I + will go on as before. + </p> + <p> + “You will understand me when I explain that the Accumulation had not + erected itself into the sovereignty with us unopposed. The working-men, + who suffered most from its oppression had early begun to band themselves + against it, with the instinct of self-preservation, first trade by trade + and art by art, and then in congresses and federations of the trades and + arts, until finally they enrolled themselves in one vast union, which + included all the working-men, whom their necessity or their interest did + not leave on the side of the Accumulation. This beneficent and generous + association of the weak for the sake of the weakest did not accomplish + itself fully till the baleful instinct of the Accumulation had reduced the + monopolies to one vast monopoly, till the stronger had devoured the weaker + among its members, and the supreme agent stood at the head of our affairs, + in everything but name, our imperial ruler. We had hugged so long the + delusion of each man for himself that we had suffered all realty to be + taken from us. The Accumulation owned the land as well as the mines under + it and the shops over it; the Accumulation owned the seas and the ships + that sailed the seas, and the fish that swam in their depths; it owned + transportation and distribution, and the wares and products that were to + be carried to and fro; and, by a logic irresistible and inexorable, the + Accumulation <i>was</i>, and we were <i>not</i>. + </p> + <p> + “But the Accumulation, too, had forgotten something. It had found it so + easy to buy legislatures and courts that it did not trouble itself about + the polls. It left us the suffrage, and let us amuse ourselves with the + periodical election of the political clay images which it manipulated and + moulded to any shape and effect at its pleasure. The Accumulation knew + that it was the sovereignty, whatever figure-head we called president or + governor or mayor: we had other names for these officials, but I use their + analogues for the sake of clearness, and I hope my good friend over there + will not think I am still talking about America.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” the old farmer called back, without rising, “we hain’t got there + quite yit.” + </p> + <p> + “No hurry,” said a trainman. “All in good time. Go on!” he called to the + Altrurian. + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian resumed: + </p> + <p> + “There had been, from the beginning, an almost ceaseless struggle between + the Accumulation and the proletariate. The Accumulation always said that + it was the best friend of the proletariate, and it denounced, through the + press which it controlled, the proletarian leaders who taught that it was + the enemy of the proletariate, and who stirred up strikes and tumults of + all sorts, for higher wages and fewer hours. But the friend of the + proletariate, whenever occasion served, treated the proletariate like a + deadly enemy. In seasons of overproduction, as it was called, it locked + the workmen out or laid them off, and left their families to starve, or + ran light work and claimed the credit of public benefactors for running at + all. It sought every chance to reduce wages; it had laws passed to forbid + or cripple the workmen in their strikes; and the judges convicted them of + conspiracy, and wrested the statutes to their hurt, in cases where there + had been no thought of embarrassing them, even among the legislators. God + forbid that you should ever come to such a pass in America; but, if you + ever should, God grant that you may find your way out as simply as we did + at last, when freedom had perished in everything but name among us, and + justice had become a mockery. + </p> + <p> + “The Accumulation had advanced so smoothly, so lightly, in all its steps + to the supreme power, and had at last so thoroughly quelled the uprisings + of the proletariate, that it forgot one thing: it forgot the despised and + neglected suffrage. The ballot, because it had been so easy to annul its + effect, had been left in the people’s hands; and when, at last, the + leaders of the proletariate ceased to counsel strikes, or any form of + resistance to the Accumulation that could be tormented into the likeness + of insurrection against the government, and began to urge them to attack + it in the political way, the deluge that swept the Accumulation out of + existence came trickling and creeping over the land. It appeared first in + the country, a spring from the ground; then it gathered head in the + villages; then it swelled to a torrent in the cities. I cannot stay to + trace its course; but suddenly, one day, when the Accumulation’s abuse of + a certain power became too gross, it was voted out of that power. You will + perhaps be interested to know that it was with the telegraphs that the + rebellion against the Accumulation began, and the government was forced, + by the overwhelming majority which the proletariate sent to our + parliament, to assume a function which the Accumulation had impudently + usurped. Then the transportation of smaller and more perishable wares—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” a voice called—“express business. Go on!” + </p> + <p> + “Was legislated a function of the post-office,” the Altrurian went on. + “Then all transportation was taken into the hands of the political + government, which had always been accused of great corruption in its + administration, but which showed itself immaculately pure compared with + the Accumulation. The common ownership of mines necessarily followed, with + an allotment of lands to any one who wished to live by tilling the land; + but not a foot of the land was remitted to private hands for the purposes + of selfish pleasure or the exclusion of any other from the landscape. As + all business had been gathered into the grasp of the Accumulation, and the + manufacture of everything they used and the production of everything that + they ate was in the control of the Accumulation, its transfer to the + government was the work of a single clause in the statute. + </p> + <p> + “The Accumulation, which had treated the first menaces of resistance with + contempt, awoke to its peril too late. When it turned to wrest the + suffrage from the proletariate, at the first election where it attempted + to make head against them, it was simply snowed under, as your picturesque + phrase is. The Accumulation had no voters, except the few men at its head + and the creatures devoted to it by interest and ignorance. It seemed, at + one moment, as if it would offer an armed resistance to the popular will, + but, happily, that moment of madness passed. Our Evolution was + accomplished without a drop of bloodshed, and the first great political + brotherhood, the commonwealth of Altruria, was founded. + </p> + <p> + “I wish that I had time to go into a study of some of the curious phases + of the transformation from a civility in which the people lived <i>upon</i> + each other to one in which they lived <i>for</i> each other. There is a + famous passage in the inaugural message of our first Altrurian president + which compares the new civic consciousness with that of a disembodied + spirit released to the life beyond this and freed from all the selfish + cares and greeds of the flesh. But perhaps I shall give a sufficiently + clear notion of the triumph of the change among us when I say that within + half a decade after the fall of the old plutocratic oligarchy one of the + chief directors of the Accumulation publicly expressed his gratitude to + God that the Accumulation had passed away forever. You will realize the + importance of such an expression in recalling the declarations some of + your slave-holders have made since the Civil War, that they would not have + slavery restored for any earthly consideration. + </p> + <p> + “But now, after this preamble, which has been so much longer than I meant + it to be, how shall I give you a sufficiently just conception of the + existing Altruria, the actual state from which I come?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” came the nasal of the old farmer again, “that’s what we are here + fur. I wouldn’t give a copper to know all you went through beforehand. + It’s too dumn like what we have been through ourselves, as fur as heard + from.” + </p> + <p> + A shout of laughter went up from most of the crowd, but the Altrurian did + not seem to see any fun in it. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he resumed, “I will tell you, as well as I can, what Altruria is + like; but, in the first place, you will have to cast out of your minds all + images of civilization with which your experience has filled them. For a + time the shell of the old Accumulation remained for our social habitation, + and we dwelt in the old competitive and monopolistic forms after the life + had gone out of them—that is, we continued to live in populous + cities, and we toiled to heap up riches for the moth to corrupt, and we + slaved on in making utterly useless things, merely because we had the + habit of making them to sell. For a while we made the old sham things, + which pretended to be useful things and were worse than the confessedly + useless things. I will give you an illustration from the trades, which you + will all understand. The proletariate, in the competitive and monopolistic + time, used to make a kind of shoes for the proletariate, or the women of + the proletariate, which looked like fine shoes of the best quality. It + took just as much work to make these shoes as to make the best fine shoes; + but they were shams through and through. They wore out in a week, and the + people called them, because they were bought fresh for every Sunday—” + </p> + <p> + “Sat’d’y-night shoes,” screamed the old farmer. “I know ‘em. My gals buy + ‘em. Half-dolla’ a pai’, and not wo’th the money.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the Altrurian, “they were a cheat and a lie in every way, and + under the new system it was not possible, when public attention was called + to the fact, to continue the falsehood they embodied. As soon as the + Saturday-night shoes realized itself to the public conscience, an + investigation began, and it was found that the principle of the + Saturday-night shoe underlay half our industries and made half the work + that was done. + </p> + <p> + “Then an immense reform took place. We renounced, in the most solemn + convocation of the whole economy, the principle of the Saturday-night + shoe, and those who had spent their lives in producing sham shoes—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the professor, rising from his seat near us and addressing the + speaker, “I shall be very glad to know what became of the worthy and + industrious operatives who were thrown out of employment by this explosion + of economic virtue.” + </p> + <p> + “Why,” the Altrurian replied, “they were set to work making honest shoes; + and, as it took no more time to make a pair of honest shoes which lasted a + year than it took to make a pair of dishonest shoes that lasted a week, + the amount of labor in shoemaking was at once enormously reduced.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the professor, “I understand that. What became of the + shoemakers?” + </p> + <p> + “They joined the vast army of other laborers who had been employed, + directly or indirectly, in the fabrication of fraudulent wares. These + shoemakers—lasters, button-holers, binders, and so on—no + longer wore themselves out over their machines. One hour sufficed where + twelve hours were needed before, and the operatives were released to the + happy labor of the fields, where no one with us toils killingly, from dawn + till dusk, but does only as much work as is needed to keep the body in + health. We had a continent to refine and beautify; we had climates to + change and seasons to modify, a whole system of meteorology to readjust, + and the public works gave employment to the multitudes emancipated from + the soul-destroying service of shams. I can scarcely give you a notion of + the vastness of the improvements undertaken and carried through, or still + in process of accomplishment. But a single one will, perhaps, afford a + sufficient illustration. Our southeast coast, from its vicinity to the + pole, had always suffered from a winter of antarctic rigor; but our first + president conceived the plan of cutting off a peninsula, which kept the + equatorial current from making in to our shores; and the work was begun in + his term, though the entire strip, twenty miles in width and ninety-three + in length, was not severed before the end of the first Altrurian decade. + Since that time the whole region of our southeastern coast has enjoyed the + climate of your Mediterranean countries. + </p> + <p> + “It was not only the makers of fraudulent things who were released to + these useful and wholesome labors, but those who had spent themselves in + contriving ugly and stupid and foolish things were set free to the public + employment. The multitude of these monstrosities and iniquities was as + great as that of the shams—” + </p> + <p> + Here I lost some words, for the professor leaned over and whispered to me: + “He has got <i>that</i> out of William Morris. Depend upon it, the man is + a humbug. He is not an Altrurian at all.” + </p> + <p> + I confess that my heart misgave me; but I signalled the professor to be + silent, and again gave the Altrurian—if he was an Altrurian—my + whole attention. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XII + </h2> + <p> + “And so,” the Altrurian continued, “when the labor of the community was + emancipated from the bondage of the false to the free service of the true, + it was also, by an inevitable implication, dedicated to beauty and rescued + from the old slavery to the ugly, the stupid, and the trivial. The thing + that was honest and useful became, by the operation of a natural law, a + beautiful thing. + </p> + <p> + “Once we had not time enough to make things beautiful, we were so + overworked in making false and hideous things to sell; but now we had all + the time there was, and a glad emulation arose among the trades and + occupations to the end that everything done should be done finely as well + as done honestly. The artist, the man of genius, who worked from the love + of his work, became the normal man, and in the measure of his ability and + of his calling each wrought in the spirit of the artist. We got back the + pleasure of doing a thing beautifully, which was God’s primal blessing + upon all His working children, but which we had lost in the horrible days + of our need and greed. There is not a working-man within the sound of my + voice but has known this divine delight, and would gladly know it always + if he only had the time. Well, now we had the time, the Evolution had + given us the time, and in all Altruria there was not a furrow driven or a + swath mown, not a hammer struck on house or on ship, not a stitch sewn or + a stone laid, not a line written or a sheet printed, not a temple raised + or an engine built, but it was done with an eye to beauty as well as to + use. + </p> + <p> + “As soon as we were freed from the necessity of preying upon one another, + we found that there was no hurry. The good work would wait to be well + done; and one of the earliest effects of the Evolution was the disuse of + the swift trains which had traversed the continent, night and day, that + one man might overreach another, or make haste to undersell his rival, or + seize some advantage of him, or plot some profit to his loss. Nine-tenths + of the railroads, which in the old times had ruinously competed, and then, + in the hands of the Accumulation, had been united to impoverish and + oppress the people, fell into disuse. The commonwealth operated the few + lines that were necessary for the collection of materials and the + distribution of manufactures, and for pleasure travel and the affairs of + state; but the roads that had been built to invest capital, or parallel + other roads, or ‘make work,’ as it was called, or to develop resources, or + boom localities, were suffered to fall into ruin; the rails were stripped + from the landscape, which they had bound as with shackles, and the + road-beds became highways for the use of kindly neighborhoods, or nature + recovered them wholly and hid the memory of their former abuse in grass + and flowers and wild vines. The ugly towns that they had forced into + being, as Frankenstein was fashioned, from the materials of the charnel, + and that had no life in or from the good of the community, soon tumbled + into decay. The administration used parts of them in the construction of + the villages in which the Altrurians now mostly live; but generally these + towns were built of materials so fraudulent, in form so vile, that it was + judged best to burn them. In this way their sites were at once purified + and obliterated. + </p> + <p> + “We had, of course, a great many large cities under the old egoistic + conditions, which increased and fattened upon the country, and fed their + cancerous life with fresh infusions of its blood. We had several cities of + half a million, and one of more than a million; we had a score of them + with a population of a hundred thousand or more. We were very proud of + them, and vaunted them as a proof of our unparalleled prosperity, though + really they never were anything but congeries of millionaires and the + wretched creatures who served them and supplied them. Of course, there was + everywhere the appearance of enterprise and activity, but it meant final + loss for the great mass of the business men, large and small, and final + gain for the millionaires. These and their parasites dwelt together, the + rich starving the poor and the poor plundering and misgoverning the rich; + and it was the intolerable suffering in the cities that chiefly hastened + the fall of the old Accumulation and the rise of the commonwealth. + </p> + <p> + “Almost from the moment of the Evolution the competitive and monopolistic + centres of population began to decline. In the clear light of the new + order it was seen that they were not fit dwelling-places for men, either + in the complicated and luxurious palaces where the rich fenced themselves + from their kind, or in the vast tenements, towering height upon height, + ten and twelve stories up, where the swarming poor festered in vice and + sickness and famine. If I were to tell you of the fashion of those cities + of our egoistic epoch, how the construction was one error from the first, + and every correction of an error bred a new defect, I should make you + laugh, I should make you weep. We let them fall to ruin as quickly as they + would, and their sites are still so pestilential, after the lapse of + centuries, that travelers are publicly guarded against them. Ravening + beasts and poisonous reptiles lurk in those abodes of the riches and the + poverty that are no longer known to our life. A part of one of the less + malarial of the old cities, however, is maintained by the commonwealth in + the form of its prosperity, and is studied by antiquarians for the + instruction, and by moralists for the admonition, it affords. A section of + a street is exposed, and you see the foundations of the houses; you see + the filthy drains that belched into the common sewers, trapped and + retrapped to keep the poison gases down; you see the sewers that rolled + their loathsome tides under the streets, amid a tangle of gas-pipes, + steam-pipes, water-pipes, telegraph-wires, electric lighting-wires, + electric motor-wires, and grip-cables—all without a plan, but + makeshifts, expedients, devices, to repair and evade the fundamental + mistake of having any such cities at all. + </p> + <p> + “There are now no cities in Altruria, in your meaning, but there are + capitals, one for each of the regions of our country and one for the whole + commonwealth. These capitals are for the transaction of public affairs, in + which every citizen of Altruria is schooled, and they are the residences + of the administrative officials, who are alternated every year, from the + highest to the lowest. A public employment with us is of no greater honor + or profit than any other, for with our absolute economic equality there + can be no ambition, and there is no opportunity for one citizen to + outshine another. But as the capitals are the centres of all the arts, + which we consider the chief of our public affairs, they are oftenest + frequented by poets, actors, painters, sculptors, musicians, and + architects. We regard all artists, who are in a sort creators, as the + human type which is likest the divine, and we try to conform our whole + industrial life to the artistic temperament. Even in the labors of the + field and shop, which are obligatory upon all, we study the inspiration of + this temperament, and in the voluntary pursuits we allow it full control. + Each, in these, follows his fancy as to what he shall do, and when he + shall do it, or whether he shall do anything at all. In the capitals are + the universities, theatres, galleries, museums, cathedrals, laboratories + and conservatories, and the appliances of every art and science, as well + as the administration buildings; and beauty as well as use is studied in + every edifice. Our capitals are as clean and quiet and healthful as the + country, and these advantages are secured simply by the elimination of the + horse, an animal which we should be as much surprised to find in the + streets of a town as the plesiosaurus or the pterodactyl. All + transportation in the capitals, whether for pleasure or business, is by + electricity, and swift electrical expresses connect the capital of each + region with the villages which radiate from it to the cardinal points. + These expresses run at the rate of a hundred and fifty miles an hour, and + they enable the artist, the scientist, the literary man, of the remotest + hamlet, to visit the capital (when he is not actually resident there in + some public use) every day, after the hours of the obligatory industries; + or, if he likes, he may remain there a whole week or fortnight, giving six + hours a day instead of three to the obligatories, until the time is made + up. In case of very evident merit, or for the purpose of allowing him to + complete some work requiring continuous application, a vote of the local + agents may release him from the obligatories indefinitely. Generally, + however, our artists prefer not to ask this, but avail themselves of the + stated means we have of allowing them to work at the obligatories, and get + the needed exercise and variety of occupation in the immediate vicinity of + the capital. + </p> + <p> + “We do not think it well to connect the hamlets on the different lines of + radiation from the capital, except by the good country roads which + traverse each region in every direction. The villages are mainly inhabited + by those who prefer a rural life; they are farming villages; but in + Altruria it can hardly be said that one man is more a farmer than another. + We do not like to distinguish men by their callings; we do not speak of + the poet This or the shoemaker That, for the poet may very likely be a + shoemaker in the obligatories, and the shoemaker a poet in the + voluntaries. If it can be said that one occupation is honored above + another with us, it is that which we all share, and that is the + cultivation of the earth. We believe that this, when not followed + slavishly, or for gain, brings man into the closest relations to the + Deity, through a grateful sense of the divine bounty, and that it not only + awakens a natural piety in him, but that it endears to the worker that + piece of soil which he tills, and so strengthens his love of home. The + home is the very heart of the Altrurian system, and we do not think it + well that people should be away from their homes very long or very often. + In the competitive and monopolistic times men spent half their days in + racing back and forth across our continent; families were scattered by the + chase for fortune, and there was a perpetual paying and repaying of + visits. One-half the income of those railroads which we let fall into + disuse came from the ceaseless unrest. Now a man is born and lives and + dies among his own kindred, and the sweet sense of neighborhood, of + brotherhood, which blessed the golden age of the first Christian republic + is ours again. Every year the people of each region meet one another on + Evolution day, in the regionic capital; once in four years they all visit + the national capital. There is no danger of the decay of patriotism among + us; our country is our mother, and we love her as it is impossible to love + the step-mother that a competitive or monopolistic nation must be to its + citizens. + </p> + <p> + “I can only touch upon this feature and that of our system as I chance to + think of it. If any of you are curious about others, I shall be glad to + answer questions as well as I can. We have, of course,” the Altrurian + proceeded, after a little indefinite pause, to let any speak who liked, + “no money in your sense. As the whole people control affairs, no man works + for another, and no man pays another. Every one does his share of labor, + and receives his share of food, clothing, and shelter, which is neither + more nor less than another’s. If you can imagine the justice and + impartiality of a well-ordered family, you can conceive of the social and + economic life of Altruria. We are, properly speaking, a family rather than + a nation like yours. + </p> + <p> + “Of course, we are somewhat favored by our insular, or continental, + position; but I do not know that we are more so than you are. Certainly, + however, we are self-sufficing in a degree unknown to most European + countries; and we have within our borders the materials of every comfort + and the resources of every need. We have no commerce with the egoistic + world, as we call that outside, and I believe that I am the first + Altrurian to visit foreign countries avowedly in my national character, + though we have always had emissaries living abroad incognito. I hope that + I may say without offence that they find it a sorrowful exile, and that + the reports of the egoistic world, with its wars, its bankruptcies, its + civic commotions, and its social unhappiness, do not make us discontented + with our own condition. Before the Evolution we had completed the round of + your inventions and discoveries, impelled by the force that drives you on; + and we have since disused most of them as idle and unfit. But we profit, + now and then, by the advances you make in science, for we are passionately + devoted to the study of the natural laws, open or occult, under which all + men have their being. Occasionally an emissary returns with a sum of + money, and explains to the students of the national university the + processes by which it is lost and won; and at a certain time there was a + movement for its introduction among us, not for its use as you know it, + but for a species of counters in games of chance. It was considered, + however, to contain an element of danger, and the scheme was discouraged. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing amuses and puzzles our people more than the accounts our + emissaries give of the changes of fashion in the outside world, and of the + ruin of soul and body which the love of dress often works. Our own dress, + for men and for women, is studied, in one ideal of use and beauty, from + the antique; caprice and vagary in it would be thought an effect of vulgar + vanity. Nothing is worn that is not simple and honest in texture; we do + not know whether a thing is cheap or dear, except as it is easy or hard to + come by, and that which is hard to come by is forbidden as wasteful and + foolish. The community builds the dwellings of the community, and these, + too, are of a classic simplicity, though always beautiful and fit in form; + the splendors of the arts are lavished upon the public edifices, which we + all enjoy in common.” + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t this the greatest rehash of ‘Utopia,’ ‘New Atlantis,’ and ‘City of + the Sun’ that you ever imagined?” the professor whispered across me to the + banker. “The man is a fraud, and a very bungling fraud at that.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you must expose him, when he gets through,” the banker whispered + back. + </p> + <p> + But the professor could not wait. He got upon his feet and called out: + “May I ask the gentleman from Altruria a question?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” the Altrurian blandly assented. + </p> + <p> + “Make it short!” Reuben Camp’s voice broke in, impatiently. “We didn’t + come here to listen to your questions.” + </p> + <p> + The professor contemptuously ignored him. “I suppose you occasionally + receive emissaries from, as well as send them to, the world outside?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, now and then castaways land on our coasts, and ships out of their + reckonings put in at our ports for water or provision.” + </p> + <p> + “And how are they pleased with your system?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, I cannot better answer than by saying that they mostly refuse to + leave us.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, just as Bacon reports!” cried the professor. + </p> + <p> + “You mean in the <i>New Atlantis</i>?” returned the Altrurian. “Yes; it is + astonishing how well Bacon in that book, and Sir Thomas More in his <i>Utopia</i>, + have divined certain phases of our civilization and polity.” + </p> + <p> + “I think he rather <i>has</i> you, professor,” the banker whispered, with + a laugh. + </p> + <p> + “But all those inspired visionaries,” the Altrurian continued, while the + professor sat grimly silent, watching for another chance, “who have borne + testimony of us in their dreams, conceived of states perfect without the + discipline of a previous competitive condition. What I thought, however, + might specially interest you Americans in Altruria is the fact that our + economy was evolved from one so like that in which you actually have your + being. I had even hoped you might feel that, in all these points of + resemblance, America prophesies another Altruria. I know that to some of + you all that I have told of my country will seem a baseless fabric, with + no more foundation, in fact, than More’s fairy-tale of another land where + men dealt kindly and justly by one another, and dwelt, a whole nation, in + the unity and equality of a family. But why should not a part of that + fable have come true in our polity, as another part of it has come true in + yours? When Sir Thomas More wrote that book, he noted with abhorrence the + monstrous injustice of the fact that men were hanged for small thefts in + England; and in the preliminary conversation between its characters he + denounced the killing of men for any sort of thefts. Now you no longer put + men to death for theft; you look back upon that cruel code of your mother + England with an abhorrence as great as his own. We, for our part, who have + realized the Utopian dream of brotherly equality, look back with the same + abhorrence upon a state where some were rich and some poor, some taught + and some untaught, some high and some low, and the hardest toil often + failed to supply a sufficiency of the food which luxury wasted in its + riots. That state seems as atrocious to us as the state which hanged a man + for stealing a loaf of bread seems to you. + </p> + <p> + “But we do not regret the experience of competition and monopoly. They + taught us some things in the operation of the industries. The labor-saving + inventions which the Accumulation perverted to money-making we have + restored to the use intended by their inventors and the Creator of their + inventors. After serving the advantage of socializing the industries which + the Accumulation effected for its own purposes, we continued the work in + large mills and shops, in the interest of the workers, whom we wished to + guard against the evil effects of solitude. But our mills and shops are + beautiful as well as useful. They look like temples, and they are temples, + dedicated to that sympathy between the divine and human which expresses + itself in honest and exquisite workmanship. They rise amid leafy boscages + beside the streams, which form their only power; for we have disused steam + altogether, with all the offences to the eye and ear which its use brought + into the world. Our life is so simple and our needs are so few that the + hand-work of the primitive toilers could easily supply our wants; but + machinery works so much more thoroughly and beautifully that we have in + great measure retained it. Only, the machines that were once the workmen’s + enemies and masters are now their friends and servants; and, if any man + chooses to work alone with his own hands, the state will buy what he makes + at the same price that it sells the wares made collectively. This secures + every right of individuality. + </p> + <p> + “The farm-work, as well as the mill-work and the shop-work, is done by + companies of workers; and there is nothing of that loneliness in our woods + and fields which, I understand, is the cause of so much insanity among + you. It is not good for man to be alone, was the first thought of his + Creator when he considered him, and we act upon this truth in everything. + The privacy of the family is sacredly guarded in essentials, but the + social instinct is so highly developed with us that we like to eat + together in large refectories, and we meet constantly to argue and dispute + on questions of aesthetics and metaphysics. We do not, perhaps, read so + many books as you do, for most of our reading, when not for special + research, but for culture and entertainment, is done by public readers, to + large groups of listeners. We have no social meetings which are not free + to all; and we encourage joking and the friendly give and take of witty + encounters.” + </p> + <p> + “A little hint from Sparta,” suggested the professor. + </p> + <p> + The banker leaned over to whisper to me: “From what I have seen of your + friend when offered a piece of American humor, I should fancy the + Altrurian article was altogether different. Upon the whole, I would rather + not be present at one of their witty encounters, if I were obliged to stay + it out.” + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian had paused to drink a glass of water, and now he went on: + “But we try, in everything that does not inconvenience or injure others, + to let every one live the life he likes best. If a man prefers to dwell + apart, and have his meals in private for himself alone or for his family, + it is freely permitted; only he must not expect to be served as in public, + where service is one of the voluntaries; private service is not permitted; + those wishing to live alone must wait upon themselves, cook their own + food, and care for their own tables. Very few, however, wish to withdraw + from the public life, for most of the discussions and debates take place + at our mid-day meal, which falls at the end of the obligatory labors, and + is prolonged indefinitely, or as long as people like to chat and joke or + listen to the reading of some pleasant book. + </p> + <p> + “In Altruria <i>there is no hurry</i>, for no one wishes to outstrip + another, or in any wise surpass him. We are all assured of enough, and are + forbidden any and every sort of superfluity. If any one, after the + obligatories, wishes to be entirely idle, he may be so, but I cannot now + think of a single person without some voluntary occupation; doubtless + there are such persons, but I do not know them. It used to be said, in the + old times, that ‘it was human nature’ to shirk and malinger and loaf, but + we have found that it is no such thing. We have found that it is human + nature to work cheerfully, willingly, eagerly, at the tasks which all + share for the supply of the common necessities. In like manner we have + found out that it is not human nature to hoard and grudge, but that when + the fear, and even the imagination, of want is taken away, it is human + nature to give and to help generously. We used to say: ‘A man will lie, or + a man will cheat, in his own interest; that is human nature’; but that is + no longer human nature with us, perhaps because no man has any interest to + serve; he has only the interests of others to serve, while others serve + his. It is in no wise possible for the individual to separate his good + from the common good; he is prosperous and happy only as all the rest are + so; and therefore it is not human nature with us for any one to lie in + wait to betray another or seize an advantage. That would be ungentlemanly, + and in Altruria every man is a gentleman and every woman a lady. If you + will excuse me here for being so frank, I would like to say something by + way of illustration which may be offensive if you take it personally.” + </p> + <p> + He looked at our little group, as if he were addressing himself more + especially to us, and the banker called out, jollily: “Go on! I guess we + can stand it,” and “Go ahead!” came from all sides, from all kinds of + listeners. + </p> + <p> + “It is merely this: that as we look back at the old competitive conditions + we do not see how any man could be a gentleman in them, since a gentleman + must think first of others, and these conditions <i>compelled</i> every + man to think first of himself.” + </p> + <p> + There was a silence broken by some conscious and hardy laughter, while we + each swallowed this pill as we could. + </p> + <p> + “What are competitive conditions?” Mrs. Makely demanded of me. + </p> + <p> + “Well, ours are competitive conditions,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Very well, then,” she returned, “I don’t think Mr. Homos is much of a + gentleman to say such a thing to an American audience. Or, wait a moment! + Ask him if the same rule applies to women.” + </p> + <p> + I rose, strengthened by the resentment I felt, and said: “Do I understand + that in your former competitive conditions it was also impossible for a + woman to be a lady?” + </p> + <p> + The professor gave me an applausive nod as I sat down. “I envy you the + chance of that little dig,” he whispered. + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian was thoughtful a moment, and then he answered: “No, I should + not say it was. From what we know historically of those conditions in our + country, it appears that the great mass of women were not directly + affected by them. They constituted an altruistic dominion of the egoistic + empire, and, except as they were tainted by social or worldly ambitions, + it was possible for every woman to be a lady, even in competitive + conditions. Her instincts were unselfish, and her first thoughts were + nearly always of others.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Makely jumped to her feet and clapped violently with her fan on the + palm of her left hand. “Three cheers for Mr. Homos!” she shrieked, and all + the women took up the cry, supported by all the natives and the + construction gang. I fancied these fellows gave their support largely in a + spirit of burlesque; but they gave it robustly, and from that time on, + Mrs. Makely led the applause, and they roared in after her. + </p> + <p> + It is impossible to follow closely the course of the Altrurian’s account + of his country, which grew more and more incredible as he went on, and + implied every insulting criticism of ours. Some one asked him about war in + Altruria, and he said: “The very name of our country implies the absence + of war. At the time of the Evolution our country bore to the rest of our + continent the same relative proportion that your country bears to your + continent. The egoistic nations to the north and the south of us entered + into an offensive and defensive alliance to put down, the new altruistic + commonwealth, and declared war against us. Their forces were met at the + frontier by our entire population in arms, and full of the martial spirit + bred of the constant hostilities of the competitive and monopolistic epoch + just ended. Negotiations began in the face of the imposing demonstration + we made, and we were never afterward molested by our neighbors, who + finally yielded to the spectacle of our civilization and united their + political and social fate with ours. At present, our whole continent is + Altrurian. For a long time we kept up a system of coast defences, but it + is also a long time since we abandoned these; for it is a maxim with us + that where every citizen’s life is a pledge of the public safety, that + country can never be in danger of foreign enemies. + </p> + <p> + “In this, as in all other things, we believe ourselves the true followers + of Christ, whose doctrine we seek to make our life as He made it His. We + have several forms of ritual, but no form of creed, and our religious + differences may be said to be aesthetic and temperamental rather than + theological and essential. We have no denominations, for we fear in this, + as in other matters, to give names to things lest we should cling to the + names instead of the things. We love the realities, and for this reason we + look at the life of a man rather than his profession for proof that he is + a religious man. + </p> + <p> + “I have been several times asked, during my sojourn among you, what are + the sources of compassion, of sympathy, of humanity, of charity with us, + if we have not only no want, or fear of want, but not even any economic + inequality. I suppose this is because you are so constantly struck by the + misery arising from economic inequality and want, or the fear of want, + among yourselves, that you instinctively look in that direction. But have + you ever seen sweeter compassion, tenderer sympathy, warmer humanity, + heavenlier charity than that shown in the family where all are + economically equal and no one can want while any other has to give? + Altruria, I say again, is a family, and, as we are mortal, we are still + subject to those nobler sorrows which God has appointed to men, and which + are so different from the squalid accidents that they have made for + themselves. Sickness and death call out the most angelic ministries of + love; and those who wish to give themselves to others may do so without + hinderance from those cares, and even those duties, resting upon men where + each must look out first for himself and for his own. Oh, believe me, + believe me, you can know nothing of the divine rapture of self-sacrifice + while you must dread the sacrifice of another in it. You are not <i>free</i>, + as we are, to do everything for others, for it is your <i>duty</i> to do + rather for those of your own household! + </p> + <p> + “There is something,” he continued, “which I hardly know how to speak of,” + and here we all began to prick our ears. I prepared myself as well as I + could for another affront, though I shuddered when the banker hardily + called out: “Don’t hesitate to say anything you wish, Mr. Homos. I, for + one, should like to hear you express yourself fully.” + </p> + <p> + It was always the unexpected, certainly, that happened from the Altrurian. + “It is merely this,” he said: “Having come to live rightly upon earth, as + we believe, or having at least ceased to deny God in our statutes and + customs, the fear of death, as it once, weighed upon us, has been lifted + from our souls. The mystery of it has so far been taken away that we + perceive it as something just and natural. Now that all unkindness has + been banished from among us, we can conceive of no such cruelty as death + once seemed. If we do not know yet the full meaning of death, we know that + the Creator of it and of us meant mercy and blessing by it. When one dies + we grieve, but not as those without hope. We do not say that the dead have + gone to a better place, and then selfishly bewail them, for we have the + kingdom of heaven upon earth already, and we know that wherever they go + they will be homesick for Altruria; and when we think of the years that + may pass before we meet them again our hearts ache, as theirs must. But + the presence of the risen Christ in our daily lives is our assurance that + no one ceases to be, and that we shall see our dead again. I cannot + explain this to you; I can only affirm it.” + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian spoke very solemnly, and a reverent hush fell upon the + assembly. It was broken by the voice of a woman wailing out: “Oh, do you + suppose, if we lived so, we should feel so, too? That I should know my + little girl was living?” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” asked the Altrurian. + </p> + <p> + To my vast astonishment, the manufacturer, who sat the farthest from me in + the same line with Mrs. Makely, the professor, and the banker, rose and + asked, tremulously: “And have—have you had any direct communication + with the other world? Has any disembodied spirit returned to testify of + the life beyond the grave?” + </p> + <p> + The professor nodded significantly across Mrs. Makely to me, and then + frowned and shook his head. I asked her if she knew what he meant. “Why, + didn’t you know that spiritualism was that poor man’s foible? He lost his + son in a railroad accident, and ever since—” + </p> + <p> + She stopped and gave her attention to the Altrurian, who was replying to + the manufacturer’s question. + </p> + <p> + “We do not need any such testimony. Our life here makes us sure of the + life there. At any rate, no externation of the supernatural, no objective + miracle, has been wrought in our behalf. We have had faith to do what we + prayed for, and the prescience of which I speak has been added unto us.” + </p> + <p> + The manufacturer asked, as the bereaved mother had asked: “And if I lived + so, should I feel so?” + </p> + <p> + Again the Altrurian answered: “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + The poor woman quavered: “Oh, I do believe it! I just <i>know</i> it must + be true!” + </p> + <p> + The manufacturer shook his head sorrowfully and sat down, and remained + there, looking at the ground. + </p> + <p> + “I am aware,” the Altrurian went on, “that what I have said as to our + realizing the kingdom of heaven on the earth must seem boastful and + arrogant. That is what you pray for every day, but you do not believe it + possible for God’s will to be done on earth as it is done in heaven—that + is, you do not if you are like the competitive and monopolistic people we + once were. We once regarded that petition as a formula vaguely pleasing to + the Deity, but we no more expected His kingdom to come than we expected + Him to give us each day our daily bread; we knew that if we wanted + something to eat we should have to hustle for it, and get there first; I + use the slang of that far-off time, which, I confess, had a vulgar vigor. + </p> + <p> + “But now everything is changed, and the change has taken place chiefly + from one cause—namely, the disuse of money. At first, it was thought + that some sort of circulating medium <i>must</i> be used, that life could + not be transacted without it. But life began to go on perfectly well, when + each dwelt in the place assigned him, which was no better and no worse + than any other; and when, after he had given his three hours a day to the + obligatory labors, he had a right to his share of food, light, heat, and + raiment; the voluntary labors, to which he gave much time or little, + brought him no increase of those necessaries, but only credit and + affection. We had always heard it said that the love of money was the root + of all evil, but we had taken this for a saying, merely; now we realized + it as an active, vital truth. As soon as money was abolished the power to + purchase was gone, and even if there had been any means of buying beyond + the daily needs, with overwork, the community had no power to sell to the + individual. No man owned anything, but every man had the right to anything + that he could use; when he could not use it, his right lapsed. + </p> + <p> + “With the expropriation of the individual the whole vast catalogue of + crimes against property shrank to nothing. The thief could only steal from + the community; but if he stole, what was he to do with his booty? It was + still possible for a depredator to destroy, but few men’s hate is so + comprehensive as to include all other men, and when the individual could + no longer hurt some other individual in his property destruction ceased. + </p> + <p> + “All the many murders done from love of money, or of what money could buy, + were at an end. Where there was no want, men no longer bartered their + souls, or women their bodies, for the means to keep themselves alive. The + vices vanished with the crimes, and the diseases almost as largely + disappeared. People were no longer sickened by sloth and surfeit, or + deformed and depleted by overwork and famine. They were wholesomely housed + in healthful places, and they were clad fitly for their labor and fitly + for their leisure; the caprices of vanity were not suffered to attaint the + beauty of the national dress. + </p> + <p> + “With the stress of superfluous social and business duties, and the + perpetual fear of want which all classes felt, more or less; with the + tumult of the cities and the solitude of the country, insanity had + increased among us till the whole land was dotted with asylums and the mad + were numbered by hundreds of thousands. In every region they were an army, + an awful army of anguish and despair. Now they have decreased to a number + so small, and are of a type so mild, that we can hardly count insanity + among our causes of unhappiness. + </p> + <p> + “We have totally eliminated chance from our economic life. There is still + a chance that a man will be tall or short in Altruria, that he will be + strong or weak, well or ill, gay or grave, happy or unhappy in love, but + none that he will be rich or poor, busy or idle, live splendidly or + meanly. These stupid and vulgar accidents of human contrivance cannot + befall us; but I shall not be able to tell you just how or why, or to + detail the process of eliminating chance. I may say, however, that it + began with the nationalization of telegraphs, expresses, railroads, mines, + and all large industries operated by stock companies. This at once struck + a fatal blow at the speculation in values, real and unreal, and at the + stock-exchange, or bourse; we had our own name for that gambler’s + paradise, or gambler’s hell, whose baleful influence penetrated every + branch of business. + </p> + <p> + “There were still business fluctuations as long as we had business, but + they were on a smaller and smaller scale, and with the final lapse of + business they necessarily vanished; all economic chance vanished. The + founders of the commonwealth understood perfectly that business was the + sterile activity of the function interposed between the demand and the + supply; that it was nothing structural; and they intended its extinction, + and expected it from the moment that money was abolished.” + </p> + <p> + “This is all pretty tiresome,” said the professor to our immediate party. + “I don’t see why we oblige ourselves to listen to that fellow’s stuff. As + if a civilized state could exist for a day without money or business.” + </p> + <p> + He went on to give his opinion of the Altrurian’s pretended description, + in a tone so audible that it attracted the notice of the nearest group of + railroad hands, who were listening closely to Homos, and one of them sang + out to the professor: “Can’t you wait and let the first man finish?” and + another yelled: “Put him out!” and then they all laughed with a humorous + perception of the impossibility of literally executing the suggestion. + </p> + <p> + By the time all was quiet again I heard the Altrurian saying: “As to our + social life, I cannot describe it in detail, but I can give you some + notion of its spirit. We make our pleasures civic and public as far as + possible, and the ideal is inclusive and not exclusive. There are, of + course, festivities which all cannot share, but our distribution into + small communities favors the possibility of all doing so. Our daily life, + however, is so largely social that we seldom meet by special invitation or + engagement. When we do, it is with the perfect understanding that the + assemblage confers no social distinction, but is for a momentary + convenience. In fact, these occasions are rather avoided, recalling, as + they do, the vapid and tedious entertainments of the competitive epoch, + the receptions and balls and dinners of a semi-barbaric people striving + for social prominence by shutting a certain number in and a certain number + out, and overdressing, overfeeding, and overdrinking. Anything + premeditated in the way of a pleasure we think stupid and mistaken; we + like to meet suddenly, or on the spur of the moment, out-of-doors, if + possible, and arrange a picnic or a dance or a play; and let people come + and go without ceremony. No one is more host than guest; all are hosts and + guests. People consort much according to their tastes—literary, + musical, artistic, scientific, or mechanical—but these tastes are + made approaches, not barriers; and we find out that we have many more + tastes in common than was formerly supposed. + </p> + <p> + “But, after all, our life is serious, and no one among us is quite happy, + in the general esteem, unless he has dedicated himself, in some special + way, to the general good. Our ideal is not rights, but duties.” + </p> + <p> + “Mazzini!” whispered the professor. + </p> + <p> + “The greatest distinction which any one can enjoy with us is to have found + out some new and signal way of serving the community; and then it is not + good form for him to seek recognition. The doing any fine thing is the + purest pleasure it can give; applause flatters, but it hurts, too, and our + benefactors, as we call them, have learned to shun it. + </p> + <p> + “We are still far from thinking our civilization perfect; but we are sure + that our civic ideals are perfect. What we have already accomplished is to + have given a whole continent perpetual peace; to have founded an economy + in which there is no possibility of want; to have killed out political and + social ambition; to have disused money and eliminated chance; to have + realized the brotherhood of the race, and to have outlived the fear of + death.” + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian suddenly stopped with these words and sat down. He had + spoken a long time, and with a fulness which my report gives little notion + of; but, though most of his cultivated listeners were weary, and a good + many ladies had left their seats and gone back to the hotel, not one of + the natives, or the work-people of any sort, had stirred; now they + remained a moment motionless and silent before they rose from all parts of + the field and shouted: “Go on! Don’t stop! Tell us all about it!” + </p> + <p> + I saw Reuben Camp climb the shoulders of a big fellow near where the + Altrurian had stood; he waved the crowd to silence with out-spread arms. + “He isn’t going to say anything more; he’s tired. But if any man don’t + think he’s got his dollar’s worth, let him walk up to the door and the + ticket-agent will refund him his money.” + </p> + <p> + The crowd laughed, and some one shouted: “Good for you, Reub!” + </p> + <p> + Camp continued: “But our friend here will shake the hand of any man, + woman, or child that wants to speak to him; and you needn’t wipe it on the + grass first, either. He’s a <i>man</i>! And I want to say that he’s going + to spend the next week with us, at my mother’s house, and we shall be glad + to have you call.” + </p> + <p> + The crowd, the rustic and ruder part of it, cheered and cheered till the + mountain echoes answered; then a railroader called for three times three, + with a tiger, and got it. The guests of the hotel broke away and went + toward the house over the long shadows of the meadow. The lower classes + pressed forward, on Camp’s invitation. + </p> + <p> + “Well, did you ever hear a more disgusting rigmarole?” asked Mrs. Makely, + as our little group halted indecisively about her. + </p> + <p> + “With all those imaginary commonwealths to draw upon, from Plato, through + More, Bacon, and Campanella, down to Bellamy and Morris, he has + constructed the shakiest effigy ever made of old clothes stuffed with + straw,” said the professor. + </p> + <p> + The manufacturer was silent. The banker said: “I don’t know. He grappled + pretty boldly with your insinuations. That frank declaration that Altruria + was all these pretty soap-bubble worlds solidified was rather fine.” + </p> + <p> + “It was splendid!” cried Mrs. Makely. The lawyer and the minister came + toward us from where they had been sitting together. She called out to + them: “Why in the world didn’t one of your gentlemen get up and propose a + vote of thanks?” + </p> + <p> + “The difficulty with me is,” continued the banker, “that he has rendered + Altruria incredible. I have no doubt that he is an Altrurian, but I doubt + very much if he comes from anywhere in particular, and I find this quite a + blow, for we had got Altruria nicely located on the map, and were + beginning to get accounts of it in the newspapers.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that is just exactly the way I feel about it,” sighed Mrs. Makely. + “But still, don’t you think there ought to have been a vote of thanks, Mr. + Bullion?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, certainly. The fellow was immensely amusing, and you must have got a + lot of money by him. It was an oversight not to make him a formal + acknowledgment of some kind. If we offered him money, he would have to + leave it all behind him here when he went home to Altruria.” + </p> + <p> + “Just as <i>we</i> do when we go to heaven,” I suggested; the banker did + not answer, and I instantly felt that in the presence of the minister my + remark was out of taste. + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, don’t you think,” said Mrs. Makely, who had a leathery + insensibility to everything but the purpose possessing her, “that we ought + at least to go and say something to him personally?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I think we ought,” said the banker, and we all walked up to where + the Altrurian stood, still thickly surrounded by the lower classes, who + were shaking hands with him and getting in a word with him now and then. + </p> + <p> + One of the construction gang said, carelessly: “No all-rail route to + Altruria, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” answered Homos, “it’s a far sea voyage.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I shouldn’t mind working my passage, if you think they’d let me + stay after I got there.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, you mustn’t go to Altruria. You must let Altruria come to <i>you</i>” + returned Homos, with that confounded smile of his that always won my + heart. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” shouted Reuben Camp, whose thin face was red with excitement, + “that’s the word. Have Altruria right here, and right now.” + </p> + <p> + The old farmer, who had several times spoken, cackled out: “I didn’t know, + one while, when you was talk’n’ about not havin’ no money, but what some + on us had had Altrury here for quite a spell, already. I don’t pass more’n + fifty dolla’s through my hands most years.” + </p> + <p> + A laugh went up, and then, at sight of Mrs. Makely heading our little + party, the people round Homos civilly made way for us. She rushed upon + him, and seized his hand in both of hers; she dropped her fan, parasol, + gloves, handkerchief, and vinaigrette in the grass to do so. “Oh, Mr. + Homos,” she fluted, and the tears came into her eyes, “it was beautiful, + <i>beautiful</i>, every word of it! I sat in a perfect trance from + beginning to end, and I felt that it was all as true as it was beautiful. + People all around me were breathless with interest, and I don’t know how I + can ever thank you enough.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, indeed,” the professor hastened to say, before the Altrurian could + answer, and he beamed malignantly upon him through his spectacles while he + spoke, “it was like some strange romance.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know that I should go so far as that,” said the banker, in his + turn, “but it certainly seemed too good to be true.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” the Altrurian responded, simply, but a little sadly; “now that I am + away from it all, and in conditions so different, I sometimes had to ask + myself, as I went on, if my whole life had not hitherto been a dream, and + Altruria were not some blessed vision of the night.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you know how to account for a feeling which I must acknowledge, + too?” the lawyer asked, courteously. “But it was most interesting.” + </p> + <p> + “The kingdom of God upon earth,” said the minister—“It ought not to + be incredible; but that, more than anything else you told us of, gave me + pause.” + </p> + <p> + “You of all men?” returned the Altrurian, gently. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the minister, with a certain dejection, “when I remember what + I have seen of men, when I reflect what human nature is, how can I believe + that the kingdom of God will ever come upon the earth?” + </p> + <p> + “But in heaven, where He reigns, who is it does His will? The spirits of + men?” pursued the Altrurian. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but conditioned as men are here—” + </p> + <p> + “But if they were conditioned as men are there?” + </p> + <p> + “Now, I can’t let you two good people get into a theological dispute,” + Mrs. Makely pushed in. “Here is Mr. Twelvemough dying to shake hands with + Mr. Homos and compliment his distinguished guest.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Mr. Homos knows what I must have thought of his talk without my + telling him,” I began, skilfully. “But I am sorry that I am to lose my + distinguished guest so soon.” + </p> + <p> + Reuben Camp broke out: “That was my blunder, Mr. Twelvemough. Mr. Homos + and I had talked it over conditionally, and I was not to speak of it till + he had told you; but it slipped out in the excitement of the moment.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it’s all right,” I said, and I shook hands cordially with both of + them. “It will be the greatest possible advantage for Mr. Homos to see + certain phases of American life at close range, and he couldn’t possibly + see them under better auspices than yours, Camp.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I’m going to drive him through the hill country after haying, and + then I’m going to take him down and show him one of our big factory + towns.” + </p> + <p> + I believe this was done, but finally the Altrurian went on to New York, + where he was to pass the winter. We parted friends; I even offered him + some introductions; but his acquaintance had become more and more + difficult, and I was not sorry to part with him. That taste of his for low + company was incurable, and I was glad that I was not to be responsible any + longer for whatever strange thing he might do next. I think he remained + very popular with the classes he most affected; a throng of natives, + construction hands, and table-girls saw him off on his train; and he left + large numbers of such admirers in our house and neighborhood, devout in + the faith that there was such a commonwealth as Altruria, and that he was + really an Altrurian. As for the more cultivated people who had met him, + they continued of two minds upon both points. + </p> + <h3> + THE END + </h3> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Traveler from Altruria: Romance, by +William Dean Howells + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A TRAVELER FROM ALTRURIA: ROMANCE *** + +***** This file should be named 8449-h.htm or 8449-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/8/4/4/8449/ + +Produced by Suzanne Shell, Charles Bidwell, David Widger and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: A Traveler from Altruria: Romance + +Author: William Dean Howells + + +Release Date: July, 2005 [EBook #8449] +This file was first posted on July 11, 2003 +Last Updated: April 8, 2013 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A TRAVELER FROM ALTRURIA: ROMANCE *** + + + + +Produced by Suzanne Shell, Charles Bidwell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + + + + +A TRAVELER FROM ALTRURIA + +Romance + +By W. D. Howells + +Author Of "The Coast Of Bohemia", "The Quality Of Mercy", +"A Hazard Of New Fortunes" Etc. + +Harper & Brothers Publishers + +New York And London + +1908 + + + + +A TRAVELER FROM ALTRURIA + + + + +I + + +I confess that with all my curiosity to meet an Altrurian, I was in no +hospitable mood toward the traveler when he finally presented himself, +pursuant to the letter of advice sent me by the friend who introduced him. +It would be easy enough to take care of him in the hotel; I had merely to +engage a room for him, and have the clerk tell him his money was not good +if he tried to pay for anything. But I had swung fairly into my story; its +people were about me all the time; I dwelt amid its events and places, and +I did not see how I could welcome my guest among them, or abandon them for +him. Still, when he actually arrived, and I took his hand as he stepped +from the train, I found it less difficult to say that I was glad to see +him than I expected. In fact, I was glad, for I could not look upon his +face without feeling a glow of kindness for him. I had not the least +trouble in identifying him, for he was so unlike all the Americans who +dismounted from the train with him, and who all looked hot, worried, and +anxious. He was a man no longer young, but in what we call the heyday of +life, when our own people are so absorbed in making provision for the +future that they may be said not to live in the present at all. This +Altrurian's whole countenance, and especially his quiet, gentle eyes, +expressed a vast contemporaneity, with bounds of leisure removed to the +end of time; or, at least, this was the effect of something in them which +I am obliged to report in rather fantastic terms. He was above the middle +height, and he carried himself vigorously. His face was sunburned, or +sea-burned, where it was not bearded; and, although I knew from my +friend's letter that he was a man of learning and distinction in his own +country, I should never have supposed him a person of scholarly life, he +was so far from sicklied over with anything like the pale cast of thought. +When he took the hand I offered him in my half-hearted welcome he gave it +a grasp that decided me to confine our daily greetings to something much +less muscular. + +"Let me have your bag," I said, as we do when we meet people at the train, +and he instantly bestowed a rather heavy valise upon me, with a smile in +his benignant eyes, as if it had been the greatest favor. "Have you got +any checks?" I asked. + +"Yes," he said, in very good English, but with an accent new to me, "I +bought two." He gave them to me, and I passed them to our hotel porter, +who was waiting there with the baggage-cart. Then I proposed that we +should walk across the meadow to the house, which is a quarter of a mile +or so from the station. We started, but he stopped suddenly and looked +back over his shoulder. "Oh, you needn't be troubled about your trunks," I +said. "The porter will get them to the house all right. They'll be in your +room by the time we get there." + +"But he's putting them into the wagon himself," said the Altrurian. + +"Yes; he always does that. He's a strong young fellow. He'll manage it. +You needn't--" I could not finish saying he need not mind the porter; he +was rushing back to the station, and I had the mortification of seeing him +take an end of each trunk and help the porter toss it into the wagon; some +lighter pieces he put in himself, and he did not stop till all the baggage +the train had left was disposed of. + +I stood holding his valise, unable to put it down in my embarrassment at +this eccentric performance, which had been evident not to me alone, but to +all the people who arrived by the train, and all their friends who came +from the hotel to meet them. A number of these passed me on the tally-ho +coach; and a lady, who had got her husband with her for over Sunday, and +was in very good spirits, called gayly down to me: "Your friend seems fond +of exercise!" + +"Yes," I answered, dryly; the sparkling repartee which ought to have come +to my help failed to show up. But it was impossible to be vexed with the +Altrurian when he returned to me, unruffled by his bout with the baggage +and serenely smiling. + +"Do you know," he said, "I fancied that good fellow was ashamed of my +helping him. I hope it didn't seem a reflection upon him in any way before +your people? I ought to have thought of that." + +"I guess we can make it right with him. I dare say he felt more surprised +than disgraced. But we must make haste a little now; your train was half +an hour late, and we shall not stand so good a chance for supper if we are +not there pretty promptly." + +"No?" said the Altrurian. "Why?" + +"Well," I said, with evasive lightness, "first come, first served, you +know. That's human nature." + +"Is it?" he returned, and he looked at me as one does who suspects another +of joking. + +"Well, isn't it?" I retorted; but I hurried to add: "Besides, I want to +have time after supper to show you a bit of our landscape. I think you'll +enjoy it." I knew he had arrived in Boston that morning by steamer, and I +now thought it high time to ask him: "Well, what do you think of America, +anyway?" I ought really to have asked him this the moment he stepped from +the train. + +"Oh," he said, "I'm intensely interested," and I perceived that he spoke +with a certain reservation. "As the most advanced country of its time, +I've always been very curious to see it." + +The last sentence raised my dashed spirits again, and I said, confidently: +"You must find our system of baggage-checks delightful." I said this +because it is one of the first things we brag of to foreigners, and I had +the habit of it. "By-the-way," I ventured to add, "I suppose you meant to +say you _brought_ two checks when I asked you for them at the train just +now? But you really said you _bought_ them." + +"Yes," the Altrurian replied, "I gave half a dollar apiece for them at the +station in Boston. I saw other people doing it," he explained, noting my +surprise. "Isn't it the custom?" + +"I'm happy to say it isn't yet, on most of our roads. They were tipping +the baggage-man, to make sure that he checked their baggage in time and +put it on the train. I had to do that myself when I came up; otherwise it +might have got along here some time next day. But the system is perfect." + +"The poor man looked quite worn out," said the Altrurian, "and I am glad I +gave him something. He seemed to have several hundred pieces of baggage to +look after, and he wasn't embarrassed like your porter by my helping him +put my trunks into the car. May I confess that the meanness of the +station, its insufficient facilities, its shabby waiting-rooms, and its +whole crowded and confused appearance gave me rather a bad impression?" + +"I know," I had to own, "it's shameful; but you wouldn't have found +another station in the city so bad." + +"Ah, then," said the Altrurian, "I suppose this particular road is too +poor to employ more baggage-men or build new stations; they seemed rather +shabby all the way up." + +"Well, no," I was obliged to confess, "it's one of the richest roads in +the country. The stock stands at about 180. But I'm really afraid we shall +be late to supper if we don't get on," I broke off; though I was not +altogether sorry to arrive after the porter had disposed of the baggage. I +dreaded another display of active sympathy on the part of my strange +companion; I have often felt sorry myself for the porters of hotels, but I +have never thought of offering to help them handle the heavy trunks that +they manage. + +The Altrurian was delighted with the hotel; and in fact it did look +extremely pretty, with its branching piazzas full of well-dressed people, +and its green lawns where the children were playing. I led the way to the +room which I had taken for him next my own; it was simply furnished, but +it was sweet with matting, fresh linen, and pure whitewashed walls. I +flung open the window-blinds and let him get a glimpse of the mountains +purpling under the sunset, the lake beneath, and the deeply foliaged +shores. + +"Glorious! glorious!" he sighed. + +"Yes," I modestly assented. "We think that's rather fine." He stood +tranced before the window, and I thought I had better say: "Well, now I +can't give you much time to get the dust of travel off; the dining-room +doors close at eight, and we must hurry down." + +"I'll be with you in a moment," he said, pulling off his coat. + +I waited impatiently at the foot of the stairs, avoiding the question I +met on the lips and in the eyes of my acquaintance. The fame of my +friend's behavior at the station must have spread through the whole place; +and everybody wished to know who he was. I answered simply he was a +traveler from Altruria; and in some cases I went further and explained +that the Altrurians were peculiar. + +In much less time than it seemed my friend found me; and then I had a +little compensation for my suffering in his behalf. I could see that, +whatever people said of him, they felt the same mysterious liking at +sight of him that I had felt. He had made a little change in his dress, +and I perceived that the women thought him not only good-looking but +well-dressed. They followed him with their eyes as we went into the +dining-room, and I was rather proud of being with him, as if I somehow +shared the credit of his clothes and good looks. The Altrurian himself +seemed most struck with the head-waiter, who showed us to our places, and +while we were waiting for our supper I found a chance to explain that he +was a divinity student from one of the fresh-water colleges, and was +serving here during his summer vacation. This seemed to interest my friend +so much that I went on to tell him that many of the waitresses, whom he +saw standing there subject to the order of the guests, were country +school-mistresses in the winter. + +"Ah, that is as it should be," he said; "that is the kind of thing I +expected to meet with in America." + +"Yes," I responded, in my flattered national vanity, "if America means +anything at all it means the honor of work and the recognition of personal +worth everywhere. I hope you are going to make a long stay with us. We +like to have travelers visit us who can interpret the spirit of our +institutions as well as read their letter. As a rule Europeans never quite +get our point of view. Now a great many of these waitresses are ladies, in +the true sense of the word--selfrespectful, intelligent, refined, and fit +to grace--" + +I was interrupted by the noise my friend made in suddenly pushing back his +chair and getting to his feet. "What's the matter?" I asked. "You're not +ill, I hope?" + +But he did not hear me. He had run half down the dining-hall toward the +slender young girl who was bringing us our supper. I had ordered rather +generously, for my friend had owned to a good appetite, and I was hungry +myself with waiting for him, so that the tray the girl carried was piled +up with heavy dishes. To my dismay I saw, rather than heard at that +distance, the Altrurian enter into a polite controversy with her, and +then, as if overcoming all her scruples by sheer strength of will, possess +himself of the tray and make off with it toward our table. The poor child +followed him, blushing to her hair; the head-waiter stood looking +helplessly on; the guests, who at that late hour were fortunately few, +were simply aghast at the scandal; the Altrurian alone seemed to think +his conduct the most natural thing in the world. He put the tray on the +side-table near us, and in spite of our waitress's protests insisted upon +arranging the little bird-bath dishes before our plates. Then at last he +sat down, and the girl, flushed and tremulous, left the room, as I could +not help suspecting, to have a good cry in the kitchen. She did not come +back, and the head-waiter, who was perhaps afraid to send another in her +place, looked after our few wants himself. He kept a sharp eye on my +friend, as if he were not quite sure he was safe, but the Altrurian +resumed the conversation with all that lightness of spirits which I +noticed in him after he helped the porter with the baggage. I did not +think it the moment to take him to task for what he had just done; I was +not even sure that it was the part of a host to do so at all, and between +the one doubt and the other I left the burden of talk to him. + +"What a charming young creature!" he began. "I never saw anything prettier +than the way she had of refusing my help, absolutely without coquetry or +affectation of any kind. She is, as you said, a perfect lady, and she +graces her work, as I am sure she would grace any exigency of life. She +quite realizes my ideal of an American girl, and I see now what the spirit +of your country must be from such an expression of it." + +I wished to tell him that while a country school-teacher who waits at +table in a summer hotel is very much to be respected in her sphere, she is +not regarded with that high honor which some other women command among us; +but I did not find this very easy, after what I had said of our esteem for +labor; and while I was thinking how I could hedge, my friend went on. + +"I liked England greatly, and I liked the English, but I could not like +the theory of their civilization or the aristocratic structure of their +society. It seemed to me iniquitous, for we believe that inequality and +iniquity are the same in the last analysis." + +At this I found myself able to say: "Yes, there is something terrible, +something shocking, in the frank brutality with which Englishmen affirm +the essential inequality of men. The affirmation of the essential equality +of men was the first point of departure with us when we separated from +them." + +"I know," said the Altrurian. "How grandly it is expressed in your +glorious Declaration!" + +"Ah, you have read our Declaration of Independence, then?" + +"Every Altrurian has read that," answered my friend. + +"Well," I went on smoothly, and I hoped to render what I was going to say +the means of enlightening him without offence concerning the little +mistake he had just made with the waitress, "of course we don't take that +in its closest literality." + +"I don't understand you," he said. + +"Why, you know it was rather the political than the social traditions of +England that we broke with, in the Revolution." + +"How is that?" he returned. "Didn't you break with monarchy and nobility, +and ranks and classes?" + +"Yes, we broke with all those things." + +"But I found them a part of the social as well as the political structure +in England. You have no kings or nobles here. Have you any ranks or +classes?" + +"Well, not exactly in the English sense. Our ranks and classes, such as we +have, are what I may call voluntary." + +"Oh, I understand. I suppose that from time to time certain ones among you +feel the need of serving, and ask leave of the commonwealth to subordinate +themselves to the rest of the state and perform all the lowlier offices in +it. Such persons must be held in peculiar honor. Is it something like +that?" + +"Well, no, I can't say it's quite like that. In fact I think I'd better +let you trust to your own observation of our life." + +"But I'm sure," said the Altrurian, with a simplicity so fine that it was +a long time before I could believe it quite real, "that I shall approach +it so much more intelligently with a little instruction from you. You say +that your social divisions are voluntary. But do I understand that those +who serve among you do not wish to do so?" + +"Well, I don't suppose they would serve if they could help it," I replied. + +"Surely," said the Altrurian, with a look of horror, "you don't mean that +they are slaves." + +"Oh no! oh no!" I said; "the war put an end to that. We are all free now, +black and white." + +"But if they do not wish to serve, and are not held in peculiar honor for +serving--" + +"I see that my word 'voluntary' has misled you," I put in. "It isn't the +word exactly. The divisions among us are rather a process of natural +selection. You will see, as you get better acquainted with the workings of +our institutions, that there are no arbitrary distinctions here but the +fitness of the work for the man and the man for the work determines the +social rank that each one holds." + +"Ah, that is fine!" cried the Altrurian, with a glow of enthusiasm. "Then +I suppose that these intelligent young people who teach school in winter +and serve at table in the summer are in a sort of provisional state, +waiting for the process of natural selection to determine whether they +shall finally be teachers or waiters." + +"Yes, it might be stated in some such terms," I assented, though I was not +altogether easy in my mind. It seemed to me that I was not quite candid +with this most candid spirit. I added: "You know we are a sort of +fatalists here in America. We are great believers in the doctrine that it +will all come out right in the end." + +"Ah, I don't wonder at that," said the Altrurian, "if the process of +natural selection works so perfectly among you as you say. But I am afraid +I don't understand this matter of your domestic service yet. I believe you +said that all honest work is honored in America. Then no social slight +attaches to service, I suppose?" + +"Well, I can't say that, exactly. The fact is, a certain social slight +does attach to service, and that is one reason why I don't quite like to +have students wait at table. It won't be pleasant for them to remember it +in after-life, and it won't be pleasant for their children to remember +it." + +"Then the slight would descend?" + +"I think it would. One wouldn't like to think one's father or mother had +been at service." + +The Altrurian said nothing for a moment. Then he remarked: "So it seems +that while all honest work is honored among you, there are some kinds of +honest work that are not honored so much as others." + +"Yes." + +"Why?" + +"Because some occupations are more degrading than others." + +"But why?" he persisted, as I thought, a little unreasonably. + +"Really," I said, "I think I must leave you to imagine." + +"I am afraid I can't," he said, sadly. "Then, if domestic service is +degrading in your eyes, and people are not willing servants among you, may +I ask why any are servants?" + +"It is a question of bread-and-butter. They are obliged to be." + +"That is, they are forced to do work that is hateful and disgraceful to +them because they cannot live without?" + +"Excuse me," I said, not at all liking this sort of pursuit, and feeling +it fair to turn even upon a guest who kept it up. "Isn't it so with you in +Altruria?" + +"It was so once," he admitted, "but not now. In fact, it is like a waking +dream to find one's self in the presence of conditions here that we +outlived so long ago." + +There was an unconscious superiority in this speech that nettled me, and +stung me to retort: "We do not expect to outlive them. We regard them as +final, and as indestructibly based in human nature itself." + +"Ah," said the Altrurian, with a delicate and caressing courtesy, "have I +said something offensive?" + +"Not at all," I hastened to answer. "It is not surprising that you did not +get our point of view exactly. You will by-and-by, and then, I think, you +will see that it is the true one. We have found that the logic of our +convictions could not be applied to the problem of domestic service. It is +everywhere a very curious and perplexing problem. The simple old solution +of the problem was to own your servants; but we found that this was not +consistent with the spirit of our free institutions. As soon as it was +abandoned the anomaly began. We had outlived the primitive period when the +housekeeper worked with her domestics and they were her help, and were +called so; and we had begun to have servants to do all the household work, +and to call them so. This state of things never seemed right to some of +our purest and best people. They fancied, as you seem to have done, that +to compel people through their necessities to do your hateful drudgery, +and to wound and shame them with a name which every American instinctively +resents, was neither republican nor Christian. Some of our thinkers tried +to mend matters by making their domestics a part of their families; and in +the life of Emerson you'll find an amusing account of his attempt to have +his servant eat at the same table with himself and his wife. It wouldn't +work. He and his wife could stand it, but the servant couldn't." + +I paused, for this was where the laugh ought to have come in. The +Altrurian did not laugh, he merely asked, "Why?" + +"Well, because the servant knew, if they didn't, that they were a whole +world apart in their traditions, and were no more fit to associate than +New-Englanders and New-Zealanders. In the mere matter of education--" + +"But I thought you said that these young girls who wait at table here were +teachers." + +"Oh, I beg your pardon; I ought to have explained. By this time it had +become impossible, as it now is, to get American girls to take service +except on some such unusual terms as we have in a summer hotel; and the +domestics were already ignorant foreigners, fit for nothing else. In such +a place as this it isn't so bad. It is more as if the girls worked in a +shop or a factory. They command their own time, in a measure, their hours +are tolerably fixed, and they have one another's society. In a private +family they would be subject to order at all times, and they would have no +social life. They would be in the family, out not of it. American girls +understand this, and so they won't go out to service in the usual way. +Even in a summer hotel the relation has its odious aspects. The system of +giving fees seems to me degrading to those who have to take them. To offer +a student or a teacher a dollar for personal service--it isn't right, or I +can't make it so. In fact, the whole thing is rather anomalous with us. +The best that you can say of it is that it works, and we don't know what +else to do." + +"But I don't see yet," said the Altrurian, "just why domestic service is +degrading in a country where all kinds of work are honored." + +"Well, my dear fellow, I have done my best to explain. As I intimated +before, we distinguish; and in the different kinds of labor we distinguish +against domestic service. I dare say it is partly because of the loss of +independence which it involves. People naturally despise a dependant." + +"Why?" asked the Altrurian, with that innocence of his which I was +beginning to find rather trying. + +"Why?" I retorted. "Because it implies weakness." + +"And is weakness considered despicable among you?" he pursued. + +"In every community it is despised practically, if not theoretically," I +tried to explain. "The great thing that America has done is to offer the +race an opportunity--the opportunity for any man to rise above the rest +and to take the highest place, if he is able." I had always been proud of +this fact, and I thought I had put it very well, but the Altrurian did not +seem much impressed by it. + +He said: "I do not see how it differs from any country of the past in +that. But perhaps you mean that to rise carries with it an obligation +to those below 'If any is first among you, let him be your servant.' Is it +something like that?" + +"Well, it is not quite like that," I answered, remembering how very little +our self-made men as a class had done for others. "Every one is expected +to look out for himself here. I fancy that there would be very little +rising if men were expected to rise for the sake of others, in America. +How is it with you in Altruria?" I demanded, hoping to get out of a +certain discomfort I felt in that way. "Do your risen men generally devote +themselves to the good of the community after they get to the top?" + +"There is no rising among us," he said, with what seemed a perception of +the harsh spirit of my question; and he paused a moment before he asked in +his turn: "How do men rise among you?" + +"That would be rather a long story," I replied. "But, putting it in the +rough, I should say that they rose by their talents, their shrewdness, +their ability to seize an advantage and turn it to their own account." + +"And is that considered noble?" + +"It is considered smart. It is considered at the worst far better than a +dead level of equality. Are all men equal in Altruria? Are they all alike +gifted or beautiful, or short or tall?" + +"No, they are only equal in duties and in rights. But, as you said just +now, that is a very long story. Are they equal in nothing here?" + +"They are equal in opportunities." + +"Ah!" breathed the Altrurian, "I am glad to hear that." + +I began to feel a little uneasy, and I was not quite sure that this last +assertion of mine would hold water. Everybody but ourselves had now left +the dining-room, and I saw the head-waiter eying us impatiently. I pushed +back my chair and said: "I'm sorry to seem to hurry you, but I should like +to show you a very pretty sunset effect we have here before it is too +dark. When we get back, I want to introduce you to a few of my friends. Of +course, I needn't tell you that there is a good deal of curiosity about +you, especially among the ladies." + +"Yes, I found that the case in England, largely. It was the women who +cared most to meet me. I understand that in America society is managed +even more by women than it is in England." + +"It's entirely in their hands," I said, with the satisfaction we all feel +in the fact. "We have no other leisure class. The richest men among us are +generally hard workers; devotion to business is the rule; but, as soon as +a man reaches the point where he can afford to pay for domestic service, +his wife and daughters expect to be released from it to the cultivation of +their minds and the enjoyment of social pleasures. It's quite right. +That is what makes them so delightful to foreigners. You must have heard +their praises chanted in England. The English find our men rather stupid, +I believe; but they think our women are charming." + +"Yes, I was told that the wives of their nobility were sometimes +Americans," said the Altrurian. "The English think that you regard such +marriages as a great honor, and that they are very gratifying to your +national pride." + +"Well, I suppose that is so in a measure," I confessed. "I imagine that it +will not be long before the English aristocracy derives as largely from +American millionaires as from kings' mistresses. Not," I added, +virtuously, "that we approve of aristocracy." + +"No, I understand that," said the Altrurian. "I shall hope to get your +point of view in this matter more distinctly by-and-by. As yet, I'm a +little vague about it." + +"I think I can gradually make it clear to you," I returned. + + + + +II + +We left the hotel, and I began to walk my friend across the meadow toward +the lake. I wished him to see the reflection of the afterglow in its still +waters, with the noble lines of the mountain-range that glassed itself +there; the effect is one of the greatest charms of that lovely region, the +sojourn of the sweetest summer in the world, and I am always impatient to +show it to strangers. + +We climbed the meadow wall and passed through a stretch of woods to a path +leading down to the shore, and, as we loitered along in the tender gloom +of the forest, the music of the hermit-thrushes rang all round us like +crystal bells, like silver flutes, like the drip of fountains, like the +choiring of still-eyed cherubim. We stopped from time to time and +listened, while the shy birds sang unseen in their covert of shadows; but +we did not speak till we emerged from the trees and suddenly stood upon +the naked knoll overlooking the lake. + +Then I explained: "The woods used to come down to the shore here, and we +had their mystery and music to the water's edge; but last winter the owner +cut the timber off. It looks rather ragged now." I had to recognize the +fact, for I saw the Altrurian staring about him over the clearing in a +kind of horror. It was a squalid ruin, a graceless desolation, which not +even the pitying twilight could soften. The stumps showed their hideous +mutilation everywhere; the brush had been burned, and the fires had +scorched and blackened the lean soil of the hill-slope and blasted it with +sterility. A few weak saplings, withered by the flames, drooped and +straggled about; it would be a century before the forces of nature could +repair the waste. + +"You say the owner did this?" said the Altrurian. "Who is the owner?" + +"Well, it does seem too bad," I answered, evasively. "There has been a +good deal of feeling about it. The neighbors tried to buy him off before +he began the destruction, for they knew the value of the woods as an +attraction to summer-boarders; the city cottagers, of course, wanted to +save them, and together they offered for the land pretty nearly as much as +the timber was worth. But he had got it into his head that the land here +by the lake would sell for building lots if it was cleared, and he could +make money on that as well as on the trees; and so they had to go. Of +course, one might say that he was deficient in public spirit, but I don't +blame him, altogether." + +"No," the Altrurian assented, somewhat to my surprise, I confess. + +I resumed: "There was no one else to look after his interests, and it was +not only his right but his duty to get the most he could for himself and +his own, according to his best light. That is what I tell people when they +fall foul of him for his want of public spirit." + +"The trouble seems to be, then, in the system that obliges each man to be +the guardian of his own interests. Is that what you blame?" + +"No, I consider it a very perfect system. It is based upon individuality, +and we believe that individuality is the principle that differences +civilized men from savages, from the lower animals, and makes us a nation +instead of a tribe or a herd. There isn't one of us, no matter how much he +censured this man's want of public spirit, but would resent the slightest +interference with his property rights. The woods were his; he had the +right to do what he pleased with his own." + +"Do I understand you that, in America, a man may do what is wrong with his +own?" + +"He may do anything with his own." + +"To the injury of others?" + +"Well, not in person or property. But he may hurt them in taste and +sentiment as much as he likes. Can't a man do what he pleases with his own +in Altruria?" + +"No, he can only do right with his own." + +"And if he tries to do wrong, or what the community thinks is wrong?" + +"Then the community takes his own from him." Before I could think of +anything to say to this he went on: "But I wish you would explain to me +why it was left to this man's neighbors to try and get him to sell his +portion of the landscape?" + +"Why, bless my soul!" I exclaimed, "who else was there? You wouldn't have +expected to take up a collection among the summer-boarders?" + +"That wouldn't have been so unreasonable; but I didn't mean that. Was +there no provision for such an exigency in your laws? Wasn't the state +empowered to buy him off at the full value of his timber and his land?" + +"Certainly not," I replied. "That would be rank paternalism." + +It began to get dark, and I suggested that we had better be going back +to the hotel. The talk seemed already to have taken us away from all +pleasure in the prospect; I said, as we found our way through the rich, +balsam-scented twilight of the woods, where one joy-haunted thrush was +still singing: "You know that in America the law is careful not to meddle +with a man's private affairs, and we don't attempt to legislate personal +virtue." + +"But marriage," he said--"surely you have the institution of marriage?" + +I was really annoyed at this. I returned, sarcastically; "Yes, I am glad +to say that there we can meet your expectation; we have marriage, not only +consecrated by the church, but established and defended by the state. +What has that to do with the question?" + +"And you consider marriage," he pursued, "the citadel of morality, the +fountain of all that is pure and good in your private life, the source of +home and the image of heaven?" + +"There are some marriages," I said, with a touch of our national humor, +"that do not quite fill the bill, but that is certainly our ideal of +marriage." + +"Then why do you say that you have not legislated personal virtue in +America?" he asked. "You have laws, I believe, against theft and murder, +and slander and incest, and perjury and drunkenness?" + +"Why, certainly." + +"Then it appears to me that you have legislated honesty, regard for human +life, regard for character, abhorrence of unnatural vice, good faith, and +sobriety. I was told on the train coming up, by a gentleman who was +shocked at the sight of a man beating his horse, that you even had laws +against cruelty to animals." + +"Yes, and I am happy to say that they are enforced to such a degree that a +man cannot kill a cat cruelly without being punished for it." The +Altrurian did not follow up his advantage, and I resolved not to be +outdone in magnanimity. "Come, I will own that you have the best of me on +those points. I must say you've trapped me very neatly, too; I can enjoy a +thing of that kind when it's well done, and I frankly knock under. But I +had in mind something altogether different when I spoke. I was thinking of +those idealists who want to bind us hand and foot and render us the slaves +of a state where the most intimate relations of life shall be penetrated +by legislation and the very hearthstone shall be a tablet of laws." + +"Isn't marriage a rather intimate relation of life?" asked the Altrurian. +"And I understood that gentleman on the train to say that you had laws +against cruelty to children, and societies established to see them +enforced. You don't consider such laws an invasion of the home, do you, or +a violation of its immunities? I imagine," he went on, "that the +difference between your civilization and ours is only one of degree, after +all, and that America and Altruria are really one at heart." + +I thought his compliment a bit hyperbolical, but I saw that it was +honestly meant, and as we Americans are first of all patriots, and vain +for our country before we are vain for ourselves, I was not proof against +the flattery it conveyed to me civically if not personally. + +We were now drawing near the hotel, and I felt a certain glow of pleasure +in its gay effect on the pretty knoll where it stood. In its artless and +accidental architecture it was not unlike one of our immense coastwise +steamboats. The twilight had thickened to dusk, and the edifice was +brilliantly lighted with electrics, story above story, which streamed into +the gloom around like the lights of saloon and state-room. The corner of +wood making into the meadow hid the station; there was no other building +in sight; the hotel seemed riding at anchor on the swell of a placid sea. +I was going to call the Altrurian's attention to this fanciful resemblance +when I remembered that he had not been in our country long enough to have +seen a Fall River boat, and I made toward the house without wasting the +comparison upon him. But I treasured it up in my own mind, intending some +day to make a literary use of it. + +The guests were sitting in friendly groups about the piazzas or in rows +against the walls, the ladies with their gossip and the gentlemen with +their cigars. The night had fallen cool after a hot day, and they all had +the effect of having cast off care with the burden of the week that was +past, and to be steeping themselves in the innocent and simple enjoyment +of the hour. They were mostly middle-aged married folk, but some were old +enough to have sons and daughters among the young people who went and came +in a long, wandering promenade of the piazzas, or wove themselves through +the waltz past the open windows of the great parlor; the music seemed one +with the light that streamed far out on the lawn flanking the piazzas. +Every one was well-dressed and comfortable and at peace, and I felt that +our hotel was in some sort a microcosm of the republic. + +We involuntarily paused, and I heard the Altrurian murmur: "Charming, +charming! This is really delightful!" + +"Yes, isn't it?" I returned, with a glow of pride. "Our hotel here is a +type of the summer hotel everywhere; it's characteristic in not having +anything characteristic about it; and I rather like the notion of the +people in it being so much like the people in all the others that you +would feel yourself at home wherever you met such a company in such a +house. All over the country, north and south, wherever you find a group of +hills or a pleasant bit of water or a stretch of coast, you'll find some +such refuge as this for our weary toilers. We began to discover some time +ago that it would not do to cut open the goose that laid our golden eggs, +even if it looked like an eagle, and kept on perching on our banners just +as if nothing had happened. We discovered that, if we continued to kill +ourselves with hard work, there would be no Americans pretty soon." + +The Altrurian laughed. "How delightfully you put it! How quaint! How +picturesque! Excuse me, but I can't help expressing my pleasure in it. Our +own humor is so very different." + +"Ah," I said; "what is your humor like?" + +"I could hardly tell you, I'm afraid; I've never been much of a humorist +myself." + +Again a cold doubt of something ironical in the man went through me, but I +had no means of verifying it, and so I simply remained silent, waiting for +him to prompt me if he wished to know anything further about our national +transformation from bees perpetually busy into butterflies occasionally +idle. "And when you had made that discovery?" he suggested. + +"Why, we're nothing if not practical, you know, and as soon as we made +that discovery we stopped killing ourselves and invented the summer +resort. There are very few of our business or professional men now who +don't take their four or five weeks' vacation. Their wives go off early in +the summer, and, if they go to some resort within three or four hours of +the city, the men leave town Saturday afternoon and run out, or come up, +and spend Sunday with their families. For thirty-eight hours or so a hotel +like this is a nest of happy homes." + +"That is admirable," said the Altrurian. "You are truly a practical +people. The ladies come early in the summer, you say?" + +"Yes, sometimes in the beginning of June." + +"What do they come for?" asked the Altrurian. + +"What for? Why, for rest!" I retorted, with some little temper. + +"But I thought you told me awhile ago that as soon as a husband could +afford it he relieved his wife and daughters from all household work." + +"So he does." + +"Then what do the ladies wish to rest from?" + +"From care. It is not work alone that kills. They are not relieved from +household care even when they are relieved from household work. There is +nothing so killing as household care. Besides, the sex seems to be born +tired. To be sure, there are some observers of our life who contend that +with the advance of athletics among our ladies, with boating and bathing, +and lawn-tennis and mountain-climbing and freedom from care, and these +long summers of repose, our women are likely to become as superior to the +men physically as they now are intellectually. It is all right. We should +like to see it happen. It would be part of the national joke." + +"Oh, have you a national joke?" asked the Altrurian. "But, of course! You +have so much humor. I wish you could give me some notion of it." + +"Well, it is rather damaging to any joke to explain it," I replied, "and +your only hope of getting at ours is to live into it. One feature of it is +the confusion of foreigners at the sight of our men's willingness to +subordinate themselves to our women." + +"Oh, I don't find that very bewildering," said the Altrurian. "It seems to +me a generous and manly trait of the American character. I'm proud to say +that it is one of the points at which your civilization and our own touch. +There can be no doubt that the influence of women in your public affairs +must be of the greatest advantage to you; it has been so with us." + +I turned and stared at him, but he remained insensible to my astonishment, +perhaps because it was now too dark for him to see it. "Our women have no +influence in public affairs," I said, quietly, after a moment. + +"They haven't? Is it possible? But didn't I understand you to imply just +now that your women were better educated than your men?" + +"Well, I suppose that, taking all sorts and conditions among us, the women +are as a rule better schooled, if not better educated." + +"Then, apart from the schooling, they are not more cultivated?" + +"In a sense you might say they were. They certainly go in for a lot of +things: art and music, and Browning and the drama, and foreign travel and +psychology, and political economy and Heaven knows what all. They have +more leisure for it; they have all the leisure there is, in fact; our +young men have to go into business. I suppose you may say our women are +more cultivated than our men; yes, I think there's no questioning that. +They are the great readers among us. We poor devils of authors would be +badly off if it were not for our women. In fact, no author could make a +reputation among us without them. American literature exists because +American women appreciate it and love it." + +"But surely your men read books?" + +"Some of them; not many, comparatively. You will often hear a complacent +ass of a husband and father say to an author: 'My wife and daughters know +your books, but I can't find time for anything but the papers nowadays. I +skim them over at breakfast, or when I'm going in to business on the +train.' He isn't the least ashamed to say that he reads nothing but the +newspapers." + +"Then you think that it would be better for him to read books?" + +"Well, in the presence of four or five thousand journalists with drawn +scalping-knives I should not like to say so. Besides, modesty forbids." + +"No, but, really," the Altrurian persisted, "you think that the literature +of a book is more carefully pondered than the literature of a daily +newspaper?" + +"I suppose even the four or five thousand journalists with drawn +scalping-knives would hardly deny that." + +"And it stands to reason, doesn't it, that the habitual reader of +carefully pondered literature ought to be more thoughtful than the readers +of literature which is not carefully pondered and which they merely skim +over on their way to business?" + +"I believe we began by assuming the superior culture of our women, didn't +we? You'll hardly find an American that isn't proud of it." + +"Then," said the Altrurian, "if your women are generally better schooled +than your men, and more cultivated and more thoughtful, and are relieved +of household work in such great measure, and even of domestic cares, why +have they no part in your public affairs?" + +I laughed, for I thought I had my friend at last. "For the best of all +possible reasons: they don't want it." + +"Ah, that's no reason," he returned. "Why don't they want it?" + +"Really," I said, out of all patience, "I think I must let you ask the +ladies themselves," and I turned and moved again toward the hotel, but the +Altrurian gently detained me. + +"Excuse me," he began. + +"No, no," I said. + "'The feast is set, the guests are met, + May'st hear the merry din.' +Come in and see the young people dance." + +"Wait," he entreated; "tell me a little more about the old people first. +This digression about the ladies has been very interesting, but I thought +you were going to speak of the men here. Who are they, or, rather, what +are they?" + +"Why, as I said before, they are all business men and professional men; +people who spend their lives in studies and counting-rooms and offices, +and have come up here for a few weeks or a few days of well-earned repose. +They are of all kinds of occupations: they are lawyers and doctors, and +clergymen and merchants, and brokers and bankers. There's hardly any +calling you Won't find represented among them. As I was thinking +just now, our hotel is a sort of microcosm of the American republic." + +"I am most fortunate in finding you here, where I can avail myself of your +intelligence in making my observations of your life under such +advantageous circumstances. It seems to me that with your help I might +penetrate the fact of American life, possess myself of the mystery of your +national joke, without stirring beyond the piazza of your hospitable +hotel," said my friend. I doubted it, but one does not lightly put aside a +compliment like that to one's intelligence, and I said I should be very +happy to be of use to him. He thanked me, and said: "Then, to begin with, +I understand that these gentlemen are here because they are all +overworked." + +"Of course. You can have no conception of how hard our business men and +our professional men work. I suppose there is nothing like it anywhere +else in the world. But, as I said before, we are beginning to find that we +cannot burn the candle at both ends and have it last long. So we put one +end out for a little while every summer. Still, there are frightful wrecks +of men strewn all along the course of our prosperity, wrecks of mind and +body. Our insane asylums are full of madmen who have broken under the +tremendous strain, and every country in Europe abounds in our dyspeptics." +I was rather proud of this terrible fact; there is no doubt but we +Americans are proud of overworking ourselves; Heaven knows why. + +The Altrurian murmured: "Awful! Shocking!" But I thought somehow he had +not really followed me very attentively in my celebration of our national +violation of the laws of life and its consequences. "I am glad," he went +on, "that your business men and professional men are beginning to realize +the folly and wickedness of overwork. Shall I find some of your other +weary workers here, too?" + +"What other weary workers?" I asked in turn, for I imagined I had gone +over pretty much the whole list. + +"Why," said the Altrurian, "your mechanics and day laborers, your +iron-moulders and glass-blowers, your miners and farmers, your printers +and mill-operatives, your trainmen and quarry-hands. Or do they prefer to +go to resorts of their own?" + + + + +III + +It was not easy to make sure of such innocence as prompted this inquiry of +my Altrurian friend. The doubt whether he could really be in earnest was +something that I had already felt; and it was destined to beset me, as it +did now, again and again. My first thought was that, of course, he was +trying a bit of cheap irony on me, a mixture of the feeble sarcasm and +false sentiment that makes us smile when we find it in the philippics of +the industrial agitators. For a moment I did not know but I had fallen +victim to a walking delegate on his vacation, who was employing his summer +leisure in going about the country in the guise of a traveler from +Altruria, and foisting himself upon people who would have had nothing to +do with him in his real character. But in another moment I perceived that +this was impossible. I could not suppose that the friend who had +introduced him to me would be capable of seconding so poor a joke, and, +besides, I could not imagine why a walking delegate should wish to address +his clumsy satire to me particularly. For the present, at least, there was +nothing for it but to deal with this inquiry as if it were made in good +faith and in the pursuit of useful information. It struck me as grotesque; +but it would not have been decent to treat it as if it were so. I was +obliged to regard it seriously, and so I decided to shirk it. + +"Well," I said, "that opens up rather a large field, which lies somewhat +outside of the province of my own activities. You know, I am a writer of +romantic fiction, and my time is so fully occupied in manipulating the +destinies of the good old-fashioned hero and heroine, and trying always to +make them end in a happy marriage, that I have hardly had a chance to look +much into the lives of agriculturists or artisans; and, to tell you the +truth, I don't know what they do with their leisure. I'm pretty certain, +though, you won't meet any of them in this hotel; they couldn't afford it, +and I fancy they would find themselves out of their element among our +guests. We respect them thoroughly; every American does, and we know that +the prosperity of the country rests with them; we have a theory that they +are politically sovereign, but we see very little of them, and we don't +associate with them. In fact, our cultivated people have so little +interest in them socially that they don't like to meet them, even in +fiction; they prefer refined and polished ladies and gentlemen, whom they +can have some sympathy with; and I always go to the upper classes for my +types. It won't do to suppose, though, that we are indifferent to the +working classes in their place. Their condition is being studied a good +deal just now, and there are several persons here who will be able to +satisfy your curiosity on the points you have made, I think. I will +introduce you to them." + +The Altrurian did not try to detain me this time. He said he should be +very glad indeed to meet my friends, and I led the way toward a little +group at the corner of the piazza. They were men whom I particularly +liked, for one reason or another; they were intelligent and open-minded, +and they were thoroughly American. One was a banker; another was a +minister; there was a lawyer, and there was a doctor; there was a +professor of political economy in one of our colleges; and there was a +retired manufacturer--I do not know what he used to manufacture: cotton or +iron, or something like that. They all rose politely as I came up with my +Altrurian, and I fancied in them a sensation of expectancy created by the +rumor of his eccentric behavior which must have spread through the hotel. +But they controlled this if they had it, and I could see, as the light +fell upon his face from a spray of electrics on the nearest pillar, that +sort of liking kindle in theirs which I had felt myself at first sight of +him. + +I said, "Gentlemen, I wish to introduce my friend, Mr. Homos," and then I +presented them severally to him by name. We all sat down, and I explained: +"Mr. Homos is from Altruria. He is visiting our country for the first +time, and is greatly interested in the working of our institutions. He has +been asking me some rather hard questions about certain phases of our +civilization; and the fact is that I have launched him upon you because I +don't feel quite able to cope with him." + +They all laughed civilly at this sally of mine, but the professor asked, +with a sarcasm that I thought I hardly merited, "What point in our polity +can be obscure to the author of 'Glove and Gauntlet' and 'Airs and +Graces'?" + +They all laughed again, not so civilly, I felt, and then the banker asked +my friend: "Is it long since you left Altruria?" + +"It seems a great while ago," the Altrurian answered, "but it is really +only a few weeks." + +"You came by way of England, I suppose?" + +"Yes; there is no direct line to America," said the Altrurian. + +"That seems rather odd," I ventured, with some patriotic grudge. + +"Oh, the English have direct lines everywhere," the banker instructed me. + +"The tariff has killed our shipbuilding," said the professor. No one took +up this firebrand, and the professor added: "Your name is Greek, isn't it, +Mr. Homos?" + +"Yes; we are of one of the early Hellenic families," said the Altrurian. + +"And do you think," asked the lawyer, who, like most lawyers, was a lover +of romance, and was well read in legendary lore especially, "that there is +any reason for supposing that Altruria is identical with the fabled +Atlantis'?" + +"No, I can't say that I do. We have no traditions of a submergence of the +continent, and there are only the usual evidences of a glacial epoch which +you find everywhere to support such a theory. Besides, our civilization is +strictly Christian, and dates back to no earlier period than that of the +first Christian commune after Christ. It is a matter of history with us +that one of these communists, when they were dispersed, brought the Gospel +to our continent; he was cast away on our eastern coast on his way to +Britain." + +"Yes, we know that," the minister intervened, "but it is perfectly +astonishing that an island so large as Altruria should have been lost to +the knowledge of the rest of the world ever since the beginning of our +era. You would hardly think that there was a space of the ocean's surface +a mile square which had not been traversed by a thousand keels since +Columbus sailed westward." + +"No, you wouldn't. And I wish," the doctor suggested in his turn, "that +Mr. Homos would tell us something about his country, instead of asking us +about ours." + +"Yes," I coincided, "I'm sure we should all find it a good deal easier. At +least I should; but I brought our friend up in the hope that the professor +would like nothing better than to train a battery of hard facts upon a +defenceless stranger." Since the professor had given me that little stab, +I was rather anxious to see how he would handle the desire for information +in the Altrurian which I had found so prickly. + +This turned the laugh on the professor, and he pretended to be as curious +about Altruria as the rest, and said he would rather hear of it. But the +Altrurian said: "I hope you will excuse me. Sometime I shall be glad to +talk of Altruria as long as you like; or, if you will come to us, I shall +be still happier to show you many things that I couldn't make you +understand at a distance. But I am in America to learn, not to teach, and +I hope you will have patience with my ignorance. I begin to be afraid that +it is so great as to seem a little incredible. I have fancied in my friend +here," he went on, with a smile toward me, "a suspicion that I was not +entirely single in some of the inquiries I have made, but that I had some +ulterior motive, some wish to censure or satirize." + +"Oh, not at all," I protested, for it was not polite to admit a conjecture +so accurate. "We are so well satisfied with our condition that we have +nothing but pity for the darkened mind of the foreigner, though we believe +in it fully: we are used to the English tourist." + +My friends laughed, and the Altrurian continued: "I am very glad to hear +it, for I feel myself at a peculiar disadvantage among you. I am not only +a foreigner, but I am so alien to you in all the traditions and habitudes +that I find it very difficult to get upon common ground with you. Of +course, I know theoretically what you are, but to realize it practically +is another thing. I had read so much about America and understood so +little that I could not rest without coming to see for myself. Some of the +apparent contradictions were so colossal--" + +"We have everything on a large scale here," said the banker, breaking off +the ash of his cigar with the end of his little finger, "and we rather +pride ourselves on the size of our inconsistencies, even. I know something +of the state of things in Altruria, and, to be frank with you, I will say +that it seems to me preposterous. I should say it was impossible, if it +were not an accomplished fact; but I always feel bound to recognize the +thing done. You have hitched your wagon to a star, and you have made the +star go; there is never any trouble with wagons, but stars are not easily +broken to harness, and you have managed to get yours well in hand. As I +said, I don't believe in you, but I respect you." I thought this charming, +myself; perhaps because it stated my own mind about Altruria so exactly +and in terms so just and generous. + +"Pretty good," said the doctor, in a murmur of satisfaction, at my ear, +"for a bloated bond-holder." + +"Yes," I whispered back, "I wish I had said it. What an American way of +putting it! Emerson would have liked it himself. After all, he was our +prophet." + +"He must have thought so from the way we kept stoning him," said the +doctor, with a soft laugh. + +"Which of our contradictions," asked the banker, in the same tone of +gentle bonhomie, "has given you and our friend pause just now?" + +The Altrurian answered, after a moment: "I am not sure that it is a +contradiction, for as yet I have not ascertained the facts I was seeking. +Our friend was telling me of the great change that had taken place +in regard to work, and the increased leisure that your professional people +are now allowing themselves; and I was asking him where your working-men +spent their leisure." + +He went over the list of those he had specified, and I hung my head in +shame and pity; it really had such an effect of mawkish sentimentality. +But my friends received it in the best possible way. They did not laugh; +they heard him out, and then they quietly deferred to the banker, who made +answer for us all: + +"Well, I can be almost as brief as the historian of Iceland in his chapter +on snakes: those people have no leisure to spend." + +"Except when they go out on a strike," said the manufacturer, with a +certain grim humor of his own; I never heard anything more dramatic than +the account he once gave of the way he broke up a labor union. "I have +seen a good many of them at leisure then." + +"Yes," the doctor chimed in, "and in my younger days, when I necessarily +had a good deal of charity practice, I used to find them at leisure when +they were 'laid off.' It always struck me as such a pretty euphemism. It +seemed to minify the harm of the thing so. It seemed to take all the +hunger and cold and sickness out of the fact. To be simply 'laid off' was +so different from losing your work and having to face beggary or +starvation." + +"Those people," said the professor, "never put anything by. They are +wasteful and improvident, almost to a man; and they learn nothing by +experience, though they know as well as we do that it is simply a question +of demand and supply, and that the day of overproduction is sure to come, +when their work must stop unless the men that give them work are willing +to lose money." + +"And I've seen them lose it, sometimes, rather than shut down," the +manufacturer remarked; "lose it hand over hand, to keep the men at work; +and then as soon as the tide turned the men would strike for higher wages. +You have no idea of the ingratitude of those people." He said this toward +the minister, as if he did not wish to be thought hard; and, in fact, he +was a very kindly man. + +"Yes," replied the minister, "that is one of the most sinister features of +the situation. They seem really to regard their employers as their +enemies. I don't know how it will end." + +"I know how it would end if I had my way," said the professor. "There +wouldn't be any labor unions, and there wouldn't be any strikes." + +"That is all very well," said the lawyer, from that judicial mind which I +always liked in him, "as far as the strikes are concerned, but I don't +understand that the abolition of the unions would affect the impersonal +process of 'laying off.' The law of demand and supply I respect as much as +any one--it's something like the constitution; but, all the same, I should +object extremely to have my income stopped by it every now and then. I'm +probably not so wasteful as a working-man generally is; still, I haven't +laid by enough to make it a matter of indifference to me whether my income +went on or not. Perhaps the professor has." The professor did not say, and +we all took leave to laugh. The lawyer concluded: "I don't see how those +fellows stand it." + +"They don't, all of them," said the doctor. "Or their wives and children +don't. Some of them die." + +"I wonder," the lawyer pursued, "what has become of the good old American +fact that there is always work for those who are willing to work? I notice +that wherever five thousand men strike in the forenoon, there are five +thousand men to take their places in the afternoon--and not men who are +turning their hands to something new, but men who are used to doing the +very thing the strikers have done." + +"That is one of the things that teach the futility of strikes," the +professor made haste to interpose, as if he had not quite liked to appear +averse to the interests of the workman; no one likes to do that. "If there +were anything at all to be hoped from them, it would be another matter." + +"Yes, but that isn't the point, quite," said the lawyer. + +"By-the-way, what is the point?" I asked, with my humorous lightness. + +"Why, I supposed," said the banker, "it was the question how the working +classes amused their elegant leisure. But it seems to be almost anything +else." + +We all applauded the neat touch, but the Altrurian eagerly entreated: +"No, no; never mind that now. That is a matter of comparatively little +interest. I would so much rather know something about the status of the +working-man among you." + +"Do you mean his political status? It's that of every other citizen." + +"I don't mean that. I suppose that in America you have learned, as we have +in Altruria, that equal political rights are only means to an end, and as +an end have no value or reality. I meant the economic status of the +working-man, and his social status." + +I do not know why we were so long girding up our loins to meet this simple +question. I myself could not have hopefully undertaken to answer it; but +the others were each in their way men of affairs, and practically +acquainted with the facts, except perhaps the professor; but he had +devoted a great deal of thought to them, and ought to have been qualified +to make some sort of response. But even he was silent; and I had a vague +feeling that they were all somehow reluctant to formulate their knowledge, +as if it were uncomfortable or discreditable. The banker continued to +smoke quietly on for a moment; then he suddenly threw his cigar away. + +"I like to free my mind of cant," he said, with a short laugh, "when I can +afford it, and I propose to cast all sorts of American cant out of it in +answering your question. The economic status of the working-man among us +is essentially the same as that of the working-man all over the civilized +world. You will find plenty of people here, especially about election +time, to tell you differently, but they will not be telling you the truth, +though a great many of them think they are. In fact, I suppose most +Americans honestly believe because we have a republican form of +government, and manhood suffrage, and so on, that our economic conditions +are peculiar, and that our working-man has a status higher and better than +that of the working-man anywhere else. But he has nothing of the kind. His +circumstances are better, and provisionally his wages are higher, but it +is only a question of years or decades when his circumstances will be the +same and his wages the same as the European working-man's. There is +nothing in our conditions to prevent this." + +"Yes, I understood from our friend here," said the Altrurian, nodding +toward me, "that you had broken only with the political tradition of +Europe in your Revolution; and he has explained to me that you do not hold +all kinds of labor in equal esteem; but--" + +"What kind of labor did he say we did hold in esteem?" asked the banker. + +"Why, I understood him to say that if America meant anything at all it +meant the honor of work, but that you distinguished and did not honor some +kinds of work so much as others; for instance, domestic service, or +personal attendance of any kind." + +The banker laughed again. "Oh, he drew the line there, did he? Well, we +all have to draw the line somewhere. Our friend is a novelist, and I will +tell you in strict confidence that the line he has drawn is imaginary. We +don't honor any kind of work any more than any other people. If a fellow +gets up, the papers make a great ado over his having been a woodchopper or +a bobbin-boy, or something of that kind, but I doubt if the fellow himself +likes it; he doesn't if he's got any sense. The rest of us feel that it's +_infra dig._, and hope nobody will find out that we ever worked with our +hands for a living. I'll go further," said the banker, with the effect of +whistling prudence down the wind, "and I will challenge any of you to +gainsay me from his own experience or observation. How does esteem usually +express itself? When we wish, to honor a man, what do we do?" + +"Ask him to dinner," said the lawyer. + +"Exactly. We offer him some sort of social recognition. Well, as soon as a +fellow gets up, if he gets up high enough, we offer him some sort of +social recognition; in fact, all sorts; but upon condition that he has +left off working with his hands for a living. We forgive all you please to +his past on account of the present. But there isn't a working-man, I +venture to say, in any city or town, or even large village, in the whole +length and breadth of the United States who has any social recognition, if +he is still working at his trade. I don't mean, merely, that he is +excluded from rich and fashionable society, but from the society of the +average educated and cultivated people. I'm not saying he is fit for it; +but I don't care how intelligent and agreeable he might be--and some of +them are astonishingly intelligent, and so agreeable in their tone of mind +and their original way of looking at things that I like nothing better +than to talk with them--all of our invisible fences are up against him." + +The minister said: "I wonder if that sort of exclusiveness is quite +natural? Children seem to feel no sort of social difference among +themselves." + +"We can hardly go to children for a type of social order," the professor +suggested. + +"True," the minister meekly admitted. "But somehow there is a protest in +us somewhere against these arbitrary distinctions--something that +questions whether they are altogether right. We know that they must be, +and always have been, and always will be, and yet--well, I will confess +it--I never feel at peace when I face them." + +"Oh," said the banker, "if you come to the question of right and wrong, +that is another matter. I don't say it's right. I'm not discussing that +question; though I'm certainly not proposing to level the fences; I should +be the last to take my own down. I say simply that you are no more likely +to meet a working-man in American society than you are to meet a colored +man. Now you can judge," he ended, turning directly to the Altrurian, "how +much we honor labor. And I hope I have indirectly satisfied your curiosity +as to the social status of the working-man among us." + +We were all silent. + +Perhaps the others were occupied like myself in trying to recall some +instance of a working-man whom they had met in society, and perhaps we +said nothing because we all failed. + +The Altrurian spoke at last. + +"You have been so very full and explicit that I feel as if it were almost +unseemly to press any further inquiry; but I should very much like to know +how your working-men bear this social exclusion." + +"I'm sure I can't say," returned the banker. "A man does not care much to +get into society until he has something to eat, and how to get that is +always the first question with the working-man." + +"But you wouldn't like it yourself?" + +"No, certainly, I shouldn't like it myself. I shouldn't complain of not +being asked to people's houses, and the working-men don't; you can't do +that; but I should feel it an incalculable loss. We may laugh at the +emptiness of society, or pretend to be sick of it, but there is no doubt +that society is the flower of civilization, and to be shut out from it is +to be denied the best privilege of a civilized man. There are society +women--we have all met them--whose graciousness and refinement of presence +are something of incomparable value; it is more than a liberal education +to have been admitted to it, but it is as inaccessible to the working-man +as--what shall I say? The thing is too grotesquely impossible for any sort +of comparison. Merely to conceive of its possibility is something that +passes a joke; it is a kind of offence." + +Again we were silent. + +"I don't know," the banker continued, "how the notion of our social +equality originated, but I think it has been fostered mainly by the +expectation of foreigners, who argued it from our political equality. +As a matter of fact, it never existed, except in our poorest and most +primitive communities, in the pioneer days of the West and among the +gold-hunters of California. It was not dreamed of in our colonial society, +either in Virginia or Pennsylvania or New York or Massachusetts; and the +fathers of the republic, who were mostly slave-holders, were practically +as stiff-necked aristocrats as any people of their day. We have not a +political aristocracy, that is all; but there is as absolute a division +between the orders of men and as little love, in this country as in any +country on the globe. The severance of the man who works for his living +with his hands from the man who does not work for his living with his +hands is so complete, and apparently so final, that nobody even imagines +anything else, not even in fiction. Or, how is that?" he asked, turning to +me. "Do you fellows still put the intelligent, high-spirited, handsome +young artisan, who wins the millionaire's daughter, into your books? I +used sometimes to find him there." + +"You might still find him in the fiction of the weekly story-papers; but," +I was obliged to own, "he would not go down with my readers. Even in the +story-paper fiction he would leave off working as soon as he married the +millionaire's daughter, and go to Europe, or he would stay here and become +a social leader, but he would not receive working-men in his gilded +halls." + +The others rewarded my humor with a smile, but the banker said: "Then I +wonder you were not ashamed of filling our friend up with that stuff about +our honoring some kinds of labor. It is true that we don't go about openly +and explicitly despising any kind of honest toil--people don't do that +anywhere now; but we contemn it in terms quite as unmistakable. The +working-man acquiesces as completely as anybody else. He does not remain a +working-man a moment longer that he can help; and after he gets up, if he +is weak enough to be proud of having been one, it is because he feels that +his low origin is a proof of his prowess in rising to the top against +unusual odds. I don't suppose there is a man in the whole civilized +world--outside of Altruria, of course---who is proud of working at a +trade, except the shoemaker Tolstoy, and is a count, and he does not make +very good shoes." + +We all laughed again: those shoes of Count Tolstoy's are always such an +infallible joke. + +The Altrurian, however, was cocked and primed with another question; he +instantly exploded it: "But are all the working-men in America eager to +rise above their condition? Is there none willing to remain among the mass +because the rest could not rise with him, and from the hope of yet +bringing labor to honor?" + +The banker answered: "I never heard of any. No, the American ideal is not +to change the conditions for all, but for each to rise above the rest if +he can." + +"Do you think it is really so bad as that?" asked the minister, timidly. + +The banker answered: "Bad? Do you call that bad? I thought it was very +good. But, good or bad, I don't think you'll find it deniable, if you +look into the facts. There may be working-men willing to remain so for +other working-men's sake, but I have never met any--perhaps because the +working-man never goes into society." + +The unfailing question of the Altrurian broke the silence which ensued: +"Are there many of your working-men who are intelligent and agreeable--of +the type you mentioned a moment since?" + +"Perhaps," said the banker, "I had better refer you to one of our friends +here, who has had a great deal more to do with them than I have. He is a +manufacturer, and he has had to do with all kinds of work-people." + +"Yes, for my sins," the manufacturer assented; and he added: "They are +often confoundedly intelligent, though I haven't often found them very +agreeable, either in their tone of mind or their original way of looking +at things." + +The banker amiably acknowledged his thrust, and the Altrurian asked: "Ah, +they are opposed to your own?" + +"Well, we have the same trouble here that you must have heard of in +England. As you know now that the conditions are the same here, you won't +be surprised at the fact." + +"But the conditions," the Altrurian pursued--"do you expect them always to +continue the same?" + +"Well, I don't know," said the manufacturer. "We can't expect them to +change of themselves, and I shouldn't know how to change them. It was +expected that the rise of the trusts and the syndicates would break the +unions, but somehow they haven't. The situation remains the same. The +unions are not cutting one another's throats now any more than we are. The +war is on a larger scale--that's all." + +"Then let me see," said the Altrurian, "whether I clearly understand the +situation as regards the working-man in America. He is dependent upon the +employer for his chance to earn a living, and he is never sure of this. He +may be thrown out of work by his employer's disfavor or disaster, and his +willingness to work goes for nothing; there is no public provision of work +for him; there is nothing to keep him from want nor the prospect of +anything." + +"We are all in the same boat," said the professor. + +"But some of us have provisioned ourselves rather better and can generally +weather it through till we are picked up," the lawyer put in. + +"I am always saying the working-man is improvident," returned the +professor. + +"There are the charities," the minister suggested. + +"But his economical status," the Altrurian pursued, "is in a state of +perpetual uncertainty, and to save himself in some measure he has +organized, and so has constituted himself a danger to the public peace?" + +"A very great danger," said the professor. + +"I guess we can manage him," the manufacturer remarked. + +"And socially he is non-existent?" + +The Altrurian turned with this question to the banker, who said: "He is +certainly not in society." + +"Then," said my guest, "if the working-man's wages are provisionally so +much better here than in Europe, why should they be discontented? What is +the real cause of their discontent?" + +I have always been suspicious, in the company of practical men, of an +atmosphere of condescension to men of my calling, if nothing worse. I +fancy they commonly regard artists of all kinds as a sort of harmless +eccentrics, and that literary people they look upon as something droll, as +weak and soft, as not quite right. I believed that this particular group, +indeed, was rather abler to conceive of me as a rational person than most +others, but I knew that if even they had expected me to be as reasonable +as themselves they would not have been greatly disappointed if I were not; +and it seemed to me that I had put myself wrong with them in imparting to +the Altrurian that romantic impression that we hold labor in honor here. I +had really thought so, but I could not say so now, and I wished to +retrieve myself somehow. I wished to show that I was a practical man, too, +and so I made answer: "What is the cause of the working-man's discontent? +It is very simple: the walking delegate." + + + + +IV + +I suppose I could not have fairly claimed any great originality for my +notion that the walking delegate was the cause of the labor troubles: he +is regularly assigned as the reason of a strike in the newspapers, and is +reprobated for his evil agency by the editors, who do not fail to read the +working-men many solemn lessons and fervently warn them against him, as +soon as the strike begins to go wrong--as it nearly always does. I +understand from them that the walking delegate is an irresponsible tyrant, +who emerges from the mystery that habitually hides him and from time to +time orders a strike in mere rancor of spirit and plenitude of power, and +then leaves the working-men and their families to suffer the consequences, +while he goes off somewhere and rolls in the lap of luxury, careless of +the misery he has created. Between his debauches of vicious idleness and +his accesses of baleful activity he is employed in poisoning the mind of +the working-men against his real interests and real friends. This is +perfectly easy, because the American working-man, though singularly shrewd +and sensible in other respects, is the victim of an unaccountable +obliquity of vision which keeps him from seeing his real interests and +real friends--or, at least, from knowing them when he sees them. + +There could be no doubt, I thought, in the mind of any reasonable person +that the walking delegate was the source of the discontent among our +proletariate, and I alleged him with a confidence which met the approval +of the professor, apparently, for he nodded, as if to say that I had hit +the nail on the head this time; and the minister seemed to be freshly +impressed with a notion that could not be new to him. The lawyer and the +doctor were silent, as if waiting for the banker to speak again; but he +was silent, too. The manufacturer, to my chagrin, broke into a laugh. "I'm +afraid," he said, with a sardonic levity which surprised me, "you'll have +to go a good deal deeper than the walking delegate. He's a symptom; he +isn't the disease. The thing keeps on and on, and it seems to be always +about wages; but it isn't about wages at the bottom. Some of those fellows +know it and some of them don't, but the real discontent is with the whole +system, with the nature of things. I had a curious revelation on that +point the last time I tried to deal with my men as a union. They were +always bothering me about this and about that, and there was no end to the +bickering. I yielded point after point, but it didn't make any difference. +It seemed as if the more I gave the more they asked. At last I made up my +mind to try to get at the real inwardness of the matter, and I didn't wait +for their committee to come to me--I sent for their leading man, and said +I wanted to have it out with him. He wasn't a bad fellow, and when I got +at him, man to man that way, I found he had sense, and he had ideas--it's +no use pretending those fellows are fools; he had thought about his side +of the question, anyway. I said: 'Now what does it all mean? Do you want +the earth, or don't you? When is it going to end?' I offered him something +to take, but he said he didn't drink, and we compromised on cigars. 'Now +when is it going to end?' said I, and I pressed it home, and wouldn't let +him fight off from the point. 'Do you mean when is it all going to end?' +said he. 'Yes,' said I, 'all. I'm sick of it. If there's any way out I'd +like to know it.' 'Well,' said he, 'I'll tell you, if you want to know. +It's all going to end when you get the same amount of money for the same +amount of work as we do.'" + +We all laughed uproariously. The thing was deliciously comical; and +nothing, I thought, attested the Altrurian's want of humor like his +failure to appreciate this joke. He did not even smile in asking: "And +what did you say?" + +"Well," returned the manufacturer, with cosey enjoyment, "I asked him if +the men would take the concern and run it themselves." We laughed again; +this seemed even better than the other joke. "But he said, 'No'; they +would not like to do that. And then I asked him just what they would like, +if they could have their own way, and he said they would like to have me +run the business, and all share alike. I asked him what was the sense of +that, and why, if I could do something that all of them put together +couldn't do, I shouldn't be paid more than all of them put together; and +he said that if a man did his best he ought to be paid as much as the best +man. I asked him if that was the principle their union was founded on, and +he said, 'Yes,' that the very meaning of their union was the protection of +the weak by the strong and the equalization of earnings among all who do +their best." + +We waited for the manufacturer to go on, but he made a dramatic pause at +this point, as if to let it sink into our minds; and he did not speak +until the Altrurian prompted him with the question, "And what did you +finally do?" + +"I saw there was only one way out for me, and I told the fellow I did not +think I could do business on that principle. We parted friends, but the +next Saturday I locked them out and smashed their union. They came back, +most of them--they had to--but I've treated with them ever since 'as +individuals.'" + +"And they're much better off in your hands than they were in the union," +said the professor. + +"I don't know about that," said the manufacturer, "but I'm sure I am." + +We laughed with him, all but the minister, whose mind seemed to have +caught upon some other point, and who sat absently by. + +"And is it your opinion, from what you know of the working-man generally, +that they all have this twist in their heads?" the professor asked. + +"They have, until they begin to rise. Then they get rid of it mighty soon. +Let a man save something--enough to get a house of his own, and take a +boarder or two, and perhaps have a little money at interest--and he sees +the matter in another light." + +"Do you think he sees it more clearly?" asked the minister. + +"He sees it differently." + +"What do you think?" the minister pursued, turning to the lawyer. "You are +used to dealing with questions of justice--" + +"Rather more with questions of law, I'm afraid," the other returned, +pleasantly, putting his feet together before him and looking down at them +in a way he had. "But, still, I have a great interest in questions of +justice, and I confess that I find a certain wild equity in this +principle, which I see nobody could do business on. It strikes me as +idyllic--it's a touch of real poetry in the rough-and-tumble prose of our +economic life." + +He referred this to me as something I might appreciate in my quality of +literary man, and I responded in my quality of practical man: "There's +certainly more rhyme than reason in it." + +He turned again to the minister: + +"I suppose the ideal of the Christian state is the family?" + +"I hope so," said the minister, with the gratitude that I have seen people +of his cloth show when men of the world conceded premises which the world +usually contests; it has seemed to me pathetic. + +"And if that is the case, why, the logic of the postulate is that the +prosperity of the weakest is the sacred charge and highest happiness of +all the stronger. But the law has not recognized any such principle, in +economics at least, and if the labor unions are based upon it they are +outlaw, so far as any hope of enforcing it is concerned; and it is bad for +men to feel themselves outlaw. How is it," the lawyer continued, turning +to the Altrurian, "in your country? We can see no issue here, if the first +principle of organized labor antagonizes the first principle of business." + +"But I don't understand precisely yet what the first principle of business +is," returned my guest. + +"Ah, that raises another interesting question," said the lawyer. "Of +course, every business man solves the problem practically according to his +temperament and education, and I suppose that on first thoughts every +business man would answer you accordingly. But perhaps the personal +equation is something you wish to eliminate from the definition." + +"Yes, of course." + +"Still, I would rather not venture upon it first," said the lawyer. +"Professor, what should you say was the first principle of business?" + +"Buying in the cheapest market and selling in the dearest," the professor +promptly answered. + +"We will pass the parson and the doctor and the novelist as witnesses of +no value. They can't possibly have any cognizance of the first principle +of business; their affair is to look after the souls and bodies and +fancies of other people. But what should you say it was?" he asked the +banker. + +"I should say it was an enlightened conception of one's own interests." + +"And you?" + +The manufacturer had no hesitation in answering: "The good of Number One, +first, last, and all the time. There may be a difference of opinion about +the best way to get at it; the long way may be the better, or the short +way; the direct way or the oblique way, or the purely selfish way, or the +partly selfish way; but if you ever lose sight of that end you might as +well shut up shop. That seems to be the first law of nature, as well as +the first law of business." + +"Ah, we mustn't go to nature for our morality," the minister protested. + +"We were not talking of morality," said the manufacturer; "we were talking +of business." + +This brought the laugh on the minister, but the lawyer cut it short: +"Well, then, I don't really see why the trades-unions are not as +business-like as the syndicates in their dealings with all those outside +of themselves. Within themselves they practise an altruism of the highest +order, but it is a tribal altruism; it is like that which prompts a Sioux +to share his last mouthful with a starving Sioux, and to take the scalp of +a starving Apache. How is it with your trades-unions in Altruria?" he +asked my friend. + +"We have no trades-unions in Altruria," he began. + +"Happy Altruria!" cried the professor. + +"We had them formerly," the Altrurian went on, "as you have them now. They +claimed, as I suppose yours do, that they were forced into existence by +the necessities of the case; that without union the working-man was unable +to meet the capitalist on anything like equal terms, or to withstand his +encroachments and oppressions. But to maintain themselves they had to +extinguish industrial liberty among the working-men themselves, and they +had to practise great cruelties against those who refused to join them or +who rebelled against them." + +"They simply destroy them here," said the professor. + +"Well," said the lawyer, from his judicial mind, "the great syndicates +have no scruples in destroying a capitalist who won't come into them or +who tries to go out. They don't club him or stone him, but they under-sell +him and freeze him out; they don't break his head, but they bankrupt him. +The principle is the same." + +"Don't interrupt Mr. Homos," the banker entreated. "I am very curious to +know just how they got rid of labor unions in Altruria." + +"We had syndicates, too, and finally we had the _reductio ad absurdum_--we +had a federation of labor unions find a federation of syndicates, that +divided the nation into two camps. The situation was not only impossible, +but it was insupportably ridiculous." + +I ventured to say: "It hasn't become quite so much of a joke with us yet." + +"Isn't it in a fair way to become so?" asked the doctor; and he turned to +the lawyer: "What should you say was the logic of events among us for the +last ten or twenty years?" + +"There's nothing so capricious as the logic of events. It's like a woman's +reasoning--you can't tell what it's aimed at, or where it's going to fetch +up; all that you can do is to keep out of the way if possible. We may come +to some such condition of things as they have in Altruria, where the faith +of the whole nation is pledged to secure every citizen in the pursuit of +happiness; or we may revert to some former condition, and the master may +again own the man; or we may hitch and joggle along indefinitely, as we +are doing now." + +"But come, now," said the banker, while he laid a caressing touch on the +Altrurian's shoulder, "you don't mean to say honestly that everybody works +with his hands in Altruria?" + +"Yes, certainly. We are mindful, as a whole people, of the divine law--'In +the sweat of thy brow shalt thou eat bread.'" + +"But the capitalists? I'm anxious about Number One, you see." + +"We have none." + +"I forgot, of course. But the lawyers, the doctors, the parsons, the +novelists?" + +"They all do their share of hand-work." + +The lawyer said: "That seems to dispose of the question of the working-man +in society. But how about your minds? When do you cultivate your minds? +When do the ladies of Altruria cultivate their minds, if they have to do +their own work, as I suppose they do? Or is it only the men who work, if +they happen to be the husbands and fathers of the upper classes?" + +The Altrurian seemed to be sensible of the kindly scepticism which +persisted in our reception of his statements, after all we had read of +Altruria. He smiled indulgently, and said: "You mustn't imagine that work +in Altruria is the same as it is here. As we all work, the amount that +each one need do is very little, a few hours each day at the most, so that +every man and woman has abundant leisure and perfect spirits for the +higher pleasures which the education of their whole youth has fitted them +to enjoy. If you can understand a state of things where the sciences and +arts and letters are cultivated for their own sake, and not as a means of +livelihood--" + +"No," said the lawyer, smiling, "I'm afraid we can't conceive of that. We +consider the pinch of poverty the highest incentive that a man can have. +If our gifted friend here," he said, indicating me, "were not kept like a +toad under the harrow, with his nose on the grindstone, and the poorhouse +staring him in the face--" + +"For Heaven's sake," I cried out, "don't mix your metaphors so, anyway!" + +"If it were not for that and all the other hardships that literary men +undergo-- + + 'Toil, envy, want, the patron and the jail'-- + +his novels probably wouldn't be worth reading." + +"Ah!" said the Altrurian, as if he did not quite follow this joking; and, +to tell the truth, I never find the personal thing in very good taste. +"You will understand, then, how extremely difficult it is for me to +imagine a condition of things like yours--although I have it under my very +eyes--where the money consideration is the first consideration." + +"Oh, excuse me," urged the minister; "I don't think that's quite the +case." + +"I beg your pardon," said the Altrurian, sweetly; "you can see how easily +I go astray." + +"Why, I don't know," the banker interposed, "that you are so far out in +what you say. If you had said that money was always the first motive, I +should have been inclined to dispute you, too; but when you say that money +is the first consideration, I think you are quite right. Unless a man +secures his financial basis for his work, he can't do his work. It's +nonsense to pretend otherwise. So the money consideration is the first +consideration. People here have to live by their work, and to live they +must have money. Of course, we all recognize a difference in the +qualities, as well as in the kinds, of work. The work of the laborer may +be roughly defined as the necessity of his life; the work of the business +man as the means, and the work of the artist and scientist as the end. +We might refine upon these definitions and make them closer, but they +will serve for illustration as they are. I don't think there can be +any question as to which is the highest kind of work; some truths are +self-evident. He is a fortunate man whose work is an end, and every +business man sees this, and owns it to himself, at least when he meets +some man of an aesthetic or scientific occupation. He knows that this +luckier fellow has a joy in his work which he can never feel in business; +that his success in it can never be embittered by the thought that it is +the failure of another; that if he does it well, it is pure good; that +there cannot be any competition in it--there can be only a noble +emulation, as far as the work itself is concerned. He can always look up +to his work, for it is something above him; and a business man often has +to look down upon his business, for it is often beneath him, unless he is +a pretty low fellow." + +I listened to all this in surprise; I knew that the banker was a +cultivated man, a man of university training, and that he was a reader and +a thinker; but he had always kept a certain reserve in his talk, which he +now seemed to have thrown aside for the sake of the Altrurian, or because +the subject had a charm that lured him out of himself. "Well, now," he +continued, "the question is of the money consideration, which is the first +consideration with us all: does it, or doesn't it degrade the work, which +is the life, of those among us whose work is the highest? I understand +that this is the misgiving which troubles you in view of our conditions?" + +The Altrurian assented, and I thought it a proof of the banker's innate +delicacy that he did not refer the matter, so far as it concerned the +aesthetic life and work, to me; I was afraid he was going to do so. But he +courteously proposed to keep the question impersonal, and he went on to +consider it himself: "Well, I don't suppose any one can satisfy you fully. +But I should say that it put such men under a double strain, and perhaps +that is the reason why so many of them break down in a calling that is +certainly far less exhausting than business. On one side, the artist is +kept to the level of the working-man, of the animal, of the creature whose +sole affair is to get something to eat and somewhere to sleep. This is +through his necessity. On the other side, he is exalted to the height of +beings who have no concern but with the excellence of their work, which +they were born and divinely authorized to do. This is through his purpose. +Between the two, I should say that he got mixed, and that his work shows +it." + +None of the others said anything, and, since I had not been personally +appealed to, I felt the freer to speak. "If you will suppose me to be +speaking from observation rather than experience--" I began. + +"By all means," said the banker, "go on;" and the rest made haste in +various forms to yield me the word. + +"I should say that such a man certainly got mixed, but that his work kept +itself pure from the money consideration, as it were, in spite of him. A +painter or actor, or even a novelist, is glad to get all he can for his +work, and, such is our fallen nature, he does get all he knows how to get: +but, when he has once fairly passed into his work, he loses himself in it. +He does not think whether it will pay or not, whether it will be popular +or not, but whether he can make it good or not." + +"Well, that is conceivable," said the banker. "But wouldn't he rather do +something he would get less for, if he could afford it, than the thing he +knows he will get more for? Doesn't the money consideration influence his +choice of subject?" + +"Oddly enough, I don't believe it does," I answered, after a moment's +reflection. "A man makes his choice once for all when he embraces the +aesthetic life, or, rather, it is made for him; no other life seems +possible. I know there is a general belief that an artist does the kind of +thing he has made go because it pays; but this only shows the prevalence +of business ideals. If he did not love to do the thing he does, he could +not do it well, no matter how richly it paid." + +"I am glad to hear it," said the banker, and he added to the Altrurian: +"So, you see, we are not so bad as one would think. We are illogically +better, in fact." + +"Yes," the other assented. "I knew something of your literature as well as +your conditions before I left home, and I perceived that by some anomaly +the one was not tainted by the other. It is a miraculous proof of the +divine mission of the poet." + +"And the popular novelist," the lawyer whispered in my ear, but loud +enough for the rest to hear, and they all testified their amusement at my +cost. + +The Altrurian, with his weak sense of humor, passed the joke. "It shows no +signs of corruption from greed, but I can't help thinking that, fine as it +is, it might have been much finer if the authors who produced it had been +absolutely freed to their work, and had never felt the spur of need." + +"Are they absolutely freed to it in Altruria?" asked the professor. "I +understood you that everybody had to work for his living in Altruria." + +"That is a mistake. Nobody works for his living in Altruria; he works for +others' living." + +"Ah, that is precisely what our working-men object to doing here," said +the manufacturer. "In that last interview of mine with the walking +delegate he had the impudence to ask me why my men should work for my +living as well as their own." + +"He couldn't imagine that you were giving them the work to do--the very +means of life," said the professor. + +"Oh no, that's the last thing those fellows want to think of." + +"Perhaps," the Altrurian suggested, "they might not have found it such a +hardship to work for your living if their own had been assured, as it is +with us. If you will excuse my saying it, we should think it monstrous in +Altruria for any man to have another's means of life in his power; and in +our condition it is hardly imaginable. Do you really have it in your power +to take away a man's opportunity to earn a living?" + +The manufacturer laughed uneasily. "It is in my power to take away his +life; but I don't habitually shoot my fellow-men, and I never dismissed a +man yet without good reason." + +"Oh, I beg your pardon," said the Altrurian. "I didn't dream of accusing +you of such inhumanity. But, you see, our whole system is so very +different that, as I said, it is hard for me to conceive of yours, and I +am very curious to understand its workings. If you shot your fellow-man, +as you say, the law would punish you; but if, for some reason that you +decided to be good, you took away his means of living, and he actually +starved to death--" + +"Then the law would have nothing to do with it," the professor replied for +the manufacturer, who did not seem ready to answer. "But that is not the +way things fall out. The man would be supported in idleness, probably, +till he got another job, by his union, which would take the matter up." + +"But I thought that our friend did not employ union labor," returned the +Altrurian. + +I found all this very uncomfortable, and tried to turn the talk back to a +point that I felt curious about: "But in Altruria, if the literary class +is not exempt from the rule of manual labor, where do they find time and +strength to write?" + +"Why, you must realize that our manual labor is never engrossing or +exhausting. It is no more than is necessary to keep the body in health. I +do not see how you remain well here, you people of sedentary occupations." + +"Oh, we all take some sort of exercise. We walk several hours a day, or we +row, or we ride a bicycle, or a horse, or we fence." + +"But to us," returned the Altrurian, with a growing frankness which +nothing but the sweetness of his manner would have excused, "exercise for +exercise would appear stupid. The barren expenditure of force that began +and ended in itself, and produced nothing, we should--if you will excuse +my saying so--look upon as childish, if not insane or immoral." + + + + +V + +At this moment the lady who had hailed me so gayly from the top of the +coach while I stood waiting for the Altrurian to help the porter with the +baggage, just after the arrival of the train, came up with her husband to +our little group and said to me: "I want to introduce my husband to you. +He adores your books." She went on much longer to this effect, while the +other men grinned round and her husband tried to look as if it were all +true, and her eyes wandered to the Altrurian, who listened gravely. I knew +perfectly well that she was using her husband's zeal for my fiction to +make me present my friend; but I did not mind that, and I introduced him +to both of them. She took possession of him at once and began walking him +off down the piazza, while her husband remained with me, and the members +of our late conference drifted apart. I was not sorry to have it broken up +for the present; it seemed to me that it had lasted quite long enough, and +I lighted a cigar with the husband, and we strolled together in the +direction his wife had taken. + +He began, apparently in compliment to literature in my person: "Yes, I +like to have a book where I can get at it when we're not going out to the +theatre, and I want to quiet my mind down after business. I don't care +much what the book is; my wife reads to me till I drop off, and then she +finishes the book herself and tells me the rest of the story. You see, +business takes it out of you so! Well, I let my wife do most of the +reading, anyway. She knows pretty much everything that's going in that +line. We haven't got any children, and it occupies her mind. She's up to +all sorts of things--she's artistic, and she's musical, and she's +dramatic, and she's literary. Well, I like to have her. Women are funny, +anyway." + +He was a good-looking, good-natured, average American of the money-making +type; I believe he was some sort of a broker, but I do not quite know what +his business was. As we walked up and down the piazza, keeping a discreet +little distance from the corner where his wife had run off to with her +capture, he said he wished he could get more time with her in the +summer--but he supposed I knew what business was. He was glad she could +have the rest, anyway; she needed it. + +"By-the-way," he asked, "who is this friend of yours? The women are all +crazy about him, and it's been an even thing between my wife and Miss +Groundsel which would fetch him first. But I'll bet on my wife every time, +when it comes to a thing like that. He's a good-looking fellow--some kind +of foreigner, I believe; pretty eccentric, too, I guess. Where is +Altruria, anyway?" + +I told him, and he said: "Oh yes. Well, if we are going to restrict +immigration, I suppose we sha'n't see many more Altrurians, and we'd +better make the most of this one. Heigh?" + +I do not know why this innocent pleasantry piqued me to say: "If I +understand the Altrurians, my dear fellow, nothing could induce them to +emigrate to America. As far as I can make out, they would regard it very +much as we should regard settling among the Eskimos." + +"Is that so?" asked my new acquaintance, with perfect good temper. "Why?" + +"Really, I can't say, and I don't know that I've explicit authority for my +statement." + +"They are worse than the English used to be," he went on. "I didn't know +that there were any foreigners who looked at us in that light now. I +thought the war settled all that." + +I sighed. "There are a good many things that the war didn't settle so +definitely as we've been used to thinking, I'm afraid. But, for that +matter, I fancy an Altrurian would regard the English as a little lower in +the scale of savagery than ourselves even." + +"Is that so? Well, that's pretty good on the English, anyway," said my +companion, and he laughed with an easy satisfaction that I envied him. + +"My dear!" his wife called to him from where she was sitting with the +Altrurian, "I wish you would go for my shawl. I begin to feel the air a +little." + +"I'll go if you'll tell me where," he said, and he confided to me, "Never +knows where her shawl is one-quarter of the time." + +"Well, I think I left it in the office somewhere. You might ask at the +desk; or perhaps it's in the rack by the dining-room door--or maybe up in +our room." + +"I thought so," said her husband, with another glance at me, as if it were +the greatest fun in the world, and he started amiably off. + +I went and took a chair by the lady and the Altrurian, and she began at +once: "Oh, I'm so glad you've come! I have been trying to enlighten Mr. +Homos about some of the little social peculiarities among us that he finds +so hard to understand. He was just now," the lady continued, "wanting to +know why all the natives out here were not invited to go in and join our +young people in the dance, and I've been trying to tell him that we +consider it a great favor to let them come and take up so much of the +piazza and look in at the windows." + +She gave a little laugh of superiority, and twitched her pretty head in +the direction of the young country girls and country fellows who were +thronging the place that night in rather unusual numbers. They were well +enough looking, and, as it was Saturday night, they were in their best. I +suppose their dress could have been criticised; the young fellows were +clothed by the ready-made clothing-store, and the young girls after their +own devices from the fashion papers; but their general effect was good, +and their behavior was irreproachable; they were very quiet--if anything, +too quiet. They took up a part of the piazza that was yielded them by +common usage, and sat watching the hop inside, not so much enviously, I +thought, as wistfully; and for the first time it struck me as odd that +they should have no part in the gayety. I had often seen them there +before, but I had never thought it strange they should be shut out. It had +always seemed quite normal, but now, suddenly, for one baleful moment, it +seemed abnormal. I suppose it was the talk we had been having about the +working-men in society which caused me to see the thing as the Altrurian +must have seen it; but I was, nevertheless, vexed with him for having +asked such a question, after he had been so fully instructed upon the +point. It was malicious of him, or it was stupid. I hardened my heart, and +answered: "You might have told him, for one thing, that they were not +dancing because they had not paid the piper." + +"Then the money consideration enters even into your social pleasures?" +asked the Altrurian. + +"Very much. Doesn't it with you?" + +He evaded this question, as he evaded all straightforward questions +concerning his country: "We have no money consideration, you know. But do +I understand that all your social entertainments are paid for by the +guests?" + +"Oh no, not so bad as that, quite. There are a great many that the host +pays for. Even here, in a hotel, the host furnishes the music and the room +free to the guests of the house." + +"And none are admitted from the outside?" + +"Oh yes, people are welcome from all the other hotels and boarding-houses +and the private cottages. The young men are especially welcome; there are +not enough young men in the hotel to go round, you see." In fact, we could +see that some of the pretty girls within were dancing with other girls; +half-grown boys were dangling from the waists of tall young ladies and +waltzing on tiptoe. + +"Isn't that rather droll?" asked the Altrurian. + +"It's grotesque!" I said, and I felt ashamed of it. "But what are you to +do? The young men are hard at work in the cities, as many as can get work +there, and the rest are out West, growing up with the country. There are +twenty young girls for every young man at all the summer resorts in the +East." + +"But what would happen if these young farmers--I suppose they are +farmers--were invited in to take part in the dance?" asked my friend. + +"But that is impossible." + +"Why?" + +"Really, Mrs. Makely, I think I shall have to give him back to you," I +said. + +The lady laughed. "I am not sure that I want him back." + +"Oh yes," the Altrurian entreated, with unwonted perception of the humor. +"I know that I must be very trying with my questions; but do not abandon +me to the solitude of my own conjectures. They are dreadful!" + +"Well, I won't," said the lady, with another laugh. "And I will try to +tell you what would happen if those farmers, or farm-hands, or whatever +they are, were asked in. The mammas would be very indignant, and the young +ladies would be scared, and nobody would know what to do, and the dance +would stop." + +"Then the young ladies prefer to dance with one another and with little +boys--" + +"No, they prefer to dance with young men of their own station; they would +rather not dance at all than dance with people beneath them. I don't say +anything against these natives here; they are very civil and decent. But +they have not the same social traditions as the young ladies; they would +be out of place with them, and they would feel it." + +"Yes, I can see that they are not fit to associate with them," said the +Altrurian, with a gleam of commonsense that surprised me, "and that as +long as your present conditions endure they never can be. You must excuse +the confusion which the difference between your political ideals and your +economic ideals constantly creates in me. I always think of you +politically first, and realize you as a perfect democracy; then come these +other facts, in which I cannot perceive that you differ from the +aristocratic countries of Europe in theory, or practice. It is very +puzzling. Am I right in supposing that the effect of your economy is to +establish insuperable inequalities among you, and to forbid the hope of +the brotherhood which your policy proclaims?" + +Mrs. Makely looked at me as if she were helpless to grapple with his +meaning, and, for fear of worse, I thought best to evade it. I said: "I +don't believe that anybody is troubled by those distinctions. We are used +to them, and everybody acquiesces in them, which is a proof that they are +a very good thing." + +Mrs. Makely now came to my support. "The Americans are very high-spirited, +in every class, and I don't believe one of those nice farm-boys would like +being asked in any better than the young ladies. You can't imagine how +proud some of them are." + +"So that they suffer from being excluded as inferiors?" + +"Oh, I assure you they don't feel themselves inferior! They consider +themselves as good as anybody. There are some very interesting characters +among them. Now, there is a young girl sitting at the first window, with +her profile outlined by the light, whom I feel it an honor to speak to. +That's her brother, standing there with her--that tall, gaunt young man +with a Roman face; it's such a common type here in the mountains. Their +father was a soldier, and he distinguished himself so in one of the last +battles that he was promoted. He was badly wounded, but he never took a +pension; he just came back to his farm and worked on till he died. Now the +son has the farm, and he and his sister live there with their mother. The +daughter takes in sewing, and in that way they manage to make both ends +meet. The girl is really a first-rate seamstress, and so cheap! I give her +a good deal of my work in the summer, and we are quite friends. She's very +fond of reading; the mother is an invalid, but she reads aloud while the +daughter sews, and you've no idea how many books they get through. When +she comes for sewing, I like to talk with her about them; I always have +her sit down; it's hard to realize that she isn't a lady. I'm a good deal +criticised, I know, and I suppose I do spoil her a little; it puts notions +into such people's heads, if you meet them in that way; they're pretty +free and independent as it is. But when I'm with Lizzie I forget that +there is any difference between us; I can't help loving the child. You +must take Mr. Homos to see them, Mr. Twelvemough. They've got the father's +sword hung up over the head of the mother's bed; it's very touching. But +the poor little place is so bare!" + +Mrs. Makely sighed, and there fell a little pause, which she broke with a +question she had the effect of having kept back. + +"There is one thing I should like to ask you, too, Mr. Homos. Is it true +that everybody in Altruria does some kind of manual labor?" + +"Why, certainly," he answered, quite as if he had been an American. + +"Ladies, too? Or perhaps you have none." + +I thought this rather offensive, but I could not see that the Altrurian +had taken it ill. "Perhaps we had better try to understand each other +clearly before I answer that question. You have no titles of nobility as +they have in England--" + +"No, indeed! I hope we have outgrown those superstitions," said Mrs. +Makely, with a republican fervor that did my heart good. "It is a word +that we apply first of all to the moral qualities of a person." + +"But you said just now that you sometimes forgot that your seamstress was +not a lady. Just what did you mean by that?" + +Mrs. Makely hesitated. "I meant--I suppose I meant--that she had not the +surroundings of a lady; the social traditions." + +"Then it has something to do with social as well as moral qualities--with +ranks and classes?" + +"Classes, yes; but, as you know, we have no ranks in America." The +Altrurian took off his hat and rubbed an imaginable perspiration from his +forehead. He sighed deeply. "It is all very difficult." + +"Yes," Mrs. Makely assented, "I suppose it is. All foreigners find it so. +In fact, it is something that you have to live into the notion of; it +can't be explained." + +"Well, then, my dear madam, will you tell me without further question what +you understand by a lady, and let me live into the notion of it at my +leisure?" + +"I will do my best," said Mrs. Makely. "But it would be so much easier to +tell you _who_ was or who was not a lady. However, your acquaintance is so +limited yet that I must try to do something in the abstract and impersonal +for you. In the first place, a lady must be above the sordid anxieties in +every way. She need not be very rich, but she must have enough, so that +she need not be harassed about making both ends meet, when she ought to be +devoting herself to her social duties. The time is past with us when a +lady could look after the dinner, and perhaps cook part of it herself, and +then rush in to receive her guests and do the amenities. She must have a +certain kind of house, so that her entourage won't seem cramped and mean, +and she must have nice frocks, of course, and plenty of them. She needn't +be of the smart set; that isn't at all necessary; but she can't afford to +be out of the fashion. Of course, she must have a certain training. She +must have cultivated tastes; she must know about art and literature and +music, and all those kind of things, and, though it isn't necessary to go +in for anything in particular, it won't hurt her to have a fad or two. The +nicest kind of fad is charity; and people go in for that a great deal. I +think sometimes they use it to work up with, and there are some who use +religion in the same way; I think it's horrid; but it's perfectly safe; +you can't accuse them of doing it. I'm happy to say, though, that mere +church association doesn't count socially so much as it used to. Charity +is a great deal more insidious. But you see how hard it is to define +a lady. So much has to be left to the nerves, in all these things. And +then it's changing all the time; Europe's coming in, and the old American +ideals are passing away. Things that people did ten years ago would be +impossible now, or at least ridiculous. You wouldn't be considered vulgar, +quite, but you would certainly be considered a back number, and that's +almost as bad. Really," said Mrs. Makely, "I don't believe I can tell you +what a lady is." + +We all laughed together at her frank confession. The Altrurian asked: "But +do I understand that one of her conditions is that she shall have nothing +whatever to do?" + +"Nothing to _do_!" cried Mrs. Makely. "A lady is busy from morning till +night. She always goes to bed perfectly worn out." + +"But with what?" asked the Altrurian. + +"With making herself agreeable and her house attractive, with going to +lunches and teas and dinners and concerts and theatres and art +exhibitions, and charity meetings and receptions, and with writing a +thousand and one notes about them, and accepting and declining, and giving +lunches and dinners, and making calls and receiving them, and I don't know +what all. It's the most hideous slavery!" Her voice rose into something +like a shriek; one could see that her nerves were going at the mere +thought of it all. "You don't have a moment to yourself; your life isn't +your own." + +"But the lady isn't allowed to do any useful kind of work?" + +"_Work_! Don't you call all that work, and _useful_? I'm sure I envy the +cook in my kitchen at times; I envy the woman that scrubs my floors. Stop! +Don't ask why I don't go into my kitchen, or get down on my knees with the +mop. It isn't possible. You simply can't. Perhaps you could if you were +very _grande dame_, but if you're anywhere near the line of necessity, or +ever have been, you can't. Besides, if we did do our own household work, +as I understand your Altrurian ladies do, what would become of the servant +class? We should be taking away their living, and that would be wicked." + +"It would certainly be wrong to take away the living of a +fellow-creature," the Altrurian gravely admitted, "and I see the obstacle +in your way." + +"It's a mountain," said the lady, with exhaustion in her voice, but a +returning amiability; his forbearance must have placated her. + +"May I ask what the use of your society life is?" he ventured, after a +moment. + +"Use? Why should it have any? It kills time." + +"Then you are shut up to a hideous slavery without use, except to kill +time, and you cannot escape from it without taking away the living of +those dependent on you?" + +"Yes," I put in, "and that is a difficulty that meets us at every turn. It +is something that Matthew Arnold urged with great effect in his paper on +that crank of a Tolstoy. He asked what would become of the people who need +the work if we served and waited on ourselves, as Tolstoy preached. The +question is unanswerable." + +"That is true; in your conditions, it is unanswerable," said the +Altrurian. + +"I think," said Mrs. Makely, "that, under the circumstances, we do pretty +well." + +"Oh, I don't presume to censure you. And if you believe that your +conditions are the best--" + +"We believe them the best in the best of all possible worlds," I said, +devoutly; and it struck me that, if ever we came to have a national +church, some such affirmation as that concerning our economical conditions +ought to be in the confession of faith. + +The Altrurian's mind had not followed mine so far. "And your young girls," +he asked of Mrs. Makely--"how is their time occupied?" + +"You mean after they come out in society?" + +"I suppose so." + +She seemed to reflect. "I don't know that it is very differently occupied. +Of course, they have their own amusements; they have their dances, and +little clubs, and their sewing-societies. I suppose that even an Altrurian +would applaud their sewing for the poor?" Mrs. Makely asked, rather +satirically. + +"Yes," he answered; and then he asked: "Isn't it taking work away from +some needy seamstress, though? But I suppose you excuse it to the +thoughtlessness of youth." + +Mrs. Makely did not say, and he went on: "What I find it so hard to +understand is how you ladies can endure a life of mere nervous exertion, +such as you have been describing to me. I don't see how you keep well." + +"We _don't_ keep well," said Mrs. Makely, with the greatest amusement. "I +don't suppose that when you get above the working classes, till you reach +the very rich, you would find a perfectly well woman in America." + +"Isn't that rather extreme?" I ventured to ask. + +"No," said Mrs. Makely, "it's shamefully moderate," and she seemed to +delight in having made out such a bad case for her sex. You can't stop a +woman of that kind when she gets started; I had better left it alone. + +"But," said the Altrurian, "if you are forbidden by motives of humanity +from doing any sort of manual labor, which you must leave to those who +live by it, I suppose you take some sort of exercise?" + +"Well," said Mrs. Makely, shaking her head gayly, "we prefer to take +medicine." + +"You must approve of that," I said to the Altrurian, "as you consider +exercise for its own sake insane or immoral. But, Mrs. Makely," I +entreated, "you're giving me away at a tremendous rate. I have just been +telling Mr. Homos that you ladies go in for athletics so much now in your +summer outings that there is danger of your becoming physically as well as +intellectually superior to us poor fellows. Don't take that consolation +from me." + +"I won't, altogether," she said. "I couldn't have the heart to, after the +pretty way you've put it. I don't call it very athletic, sitting around on +hotel piazzas all summer long, as nineteen-twentieths of us do. But I +don't deny that there is a Remnant, as Matthew Arnold calls them, who do +go in for tennis and boating and bathing and tramping and climbing." She +paused, and then she concluded, gleefully: "And you ought to see what +wrecks they get home in the fall!" + +The joke was on me; I could not help laughing, though I felt rather +sheepish before the Altrurian. Fortunately, he did not pursue the inquiry; +his curiosity had been given a slant aside from it. + +"But your ladies," he asked, "they have the summer for rest, however they +use it. Do they generally leave town? I understood Mr. Twelvemough to say +so," he added, with a deferential glance at me. + +"Yes, you may say it is the universal custom in the class that can afford +it," said Mrs. Makely. She proceeded as if she felt a tacit censure in his +question. "It wouldn't be the least use for us to stay and fry through our +summers in the city simply because our fathers and brothers had to. +Besides, we are worn out, at the end of the season, and they want us to +come away as much as we want to come." + +"Ah, I have always heard that the Americans are beautiful in their +attitude toward women." + +"They are perfect dears," said Mrs. Makely, "and here comes one of the +best of them." + +At that moment her husband came up and laid her shawl across her +shoulders. "Whose character is it you're blasting?" he asked, jocosely. + +"Where in the world did you find it?" she asked, meaning the shawl. + +"It was where you left it--on the sofa, in the side parlor. I had to take +my life in my hand when I crossed among all those waltzers in there. There +must have been as many as three couples on the floor. Poor girls! I pity +them, off at these places. The fellows in town have a good deal better +time. They've got their clubs, and they've got the theatre, and when the +weather gets too much for them they can run off down to the shore for the +night. The places anywhere within an hour's ride are full of fellows. The +girls don't have to dance with one another there, or with little boys. Of +course, that's all right if they like it better." He laughed at his wife, +and winked at me, and smoked swiftly, in emphasis of his irony. + +"Then the young gentlemen whom the young ladies here usually meet in +society are all at work in the cities?" the Altrurian asked him, rather +needlessly, as I had already said so. + +"Yes, those who are not out West, growing up with the country, except, of +course, the fellows who have inherited a fortune. They're mostly off on +yachts." + +"But why do your young men go West to grow up with the country?" pursued +my friend. + +"Because the East is _grown_ up. They have got to hustle, and the West is +the place to hustle. To make money," added Makely, in response to a +puzzled glance of the Altrurian. + +"Sometimes," said his wife, "I almost hate the name of money." + +"Well, so long as you don't hate the thing, Peggy." + +"Oh, we must have it, I suppose," she sighed. "They used to say about the +girls who grew into old maids just after the Rebellion that they had lost +their chance in the war for the Union. I think quite as many lose their +chance now in the war for the dollar." + +"Mars hath slain his thousands, but Mammon hath slain his tens of +thousands," I suggested, lightly; we all like to recognize the facts, so +long as we are not expected to do anything about them; then, we deny them. + +"Yes, quite as bad as that," said Mrs. Makely. + +"Well, my dear, you are expensive, you know," said her husband, "and if we +want to have you--why, we've got to hustle first." + +"Oh, I don't blame you, you poor things! There's nothing to be done about +it; it's just got to go on and on; I don't see how it's ever to end." + +The Altrurian had been following us with that air of polite mystification +which I had begun to dread in him. "Then, in your good society you +postpone, and even forego, the happiness of life in the struggle to be +rich?" + +"Well, you see," said Makely, "a fellow don't like to ask a girl to share +a home that isn't as nice as the home she has left." + +"Sometimes," his wife put in, rather sadly, "I think that it's all a +mistake, and that we'd be willing to share the privations of the man we +loved." + +"Well," said Makely, with a laugh, "we wouldn't like to risk it." + +I laughed with him, but his wife did not, and in the silence that ensued +there was nothing to prevent the Altrurian from coming in with another of +his questions: "How far does this state of things extend downward? Does it +include the working classes, too?" + +"Oh no!" we all answered together, and Mrs. Makely said: "With your +Altrurian ideas, I suppose you would naturally sympathize a great deal +more with the lower classes, and think they had to endure all the +hardships in our system; but if you could realize how the struggle goes on +in the best society, and how we all have to fight for what we get, or +don't get, you would be disposed to pity our upper classes, too." + +"I am sure I should," said the Altrurian. + +Makely remarked: "I used to hear my father say that slavery was harder on +the whites than it was on the blacks, and that he wanted it done away with +for the sake of the masters." + +Makely rather faltered in conclusion, as if he were not quite satisfied +with his remark, and I distinctly felt a want of proportion in it; but I +did not wish to say anything. His wife had no reluctance. + +"Well, there's no comparison between the two things, but the struggle +certainly doesn't affect the working classes as it does us. They go on +marrying and giving in marriage in the old way. They have nothing to lose, +and so they can afford it." + +"Blessed am dem what don't expect nuffin! Oh, I tell you, it's a +working-man's country," said Makely, through his cigar-smoke. "You ought +to see them in town, these summer nights, in the parks and squares and +cheap theatres. Their girls are not off for their health, anywhere, and +their fellows are not off growing up with the country. Their day's work is +over, and they're going in for a good time. And, then, walk through the +streets where they live, and see them out on the stoops with their wives +and children! I tell you, it's enough to make a fellow wish he was poor +himself." + +"Yes," said Mrs. Makely, "it's astonishing how strong and well those women +keep, with their great families and their hard work. Sometimes I really +envy them." + +"Do you suppose," said the Altrurian, "that they are aware of the +sacrifices which the ladies of the upper classes make in leaving all the +work to them, and suffering from the nervous debility which seems to be +the outcome of your society life?" + +"They have not the remotest idea of it. They have no conception of what a +society woman goes through with. They think we do nothing. They envy us, +too, and sometimes they're so ungrateful and indifferent, if you try to +help them, or get on terms with them, that I believe they hate us." + +"But that comes from ignorance?" + +"Yes, though I don't know that they are really any more ignorant of us +than we are of them. It's the other half on both sides." + +"Isn't that a pity, rather?" + +"Of course it's a pity, but what can you do? You can't know what people +are like unless you live like them, and then the question is whether the +game is worth the candle. I should like to know how you manage in +Altruria." + +"Why, we have solved the problem in the only way, as you say, that it can +be solved. We all live alike." + +"Isn't that a little, just a very trifling little bit, monotonous?" Mrs. +Makely asked, with a smile. "But there is everything, of course, in being +used to it. To an unregenerate spirit--like mine, for example--it seems +intolerable." + +"But why? When you were younger, before you were married, you all lived at +home together--or, perhaps, you were an only child?" + +"Oh, no indeed! There were ten of us." + +"Then you all lived alike, and shared equally?" + +"Yes, but we were a family." + +"We do not conceive of the human race except as a family." + +"Now, excuse me, Mr. Homos, that is all nonsense. You cannot have the +family feeling without love, and it is impossible to love other people. +That talk about the neighbor, and all that, is all well enough--" She +stopped herself, as if she dimly remembered who began that talk, and then +went on: "Of course, I accept it as a matter of faith, and the spirit of +it, nobody denies that; but what I mean is, that you must have frightful +quarrels all the time." She tried to look as if this were where she really +meant to bring up, and he took her on the ground she had chosen. + +"Yes, we have quarrels. Hadn't you at home?" + +"We fought like little cats and dogs, at times." + +Makely and I burst into a laugh at her magnanimous frankness. The +Altrurian remained serious. "But, because you lived alike, you knew each +other, and so you easily made up your quarrels. It is quite as simple with +us, in our life as a human family." + +This notion of a human family seemed to amuse Mrs. Makely more and more; +she laughed and laughed again. "You must excuse me," she panted, at last, +"but I cannot imagine it! No, it is too ludicrous. Just fancy the jars of +an ordinary family multiplied by the population of a whole continent! Why, +you must be in a perpetual squabble. You can't have any peace of your +lives. It's worse, far worse, than our way." + +"But, madam," he began, "you are supposing our family to be made up of +people with all the antagonistic interests of your civilization. As a +matter of fact--" + +"No, no! _I know human nature_, Mr. Homos!" She suddenly jumped up and +gave him her hand. "Good-night," she said, sweetly, and as she drifted off +on her husband's arm she looked back at us and nodded in gay triumph. + +The Altrurian turned upon me with unabated interest. "And have you no +provision in your system for finally making the lower classes understand +the sufferings and sacrifices of the upper classes in their behalf? Do you +expect to do nothing to bring them together in mutual kindness?" + +"Well, not this evening," I said, throwing the end of my cigar away. "I'm +going to bed--aren't you?" + +"Not yet." + +"Well, good-night. Are you sure you can find your room?" + +"Oh yes. Good-night." + + + + +VI + +I left my guest abruptly, with a feeling of vexation not very easily +definable. His repetition of questions about questions which society has +so often answered, and always in the same way, was not so bad in him as it +would have been in a person of our civilization; he represented a wholly +different state of things, the inversion of our own, and much could be +forgiven him for that reason, just as in Russia much could be forgiven to +an American if he formulated his curiosity concerning imperialism from a +purely republican experience. I knew that in Altruria, for instance, the +possession of great gifts, of any kind of superiority, involved the sense +of obligation to others, and the wish to identify one's self with the +great mass of men, rather than the ambition to distinguish one's self from +them; and that the Altrurians honored their gifted men in the measure they +did this. A man reared in such a civilization must naturally find it +difficult to get our point of view; with social inclusion as the ideal, he +would with difficulty conceive of our ideal of social exclusion; but I +think we had all been very patient with him; we should have made short +work with an American who had approached us with the same inquiries. +Even from a foreigner, the citizen of a republic founded on the notion, +elsewhere exploded ever since Cain, that one is his brother's keeper, +the things he asked seemed inoffensive only because they were puerile; +but they certainly were puerile. I felt that it ought to have been +self-evident to him that when a commonwealth of sixty million Americans +based itself upon the great principle of self-seeking, self-seeking was +the best thing, and, whatever hardship it seemed to work, it must carry +with it unseen blessings in tenfold measure. If a few hundred thousand +favored Americans enjoyed the privilege of socially contemning all the +rest, it was as clearly right and just that they should do so as that four +thousand American millionaires should be richer than all the other +Americans put together. Such a status, growing out of our political +equality and our material prosperity, must evince a divine purpose to any +one intimate with the designs of Providence, and it seemed a kind of +impiety to doubt its perfection. I excused the misgivings which I could +not help seeing in the Altrurian to his alien traditions, and I was aware +that my friends had done so, too. But, if I could judge from myself, he +must have left them all sensible of their effort; and this was not +pleasant. I could not blink the fact that although I had openly disagreed +with him on every point of ethics and economics, I was still responsible +for him as a guest. It was as if an English gentleman had introduced a +blatant American Democrat into Tory society; or, rather, as if a +Southerner of the olden time had harbored a Northern Abolitionist and +permitted him to inquire into the workings of slavery among his neighbors. +People would tolerate him as my guest for a time, but there must be an end +of their patience with the tacit enmity of his sentiments and the explicit +vulgarity of his ideals, and when the end came I must be attainted with +him. + +I did not like the notion of this, and I meant to escape it if I could. I +confess that I would have willingly disowned him, as I had already +disavowed his opinions, but there was no way of doing it short of telling +him to go away, and I was not ready to do that. Something in the man, I do +not know what, mysteriously appealed to me. He was not contemptibly +puerile without being lovably childlike, and I could only make up my mind +to be more and more frank with him and to try and shield him, as well as +myself, from the effects I dreaded. + +I fell asleep planning an excursion farther into the mountains, which +should take up the rest of the week that I expected him to stay with me, +and would keep him from following up his studies of American life where +they would be so injurious to both of us as they must in our hotel. A +knock at my door roused me, and I sent a drowsy "Come in!" toward it from +the bedclothes without looking that way. + +"Good-morning!" came back in the rich, gentle voice of the Altrurian. I +lifted my head with a jerk from the pillow, and saw him standing against +the closed door, with my shoes in his hand. "Oh, I am sorry I waked you. I +thought--" + +"Not at all, not at all," I said. "It's quite time, I dare say. But you +oughtn't to have taken the trouble to bring my shoes in." + +"I wasn't altogether disinterested in it," he returned. "I wished you to +compliment me on them. Don't you think they are pretty well done, for an +amateur?" He came toward my bed, and turned them about in his hands, so +that they would catch the light, and smiled down upon me. + +"I don't understand," I began. + +"Why," he said, "I blacked them, you know." + +"You blacked them?" + +"Yes," he returned, easily. "I thought I would go into the baggage-room, +after we parted last night, to look for a piece of mine that had not been +taken to my room, and I found the porter there, with his wrist bound up. +He said he had strained it in handling a lady's Saratoga--he said a +Saratoga was a large trunk--and I begged him to let me relieve him at the +boots he was blacking. He refused at first, but I insisted upon trying my +hand at a pair, and then he let me go on with the men's boots; he said he +could varnish the ladies' without hurting his wrist. It needed less skill +than I supposed, and after I had done a few pairs he said I could black +boots as well as he." + +"Did anybody see you?" I gasped, and I felt a cold perspiration break out +on me. + +"No, we had the whole midnight hour to ourselves. The porter's work with +the baggage was all over, and there was nothing to interrupt the +delightful chat we fell into. He is a very intelligent man, and he told me +all about that custom of feeing which you deprecate. He says that the +servants hate it as much as the guests; they have to take the tips now +because the landlords figure on them in the wages, and they cannot live +without them. He is a fine, manly fellow, and--" + +"Mr. Homos," I broke in, with the strength I found in his assurance that +no one had seen him helping the porter black boots, "I want to speak very +seriously with you, and I hope you will not be hurt if I speak very +plainly about a matter in which I have your good solely at heart." This +was not quite true, and I winced inwardly a little when he thanked me with +that confounded sincerity of his which was so much like irony; but I went +on: "It is my duty to you, as my guest, to tell you that this thing of +doing for others is not such a simple matter here, as your peculiar +training leads you to think. You have been deceived by a superficial +likeness; but, really, I do not understand how you could have read all you +have done about us and not realize before coming here that America and +Altruria are absolutely distinct and diverse in their actuating +principles. They are both republics, I know; but America is a republic +where every man is for himself, and you cannot help others as you do at +home; it is dangerous--it is ridiculous. You must keep this fact in mind, +or you will fall into errors that will be very embarrassing to you in your +stay among us, and," I was forced to add, "to all your friends. Now, I +certainly hoped, after what I had said to you and what my friends had +explained of our civilization, that you would not have done a thing of +this kind. I will see the porter, as soon as I am up, and ask him not to +mention the matter to any one, but, I confess, I don't like to take an +apologetic tone with him; your conditions are so alien to ours that they +will seem incredible to him, and he will think I am stuffing him." + +"I don't believe he will think that," said the Altrurian, "and I hope you +won't find the case so bad as it seems to you. I am extremely sorry to +have done wrong--" + +"Oh, the thing wasn't wrong in itself. It was only wrong under the +circumstances. Abstractly, it is quite right to help a fellow-being who +needs help; no one denies that, even in a country where every one is for +himself." + +"I am so glad to hear it," said the Altrurian. "Then, at least, I have not +gone radically astray; and I do not think you need take the trouble to +explain the Altrurian ideas to the porter. I have done that already, and +they seemed quite conceivable to him; he said that poor folks had to act +upon them, even here, more or less, and that if they did not act upon them +there would be no chance for them at all. He says they have to help one +another very much as we do at home, and that it is only the rich folks +among you who are independent. I really don't think you need speak to him +at all, unless you wish; and I was very careful to guard my offer of help +at the point where I understood from you and your friends that it might do +harm. I asked him if there was not some one who would help him out with +his boot-blacking for money, because in that case I should be glad to pay +him; but he said there was no one about who would take the job; that he +had to agree to black the boots, or else he would not have got the place +of porter, but that all the rest of the help would consider it a disgrace, +and would not help him for love or money. So it seemed quite safe to offer +him my services." + +I felt that the matter was almost hopeless, but I asked: "And what he +said--didn't that suggest anything else to you?" + +"How anything else?" asked the Altrurian, in his turn. + +"Didn't it occur to you that if none of his fellow-servants were willing +to help him black boots, and if he did it only because he was obliged to, +it was hardly the sort of work for you?" + +"Why, no," said the Altrurian, with absolute simplicity. He must have +perceived the despair I fell into at this answer, for he asked: "Why +should I have minded doing for others what I should have been willing to +do for myself?" + +"There are a great many things we are willing to do for ourselves that we +are not willing to do for others. But even on that principle, which I +think false and illogical, you could not be justified. A gentleman is not +willing to black _his own_ boots. It is offensive to his feelings, to his +self-respect; it is something he will not do if he can get anybody else to +do it for him." + +"Then in America," said the Altrurian, "it is not offensive to the +feelings of a gentleman to let another do for him what he would not do for +himself?" + +"Certainly not." + +"Ah," he returned, "then we understand something altogether different by +the word gentleman in Altruria. I see, now, how I have committed a +mistake. I shall be more careful hereafter." + +I thought I had better leave the subject, and, "By-the-way," I said, "how +would you like to take a little tramp with me to-day farther up into the +mountains?" + +"I should be delighted," said the Altrurian, so gratefully that I was +ashamed to think why I was proposing the pleasure to him. + +"Well, then, I shall be ready to start as soon as we have had breakfast. I +will join you down-stairs in half an hour." + +He left me at this hint, though really I was half afraid he might stay and +offer to lend me a hand at my toilet, in the expression of his national +character. I found him with Mrs. Makely, when I went down, and she began, +with a parenthetical tribute to the beauty of the mountains in the morning +light: "Don't be surprised to see me up at this unnatural hour. I don't +know whether it was the excitement of our talk last night, or what it was, +but my sulphonal wouldn't act, though I took fifteen grains, and I was up +with the lark, or should have been, if there had been any lark outside of +literature to be up with. However, this air is so glorious that I don't +mind losing a night's sleep now and then. I believe that with a little +practice one could get along without any sleep at all here; at least, _I_ +could. I'm sorry to say poor Mr. Makely _can't_, apparently. He's making +up for his share of my vigils, and I'm going to breakfast without him. Do +you know, I've done a very bold thing: I've got the head-waiter to give +you places at our table; I know you'll hate it, Mr. Twelvemough, because +you naturally want to keep Mr. Homos to yourself, and I don't blame you at +all; but I'm simply not going to _let_ you, and that's all there is about +it." + +The pleasure I felt at this announcement was not unmixed, but I tried to +keep Mrs. Makely from thinking so, and I was immensely relieved when she +found a chance to say to me, in a low voice: "I know just how you're +feeling, Mr. Twelvemough, and I'm going to help you keep him from doing +anything ridiculous, if I can. I _like_ him, and I think it's a perfect +shame to have people laughing at him. I know we can manage him between +us." + +We so far failed, however, that the Altrurian shook hands with the +head-waiter when he pressed open the wire-netting door to let us into the +dining-room, and made a bow to our waitress of the sort one makes to a +lady. But we thought it best to ignore these little errors of his and +reserve our moral strength for anything more spectacular. Fortunately we +got through our breakfast with nothing worse than his jumping up and +stooping to hand the waitress a spoon she let fall; but this could easily +pass for some attention to Mrs. Makely at a little distance. There were +not many people down to breakfast yet; but I could see that there was a +good deal of subdued sensation among the waitresses, standing with folded +arms behind their tables, and that the head-waiter's handsome face was red +with anxiety. + +Mrs. Makely asked if we were going to church. She said she was driving +that way, and would be glad to drop us. "I'm not going myself," she +explained, "because I couldn't make anything of the sermon, with my head +in the state it is, and I'm going to compromise on a good action. I want +to carry some books and papers over to Mrs. Camp. Don't you think that +will be quite as acceptable, Mr. Homos?" + +"I should venture to hope it," he said, with a tolerant seriousness not +altogether out of keeping with her lightness. + +"Who is Mrs. Camp?" I asked, not caring to commit myself on the question. + +"Lizzie's mother. You know I told you about them last night. I think she +must have got through the books I lent her, and I know Lizzie didn't like +to ask me for more, because she saw me talking with you, and didn't want +to interrupt us. Such a nice girl! I think the Sunday papers must have +come, and I'll take them over, too; Mrs. Camp is always so glad to get +them, and she is so delightful when she gets going about public events. +But perhaps you don't approve of Sunday papers, Mr. Homos." + +"I'm sure I don't know, madam. I haven't seen them yet. You know this is +the first Sunday I've been in America." + +"Well, I'm sorry to say you won't see the old Puritan Sabbath," said Mrs. +Makely, with an abrupt deflection from the question of the Sunday papers. +"Though you ought to, up in these hills. The only thing left of it is +rye-and-Indian bread, and these baked beans and fish-balls." + +"But they are very good?" + +"Yes, I dare say they are not the worst of it." + +She was a woman who tended to levity, and I was a little afraid she might +be going to say something irreverent; but, if she were, she was +forestalled by the Altrurian asking: "Would it be very indiscreet, madam, +if I were to ask you some time to introduce me to that family?" + +"The Camps?" she returned. "Not at all. I should be perfectly delighted." +The thought seemed to strike her, and she asked: "Why not go with me this +morning, unless you are inflexibly bent on going to church, you and Mr. +Twelvemough?" + +The Altrurian glanced at me, and I said I should be only too glad, if I +could carry some books, so that I could compromise on a good action, too. +"Take one of your own," she instantly suggested. + +"Do you think they wouldn't be too severe upon it?" I asked. + +"Well, Mrs. Camp might," Mrs. Makely consented, with a smile. "She goes +in for rather serious fiction; but I think Lizzie would enjoy a good, +old-fashioned love-story, where everybody got married, as they do in your +charming books." + +I winced a little, for every one likes to be regarded seriously, and I did +not enjoy being remanded to the young-girl public; but I put a bold face +on it, and said: "My good action shall be done in behalf of Miss Lizzie." + +Half an hour later, Mrs. Makely having left word with the clerk where we +were gone, so that her husband need not be alarmed when he got up, we were +striking into the hills on a two-seated buckboard, with one of the best +teams of our hotel, and one of the most taciturn drivers. Mrs. Makely had +the Altrurian get into the back seat with her, and, after some attempts to +make talk with the driver, I leaned over and joined in their talk. The +Altrurian was greatly interested, not so much in the landscape--though he +owned its beauty when we cried out over it from point to point--but in the +human incidents and features. He noticed the cattle in the fields, and the +horses we met on the road, and the taste and comfort of the buildings, the +variety of the crops, and the promise of the harvest. I was glad of the +respite his questions gave me from the study of the intimate character of +our civilization, for they were directed now at these more material facts, +and I willingly joined Mrs. Makely in answering them. We explained that +the finest teams we met were from the different hotels or boarding-houses, +or at least from the farms where the people took city people to board; and +that certain shabby equipages belonged to the natives who lived solely by +cultivating the soil. There was not very much of the soil cultivated, for +the chief crop was hay, with here and there a patch of potatoes or beans, +and a few acres in sweet-corn. The houses of the natives, when they were +for their use only, were no better than their turnouts; it was where the +city boarder had found shelter that they were modern and pleasant. Now and +then we came to a deserted homestead, and I tried to make the Altrurian +understand how farming in New England had yielded to the competition of +the immense agricultural operations of the West. "You know," I said, "that +agriculture is really an operation out there, as much as coal-mining is in +Pennsylvania, or finance in Wall Street; you have no idea of the vastness +of the scale." Perhaps I swelled a little with pride in my celebration of +the national prosperity, as it flowed from our Western farms of five and +ten and twenty thousand acres; I could not very well help putting on the +pedal in these passages. Mrs. Makely listened almost, as eagerly, as the +Altrurian, for, as a cultivated American woman, she was necessarily +quite ignorant of her own country, geographically, politically, and +historically. "The only people left in the hill country of New England," I +concluded, "are those who are too old or too lazy to get away. Any young +man of energy would be ashamed to stay, unless he wanted to keep a +boarding-house or live on the city vacationists in summer. If he doesn't, +he goes West and takes up some of the new land, and comes back in +middle-life and buys a deserted farm to spend his summers on." + +"Dear me!" said the Altrurian. "Is it so simple as that? Then we can +hardly wonder at their owners leaving these worn-out farms; though I +suppose it must be with the pang of exile, sometimes." + +"Oh, I fancy there isn't much sentiment involved," I answered, lightly. + +"Whoa!" said Mrs. Makely, speaking to the horses before she spoke to the +driver, as some women will. He pulled them up, and looked round at her. + +"Isn't that Reuben Camp, _now_, over there by that house?" she asked, as +if we had been talking of him; that is another way some women have. + +"Yes, ma'am," said the driver. + +"Oh, well, then!" and "Reuben!" she called to the young man, who was +prowling about the door-yard of a sad-colored old farm-house, and peering +into a window here and there. "Come here a moment--won't you, please?" + +He lifted his head and looked round, and, when he had located the appeal +made to him, he came down the walk to the gate and leaned over it, waiting +for further instructions. I saw that it was the young man whom we had +noticed with the girl Mrs. Makely called Lizzie on the hotel piazza the +night before. + +"Do you know whether I should find Lizzie at home this morning?" + +"Yes, she's there with mother," said the young fellow, with neither liking +nor disliking in his tone. + +"Oh, I'm so glad!" said the lady. "I didn't know but she might be at +church. What in the world has happened here? Is there anything unusual +going on inside?" + +"No, I was just looking to see if it was all right. The folks wanted I +should come round." + +"Why, where are they?" + +"Oh, they're gone." + +"Gone?" + +"Yes; gone West. They've left the old place, because they couldn't make a +living here any longer." + +"Why, this is quite a case in point," I said. "Now, Mr. Homos, here is a +chance to inform yourself at first hand about a very interesting fact of +our civilization"; and I added, in a low voice, to Mrs. Makely: "Won't you +introduce us?" + +"Oh yes. Mr. Camp, this is Mr. Twelvemough, the author--you know his +books, of course; and Mr. Homos, a gentleman from Altruria." + +The young fellow opened the gate he leaned on and came out to us. He took +no notice of me, but he seized the Altrurian's hand and wrung it. "I've +heard of _you_" he said. "Mrs. Makely, were you going to our place?" + +"Why, yes." + +"So do, then. Mother would give almost anything to see Mr. Homos. We've +heard of Altruria, over our way," he added to our friend. "Mother's been +reading up all she can about it. She'll want to talk with you, and she +won't give the rest of us much of a chance, I guess." + +"Oh, I shall be glad to see her," said the Altrurian, "and to tell her +everything I can. But won't you explain to me first something about your +deserted farms here? It's quite a new thing to me." + +"It isn't a new thing to us," said the young fellow, with a short laugh. +"And there isn't much to explain about it. You'll see them all through New +England. When a man finds he can't get his funeral expenses out of the +land, he don't feel like staying to be buried in it, and he pulls up and +goes." + +"But people used to get their living expenses here," I suggested. "Why +can't they now?" + +"Well, they didn't use to have Western prices to fight with; and then the +land wasn't worn out so, and the taxes were not so heavy. How would you +like to pay twenty to thirty dollars on the thousand, and assessed up to +the last notch, in the city?" + +"Why, what in the world makes your taxes so heavy?" + +"Schools and roads. We've got to have schools, and you city folks want +good roads when you come here in the summer, don't you? Then the season is +short, and sometimes we can't make a crop. The frost catches the corn in +the field, and you have your trouble for your pains. Potatoes are the only +thing we can count on, except grass, and, when everybody raises potatoes, +you know where the price goes." + +"Oh, but now, Mr. Camp," said Mrs. Makely, leaning over toward him, and +speaking in a cosey and coaxing tone, as if he must not really keep the +truth from an old friend like her, "isn't it a good deal because the +farmers' daughters want pianos, and the farmers' sons want buggies? I +heard Professor Lumen saying, the other day, that, if the farmers were +willing to work as they used to work, they could still get a good living +off their farms, and that they gave up their places because they were too +lazy, in many cases, to farm them properly." + +"He'd better not let _me_ hear him saying that," said the young fellow, +while a hot flush passed over his face. He added, bitterly: "If he wants +to see how easy it is to make a living up here, he can take this place and +try for a year or two; he can get it cheap. But I guess he wouldn't want +it the year round; he'd only want it a few months in the summer, when he +could enjoy the sightliness of it, and see me working over there on my +farm, while he smoked on his front porch." He turned round and looked at +the old house in silence a moment. Then, as he went on, his voice lost its +angry ring. "The folks here bought this place from the Indians, and they'd +been here more than two hundred years. Do you think they left it because +they were too lazy to run it, or couldn't get pianos and buggies out of +it, or were such fools as not to know whether they were well off? It was +their _home_; they were born and lived and died here. There is the family +burying-ground over there." + +Neither Mrs. Makely nor myself was ready with a reply, and we left the +word with the Altrurian, who suggested: "Still, I suppose they will be +more prosperous in the West on the new land they take up?" + +The young fellow leaned his arms on the wheel by which he stood. "What do +you mean by taking up new land?" + +"Why, out of the public domain--" + +"There _ain't_ any public domain that's worth having. All the good land is +in the hands of railroads and farm syndicates and speculators; and if you +want a farm in the West you've got to buy it; the East is the only place +where folks give them away, because they ain't worth keeping. If you +haven't got the ready money, you can buy one on credit, and pay ten, +twenty, and thirty per cent. interest, and live in a dugout on the +plains--till your mortgage matures." The young man took his arms from the +wheel and moved a few steps backward, as he added: "I'll see you over at +the house later." + +The driver touched his horses, and we started briskly off again. But I +confess I had quite enough of his pessimism, and as we drove away I leaned +back toward the Altrurian and said: "Now, it is all perfect nonsense to +pretend that things are at that pass with us. There are more millionaires +in America, probably, than there are in all the other civilized countries +of the globe, and it is not possible that the farming population should be +in such a hopeless condition. All wealth comes out of the earth, and you +may be sure they get their full share of it." + +"I am glad to hear you say so," said the Altrurian. "What is the meaning +of this new party in the West that seems to have held a convention lately? +I read something of it in the train yesterday." + +"Oh, that is a lot of crazy Hayseeds, who don't want to pay back the money +they have borrowed, or who find themselves unable to meet their interest. +It will soon blow over. We are always having these political flurries. A +good crop will make it all right with them." + +"But is it true that they have to pay such rates of interest as our young +friend mentioned?" + +"Well," I said, seeing the thing in the humorous light which softens for +us Americans so many of the hardships of others, "I suppose that man likes +to squeeze his brother man when he gets him in his grip. That's human +nature, you know." + +"Is it?" asked the Altrurian. + +It seemed to me that he had asked something like that before when I +alleged human nature in defence of some piece of every-day selfishness. +But I thought best not to notice it, and I went on: "The land is so rich +out there that a farm will often pay for itself with a single crop." + +"Is it possible?" cried the Altrurian. "Then I suppose it seldom really +happens that a mortgage is foreclosed, in the way our young friend +insinuated?" + +"Well, I can't say that exactly"; and, having admitted so much, I did not +feel bound to impart a fact that popped perversely into my mind. I was +once talking with a Western money-lender, a very good sort of fellow, +frank and open as the day; I asked him whether the farmers generally paid +off their mortgages, and he answered me that if the mortgage was to the +value of a fourth of the land, the farmer might pay it off, but if it were +to a half, or a third even, he never paid it, but slaved on and died in +his debts. "You may be sure, however," I concluded, "that our young friend +takes a jaundiced view of the situation." + +"Now, really," said Mrs. Makely, "I must insist upon dropping this +everlasting talk about money. I think it is perfectly disgusting, and I +believe it was Mr. Makely's account of his speculations that kept me awake +last night. My brain got running on figures till the dark seemed to be all +sown with dollar-marks, like the stars in the Milky Way. I--ugh! What in +the world is it? Oh, you dreadful little things!" + +Mrs. Makely passed swiftly from terror to hysterical laughter as the +driver pulled up short and a group of barefooted children broke in front +of his horses and scuttled out of the dust into the road-side bushes like +a covey of quails. There seemed to be a dozen of them, nearly all the same +in size, but there turned out to be only five or six; or at least no more +showed their gleaming eyes and teeth through the underbrush in quiet +enjoyment of the lady's alarm. + +"Don't you know that you might have got killed?" she demanded, with that +severity good women feel for people who have just escaped with their +lives. "How lovely the dirty little dears are!" she added, in the next +wave of emotion. One bold fellow of six showed a half-length above the +bushes, and she asked: "Don't you know that you oughtn't to play in the +road when there are so many teams passing? Are all those your brothers and +sisters?" + +He ignored the first question. "One's my cousin." I pulled out a +half-dozen coppers, and held my hand toward him. "See if there is one +for each." They had no difficulty in solving the simple mathematical +problem except the smallest girl, who cried for fear and baffled longing. +I tossed the coin to her, and a little fat dog darted out at her feet and +caught it up in his mouth. "Oh, good gracious!" I called out in my light, +humorous way. "Do you suppose he's going to spend it for candy?" The +little people thought that a famous joke, and they laughed with the +gratitude that even small favors inspire. "Bring your sister here," I said +to the boldest boy, and, when he came up with the little woman, I put +another copper into her hand. "Look out that the greedy dog doesn't get +it," I said, and my gayety met with fresh applause. "Where do you live?" I +asked, with some vague purpose of showing the Altrurian the kindliness +that exists between our upper and lower classes. + +"Over there," said the boy. I followed the twist of his head, and glimpsed +a wooden cottage on the border of the forest, so very new that the +sheathing had not yet been covered with clapboards. I stood up in the +buckboard and saw that it was a story and a half high, and could have had +four or five rooms in it. The bare, curtainless windows were set in the +unpainted frames, but the front door seemed not to be hung yet. The people +meant to winter there, however, for the sod was banked up against the +wooden underpinning; a stovepipe stuck out of the roof of a little wing +behind. While I gazed a young-looking woman came to the door, as if she +had been drawn by our talk with the children, and then she jumped down +from the threshold, which still wanted a doorstep, and came slowly out to +us. The children ran to her with their coppers, and then followed her back +to us. + +Mrs. Makely called to her before she reached us: "I hope you weren't +frightened. We didn't drive over any of them." + +"Oh, I wasn't frightened," said the young woman. "It's a very safe place +to bring up children, in the country, and I never feel uneasy about them." + +"Yes, if they are not under the horses' feet," said Mrs. Makely, mingling +instruction and amusement very judiciously in her reply. "Are they all +yours?" + +"Only five," said the mother, and she pointed to the alien in her flock. +"He's my sister's. She lives just below here." Her children had grouped +themselves about her, and she kept passing her hands caressingly over +their little heads as she talked. "My sister has nine children, but she +has the rest at church with her to-day." + +"You don't speak like an American," Mrs. Makely suggested. + +"No, we're English. Our husbands work in the quarry. That's _my_ little +palace." The woman nodded her head toward the cottage. + +"It's going to be very nice," said Mrs. Makely, with an evident perception +of her pride in it. + +"Yes, if we ever get money to finish it. Thank you for the children." + +"Oh, it was this gentleman." Mrs. Makely indicated me, and I bore the +merit of my good action as modestly as I could. + +"Then thank _you_, sir," said the young woman, and she asked Mrs. Makely: +"You're not living about here, ma'am?" + +"Oh no, we're staying at the hotel." + +"At the hotel! It must be very dear, there." + +"Yes, it is expensive," said Mrs. Makely, with a note of that satisfaction +in her voice which we all feel in spending a great deal of money. + +"But I suppose you can afford it," said the woman, whose eye was running +hungrily over Mrs. Makely's pretty costume. "Some are poor, and some are +rich. That's the way the world has to be made up, isn't it?" + +"Yes," said Mrs. Makely, very dryly, and the talk languished from this +point, so that the driver felt warranted in starting up his horses. When +we had driven beyond earshot she said: "I knew she was not an American, +as soon as she spoke, by her accent, and then those foreigners have no +self-respect. That was a pretty bold bid for a contribution to finish up +her 'little palace'! I'm glad you didn't give her anything, Mr. +Twelvemough. I was afraid your sympathies had been wrought upon." + +"Oh, not at all," I answered. "I saw the mischief I had done with the +children." + +The Altrurian, who has not asked anything for a long time, but had +listened with eager interest to all that passed, now came up smiling with +his question: "Will you kindly tell me what harm would have been done by +offering the woman a little money to help finish up her cottage?" + +I did not allow Mrs. Makely to answer, I was so eager to air my political +economy. "The very greatest harm. It would have pauperized her. You have +no idea how quickly they give way to the poison of that sort of thing. As +soon as they get any sort of help they expect more; they count upon it, +and they begin to live upon it. The sight of those coppers which I gave +her children--more out of joke than charity--demoralized the woman. She +took us for rich people, and wanted us to build her a house. You have to +guard against every approach to a thing of that sort." + +"I don't believe," said Mrs. Makely, "that an American would have hinted, +as she did." + +"'No, an American would not have done that, I'm thankful to say. They take +fees, but they don't ask charity, yet." We went on to exult in the noble +independence of the American character in all classes, at some length. We +talked at the Altrurian, but he did not seem to hear us. At last he asked, +with a faint sigh: "Then, in your conditions, a kindly impulse to aid one +who needs your help is something to be guarded against as possibly +pernicious?" + +"Exactly," I said. "And now you see what difficulties beset us in dealing +with the problem of poverty. We cannot let people suffer, for that would +be cruel; and we cannot relieve their need without pauperizing them." + +"I see," he answered. "It is a terrible quandary." + +"I wish," said Mrs. Makely, "that you would tell us just how you manage +with the poor in Altruria." + +"We have none," he replied. + +"But the comparatively poor--you have some people who are richer than +others?" + +"No. We should regard that as the worst incivism." + +"What is incivism?" + +I interpreted, "Bad citizenship." + +"Well, then, if you will excuse me, Mr. Homos," she said, "I think that is +simply impossible. There _must_ be rich and there _must_ be poor. There +always have been, and there always will be. That woman said it as well as +anybody. Didn't Christ Himself say, 'The poor ye have always with you'?" + + + + +VII + + +The Altrurian looked at Mrs. Makely with an amazement visibly heightened +by the air of complacency she put on after delivering this poser: "Do you +really think Christ meant that you _ought_ always to have the poor with +you?" he asked. + +"Why, of course!" she answered, triumphantly. "How else are the sympathies +of the rich to be cultivated? The poverty of some and the wealth of +others, isn't that what forms the great tie of human brotherhood? If we +were all comfortable, or all shared alike, there could not be anything +like charity, and Paul said, 'The greatest of these is charity.' I believe +it's 'love' in the new version, but it comes to the same thing." + +The Altrurian gave a kind of gasp, and then lapsed into a silence that +lasted until we came in sight of the Camp farm-house. It stood on the +crest of a road-side upland, and looked down the beautiful valley, bathed +in Sabbath sunlight, and away to the ranges of hills, so far that it was +hard to say whether it was sun or shadow that dimmed their distance. +Decidedly, the place was what the country people call sightly. The old +house, once painted a Brandon red, crouched low to the ground, with its +lean-to in the rear, and its flat-arched wood-sheds and wagon-houses +stretching away at the side of the barn, and covering the approach to it +with an unbroken roof. There were flowers in the beds along the +underpinning of the house, which stood close to the street, and on one +side of the door was a clump of Spanish willow; an old-fashioned June rose +climbed over it from the other. An aged dog got stiffly to his feet from +the threshold stone and whimpered as our buckboard drew up; the poultry +picking about the path and among the chips lazily made way for us, and as +our wheels ceased to crunch upon the gravel we heard hasty steps, and +Reuben Camp came round the corner of the house in time to give Mrs. Makely +his hand and help her spring to the ground, which she did very lightly; +her remarkable mind had kept her body in a sort of sympathetic activity, +and at thirty-five she had the gracile ease and self-command of a girl. + +"Ah, Reuben," she sighed, permitting herself to call him by his first +name, with the emotion which expressed itself more definitely in the words +that followed, "how I envy you all this dear, old, homelike place! I never +come here without thinking of my grandfather's farm in Massachusetts, +where I used to go every summer when I was a little girl. If I had a place +like this, I should never leave it." + +"Well, Mrs. Makely," said young Camp, "you can have this place cheap, if +you really want it. Or almost any other place in the neighborhood." + +"Don't say such a thing!" she returned. "It makes one feel as if the +foundations of the great deep were giving way. I don't know what that +means exactly, but I suppose it's equivalent to mislaying George's hatchet +and going back on the Declaration generally; and I don't like to hear you +talk so." + +Camp seemed to have lost his bitter mood, and he answered, pleasantly: +"The Declaration is all right, as far as it goes, but it don't help us to +compete with the Western farm operations." + +"Why, you believe every one was born free and equal, don't you?" Mrs. +Makely asked. + +"Oh yes, I believe that; but--" + +"Then why do you object to free and equal competition?" + +The young fellow laughed, and said, as he opened the door for us: "Walk +right into the parlor, please. Mother will be ready for you in a minute." +He added: "I guess she's putting on her best cap for you, Mr. Homos. It's +a great event for her, your coming here. It is for all of us. We're glad +to have you." + +"And I'm glad to be here," said the Altrurian, as simply as the other. He +looked about the best room of a farm-house that had never adapted itself +to the tastes or needs of the city boarder, and was as stiffly repellent +in its upholstery and as severe in its decoration as hair-cloth chairs and +dark-brown wall-paper of a trellis pattern, with drab roses, could make +it. The windows were shut tight, and our host did not offer to open them. +A fly or two crossed the doorway into the hall, but made no attempt +to penetrate the interior, where we sat in an obscurity that left the +high-hung family photographs on the walls vague and uncertain. I made a +mental note of it as a place where it would be very characteristic to have +a rustic funeral take place; and I was pleased to have Mrs. Makely drop +into a sort of mortuary murmur, as she said: "I hope your mother is as +well as usual this morning?" I perceived that this murmur was produced by +the sepulchral influence of the room. + +"Oh yes," said Camp, and at that moment a door opened from the room across +the hall, and his sister seemed to bring in some of the light from it to +us where we sat. She shook hands with Mrs. Makely, who introduced me to +her, and then presented the Altrurian. She bowed very civilly to me, but +with a touch of severity, such as country people find necessary for the +assertion of their self-respect with strangers. I thought it very pretty, +and instantly saw that I could work it into some picture of character; and +I was not at all sorry that she made a difference in favor of the +Altrurian. + +"Mother will be so glad to see you," she said to him, and, "Won't you come +right in?" she added to us all. + +We followed her and found ourselves in a large, low, sunny room on +the southeast corner of the house, which had no doubt once been the +living-room, but which was now given up to the bedridden invalid; a door +opened into the kitchen behind, where the table was already laid for the +midday meal, with the plates turned down in the country fashion, and some +netting drawn over the dishes to keep the flies away. + +Mrs. Makely bustled up to the bedside with her energetic, patronizing +cheerfulness. "Ah, Mrs. Camp, I am glad to see you looking so well this +morning. I've been meaning to run over for several days past, but I +couldn't find a moment till this morning, and I knew you didn't object to +Sunday visits." She took the invalid's hand in hers, and, with the air of +showing how little she felt any inequality between them, she leaned over +and kissed her, where Mrs. Camp sat propped against her pillows. She had a +large, nobly moulded face of rather masculine contour, and at the same +time the most motherly look in the world. Mrs. Makely bubbled and babbled +on, and every one waited patiently till she had done, and turned and said, +toward the Altrurian: "I have ventured to bring my friend, Mr. Homos, with +me. He is from Altruria." Then she turned to me and said: "Mr. Twelvemough +you know already through his delightful books"; but, although she paid me +this perfunctory compliment it was perfectly apparent to me that in the +esteem of this disingenuous woman the distinguished stranger was a far +more important person than the distinguished author. Whether Mrs. Camp +read my perception of this fact in my face or not I cannot say, but she +was evidently determined that I should not feel a difference in her. She +held out her hand to me first, and said that I never could know how many +heavy hours I had helped to lighten for her, and then she turned to the +Altrurian and took his hand. "Oh!" she said, with a long, deep-drawn sigh, +as if that were the supreme moment of her life. "And are you really from +Altruria? It seems too good to be true!" Her devout look and her earnest +tone gave the commonplace words a quality that did not inhere in them, but +Mrs. Makely took them on their surface. + +"Yes, doesn't it?" she made haste to interpose, before the Altrurian could +say anything. "That is just the way we all feel about it, Mrs. Camp. I +assure you, if it were not for the accounts in the papers and the talk +about it everywhere, I couldn't believe there _was_ any such place as +Altruria; and if it were not for Mr. Twelvemough here--who has to keep all +his inventions for his novels, as a mere matter of business routine--I +might really suspect him and Mr. Homos of--well, _working_ us, as my +husband calls it." + +The Altrurian smiled politely, but vaguely, as if he had not quite caught +her meaning, and I made answer for both: "I am sure, Mrs. Makely, if you +could understand my peculiar state of mind about Mr. Homos, you would +never believe that I was in collusion with him. I find him quite as +incredible as you do. There are moments when he seems so entirely +subjective with me that I feel as if he were no more definite or tangible +than a bad conscience." + +"Exactly!" said Mrs. Makely, and she laughed out her delight in my +illustration. + +The Altrurian must have perceived that we were joking, though the Camps +all remained soberly silent. "I hope it isn't so bad as that," he said, +"though I have noticed that I seem to affect you all with a kind of +misgiving. I don't know just what it is; but, if I could remove it, I +should be very glad to do so." + +Mrs. Makely very promptly seized her chance: "Well, then, in the first +place, my husband and I were talking it over last night after we left you, +and that was one of the things that kept us awake; it turned into money +afterward. It isn't so much that a whole continent, as big as Australia, +remained undiscovered till within such a very few years, as it is the +condition of things among you: this sort of all living for one another, +and not each one for himself. My husband says that is simply moonshine; +such a thing never was and never can be; it is opposed to human nature, +and would take away incentive and all motive for exertion and advancement +and enterprise. I don't know _what_ he didn't say against it; but one +thing, he says it's perfectly un-American." The Altrurian remained silent, +gravely smiling, and Mrs. Makely added, with her most engaging little +manner: "I hope you won't feel hurt, personally or patriotically, by what +I've repeated to you. I know my husband is awfully Philistine, though he +_is_ such a good fellow, and I don't, by any means, agree with him on all +those points; but I _would_ like to know what you think of them. The +trouble is, Mrs. Camp," she said, turning to the invalid, "that Mr. Homos +is so dreadfully reticent about his own country, and I am so curious to +hear of it at first hands, that I consider it justifiable to use any means +to make him open up about it." + +"There is no offence," the Altrurian answered for himself, "in what Mr. +Makely says, though, from the Altrurian point of view, there is a good +deal of error. + +"Does it seem so strange to you," he asked, addressing himself to Mrs. +Camp, "that people should found a civilization on the idea of living for +one another instead of each for himself?" + +"No indeed!" she answered. "Poor people have always had to live that way, +or they could not have lived at all." + +"That was what I understood your porter to say last night," said the +Altrurian to me. He added, to the company generally: "I suppose that even +in America there are more poor people than there are rich people?" + +"Well, I don't know about that," I said. "I suppose there are more people +independently rich than there are people independently poor." + +"We will let that formulation of it stand. If it is true, I do not see why +the Altrurian system should be considered so very un-American. Then, as to +whether there is or ever was really a practical altruism, a civic +expression of it, I think it cannot be denied that among the first +Christians, those who immediately followed Christ, and might be supposed +to be directly influenced by His life, there was an altruism practised as +radical as that which we have organized into a national polity and a +working economy in Altruria." + +"Ah, but you know," said Mrs. Makely, with the air of advancing a point +not to be put aside, "they had to drop _that_. It was a dead failure. They +found that they couldn't make it go at all among cultivated people, and +that, if Christianity was to advance, they would have to give up all that +crankish kind of idolatry of the mere letter. At any rate," she went on, +with the satisfaction we all feel in getting an opponent into close +quarters, "you must confess that there is a much greater play of +individuality here." + +Before the Altrurian could reply, young Camp said: "If you want to see +American individuality, the real, simon-pure article, you ought to go down +to one of our big factory towns and look at the mill-hands coming home in +droves after a day's work, young girls and old women, boys and men, all +fluffed over with cotton, and so dead tired that they can hardly walk. +They come shambling along with all the individuality of a flock of sheep." + +"Some," said Mrs. Makely, heroically, as if she were one of these, "must +be sacrificed. Of course, some are not so individual as others. A great +deal depends upon temperament." + +"A great deal more depends upon capital," said Camp, with an offensive +laugh. "If you have capital in America, you can have individuality; if you +haven't, you can't." + +His sister, who had not taken part in the talk before, said, demurely: "It +seems to me you've got a good deal of individuality, Reub, and you haven't +got a great deal of capital, either," and the two young people laughed +together. + +Mrs. Makely was one of those fatuous women whose eagerness to make a point +excludes the consideration even of their own advantage. "I'm sure," she +said, as if speaking for the upper classes, "we haven't got any +individuality at all. We are as like as so many peas or pins. In fact, you +have to be so in society. If you keep asserting your own individuality too +much, people avoid you. It's very vulgar and the greatest bore." + +"Then you don't find individuality so desirable, after all," said the +Altrurian. + +"I perfectly detest it!" cried the lady, and evidently she had not the +least notion where she was in the argument. "For my part, I'm never happy +except when I've forgotten myself and the whole individual bother." + +Her declaration seemed somehow to close the incident, and we were all +silent a moment, which I employed in looking about the room, and taking in +with my literary sense the simplicity and even bareness of its furnishing. +There was the bed where the invalid lay, and near the head a table with a +pile of books and a kerosene-lamp on it, and I decided that she was a good +deal wakeful, and that she read by that lamp when she could not sleep at +night. Then there were the hard chairs we sat on, and some home-made +hooked rugs, in rounds and ovals, scattered about the clean floor; there +was a small melodeon pushed against the wall; the windows had paper +shades, and I recalled that I had not seen any blinds on the outside of +the house. Over the head of the bed hung a cavalryman's sword, with its +belt--the sword that Mrs. Makely had spoken of. It struck me as a room +where a great many things might have happened, and I said: "You can't +think, Mrs. Camp, how glad I am to see the inside of your house. It seems +to me so typical." + +A pleased intelligence showed itself in her face, and she answered: "Yes, +it is a real old-fashioned farmhouse. We have never taken boarders, and so +we have kept it as it was built pretty much, and only made such changes in +it as we needed or wanted for ourselves." + +"It's a pity," I went on, following up what I thought a fortunate lead, +"that we city people see so little of the farming life when we come into +the country. I have been here now for several seasons, and this is the +first time I have been inside a farmer's house." + +"Is it possible!" cried the Altrurian, with an air of utter astonishment; +and, when I found the fact appeared so singular to him, I began to be +rather proud of its singularity. + +"Yes, I suppose that most city people come and go, year after year, in the +country, and never make any sort of acquaintance with the people who live +there the year round. We keep to ourselves in the hotels, or, if we go out +at all, it is to make a call upon some city cottager, and so we do not get +out of the vicious circle of our own over-intimacy with ourselves and our +ignorance of others." + +"And you regard that as a great misfortune?" asked the Altrurian. + +"Why, it's inevitable. There is nothing to bring us together, unless it's +some happy accident, like the present. But we don't have a traveler from +Altruria to exploit every day, and so we have no business to come into +people's houses." + +"You would have been welcome in ours long ago, Mr. Twelvemough," said Mrs. +Camp. + +"But, excuse me," said the Altrurian, "what you say really seems dreadful +to me. Why, it is as if you were not the same race or kind of men!" + +"Yes," I answered. "It has sometimes seemed to me as if our big hotel +there were a ship anchored off some strange coast. The inhabitants come +out with supplies, and carry on their barter with the ship's steward, and +we sometimes see them over the side, but we never speak to them or have +anything to do with them. We sail away at the close of the season, and +that is the end of it till next summer." + +The Altrurian turned to Mrs. Camp. "And how do you look at it? How does it +seem to you?" + +"I don't believe we have thought about it very much; but, now that Mr. +Twelvemough has spoken of it, I can see that it does look that way. And it +seems very strange, doesn't it, for we are all the same people, and have +the same language and religion and country--the country that my husband +fought for and, I suppose I may say, died for; he was never the same man +after the war. It does appear as if we had some interests in common, and +might find it out if we ever came together." + +"It's a great advantage, the city people going into the country so much as +they do now," said Mrs. Makely. "They bring five million dollars into the +State of New Hampshire, alone, every summer." + +She looked round for the general approval which this fact merited, and +young Camp said: "And it shows how worthless the natives are, that they +can't make both ends meet, with all that money, but have to give up their +farms and go West, after all. I suppose you think it comes from wanting +buggies and pianos." + +"Well, it certainly comes from something," said Mrs. Makely, with the +courage of her convictions. + +She was evidently not going to be put down by that sour young fellow, and +I was glad of it, though I must say I thought the thing she left to rankle +in his mind from our former meeting had not been said in very good taste. +I thought, too, that she would not fare best in any encounter of wits with +him, and I rather trembled for the result. I said, to relieve the strained +situation: "I wish there was some way of our knowing each other better. +I'm sure there's a great deal of good-will on both sides." + +"No, there isn't," said Camp, "or at least I can answer for our side that +there isn't. You come into the country to get as much for your money as +you can, and we mean to let you have as little as we can. That's the whole +story, and if Mr. Homos believes anything different, he's very much +mistaken." + +"I hadn't formed any conclusion in regard to the matter, which is quite +new to me," said the Altrurian, mildly. "But why is there no basis of +mutual kindness between you?" + +"Because it's like everything else with us; it's a question of supply and +demand, and there is no room for any mutual kindness in a question of that +kind. Even if there were, there is another thing that would kill it. The +summer folks, as we call them, look down on the natives, as they call us, +and we know it." + +"Now, Mr. Camp, I am sure that you cannot say _I_ look down on the +natives," said Mrs. Makely, with an air of argument. + +The young fellow laughed. "Oh yes, you do," he said, not unamiably, and he +added, "and you've got the right to. We're not fit to associate with you, +and you know it, and we know it. You've got more money, and you've got +nicer clothes, and you've got prettier manners. You talk about things that +most natives never heard of, and you care for things they never saw. I +know it's the custom to pretend differently, but I'm not going to pretend +differently." + +I recalled what my friend the banker said about throwing away cant, and I +asked myself if I were in the presence of some such free spirit again. I +did not see how young Camp could afford it; but then I reflected that he +had really nothing to lose by it, for he did not expect to make anything +out of us; Mrs. Makely would probably not give up his sister as seamstress +if the girl continued to work so well and so cheaply as she said. + +"Suppose," he went on, "that some old native took you at your word, and +came to call upon you at the hotel, with his wife, just as one of the city +cottagers would do if he wanted to make your acquaintance?" + +"I should be perfectly delighted," said Mrs. Makely, "and I should receive +them with the greatest possible cordiality." + +"The same kind of cordiality that you would show to the cottagers?" + +"I suppose that I should feel that I had more in common with the +cottagers. We should be interested in the same things, and we should +probably know the same people and have more to talk about--" + +"You would both belong to the same class, and that tells the whole story. +If you were out West, and the owner of one of those big twenty-thousand-acre +farms called on you with his wife, would you act toward them as you +would toward our natives? You wouldn't. You would all be rich people +together, and you would understand one another because you had money." + +"Now, that is not so," Mrs. Makely interrupted. "There are plenty of rich +people one wouldn't wish to know at all, and who really can't get into +society--who are ignorant and vulgar. And then, when you come to money, I +don't see but what country people are as glad to get it as anybody." + +"Oh, gladder," said the young man. + +"Well?" demanded Mrs. Makely, as if this were a final stroke of logic. The +young man did not reply, and Mrs. Makely continued: "Now I will appeal to +your sister to say whether she has ever seen any difference in my manner +toward her from what I show to all the young ladies in the hotel." The +young girl flushed and seemed reluctant to answer. "Why, Lizzie!" cried +Mrs. Makely, and her tone showed that she was really hurt. + +The scene appeared to me rather cruel, and I glanced at Mrs. Camp with an +expectation that she would say something to relieve it. But she did not. +Her large, benevolent face expressed only a quiet interest in the +discussion. + +"You know very well, Mrs. Makely," said the girl, "you don't regard me as +you do the young ladies in the hotel." + +There was no resentment in her voice or look, but only a sort of regret, +as if, but for this grievance, she could have loved the woman from whom +she had probably had much kindness. The tears came into Mrs. Makely's +eyes, and she turned toward Mrs. Camp. "And is this the way you _all_ feel +toward us?" she asked. + +"Why shouldn't we?" asked the invalid, in her turn. "But, no, it isn't the +way all the country people feel. Many of them feel as you would like to +have them feel; but that is because they do not think. When they think, +they feel as we do. But I don't blame you. You can't help yourselves any +more than we can. We're all bound up together in that, at least." + +At this apparent relenting Mrs. Makely tricked her beams a little, and +said, plaintively, as if offering herself for further condolence: "Yes, +that is what that woman at the little shanty back there said: some have to +be rich, and some have to be poor; it takes all kinds to make a world." + +"How would you like to be one of those that have to be poor?" asked young +Camp, with an evil grin. + +"I don't know," said Mrs. Makely, with unexpected spirit; "but I am sure +that I should respect the feelings of all, rich or poor." + +"I am sorry if we have hurt yours, Mrs. Makely," said Mrs. Camp, with +dignity. "You asked us certain questions, and we thought you wished us to +reply truthfully. We could not answer you with smooth things." + +"But sometimes you do," said Mrs. Makely, and the tears stood in her eyes +again. "And you know how fond I am of you all!" + +Mrs. Camp wore a bewildered look. "Perhaps we have said more than we +ought. But I couldn't help it, and I don't see how the children could, +when you asked them here, before Mr. Homos." + +I glanced at the Altrurian, sitting attentive and silent, and a sudden +misgiving crossed my mind concerning him. Was he really a man, a human +entity, a personality like ourselves, or was he merely a sort of spiritual +solvent, sent for the moment to precipitate whatever sincerity there was +in us, and show us what the truth was concerning our relations to one +another? It was a fantastic conception, but I thought it was one that I +might employ in some sort of purely romantic design, and I was +professionally grateful for it. I said, with a humorous gayety: "Yes, we +all seem to have been compelled to be much more honest than we like; and +if Mr. Homos is going to write an account of his travels when he gets +home, he can't accuse us of hypocrisy, at any rate. And I always used to +think it was one of our virtues! What with Mr. Camp, here, and my friend +the banker at the hotel, I don't think he'll have much reason to complain +even of our reticence." + +"Well, whatever he says of us," sighed Mrs. Makely, with a pious glance at +the sword over the bed, "he will have to say that, in spite of our +divisions and classes, we are all Americans, and, if we haven't the same +opinions and ideas on minor matters, we all have the same country." + +"I don't know about that," came from Reuben Camp, with shocking +promptness. "I don't believe we all have the same country. America is one +thing for you, and it's quite another thing for us. America means ease and +comfort and amusement for you, year in and year out, and if it means work, +it's work that you _wish_ to do. For us, America means work that we _have_ +to do, and hard work all the time if we're going to make both ends meet. +It means liberty for you; but what liberty has a man got who doesn't know +where his next meal is coming from? Once I was in a strike, when I was +working on the railroad, and I've seen men come and give up their liberty +for a chance to earn their family's living. They knew they were right, and +that they ought to have stood up for their rights; but they had to lie +down and lick the hand that fed them. Yes, we are all Americans, but I +guess we haven't all got the same country, Mrs. Makely. What sort of a +country has a blacklisted man got?" + +"A blacklisted man?" she repeated. "I don't know what you mean." + +"Well, a kind of man I've seen in the mill towns, that the bosses have all +got on their books as a man that isn't to be given work on any account; +that's to be punished with hunger and cold, and turned into the street, +for having offended them; and that's to be made to suffer through his +helpless family for having offended them." + +"Excuse me, Mr. Camp," I interposed, "but isn't a blacklisted man usually +a man who has made himself prominent in some labor trouble?" + +"Yes," the young fellow answered, without seeming sensible of the point I +had made. + +"Ah!" I returned. "Then you can hardly blame the employers for taking it +out of him in any way they can. That's human nature." + +"Good heavens!" the Altrurian cried out. "Is it possible that in America +it is human nature to take away the bread of a man's family because he has +gone counter to your interest or pleasure on some economical question?" + +"Well, Mr. Twelvemough seems to think so," sneered the young man. "But +whether it's human nature or not, it's a fact that they do it, and you can +guess how much a blacklisted man must love the country where such a thing +can happen to him. What should you call such a thing as blacklisting in +Altruria?" + +"Oh yes," Mrs. Makely pleaded, "do let us get him to talking about +Altruria on any terms. I think all this about the labor question is so +tiresome; don't you, Mrs. Camp?" + +Mrs. Camp did not answer; but the Altrurian said, in reply to her son: "We +should have no name for such a thing, for with us such a thing would be +impossible. There is no crime so heinous with us that the punishment would +take away the criminal's chance of earning his living." + +"Oh, if he was a criminal," said young Camp, "he would be all right +_here_. The state would give him a chance to earn his living then." + +"But if he had no other chance of earning his living, and had committed no +offence against the laws--" + +"Then the state would let him take to the road--like that fellow." + +He pulled aside the shade of the window where he sat, and we saw pausing +before the house, and glancing doubtfully at the doorstep, where the dog +lay, a vile and loathsome-looking tramp, a blot upon the sweet and +wholesome landscape, a scandal to the sacred day. His rags burlesqued the +form which they did not wholly hide; his broken shoes were covered with +dust; his coarse hair came in a plume through his tattered hat; his red, +sodden face, at once fierce and timid, was rusty with a fortnight's beard. +He offended the eye like a visible stench, and the wretched carrion seemed +to shrink away from our gaze as if he were aware of his loathsomeness. + +"Really," said Mrs. Makely, "I thought those fellows were arrested now. It +is too bad to leave them at large. They are dangerous." Young Camp left +the room, and we saw him going out toward the tramp. + +"Ah, that's quite right," said the lady. "I hope Reuben is going to send +him about his business. Why, surely, he's not going to feed the horrid +creature!" she added, as Camp, after a moment's parley with the tramp, +turned with him and disappeared round a corner of the house. "Now, Mrs. +Camp, I think that is really a very bad example. It's encouraging them. +Very likely he'll go to sleep in your barn, and set it on fire with his +pipe. What do you do with tramps in Altruria, Mr. Homos?" + +The Altrurian seemed not to have heard her. He said to Mrs. Camp: "Then I +understand from something your son let fall that he has not always been at +home with you here. Does he reconcile himself easily to the country after +the excitement of town life? I have read that the cities in America are +draining the country of the young people." + +"I don't think he was sorry to come home," said the mother, with a touch +of fond pride. "But there was no choice for him after his father died; he +was always a good boy, and he has not made us feel that we were keeping +him away from anything better. When his father was alive we let him go, +because then we were not so dependent, and I wished him to try his fortune +in the world, as all boys long to do. But he is rather peculiar, and he +seems to have got quite enough of the world. To be sure, I don't suppose +he's seen the brightest side of it. He first went to work in the mills +down at Ponkwasset, but he was 'laid off' there when the hard times came +and there was so much overproduction, and he took a job of railroading, +and was braking on a freight-train when his father left us." + +Mrs. Makely said, smiling: "No, I don't think that was the brightest +outlook in the world. No wonder he has brought back such gloomy +impressions. I am sure that if he could have seen life under brighter +auspices he would not have the ideas he has." + +"Very likely," said the mother, dryly. "Our experiences have a great deal +to do with forming our opinions. But I am not dissatisfied with my son's +ideas. I suppose Reuben got a good many of his ideas from his father: he's +his father all over again. My husband thought slavery was wrong, and he +went into the war to fight against it. He used to say when the war was +over that the negroes were emancipated, but slavery was not abolished +yet." + +"What in the world did he mean by that?" demanded Mrs. Makely. + +"Something you wouldn't understand as we do. I tried to carry on the farm +after he first went, and before Reuben was large enough to help me much +and ought to be in school, and I suppose I overdid. At any rate, that was +when I had my first shock of paralysis. I never was very strong, and I +presume my health was weakened by my teaching school so much, and +studying, before I was married. But that doesn't matter now, and hasn't +for many a year. The place was clear of debt then, but I had to get a +mortgage put on it. The savings-bank down in the village took it, and +we've been paying the interest ever since. My husband died paying it, and +my son will pay it all my life, and then I suppose the bank will +foreclose. The treasurer was an old playmate of my husband's, and he said +that as long as either of us lived the mortgage could lie." + +"How splendid of him!" said Mrs. Makely. "I should think you had been very +fortunate." + +"I said that you would not see it as we do," said the invalid, patiently. + +The Altrurian asked: "Are there mortgages on many of the farms in the +neighborhood?" + +"Nearly all," said Mrs. Camp. "We seem to own them, but in fact they own +us." + +Mrs. Makely hastened to say: "My husband thinks it's the best way to have +your property. If you mortgage it close up, you have all your capital +free, and you can keep turning it over. That's what you ought to do, Mrs. +Camp. But what was the slavery that Captain Camp said was not abolished +yet?" + +The invalid looked at her a moment without replying, and just then the +door of the kitchen opened, and Young Camp came in and began to gather +some food from the table on a plate. + +"Why don't you bring him to the table, Reub?" his sister called to him. + +"Oh, he says he'd rather not come in, as long as we have company. He says +he isn't dressed for dinner; left his spike-tail in the city." + +The young man laughed, and his sister with him. + + + + +VIII + + +Young Camp carried out the plate of victuals to the tramp, and Mrs. Makely +said to his mother: "I suppose you would make the tramp do some sort of +work to earn his breakfast on week-days?" + +"Not always," Mrs. Camp replied. "Do the boarders at the hotel always work +to earn their breakfast?" + +"No, certainly not," said Mrs. Makely, with the sharpness of offence. "But +they always pay for it." + +"I don't think that paying for a thing is earning it. Perhaps some one +else earned the money that pays for it. But I believe there is too much +work in the world. If I were to live my life over again, I should not work +half so hard. My husband and I took this place when we were young married +people, and began working to pay for it. We wanted to feel that it was +ours, that we owned it, and that our children should own it afterward. We +both worked all day long like slaves, and many a moonlight night we were +up till morning, almost, gathering the stones from our fields and burying +them in deep graves that we had dug for them. But we buried our youth and +strength and health in those graves, too, and what for? I don't own the +farm that we worked so hard to pay for, and my children won't. That is +what it has all come to. We were rightly punished for our greed, I +suppose. Perhaps no one has a right to own any portion of the earth. +Sometimes I think so, but my husband and I earned this farm, and now the +savings-bank owns it. That seems strange, doesn't it? I suppose you'll say +that the bank paid for it. Well, perhaps so; but the bank didn't earn it. +When I think of that I don't always think that a person who pays for his +breakfast has the best right to a breakfast." + +I could see the sophistry of all this, but I had not the heart to point it +out; I felt the pathos of it, too. Mrs. Makely seemed not to see the one +nor to feel the other very distinctly. "Yes, but surely," she said, "if +you give a tramp his breakfast without making him work for it, you must +see that it is encouraging idleness. And idleness is very corrupting--the +sight of it." + +"You mean to the country people? Well, they have to stand a good deal of +that. The summer folks that spend four or five months of the year here +don't seem to do anything from morning till night." + +"Ah, but you must recollect that they are _resting_! You have no idea how +hard they all work in town during the winter," Mrs. Makely urged, with an +air of argument. + +"Perhaps the tramps are resting, too. At any rate, I don't think the sight +of idleness in rags, and begging at back doors, is very corrupting to the +country people; I never heard of a single tramp who had started from the +country; they all come from the cities. It's the other kind of idleness +that tempts our young people. The only tramps that my son says he ever +envies are the well-dressed, strong young fellows from town that go +tramping through the mountains for exercise every summer." + +The ladies both paused. They seemed to have got to the end of their +tether; at least, Mrs. Makely had apparently nothing else to advance, and +I said, lightly: "But that is just the kind of tramps that Mr. Homos would +most disapprove of. He says that in Altruria they would consider exercise +for exercise' sake a wicked waste of force and little short of lunacy." + +I thought my exaggeration might provoke him to denial, but he seemed not +to have found it unjust. "Why, you know," he said to Mrs. Camp, "in +Altruria every one works with his hands, so that the hard work shall not +all fall to any one class; and this manual labor of each is sufficient to +keep the body in health, as well as to earn a living. After the three, +hours' work, which constitutes a day's work with us, is done, the young +people have all sorts of games and sports, and they carry them as late +into life as the temperament of each demands. But what I was saying to Mr. +Twelvemough--perhaps I did not make myself clear--was that we should +regard the sterile putting forth of strength in exercise, if others were +each day worn out with hard manual labor, as insane or immoral. But I can +account for it differently with you, because I understand that in your +conditions a person of leisure could not do any manual labor without +taking away the work of some one who needed it to live by; and could not +even relieve an overworked laborer, and give him the money for the work, +without teaching him habits of idleness. In Altruria we can all keep +ourselves well by doing each his share of hard work, and we can help those +who are exhausted, when such a thing happens, without injuring them +materially or morally." + +Young Camp entered at this moment, and the Altrurian hesitated. "Oh, do go +on!" Mrs. Makely entreated. She added to Camp: "We've got him to talking +about Altruria at last, and we wouldn't have him stopped for worlds." + +The Altrurian looked around at all our faces, and no doubt read our eager +curiosity in them. He smiled and said: "I shall be very glad, I'm sure. +But I do not think you will find anything so remarkable in our +civilization, if you will conceive of it as the outgrowth of the +neighborly instinct. In fact, neighborliness is the essence of +Altrurianism. If you will imagine having the same feeling toward all," he +explained to Mrs. Makely, "as you have toward your next-door neighbor--" + +"My next-door neighbor!" she cried. "But I don't _know_ the people next +door! We live in a large apartment house, some forty families, and I +assure you I do not know a soul among them." + +He looked at her with a puzzled air, and she continued: "Sometimes it +_does_ seem rather hard. One day the people on the same landing with us +lost one of their children, and I should never have been a whit the wiser +if my cook hadn't happened to mention it. The servants all know each +other; they meet in the back elevator, and get acquainted. I don't +encourage it. You can't tell what kind of families they belong to." + +"But surely," the Altrurian persisted, "you have friends in the city whom +you think of as your neighbors?" + +"No, I can't say that I have," said Mrs. Makely. "I have my visiting-list, +but I shouldn't think of anybody on _that_ as a neighbor." + +The Altrurian looked so blank and baffled that I could hardly help +laughing. "Then I should not know how to explain Altruria to you, I'm +afraid." + +"Well," she returned, lightly, "if it's anything like neighborliness as +I've seen it in small places, deliver me from it! I like being +independent. That's why I like the city. You're let alone." + +"I was down in New York once, and I went through some of the streets and +houses where the poor people live," said young Camp, "and they seemed to +know each other and to be quite neighborly." + +"And would you like to be all messed in with one another that way?" +demanded the lady. + +"Well, I thought it was better than living as we do in the country, so far +apart that we never see one another, hardly. And it seems to me better +than not having any neighbors at all." + +"Well, every one to his taste," said Mrs. Makely. "I wish you would tell +us how people manage with you socially, Mr. Homos." + +"Why, you know," he began, "we have neither city nor country in your +sense, and so we are neither so isolated nor so crowded together. You feel +that you lose a great deal in not seeing one another oftener?" he asked +Camp. + +"Yes. Folks rust out living alone. It's Human nature to want to get +together." + +"And I understand Mrs. Makely that it is human nature to want to keep +apart?" + +"Oh no, but to come together independently," she answered. + +"Well, that is what we have contrived in our life at home. I should have +to say, in the first place, that--" + +"Excuse me just one moment, Mr. Homos," said Mrs. Makely. This perverse +woman was as anxious to hear about Altruria as any of us, but she was a +woman who would rather hear the sound of her own voice than any other, +even if she were dying, as she would call it, to hear the other. The +Altrurian stopped politely, and Mrs. Makely went on: "I have been thinking +of what Mr. Camp was saying about the blacklisted men, and their all +turning into tramps--" + +"But I didn't say that, Mrs. Makely," the young fellow protested, in +astonishment. + +"Well, it stands to reason that if the tramps have all been blacklisted +men--" + +"But I didn't say that, either." + +"No matter! What I am trying to get at is this: if a workman has made +himself a nuisance to the employers, haven't they a right to punish him in +any way they can?" + +"I believe there's no law yet against blacklisting," said Camp. + +"Very well, then, I don't see what they've got to complain of. The +employers surely know their own business." + +"They claim to know the men's, too. That's what they're always saying; +they will manage their own affairs in their own way. But no man, or +company, that does business on a large scale has any affairs that are not +partly other folks' affairs, too. All the saying in the world won't make +it different." + +"Very well, then," said Mrs. Makely, with a force of argument which she +seemed to think was irresistible, "I think the workmen had better leave +things to the employers, and then they won't get blacklisted. It's as +broad as it's long." + +I confess that, although I agreed with Mrs. Makely in regard to what the +workmen had better do, her position had been arrived at by such +extraordinary reasoning that I blushed for her; at the same time, I wanted +to laugh. She continued, triumphantly: "You see, the employers have ever +so much more at stake." + +"Then men have everything at stake--the work of their hands," said the +young fellow. + +"Oh, but surely," said Mrs. Makely, "you wouldn't set that against +capital? You wouldn't compare the two?" + +"Yes, I should," said Camp, and I could see his eye kindle and his jaw +stiffen. + +"Then I suppose you would say that a man ought to get as much for his work +as an employer gets for his capital. If you think one has as much at stake +as the other, you must think they ought to be paid alike." + +"That is _just_ what I think," said Camp, and Mrs. Makely burst into a +peal of amiable laughter. + +"Now, that is too preposterous!" + +"Why is it preposterous?" he demanded, with a quivering nostril. + +"Why, simply because it _is_" said the lady, but she did not say why, and +although I thought so, too, I was glad she did not attempt to do it, for +her conclusions seemed to me much better than her reasons. + +The old wooden clock in the kitchen began to strike, and she rose briskly +to her feet and went and laid the books she had been holding in her lap on +the table beside Mrs. Camp's bed. "We must really be going," she said, as +she leaned over and kissed the invalid. "It is your dinner-time, and we +shall barely get back for lunch if we go by the Loop road; and I want very +much to have Mr. Homos see the Witch's Falls on the way. I have got two or +three of the books here that Mr. Makely brought me last night--I sha'n't +have time to read them at once--and I'm smuggling in one of Mr. +Twelvemough's, that he's too modest to present for himself." She turned a +gay glance upon me, and Mrs. Camp thanked me, and a number of civilities +followed from all sides. In the process of their exchange, Mrs. Makely's +spirits perceptibly rose, and she came away in high good-humor with the +whole Camp family. "Well, now, I am sure," she said to the Altrurian, as +we began the long ascent of the Loop road, "you must allow that you have +seen some very original characters. But how _warped_ people get living +alone so much! That is the great drawback of the country. Mrs. Camp thinks +the savings-bank did her a real injury in taking a mortgage on her place, +and Reuben seems to have seen just enough of the outside world to get it +all wrong. But they are the best-hearted creatures in the world, and I +know you won't misunderstand them. That unsparing country bluntness--don't +you think it's perfectly delightful? I do like to stir poor Reuben up, and +get him talking. He is a good boy, if he _is_ so wrong-headed, and he's +the most devoted son and brother in the world. Very few young fellows +would waste their lives on an old farm like that; I suppose, when his +mother dies, he will marry and strike out for himself in some growing +place." + +"He did not seem to think the world held out any very bright inducements +for him to leave home," the Altrurian suggested. + +"Oh, let him get one of these lively, pushing Yankee girls for a wife, and +he will think very differently," said Mrs. Makely. + +The Altrurian disappeared that afternoon, and I saw little or nothing of +him till the next day at supper. Then he said he had been spending the +time with young Camp, who had shown him something of the farm-work, and +introduced him to several of the neighbors; he was very much interested in +it all, because at home he was, at present, engaged in farm-work himself, +and he was curious to contrast the American and Altrurian methods. We +began to talk of the farming interest again, later in the day, when the +members of our little group came together, and I told them what the +Altrurian had been doing. The doctor had been suddenly called back to +town; but the minister was there, and the lawyer and the professor and the +banker and the manufacturer. + +It was the banker who began to comment on what I said, and he seemed to be +in the frank humor of the Saturday night before. "Yes," he said, "it's a +hard life, and they have to look sharp if they expect to make both ends +meet. I would not like to undertake it myself with their resources." + +The professor smiled, in asking the Altrurian: "Did your agricultural +friends tell you anything of the little rural traffic in votes that they +carry on about election time? That is one of the side means they have of +making both ends meet." + +"I don't understand," said the Altrurian. + +"Why, you know, you can buy votes among our virtuous yeomen from two +dollars up at the ordinary elections. When party feeling runs high, and +there are vital questions at stake, the votes cost more." + +The Altrurian looked round at us all aghast. "Do, you mean that Americans +buy votes?" + +The professor smiled again. "Oh no; I only mean that they sell them. Well, +I don't wonder that they rather prefer to blink the fact; but it is a +fact, nevertheless, and pretty notorious." + +"Good heavens!" cried the Altrurian. "And what defence have they for such +treason? I don't mean those who sell; from what I have seen of the +bareness and hardship of their lives, I could well imagine that there +might sometimes come a pinch when they would be glad of the few dollars +that they could get in that way; but what have those who buy to say?" + +"Well," said the professor, "it isn't a transaction that's apt to be +talked about much on either side." + +"I think," the banker interposed, "that there is some exaggeration about +that business; but it certainly exists, and I suppose it is a growing evil +in the country. I fancy it arises, somewhat, from a want of, clear +thinking on the subject. Then there is no doubt but it comes, sometimes, +from poverty. A man sells his vote, as a woman sells her person, for +money, when neither can turn virtue into cash. They feel that they must +live, and neither of them would be satisfied if Dr. Johnson told them he +didn't see the necessity. In fact, I shouldn't myself, if I were in their +places. You can't have the good of a civilization like ours without having +the bad; but I am not going to deny that the bad is bad. Some people like +to do that; but I don't find my account in it. In either case, I confess +that I think the buyer is worse than the seller--incomparably worse. I +suppose you are not troubled with either case in Altruria?" + +"Oh no!" said the Altrurian, with an utter horror, which no repetition of +his words can give the sense of. "It would be unimaginable." + +"Still," the banker suggested, "you have cakes and ale, and at times the +ginger is hot in the mouth?" + +"I don't pretend that we have immunity from error; but upon such terms as +you have described we have none. It would be impossible." + +The Altrurian's voice expressed no contempt, but only a sad patience, a +melancholy surprise, such as a celestial angel might feel in being +suddenly confronted with some secret shame and horror of the Pit. + +"Well," said the banker, "with us the only way is to take the business +view and try to strike an average somewhere." + +"Talking of business," said the professor, turning to the manufacturer, +who had been quietly smoking, "why don't some of you capitalists take hold +of farming here in the East, and make a business of it as they do in the +West?" + +"Thank you," said the other; "if you mean me, I would rather not invest." +He was silent a moment, and then he went on, as if the notion were +beginning to win upon him: "It may come to something like that, though. If +it does, the natural course, I should think, would be through the +railroads. It would be a very easy matter for them to buy up all the good +farms along their lines and put tenants on them, and run them in their own +interest. Really, it isn't a bad scheme. The waste in the present method +is enormous, and there is no reason why the roads should not own the +farms, as they are beginning to own the mines. They could manage them +better than the small farmers do in every way. I wonder the thing hasn't +occurred to some smart railroad man." + +We all laughed a little, perceiving the semi-ironical spirit of his talk; +but the Altrurian must have taken it in dead earnest: "But, in that case, +the number of people thrown out of work would be very great, wouldn't it? +And what would become of them?" + +"Well, they would have whatever their farms brought to make a new start +with somewhere else; and, besides, that question of what would become of +people thrown out of work by a given improvement is something that capital +cannot consider. We used to introduce a bit of machinery in the mill, +every now and then, that threw out a dozen or a hundred people; but we +couldn't stop for that." + +"And you never knew what became of them?" + +"Sometimes. Generally not. We took it for granted that they would light on +their feet somehow." + +"And the state--the whole people--the government--did nothing for them?" + +"If it became a question of the poor-house, yes." + +"Or the jail," the lawyer suggested. + +"Speaking of the poor-house," said the professor, "did our exemplary rural +friends tell you how they sell out their paupers to the lowest bidder, and +get them boarded sometimes as low as a dollar and a quarter a week?" + +"Yes, young Mr. Camp told me of that. He seemed to think it was terrible." + +"Did he? Well, I'm glad to hear that of young Mr. Camp. From all that I've +been told before, he seems to reserve his conscience for the use of +capitalists. What does he propose to do about it?" + +"He seems to think the state ought to find work for them." + +"Oh, paternalism! Well, I guess the state won't." + +"That was his opinion, too." + +"It seems a hard fate," said the minister, "that the only provision the +law makes for people who are worn out by sickness or a life of work should +be something that assorts them with idiots and lunatics, and brings such +shame upon them that it is almost as terrible as death." + +"It is the only way to encourage independence and individuality," said the +professor. "Of course, it has its dark side. But anything else would be +sentimental and unbusinesslike, and, in fact, un-American." + +"I am not so sure that it would be un-Christian," the minister timidly +ventured, in the face of such an authority on political economy. + +"Oh, as to that, I must leave the question to the reverend clergy," said +the professor. + +A very unpleasant little silence followed. It was broken by the lawyer, +who put his feet together, and, after a glance down at them, began to say: +"I was very much interested this afternoon by a conversation I had with +some of the young fellows in the hotel. You know most of them are +graduates, and they are taking a sort of supernumerary vacation this +summer before they plunge into the battle of life in the autumn. They were +talking of some other fellows, classmates of theirs, who were not so +lucky, but had been obliged to begin the fight at once. It seems that our +fellows here are all going in for some sort of profession: medicine or law +or engineering or teaching or the church, and they were commiserating +those other fellows not only because they were not having the +supernumerary vacation, but because they were going into business. That +struck me as rather odd, and I tried to find out what it meant, and, as +nearly as I could find out, it meant that most college graduates would not +go into business if they could help it. They seemed to feel a sort of +incongruity between their education and the business life. They pitied the +fellows that had to go in for it, and apparently the fellows that had to +go in for it pitied themselves, for the talk seemed to have begun about a +letter that one of the chaps here had got from poor Jack or Jim somebody, +who had been obliged to go into his father's business, and was groaning +over it. The fellows who were going to study professions were hugging +themselves at the contrast between their fate and his, and were making +remarks about business that were, to say the least, unbusinesslike. A few +years ago we should have made a summary disposition of the matter, and I +believe some of the newspapers still are in doubt about the value of a +college education to men who have got to make their way. What do you +think?" + +The lawyer addressed his question to the manufacturer, who answered, with +a comfortable satisfaction, that he did not think those young men if they +went into business would find that they knew too much. + +"But they pointed out," said the lawyer, "that the great American fortunes +had been made by men who had never had their educational advantages, and +they seemed to think that what we call the education of a gentleman was a +little too good for money-making purposes." + +"Well," said the other, "they can console themselves with the reflection +that going into business isn't necessarily making money; it isn't +necessarily making a living, even." + +"Some of them seem to have caught on to that fact; and they pitied Jack or +Jim partly because the chances were so much against him. But they pitied +him mostly because in the life before him he would have no use for his +academic training, and he had better not gone to college at all. They said +he would be none the better for it, and would always be miserable when he +looked back to it." + +The manufacturer did not reply, and the professor, after a preliminary +hemming, held his peace. It was the banker who took the word: "Well, so +far as business is concerned, they were right. It is no use to pretend +that there is any relation between business and the higher education. +There is no business man who will pretend that there is not often an +actual incompatibility if he is honest. I know that when we get together +at a commercial or financial dinner we talk as if great merchants and +great financiers were beneficent geniuses, who evoked the prosperity of +mankind by their schemes from the conditions that would otherwise have +remained barren. Well, very likely they are, but we must all confess that +they do not know it at the time. What they are consciously looking out for +then is the main chance. If general prosperity follows, all well and good; +they are willing to be given the credit for it. But, as I said, with +business as business, the 'education of a gentleman' has nothing to do. +That education is always putting the old Ciceronian question: whether the +fellow arriving at a starving city with a cargo of grain is bound to tell +the people before he squeezes them that there are half a dozen other +fellows with grain just below the horizon. As a gentleman he would have to +tell them, because he could not take advantage of their necessities; but, +as a business man, he would think it bad business to tell them, or no +business at all. The principle goes all through; I say, business is +business; and I am not going to pretend that business will ever be +anything else. In our business battles we don't take off our hats to the +other side and say, 'Gentlemen of the French Guard, have the goodness to +fire.' That may be war, but it is not business. We seize all the +advantages we can; very few of us would actually deceive; but if a fellow +believes a thing, and we know he is wrong, we do not usually take the +trouble to set him right, if we are going to lose anything by undeceiving +him. That would not be business. I suppose you think that is dreadful?" He +turned smilingly to the minister. + +"I wish--I wish," said the minister, gently, "it could be otherwise." + +"Well, I wish so, too," returned the banker. "But it isn't. Am I right or +am I wrong?" he demanded of the manufacturer, who laughed. + +"I am not conducting this discussion. I will not deprive you of the +floor." + +"What you say," I ventured to put in, "reminds me of the experience of a +friend of mine, a brother novelist. He wrote a story where the failure of +a business man turned on a point just like that you have instanced. The +man could have retrieved himself if he had let some people believe that +what was so was not so, but his conscience stepped in and obliged him to +own the truth. There was a good deal of talk about the case, I suppose, +because it was not in real life, and my friend heard divers criticisms. He +heard of a group of ministers who blamed him for exalting a case of common +honesty, as if it were something extraordinary; and he heard of some +business men who talked it over and said he had worked the case up +splendidly, but he was all wrong in the outcome--the fellow would never +have told the other fellows. They said it would not have been business." + +We all laughed except the minister and the Altrurian; the manufacturer +said: "Twenty-five years hence, the fellow who is going into business may +pity the fellows who are pitying him for his hard fate now." + +"Very possibly, but not necessarily," said the banker. "Of course, the +business man is on top, as far as money goes; he is the fellow who makes +the big fortunes; the millionaire lawyers and doctors and ministers are +exceptional. But his risks are tremendous. Ninety-five times out of a +hundred he fails. To be sure, he picks up and goes on, but he seldom gets +there, after all." + +"Then in your system," said the Altrurian, "the great majority of those +who go into what you call the battle of life are defeated?" + +"The killed, wounded, and missing sum up a frightful total," the banker +admitted. "But whatever the end is, there is a great deal of prosperity on +the way. The statistics are correct, but they do not tell the whole truth. +It is not so bad as it seems. Still, simply looking at the material +chances, I don't blame those young fellows for not wanting to go into +business. And when you come to other considerations! We used to cut the +knot of the difficulty pretty sharply; we said a college education was +wrong, or the hot and hot American spread-eaglers did. Business is the +national ideal, and the successful business man is the American type. It +is a business man's country." + +"Then, if I understand you," said the Altrurian, "and I am very anxious to +have a clear understanding of the matter, the effect of the university +with you is to unfit a youth for business life." + +"Oh no. It may give him great advantages in it, and that is the theory and +expectation of most fathers who send their sons to the university. But, +undoubtedly, the effect is to render business life distasteful. The +university nurtures all sorts of lofty ideals, which business has no use +for." + +"Then the effect is undemocratic?" + +"No, it is simply unbusinesslike. The boy is a better democrat when he +leaves college than he will be later, if he goes into business. The +university has taught him and equipped him to use his own gifts and powers +for his advancement; but the first lesson of business, and the last, is to +use other men's gifts and powers. If he looks about him at all, he sees +that no man gets rich simply by his own labor, no matter how mighty a +genius he is, and that, if you want to get rich, you must make other men +work for you, and pay you for the privilege of doing so. Isn't that true?" + +The banker turned to the manufacturer with this question, and the other +said: "The theory is, that we give people work," and they both laughed. + +The minister said: "I believe that in Altruria no man works for the profit +of another?" + +"No; each works for the profit of all," replied the Altrurian. + +"Well," said the banker, "you seem to have made it go. Nobody can deny +that. But we couldn't make it go here." + +"Why? I am very curious to know why our system seems so impossible to +you." + +"Well, it is contrary to the American spirit. It is alien to our love of +individuality." + +"But we prize individuality, too, and we think we secure it under our +system. Under yours, it seems to me that while the individuality of the +man who makes other men work for him is safe, except from itself, the +individuality of the workers--" + +"Well, that is their lookout. We have found that, upon the whole, it is +best to let every man look out for himself. I know that, in a certain +light, the result has an ugly aspect; but, nevertheless, in spite of all, +the country is enormously prosperous. The pursuit of happiness, which is +one of the inalienable rights secured to us by the Declaration, is, and +always has been, a dream; but the pursuit of the dollar yields tangible +proceeds, and we get a good deal of excitement out of it as it goes on. +You can't deny that we are the richest nation in the world. Do you call +Altruria a rich country?" + +I could not quite make out whether the banker was serious or not in all +this talk; sometimes I suspected him of a fine mockery, but the Altrurian +took him upon the surface of his words. + +"I hardly know whether it is or not. The question of wealth does not enter +into our scheme. I can say that we all have enough, and that no one is +even in the fear of want." + +"Yes, that is very well. But we should think it was paying too much for it +if we had to give up the hope of ever having more than we wanted," and at +this point the banker uttered his jolly laugh, and I perceived that he had +been trying to draw the Altrurian out and practise upon his patriotism. It +was a great relief to find that he had been joking in so much that seemed +a dead give-away of our economical position. "In Altruria," he asked, "who +is your ideal great man? I don't mean personally, but abstractly." + +The Altrurian thought a moment. "With us there is so little ambition for +distinction, as you understand it, that your question is hard to answer. +But I should say, speaking largely, that it was some man who had been able +for the time being to give the greatest happiness to the greatest +number--some artist or poet or inventor or physician." + +I was somewhat surprised to have the banker take this preposterous +statement seriously, respectfully. "Well, that is quite conceivable with +your system. What should you say," he demanded of the rest of us +generally, "was our ideal of greatness?" + +No one replied at once, or at all, till the manufacturer said: "We will +let you continue to run it." + +"Well, it is a very curious inquiry, and I have thought it over a good +deal. I should say that within a generation our ideal has changed twice. +Before the war, and during all the time from the Revolution onward, it was +undoubtedly the great politician, the publicist, the statesman. As we grew +older and began to have an intellectual life of our own, I think the +literary fellows had a pretty good share of the honors that were going--that +is, such a man as Longfellow was popularly considered a type of +greatness. When the war came, it brought the soldier to the front, and +there was a period of ten or fifteen years when he dominated the national +imagination. That period passed, and the great era of material prosperity +set in. The big fortunes began to tower up, and heroes of another sort +began to appeal to our admiration. I don't think there is any doubt but +the millionaire is now the American ideal. It isn't very pleasant to think +so, even for people who have got on, but it can't very hopefully be +denied. It is the man with the most money who now takes the prize in our +national cake-walk." + +The Altrurian turned curiously toward me, and I did my best to tell him +what a cake-walk was. When I had finished, the banker resumed, only to +say, as he rose from his chair to bid us good-night: "In any average +assembly of Americans the greatest millionaire would take the eyes of all +from the greatest statesman, the greatest poet, or the greatest soldier we +ever had. That," he added to the Altrurian, "will account to you for many +things as you travel through our country." + + + + +IX + + +The next time the members of our little group came together, the +manufacturer began at once upon the banker: + +"I should think that our friend the professor, here, would hardly like +that notion of yours, that business, as business, has nothing to do with +the education of a gentleman. If this is a business man's country, and if +the professor has nothing in stock but the sort of education that business +has no use for, I should suppose that he would want to go into some other +line." + +The banker mutely referred the matter to the professor, who said, with +that cold grin of his which I hated: + +"Perhaps we shall wait for business to purge and live cleanly. Then it +will have some use for the education of a gentleman." + +"I see," said the banker, "that I have touched the quick in both of you, +when I hadn't the least notion of doing so. But I shouldn't really like to +prophesy which will adapt itself to the other--education or business. Let +us hope there will be mutual concessions. There are some pessimists who +say that business methods, especially on the large scale of the trusts and +combinations, have grown worse instead of better; but this may be merely +what is called a 'transition state.' Hamlet must be cruel to be kind; the +darkest hour comes before dawn--and so on. Perhaps when business gets +the whole affair of life into its hands, and runs the republic, as its +enemies now accuse it of doing, the process of purging and living cleanly +will begin. I have known lots of fellows who started in life rather +scampishly; but when they felt secure of themselves, and believed that +they could afford to be honest, they became so. There's no reason why the +same thing shouldn't happen on a large scale. We must never forget that we +are still a very novel experiment, though we have matured so rapidly in +some respects that we have come to regard ourselves as an accomplished +fact. We are really less so than we were forty years ago, with all the +tremendous changes since the war. Before that we could take certain +matters for granted. If a man got out of work, he turned his hand to +something else; if a man failed in business, he started in again from some +other direction; as a last resort, in both cases, he went West, pre-empted +a quarter-section of public land, and grew up with the country. Now the +country is grown up; the public land is gone; business is full on all +sides, and the hand that turned itself to something else has lost its +cunning. The struggle for life has changed from a free-fight to an +encounter of disciplined forces, and the free-fighters that are left get +ground to pieces between organized labor and organized capital. Decidedly, +we are in a transition state, and if the higher education tried to adapt +itself to business needs, there are chances that it might sacrifice itself +without helping business. After all, how much education does business +need? Were our great fortunes made by educated men, or men of university +training? I don't know but these young fellows are right about that." + +"Yes, that may all be," I put in. "But it seems to me that you give Mr. +Homos, somehow, a wrong impression of our economic life by your +generalizations. You are a Harvard man yourself." + +"Yes, and I am not a rich man. A million or two, more or less; but what is +that? I have suffered, at the start and all along, from the question as to +what a man with the education of a gentleman ought to do in such and such +a juncture. The fellows who have not that sort of education have not that +sort of question, and they go in and win." + +"So you admit, then," said the professor, "that the higher education +elevates a business man's standard of morals?" + +"Undoubtedly. That is one of its chief drawbacks," said the banker, with a +laugh. + +"Well," I said, with the deference due even to a man who had only a +million or two, more or less, "we must allow _you_ to say such things. But +if the case is so bad with the business men who have made the great +fortunes--the business men who have never had the disadvantage of a +university education--I wish you would explain to Mr. Homos why, in every +public exigency, we instinctively appeal to the business sense of the +community as if it were the fountain of wisdom, probity, and equity. +Suppose there were some question of vital interest--I won't say financial, +but political or moral or social--on which it was necessary to rouse +public opinion, what would be the first thing to do? To call a meeting +over the signatures of the leading business men, because no other names +appeal with such force to the public. You might get up a call signed by +all the novelists, artists, ministers, lawyers, and doctors in the state, +and it would not have a tithe of the effect, with the people at large, +that a call signed by a few leading merchants, bank presidents, railroad +men, and trust officers would have. What is the reason? It seems strange +that I should be asking you to defend yourself against yourself." + +"Not at all, my dear fellow, not at all," the banker replied, with his +caressing bonhomie. "Though I will confess, to begin with, that I do not +expect to answer your question to your entire satisfaction. I can only do +my best--on the instalment plan." + +He turned to the Altrurian, and then went on: "As I said the other night, +this is a business man's country. We are a purely commercial people; money +is absolutely to the fore; and business, which is the means of getting the +most money, is the American ideal. If you like, you may call it the +American fetish; I don't mind calling it so myself. The fact that business +is our ideal, or our fetish, will account for the popular faith in +business men, who form its priesthood, its hierarchy. I don't know, +myself, any other reason for regarding business men as solider than +novelists or artists or ministers, not to mention lawyers and doctors. +They are supposed to have long heads; but it appears that ninety-five +times out of a hundred they haven't. They are supposed to be very +reliable; but it is almost invariably a business man of some sort who gets +out to Canada while the state examiner is balancing his books, and it is +usually the longest headed business men who get plundered by him. No, it +is simply because business is our national ideal that the business man is +honored above all other men among us. In the aristocratic countries they +forward a public object under the patronage of the nobility and gentry; in +a plutocratic country they get the business men to indorse it. I suppose +that the average American citizen feels that they wouldn't indorse a thing +unless it was safe; and the average American citizen likes to be safe--he +is cautious. As a matter of fact, business men are always taking risks, +and business is a game of chance, in a certain degree. Have I made myself +intelligible?" + +"Entirely so," said the Altrurian; and he seemed so thoroughly well +satisfied that he forbore asking any further question. + +No one else spoke. The banker lighted a cigar, and resumed at the point +where he left off when I ventured to enter upon the defence of his class +with him. I must say that he had not convinced me at all. At that moment +I would rather have trusted him, in any serious matter of practical +concern, than all the novelists I ever heard of. But I thought I would +leave the word to him, without further attempt to reinstate him in his +self-esteem. In fact, he seemed to be getting along very well without it, +or else he was feeling that mysterious control from the Altrurian which I +had already suspected him of using. Voluntarily or involuntarily, the +banker proceeded with his contribution to the Altrurian's stock of +knowledge concerning our civilization: + +"I don't believe, however, that the higher education is any more of a +failure, as a provision for a business career, than the lower education is +for the life of labor. I suppose that the hypercritical observer might say +that in a wholly commercial civilization like ours the business man really +needed nothing beyond the three R's, and the working-man needed no R at +all. As a practical affair, there is a good deal to be said in favor of +that view. The higher education is part of the social ideal which we have +derived from the past, from Europe. It is part of the provision for the +life of leisure, the life of the aristocrat, which nobody of our +generation leads, except women. Our women really have some use for the +education of a gentleman, but our men have none. How will that do for a +generalization?" the banker asked of me. + +"Oh," I admitted, with a laugh, "it is a good deal like one of my own. I +have always been struck with that phase of our civilization." + +"Well, then," the banker resumed, "take the lower education. That is part +of the civic ideal which, I suppose, I may say we evolved from the depths +of our inner consciousness of what an American citizen ought to be. It +includes instruction in all the R's, and in several other letters of the +alphabet. It is given free by the state, and no one can deny that it is +thoroughly socialistic in conception and application." + +"Distinctly so," said the professor. "Now that the text-books are +furnished by the state, we have only to go a step further and provide a +good, hot lunch for the children every day, as they do in Paris." + +"Well," the banker returned, "I don't know that I should have much to say +against that. It seems as reasonable as anything in the system of +education which we force upon the working classes. _They_ know perfectly +well, whether we do or not, that the three R's will not make their +children better mechanics or laborers, and that, if the fight for a mere +living is to go on from generation to generation, they will have no +leisure to apply the little learning they get in the public schools for +their personal culture. In the mean time we deprive the parents of their +children's labor, in order that they may be better citizens for their +schooling, as we imagine; I don't know whether they are or not. We offer +them no sort of compensation for their time, and I think we ought to feel +obliged to them for not wanting wages for their children while we are +teaching them to be better citizens." + +"You know," said the professor, "that has been suggested by some of their +leaders." + +"No, really? Well, that is too good!" The banker threw back his head and +roared, and we all laughed with him. When we had sobered down again, he +said: "I suppose that when a working-man makes all the use he can of his +lower education he becomes a business man, and then he doesn't need the +higher. Professor, you seem to be left out in the cold by our system, +whichever way you take it." + +"Oh," said the professor, "the law of supply and demand works both ways: +it creates the demand, if the supply comes first; and if we keep on giving +the sons of business men the education of a gentleman, we may yet make +them feel the need of it. We shall evolve a new sort of business man." + +"The sort that can't make money, or wouldn't exactly like to, on some +terms?" asked the banker. "Well, perhaps we shall work out our democratic +salvation in that way. When you have educated your new business man to the +point where he can't consent to get rich at the obvious cost of others, +you've got him on the way back to work with his hands. He will sink into +the ranks of labor, and give the fellow with the lower education a chance. +I've no doubt he'll take it. I don't know but you're right, professor." + +The lawyer had not spoken as yet. Now he said: "Then it is education, +after all, that is to bridge the chasm between the classes and the masses, +though it seems destined to go a long way around about it. There was a +time, I believe, when we expected religion to do that." + +"Well, it may still be doing it, for all I know," said the banker. "What +do you say?" he asked, turning to the minister. "You ought to be able to +give us some statistics on the subject with that large congregation of +yours. You preach to more people than any other pulpit in your city." + +The banker named one of the principal cities in the East, and the minister +answered, with, modest pride: "I am not sure of that; but our society is +certainly a very large one." + +"Well, and how many of the lower classes are there in it--people who work +for their living with their hands?" + +The minister stirred uneasily in his chair, and at last he said, with +evident unhappiness: "They--I suppose--they have their own churches. I +have never thought that such a separation of the classes was right; and I +have had some of the very best people--socially and financially--with me +in the wish that there might be more brotherliness between the rich and +poor among us. But as yet--" + +He stopped; the banker pursued: "Do you mean there are _no_ working-people +in your congregation?" + +"I cannot think of any," returned the minister, so miserably that the +banker forbore to press the point. + +The lawyer broke the awkward pause which followed: "I have heard it +asserted that there is no country in the world where the separation of the +classes is so absolute as in ours. In fact, I once heard a Russian +revolutionist, who had lived in exile all over Europe, say that he had +never seen anywhere such a want of kindness or sympathy between rich and +poor as he had observed in America. I doubted whether he was right. But he +believed that, if it ever came to the industrial revolution with us, the +fight would be more uncompromising than any such fight that the world had +ever seen. There was no respect from low to high, he said, and no +consideration from high to low, as there were in countries with traditions +and old associations." + +"Well," said the banker, "there may be something in that. Certainly, so +far as the two forces have come into conflict here, there has been no +disposition, on either side, to 'make war with the water of roses.' It's +astonishing, in fact, to see how ruthless the fellows who have just got up +are toward the fellows who are still down. And the best of us have been up +only a generation or two--and the fellows who are still down know it." + +"And what do you think would be the outcome of such a conflict?" I asked, +with my soul divided between fear of it and the perception of its +excellence as material. My fancy vividly sketched the outline of a story +which should forecast the struggle and its event, somewhat on the plan of +the Battle of Dorking. + +"We should beat," said the banker, breaking his cigar-ash off with his +little finger; and I instantly cast him, with his ironic calm, for the +part of a great patrician leader in my "Fall of the Republic." Of course, +I disguised him somewhat, and travestied his worldly bonhomie with the +bluff sang-froid of the soldier; these things are easily done. + +"What makes you think we should beat?" asked the manufacturer, with a +certain curiosity. + +"Well, all the good jingo reasons: we have got the materials for beating. +Those fellows throw away their strength whenever they begin to fight, and +they've been so badly generalled, up to the present time, that they have +wanted to fight at the outset of every quarrel. They have been beaten in +every quarrel, but still they always want to begin by fighting. That is +all right. When they have learned enough to begin by _voting_, then we +shall have to look out. But if they keep on fighting, and always putting +themselves in the wrong and getting the worst of it, perhaps we can fix +the voting so we needn't be any more afraid of that than we are of the +fighting. It's astonishing how short-sighted they are. They, have no +conception of any cure for their grievances except more wages and fewer +hours." + +"But," I asked, "do you really think they have any just grievances?" + +"Of course not, as a business man," said the banker. "If I were a +working-man, I should probably think differently. But we will suppose, for +the sake of argument, that their day is too long and their pay is too +short. How do they go about to better themselves? They strike. Well, a +strike is a fight, and in a fight, nowadays, it is always skill and money +that win. The working-men can't stop till they have put themselves outside +of the public sympathy which the newspapers say is so potent in their +behalf; I never saw that it did them the least good. They begin by +boycotting, and breaking the heads of the men who want to work. They +destroy property, and they interfere with business--the two absolutely +sacred things in the American religion. Then we call out the militia and +shoot a few of them, and their leaders declare the strike off. It is +perfectly simple." + +"But will it be quite as simple," I asked, reluctant in behalf of my +projected romance, to have the matter so soon disposed of--"will it be +quite so simple if their leaders ever persuade the working-men to leave +the militia, as they threaten to do, from time to time?" + +"No, not quite so simple," the banker admitted. "Still, the fight would be +comparatively simple. In the first place, I doubt--though I won't be +certain about it--whether there are a great many working-men in the +militia now. I rather fancy it is made up, for the most part, of clerks +and small tradesmen and book-keepers, and such employes of business as +have time and money for it. I may be mistaken." + +No one seemed able to say whether he was mistaken or not; and, after +waiting a moment, he proceeded: "I feel pretty sure that it is so in the +city companies and regiments, at any rate, and that if every working-man +left them it would not seriously impair their effectiveness. But when the +working-men have left the militia, what have they done? They have +eliminated the only thing that disqualifies it for prompt and unsparing +use against strikers. As long as they are in it we might have our +misgivings, but if they were once out of it we should have none. And what +would they gain? They would not be allowed to arm and organize as an +inimical force. _That_ was settled once for all in Chicago, in the case of +the International Groups. A few squads of policemen would break them up. +Why," the banker exclaimed, with his good-humored laugh, "how preposterous +they are when you come to look at it! They are in the majority, the +immense majority, if you count the farmers, and they prefer to behave as +if they were the hopeless minority. They say they want an eight-hour law, +and every now and then they strike and try to fight it. Why don't they +_vote_ it? They could _make_ it the law in six months by such overwhelming +numbers that no one would dare to evade or defy it. They can make any law +they want, but they prefer to break such laws as we have. That 'alienates +public sympathy,' the newspapers say; but the spectacle of their stupidity +and helpless wilfulness is so lamentable that I could almost pity them. If +they chose, it would take only a few years to transform our government +into the likeness of anything they wanted. But they would rather not have +what they want, apparently, if they can only keep themselves from getting +it, and they have to work hard to do that!" + +"I suppose," I said, "that they are misled by the un-American principles +and methods of the Socialists among them." + +"Why, no," returned the banker, "I shouldn't say that. As far as I +understand it, the Socialists are the only fellows among them who propose +to vote their ideas into laws, and nothing can be more American than that. +I don't believe the Socialists stir up the strikes--at least, among our +working-men; though the newspapers convict them of it, generally without +trying them. The Socialists seem to accept the strikes as the inevitable +outcome of the situation, and they make use of them as proofs of the +industrial discontent. But, luckily for the status, our labor leaders are +not Socialists, for your Socialist, whatever you may say against him, has +generally thought himself into a Socialist. He knows that until the +working-men stop fighting, and get down to voting--until they consent to +be the majority--there is no hope for them. I am not talking of +anarchists, mind you, but of Socialists, whose philosophy is more law, not +less, and who look forward to an order so just that it can't be +disturbed." + +"And what," the minister faintly said, "do you think will be the outcome +of it all?" + +"We had that question the other night, didn't we? Our legal friend here +seemed to feel that we might rub along indefinitely as we are doing, or +work out an Altruria of our own; or go back to the patriarchal stage and +own our working-men. He seemed not to have so much faith in the logic of +events as I have. I doubt if it is altogether a woman's logic. _Parole +femmine, fatti maschi,_ and the logic of events isn't altogether words; +it's full of hard knocks, too. But I'm no prophet. I can't forecast the +future; I prefer to take it as it comes. There's a little tract of William +Morris's, though--I forget just what he calls it--that is full of curious +and interesting speculation on this point. He thinks that, if we keep the +road we are now going, the last state of labor will be like its first, and +it will be owned." + +"Oh, I don't believe that will ever happen in America," I protested. + +"Why not?" asked the banker. "Practically, it is owned already in a vastly +greater measure than we recognize. And where would the great harm be? The +new slavery would not be like the old. There needn't be irresponsible +whipping and separation of families, and private buying and selling. The +proletariate would probably be owned by the state, as it was at one time +in Greece; or by large corporations, which would be much more in keeping +with the genius of our free institutions; and an enlightened public +opinion would cast safeguards about it in the form of law to guard it from +abuse. But it would be strictly policed, localized, and controlled. There +would probably be less suffering than there is now, when a man may be +cowed into submission to any terms through the suffering of his family; +when he may be starved out and turned out if he is unruly. You may be sure +that nothing of that kind would happen in the new slavery. We have not had +nineteen hundred years of Christianity for nothing." + +The banker paused, and, as the silence continued, he broke it with a +laugh, which was a prodigious relief to my feelings, and I suppose to the +feelings of all. I perceived that he had been joking, and I was confirmed +in this when he turned to the Altrurian and laid his hand upon his +shoulder. "You see," he said, "I'm a kind of Altrurian myself. What is the +reason why we should not found a new Altruria here on the lines I've +drawn? Have you never had philosophers--well, call them philanthropists; I +don't mind--of my way of thinking among you?" + +"Oh yes," said the Altrurian. "At one time, just before we emerged from +the competitive conditions, there was much serious question whether +capital should not own labor instead of labor owning capital. That was +many hundred years ago." + +"I am proud to find myself such an advanced thinker," said the banker. +"And how came you to decide that labor should own capital?" + +"We voted it," answered the Altrurian. + +"Well," said the banker, "our fellows are still fighting it, and getting +beaten." + +I found him later in the evening talking with Mrs. Makely. "My dear sir," +I said, "I liked your frankness with my Altrurian friend immensely; and it +may be well to put the worst foot foremost; but what is the advantage of +not leaving us a leg to stand upon?" + +He was not in the least offended at my boldness, as I had feared he might +be, but he said, with that jolly laugh of his: "Capital! Well, perhaps I +have worked my candor a little too hard; I suppose there is such a thing. +But don't you see that it leaves me in the best possible position to carry +the war into Altruria when we get him to open up about his native land?" + +"Ah! If you can get him to do it." + +"Well, we were just talking about that. Mrs. Makely has a plan." + +"Yes," said the lady, turning an empty chair near her own toward me. "Sit +down and listen." + + + + +X + + +I sat down, and Mrs. Makely continued: "I have thought it all out, and I +want you to confess that in all practical matters a woman's brain is +better than a man's. Mr. Bullion, here, says it is, and I want you to say +so, too." + +"Yes," the banker admitted, "when it comes down to business a woman is +worth any two of us." + +"And we have just been agreeing," I coincided, "that the only gentlemen +among us are women. Mrs. Makely, I admit, without further dispute, that +the most unworldly woman is worldlier than the worldliest man; and that in +all practical matters we fade into dreamers and doctrinaires beside you. +Now, go on." + +But she did not mean to let me off so easily. She began to brag herself +up, as women do whenever you make them the slightest concession. + +"Here, you men," she said, "have been trying for a whole week to get +something out of Mr. Homos about his country, and you have left it to a +poor, weak woman, at last, to think how to manage it. I do believe that +you get so much interested in your own talk, when you are with him, that +you don't let him get in a word, and that's the reason you haven't found +out anything about Altruria yet from him." + +In view of the manner in which she had cut in at Mrs. Camp's, and stopped +Homos on the very verge of the only full and free confession he had ever +been near making about Altruria, I thought this was pretty cool; but, for +fear of worse, I said: + +"You're quite right, Mrs. Makely. I'm sorry to say that there has been a +shameful want of self-control among us, and that, if we learn anything at +all from him, it will be because you have taught us how." + +She could not resist this bit of taffy. She scarcely gave herself time to +gulp it before she said: + +"Oh, it's very well to say that now! But where would you have been if I +hadn't set my wits to work? Now, listen! It just popped into my mind, like +an inspiration, when I was thinking of something altogether different. It +flashed upon me in an instant: a good object, and a public occasion." + +"Well?" I said, finding this explosion and electrical inspiration rather +enigmatical. + +"Why, you know, the Union Chapel, over in the village, is in a languishing +condition, and the ladies have been talking all summer about doing +something for it, getting up something--a concert or theatricals or a +dance or something--and applying the proceeds to repainting and papering +the visible church; it needs it dreadfully. But, of course, those things +are not exactly religious, don't you know; and a fair is so much trouble; +and _such_ a bore, when you get the articles ready, even; and everybody +feels swindled; and now people frown on raffles, so there is no use +thinking of them. What you want is something striking. We did think of a +parlor-reading, or perhaps ventriloquism; but the performers all charge so +much that there wouldn't be anything left after paying expenses." + +She seemed to expect some sort of prompting at this point; so I said: +"Well?" + +"Well," she repeated, "that is just where your Mr. Homos comes in." + +"Oh! How does he come in there?" + +"Why, get him to deliver a Talk on Altruria. As soon as he knows it's for +a good object, he will be on fire to do it; and they must live so much in +common there that the public occasion will be just the thing that will +appeal to him." + +It did seem a good plan to me, and I said so. But Mrs. Makely was so much +in love with it that she was not satisfied with my modest recognition. + +"Good? It's magnificent! It's the very thing! And I have thought it out, +down to the last detail--" + +"Excuse me," I interrupted. "Do you think there is sufficient general +interest in the subject, outside of the hotel, to get a full house for +him? I shouldn't like to see him subjected to the mortification of empty +benches." + +"What in the world are you thinking of? Why, there isn't a farm-house, +anywhere within ten miles, where they haven't heard of Mr. Homos; and +there isn't a servant under this roof, or in any of the boarding-houses, +who doesn't know something about Altruria and want to know more. It seems +that your friend has been much oftener with the porters and the +stable-boys than he has been with us." + +I had only too great reason to fear so. In spite of my warnings and +entreaties, he had continued to behave toward every human being he met +exactly as if they were equals. He apparently could not conceive of that +social difference which difference of occupation creates among us. He +owned that he saw it, and from the talk of our little group he knew it +existed; but, when I expostulated with him upon some act in gross +violation of society usage, he only answered that he could not imagine +that what he saw and knew could actually be. It was quite impossible to +keep him from bowing with the greatest deference to our waitress; he shook +hands with the head-waiter every morning as well as with me; there was a +fearful story current in the house, that he had been seen running down one +of the corridors to relieve a chambermaid laden with two heavy water-pails +which she was carrying to the rooms to fill up the pitchers. This was +probably not true; but I myself saw him helping in the hotel hay-field one +afternoon, shirt-sleeved like any of the hired men. He said that it was +the best possible exercise, and that he was ashamed he could give no +better excuse for it than the fact that without something of the kind he +should suffer from indigestion. It was grotesque, and out of all keeping +with a man of his cultivation and breeding. He was a gentleman and a +scholar, there was no denying, and yet he did things in contravention of +good form at every opportunity, and nothing I could say had any effect +with him. I was perplexed beyond measure, the day after I had reproached +him for his labor in the hay-field, to find him in a group of table-girls, +who were listening while the head-waiter read aloud to them in the shade +of the house; there was a corner looking toward the stables which was +given up to them by tacit consent of the guests during a certain part of +the afternoon. + +I feigned not to see him, but I could not forbear speaking to him about it +afterward. He took it in good part, but he said he had been rather +disappointed in the kind of literature they liked and the comments they +made on it; he had expected that with the education they had received, and +with their experience of the seriousness of life, they would prefer +something less trivial. He supposed, however, that a romantic love-story, +where a poor American girl marries an English lord, formed a refuge for +them from the real world which promised them so little and held them so +cheap. It was quite useless for one to try to make him realize his +behavior in consorting with servants as a kind of scandal. + +The worst of it was that his behavior, as I could see, had already begun +to demoralize the objects of his misplaced politeness. At first the +servants stared and resented it, as if it were some tasteless joke; but in +an incredibly short time, when they saw that he meant his courtesy in good +faith, they took it as their due. I had always had a good understanding +with the head-waiter, and I thought I could safely smile with him at the +queer conduct of my friend toward himself and his fellow-servants. +To my astonishment he said: "I don't see why he shouldn't treat them as if +they were ladies and gentlemen. Doesn't he treat you and your friends so?" + +It was impossible to answer this, and I could only suffer in silence, and +hope the Altrurian would soon go. I had dreaded the moment when the +landlord should tell me that his room was wanted; now I almost desired it; +but he never did. On the contrary, the Altrurian was in high favor with +him. He said he liked to see a man make himself pleasant with everybody; +and that he did not believe he had ever had a guest in the house who was +so popular all round. + +"Of course," Mrs. Makely went on, "I don't criticise him--with his +peculiar traditions. I presume I should be just so myself if I had been +brought up in Altruria, which, thank goodness, I wasn't. But Mr. Homos is +a perfect dear, and all the women in the house are in love with him, from +the cook's helpers, up and down. No, the only danger is that there won't +be room in the hotel parlors for all the people that will want to hear +him, and we shall have to make the admission something that will be +prohibitive in most cases. We shall have to make it a dollar." + +"Well," I said, "I think that will settle the question as far as the +farming population is concerned. It's twice as much as they ever pay for a +reserved seat in the circus, and four times as much as a simple admission. +I'm afraid, Mrs. Makely, you're going to be very few, though fit." + +"Well, I've thought it all over, and I'm going to put the tickets at one +dollar." + +"Very good. Have you caught your hare?" + +"No, I haven't yet. And I want you to help me catch him. What do you think +is the best way to go about it?" + +The banker said he would leave us to the discussion of that question, but +Mrs. Makely could count upon him in everything if she could only get the +man to talk. At the end of our conference we decided to interview the +Altrurian together. + +I shall always be ashamed of the way that woman wheedled the Altrurian, +when we found him the next morning, walking up and down the piazza, before +breakfast--that is, it was before our breakfast; when we asked him to go +in with us, he said he had just had his breakfast, and was waiting for +Reuben Camp, who had promised to take him up as he passed with a load of +hay for one of the hotels in the village. + +"Ah, that reminds me, Mr. Homos," the unscrupulous woman began on him at +once. "We want to interest you in a little movement we're getting up for +the Union Chapel in the village. You know it's the church where all the +different sects have their services; alternately. Of course, it's rather +an original way of doing, but there is sense in it where the people are +too poor to go into debt for different churches, and--" + +"It's admirable!" said the Altrurian. "I have heard about it from the +Camps. It is an emblem of the unity which ought to prevail among +Christians of all professions. How can I help you, Mrs. Makely?" + +"I knew you would approve of it!" she exulted. "Well, it's simply this: +The poor little place has got so shabby that _I'm_ almost ashamed to be +seen going into it, for one; and want to raise money enough to give it a +new coat of paint outside and put on some kind of pretty paper, of an +ecclesiastical pattern, on the inside. I declare, those staring white +walls, with the cracks in the plastering zigzagging every _which_ way, +distract me so that I can't put my mind on the sermon. Don't you think +that paper, say of a Gothic design, would be a great improvement? I'm sure +it would; and it's Mr. Twelvemough's idea, too." + +I learned this fact now for the first time; but, with Mrs. Makely's +warning eye upon me, I could not say so, and I made what sounded to me +like a Gothic murmur of acquiescence. It sufficed for Mrs. Makely's +purpose, at any rate, and she went on, without giving the Altrurian a +chance to say what he thought the educational effect of wall-paper would +be: + +"Well, the long and short of it is that we want you to make this money for +us, Mr. Homos." + +"I?" He started in a kind of horror. "My dear lady, I never made any money +in my life. I should think it _wrong_ to make money." + +"In Altruria, yes. We all know how it is in your delightful country, and I +assure you that no one could respect your conscientious scruples more than +I do. But you must remember that you are in America now. In America you +have to make money, or else--get left. And then you must consider the +object, and all the good you can do, indirectly, by a little Talk on +Altruria." + +He answered, blandly: "A little Talk on Altruria? How in the world should +I get money by that?" + +She was only too eager to explain, and she did it with so much volubility +and at such great length that I, who am good for nothing till I have had +my cup of coffee in the morning, almost perished of an elucidation which +the Altrurian bore with the sweetest patience. + +When she gave him a chance to answer, at last, he said: "I shall be very +happy to do what you wish, madam." + +"_Will_ you?" she screamed. "Oh, I'm so glad! You _have_ been so slippery +about Altruria, you know, that I expected nothing but a point-blank +refusal. Of course, I knew you would be kind about it. Oh, I can hardly +believe my senses! You can't think what a dear you are." I knew she had +got that word from some English people who had been in the hotel; and she +was working it rather wildly, but it was not my business to check her. +"Well, then, all you have got to do is to leave the whole thing to me, and +not bother about it a bit till I send and tell you we are ready to listen. +There comes Reuben, with his ox-team. Thank you so much, Mr. Homos. No one +need be ashamed to enter the house of God"--she said Gawd, in an access of +piety--"after we get that paint and paper on it; and we shall have them on +before two Sabbaths have passed over it." + +She wrung the Altrurian's hand; I was only afraid she was going to kiss +him. + +"There is but one stipulation I should like to make," he began. + +"Oh, a thousand," she cut in. + +"And that is, there shall be no exclusion from my lecture on account of +occupation or condition. That is a thing that I can in no wise +countenance, even in America; it is far more abhorrent to me even than +money-making, though they are each a part and parcel of the other." + +"I thought it was that," she retorted, joyously. "And I can assure you, +Mr. Homos, there shall be nothing of that kind. Every one--I don't care +who it is or what they do--shall hear you who buys a ticket. Now, will +that do?" + +"Perfectly," said the Altrurian, and he let her wring his hand again. + +She pushed hers through my arm as we started for the dining-room, and +leaned over to whisper jubilantly: "That will fix it. He will see how much +his precious lower classes care for Altruria if they have to pay a dollar +apiece to hear about it. And I shall keep faith with him to the letter." + +I could not feel that she would keep it in the spirit; but I could only +groan inwardly and chuckle outwardly at the woman's depravity. + +It seemed to me, though I could not approve of it, a capital joke, and so +it seemed to all the members of the little group whom I had made +especially acquainted with the Altrurian. It is true that the minister was +somewhat troubled with the moral question, which did not leave me wholly +at peace; and the banker affected to find a question of taste involved, +which he said he must let me settle, however, as the man's host; if I +could stand it, he could. No one said anything against the plan to Mrs. +Makely, and this energetic woman made us take two tickets apiece, as soon +as she got them printed, over in the village. She got little hand-bills +printed, and had them scattered about through the neighborhood, at all the +hotels, boarding-houses, and summer cottages, to give notice of the time +and place of the talk on Altruria. She fixed this for the following +Saturday afternoon, in our hotel parlor; she had it in the afternoon so as +not to interfere with the hop in the evening; she put tickets on sale at +the principal houses and at the village drug-store, and she made me go +about with her and help her sell them at some of the cottages in person. + +I must say I found this extremely distasteful, especially where the people +were not very willing to buy, and she had to urge them. They all admitted +the excellence of the object, but they were not so sure about the means. +At several places the ladies asked who was this Mr. Homos, anyway; and how +did she know he was really from Altruria? He might be an impostor. + +Then Mrs. Makely would put me forward, and I would be obliged to give such +account of him as I could, and to explain just how and why he came to be +my guest; with the cumulative effect of bringing back all the misgivings +which I had myself felt at the outset concerning him, and which I had +dismissed as too fantastic. + +The tickets went off rather slowly, even in our own hotel; people thought +them too dear; and some, as soon as they knew the price, said frankly they +had heard enough about Altruria already, and were sick of the whole thing. + +Mrs. Makely said this was quite what she had expected of those people; +that they were horrid and stingy and vulgar; and she should see what face +they would have to ask her to take tickets when _they_ were trying to get +up something. She began to be vexed with herself, she confessed, at the +joke she was playing on Mr. Homos, and I noticed that she put herself +rather defiantly _en evidence_ in his company whenever she could in the +presence of these reluctant ladies. She told me she had not the courage to +ask the clerk how many of the tickets he had sold out of those she had +left at the desk. + +One morning, the third or fourth, as I was going in to breakfast with her, +the head-waiter stopped her as he opened the door, and asked modestly if +she could spare him a few tickets, for he thought he could sell some. To +my amazement the unprincipled creature said: "Why, certainly. How many?" +and instantly took a package out of her pocket, where she seemed always to +have them. He asked, Would twenty be more than she could spare? and she +answered: "Not at all. Here are twenty-five." and bestowed the whole +package upon him. + +That afternoon Reuben Camp came lounging up toward us, where I sat with +her on the corner of the piazza, and said that if she would like to let +him try his luck with some tickets for the Talk he would see what he could +do. + +"You can have all you want, Reuben," she said, "and I hope you'll have +better luck than I have. I'm perfectly disgusted with people." + +She fished several packages out of her pocket this time, and he asked: "Do +you mean that I can have them all?" + +"Every one, and a band of music into the bargain," she answered, +recklessly. But she seemed a little daunted when he quietly took them. +"You know there are a hundred here?" + +"Yes, I should like to see what I can do among the natives. Then there is +a construction train over at the junction, and I know a lot of the +fellows. I guess some of 'em would like to come." + +"The tickets are a dollar each, you know," she suggested. + +"That's all right," said Camp. "Well, good-afternoon." + +Mrs. Makely turned to me with a kind of gasp as he shambled away. "I don't +know about that." + +"About having the whole crew of a construction train at the Talk? I dare +say it won't be pleasant to the ladies who have bought tickets." + +"_Oh_!" said Mrs. Makely, with astonishing contempt, "I don't care what +_they_ think. But Reuben has got all my tickets, and suppose he keeps them +so long that I won't have time to sell any, and then throws them back on +my hands? _I_ know!" she added, joyously. "I can go around now and tell +people that my tickets are all gone; and I'll go instantly and have the +clerk hold all he has left at a premium." + +She came back looking rather blank. + +"He hasn't got a single one left. He says an old native came in this +morning and took every last one of them--he doesn't remember just how +many. I believe they're going to speculate on them; and if Reuben Camp +serves me a trick like that--Why," she broke off, "I believe I'll +speculate on them myself. I should like to know why I shouldn't. Oh, I +should just _like_ to make some of those creatures pay double, or treble, +for the chances they've refused. Ah, Mrs. Bulkham," she called out to a +lady who was coming down the veranda toward us, "you'll be glad to know +I've got rid of all my tickets. _Such_ a relief!" + +"You _have_?" Mrs. Bulkham retorted. + +"Every one." + +"I thought," said Mrs. Bulkham, "that you understood I wanted one for my +daughter and myself, if she came." + +"I certainly didn't," said Mrs. Makely, with a wink of concentrated +wickedness at me. "But, if you do, you will have to say so now, without +any ifs or ands about it; and if any of the tickets come back--I let +friends have a few on sale--I will give you two." + +"Well, I do," said Mrs. Bulkham, after a moment. + +"Very well; it will be five dollars for the two. I feel bound to get all I +can for the cause. Shall I put your name down?" + +"Yes," said Mrs. Bulkham, rather crossly; but Mrs. Makely inscribed her +name on her tablets with a radiant amiability, which suffered no eclipse +when, within the next fifteen minutes, a dozen other ladies hurried up and +bought in at the same rate. + +I could not stand it, and I got up to go away, feeling extremely +_particeps criminis_. Mrs. Makely seemed to have a conscience as light as +air. + +"If Reuben Camp or the head-waiter don't bring back some of those tickets, +I don't know what I shall do. I shall have to put chairs into the aisles +and charge five dollars apiece for as many people as I can crowd in there. +I never knew anything so perfectly providential." + +"I envy you the ability to see it in that light, Mrs. Makely," I said, +faint at heart. "Suppose Camp crowds the place full of his trainmen, how +will the ladies that you've sold tickets to at five dollars apiece like +it?" + +"Pooh! What do I care how they like it! Horrid things! And for repairs on +the house of Gawd, it's the same as being in church, where everybody is +equal." + +The time passed. Mrs. Makely sold chances to all the ladies in the house; +on Friday night Reuben Camp brought her a hundred dollars; the head-waiter +had already paid in twenty-five. "I didn't dare to ask them if they +speculated on them," she confided to me. "Do you suppose they would have +the conscience?" + +They had secured the large parlor of the hotel, where the young people +danced in the evening, and where entertainments were held, of the sort +usually given in summer hotels; we had already had a dramatic reading, a +time with the phonograph, an exhibition of necromancy, a concert by a +college glee club, and I do not know what else. The room would hold +perhaps two hundred people, if they were closely seated, and, by her own +showing, Mrs. Makely had sold above two hundred and fifty tickets and +chances. All Saturday forenoon she consoled herself with the belief that a +great many people at the other hotels and cottages had bought seats +merely to aid the cause, and would not really come; she estimated that at +least fifty would stay away; but, if Reuben Camp had sold his tickets +among the natives, we might expect every one of them to come and get his +money's worth; she did not dare to ask the head-waiter how he had got rid +of his twenty-five tickets. + +The hour set for the Talk to begin was three o'clock, so that people could +have their naps comfortably over, after the one o'clock dinner, and be +just in the right frame of mind for listening. But long before the +appointed time the people who dine at twelve, and never take an afternoon +nap, began to arrive, on foot, in farm-wagons, smart buggies, mud-crusted +carryalls, and all manner of ramshackle vehicles. They arrived as if +coming to a circus, old husbands and wives, young couples and their +children, pretty girls and their fellows, and hitched their horses to the +tails of their wagons, and began to make a picnic lunch in the shadow of +the grove lying between the hotel and the station. About two we heard the +snorting of a locomotive at a time when no train was due, and a +construction train came in view, with the men waving their handkerchiefs +from the windows, and apparently ready for all the fun there was to be in +the thing. Some of them had a small flag in each hand, the American Stars +and Stripes and the white flag of Altruria, in compliment to my guest, I +suppose. A good many of the farmers came over to the hotel to buy tickets, +which they said they expected to get after they came, and Mrs. Makely was +obliged to pacify them with all sorts of lying promises. From moment to +moment she was in consultation with the landlord, who decided to throw +open the dining-room, which connected with the parlor, so as to allow the +help and the neighbors to hear without incommoding the hotel guests. She +said that this took a great burden off her mind, and that now she should +feel perfectly easy, for now no one could complain about being mixed up +with the servants and the natives, and yet every one could hear perfectly. + +She could not rest until she had sent for Homos and told him of this +admirable arrangement. I did not know whether to be glad or not when he +instantly told her that, if there was to be any such separation of his +auditors, in recognition of our class distinctions, he must refuse to +speak at all. + +"Then what in the world are we to do?" she wailed out, and the tears came +into her eyes. + +"Have you got the money for all your tickets?" he asked, with a sort of +disgust for the whole transaction in his tone. + +"Yes, and more, too. I don't believe there's a soul, in the hotel or out +of it, that hasn't paid at least a dollar to hear you; and that makes it +so very embarrassing. Oh, _dear_ Mr. Homos! You won't be so implacably +high-principled as all that! Think that you are doing it for the house of +Gawd." + +The woman made me sick. + +"Then no one," said the Altrurian, "can feel aggrieved, or unfairly used, +if I say what I have to say in the open air, where all can listen equally, +without any manner of preference or distinction. We will go up to the edge +of the grove overlooking the tennis-court, and hold our meeting there, as +the Altrurian meetings are always held, with the sky for a roof, and with +no walls but the horizon." + +"The very thing!" cried Mrs. Makely. "Who would ever have thought you were +so practical, Mr. Homos? I don't believe you're an Altrurian, after all; I +believe you are an American in disguise." + +The Altrurian turned away, without making any response to this flattering +attribution of our nationality to him; but Mrs. Makely had not waited for +any. She had flown off, and I next saw her attacking the landlord, with +such apparent success that he slapped himself on the leg and vanished, and +immediately the porters and bell-boys and all the men-servants began +carrying out chairs to the tennis-court, which was already well set round +with benches. In a little while the whole space was covered, and settees +were placed well up the ground toward the grove. + +By half-past two the guests of the hotel came out and took the best seats, +as by right, and the different tallyhoes and mountain wagons began to +arrive from the other hotels, with their silly hotel cries, and their gay +groups dismounted and dispersed themselves over the tennis-court until all +the chairs were taken. It was fine to see how the natives and the trainmen +and the hotel servants, with an instinctive perception of the proprieties, +yielded these places to their superiors, and, after the summer folks were +all seated, scattered themselves on the grass and the pine-needles about +the border of the grove. I should have liked to instance the fact to the +Altrurian, as a proof that this sort of subordination was a part of human +nature, and that a principle which pervaded our civilization, after the +democratic training of our whole national life, must be divinely +implanted. But there was no opportunity for me to speak with him after the +fact had accomplished itself, for by this time he had taken his place in +front of a little clump of low pines and was waiting for the assembly to +quiet itself before he began to speak. I do not think there could have +been less than five hundred present, and the scene had that accidental +picturesqueness which results from the grouping of all sorts of faces and +costumes. Many of our ladies had pretty hats and brilliant parasols, but I +must say that the soberer tone of some of the old farm-wives' brown +calicoes and outdated bonnets contributed to enrich the coloring, and +there was a certain gayety in the sunny glisten of the men's straw hats +everywhere that was very good. + +The sky overhead was absolutely stainless, and the light of the cool +afternoon sun streamed upon the slopes of the solemn mountains to the +east. The tall pines in the background blackened themselves against the +horizon; nearer they showed more and more decidedly their bluish green, +and the yellow of the newly fallen needles painted their aisles deep into +the airy shadows. + +A little wind stirred their tops, and for a moment, just before the +Altrurian began to speak, drew from them an organ-tone that melted +delicately away as his powerful voice rose. + + + + +XI + + +"I could not give you a clear account of the present state of things in my +country," the Altrurian began, "without first telling you something of our +conditions before the time of our Evolution. It seems to be the law of all +life that nothing can come to fruition without dying and seeming to make +an end. It must be sown in corruption before it can be raised in +incorruption. The truth itself must perish to our senses before it can +live to our souls; the Son of Man must suffer upon the cross before we can +know the Son, of God. + +"It was so with His message to the world, which we received in the old +time as an ideal realized by the earliest Christians, who loved one +another and who had all things common. The apostle cast away upon our +heathen coasts won us with the story of this first Christian republic, and +he established a commonwealth of peace and good-will among us in its +likeness. That commonwealth perished, just as its prototype perished, or +seemed to perish; and long ages of civic and economic warfare succeeded, +when every man's hand was against his neighbor, and might was the rule +that got itself called right. Religion ceased to be the hope of this +world, and became the vague promise of the next. We descended into the +valley of the shadow, and dwelt amid chaos for ages before we groped again +into the light. + +"The first glimmerings were few and indistinct, but men formed themselves +about the luminous points here and there, and, when these broke and +dispersed into lesser gleams, still men formed themselves about each of +them. There arose a system of things better, indeed, than that darkness, +but full of war and lust and greed, in which the weak rendered homage to +the strong, and served them in the field and in the camp, and the strong +in turn gave the weak protection against the other strong. It was a juggle +in which the weak did not see that their safety was, after all, from +themselves; but it was an image of peace, however false and fitful, and it +endured for a time. It endured for a limited time, if we measure by the +life of the race; it endured for an unlimited time if we measure by the +lives of the men who were born and died while it endured. + +"But that disorder, cruel and fierce and stupid, which endured because it +sometimes masked itself as order, did at last pass away. Here and there +one of the strong overpowered the rest; then the strong became fewer and +fewer, and in their turn they all yielded to a supreme lord, and +throughout the land there was one rule, as it was called then, or one +misrule, as we should call it now. This rule, or this misrule, continued +for ages more; and again, in the immortality of the race, men toiled and +struggled, and died without the hope of better things. + +"Then the time came when the long nightmare was burst with the vision of a +future in which all men were the law, and not one man, or any less number +of men than all. + +"The poor dumb beast of humanity rose, and the throne tumbled, and the +sceptre was broken, and the crown rolled away into that darkness of the +past. We thought that heaven had descended to us, and that liberty, +equality, and fraternity were ours. We could not see what should again +alienate us from one another, or how one brother could again oppress +another. With a free field and no favor we believed we should prosper on +together, and there would be peace and plenty for all. We had the republic +again after so many ages now, and the republic, as we knew it in our dim +annals, was brotherhood and universal happiness. All but a very few, who +prophesied evil of our lawless freedom, were wrapped in a delirium of +hope. Men's minds and men's hands were suddenly released to an activity +unheard of before. Invention followed invention; our rivers and seas +became the warp of commerce where the steam-sped shuttles carried the woof +of enterprise to and fro with tireless celerity; machines to save labor +multiplied themselves as if they had been procreative forces, and wares of +every sort were produced with incredible swiftness and cheapness. Money +seemed to flow from the ground; vast fortunes 'rose like an exhalation,' +as your Milton says. + +"At first we did not know that they were the breath of the nethermost pits +of hell, and that the love of money, which was becoming universal with us, +was filling the earth with the hate of men. It was long before we came to +realize that in the depths of our steamships were those who fed the fires +with their lives, and that our mines from which we dug our wealth were the +graves of those who had died to the free light and air, without finding +the rest of death. We did not see that the machines for saving labor were +monsters that devoured women and children, and wasted men at the bidding +of the power which no man must touch. + +"That is, we thought we must not touch it, for it called itself prosperity +and wealth and the public good, and it said that it gave bread, and it +impudently bade the toiling myriads consider what would become of them if +it took away their means of wearing themselves out in its service. It +demanded of the state absolute immunity and absolute impunity, the right +to do its will wherever and however it would, without question from the +people who were the final law. It had its way, and under its rule we +became the richest people under the sun. The Accumulation, as we called +this power, because we feared to call it by its true name, rewarded its +own with gains of twenty, of a hundred, of a thousand per cent., and to +satisfy its need, to produce the labor that operated its machines, there +came into existence a hapless race of men who bred their kind for its +service, and whose little ones were its prey almost from their cradles. +Then the infamy became too great, and the law, the voice of the people, so +long guiltily silent, was lifted in behalf of those who had no helper. The +Accumulation came under control for the first time, and could no longer +work its slaves twenty hours a day amid perils to life and limb from its +machinery and in conditions that forbade them decency and morality. The +time of a hundred and a thousand per cent. passed; but still the +Accumulation demanded immunity and impunity, and, in spite of its +conviction of the enormities it had practised, it declared itself the only +means of civilization and progress. It began to give out that it was +timid, though its history was full of the boldest frauds and crimes, and +it threatened to withdraw itself if it were ruled or even crossed; and +again it had its way, and we seemed to prosper more and more. The land was +filled with cities where the rich flaunted their splendor in palaces, and +the poor swarmed in squalid tenements. The country was drained of its life +and force, to feed the centres of commerce and industry. The whole land +was bound together with a network of iron roads that linked the factories +and founderies to the fields and mines, and blasted the landscape with the +enterprise that spoiled the lives of men. + +"Then, all at once, when its work seemed perfect and its dominion sure, +the Accumulation was stricken with consciousness of the lie always at its +heart. It had hitherto cried out for a free field and no favor, for +unrestricted competition; but, in truth, it had never prospered except as +a monopoly. Whenever and wherever competition had play there had been +nothing but disaster to the rival enterprises, till one rose over the +rest. Then there was prosperity for that one. + +"The Accumulation began to act upon its new consciousness. The iron roads +united; the warring industries made peace, each kind under a single +leadership. Monopoly, not competition, was seen to be the beneficent means +of distributing the favors and blessings of the Accumulation to mankind. +But, as before, there was alternately a glut and dearth of things, and +it often happened that when starving men went ragged through the streets +the storehouses were piled full of rotting harvests that the farmers +toiled from dawn till dusk to grow, and the warehouses fed the moth with +the stuffs that the operative had woven his life into at his loom. Then +followed, with a blind and mad succession, a time of famine, when money +could not buy the super-abundance that vanished, none knew how or why. + +"The money itself vanished from time to time, and disappeared into the +vaults of the Accumulation, for no better reason than that for which it +poured itself out at other times. Our theory was that the people--that is +to say, the government of the people--made the people's money, but, as a +matter of fact, the Accumulation made it and controlled it and juggled +with it; and now you saw it, and now you did not see it. The government +made gold coins, but the people had nothing but the paper money that the +Accumulation made. But whether there was scarcity or plenty, the failures +went on with a continuous ruin that nothing could check, while our larger +economic life proceeded in a series of violent shocks, which we called +financial panics, followed by long periods of exhaustion and recuperation. + +"There was no law in our economy, but as the Accumulation had never cared +for the nature of law, it did not trouble itself for its name in our order +of things. It had always bought the law it needed for its own use, first +through the voter at the polls in the more primitive days, and then, as +civilization advanced, in the legislatures and the courts. But the +corruption even of these methods was far surpassed when the era of +consolidation came, and the necessity for statutes and verdicts and +decisions became more stringent. Then we had such a burlesque of--" + +"Look here!" a sharp, nasal voice snarled across the rich, full pipe of +the Altrurian, and we all instantly looked there. The voice came from an +old farmer, holding himself stiffly up, with his hands in his pockets and +his lean frame bent toward the speaker. "When are you goin' to get to +Altrury? We know all about Ameriky." + +He sat down again, and it was a moment before the crowd caught on. Then a +yell of delight and a roar of volleyed laughter went up from the lower +classes, in which, I am sorry to say, my friend the banker joined, so far +as the laughter was concerned. "Good! That's it! First-rate!" came from a +hundred vulgar throats. + +"Isn't it a perfect shame?" Mrs. Makely demanded. "I think some of you +gentlemen ought to say something. What will Mr. Homos think of our +civilization if we let such interruptions go unrebuked?" + +She was sitting between the banker and myself, and her indignation made +him laugh more and more. "Oh, it serves him right," he said. "Don't you +see that he is hoist with his own petard? Let him alone. He's in the hands +of his friends." + +The Altrurian waited for the tumult to die away, and then he said, gently: +"I don't understand." + +The old farmer jerked himself to his feet again. "It's like this: I paid +my dolla' to hear about a country where there wa'n't no co'perations nor +no monop'lies nor no buyin' up cou'ts; and I ain't agoin' to have no +allegory shoved down my throat, instead of a true history, noways. I know +all about how it is _here_. Fi'st, run their line through your backya'd, +and then kill off your cattle, and keep kerryin' on it up from cou't to +cou't, till there ain't hide or hair on 'em left--" + +"Oh, set down, set down! Let the man go on! He'll make it all right with +you," one of the construction gang called out; but the farmer stood his +ground, and I could hear him through the laughing and shouting keep saying +something, from time to time, about not wanting to pay no dolla' for no +talk about co'perations and monop'lies that we had right under our own +noses the whole while, and, you might say, in your very bread-troughs; +till, at last, I saw Reuben Camp make his way toward him, and, after an +energetic expostulation, turn to leave him again. + +Then he faltered out, "I guess it's all right," and dropped out of sight +in the group he had risen from. I fancied his wife scolding him there, and +all but shaking him in public. + +"I should be very sorry," the Altrurian proceeded, "to have any one +believe that I have not been giving you a _bona fide_ account of +conditions in my country before the Evolution, when we first took the name +of Altruria in our great, peaceful campaign against the Accumulation. As +for offering you any allegory or travesty of your own conditions, I will +simply say that I do not know them well enough to do so intelligently. +But, whatever they are, God forbid that the likeness which you seem to +recognize should ever go so far as the desperate state of things which we +finally reached. I will not trouble you with details; in fact, I have been +afraid that I had already treated of our affairs too abstractly; but, +since your own experience furnishes you the means of seizing my meaning, I +will go on as before. + +"You will understand me when I explain that the Accumulation had not +erected itself into the sovereignty with us unopposed. The working-men, +who suffered most from its oppression had early begun to band themselves +against it, with the instinct of self-preservation, first trade by trade +and art by art, and then in congresses and federations of the trades and +arts, until finally they enrolled themselves in one vast union, which +included all the working-men, whom their necessity or their interest did +not leave on the side of the Accumulation. This beneficent and generous +association of the weak for the sake of the weakest did not accomplish +itself fully till the baleful instinct of the Accumulation had reduced the +monopolies to one vast monopoly, till the stronger had devoured the weaker +among its members, and the supreme agent stood at the head of our affairs, +in everything but name, our imperial ruler. We had hugged so long the +delusion of each man for himself that we had suffered all realty to be +taken from us. The Accumulation owned the land as well as the mines under +it and the shops over it; the Accumulation owned the seas and the ships +that sailed the seas, and the fish that swam in their depths; it owned +transportation and distribution, and the wares and products that were to +be carried to and fro; and, by a logic irresistible and inexorable, the +Accumulation _was_, and we were _not_. + +"But the Accumulation, too, had forgotten something. It had found it so +easy to buy legislatures and courts that it did not trouble itself about +the polls. It left us the suffrage, and let us amuse ourselves with the +periodical election of the political clay images which it manipulated and +moulded to any shape and effect at its pleasure. The Accumulation knew +that it was the sovereignty, whatever figure-head we called president or +governor or mayor: we had other names for these officials, but I use their +analogues for the sake of clearness, and I hope my good friend over there +will not think I am still talking about America." + +"No," the old farmer called back, without rising, "we hain't got there +quite yit." + +"No hurry," said a trainman. "All in good time. Go on!" he called to the +Altrurian. + +The Altrurian resumed: + +"There had been, from the beginning, an almost ceaseless struggle between +the Accumulation and the proletariate. The Accumulation always said that +it was the best friend of the proletariate, and it denounced, through the +press which it controlled, the proletarian leaders who taught that it was +the enemy of the proletariate, and who stirred up strikes and tumults of +all sorts, for higher wages and fewer hours. But the friend of the +proletariate, whenever occasion served, treated the proletariate like a +deadly enemy. In seasons of overproduction, as it was called, it locked +the workmen out or laid them off, and left their families to starve, or +ran light work and claimed the credit of public benefactors for running at +all. It sought every chance to reduce wages; it had laws passed to forbid +or cripple the workmen in their strikes; and the judges convicted them of +conspiracy, and wrested the statutes to their hurt, in cases where there +had been no thought of embarrassing them, even among the legislators. God +forbid that you should ever come to such a pass in America; but, if you +ever should, God grant that you may find your way out as simply as we did +at last, when freedom had perished in everything but name among us, and +justice had become a mockery. + +"The Accumulation had advanced so smoothly, so lightly, in all its steps +to the supreme power, and had at last so thoroughly quelled the uprisings +of the proletariate, that it forgot one thing: it forgot the despised and +neglected suffrage. The ballot, because it had been so easy to annul its +effect, had been left in the people's hands; and when, at last, the +leaders of the proletariate ceased to counsel strikes, or any form of +resistance to the Accumulation that could be tormented into the likeness +of insurrection against the government, and began to urge them to attack +it in the political way, the deluge that swept the Accumulation out of +existence came trickling and creeping over the land. It appeared first in +the country, a spring from the ground; then it gathered head in the +villages; then it swelled to a torrent in the cities. I cannot stay to +trace its course; but suddenly, one day, when the Accumulation's abuse of +a certain power became too gross, it was voted out of that power. You will +perhaps be interested to know that it was with the telegraphs that the +rebellion against the Accumulation began, and the government was forced, +by the overwhelming majority which the proletariate sent to our +parliament, to assume a function which the Accumulation had impudently +usurped. Then the transportation of smaller and more perishable wares--" + +"Yes," a voice called--"express business. Go on!" + +"Was legislated a function of the post-office," the Altrurian went on. +"Then all transportation was taken into the hands of the political +government, which had always been accused of great corruption in its +administration, but which showed itself immaculately pure compared with +the Accumulation. The common ownership of mines necessarily followed, with +an allotment of lands to any one who wished to live by tilling the land; +but not a foot of the land was remitted to private hands for the purposes +of selfish pleasure or the exclusion of any other from the landscape. As +all business had been gathered into the grasp of the Accumulation, and the +manufacture of everything they used and the production of everything that +they ate was in the control of the Accumulation, its transfer to the +government was the work of a single clause in the statute. + +"The Accumulation, which had treated the first menaces of resistance with +contempt, awoke to its peril too late. When it turned to wrest the +suffrage from the proletariate, at the first election where it attempted +to make head against them, it was simply snowed under, as your picturesque +phrase is. The Accumulation had no voters, except the few men at its head +and the creatures devoted to it by interest and ignorance. It seemed, at +one moment, as if it would offer an armed resistance to the popular will, +but, happily, that moment of madness passed. Our Evolution was +accomplished without a drop of bloodshed, and the first great political +brotherhood, the commonwealth of Altruria, was founded. + +"I wish that I had time to go into a study of some of the curious phases +of the transformation from a civility in which the people lived _upon_ +each other to one in which they lived _for_ each other. There is a famous +passage in the inaugural message of our first Altrurian president which +compares the new civic consciousness with that of a disembodied spirit +released to the life beyond this and freed from all the selfish cares +and greeds of the flesh. But perhaps I shall give a sufficiently clear +notion of the triumph of the change among us when I say that within half +a decade after the fall of the old plutocratic oligarchy one of the chief +directors of the Accumulation publicly expressed his gratitude to God +that the Accumulation had passed away forever. You will realize the +importance of such an expression in recalling the declarations some of +your slave-holders have made since the Civil War, that they would not have +slavery restored for any earthly consideration. + +"But now, after this preamble, which has been so much longer than I meant +it to be, how shall I give you a sufficiently just conception of the +existing Altruria, the actual state from which I come?" + +"Yes," came the nasal of the old farmer again, "that's what we are here +fur. I wouldn't give a copper to know all you went through beforehand. +It's too dumn like what we have been through ourselves, as fur as heard +from." + +A shout of laughter went up from most of the crowd, but the Altrurian did +not seem to see any fun in it. + +"Well," he resumed, "I will tell you, as well as I can, what Altruria is +like; but, in the first place, you will have to cast out of your minds all +images of civilization with which your experience has filled them. For a +time the shell of the old Accumulation remained for our social habitation, +and we dwelt in the old competitive and monopolistic forms after the life +had gone out of them--that is, we continued to live in populous cities, +and we toiled to heap up riches for the moth to corrupt, and we slaved on +in making utterly useless things, merely because we had the habit of +making them to sell. For a while we made the old sham things, which +pretended to be useful things and were worse than the confessedly useless +things. I will give you an illustration from the trades, which you will +all understand. The proletariate, in the competitive and monopolistic +time, used to make a kind of shoes for the proletariate, or the women of +the proletariate, which looked like fine shoes of the best quality. It +took just as much work to make these shoes as to make the best fine shoes; +but they were shams through and through. They wore out in a week, and the +people called them, because they were bought fresh for every Sunday--" + +"Sat'd'y-night shoes," screamed the old farmer. "I know 'em. My gals buy +'em. Half-dolla' a pai', and not wo'th the money." + +"Well," said the Altrurian, "they were a cheat and a lie in every way, +and under the new system it was not possible, when public attention +was called to the fact, to continue the falsehood they embodied. As soon +as the Saturday-night shoes realized itself to the public conscience, +an investigation began, and it was found that the principle of the +Saturday-night shoe underlay half our industries and made half the work +that was done. + +"Then an immense reform took place. We renounced, in the most solemn +convocation of the whole economy, the principle of the Saturday-night +shoe, and those who had spent their lives in producing sham shoes--" + +"Yes," said the professor, rising from his seat near us and addressing the +speaker, "I shall be very glad to know what became of the worthy and +industrious operatives who were thrown out of employment by this explosion +of economic virtue." + +"Why," the Altrurian replied, "they were set to work making honest shoes; +and, as it took no more time to make a pair of honest shoes which lasted a +year than it took to make a pair of dishonest shoes that lasted a week, +the amount of labor in shoemaking was at once enormously reduced." + +"Yes," said the professor, "I understand that. What became of the +shoemakers?" + +"They joined the vast army of other laborers who had been employed, +directly or indirectly, in the fabrication of fraudulent wares. These +shoemakers--lasters, button-holers, binders, and so on--no longer wore +themselves out over their machines. One hour sufficed where twelve hours +were needed before, and the operatives were released to the happy labor of +the fields, where no one with us toils killingly, from dawn till dusk, but +does only as much work as is needed to keep the body in health. We had a +continent to refine and beautify; we had climates to change and seasons to +modify, a whole system of meteorology to readjust, and the public works +gave employment to the multitudes emancipated from the soul-destroying +service of shams. I can scarcely give you a notion of the vastness of the +improvements undertaken and carried through, or still in process of +accomplishment. But a single one will, perhaps, afford a sufficient +illustration. Our southeast coast, from its vicinity to the pole, had +always suffered from a winter of antarctic rigor; but our first president +conceived the plan of cutting off a peninsula, which kept the equatorial +current from making in to our shores; and the work was begun in his term, +though the entire strip, twenty miles in width and ninety-three in length, +was not severed before the end of the first Altrurian decade. Since that +time the whole region of our southeastern coast has enjoyed the climate of +your Mediterranean countries. + +"It was not only the makers of fraudulent things who were released to +these useful and wholesome labors, but those who had spent themselves in +contriving ugly and stupid and foolish things were set free to the public +employment. The multitude of these monstrosities and iniquities was as +great as that of the shams--" + +Here I lost some words, for the professor leaned over and whispered to me: +"He has got _that_ out of William Morris. Depend upon it, the man is a +humbug. He is not an Altrurian at all." + +I confess that my heart misgave me; but I signalled the professor to be +silent, and again gave the Altrurian--if he was an Altrurian--my whole +attention. + + + + +XII + + +"And so," the Altrurian continued, "when the labor of the community was +emancipated from the bondage of the false to the free service of the true, +it was also, by an inevitable implication, dedicated to beauty and rescued +from the old slavery to the ugly, the stupid, and the trivial. The thing +that was honest and useful became, by the operation of a natural law, a +beautiful thing. + +"Once we had not time enough to make things beautiful, we were so +overworked in making false and hideous things to sell; but now we had all +the time there was, and a glad emulation arose among the trades and +occupations to the end that everything done should be done finely as well +as done honestly. The artist, the man of genius, who worked from the love +of his work, became the normal man, and in the measure of his ability and +of his calling each wrought in the spirit of the artist. We got back the +pleasure of doing a thing beautifully, which was God's primal blessing +upon all His working children, but which we had lost in the horrible days +of our need and greed. There is not a working-man within the sound of my +voice but has known this divine delight, and would gladly know it always +if he only had the time. Well, now we had the time, the Evolution had +given us the time, and in all Altruria there was not a furrow driven or a +swath mown, not a hammer struck on house or on ship, not a stitch sewn or +a stone laid, not a line written or a sheet printed, not a temple raised +or an engine built, but it was done with an eye to beauty as well as to +use. + +"As soon as we were freed from the necessity of preying upon one another, +we found that there was no hurry. The good work would wait to be well +done; and one of the earliest effects of the Evolution was the disuse of +the swift trains which had traversed the continent, night and day, that +one man might overreach another, or make haste to undersell his rival, or +seize some advantage of him, or plot some profit to his loss. Nine-tenths +of the railroads, which in the old times had ruinously competed, and then, +in the hands of the Accumulation, had been united to impoverish and +oppress the people, fell into disuse. The commonwealth operated the few +lines that were necessary for the collection of materials and the +distribution of manufactures, and for pleasure travel and the affairs of +state; but the roads that had been built to invest capital, or parallel +other roads, or 'make work,' as it was called, or to develop resources, +or boom localities, were suffered to fall into ruin; the rails were +stripped from the landscape, which they had bound as with shackles, and +the road-beds became highways for the use of kindly neighborhoods, or +nature recovered them wholly and hid the memory of their former abuse in +grass and flowers and wild vines. The ugly towns that they had forced into +being, as Frankenstein was fashioned, from the materials of the charnel, +and that had no life in or from the good of the community, soon tumbled +into decay. The administration used parts of them in the construction of +the villages in which the Altrurians now mostly live; but generally these +towns were built of materials so fraudulent, in form so vile, that it was +judged best to burn them. In this way their sites were at once purified +and obliterated. + +"We had, of course, a great many large cities under the old egoistic +conditions, which increased and fattened upon the country, and fed their +cancerous life with fresh infusions of its blood. We had several cities of +half a million, and one of more than a million; we had a score of them +with a population of a hundred thousand or more. We were very proud of +them, and vaunted them as a proof of our unparalleled prosperity, though +really they never were anything but congeries of millionaires and the +wretched creatures who served them and supplied them. Of course, there was +everywhere the appearance of enterprise and activity, but it meant final +loss for the great mass of the business men, large and small, and final +gain for the millionaires. These and their parasites dwelt together, the +rich starving the poor and the poor plundering and misgoverning the rich; +and it was the intolerable suffering in the cities that chiefly hastened +the fall of the old Accumulation and the rise of the commonwealth. + +"Almost from the moment of the Evolution the competitive and monopolistic +centres of population began to decline. In the clear light of the new +order it was seen that they were not fit dwelling-places for men, either +in the complicated and luxurious palaces where the rich fenced themselves +from their kind, or in the vast tenements, towering height upon height, +ten and twelve stories up, where the swarming poor festered in vice and +sickness and famine. If I were to tell you of the fashion of those cities +of our egoistic epoch, how the construction was one error from the first, +and every correction of an error bred a new defect, I should make you +laugh, I should make you weep. We let them fall to ruin as quickly as they +would, and their sites are still so pestilential, after the lapse of +centuries, that travelers are publicly guarded against them. Ravening +beasts and poisonous reptiles lurk in those abodes of the riches and the +poverty that are no longer known to our life. A part of one of the less +malarial of the old cities, however, is maintained by the commonwealth in +the form of its prosperity, and is studied by antiquarians for the +instruction, and by moralists for the admonition, it affords. A section of +a street is exposed, and you see the foundations of the houses; you see +the filthy drains that belched into the common sewers, trapped and +retrapped to keep the poison gases down; you see the sewers that rolled +their loathsome tides under the streets, amid a tangle of gas-pipes, +steam-pipes, water-pipes, telegraph-wires, electric lighting-wires, +electric motor-wires, and grip-cables--all without a plan, but makeshifts, +expedients, devices, to repair and evade the fundamental mistake of having +any such cities at all. + +"There are now no cities in Altruria, in your meaning, but there are +capitals, one for each of the regions of our country and one for the whole +commonwealth. These capitals are for the transaction of public affairs, in +which every citizen of Altruria is schooled, and they are the residences +of the administrative officials, who are alternated every year, from the +highest to the lowest. A public employment with us is of no greater honor +or profit than any other, for with our absolute economic equality there +can be no ambition, and there is no opportunity for one citizen to +outshine another. But as the capitals are the centres of all the arts, +which we consider the chief of our public affairs, they are oftenest +frequented by poets, actors, painters, sculptors, musicians, and +architects. We regard all artists, who are in a sort creators, as the +human type which is likest the divine, and we try to conform our whole +industrial life to the artistic temperament. Even in the labors of the +field and shop, which are obligatory upon all, we study the inspiration of +this temperament, and in the voluntary pursuits we allow it full control. +Each, in these, follows his fancy as to what he shall do, and when he +shall do it, or whether he shall do anything at all. In the capitals are +the universities, theatres, galleries, museums, cathedrals, laboratories +and conservatories, and the appliances of every art and science, as well +as the administration buildings; and beauty as well as use is studied in +every edifice. Our capitals are as clean and quiet and healthful as the +country, and these advantages are secured simply by the elimination of the +horse, an animal which we should be as much surprised to find in the +streets of a town as the plesiosaurus or the pterodactyl. All +transportation in the capitals, whether for pleasure or business, is by +electricity, and swift electrical expresses connect the capital of each +region with the villages which radiate from it to the cardinal points. +These expresses run at the rate of a hundred and fifty miles an hour, and +they enable the artist, the scientist, the literary man, of the remotest +hamlet, to visit the capital (when he is not actually resident there in +some public use) every day, after the hours of the obligatory industries; +or, if he likes, he may remain there a whole week or fortnight, giving six +hours a day instead of three to the obligatories, until the time is made +up. In case of very evident merit, or for the purpose of allowing him to +complete some work requiring continuous application, a vote of the local +agents may release him from the obligatories indefinitely. Generally, +however, our artists prefer not to ask this, but avail themselves of the +stated means we have of allowing them to work at the obligatories, and get +the needed exercise and variety of occupation in the immediate vicinity of +the capital. + +"We do not think it well to connect the hamlets on the different lines of +radiation from the capital, except by the good country roads which +traverse each region in every direction. The villages are mainly inhabited +by those who prefer a rural life; they are farming villages; but in +Altruria it can hardly be said that one man is more a farmer than another. +We do not like to distinguish men by their callings; we do not speak of +the poet This or the shoemaker That, for the poet may very likely be a +shoemaker in the obligatories, and the shoemaker a poet in the +voluntaries. If it can be said that one occupation is honored above +another with us, it is that which we all share, and that is the +cultivation of the earth. We believe that this, when not followed +slavishly, or for gain, brings man into the closest relations to the +Deity, through a grateful sense of the divine bounty, and that it not only +awakens a natural piety in him, but that it endears to the worker that +piece of soil which he tills, and so strengthens his love of home. The +home is the very heart of the Altrurian system, and we do not think it +well that people should be away from their homes very long or very often. +In the competitive and monopolistic times men spent half their days in +racing back and forth across our continent; families were scattered by the +chase for fortune, and there was a perpetual paying and repaying of +visits. One-half the income of those railroads which we let fall into +disuse came from the ceaseless unrest. Now a man is born and lives and +dies among his own kindred, and the sweet sense of neighborhood, of +brotherhood, which blessed the golden age of the first Christian republic +is ours again. Every year the people of each region meet one another on +Evolution day, in the regionic capital; once in four years they all visit +the national capital. There is no danger of the decay of patriotism among +us; our country is our mother, and we love her as it is impossible to love +the step-mother that a competitive or monopolistic nation must be to its +citizens. + +"I can only touch upon this feature and that of our system as I chance to +think of it. If any of you are curious about others, I shall be glad to +answer questions as well as I can. We have, of course," the Altrurian +proceeded, after a little indefinite pause, to let any speak who liked, +"no money in your sense. As the whole people control affairs, no man works +for another, and no man pays another. Every one does his share of labor, +and receives his share of food, clothing, and shelter, which is neither +more nor less than another's. If you can imagine the justice and +impartiality of a well-ordered family, you can conceive of the social and +economic life of Altruria. We are, properly speaking, a family rather than +a nation like yours. + +"Of course, we are somewhat favored by our insular, or continental, +position; but I do not know that we are more so than you are. Certainly, +however, we are self-sufficing in a degree unknown to most European +countries; and we have within our borders the materials of every comfort +and the resources of every need. We have no commerce with the egoistic +world, as we call that outside, and I believe that I am the first +Altrurian to visit foreign countries avowedly in my national character, +though we have always had emissaries living abroad incognito. I hope that +I may say without offence that they find it a sorrowful exile, and that +the reports of the egoistic world, with its wars, its bankruptcies, its +civic commotions, and its social unhappiness, do not make us discontented +with our own condition. Before the Evolution we had completed the round of +your inventions and discoveries, impelled by the force that drives you on; +and we have since disused most of them as idle and unfit. But we profit, +now and then, by the advances you make in science, for we are passionately +devoted to the study of the natural laws, open or occult, under which all +men have their being. Occasionally an emissary returns with a sum of +money, and explains to the students of the national university the +processes by which it is lost and won; and at a certain time there was a +movement for its introduction among us, not for its use as you know it, +but for a species of counters in games of chance. It was considered, +however, to contain an element of danger, and the scheme was discouraged. + +"Nothing amuses and puzzles our people more than the accounts our +emissaries give of the changes of fashion in the outside world, and of the +ruin of soul and body which the love of dress often works. Our own dress, +for men and for women, is studied, in one ideal of use and beauty, from +the antique; caprice and vagary in it would be thought an effect of vulgar +vanity. Nothing is worn that is not simple and honest in texture; we do +not know whether a thing is cheap or dear, except as it is easy or hard to +come by, and that which is hard to come by is forbidden as wasteful and +foolish. The community builds the dwellings of the community, and these, +too, are of a classic simplicity, though always beautiful and fit in form; +the splendors of the arts are lavished upon the public edifices, which we +all enjoy in common." + +"Isn't this the greatest rehash of 'Utopia,' 'New Atlantis,' and 'City of +the Sun' that you ever imagined?" the professor whispered across me to the +banker. "The man is a fraud, and a very bungling fraud at that." + +"Well, you must expose him, when he gets through," the banker whispered +back. + +But the professor could not wait. He got upon his feet and called out: +"May I ask the gentleman from Altruria a question?" + +"Certainly," the Altrurian blandly assented. + +"Make it short!" Reuben Camp's voice broke in, impatiently. "We didn't +come here to listen to your questions." + +The professor contemptuously ignored him. "I suppose you occasionally +receive emissaries from, as well as send them to, the world outside?" + +"Yes, now and then castaways land on our coasts, and ships out of their +reckonings put in at our ports for water or provision." + +"And how are they pleased with your system?" + +"Why, I cannot better answer than by saying that they mostly refuse to +leave us." + +"Ah, just as Bacon reports!" cried the professor. + +"You mean in the _New Atlantis_?" returned the Altrurian. "Yes; it is +astonishing how well Bacon in that book, and Sir Thomas More in his +_Utopia_, have divined certain phases of our civilization and polity." + +"I think he rather _has_ you, professor," the banker whispered, with a +laugh. + +"But all those inspired visionaries," the Altrurian continued, while the +professor sat grimly silent, watching for another chance, "who have borne +testimony of us in their dreams, conceived of states perfect without the +discipline of a previous competitive condition. What I thought, however, +might specially interest you Americans in Altruria is the fact that our +economy was evolved from one so like that in which you actually have your +being. I had even hoped you might feel that, in all these points of +resemblance, America prophesies another Altruria. I know that to some of +you all that I have told of my country will seem a baseless fabric, with +no more foundation, in fact, than More's fairy-tale of another land where +men dealt kindly and justly by one another, and dwelt, a whole nation, in +the unity and equality of a family. But why should not a part of that +fable have come true in our polity, as another part of it has come true in +yours? When Sir Thomas More wrote that book, he noted with abhorrence the +monstrous injustice of the fact that men were hanged for small thefts in +England; and in the preliminary conversation between its characters he +denounced the killing of men for any sort of thefts. Now you no longer put +men to death for theft; you look back upon that cruel code of your mother +England with an abhorrence as great as his own. We, for our part, who have +realized the Utopian dream of brotherly equality, look back with the same +abhorrence upon a state where some were rich and some poor, some taught +and some untaught, some high and some low, and the hardest toil often +failed to supply a sufficiency of the food which luxury wasted in its +riots. That state seems as atrocious to us as the state which hanged a man +for stealing a loaf of bread seems to you. + +"But we do not regret the experience of competition and monopoly. They +taught us some things in the operation of the industries. The labor-saving +inventions which the Accumulation perverted to money-making we have +restored to the use intended by their inventors and the Creator of their +inventors. After serving the advantage of socializing the industries which +the Accumulation effected for its own purposes, we continued the work in +large mills and shops, in the interest of the workers, whom we wished to +guard against the evil effects of solitude. But our mills and shops are +beautiful as well as useful. They look like temples, and they are temples, +dedicated to that sympathy between the divine and human which expresses +itself in honest and exquisite workmanship. They rise amid leafy boscages +beside the streams, which form their only power; for we have disused steam +altogether, with all the offences to the eye and ear which its use brought +into the world. Our life is so simple and our needs are so few that the +hand-work of the primitive toilers could easily supply our wants; but +machinery works so much more thoroughly and beautifully that we have in +great measure retained it. Only, the machines that were once the workmen's +enemies and masters are now their friends and servants; and, if any man +chooses to work alone with his own hands, the state will buy what he makes +at the same price that it sells the wares made collectively. This secures +every right of individuality. + +"The farm-work, as well as the mill-work and the shop-work, is done by +companies of workers; and there is nothing of that loneliness in our woods +and fields which, I understand, is the cause of so much insanity among +you. It is not good for man to be alone, was the first thought of his +Creator when he considered him, and we act upon this truth in everything. +The privacy of the family is sacredly guarded in essentials, but the +social instinct is so highly developed with us that we like to eat +together in large refectories, and we meet constantly to argue and dispute +on questions of aesthetics and metaphysics. We do not, perhaps, read so +many books as you do, for most of our reading, when not for special +research, but for culture and entertainment, is done by public readers, to +large groups of listeners. We have no social meetings which are not free +to all; and we encourage joking and the friendly give and take of witty +encounters." + +"A little hint from Sparta," suggested the professor. + +The banker leaned over to whisper to me: "From what I have seen of your +friend when offered a piece of American humor, I should fancy the +Altrurian article was altogether different. Upon the whole, I would rather +not be present at one of their witty encounters, if I were obliged to stay +it out." + +The Altrurian had paused to drink a glass of water, and now he went on: +"But we try, in everything that does not inconvenience or injure others, +to let every one live the life he likes best. If a man prefers to dwell +apart, and have his meals in private for himself alone or for his family, +it is freely permitted; only he must not expect to be served as in public, +where service is one of the voluntaries; private service is not permitted; +those wishing to live alone must wait upon themselves, cook their own +food, and care for their own tables. Very few, however, wish to withdraw +from the public life, for most of the discussions and debates take place +at our mid-day meal, which falls at the end of the obligatory labors, and +is prolonged indefinitely, or as long as people like to chat and joke or +listen to the reading of some pleasant book. + +"In Altruria _there is no hurry_, for no one wishes to outstrip another, +or in any wise surpass him. We are all assured of enough, and are +forbidden any and every sort of superfluity. If any one, after the +obligatories, wishes to be entirely idle, he may be so, but I cannot now +think of a single person without some voluntary occupation; doubtless +there are such persons, but I do not know them. It used to be said, in the +old times, that 'it was human nature' to shirk and malinger and loaf, but +we have found that it is no such thing. We have found that it is human +nature to work cheerfully, willingly, eagerly, at the tasks which all +share for the supply of the common necessities. In like manner we have +found out that it is not human nature to hoard and grudge, but that when +the fear, and even the imagination, of want is taken away, it is human +nature to give and to help generously. We used to say: 'A man will lie, or +a man will cheat, in his own interest; that is human nature'; but that is +no longer human nature with us, perhaps because no man has any interest to +serve; he has only the interests of others to serve, while others serve +his. It is in no wise possible for the individual to separate his good +from the common good; he is prosperous and happy only as all the rest are +so; and therefore it is not human nature with us for any one to lie in +wait to betray another or seize an advantage. That would be ungentlemanly, +and in Altruria every man is a gentleman and every woman a lady. If you +will excuse me here for being so frank, I would like to say something by +way of illustration which may be offensive if you take it personally." + +He looked at our little group, as if he were addressing himself more +especially to us, and the banker called out, jollily: "Go on! I guess we +can stand it," and "Go ahead!" came from all sides, from all kinds of +listeners. + +"It is merely this: that as we look back at the old competitive conditions +we do not see how any man could be a gentleman in them, since a gentleman +must think first of others, and these conditions _compelled_ every man to +think first of himself." + +There was a silence broken by some conscious and hardy laughter, while we +each swallowed this pill as we could. + +"What are competitive conditions?" Mrs. Makely demanded of me. + +"Well, ours are competitive conditions," I said. + +"Very well, then," she returned, "I don't think Mr. Homos is much of a +gentleman to say such a thing to an American audience. Or, wait a moment! +Ask him if the same rule applies to women." + +I rose, strengthened by the resentment I felt, and said: "Do I understand +that in your former competitive conditions it was also impossible for a +woman to be a lady?" + +The professor gave me an applausive nod as I sat down. "I envy you the +chance of that little dig," he whispered. + +The Altrurian was thoughtful a moment, and then he answered: "No, I should +not say it was. From what we know historically of those conditions in our +country, it appears that the great mass of women were not directly +affected by them. They constituted an altruistic dominion of the egoistic +empire, and, except as they were tainted by social or worldly ambitions, +it was possible for every woman to be a lady, even in competitive +conditions. Her instincts were unselfish, and her first thoughts were +nearly always of others." + +Mrs. Makely jumped to her feet and clapped violently with her fan on the +palm of her left hand. "Three cheers for Mr. Homos!" she shrieked, and all +the women took up the cry, supported by all the natives and the +construction gang. I fancied these fellows gave their support largely in a +spirit of burlesque; but they gave it robustly, and from that time on, +Mrs. Makely led the applause, and they roared in after her. + +It is impossible to follow closely the course of the Altrurian's account +of his country, which grew more and more incredible as he went on, and +implied every insulting criticism of ours. Some one asked him about war in +Altruria, and he said: "The very name of our country implies the absence +of war. At the time of the Evolution our country bore to the rest of our +continent the same relative proportion that your country bears to your +continent. The egoistic nations to the north and the south of us entered +into an offensive and defensive alliance to put down, the new altruistic +commonwealth, and declared war against us. Their forces were met at the +frontier by our entire population in arms, and full of the martial spirit +bred of the constant hostilities of the competitive and monopolistic epoch +just ended. Negotiations began in the face of the imposing demonstration +we made, and we were never afterward molested by our neighbors, who +finally yielded to the spectacle of our civilization and united their +political and social fate with ours. At present, our whole continent is +Altrurian. For a long time we kept up a system of coast defences, but it +is also a long time since we abandoned these; for it is a maxim with us +that where every citizen's life is a pledge of the public safety, that +country can never be in danger of foreign enemies. + +"In this, as in all other things, we believe ourselves the true followers +of Christ, whose doctrine we seek to make our life as He made it His. We +have several forms of ritual, but no form of creed, and our religious +differences may be said to be aesthetic and temperamental rather than +theological and essential. We have no denominations, for we fear in this, +as in other matters, to give names to things lest we should cling to the +names instead of the things. We love the realities, and for this reason we +look at the life of a man rather than his profession for proof that he is +a religious man. + +"I have been several times asked, during my sojourn among you, what are +the sources of compassion, of sympathy, of humanity, of charity with us, +if we have not only no want, or fear of want, but not even any economic +inequality. I suppose this is because you are so constantly struck by the +misery arising from economic inequality and want, or the fear of want, +among yourselves, that you instinctively look in that direction. But have +you ever seen sweeter compassion, tenderer sympathy, warmer humanity, +heavenlier charity than that shown in the family where all are +economically equal and no one can want while any other has to give? +Altruria, I say again, is a family, and, as we are mortal, we are still +subject to those nobler sorrows which God has appointed to men, and which +are so different from the squalid accidents that they have made for +themselves. Sickness and death call out the most angelic ministries of +love; and those who wish to give themselves to others may do so without +hinderance from those cares, and even those duties, resting upon men where +each must look out first for himself and for his own. Oh, believe me, +believe me, you can know nothing of the divine rapture of self-sacrifice +while you must dread the sacrifice of another in it. You are not _free_, +as we are, to do everything for others, for it is your _duty_ to do rather +for those of your own household! + +"There is something," he continued, "which I hardly know how to speak of," +and here we all began to prick our ears. I prepared myself as well as I +could for another affront, though I shuddered when the banker hardily +called out: "Don't hesitate to say anything you wish, Mr. Homos. I, for +one, should like to hear you express yourself fully." + +It was always the unexpected, certainly, that happened from the Altrurian. +"It is merely this," he said: "Having come to live rightly upon earth, as +we believe, or having at least ceased to deny God in our statutes and +customs, the fear of death, as it once, weighed upon us, has been lifted +from our souls. The mystery of it has so far been taken away that we +perceive it as something just and natural. Now that all unkindness has +been banished from among us, we can conceive of no such cruelty as death +once seemed. If we do not know yet the full meaning of death, we know that +the Creator of it and of us meant mercy and blessing by it. When one dies +we grieve, but not as those without hope. We do not say that the dead have +gone to a better place, and then selfishly bewail them, for we have the +kingdom of heaven upon earth already, and we know that wherever they go +they will be homesick for Altruria; and when we think of the years that +may pass before we meet them again our hearts ache, as theirs must. But +the presence of the risen Christ in our daily lives is our assurance that +no one ceases to be, and that we shall see our dead again. I cannot +explain this to you; I can only affirm it." + +The Altrurian spoke very solemnly, and a reverent hush fell upon the +assembly. It was broken by the voice of a woman wailing out: "Oh, do you +suppose, if we lived so, we should feel so, too? That I should know my +little girl was living?" + +"Why not?" asked the Altrurian. + +To my vast astonishment, the manufacturer, who sat the farthest from me in +the same line with Mrs. Makely, the professor, and the banker, rose and +asked, tremulously: "And have--have you had any direct communication with +the other world? Has any disembodied spirit returned to testify of the +life beyond the grave?" + +The professor nodded significantly across Mrs. Makely to me, and then +frowned and shook his head. I asked her if she knew what he meant. "Why, +didn't you know that spiritualism was that poor man's foible? He lost his +son in a railroad accident, and ever since--" + +She stopped and gave her attention to the Altrurian, who was replying to +the manufacturer's question. + +"We do not need any such testimony. Our life here makes us sure of the +life there. At any rate, no externation of the supernatural, no objective +miracle, has been wrought in our behalf. We have had faith to do what we +prayed for, and the prescience of which I speak has been added unto us." + +The manufacturer asked, as the bereaved mother had asked: "And if I lived +so, should I feel so?" + +Again the Altrurian answered: "Why not?" + +The poor woman quavered: "Oh, I do believe it! I just _know_ it must be +true!" + +The manufacturer shook his head sorrowfully and sat down, and remained +there, looking at the ground. + +"I am aware," the Altrurian went on, "that what I have said as to our +realizing the kingdom of heaven on the earth must seem boastful and +arrogant. That is what you pray for every day, but you do not believe it +possible for God's will to be done on earth as it is done in heaven--that +is, you do not if you are like the competitive and monopolistic people we +once were. We once regarded that petition as a formula vaguely pleasing +to the Deity, but we no more expected His kingdom to come than we expected +Him to give us each day our daily bread; we knew that if we wanted +something to eat we should have to hustle for it, and get there first; I +use the slang of that far-off time, which, I confess, had a vulgar vigor. + +"But now everything is changed, and the change has taken place chiefly +from one cause--namely, the disuse of money. At first, it was thought that +some sort of circulating medium _must_ be used, that life could not be +transacted without it. But life began to go on perfectly well, when each +dwelt in the place assigned him, which was no better and no worse than any +other; and when, after he had given his three hours a day to the +obligatory labors, he had a right to his share of food, light, heat, and +raiment; the voluntary labors, to which he gave much time or little, +brought him no increase of those necessaries, but only credit and +affection. We had always heard it said that the love of money was the root +of all evil, but we had taken this for a saying, merely; now we realized +it as an active, vital truth. As soon as money was abolished the power to +purchase was gone, and even if there had been any means of buying beyond +the daily needs, with overwork, the community had no power to sell to the +individual. No man owned anything, but every man had the right to anything +that he could use; when he could not use it, his right lapsed. + +"With the expropriation of the individual the whole vast catalogue of +crimes against property shrank to nothing. The thief could only steal from +the community; but if he stole, what was he to do with his booty? It was +still possible for a depredator to destroy, but few men's hate is so +comprehensive as to include all other men, and when the individual could +no longer hurt some other individual in his property destruction ceased. + +"All the many murders done from love of money, or of what money could buy, +were at an end. Where there was no want, men no longer bartered their +souls, or women their bodies, for the means to keep themselves alive. The +vices vanished with the crimes, and the diseases almost as largely +disappeared. People were no longer sickened by sloth and surfeit, or +deformed and depleted by overwork and famine. They were wholesomely housed +in healthful places, and they were clad fitly for their labor and fitly +for their leisure; the caprices of vanity were not suffered to attaint the +beauty of the national dress. + +"With the stress of superfluous social and business duties, and the +perpetual fear of want which all classes felt, more or less; with the +tumult of the cities and the solitude of the country, insanity had +increased among us till the whole land was dotted with asylums and the mad +were numbered by hundreds of thousands. In every region they were an army, +an awful army of anguish and despair. Now they have decreased to a number +so small, and are of a type so mild, that we can hardly count insanity +among our causes of unhappiness. + +"We have totally eliminated chance from our economic life. There is still +a chance that a man will be tall or short in Altruria, that he will be +strong or weak, well or ill, gay or grave, happy or unhappy in love, but +none that he will be rich or poor, busy or idle, live splendidly or +meanly. These stupid and vulgar accidents of human contrivance cannot +befall us; but I shall not be able to tell you just how or why, or to +detail the process of eliminating chance. I may say, however, that it +began with the nationalization of telegraphs, expresses, railroads, mines, +and all large industries operated by stock companies. This at once struck +a fatal blow at the speculation in values, real and unreal, and at the +stock-exchange, or bourse; we had our own name for that gambler's +paradise, or gambler's hell, whose baleful influence penetrated every +branch of business. + +"There were still business fluctuations as long as we had business, but +they were on a smaller and smaller scale, and with the final lapse of +business they necessarily vanished; all economic chance vanished. The +founders of the commonwealth understood perfectly that business was the +sterile activity of the function interposed between the demand and the +supply; that it was nothing structural; and they intended its extinction, +and expected it from the moment that money was abolished." + +"This is all pretty tiresome," said the professor to our immediate party. +"I don't see why we oblige ourselves to listen to that fellow's stuff. As +if a civilized state could exist for a day without money or business." + +He went on to give his opinion of the Altrurian's pretended description, +in a tone so audible that it attracted the notice of the nearest group of +railroad hands, who were listening closely to Homos, and one of them sang +out to the professor: "Can't you wait and let the first man finish?" and +another yelled: "Put him out!" and then they all laughed with a humorous +perception of the impossibility of literally executing the suggestion. + +By the time all was quiet again I heard the Altrurian saying: "As to our +social life, I cannot describe it in detail, but I can give you some +notion of its spirit. We make our pleasures civic and public as far as +possible, and the ideal is inclusive and not exclusive. There are, of +course, festivities which all cannot share, but our distribution into +small communities favors the possibility of all doing so. Our daily life, +however, is so largely social that we seldom meet by special invitation or +engagement. When we do, it is with the perfect understanding that the +assemblage confers no social distinction, but is for a momentary +convenience. In fact, these occasions are rather avoided, recalling, as +they do, the vapid and tedious entertainments of the competitive epoch, +the receptions and balls and dinners of a semi-barbaric people striving +for social prominence by shutting a certain number in and a certain number +out, and overdressing, overfeeding, and overdrinking. Anything +premeditated in the way of a pleasure we think stupid and mistaken; we +like to meet suddenly, or on the spur of the moment, out-of-doors, if +possible, and arrange a picnic or a dance or a play; and let people come +and go without ceremony. No one is more host than guest; all are hosts and +guests. People consort much according to their tastes--literary, musical, +artistic, scientific, or mechanical--but these tastes are made approaches, +not barriers; and we find out that we have many more tastes in common than +was formerly supposed. + +"But, after all, our life is serious, and no one among us is quite happy, +in the general esteem, unless he has dedicated himself, in some special +way, to the general good. Our ideal is not rights, but duties." + +"Mazzini!" whispered the professor. + +"The greatest distinction which any one can enjoy with us is to have found +out some new and signal way of serving the community; and then it is not +good form for him to seek recognition. The doing any fine thing is the +purest pleasure it can give; applause flatters, but it hurts, too, and our +benefactors, as we call them, have learned to shun it. + +"We are still far from thinking our civilization perfect; but we are sure +that our civic ideals are perfect. What we have already accomplished is to +have given a whole continent perpetual peace; to have founded an economy +in which there is no possibility of want; to have killed out political and +social ambition; to have disused money and eliminated chance; to have +realized the brotherhood of the race, and to have outlived the fear of +death." + +The Altrurian suddenly stopped with these words and sat down. He had +spoken a long time, and with a fulness which my report gives little notion +of; but, though most of his cultivated listeners were weary, and a good +many ladies had left their seats and gone back to the hotel, not one of +the natives, or the work-people of any sort, had stirred; now they +remained a moment motionless and silent before they rose from all parts of +the field and shouted: "Go on! Don't stop! Tell us all about it!" + +I saw Reuben Camp climb the shoulders of a big fellow near where the +Altrurian had stood; he waved the crowd to silence with out-spread arms. +"He isn't going to say anything more; he's tired. But if any man don't +think he's got his dollar's worth, let him walk up to the door and the +ticket-agent will refund him his money." + +The crowd laughed, and some one shouted: "Good for you, Reub!" + +Camp continued: "But our friend here will shake the hand of any man, +woman, or child that wants to speak to him; and you needn't wipe it on the +grass first, either. He's a _man_! And I want to say that he's going to +spend the next week with us, at my mother's house, and we shall be glad to +have you call." + +The crowd, the rustic and ruder part of it, cheered and cheered till the +mountain echoes answered; then a railroader called for three times three, +with a tiger, and got it. The guests of the hotel broke away and went +toward the house over the long shadows of the meadow. The lower classes +pressed forward, on Camp's invitation. + +"Well, did you ever hear a more disgusting rigmarole?" asked Mrs. Makely, +as our little group halted indecisively about her. + +"With all those imaginary commonwealths to draw upon, from Plato, through +More, Bacon, and Campanella, down to Bellamy and Morris, he has +constructed the shakiest effigy ever made of old clothes stuffed with +straw," said the professor. + +The manufacturer was silent. The banker said: "I don't know. He grappled +pretty boldly with your insinuations. That frank declaration that Altruria +was all these pretty soap-bubble worlds solidified was rather fine." + +"It was splendid!" cried Mrs. Makely. The lawyer and the minister came +toward us from where they had been sitting together. She called out to +them: "Why in the world didn't one of your gentlemen get up and propose a +vote of thanks?" + +"The difficulty with me is," continued the banker, "that he has rendered +Altruria incredible. I have no doubt that he is an Altrurian, but I doubt +very much if he comes from anywhere in particular, and I find this quite a +blow, for we had got Altruria nicely located on the map, and were +beginning to get accounts of it in the newspapers." + +"Yes, that is just exactly the way I feel about it," sighed Mrs. Makely. +"But still, don't you think there ought to have been a vote of thanks, Mr. +Bullion?" + +"Why, certainly. The fellow was immensely amusing, and you must have got a +lot of money by him. It was an oversight not to make him a formal +acknowledgment of some kind. If we offered him money, he would have to +leave it all behind him here when he went home to Altruria." + +"Just as _we_ do when we go to heaven," I suggested; the banker did not +answer, and I instantly felt that in the presence of the minister my +remark was out of taste. + +"Well, then, don't you think," said Mrs. Makely, who had a leathery +insensibility to everything but the purpose possessing her, "that we ought +at least to go and say something to him personally?" + +"Yes, I think we ought," said the banker, and we all walked up to where +the Altrurian stood, still thickly surrounded by the lower classes, who +were shaking hands with him and getting in a word with him now and then. + +One of the construction gang said, carelessly: "No all-rail route to +Altruria, I suppose?" + +"No," answered Homos, "it's a far sea voyage." + +"Well, I shouldn't mind working my passage, if you think they'd let me +stay after I got there." + +"Ah, you mustn't go to Altruria. You must let Altruria come to _you_" +returned Homos, with that confounded smile of his that always won my +heart. + +"Yes," shouted Reuben Camp, whose thin face was red with excitement, +"that's the word. Have Altruria right here, and right now." + +The old farmer, who had several times spoken, cackled out: "I didn't know, +one while, when you was talk'n' about not havin' no money, but what some +on us had had Altrury here for quite a spell, already. I don't pass more'n +fifty dolla's through my hands most years." + +A laugh went up, and then, at sight of Mrs. Makely heading our little +party, the people round Homos civilly made way for us. She rushed upon +him, and seized his hand in both of hers; she dropped her fan, parasol, +gloves, handkerchief, and vinaigrette in the grass to do so. "Oh, Mr. +Homos," she fluted, and the tears came into her eyes, "it was beautiful, +_beautiful_, every word of it! I sat in a perfect trance from beginning to +end, and I felt that it was all as true as it was beautiful. People all +around me were breathless with interest, and I don't know how I can ever +thank you enough." + +"Yes, indeed," the professor hastened to say, before the Altrurian could +answer, and he beamed malignantly upon him through his spectacles while he +spoke, "it was like some strange romance." + +"I don't know that I should go so far as that," said the banker, in his +turn, "but it certainly seemed too good to be true." + +"Yes," the Altrurian responded, simply, but a little sadly; "now that I am +away from it all, and in conditions so different, I sometimes had to ask +myself, as I went on, if my whole life had not hitherto been a dream, and +Altruria were not some blessed vision of the night." + +"Then you know how to account for a feeling which I must acknowledge, +too?" the lawyer asked, courteously. "But it was most interesting." + +"The kingdom of God upon earth," said the minister--"It ought not to be +incredible; but that, more than anything else you told us of, gave me +pause." + +"You of all men?" returned the Altrurian, gently. + +"Yes," said the minister, with a certain dejection, "when I remember what +I have seen of men, when I reflect what human nature is, how can I believe +that the kingdom of God will ever come upon the earth?" + +"But in heaven, where He reigns, who is it does His will? The spirits of +men?" pursued the Altrurian. + +"Yes, but conditioned as men are here--" + +"But if they were conditioned as men are there?" + +"Now, I can't let you two good people get into a theological dispute," +Mrs. Makely pushed in. "Here is Mr. Twelvemough dying to shake hands with +Mr. Homos and compliment his distinguished guest." + +"Ah, Mr. Homos knows what I must have thought of his talk without my +telling him," I began, skilfully. "But I am sorry that I am to lose my +distinguished guest so soon." + +Reuben Camp broke out: "That was my blunder, Mr. Twelvemough. Mr. Homos +and I had talked it over conditionally, and I was not to speak of it till +he had told you; but it slipped out in the excitement of the moment." + +"Oh, it's all right," I said, and I shook hands cordially with both of +them. "It will be the greatest possible advantage for Mr. Homos to see +certain phases of American life at close range, and he couldn't possibly +see them under better auspices than yours, Camp." + +"Yes, I'm going to drive him through the hill country after haying, and +then I'm going to take him down and show him one of our big factory +towns." + +I believe this was done, but finally the Altrurian went on to New York, +where he was to pass the winter. We parted friends; I even offered him +some introductions; but his acquaintance had become more and more +difficult, and I was not sorry to part with him. That taste of his for low +company was incurable, and I was glad that I was not to be responsible any +longer for whatever strange thing he might do next. I think he remained +very popular with the classes he most affected; a throng of natives, +construction hands, and table-girls saw him off on his train; and he left +large numbers of such admirers in our house and neighborhood, devout in +the faith that there was such a commonwealth as Altruria, and that he was +really an Altrurian. As for the more cultivated people who had met him, +they continued of two minds upon both points. + +THE END + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Traveler from Altruria: Romance, by +William Dean Howells + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A TRAVELER FROM ALTRURIA: ROMANCE *** + +***** This file should be named 8449.txt or 8449.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/8/4/4/8449/ + +Produced by Suzanne Shell, Charles Bidwell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Howells + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Traveler from Altruria: Romance, by +William Dean Howells + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: A Traveler from Altruria: Romance + +Author: William Dean Howells + + +Release Date: July, 2005 [EBook #8449] +This file was first posted on July 11, 2003 +Last Updated: August 21, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A TRAVELER FROM ALTRURIA: ROMANCE *** + + + + +Produced by Suzanne Shell, Charles Bidwell, David Widger and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + + +</pre> + + + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + A TRAVELER FROM ALTRURIA + </h1> + <h2> + Romance + </h2> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h3> + <b> By W. D. Howells </b> + </h3> + <h5> + Author Of “The Coast Of Bohemia”, “The Quality Of Mercy”, “A Hazard Of New + Fortunes” Etc. + </h5> + <h4> + Harper & Brothers Publishers <br /><br /> New York And London <br /><br /><br /> + 1908 + </h4> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + <b>CONTENTS</b> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> A TRAVELER FROM ALTRURIA </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> VI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> VII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> VIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> IX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> X </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> XI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> XII </a> + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A TRAVELER FROM ALTRURIA + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + I + </h2> + <p> + I confess that with all my curiosity to meet an Altrurian, I was in no + hospitable mood toward the traveler when he finally presented himself, + pursuant to the letter of advice sent me by the friend who introduced him. + It would be easy enough to take care of him in the hotel; I had merely to + engage a room for him, and have the clerk tell him his money was not good + if he tried to pay for anything. But I had swung fairly into my story; its + people were about me all the time; I dwelt amid its events and places, and + I did not see how I could welcome my guest among them, or abandon them for + him. Still, when he actually arrived, and I took his hand as he stepped + from the train, I found it less difficult to say that I was glad to see + him than I expected. In fact, I was glad, for I could not look upon his + face without feeling a glow of kindness for him. I had not the least + trouble in identifying him, for he was so unlike all the Americans who + dismounted from the train with him, and who all looked hot, worried, and + anxious. He was a man no longer young, but in what we call the heyday of + life, when our own people are so absorbed in making provision for the + future that they may be said not to live in the present at all. This + Altrurian’s whole countenance, and especially his quiet, gentle eyes, + expressed a vast contemporaneity, with bounds of leisure removed to the + end of time; or, at least, this was the effect of something in them which + I am obliged to report in rather fantastic terms. He was above the middle + height, and he carried himself vigorously. His face was sunburned, or + sea-burned, where it was not bearded; and, although I knew from my + friend’s letter that he was a man of learning and distinction in his own + country, I should never have supposed him a person of scholarly life, he + was so far from sicklied over with anything like the pale cast of thought. + When he took the hand I offered him in my half-hearted welcome he gave it + a grasp that decided me to confine our daily greetings to something much + less muscular. + </p> + <p> + “Let me have your bag,” I said, as we do when we meet people at the train, + and he instantly bestowed a rather heavy valise upon me, with a smile in + his benignant eyes, as if it had been the greatest favor. “Have you got + any checks?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said, in very good English, but with an accent new to me, “I + bought two.” He gave them to me, and I passed them to our hotel porter, + who was waiting there with the baggage-cart. Then I proposed that we + should walk across the meadow to the house, which is a quarter of a mile + or so from the station. We started, but he stopped suddenly and looked + back over his shoulder. “Oh, you needn’t be troubled about your trunks,” I + said. “The porter will get them to the house all right. They’ll be in your + room by the time we get there.” + </p> + <p> + “But he’s putting them into the wagon himself,” said the Altrurian. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; he always does that. He’s a strong young fellow. He’ll manage it. + You needn’t—” I could not finish saying he need not mind the porter; + he was rushing back to the station, and I had the mortification of seeing + him take an end of each trunk and help the porter toss it into the wagon; + some lighter pieces he put in himself, and he did not stop till all the + baggage the train had left was disposed of. + </p> + <p> + I stood holding his valise, unable to put it down in my embarrassment at + this eccentric performance, which had been evident not to me alone, but to + all the people who arrived by the train, and all their friends who came + from the hotel to meet them. A number of these passed me on the tally-ho + coach; and a lady, who had got her husband with her for over Sunday, and + was in very good spirits, called gayly down to me: “Your friend seems fond + of exercise!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I answered, dryly; the sparkling repartee which ought to have come + to my help failed to show up. But it was impossible to be vexed with the + Altrurian when he returned to me, unruffled by his bout with the baggage + and serenely smiling. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know,” he said, “I fancied that good fellow was ashamed of my + helping him. I hope it didn’t seem a reflection upon him in any way before + your people? I ought to have thought of that.” + </p> + <p> + “I guess we can make it right with him. I dare say he felt more surprised + than disgraced. But we must make haste a little now; your train was half + an hour late, and we shall not stand so good a chance for supper if we are + not there pretty promptly.” + </p> + <p> + “No?” said the Altrurian. “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” I said, with evasive lightness, “first come, first served, you + know. That’s human nature.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it?” he returned, and he looked at me as one does who suspects another + of joking. + </p> + <p> + “Well, isn’t it?” I retorted; but I hurried to add: “Besides, I want to + have time after supper to show you a bit of our landscape. I think you’ll + enjoy it.” I knew he had arrived in Boston that morning by steamer, and I + now thought it high time to ask him: “Well, what do you think of America, + anyway?” I ought really to have asked him this the moment he stepped from + the train. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” he said, “I’m intensely interested,” and I perceived that he spoke + with a certain reservation. “As the most advanced country of its time, + I’ve always been very curious to see it.” + </p> + <p> + The last sentence raised my dashed spirits again, and I said, confidently: + “You must find our system of baggage-checks delightful.” I said this + because it is one of the first things we brag of to foreigners, and I had + the habit of it. “By-the-way,” I ventured to add, “I suppose you meant to + say you <i>brought</i> two checks when I asked you for them at the train + just now? But you really said you <i>bought</i> them.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” the Altrurian replied, “I gave half a dollar apiece for them at the + station in Boston. I saw other people doing it,” he explained, noting my + surprise. “Isn’t it the custom?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m happy to say it isn’t yet, on most of our roads. They were tipping + the baggage-man, to make sure that he checked their baggage in time and + put it on the train. I had to do that myself when I came up; otherwise it + might have got along here some time next day. But the system is perfect.” + </p> + <p> + “The poor man looked quite worn out,” said the Altrurian, “and I am glad I + gave him something. He seemed to have several hundred pieces of baggage to + look after, and he wasn’t embarrassed like your porter by my helping him + put my trunks into the car. May I confess that the meanness of the + station, its insufficient facilities, its shabby waiting-rooms, and its + whole crowded and confused appearance gave me rather a bad impression?” + </p> + <p> + “I know,” I had to own, “it’s shameful; but you wouldn’t have found + another station in the city so bad.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, then,” said the Altrurian, “I suppose this particular road is too + poor to employ more baggage-men or build new stations; they seemed rather + shabby all the way up.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, no,” I was obliged to confess, “it’s one of the richest roads in + the country. The stock stands at about 180. But I’m really afraid we shall + be late to supper if we don’t get on,” I broke off; though I was not + altogether sorry to arrive after the porter had disposed of the baggage. I + dreaded another display of active sympathy on the part of my strange + companion; I have often felt sorry myself for the porters of hotels, but I + have never thought of offering to help them handle the heavy trunks that + they manage. + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian was delighted with the hotel; and in fact it did look + extremely pretty, with its branching piazzas full of well-dressed people, + and its green lawns where the children were playing. I led the way to the + room which I had taken for him next my own; it was simply furnished, but + it was sweet with matting, fresh linen, and pure whitewashed walls. I + flung open the window-blinds and let him get a glimpse of the mountains + purpling under the sunset, the lake beneath, and the deeply foliaged + shores. + </p> + <p> + “Glorious! glorious!” he sighed. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I modestly assented. “We think that’s rather fine.” He stood + tranced before the window, and I thought I had better say: “Well, now I + can’t give you much time to get the dust of travel off; the dining-room + doors close at eight, and we must hurry down.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll be with you in a moment,” he said, pulling off his coat. + </p> + <p> + I waited impatiently at the foot of the stairs, avoiding the question I + met on the lips and in the eyes of my acquaintance. The fame of my + friend’s behavior at the station must have spread through the whole place; + and everybody wished to know who he was. I answered simply he was a + traveler from Altruria; and in some cases I went further and explained + that the Altrurians were peculiar. + </p> + <p> + In much less time than it seemed my friend found me; and then I had a + little compensation for my suffering in his behalf. I could see that, + whatever people said of him, they felt the same mysterious liking at sight + of him that I had felt. He had made a little change in his dress, and I + perceived that the women thought him not only good-looking but + well-dressed. They followed him with their eyes as we went into the + dining-room, and I was rather proud of being with him, as if I somehow + shared the credit of his clothes and good looks. The Altrurian himself + seemed most struck with the head-waiter, who showed us to our places, and + while we were waiting for our supper I found a chance to explain that he + was a divinity student from one of the fresh-water colleges, and was + serving here during his summer vacation. This seemed to interest my friend + so much that I went on to tell him that many of the waitresses, whom he + saw standing there subject to the order of the guests, were country + school-mistresses in the winter. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, that is as it should be,” he said; “that is the kind of thing I + expected to meet with in America.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I responded, in my flattered national vanity, “if America means + anything at all it means the honor of work and the recognition of personal + worth everywhere. I hope you are going to make a long stay with us. We + like to have travelers visit us who can interpret the spirit of our + institutions as well as read their letter. As a rule Europeans never quite + get our point of view. Now a great many of these waitresses are ladies, in + the true sense of the word—selfrespectful, intelligent, refined, and + fit to grace—” + </p> + <p> + I was interrupted by the noise my friend made in suddenly pushing back his + chair and getting to his feet. “What’s the matter?” I asked. “You’re not + ill, I hope?” + </p> + <p> + But he did not hear me. He had run half down the dining-hall toward the + slender young girl who was bringing us our supper. I had ordered rather + generously, for my friend had owned to a good appetite, and I was hungry + myself with waiting for him, so that the tray the girl carried was piled + up with heavy dishes. To my dismay I saw, rather than heard at that + distance, the Altrurian enter into a polite controversy with her, and + then, as if overcoming all her scruples by sheer strength of will, possess + himself of the tray and make off with it toward our table. The poor child + followed him, blushing to her hair; the head-waiter stood looking + helplessly on; the guests, who at that late hour were fortunately few, + were simply aghast at the scandal; the Altrurian alone seemed to think his + conduct the most natural thing in the world. He put the tray on the + side-table near us, and in spite of our waitress’s protests insisted upon + arranging the little bird-bath dishes before our plates. Then at last he + sat down, and the girl, flushed and tremulous, left the room, as I could + not help suspecting, to have a good cry in the kitchen. She did not come + back, and the head-waiter, who was perhaps afraid to send another in her + place, looked after our few wants himself. He kept a sharp eye on my + friend, as if he were not quite sure he was safe, but the Altrurian + resumed the conversation with all that lightness of spirits which I + noticed in him after he helped the porter with the baggage. I did not + think it the moment to take him to task for what he had just done; I was + not even sure that it was the part of a host to do so at all, and between + the one doubt and the other I left the burden of talk to him. + </p> + <p> + “What a charming young creature!” he began. “I never saw anything prettier + than the way she had of refusing my help, absolutely without coquetry or + affectation of any kind. She is, as you said, a perfect lady, and she + graces her work, as I am sure she would grace any exigency of life. She + quite realizes my ideal of an American girl, and I see now what the spirit + of your country must be from such an expression of it.” + </p> + <p> + I wished to tell him that while a country school-teacher who waits at + table in a summer hotel is very much to be respected in her sphere, she is + not regarded with that high honor which some other women command among us; + but I did not find this very easy, after what I had said of our esteem for + labor; and while I was thinking how I could hedge, my friend went on. + </p> + <p> + “I liked England greatly, and I liked the English, but I could not like + the theory of their civilization or the aristocratic structure of their + society. It seemed to me iniquitous, for we believe that inequality and + iniquity are the same in the last analysis.” + </p> + <p> + At this I found myself able to say: “Yes, there is something terrible, + something shocking, in the frank brutality with which Englishmen affirm + the essential inequality of men. The affirmation of the essential equality + of men was the first point of departure with us when we separated from + them.” + </p> + <p> + “I know,” said the Altrurian. “How grandly it is expressed in your + glorious Declaration!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, you have read our Declaration of Independence, then?” + </p> + <p> + “Every Altrurian has read that,” answered my friend. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” I went on smoothly, and I hoped to render what I was going to say + the means of enlightening him without offence concerning the little + mistake he had just made with the waitress, “of course we don’t take that + in its closest literality.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t understand you,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Why, you know it was rather the political than the social traditions of + England that we broke with, in the Revolution.” + </p> + <p> + “How is that?” he returned. “Didn’t you break with monarchy and nobility, + and ranks and classes?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, we broke with all those things.” + </p> + <p> + “But I found them a part of the social as well as the political structure + in England. You have no kings or nobles here. Have you any ranks or + classes?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, not exactly in the English sense. Our ranks and classes, such as we + have, are what I may call voluntary.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I understand. I suppose that from time to time certain ones among you + feel the need of serving, and ask leave of the commonwealth to subordinate + themselves to the rest of the state and perform all the lowlier offices in + it. Such persons must be held in peculiar honor. Is it something like + that?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, no, I can’t say it’s quite like that. In fact I think I’d better + let you trust to your own observation of our life.” + </p> + <p> + “But I’m sure,” said the Altrurian, with a simplicity so fine that it was + a long time before I could believe it quite real, “that I shall approach + it so much more intelligently with a little instruction from you. You say + that your social divisions are voluntary. But do I understand that those + who serve among you do not wish to do so?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don’t suppose they would serve if they could help it,” I replied. + </p> + <p> + “Surely,” said the Altrurian, with a look of horror, “you don’t mean that + they are slaves.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no! oh no!” I said; “the war put an end to that. We are all free now, + black and white.” + </p> + <p> + “But if they do not wish to serve, and are not held in peculiar honor for + serving—” + </p> + <p> + “I see that my word ‘voluntary’ has misled you,” I put in. “It isn’t the + word exactly. The divisions among us are rather a process of natural + selection. You will see, as you get better acquainted with the workings of + our institutions, that there are no arbitrary distinctions here but the + fitness of the work for the man and the man for the work determines the + social rank that each one holds.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, that is fine!” cried the Altrurian, with a glow of enthusiasm. “Then + I suppose that these intelligent young people who teach school in winter + and serve at table in the summer are in a sort of provisional state, + waiting for the process of natural selection to determine whether they + shall finally be teachers or waiters.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it might be stated in some such terms,” I assented, though I was not + altogether easy in my mind. It seemed to me that I was not quite candid + with this most candid spirit. I added: “You know we are a sort of + fatalists here in America. We are great believers in the doctrine that it + will all come out right in the end.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, I don’t wonder at that,” said the Altrurian, “if the process of + natural selection works so perfectly among you as you say. But I am afraid + I don’t understand this matter of your domestic service yet. I believe you + said that all honest work is honored in America. Then no social slight + attaches to service, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I can’t say that, exactly. The fact is, a certain social slight + does attach to service, and that is one reason why I don’t quite like to + have students wait at table. It won’t be pleasant for them to remember it + in after-life, and it won’t be pleasant for their children to remember + it.” + </p> + <p> + “Then the slight would descend?” + </p> + <p> + “I think it would. One wouldn’t like to think one’s father or mother had + been at service.” + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian said nothing for a moment. Then he remarked: “So it seems + that while all honest work is honored among you, there are some kinds of + honest work that are not honored so much as others.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Because some occupations are more degrading than others.” + </p> + <p> + “But why?” he persisted, as I thought, a little unreasonably. + </p> + <p> + “Really,” I said, “I think I must leave you to imagine.” + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid I can’t,” he said, sadly. “Then, if domestic service is + degrading in your eyes, and people are not willing servants among you, may + I ask why any are servants?” + </p> + <p> + “It is a question of bread-and-butter. They are obliged to be.” + </p> + <p> + “That is, they are forced to do work that is hateful and disgraceful to + them because they cannot live without?” + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me,” I said, not at all liking this sort of pursuit, and feeling + it fair to turn even upon a guest who kept it up. “Isn’t it so with you in + Altruria?” + </p> + <p> + “It was so once,” he admitted, “but not now. In fact, it is like a waking + dream to find one’s self in the presence of conditions here that we + outlived so long ago.” + </p> + <p> + There was an unconscious superiority in this speech that nettled me, and + stung me to retort: “We do not expect to outlive them. We regard them as + final, and as indestructibly based in human nature itself.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” said the Altrurian, with a delicate and caressing courtesy, “have I + said something offensive?” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all,” I hastened to answer. “It is not surprising that you did not + get our point of view exactly. You will by-and-by, and then, I think, you + will see that it is the true one. We have found that the logic of our + convictions could not be applied to the problem of domestic service. It is + everywhere a very curious and perplexing problem. The simple old solution + of the problem was to own your servants; but we found that this was not + consistent with the spirit of our free institutions. As soon as it was + abandoned the anomaly began. We had outlived the primitive period when the + housekeeper worked with her domestics and they were her help, and were + called so; and we had begun to have servants to do all the household work, + and to call them so. This state of things never seemed right to some of + our purest and best people. They fancied, as you seem to have done, that + to compel people through their necessities to do your hateful drudgery, + and to wound and shame them with a name which every American instinctively + resents, was neither republican nor Christian. Some of our thinkers tried + to mend matters by making their domestics a part of their families; and in + the life of Emerson you’ll find an amusing account of his attempt to have + his servant eat at the same table with himself and his wife. It wouldn’t + work. He and his wife could stand it, but the servant couldn’t.” + </p> + <p> + I paused, for this was where the laugh ought to have come in. The + Altrurian did not laugh, he merely asked, “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, because the servant knew, if they didn’t, that they were a whole + world apart in their traditions, and were no more fit to associate than + New-Englanders and New-Zealanders. In the mere matter of education—” + </p> + <p> + “But I thought you said that these young girls who wait at table here were + teachers.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I beg your pardon; I ought to have explained. By this time it had + become impossible, as it now is, to get American girls to take service + except on some such unusual terms as we have in a summer hotel; and the + domestics were already ignorant foreigners, fit for nothing else. In such + a place as this it isn’t so bad. It is more as if the girls worked in a + shop or a factory. They command their own time, in a measure, their hours + are tolerably fixed, and they have one another’s society. In a private + family they would be subject to order at all times, and they would have no + social life. They would be in the family, out not of it. American girls + understand this, and so they won’t go out to service in the usual way. + Even in a summer hotel the relation has its odious aspects. The system of + giving fees seems to me degrading to those who have to take them. To offer + a student or a teacher a dollar for personal service—it isn’t right, + or I can’t make it so. In fact, the whole thing is rather anomalous with + us. The best that you can say of it is that it works, and we don’t know + what else to do.” + </p> + <p> + “But I don’t see yet,” said the Altrurian, “just why domestic service is + degrading in a country where all kinds of work are honored.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, my dear fellow, I have done my best to explain. As I intimated + before, we distinguish; and in the different kinds of labor we distinguish + against domestic service. I dare say it is partly because of the loss of + independence which it involves. People naturally despise a dependant.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” asked the Altrurian, with that innocence of his which I was + beginning to find rather trying. + </p> + <p> + “Why?” I retorted. “Because it implies weakness.” + </p> + <p> + “And is weakness considered despicable among you?” he pursued. + </p> + <p> + “In every community it is despised practically, if not theoretically,” I + tried to explain. “The great thing that America has done is to offer the + race an opportunity—the opportunity for any man to rise above the + rest and to take the highest place, if he is able.” I had always been + proud of this fact, and I thought I had put it very well, but the + Altrurian did not seem much impressed by it. + </p> + <p> + He said: “I do not see how it differs from any country of the past in + that. But perhaps you mean that to rise carries with it an obligation to + those below ‘If any is first among you, let him be your servant.’ Is it + something like that?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it is not quite like that,” I answered, remembering how very little + our self-made men as a class had done for others. “Every one is expected + to look out for himself here. I fancy that there would be very little + rising if men were expected to rise for the sake of others, in America. + How is it with you in Altruria?” I demanded, hoping to get out of a + certain discomfort I felt in that way. “Do your risen men generally devote + themselves to the good of the community after they get to the top?” + </p> + <p> + “There is no rising among us,” he said, with what seemed a perception of + the harsh spirit of my question; and he paused a moment before he asked in + his turn: “How do men rise among you?” + </p> + <p> + “That would be rather a long story,” I replied. “But, putting it in the + rough, I should say that they rose by their talents, their shrewdness, + their ability to seize an advantage and turn it to their own account.” + </p> + <p> + “And is that considered noble?” + </p> + <p> + “It is considered smart. It is considered at the worst far better than a + dead level of equality. Are all men equal in Altruria? Are they all alike + gifted or beautiful, or short or tall?” + </p> + <p> + “No, they are only equal in duties and in rights. But, as you said just + now, that is a very long story. Are they equal in nothing here?” + </p> + <p> + “They are equal in opportunities.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” breathed the Altrurian, “I am glad to hear that.” + </p> + <p> + I began to feel a little uneasy, and I was not quite sure that this last + assertion of mine would hold water. Everybody but ourselves had now left + the dining-room, and I saw the head-waiter eying us impatiently. I pushed + back my chair and said: “I’m sorry to seem to hurry you, but I should like + to show you a very pretty sunset effect we have here before it is too + dark. When we get back, I want to introduce you to a few of my friends. Of + course, I needn’t tell you that there is a good deal of curiosity about + you, especially among the ladies.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I found that the case in England, largely. It was the women who + cared most to meet me. I understand that in America society is managed + even more by women than it is in England.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s entirely in their hands,” I said, with the satisfaction we all feel + in the fact. “We have no other leisure class. The richest men among us are + generally hard workers; devotion to business is the rule; but, as soon as + a man reaches the point where he can afford to pay for domestic service, + his wife and daughters expect to be released from it to the cultivation of + their minds and the enjoyment of social pleasures. It’s quite right. That + is what makes them so delightful to foreigners. You must have heard their + praises chanted in England. The English find our men rather stupid, I + believe; but they think our women are charming.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I was told that the wives of their nobility were sometimes + Americans,” said the Altrurian. “The English think that you regard such + marriages as a great honor, and that they are very gratifying to your + national pride.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I suppose that is so in a measure,” I confessed. “I imagine that it + will not be long before the English aristocracy derives as largely from + American millionaires as from kings’ mistresses. Not,” I added, + virtuously, “that we approve of aristocracy.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I understand that,” said the Altrurian. “I shall hope to get your + point of view in this matter more distinctly by-and-by. As yet, I’m a + little vague about it.” + </p> + <p> + “I think I can gradually make it clear to you,” I returned. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II + </h2> + <p> + We left the hotel, and I began to walk my friend across the meadow toward + the lake. I wished him to see the reflection of the afterglow in its still + waters, with the noble lines of the mountain-range that glassed itself + there; the effect is one of the greatest charms of that lovely region, the + sojourn of the sweetest summer in the world, and I am always impatient to + show it to strangers. + </p> + <p> + We climbed the meadow wall and passed through a stretch of woods to a path + leading down to the shore, and, as we loitered along in the tender gloom + of the forest, the music of the hermit-thrushes rang all round us like + crystal bells, like silver flutes, like the drip of fountains, like the + choiring of still-eyed cherubim. We stopped from time to time and + listened, while the shy birds sang unseen in their covert of shadows; but + we did not speak till we emerged from the trees and suddenly stood upon + the naked knoll overlooking the lake. + </p> + <p> + Then I explained: “The woods used to come down to the shore here, and we + had their mystery and music to the water’s edge; but last winter the owner + cut the timber off. It looks rather ragged now.” I had to recognize the + fact, for I saw the Altrurian staring about him over the clearing in a + kind of horror. It was a squalid ruin, a graceless desolation, which not + even the pitying twilight could soften. The stumps showed their hideous + mutilation everywhere; the brush had been burned, and the fires had + scorched and blackened the lean soil of the hill-slope and blasted it with + sterility. A few weak saplings, withered by the flames, drooped and + straggled about; it would be a century before the forces of nature could + repair the waste. + </p> + <p> + “You say the owner did this?” said the Altrurian. “Who is the owner?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it does seem too bad,” I answered, evasively. “There has been a + good deal of feeling about it. The neighbors tried to buy him off before + he began the destruction, for they knew the value of the woods as an + attraction to summer-boarders; the city cottagers, of course, wanted to + save them, and together they offered for the land pretty nearly as much as + the timber was worth. But he had got it into his head that the land here + by the lake would sell for building lots if it was cleared, and he could + make money on that as well as on the trees; and so they had to go. Of + course, one might say that he was deficient in public spirit, but I don’t + blame him, altogether.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” the Altrurian assented, somewhat to my surprise, I confess. + </p> + <p> + I resumed: “There was no one else to look after his interests, and it was + not only his right but his duty to get the most he could for himself and + his own, according to his best light. That is what I tell people when they + fall foul of him for his want of public spirit.” + </p> + <p> + “The trouble seems to be, then, in the system that obliges each man to be + the guardian of his own interests. Is that what you blame?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I consider it a very perfect system. It is based upon individuality, + and we believe that individuality is the principle that differences + civilized men from savages, from the lower animals, and makes us a nation + instead of a tribe or a herd. There isn’t one of us, no matter how much he + censured this man’s want of public spirit, but would resent the slightest + interference with his property rights. The woods were his; he had the + right to do what he pleased with his own.” + </p> + <p> + “Do I understand you that, in America, a man may do what is wrong with his + own?” + </p> + <p> + “He may do anything with his own.” + </p> + <p> + “To the injury of others?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, not in person or property. But he may hurt them in taste and + sentiment as much as he likes. Can’t a man do what he pleases with his own + in Altruria?” + </p> + <p> + “No, he can only do right with his own.” + </p> + <p> + “And if he tries to do wrong, or what the community thinks is wrong?” + </p> + <p> + “Then the community takes his own from him.” Before I could think of + anything to say to this he went on: “But I wish you would explain to me + why it was left to this man’s neighbors to try and get him to sell his + portion of the landscape?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, bless my soul!” I exclaimed, “who else was there? You wouldn’t have + expected to take up a collection among the summer-boarders?” + </p> + <p> + “That wouldn’t have been so unreasonable; but I didn’t mean that. Was + there no provision for such an exigency in your laws? Wasn’t the state + empowered to buy him off at the full value of his timber and his land?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not,” I replied. “That would be rank paternalism.” + </p> + <p> + It began to get dark, and I suggested that we had better be going back to + the hotel. The talk seemed already to have taken us away from all pleasure + in the prospect; I said, as we found our way through the rich, + balsam-scented twilight of the woods, where one joy-haunted thrush was + still singing: “You know that in America the law is careful not to meddle + with a man’s private affairs, and we don’t attempt to legislate personal + virtue.” + </p> + <p> + “But marriage,” he said—“surely you have the institution of + marriage?” + </p> + <p> + I was really annoyed at this. I returned, sarcastically; “Yes, I am glad + to say that there we can meet your expectation; we have marriage, not only + consecrated by the church, but established and defended by the state. What + has that to do with the question?” + </p> + <p> + “And you consider marriage,” he pursued, “the citadel of morality, the + fountain of all that is pure and good in your private life, the source of + home and the image of heaven?” + </p> + <p> + “There are some marriages,” I said, with a touch of our national humor, + “that do not quite fill the bill, but that is certainly our ideal of + marriage.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why do you say that you have not legislated personal virtue in + America?” he asked. “You have laws, I believe, against theft and murder, + and slander and incest, and perjury and drunkenness?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, certainly.” + </p> + <p> + “Then it appears to me that you have legislated honesty, regard for human + life, regard for character, abhorrence of unnatural vice, good faith, and + sobriety. I was told on the train coming up, by a gentleman who was + shocked at the sight of a man beating his horse, that you even had laws + against cruelty to animals.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and I am happy to say that they are enforced to such a degree that a + man cannot kill a cat cruelly without being punished for it.” The + Altrurian did not follow up his advantage, and I resolved not to be + outdone in magnanimity. “Come, I will own that you have the best of me on + those points. I must say you’ve trapped me very neatly, too; I can enjoy a + thing of that kind when it’s well done, and I frankly knock under. But I + had in mind something altogether different when I spoke. I was thinking of + those idealists who want to bind us hand and foot and render us the slaves + of a state where the most intimate relations of life shall be penetrated + by legislation and the very hearthstone shall be a tablet of laws.” + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t marriage a rather intimate relation of life?” asked the Altrurian. + “And I understood that gentleman on the train to say that you had laws + against cruelty to children, and societies established to see them + enforced. You don’t consider such laws an invasion of the home, do you, or + a violation of its immunities? I imagine,” he went on, “that the + difference between your civilization and ours is only one of degree, after + all, and that America and Altruria are really one at heart.” + </p> + <p> + I thought his compliment a bit hyperbolical, but I saw that it was + honestly meant, and as we Americans are first of all patriots, and vain + for our country before we are vain for ourselves, I was not proof against + the flattery it conveyed to me civically if not personally. + </p> + <p> + We were now drawing near the hotel, and I felt a certain glow of pleasure + in its gay effect on the pretty knoll where it stood. In its artless and + accidental architecture it was not unlike one of our immense coastwise + steamboats. The twilight had thickened to dusk, and the edifice was + brilliantly lighted with electrics, story above story, which streamed into + the gloom around like the lights of saloon and state-room. The corner of + wood making into the meadow hid the station; there was no other building + in sight; the hotel seemed riding at anchor on the swell of a placid sea. + I was going to call the Altrurian’s attention to this fanciful resemblance + when I remembered that he had not been in our country long enough to have + seen a Fall River boat, and I made toward the house without wasting the + comparison upon him. But I treasured it up in my own mind, intending some + day to make a literary use of it. + </p> + <p> + The guests were sitting in friendly groups about the piazzas or in rows + against the walls, the ladies with their gossip and the gentlemen with + their cigars. The night had fallen cool after a hot day, and they all had + the effect of having cast off care with the burden of the week that was + past, and to be steeping themselves in the innocent and simple enjoyment + of the hour. They were mostly middle-aged married folk, but some were old + enough to have sons and daughters among the young people who went and came + in a long, wandering promenade of the piazzas, or wove themselves through + the waltz past the open windows of the great parlor; the music seemed one + with the light that streamed far out on the lawn flanking the piazzas. + Every one was well-dressed and comfortable and at peace, and I felt that + our hotel was in some sort a microcosm of the republic. + </p> + <p> + We involuntarily paused, and I heard the Altrurian murmur: “Charming, + charming! This is really delightful!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, isn’t it?” I returned, with a glow of pride. “Our hotel here is a + type of the summer hotel everywhere; it’s characteristic in not having + anything characteristic about it; and I rather like the notion of the + people in it being so much like the people in all the others that you + would feel yourself at home wherever you met such a company in such a + house. All over the country, north and south, wherever you find a group of + hills or a pleasant bit of water or a stretch of coast, you’ll find some + such refuge as this for our weary toilers. We began to discover some time + ago that it would not do to cut open the goose that laid our golden eggs, + even if it looked like an eagle, and kept on perching on our banners just + as if nothing had happened. We discovered that, if we continued to kill + ourselves with hard work, there would be no Americans pretty soon.” + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian laughed. “How delightfully you put it! How quaint! How + picturesque! Excuse me, but I can’t help expressing my pleasure in it. Our + own humor is so very different.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” I said; “what is your humor like?” + </p> + <p> + “I could hardly tell you, I’m afraid; I’ve never been much of a humorist + myself.” + </p> + <p> + Again a cold doubt of something ironical in the man went through me, but I + had no means of verifying it, and so I simply remained silent, waiting for + him to prompt me if he wished to know anything further about our national + transformation from bees perpetually busy into butterflies occasionally + idle. “And when you had made that discovery?” he suggested. + </p> + <p> + “Why, we’re nothing if not practical, you know, and as soon as we made + that discovery we stopped killing ourselves and invented the summer + resort. There are very few of our business or professional men now who + don’t take their four or five weeks’ vacation. Their wives go off early in + the summer, and, if they go to some resort within three or four hours of + the city, the men leave town Saturday afternoon and run out, or come up, + and spend Sunday with their families. For thirty-eight hours or so a hotel + like this is a nest of happy homes.” + </p> + <p> + “That is admirable,” said the Altrurian. “You are truly a practical + people. The ladies come early in the summer, you say?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sometimes in the beginning of June.” + </p> + <p> + “What do they come for?” asked the Altrurian. + </p> + <p> + “What for? Why, for rest!” I retorted, with some little temper. + </p> + <p> + “But I thought you told me awhile ago that as soon as a husband could + afford it he relieved his wife and daughters from all household work.” + </p> + <p> + “So he does.” + </p> + <p> + “Then what do the ladies wish to rest from?” + </p> + <p> + “From care. It is not work alone that kills. They are not relieved from + household care even when they are relieved from household work. There is + nothing so killing as household care. Besides, the sex seems to be born + tired. To be sure, there are some observers of our life who contend that + with the advance of athletics among our ladies, with boating and bathing, + and lawn-tennis and mountain-climbing and freedom from care, and these + long summers of repose, our women are likely to become as superior to the + men physically as they now are intellectually. It is all right. We should + like to see it happen. It would be part of the national joke.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, have you a national joke?” asked the Altrurian. “But, of course! You + have so much humor. I wish you could give me some notion of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it is rather damaging to any joke to explain it,” I replied, “and + your only hope of getting at ours is to live into it. One feature of it is + the confusion of foreigners at the sight of our men’s willingness to + subordinate themselves to our women.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don’t find that very bewildering,” said the Altrurian. “It seems to + me a generous and manly trait of the American character. I’m proud to say + that it is one of the points at which your civilization and our own touch. + There can be no doubt that the influence of women in your public affairs + must be of the greatest advantage to you; it has been so with us.” + </p> + <p> + I turned and stared at him, but he remained insensible to my astonishment, + perhaps because it was now too dark for him to see it. “Our women have no + influence in public affairs,” I said, quietly, after a moment. + </p> + <p> + “They haven’t? Is it possible? But didn’t I understand you to imply just + now that your women were better educated than your men?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I suppose that, taking all sorts and conditions among us, the women + are as a rule better schooled, if not better educated.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, apart from the schooling, they are not more cultivated?” + </p> + <p> + “In a sense you might say they were. They certainly go in for a lot of + things: art and music, and Browning and the drama, and foreign travel and + psychology, and political economy and Heaven knows what all. They have + more leisure for it; they have all the leisure there is, in fact; our + young men have to go into business. I suppose you may say our women are + more cultivated than our men; yes, I think there’s no questioning that. + They are the great readers among us. We poor devils of authors would be + badly off if it were not for our women. In fact, no author could make a + reputation among us without them. American literature exists because + American women appreciate it and love it.” + </p> + <p> + “But surely your men read books?” + </p> + <p> + “Some of them; not many, comparatively. You will often hear a complacent + ass of a husband and father say to an author: ‘My wife and daughters know + your books, but I can’t find time for anything but the papers nowadays. I + skim them over at breakfast, or when I’m going in to business on the + train.’ He isn’t the least ashamed to say that he reads nothing but the + newspapers.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you think that it would be better for him to read books?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, in the presence of four or five thousand journalists with drawn + scalping-knives I should not like to say so. Besides, modesty forbids.” + </p> + <p> + “No, but, really,” the Altrurian persisted, “you think that the literature + of a book is more carefully pondered than the literature of a daily + newspaper?” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose even the four or five thousand journalists with drawn + scalping-knives would hardly deny that.” + </p> + <p> + “And it stands to reason, doesn’t it, that the habitual reader of + carefully pondered literature ought to be more thoughtful than the readers + of literature which is not carefully pondered and which they merely skim + over on their way to business?” + </p> + <p> + “I believe we began by assuming the superior culture of our women, didn’t + we? You’ll hardly find an American that isn’t proud of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Then,” said the Altrurian, “if your women are generally better schooled + than your men, and more cultivated and more thoughtful, and are relieved + of household work in such great measure, and even of domestic cares, why + have they no part in your public affairs?” + </p> + <p> + I laughed, for I thought I had my friend at last. “For the best of all + possible reasons: they don’t want it.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, that’s no reason,” he returned. “Why don’t they want it?” + </p> + <p> + “Really,” I said, out of all patience, “I think I must let you ask the + ladies themselves,” and I turned and moved again toward the hotel, but the + Altrurian gently detained me. + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me,” he began. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“No, no,” I said. + “‘The feast is set, the guests are met, + May’st hear the merry din.’ +Come in and see the young people dance.” + </pre> + <p> + “Wait,” he entreated; “tell me a little more about the old people first. + This digression about the ladies has been very interesting, but I thought + you were going to speak of the men here. Who are they, or, rather, what + are they?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, as I said before, they are all business men and professional men; + people who spend their lives in studies and counting-rooms and offices, + and have come up here for a few weeks or a few days of well-earned repose. + They are of all kinds of occupations: they are lawyers and doctors, and + clergymen and merchants, and brokers and bankers. There’s hardly any + calling you Won’t find represented among them. As I was thinking just now, + our hotel is a sort of microcosm of the American republic.” + </p> + <p> + “I am most fortunate in finding you here, where I can avail myself of your + intelligence in making my observations of your life under such + advantageous circumstances. It seems to me that with your help I might + penetrate the fact of American life, possess myself of the mystery of your + national joke, without stirring beyond the piazza of your hospitable + hotel,” said my friend. I doubted it, but one does not lightly put aside a + compliment like that to one’s intelligence, and I said I should be very + happy to be of use to him. He thanked me, and said: “Then, to begin with, + I understand that these gentlemen are here because they are all + overworked.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course. You can have no conception of how hard our business men and + our professional men work. I suppose there is nothing like it anywhere + else in the world. But, as I said before, we are beginning to find that we + cannot burn the candle at both ends and have it last long. So we put one + end out for a little while every summer. Still, there are frightful wrecks + of men strewn all along the course of our prosperity, wrecks of mind and + body. Our insane asylums are full of madmen who have broken under the + tremendous strain, and every country in Europe abounds in our dyspeptics.” + I was rather proud of this terrible fact; there is no doubt but we + Americans are proud of overworking ourselves; Heaven knows why. + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian murmured: “Awful! Shocking!” But I thought somehow he had + not really followed me very attentively in my celebration of our national + violation of the laws of life and its consequences. “I am glad,” he went + on, “that your business men and professional men are beginning to realize + the folly and wickedness of overwork. Shall I find some of your other + weary workers here, too?” + </p> + <p> + “What other weary workers?” I asked in turn, for I imagined I had gone + over pretty much the whole list. + </p> + <p> + “Why,” said the Altrurian, “your mechanics and day laborers, your + iron-moulders and glass-blowers, your miners and farmers, your printers + and mill-operatives, your trainmen and quarry-hands. Or do they prefer to + go to resorts of their own?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III + </h2> + <p> + It was not easy to make sure of such innocence as prompted this inquiry of + my Altrurian friend. The doubt whether he could really be in earnest was + something that I had already felt; and it was destined to beset me, as it + did now, again and again. My first thought was that, of course, he was + trying a bit of cheap irony on me, a mixture of the feeble sarcasm and + false sentiment that makes us smile when we find it in the philippics of + the industrial agitators. For a moment I did not know but I had fallen + victim to a walking delegate on his vacation, who was employing his summer + leisure in going about the country in the guise of a traveler from + Altruria, and foisting himself upon people who would have had nothing to + do with him in his real character. But in another moment I perceived that + this was impossible. I could not suppose that the friend who had + introduced him to me would be capable of seconding so poor a joke, and, + besides, I could not imagine why a walking delegate should wish to address + his clumsy satire to me particularly. For the present, at least, there was + nothing for it but to deal with this inquiry as if it were made in good + faith and in the pursuit of useful information. It struck me as grotesque; + but it would not have been decent to treat it as if it were so. I was + obliged to regard it seriously, and so I decided to shirk it. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” I said, “that opens up rather a large field, which lies somewhat + outside of the province of my own activities. You know, I am a writer of + romantic fiction, and my time is so fully occupied in manipulating the + destinies of the good old-fashioned hero and heroine, and trying always to + make them end in a happy marriage, that I have hardly had a chance to look + much into the lives of agriculturists or artisans; and, to tell you the + truth, I don’t know what they do with their leisure. I’m pretty certain, + though, you won’t meet any of them in this hotel; they couldn’t afford it, + and I fancy they would find themselves out of their element among our + guests. We respect them thoroughly; every American does, and we know that + the prosperity of the country rests with them; we have a theory that they + are politically sovereign, but we see very little of them, and we don’t + associate with them. In fact, our cultivated people have so little + interest in them socially that they don’t like to meet them, even in + fiction; they prefer refined and polished ladies and gentlemen, whom they + can have some sympathy with; and I always go to the upper classes for my + types. It won’t do to suppose, though, that we are indifferent to the + working classes in their place. Their condition is being studied a good + deal just now, and there are several persons here who will be able to + satisfy your curiosity on the points you have made, I think. I will + introduce you to them.” + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian did not try to detain me this time. He said he should be + very glad indeed to meet my friends, and I led the way toward a little + group at the corner of the piazza. They were men whom I particularly + liked, for one reason or another; they were intelligent and open-minded, + and they were thoroughly American. One was a banker; another was a + minister; there was a lawyer, and there was a doctor; there was a + professor of political economy in one of our colleges; and there was a + retired manufacturer—I do not know what he used to manufacture: + cotton or iron, or something like that. They all rose politely as I came + up with my Altrurian, and I fancied in them a sensation of expectancy + created by the rumor of his eccentric behavior which must have spread + through the hotel. But they controlled this if they had it, and I could + see, as the light fell upon his face from a spray of electrics on the + nearest pillar, that sort of liking kindle in theirs which I had felt + myself at first sight of him. + </p> + <p> + I said, “Gentlemen, I wish to introduce my friend, Mr. Homos,” and then I + presented them severally to him by name. We all sat down, and I explained: + “Mr. Homos is from Altruria. He is visiting our country for the first + time, and is greatly interested in the working of our institutions. He has + been asking me some rather hard questions about certain phases of our + civilization; and the fact is that I have launched him upon you because I + don’t feel quite able to cope with him.” + </p> + <p> + They all laughed civilly at this sally of mine, but the professor asked, + with a sarcasm that I thought I hardly merited, “What point in our polity + can be obscure to the author of ‘Glove and Gauntlet’ and ‘Airs and + Graces’?” + </p> + <p> + They all laughed again, not so civilly, I felt, and then the banker asked + my friend: “Is it long since you left Altruria?” + </p> + <p> + “It seems a great while ago,” the Altrurian answered, “but it is really + only a few weeks.” + </p> + <p> + “You came by way of England, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; there is no direct line to America,” said the Altrurian. + </p> + <p> + “That seems rather odd,” I ventured, with some patriotic grudge. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, the English have direct lines everywhere,” the banker instructed me. + </p> + <p> + “The tariff has killed our shipbuilding,” said the professor. No one took + up this firebrand, and the professor added: “Your name is Greek, isn’t it, + Mr. Homos?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; we are of one of the early Hellenic families,” said the Altrurian. + </p> + <p> + “And do you think,” asked the lawyer, who, like most lawyers, was a lover + of romance, and was well read in legendary lore especially, “that there is + any reason for supposing that Altruria is identical with the fabled + Atlantis’?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I can’t say that I do. We have no traditions of a submergence of the + continent, and there are only the usual evidences of a glacial epoch which + you find everywhere to support such a theory. Besides, our civilization is + strictly Christian, and dates back to no earlier period than that of the + first Christian commune after Christ. It is a matter of history with us + that one of these communists, when they were dispersed, brought the Gospel + to our continent; he was cast away on our eastern coast on his way to + Britain.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, we know that,” the minister intervened, “but it is perfectly + astonishing that an island so large as Altruria should have been lost to + the knowledge of the rest of the world ever since the beginning of our + era. You would hardly think that there was a space of the ocean’s surface + a mile square which had not been traversed by a thousand keels since + Columbus sailed westward.” + </p> + <p> + “No, you wouldn’t. And I wish,” the doctor suggested in his turn, “that + Mr. Homos would tell us something about his country, instead of asking us + about ours.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I coincided, “I’m sure we should all find it a good deal easier. At + least I should; but I brought our friend up in the hope that the professor + would like nothing better than to train a battery of hard facts upon a + defenceless stranger.” Since the professor had given me that little stab, + I was rather anxious to see how he would handle the desire for information + in the Altrurian which I had found so prickly. + </p> + <p> + This turned the laugh on the professor, and he pretended to be as curious + about Altruria as the rest, and said he would rather hear of it. But the + Altrurian said: “I hope you will excuse me. Sometime I shall be glad to + talk of Altruria as long as you like; or, if you will come to us, I shall + be still happier to show you many things that I couldn’t make you + understand at a distance. But I am in America to learn, not to teach, and + I hope you will have patience with my ignorance. I begin to be afraid that + it is so great as to seem a little incredible. I have fancied in my friend + here,” he went on, with a smile toward me, “a suspicion that I was not + entirely single in some of the inquiries I have made, but that I had some + ulterior motive, some wish to censure or satirize.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, not at all,” I protested, for it was not polite to admit a conjecture + so accurate. “We are so well satisfied with our condition that we have + nothing but pity for the darkened mind of the foreigner, though we believe + in it fully: we are used to the English tourist.” + </p> + <p> + My friends laughed, and the Altrurian continued: “I am very glad to hear + it, for I feel myself at a peculiar disadvantage among you. I am not only + a foreigner, but I am so alien to you in all the traditions and habitudes + that I find it very difficult to get upon common ground with you. Of + course, I know theoretically what you are, but to realize it practically + is another thing. I had read so much about America and understood so + little that I could not rest without coming to see for myself. Some of the + apparent contradictions were so colossal—” + </p> + <p> + “We have everything on a large scale here,” said the banker, breaking off + the ash of his cigar with the end of his little finger, “and we rather + pride ourselves on the size of our inconsistencies, even. I know something + of the state of things in Altruria, and, to be frank with you, I will say + that it seems to me preposterous. I should say it was impossible, if it + were not an accomplished fact; but I always feel bound to recognize the + thing done. You have hitched your wagon to a star, and you have made the + star go; there is never any trouble with wagons, but stars are not easily + broken to harness, and you have managed to get yours well in hand. As I + said, I don’t believe in you, but I respect you.” I thought this charming, + myself; perhaps because it stated my own mind about Altruria so exactly + and in terms so just and generous. + </p> + <p> + “Pretty good,” said the doctor, in a murmur of satisfaction, at my ear, + “for a bloated bond-holder.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I whispered back, “I wish I had said it. What an American way of + putting it! Emerson would have liked it himself. After all, he was our + prophet.” + </p> + <p> + “He must have thought so from the way we kept stoning him,” said the + doctor, with a soft laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Which of our contradictions,” asked the banker, in the same tone of + gentle bonhomie, “has given you and our friend pause just now?” + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian answered, after a moment: “I am not sure that it is a + contradiction, for as yet I have not ascertained the facts I was seeking. + Our friend was telling me of the great change that had taken place in + regard to work, and the increased leisure that your professional people + are now allowing themselves; and I was asking him where your working-men + spent their leisure.” + </p> + <p> + He went over the list of those he had specified, and I hung my head in + shame and pity; it really had such an effect of mawkish sentimentality. + But my friends received it in the best possible way. They did not laugh; + they heard him out, and then they quietly deferred to the banker, who made + answer for us all: + </p> + <p> + “Well, I can be almost as brief as the historian of Iceland in his chapter + on snakes: those people have no leisure to spend.” + </p> + <p> + “Except when they go out on a strike,” said the manufacturer, with a + certain grim humor of his own; I never heard anything more dramatic than + the account he once gave of the way he broke up a labor union. “I have + seen a good many of them at leisure then.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” the doctor chimed in, “and in my younger days, when I necessarily + had a good deal of charity practice, I used to find them at leisure when + they were ‘laid off.’ It always struck me as such a pretty euphemism. It + seemed to minify the harm of the thing so. It seemed to take all the + hunger and cold and sickness out of the fact. To be simply ‘laid off’ was + so different from losing your work and having to face beggary or + starvation.” + </p> + <p> + “Those people,” said the professor, “never put anything by. They are + wasteful and improvident, almost to a man; and they learn nothing by + experience, though they know as well as we do that it is simply a question + of demand and supply, and that the day of overproduction is sure to come, + when their work must stop unless the men that give them work are willing + to lose money.” + </p> + <p> + “And I’ve seen them lose it, sometimes, rather than shut down,” the + manufacturer remarked; “lose it hand over hand, to keep the men at work; + and then as soon as the tide turned the men would strike for higher wages. + You have no idea of the ingratitude of those people.” He said this toward + the minister, as if he did not wish to be thought hard; and, in fact, he + was a very kindly man. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied the minister, “that is one of the most sinister features of + the situation. They seem really to regard their employers as their + enemies. I don’t know how it will end.” + </p> + <p> + “I know how it would end if I had my way,” said the professor. “There + wouldn’t be any labor unions, and there wouldn’t be any strikes.” + </p> + <p> + “That is all very well,” said the lawyer, from that judicial mind which I + always liked in him, “as far as the strikes are concerned, but I don’t + understand that the abolition of the unions would affect the impersonal + process of ‘laying off.’ The law of demand and supply I respect as much as + any one—it’s something like the constitution; but, all the same, I + should object extremely to have my income stopped by it every now and + then. I’m probably not so wasteful as a working-man generally is; still, I + haven’t laid by enough to make it a matter of indifference to me whether + my income went on or not. Perhaps the professor has.” The professor did + not say, and we all took leave to laugh. The lawyer concluded: “I don’t + see how those fellows stand it.” + </p> + <p> + “They don’t, all of them,” said the doctor. “Or their wives and children + don’t. Some of them die.” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder,” the lawyer pursued, “what has become of the good old American + fact that there is always work for those who are willing to work? I notice + that wherever five thousand men strike in the forenoon, there are five + thousand men to take their places in the afternoon—and not men who + are turning their hands to something new, but men who are used to doing + the very thing the strikers have done.” + </p> + <p> + “That is one of the things that teach the futility of strikes,” the + professor made haste to interpose, as if he had not quite liked to appear + averse to the interests of the workman; no one likes to do that. “If there + were anything at all to be hoped from them, it would be another matter.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but that isn’t the point, quite,” said the lawyer. + </p> + <p> + “By-the-way, what is the point?” I asked, with my humorous lightness. + </p> + <p> + “Why, I supposed,” said the banker, “it was the question how the working + classes amused their elegant leisure. But it seems to be almost anything + else.” + </p> + <p> + We all applauded the neat touch, but the Altrurian eagerly entreated: “No, + no; never mind that now. That is a matter of comparatively little + interest. I would so much rather know something about the status of the + working-man among you.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean his political status? It’s that of every other citizen.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t mean that. I suppose that in America you have learned, as we have + in Altruria, that equal political rights are only means to an end, and as + an end have no value or reality. I meant the economic status of the + working-man, and his social status.” + </p> + <p> + I do not know why we were so long girding up our loins to meet this simple + question. I myself could not have hopefully undertaken to answer it; but + the others were each in their way men of affairs, and practically + acquainted with the facts, except perhaps the professor; but he had + devoted a great deal of thought to them, and ought to have been qualified + to make some sort of response. But even he was silent; and I had a vague + feeling that they were all somehow reluctant to formulate their knowledge, + as if it were uncomfortable or discreditable. The banker continued to + smoke quietly on for a moment; then he suddenly threw his cigar away. + </p> + <p> + “I like to free my mind of cant,” he said, with a short laugh, “when I can + afford it, and I propose to cast all sorts of American cant out of it in + answering your question. The economic status of the working-man among us + is essentially the same as that of the working-man all over the civilized + world. You will find plenty of people here, especially about election + time, to tell you differently, but they will not be telling you the truth, + though a great many of them think they are. In fact, I suppose most + Americans honestly believe because we have a republican form of + government, and manhood suffrage, and so on, that our economic conditions + are peculiar, and that our working-man has a status higher and better than + that of the working-man anywhere else. But he has nothing of the kind. His + circumstances are better, and provisionally his wages are higher, but it + is only a question of years or decades when his circumstances will be the + same and his wages the same as the European working-man’s. There is + nothing in our conditions to prevent this.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I understood from our friend here,” said the Altrurian, nodding + toward me, “that you had broken only with the political tradition of + Europe in your Revolution; and he has explained to me that you do not hold + all kinds of labor in equal esteem; but—” + </p> + <p> + “What kind of labor did he say we did hold in esteem?” asked the banker. + </p> + <p> + “Why, I understood him to say that if America meant anything at all it + meant the honor of work, but that you distinguished and did not honor some + kinds of work so much as others; for instance, domestic service, or + personal attendance of any kind.” + </p> + <p> + The banker laughed again. “Oh, he drew the line there, did he? Well, we + all have to draw the line somewhere. Our friend is a novelist, and I will + tell you in strict confidence that the line he has drawn is imaginary. We + don’t honor any kind of work any more than any other people. If a fellow + gets up, the papers make a great ado over his having been a woodchopper or + a bobbin-boy, or something of that kind, but I doubt if the fellow himself + likes it; he doesn’t if he’s got any sense. The rest of us feel that it’s + <i>infra dig.</i>, and hope nobody will find out that we ever worked with + our hands for a living. I’ll go further,” said the banker, with the effect + of whistling prudence down the wind, “and I will challenge any of you to + gainsay me from his own experience or observation. How does esteem usually + express itself? When we wish, to honor a man, what do we do?” + </p> + <p> + “Ask him to dinner,” said the lawyer. + </p> + <p> + “Exactly. We offer him some sort of social recognition. Well, as soon as a + fellow gets up, if he gets up high enough, we offer him some sort of + social recognition; in fact, all sorts; but upon condition that he has + left off working with his hands for a living. We forgive all you please to + his past on account of the present. But there isn’t a working-man, I + venture to say, in any city or town, or even large village, in the whole + length and breadth of the United States who has any social recognition, if + he is still working at his trade. I don’t mean, merely, that he is + excluded from rich and fashionable society, but from the society of the + average educated and cultivated people. I’m not saying he is fit for it; + but I don’t care how intelligent and agreeable he might be—and some + of them are astonishingly intelligent, and so agreeable in their tone of + mind and their original way of looking at things that I like nothing + better than to talk with them—all of our invisible fences are up + against him.” + </p> + <p> + The minister said: “I wonder if that sort of exclusiveness is quite + natural? Children seem to feel no sort of social difference among + themselves.” + </p> + <p> + “We can hardly go to children for a type of social order,” the professor + suggested. + </p> + <p> + “True,” the minister meekly admitted. “But somehow there is a protest in + us somewhere against these arbitrary distinctions—something that + questions whether they are altogether right. We know that they must be, + and always have been, and always will be, and yet—well, I will + confess it—I never feel at peace when I face them.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said the banker, “if you come to the question of right and wrong, + that is another matter. I don’t say it’s right. I’m not discussing that + question; though I’m certainly not proposing to level the fences; I should + be the last to take my own down. I say simply that you are no more likely + to meet a working-man in American society than you are to meet a colored + man. Now you can judge,” he ended, turning directly to the Altrurian, “how + much we honor labor. And I hope I have indirectly satisfied your curiosity + as to the social status of the working-man among us.” + </p> + <p> + We were all silent. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps the others were occupied like myself in trying to recall some + instance of a working-man whom they had met in society, and perhaps we + said nothing because we all failed. + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian spoke at last. + </p> + <p> + “You have been so very full and explicit that I feel as if it were almost + unseemly to press any further inquiry; but I should very much like to know + how your working-men bear this social exclusion.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m sure I can’t say,” returned the banker. “A man does not care much to + get into society until he has something to eat, and how to get that is + always the first question with the working-man.” + </p> + <p> + “But you wouldn’t like it yourself?” + </p> + <p> + “No, certainly, I shouldn’t like it myself. I shouldn’t complain of not + being asked to people’s houses, and the working-men don’t; you can’t do + that; but I should feel it an incalculable loss. We may laugh at the + emptiness of society, or pretend to be sick of it, but there is no doubt + that society is the flower of civilization, and to be shut out from it is + to be denied the best privilege of a civilized man. There are society + women—we have all met them—whose graciousness and refinement + of presence are something of incomparable value; it is more than a liberal + education to have been admitted to it, but it is as inaccessible to the + working-man as—what shall I say? The thing is too grotesquely + impossible for any sort of comparison. Merely to conceive of its + possibility is something that passes a joke; it is a kind of offence.” + </p> + <p> + Again we were silent. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know,” the banker continued, “how the notion of our social + equality originated, but I think it has been fostered mainly by the + expectation of foreigners, who argued it from our political equality. As a + matter of fact, it never existed, except in our poorest and most primitive + communities, in the pioneer days of the West and among the gold-hunters of + California. It was not dreamed of in our colonial society, either in + Virginia or Pennsylvania or New York or Massachusetts; and the fathers of + the republic, who were mostly slave-holders, were practically as + stiff-necked aristocrats as any people of their day. We have not a + political aristocracy, that is all; but there is as absolute a division + between the orders of men and as little love, in this country as in any + country on the globe. The severance of the man who works for his living + with his hands from the man who does not work for his living with his + hands is so complete, and apparently so final, that nobody even imagines + anything else, not even in fiction. Or, how is that?” he asked, turning to + me. “Do you fellows still put the intelligent, high-spirited, handsome + young artisan, who wins the millionaire’s daughter, into your books? I + used sometimes to find him there.” + </p> + <p> + “You might still find him in the fiction of the weekly story-papers; but,” + I was obliged to own, “he would not go down with my readers. Even in the + story-paper fiction he would leave off working as soon as he married the + millionaire’s daughter, and go to Europe, or he would stay here and become + a social leader, but he would not receive working-men in his gilded + halls.” + </p> + <p> + The others rewarded my humor with a smile, but the banker said: “Then I + wonder you were not ashamed of filling our friend up with that stuff about + our honoring some kinds of labor. It is true that we don’t go about openly + and explicitly despising any kind of honest toil—people don’t do + that anywhere now; but we contemn it in terms quite as unmistakable. The + working-man acquiesces as completely as anybody else. He does not remain a + working-man a moment longer that he can help; and after he gets up, if he + is weak enough to be proud of having been one, it is because he feels that + his low origin is a proof of his prowess in rising to the top against + unusual odds. I don’t suppose there is a man in the whole civilized world—outside + of Altruria, of course—-who is proud of working at a trade, except + the shoemaker Tolstoy, and is a count, and he does not make very good + shoes.” + </p> + <p> + We all laughed again: those shoes of Count Tolstoy’s are always such an + infallible joke. + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian, however, was cocked and primed with another question; he + instantly exploded it: “But are all the working-men in America eager to + rise above their condition? Is there none willing to remain among the mass + because the rest could not rise with him, and from the hope of yet + bringing labor to honor?” + </p> + <p> + The banker answered: “I never heard of any. No, the American ideal is not + to change the conditions for all, but for each to rise above the rest if + he can.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think it is really so bad as that?” asked the minister, timidly. + </p> + <p> + The banker answered: “Bad? Do you call that bad? I thought it was very + good. But, good or bad, I don’t think you’ll find it deniable, if you look + into the facts. There may be working-men willing to remain so for other + working-men’s sake, but I have never met any—perhaps because the + working-man never goes into society.” + </p> + <p> + The unfailing question of the Altrurian broke the silence which ensued: + “Are there many of your working-men who are intelligent and agreeable—of + the type you mentioned a moment since?” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps,” said the banker, “I had better refer you to one of our friends + here, who has had a great deal more to do with them than I have. He is a + manufacturer, and he has had to do with all kinds of work-people.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, for my sins,” the manufacturer assented; and he added: “They are + often confoundedly intelligent, though I haven’t often found them very + agreeable, either in their tone of mind or their original way of looking + at things.” + </p> + <p> + The banker amiably acknowledged his thrust, and the Altrurian asked: “Ah, + they are opposed to your own?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, we have the same trouble here that you must have heard of in + England. As you know now that the conditions are the same here, you won’t + be surprised at the fact.” + </p> + <p> + “But the conditions,” the Altrurian pursued—“do you expect them + always to continue the same?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don’t know,” said the manufacturer. “We can’t expect them to + change of themselves, and I shouldn’t know how to change them. It was + expected that the rise of the trusts and the syndicates would break the + unions, but somehow they haven’t. The situation remains the same. The + unions are not cutting one another’s throats now any more than we are. The + war is on a larger scale—that’s all.” + </p> + <p> + “Then let me see,” said the Altrurian, “whether I clearly understand the + situation as regards the working-man in America. He is dependent upon the + employer for his chance to earn a living, and he is never sure of this. He + may be thrown out of work by his employer’s disfavor or disaster, and his + willingness to work goes for nothing; there is no public provision of work + for him; there is nothing to keep him from want nor the prospect of + anything.” + </p> + <p> + “We are all in the same boat,” said the professor. + </p> + <p> + “But some of us have provisioned ourselves rather better and can generally + weather it through till we are picked up,” the lawyer put in. + </p> + <p> + “I am always saying the working-man is improvident,” returned the + professor. + </p> + <p> + “There are the charities,” the minister suggested. + </p> + <p> + “But his economical status,” the Altrurian pursued, “is in a state of + perpetual uncertainty, and to save himself in some measure he has + organized, and so has constituted himself a danger to the public peace?” + </p> + <p> + “A very great danger,” said the professor. + </p> + <p> + “I guess we can manage him,” the manufacturer remarked. + </p> + <p> + “And socially he is non-existent?” + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian turned with this question to the banker, who said: “He is + certainly not in society.” + </p> + <p> + “Then,” said my guest, “if the working-man’s wages are provisionally so + much better here than in Europe, why should they be discontented? What is + the real cause of their discontent?” + </p> + <p> + I have always been suspicious, in the company of practical men, of an + atmosphere of condescension to men of my calling, if nothing worse. I + fancy they commonly regard artists of all kinds as a sort of harmless + eccentrics, and that literary people they look upon as something droll, as + weak and soft, as not quite right. I believed that this particular group, + indeed, was rather abler to conceive of me as a rational person than most + others, but I knew that if even they had expected me to be as reasonable + as themselves they would not have been greatly disappointed if I were not; + and it seemed to me that I had put myself wrong with them in imparting to + the Altrurian that romantic impression that we hold labor in honor here. I + had really thought so, but I could not say so now, and I wished to + retrieve myself somehow. I wished to show that I was a practical man, too, + and so I made answer: “What is the cause of the working-man’s discontent? + It is very simple: the walking delegate.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IV + </h2> + <p> + I suppose I could not have fairly claimed any great originality for my + notion that the walking delegate was the cause of the labor troubles: he + is regularly assigned as the reason of a strike in the newspapers, and is + reprobated for his evil agency by the editors, who do not fail to read the + working-men many solemn lessons and fervently warn them against him, as + soon as the strike begins to go wrong—as it nearly always does. I + understand from them that the walking delegate is an irresponsible tyrant, + who emerges from the mystery that habitually hides him and from time to + time orders a strike in mere rancor of spirit and plenitude of power, and + then leaves the working-men and their families to suffer the consequences, + while he goes off somewhere and rolls in the lap of luxury, careless of + the misery he has created. Between his debauches of vicious idleness and + his accesses of baleful activity he is employed in poisoning the mind of + the working-men against his real interests and real friends. This is + perfectly easy, because the American working-man, though singularly shrewd + and sensible in other respects, is the victim of an unaccountable + obliquity of vision which keeps him from seeing his real interests and + real friends—or, at least, from knowing them when he sees them. + </p> + <p> + There could be no doubt, I thought, in the mind of any reasonable person + that the walking delegate was the source of the discontent among our + proletariate, and I alleged him with a confidence which met the approval + of the professor, apparently, for he nodded, as if to say that I had hit + the nail on the head this time; and the minister seemed to be freshly + impressed with a notion that could not be new to him. The lawyer and the + doctor were silent, as if waiting for the banker to speak again; but he + was silent, too. The manufacturer, to my chagrin, broke into a laugh. “I’m + afraid,” he said, with a sardonic levity which surprised me, “you’ll have + to go a good deal deeper than the walking delegate. He’s a symptom; he + isn’t the disease. The thing keeps on and on, and it seems to be always + about wages; but it isn’t about wages at the bottom. Some of those fellows + know it and some of them don’t, but the real discontent is with the whole + system, with the nature of things. I had a curious revelation on that + point the last time I tried to deal with my men as a union. They were + always bothering me about this and about that, and there was no end to the + bickering. I yielded point after point, but it didn’t make any difference. + It seemed as if the more I gave the more they asked. At last I made up my + mind to try to get at the real inwardness of the matter, and I didn’t wait + for their committee to come to me—I sent for their leading man, and + said I wanted to have it out with him. He wasn’t a bad fellow, and when I + got at him, man to man that way, I found he had sense, and he had ideas—it’s + no use pretending those fellows are fools; he had thought about his side + of the question, anyway. I said: ‘Now what does it all mean? Do you want + the earth, or don’t you? When is it going to end?’ I offered him something + to take, but he said he didn’t drink, and we compromised on cigars. ‘Now + when is it going to end?’ said I, and I pressed it home, and wouldn’t let + him fight off from the point. ‘Do you mean when is it all going to end?’ + said he. ‘Yes,’ said I, ‘all. I’m sick of it. If there’s any way out I’d + like to know it.’ ‘Well,’ said he, ‘I’ll tell you, if you want to know. + It’s all going to end when you get the same amount of money for the same + amount of work as we do.’” + </p> + <p> + We all laughed uproariously. The thing was deliciously comical; and + nothing, I thought, attested the Altrurian’s want of humor like his + failure to appreciate this joke. He did not even smile in asking: “And + what did you say?” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” returned the manufacturer, with cosey enjoyment, “I asked him if + the men would take the concern and run it themselves.” We laughed again; + this seemed even better than the other joke. “But he said, ‘No’; they + would not like to do that. And then I asked him just what they would like, + if they could have their own way, and he said they would like to have me + run the business, and all share alike. I asked him what was the sense of + that, and why, if I could do something that all of them put together + couldn’t do, I shouldn’t be paid more than all of them put together; and + he said that if a man did his best he ought to be paid as much as the best + man. I asked him if that was the principle their union was founded on, and + he said, ‘Yes,’ that the very meaning of their union was the protection of + the weak by the strong and the equalization of earnings among all who do + their best.” + </p> + <p> + We waited for the manufacturer to go on, but he made a dramatic pause at + this point, as if to let it sink into our minds; and he did not speak + until the Altrurian prompted him with the question, “And what did you + finally do?” + </p> + <p> + “I saw there was only one way out for me, and I told the fellow I did not + think I could do business on that principle. We parted friends, but the + next Saturday I locked them out and smashed their union. They came back, + most of them—they had to—but I’ve treated with them ever since + ‘as individuals.’” + </p> + <p> + “And they’re much better off in your hands than they were in the union,” + said the professor. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know about that,” said the manufacturer, “but I’m sure I am.” + </p> + <p> + We laughed with him, all but the minister, whose mind seemed to have + caught upon some other point, and who sat absently by. + </p> + <p> + “And is it your opinion, from what you know of the working-man generally, + that they all have this twist in their heads?” the professor asked. + </p> + <p> + “They have, until they begin to rise. Then they get rid of it mighty soon. + Let a man save something—enough to get a house of his own, and take + a boarder or two, and perhaps have a little money at interest—and he + sees the matter in another light.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think he sees it more clearly?” asked the minister. + </p> + <p> + “He sees it differently.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you think?” the minister pursued, turning to the lawyer. “You are + used to dealing with questions of justice—” + </p> + <p> + “Rather more with questions of law, I’m afraid,” the other returned, + pleasantly, putting his feet together before him and looking down at them + in a way he had. “But, still, I have a great interest in questions of + justice, and I confess that I find a certain wild equity in this + principle, which I see nobody could do business on. It strikes me as + idyllic—it’s a touch of real poetry in the rough-and-tumble prose of + our economic life.” + </p> + <p> + He referred this to me as something I might appreciate in my quality of + literary man, and I responded in my quality of practical man: “There’s + certainly more rhyme than reason in it.” + </p> + <p> + He turned again to the minister: + </p> + <p> + “I suppose the ideal of the Christian state is the family?” + </p> + <p> + “I hope so,” said the minister, with the gratitude that I have seen people + of his cloth show when men of the world conceded premises which the world + usually contests; it has seemed to me pathetic. + </p> + <p> + “And if that is the case, why, the logic of the postulate is that the + prosperity of the weakest is the sacred charge and highest happiness of + all the stronger. But the law has not recognized any such principle, in + economics at least, and if the labor unions are based upon it they are + outlaw, so far as any hope of enforcing it is concerned; and it is bad for + men to feel themselves outlaw. How is it,” the lawyer continued, turning + to the Altrurian, “in your country? We can see no issue here, if the first + principle of organized labor antagonizes the first principle of business.” + </p> + <p> + “But I don’t understand precisely yet what the first principle of business + is,” returned my guest. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, that raises another interesting question,” said the lawyer. “Of + course, every business man solves the problem practically according to his + temperament and education, and I suppose that on first thoughts every + business man would answer you accordingly. But perhaps the personal + equation is something you wish to eliminate from the definition.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, of course.” + </p> + <p> + “Still, I would rather not venture upon it first,” said the lawyer. + “Professor, what should you say was the first principle of business?” + </p> + <p> + “Buying in the cheapest market and selling in the dearest,” the professor + promptly answered. + </p> + <p> + “We will pass the parson and the doctor and the novelist as witnesses of + no value. They can’t possibly have any cognizance of the first principle + of business; their affair is to look after the souls and bodies and + fancies of other people. But what should you say it was?” he asked the + banker. + </p> + <p> + “I should say it was an enlightened conception of one’s own interests.” + </p> + <p> + “And you?” + </p> + <p> + The manufacturer had no hesitation in answering: “The good of Number One, + first, last, and all the time. There may be a difference of opinion about + the best way to get at it; the long way may be the better, or the short + way; the direct way or the oblique way, or the purely selfish way, or the + partly selfish way; but if you ever lose sight of that end you might as + well shut up shop. That seems to be the first law of nature, as well as + the first law of business.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, we mustn’t go to nature for our morality,” the minister protested. + </p> + <p> + “We were not talking of morality,” said the manufacturer; “we were talking + of business.” + </p> + <p> + This brought the laugh on the minister, but the lawyer cut it short: + “Well, then, I don’t really see why the trades-unions are not as + business-like as the syndicates in their dealings with all those outside + of themselves. Within themselves they practise an altruism of the highest + order, but it is a tribal altruism; it is like that which prompts a Sioux + to share his last mouthful with a starving Sioux, and to take the scalp of + a starving Apache. How is it with your trades-unions in Altruria?” he + asked my friend. + </p> + <p> + “We have no trades-unions in Altruria,” he began. + </p> + <p> + “Happy Altruria!” cried the professor. + </p> + <p> + “We had them formerly,” the Altrurian went on, “as you have them now. They + claimed, as I suppose yours do, that they were forced into existence by + the necessities of the case; that without union the working-man was unable + to meet the capitalist on anything like equal terms, or to withstand his + encroachments and oppressions. But to maintain themselves they had to + extinguish industrial liberty among the working-men themselves, and they + had to practise great cruelties against those who refused to join them or + who rebelled against them.” + </p> + <p> + “They simply destroy them here,” said the professor. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the lawyer, from his judicial mind, “the great syndicates + have no scruples in destroying a capitalist who won’t come into them or + who tries to go out. They don’t club him or stone him, but they under-sell + him and freeze him out; they don’t break his head, but they bankrupt him. + The principle is the same.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t interrupt Mr. Homos,” the banker entreated. “I am very curious to + know just how they got rid of labor unions in Altruria.” + </p> + <p> + “We had syndicates, too, and finally we had the <i>reductio ad absurdum</i>—we + had a federation of labor unions find a federation of syndicates, that + divided the nation into two camps. The situation was not only impossible, + but it was insupportably ridiculous.” + </p> + <p> + I ventured to say: “It hasn’t become quite so much of a joke with us yet.” + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t it in a fair way to become so?” asked the doctor; and he turned to + the lawyer: “What should you say was the logic of events among us for the + last ten or twenty years?” + </p> + <p> + “There’s nothing so capricious as the logic of events. It’s like a woman’s + reasoning—you can’t tell what it’s aimed at, or where it’s going to + fetch up; all that you can do is to keep out of the way if possible. We + may come to some such condition of things as they have in Altruria, where + the faith of the whole nation is pledged to secure every citizen in the + pursuit of happiness; or we may revert to some former condition, and the + master may again own the man; or we may hitch and joggle along + indefinitely, as we are doing now.” + </p> + <p> + “But come, now,” said the banker, while he laid a caressing touch on the + Altrurian’s shoulder, “you don’t mean to say honestly that everybody works + with his hands in Altruria?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, certainly. We are mindful, as a whole people, of the divine law—‘In + the sweat of thy brow shalt thou eat bread.’” + </p> + <p> + “But the capitalists? I’m anxious about Number One, you see.” + </p> + <p> + “We have none.” + </p> + <p> + “I forgot, of course. But the lawyers, the doctors, the parsons, the + novelists?” + </p> + <p> + “They all do their share of hand-work.” + </p> + <p> + The lawyer said: “That seems to dispose of the question of the working-man + in society. But how about your minds? When do you cultivate your minds? + When do the ladies of Altruria cultivate their minds, if they have to do + their own work, as I suppose they do? Or is it only the men who work, if + they happen to be the husbands and fathers of the upper classes?” + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian seemed to be sensible of the kindly scepticism which + persisted in our reception of his statements, after all we had read of + Altruria. He smiled indulgently, and said: “You mustn’t imagine that work + in Altruria is the same as it is here. As we all work, the amount that + each one need do is very little, a few hours each day at the most, so that + every man and woman has abundant leisure and perfect spirits for the + higher pleasures which the education of their whole youth has fitted them + to enjoy. If you can understand a state of things where the sciences and + arts and letters are cultivated for their own sake, and not as a means of + livelihood—” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said the lawyer, smiling, “I’m afraid we can’t conceive of that. We + consider the pinch of poverty the highest incentive that a man can have. + If our gifted friend here,” he said, indicating me, “were not kept like a + toad under the harrow, with his nose on the grindstone, and the poorhouse + staring him in the face—” + </p> + <p> + “For Heaven’s sake,” I cried out, “don’t mix your metaphors so, anyway!” + </p> + <p> + “If it were not for that and all the other hardships that literary men + undergo— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘Toil, envy, want, the patron and the jail’— +</pre> + <p> + his novels probably wouldn’t be worth reading.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said the Altrurian, as if he did not quite follow this joking; and, + to tell the truth, I never find the personal thing in very good taste. + “You will understand, then, how extremely difficult it is for me to + imagine a condition of things like yours—although I have it under my + very eyes—where the money consideration is the first consideration.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, excuse me,” urged the minister; “I don’t think that’s quite the + case.” + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon,” said the Altrurian, sweetly; “you can see how easily + I go astray.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, I don’t know,” the banker interposed, “that you are so far out in + what you say. If you had said that money was always the first motive, I + should have been inclined to dispute you, too; but when you say that money + is the first consideration, I think you are quite right. Unless a man + secures his financial basis for his work, he can’t do his work. It’s + nonsense to pretend otherwise. So the money consideration is the first + consideration. People here have to live by their work, and to live they + must have money. Of course, we all recognize a difference in the + qualities, as well as in the kinds, of work. The work of the laborer may + be roughly defined as the necessity of his life; the work of the business + man as the means, and the work of the artist and scientist as the end. We + might refine upon these definitions and make them closer, but they will + serve for illustration as they are. I don’t think there can be any + question as to which is the highest kind of work; some truths are + self-evident. He is a fortunate man whose work is an end, and every + business man sees this, and owns it to himself, at least when he meets + some man of an aesthetic or scientific occupation. He knows that this + luckier fellow has a joy in his work which he can never feel in business; + that his success in it can never be embittered by the thought that it is + the failure of another; that if he does it well, it is pure good; that + there cannot be any competition in it—there can be only a noble + emulation, as far as the work itself is concerned. He can always look up + to his work, for it is something above him; and a business man often has + to look down upon his business, for it is often beneath him, unless he is + a pretty low fellow.” + </p> + <p> + I listened to all this in surprise; I knew that the banker was a + cultivated man, a man of university training, and that he was a reader and + a thinker; but he had always kept a certain reserve in his talk, which he + now seemed to have thrown aside for the sake of the Altrurian, or because + the subject had a charm that lured him out of himself. “Well, now,” he + continued, “the question is of the money consideration, which is the first + consideration with us all: does it, or doesn’t it degrade the work, which + is the life, of those among us whose work is the highest? I understand + that this is the misgiving which troubles you in view of our conditions?” + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian assented, and I thought it a proof of the banker’s innate + delicacy that he did not refer the matter, so far as it concerned the + aesthetic life and work, to me; I was afraid he was going to do so. But he + courteously proposed to keep the question impersonal, and he went on to + consider it himself: “Well, I don’t suppose any one can satisfy you fully. + But I should say that it put such men under a double strain, and perhaps + that is the reason why so many of them break down in a calling that is + certainly far less exhausting than business. On one side, the artist is + kept to the level of the working-man, of the animal, of the creature whose + sole affair is to get something to eat and somewhere to sleep. This is + through his necessity. On the other side, he is exalted to the height of + beings who have no concern but with the excellence of their work, which + they were born and divinely authorized to do. This is through his purpose. + Between the two, I should say that he got mixed, and that his work shows + it.” + </p> + <p> + None of the others said anything, and, since I had not been personally + appealed to, I felt the freer to speak. “If you will suppose me to be + speaking from observation rather than experience—” I began. + </p> + <p> + “By all means,” said the banker, “go on;” and the rest made haste in + various forms to yield me the word. + </p> + <p> + “I should say that such a man certainly got mixed, but that his work kept + itself pure from the money consideration, as it were, in spite of him. A + painter or actor, or even a novelist, is glad to get all he can for his + work, and, such is our fallen nature, he does get all he knows how to get: + but, when he has once fairly passed into his work, he loses himself in it. + He does not think whether it will pay or not, whether it will be popular + or not, but whether he can make it good or not.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that is conceivable,” said the banker. “But wouldn’t he rather do + something he would get less for, if he could afford it, than the thing he + knows he will get more for? Doesn’t the money consideration influence his + choice of subject?” + </p> + <p> + “Oddly enough, I don’t believe it does,” I answered, after a moment’s + reflection. “A man makes his choice once for all when he embraces the + aesthetic life, or, rather, it is made for him; no other life seems + possible. I know there is a general belief that an artist does the kind of + thing he has made go because it pays; but this only shows the prevalence + of business ideals. If he did not love to do the thing he does, he could + not do it well, no matter how richly it paid.” + </p> + <p> + “I am glad to hear it,” said the banker, and he added to the Altrurian: + “So, you see, we are not so bad as one would think. We are illogically + better, in fact.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” the other assented. “I knew something of your literature as well as + your conditions before I left home, and I perceived that by some anomaly + the one was not tainted by the other. It is a miraculous proof of the + divine mission of the poet.” + </p> + <p> + “And the popular novelist,” the lawyer whispered in my ear, but loud + enough for the rest to hear, and they all testified their amusement at my + cost. + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian, with his weak sense of humor, passed the joke. “It shows no + signs of corruption from greed, but I can’t help thinking that, fine as it + is, it might have been much finer if the authors who produced it had been + absolutely freed to their work, and had never felt the spur of need.” + </p> + <p> + “Are they absolutely freed to it in Altruria?” asked the professor. “I + understood you that everybody had to work for his living in Altruria.” + </p> + <p> + “That is a mistake. Nobody works for his living in Altruria; he works for + others’ living.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, that is precisely what our working-men object to doing here,” said + the manufacturer. “In that last interview of mine with the walking + delegate he had the impudence to ask me why my men should work for my + living as well as their own.” + </p> + <p> + “He couldn’t imagine that you were giving them the work to do—the + very means of life,” said the professor. + </p> + <p> + “Oh no, that’s the last thing those fellows want to think of.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps,” the Altrurian suggested, “they might not have found it such a + hardship to work for your living if their own had been assured, as it is + with us. If you will excuse my saying it, we should think it monstrous in + Altruria for any man to have another’s means of life in his power; and in + our condition it is hardly imaginable. Do you really have it in your power + to take away a man’s opportunity to earn a living?” + </p> + <p> + The manufacturer laughed uneasily. “It is in my power to take away his + life; but I don’t habitually shoot my fellow-men, and I never dismissed a + man yet without good reason.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I beg your pardon,” said the Altrurian. “I didn’t dream of accusing + you of such inhumanity. But, you see, our whole system is so very + different that, as I said, it is hard for me to conceive of yours, and I + am very curious to understand its workings. If you shot your fellow-man, + as you say, the law would punish you; but if, for some reason that you + decided to be good, you took away his means of living, and he actually + starved to death—” + </p> + <p> + “Then the law would have nothing to do with it,” the professor replied for + the manufacturer, who did not seem ready to answer. “But that is not the + way things fall out. The man would be supported in idleness, probably, + till he got another job, by his union, which would take the matter up.” + </p> + <p> + “But I thought that our friend did not employ union labor,” returned the + Altrurian. + </p> + <p> + I found all this very uncomfortable, and tried to turn the talk back to a + point that I felt curious about: “But in Altruria, if the literary class + is not exempt from the rule of manual labor, where do they find time and + strength to write?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, you must realize that our manual labor is never engrossing or + exhausting. It is no more than is necessary to keep the body in health. I + do not see how you remain well here, you people of sedentary occupations.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, we all take some sort of exercise. We walk several hours a day, or we + row, or we ride a bicycle, or a horse, or we fence.” + </p> + <p> + “But to us,” returned the Altrurian, with a growing frankness which + nothing but the sweetness of his manner would have excused, “exercise for + exercise would appear stupid. The barren expenditure of force that began + and ended in itself, and produced nothing, we should—if you will + excuse my saying so—look upon as childish, if not insane or + immoral.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + V + </h2> + <p> + At this moment the lady who had hailed me so gayly from the top of the + coach while I stood waiting for the Altrurian to help the porter with the + baggage, just after the arrival of the train, came up with her husband to + our little group and said to me: “I want to introduce my husband to you. + He adores your books.” She went on much longer to this effect, while the + other men grinned round and her husband tried to look as if it were all + true, and her eyes wandered to the Altrurian, who listened gravely. I knew + perfectly well that she was using her husband’s zeal for my fiction to + make me present my friend; but I did not mind that, and I introduced him + to both of them. She took possession of him at once and began walking him + off down the piazza, while her husband remained with me, and the members + of our late conference drifted apart. I was not sorry to have it broken up + for the present; it seemed to me that it had lasted quite long enough, and + I lighted a cigar with the husband, and we strolled together in the + direction his wife had taken. + </p> + <p> + He began, apparently in compliment to literature in my person: “Yes, I + like to have a book where I can get at it when we’re not going out to the + theatre, and I want to quiet my mind down after business. I don’t care + much what the book is; my wife reads to me till I drop off, and then she + finishes the book herself and tells me the rest of the story. You see, + business takes it out of you so! Well, I let my wife do most of the + reading, anyway. She knows pretty much everything that’s going in that + line. We haven’t got any children, and it occupies her mind. She’s up to + all sorts of things—she’s artistic, and she’s musical, and she’s + dramatic, and she’s literary. Well, I like to have her. Women are funny, + anyway.” + </p> + <p> + He was a good-looking, good-natured, average American of the money-making + type; I believe he was some sort of a broker, but I do not quite know what + his business was. As we walked up and down the piazza, keeping a discreet + little distance from the corner where his wife had run off to with her + capture, he said he wished he could get more time with her in the summer—but + he supposed I knew what business was. He was glad she could have the rest, + anyway; she needed it. + </p> + <p> + “By-the-way,” he asked, “who is this friend of yours? The women are all + crazy about him, and it’s been an even thing between my wife and Miss + Groundsel which would fetch him first. But I’ll bet on my wife every time, + when it comes to a thing like that. He’s a good-looking fellow—some + kind of foreigner, I believe; pretty eccentric, too, I guess. Where is + Altruria, anyway?” + </p> + <p> + I told him, and he said: “Oh yes. Well, if we are going to restrict + immigration, I suppose we sha’n’t see many more Altrurians, and we’d + better make the most of this one. Heigh?” + </p> + <p> + I do not know why this innocent pleasantry piqued me to say: “If I + understand the Altrurians, my dear fellow, nothing could induce them to + emigrate to America. As far as I can make out, they would regard it very + much as we should regard settling among the Eskimos.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that so?” asked my new acquaintance, with perfect good temper. “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Really, I can’t say, and I don’t know that I’ve explicit authority for my + statement.” + </p> + <p> + “They are worse than the English used to be,” he went on. “I didn’t know + that there were any foreigners who looked at us in that light now. I + thought the war settled all that.” + </p> + <p> + I sighed. “There are a good many things that the war didn’t settle so + definitely as we’ve been used to thinking, I’m afraid. But, for that + matter, I fancy an Altrurian would regard the English as a little lower in + the scale of savagery than ourselves even.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that so? Well, that’s pretty good on the English, anyway,” said my + companion, and he laughed with an easy satisfaction that I envied him. + </p> + <p> + “My dear!” his wife called to him from where she was sitting with the + Altrurian, “I wish you would go for my shawl. I begin to feel the air a + little.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll go if you’ll tell me where,” he said, and he confided to me, “Never + knows where her shawl is one-quarter of the time.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I think I left it in the office somewhere. You might ask at the + desk; or perhaps it’s in the rack by the dining-room door—or maybe + up in our room.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought so,” said her husband, with another glance at me, as if it were + the greatest fun in the world, and he started amiably off. + </p> + <p> + I went and took a chair by the lady and the Altrurian, and she began at + once: “Oh, I’m so glad you’ve come! I have been trying to enlighten Mr. + Homos about some of the little social peculiarities among us that he finds + so hard to understand. He was just now,” the lady continued, “wanting to + know why all the natives out here were not invited to go in and join our + young people in the dance, and I’ve been trying to tell him that we + consider it a great favor to let them come and take up so much of the + piazza and look in at the windows.” + </p> + <p> + She gave a little laugh of superiority, and twitched her pretty head in + the direction of the young country girls and country fellows who were + thronging the place that night in rather unusual numbers. They were well + enough looking, and, as it was Saturday night, they were in their best. I + suppose their dress could have been criticised; the young fellows were + clothed by the ready-made clothing-store, and the young girls after their + own devices from the fashion papers; but their general effect was good, + and their behavior was irreproachable; they were very quiet—if + anything, too quiet. They took up a part of the piazza that was yielded + them by common usage, and sat watching the hop inside, not so much + enviously, I thought, as wistfully; and for the first time it struck me as + odd that they should have no part in the gayety. I had often seen them + there before, but I had never thought it strange they should be shut out. + It had always seemed quite normal, but now, suddenly, for one baleful + moment, it seemed abnormal. I suppose it was the talk we had been having + about the working-men in society which caused me to see the thing as the + Altrurian must have seen it; but I was, nevertheless, vexed with him for + having asked such a question, after he had been so fully instructed upon + the point. It was malicious of him, or it was stupid. I hardened my heart, + and answered: “You might have told him, for one thing, that they were not + dancing because they had not paid the piper.” + </p> + <p> + “Then the money consideration enters even into your social pleasures?” + asked the Altrurian. + </p> + <p> + “Very much. Doesn’t it with you?” + </p> + <p> + He evaded this question, as he evaded all straightforward questions + concerning his country: “We have no money consideration, you know. But do + I understand that all your social entertainments are paid for by the + guests?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no, not so bad as that, quite. There are a great many that the host + pays for. Even here, in a hotel, the host furnishes the music and the room + free to the guests of the house.” + </p> + <p> + “And none are admitted from the outside?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes, people are welcome from all the other hotels and boarding-houses + and the private cottages. The young men are especially welcome; there are + not enough young men in the hotel to go round, you see.” In fact, we could + see that some of the pretty girls within were dancing with other girls; + half-grown boys were dangling from the waists of tall young ladies and + waltzing on tiptoe. + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t that rather droll?” asked the Altrurian. + </p> + <p> + “It’s grotesque!” I said, and I felt ashamed of it. “But what are you to + do? The young men are hard at work in the cities, as many as can get work + there, and the rest are out West, growing up with the country. There are + twenty young girls for every young man at all the summer resorts in the + East.” + </p> + <p> + “But what would happen if these young farmers—I suppose they are + farmers—were invited in to take part in the dance?” asked my friend. + </p> + <p> + “But that is impossible.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Really, Mrs. Makely, I think I shall have to give him back to you,” I + said. + </p> + <p> + The lady laughed. “I am not sure that I want him back.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes,” the Altrurian entreated, with unwonted perception of the humor. + “I know that I must be very trying with my questions; but do not abandon + me to the solitude of my own conjectures. They are dreadful!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I won’t,” said the lady, with another laugh. “And I will try to + tell you what would happen if those farmers, or farm-hands, or whatever + they are, were asked in. The mammas would be very indignant, and the young + ladies would be scared, and nobody would know what to do, and the dance + would stop.” + </p> + <p> + “Then the young ladies prefer to dance with one another and with little + boys—” + </p> + <p> + “No, they prefer to dance with young men of their own station; they would + rather not dance at all than dance with people beneath them. I don’t say + anything against these natives here; they are very civil and decent. But + they have not the same social traditions as the young ladies; they would + be out of place with them, and they would feel it.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I can see that they are not fit to associate with them,” said the + Altrurian, with a gleam of commonsense that surprised me, “and that as + long as your present conditions endure they never can be. You must excuse + the confusion which the difference between your political ideals and your + economic ideals constantly creates in me. I always think of you + politically first, and realize you as a perfect democracy; then come these + other facts, in which I cannot perceive that you differ from the + aristocratic countries of Europe in theory, or practice. It is very + puzzling. Am I right in supposing that the effect of your economy is to + establish insuperable inequalities among you, and to forbid the hope of + the brotherhood which your policy proclaims?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Makely looked at me as if she were helpless to grapple with his + meaning, and, for fear of worse, I thought best to evade it. I said: “I + don’t believe that anybody is troubled by those distinctions. We are used + to them, and everybody acquiesces in them, which is a proof that they are + a very good thing.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Makely now came to my support. “The Americans are very high-spirited, + in every class, and I don’t believe one of those nice farm-boys would like + being asked in any better than the young ladies. You can’t imagine how + proud some of them are.” + </p> + <p> + “So that they suffer from being excluded as inferiors?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I assure you they don’t feel themselves inferior! They consider + themselves as good as anybody. There are some very interesting characters + among them. Now, there is a young girl sitting at the first window, with + her profile outlined by the light, whom I feel it an honor to speak to. + That’s her brother, standing there with her—that tall, gaunt young + man with a Roman face; it’s such a common type here in the mountains. + Their father was a soldier, and he distinguished himself so in one of the + last battles that he was promoted. He was badly wounded, but he never took + a pension; he just came back to his farm and worked on till he died. Now + the son has the farm, and he and his sister live there with their mother. + The daughter takes in sewing, and in that way they manage to make both + ends meet. The girl is really a first-rate seamstress, and so cheap! I + give her a good deal of my work in the summer, and we are quite friends. + She’s very fond of reading; the mother is an invalid, but she reads aloud + while the daughter sews, and you’ve no idea how many books they get + through. When she comes for sewing, I like to talk with her about them; I + always have her sit down; it’s hard to realize that she isn’t a lady. I’m + a good deal criticised, I know, and I suppose I do spoil her a little; it + puts notions into such people’s heads, if you meet them in that way; + they’re pretty free and independent as it is. But when I’m with Lizzie I + forget that there is any difference between us; I can’t help loving the + child. You must take Mr. Homos to see them, Mr. Twelvemough. They’ve got + the father’s sword hung up over the head of the mother’s bed; it’s very + touching. But the poor little place is so bare!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Makely sighed, and there fell a little pause, which she broke with a + question she had the effect of having kept back. + </p> + <p> + “There is one thing I should like to ask you, too, Mr. Homos. Is it true + that everybody in Altruria does some kind of manual labor?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, certainly,” he answered, quite as if he had been an American. + </p> + <p> + “Ladies, too? Or perhaps you have none.” + </p> + <p> + I thought this rather offensive, but I could not see that the Altrurian + had taken it ill. “Perhaps we had better try to understand each other + clearly before I answer that question. You have no titles of nobility as + they have in England—” + </p> + <p> + “No, indeed! I hope we have outgrown those superstitions,” said Mrs. + Makely, with a republican fervor that did my heart good. “It is a word + that we apply first of all to the moral qualities of a person.” + </p> + <p> + “But you said just now that you sometimes forgot that your seamstress was + not a lady. Just what did you mean by that?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Makely hesitated. “I meant—I suppose I meant—that she had + not the surroundings of a lady; the social traditions.” + </p> + <p> + “Then it has something to do with social as well as moral qualities—with + ranks and classes?” + </p> + <p> + “Classes, yes; but, as you know, we have no ranks in America.” The + Altrurian took off his hat and rubbed an imaginable perspiration from his + forehead. He sighed deeply. “It is all very difficult.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” Mrs. Makely assented, “I suppose it is. All foreigners find it so. + In fact, it is something that you have to live into the notion of; it + can’t be explained.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, my dear madam, will you tell me without further question what + you understand by a lady, and let me live into the notion of it at my + leisure?” + </p> + <p> + “I will do my best,” said Mrs. Makely. “But it would be so much easier to + tell you <i>who</i> was or who was not a lady. However, your acquaintance + is so limited yet that I must try to do something in the abstract and + impersonal for you. In the first place, a lady must be above the sordid + anxieties in every way. She need not be very rich, but she must have + enough, so that she need not be harassed about making both ends meet, when + she ought to be devoting herself to her social duties. The time is past + with us when a lady could look after the dinner, and perhaps cook part of + it herself, and then rush in to receive her guests and do the amenities. + She must have a certain kind of house, so that her entourage won’t seem + cramped and mean, and she must have nice frocks, of course, and plenty of + them. She needn’t be of the smart set; that isn’t at all necessary; but + she can’t afford to be out of the fashion. Of course, she must have a + certain training. She must have cultivated tastes; she must know about art + and literature and music, and all those kind of things, and, though it + isn’t necessary to go in for anything in particular, it won’t hurt her to + have a fad or two. The nicest kind of fad is charity; and people go in for + that a great deal. I think sometimes they use it to work up with, and + there are some who use religion in the same way; I think it’s horrid; but + it’s perfectly safe; you can’t accuse them of doing it. I’m happy to say, + though, that mere church association doesn’t count socially so much as it + used to. Charity is a great deal more insidious. But you see how hard it + is to define a lady. So much has to be left to the nerves, in all these + things. And then it’s changing all the time; Europe’s coming in, and the + old American ideals are passing away. Things that people did ten years ago + would be impossible now, or at least ridiculous. You wouldn’t be + considered vulgar, quite, but you would certainly be considered a back + number, and that’s almost as bad. Really,” said Mrs. Makely, “I don’t + believe I can tell you what a lady is.” + </p> + <p> + We all laughed together at her frank confession. The Altrurian asked: “But + do I understand that one of her conditions is that she shall have nothing + whatever to do?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing to <i>do</i>!” cried Mrs. Makely. “A lady is busy from morning + till night. She always goes to bed perfectly worn out.” + </p> + <p> + “But with what?” asked the Altrurian. + </p> + <p> + “With making herself agreeable and her house attractive, with going to + lunches and teas and dinners and concerts and theatres and art + exhibitions, and charity meetings and receptions, and with writing a + thousand and one notes about them, and accepting and declining, and giving + lunches and dinners, and making calls and receiving them, and I don’t know + what all. It’s the most hideous slavery!” Her voice rose into something + like a shriek; one could see that her nerves were going at the mere + thought of it all. “You don’t have a moment to yourself; your life isn’t + your own.” + </p> + <p> + “But the lady isn’t allowed to do any useful kind of work?” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Work</i>! Don’t you call all that work, and <i>useful</i>? I’m sure I + envy the cook in my kitchen at times; I envy the woman that scrubs my + floors. Stop! Don’t ask why I don’t go into my kitchen, or get down on my + knees with the mop. It isn’t possible. You simply can’t. Perhaps you could + if you were very <i>grande dame</i>, but if you’re anywhere near the line + of necessity, or ever have been, you can’t. Besides, if we did do our own + household work, as I understand your Altrurian ladies do, what would + become of the servant class? We should be taking away their living, and + that would be wicked.” + </p> + <p> + “It would certainly be wrong to take away the living of a + fellow-creature,” the Altrurian gravely admitted, “and I see the obstacle + in your way.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s a mountain,” said the lady, with exhaustion in her voice, but a + returning amiability; his forbearance must have placated her. + </p> + <p> + “May I ask what the use of your society life is?” he ventured, after a + moment. + </p> + <p> + “Use? Why should it have any? It kills time.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you are shut up to a hideous slavery without use, except to kill + time, and you cannot escape from it without taking away the living of + those dependent on you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I put in, “and that is a difficulty that meets us at every turn. It + is something that Matthew Arnold urged with great effect in his paper on + that crank of a Tolstoy. He asked what would become of the people who need + the work if we served and waited on ourselves, as Tolstoy preached. The + question is unanswerable.” + </p> + <p> + “That is true; in your conditions, it is unanswerable,” said the + Altrurian. + </p> + <p> + “I think,” said Mrs. Makely, “that, under the circumstances, we do pretty + well.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don’t presume to censure you. And if you believe that your + conditions are the best—” + </p> + <p> + “We believe them the best in the best of all possible worlds,” I said, + devoutly; and it struck me that, if ever we came to have a national + church, some such affirmation as that concerning our economical conditions + ought to be in the confession of faith. + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian’s mind had not followed mine so far. “And your young girls,” + he asked of Mrs. Makely—“how is their time occupied?” + </p> + <p> + “You mean after they come out in society?” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose so.” + </p> + <p> + She seemed to reflect. “I don’t know that it is very differently occupied. + Of course, they have their own amusements; they have their dances, and + little clubs, and their sewing-societies. I suppose that even an Altrurian + would applaud their sewing for the poor?” Mrs. Makely asked, rather + satirically. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he answered; and then he asked: “Isn’t it taking work away from + some needy seamstress, though? But I suppose you excuse it to the + thoughtlessness of youth.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Makely did not say, and he went on: “What I find it so hard to + understand is how you ladies can endure a life of mere nervous exertion, + such as you have been describing to me. I don’t see how you keep well.” + </p> + <p> + “We <i>don’t</i> keep well,” said Mrs. Makely, with the greatest + amusement. “I don’t suppose that when you get above the working classes, + till you reach the very rich, you would find a perfectly well woman in + America.” + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t that rather extreme?” I ventured to ask. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Mrs. Makely, “it’s shamefully moderate,” and she seemed to + delight in having made out such a bad case for her sex. You can’t stop a + woman of that kind when she gets started; I had better left it alone. + </p> + <p> + “But,” said the Altrurian, “if you are forbidden by motives of humanity + from doing any sort of manual labor, which you must leave to those who + live by it, I suppose you take some sort of exercise?” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Mrs. Makely, shaking her head gayly, “we prefer to take + medicine.” + </p> + <p> + “You must approve of that,” I said to the Altrurian, “as you consider + exercise for its own sake insane or immoral. But, Mrs. Makely,” I + entreated, “you’re giving me away at a tremendous rate. I have just been + telling Mr. Homos that you ladies go in for athletics so much now in your + summer outings that there is danger of your becoming physically as well as + intellectually superior to us poor fellows. Don’t take that consolation + from me.” + </p> + <p> + “I won’t, altogether,” she said. “I couldn’t have the heart to, after the + pretty way you’ve put it. I don’t call it very athletic, sitting around on + hotel piazzas all summer long, as nineteen-twentieths of us do. But I + don’t deny that there is a Remnant, as Matthew Arnold calls them, who do + go in for tennis and boating and bathing and tramping and climbing.” She + paused, and then she concluded, gleefully: “And you ought to see what + wrecks they get home in the fall!” + </p> + <p> + The joke was on me; I could not help laughing, though I felt rather + sheepish before the Altrurian. Fortunately, he did not pursue the inquiry; + his curiosity had been given a slant aside from it. + </p> + <p> + “But your ladies,” he asked, “they have the summer for rest, however they + use it. Do they generally leave town? I understood Mr. Twelvemough to say + so,” he added, with a deferential glance at me. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you may say it is the universal custom in the class that can afford + it,” said Mrs. Makely. She proceeded as if she felt a tacit censure in his + question. “It wouldn’t be the least use for us to stay and fry through our + summers in the city simply because our fathers and brothers had to. + Besides, we are worn out, at the end of the season, and they want us to + come away as much as we want to come.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, I have always heard that the Americans are beautiful in their + attitude toward women.” + </p> + <p> + “They are perfect dears,” said Mrs. Makely, “and here comes one of the + best of them.” + </p> + <p> + At that moment her husband came up and laid her shawl across her + shoulders. “Whose character is it you’re blasting?” he asked, jocosely. + </p> + <p> + “Where in the world did you find it?” she asked, meaning the shawl. + </p> + <p> + “It was where you left it—on the sofa, in the side parlor. I had to + take my life in my hand when I crossed among all those waltzers in there. + There must have been as many as three couples on the floor. Poor girls! I + pity them, off at these places. The fellows in town have a good deal + better time. They’ve got their clubs, and they’ve got the theatre, and + when the weather gets too much for them they can run off down to the shore + for the night. The places anywhere within an hour’s ride are full of + fellows. The girls don’t have to dance with one another there, or with + little boys. Of course, that’s all right if they like it better.” He + laughed at his wife, and winked at me, and smoked swiftly, in emphasis of + his irony. + </p> + <p> + “Then the young gentlemen whom the young ladies here usually meet in + society are all at work in the cities?” the Altrurian asked him, rather + needlessly, as I had already said so. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, those who are not out West, growing up with the country, except, of + course, the fellows who have inherited a fortune. They’re mostly off on + yachts.” + </p> + <p> + “But why do your young men go West to grow up with the country?” pursued + my friend. + </p> + <p> + “Because the East is <i>grown</i> up. They have got to hustle, and the + West is the place to hustle. To make money,” added Makely, in response to + a puzzled glance of the Altrurian. + </p> + <p> + “Sometimes,” said his wife, “I almost hate the name of money.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, so long as you don’t hate the thing, Peggy.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, we must have it, I suppose,” she sighed. “They used to say about the + girls who grew into old maids just after the Rebellion that they had lost + their chance in the war for the Union. I think quite as many lose their + chance now in the war for the dollar.” + </p> + <p> + “Mars hath slain his thousands, but Mammon hath slain his tens of + thousands,” I suggested, lightly; we all like to recognize the facts, so + long as we are not expected to do anything about them; then, we deny them. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, quite as bad as that,” said Mrs. Makely. + </p> + <p> + “Well, my dear, you are expensive, you know,” said her husband, “and if we + want to have you—why, we’ve got to hustle first.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don’t blame you, you poor things! There’s nothing to be done about + it; it’s just got to go on and on; I don’t see how it’s ever to end.” + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian had been following us with that air of polite mystification + which I had begun to dread in him. “Then, in your good society you + postpone, and even forego, the happiness of life in the struggle to be + rich?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you see,” said Makely, “a fellow don’t like to ask a girl to share + a home that isn’t as nice as the home she has left.” + </p> + <p> + “Sometimes,” his wife put in, rather sadly, “I think that it’s all a + mistake, and that we’d be willing to share the privations of the man we + loved.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Makely, with a laugh, “we wouldn’t like to risk it.” + </p> + <p> + I laughed with him, but his wife did not, and in the silence that ensued + there was nothing to prevent the Altrurian from coming in with another of + his questions: “How far does this state of things extend downward? Does it + include the working classes, too?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no!” we all answered together, and Mrs. Makely said: “With your + Altrurian ideas, I suppose you would naturally sympathize a great deal + more with the lower classes, and think they had to endure all the + hardships in our system; but if you could realize how the struggle goes on + in the best society, and how we all have to fight for what we get, or + don’t get, you would be disposed to pity our upper classes, too.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure I should,” said the Altrurian. + </p> + <p> + Makely remarked: “I used to hear my father say that slavery was harder on + the whites than it was on the blacks, and that he wanted it done away with + for the sake of the masters.” + </p> + <p> + Makely rather faltered in conclusion, as if he were not quite satisfied + with his remark, and I distinctly felt a want of proportion in it; but I + did not wish to say anything. His wife had no reluctance. + </p> + <p> + “Well, there’s no comparison between the two things, but the struggle + certainly doesn’t affect the working classes as it does us. They go on + marrying and giving in marriage in the old way. They have nothing to lose, + and so they can afford it.” + </p> + <p> + “Blessed am dem what don’t expect nuffin! Oh, I tell you, it’s a + working-man’s country,” said Makely, through his cigar-smoke. “You ought + to see them in town, these summer nights, in the parks and squares and + cheap theatres. Their girls are not off for their health, anywhere, and + their fellows are not off growing up with the country. Their day’s work is + over, and they’re going in for a good time. And, then, walk through the + streets where they live, and see them out on the stoops with their wives + and children! I tell you, it’s enough to make a fellow wish he was poor + himself.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Mrs. Makely, “it’s astonishing how strong and well those women + keep, with their great families and their hard work. Sometimes I really + envy them.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you suppose,” said the Altrurian, “that they are aware of the + sacrifices which the ladies of the upper classes make in leaving all the + work to them, and suffering from the nervous debility which seems to be + the outcome of your society life?” + </p> + <p> + “They have not the remotest idea of it. They have no conception of what a + society woman goes through with. They think we do nothing. They envy us, + too, and sometimes they’re so ungrateful and indifferent, if you try to + help them, or get on terms with them, that I believe they hate us.” + </p> + <p> + “But that comes from ignorance?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, though I don’t know that they are really any more ignorant of us + than we are of them. It’s the other half on both sides.” + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t that a pity, rather?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course it’s a pity, but what can you do? You can’t know what people + are like unless you live like them, and then the question is whether the + game is worth the candle. I should like to know how you manage in + Altruria.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, we have solved the problem in the only way, as you say, that it can + be solved. We all live alike.” + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t that a little, just a very trifling little bit, monotonous?” Mrs. + Makely asked, with a smile. “But there is everything, of course, in being + used to it. To an unregenerate spirit—like mine, for example—it + seems intolerable.” + </p> + <p> + “But why? When you were younger, before you were married, you all lived at + home together—or, perhaps, you were an only child?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no indeed! There were ten of us.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you all lived alike, and shared equally?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but we were a family.” + </p> + <p> + “We do not conceive of the human race except as a family.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, excuse me, Mr. Homos, that is all nonsense. You cannot have the + family feeling without love, and it is impossible to love other people. + That talk about the neighbor, and all that, is all well enough—” She + stopped herself, as if she dimly remembered who began that talk, and then + went on: “Of course, I accept it as a matter of faith, and the spirit of + it, nobody denies that; but what I mean is, that you must have frightful + quarrels all the time.” She tried to look as if this were where she really + meant to bring up, and he took her on the ground she had chosen. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, we have quarrels. Hadn’t you at home?” + </p> + <p> + “We fought like little cats and dogs, at times.” + </p> + <p> + Makely and I burst into a laugh at her magnanimous frankness. The + Altrurian remained serious. “But, because you lived alike, you knew each + other, and so you easily made up your quarrels. It is quite as simple with + us, in our life as a human family.” + </p> + <p> + This notion of a human family seemed to amuse Mrs. Makely more and more; + she laughed and laughed again. “You must excuse me,” she panted, at last, + “but I cannot imagine it! No, it is too ludicrous. Just fancy the jars of + an ordinary family multiplied by the population of a whole continent! Why, + you must be in a perpetual squabble. You can’t have any peace of your + lives. It’s worse, far worse, than our way.” + </p> + <p> + “But, madam,” he began, “you are supposing our family to be made up of + people with all the antagonistic interests of your civilization. As a + matter of fact—” + </p> + <p> + “No, no! <i>I know human nature</i>, Mr. Homos!” She suddenly jumped up + and gave him her hand. “Good-night,” she said, sweetly, and as she drifted + off on her husband’s arm she looked back at us and nodded in gay triumph. + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian turned upon me with unabated interest. “And have you no + provision in your system for finally making the lower classes understand + the sufferings and sacrifices of the upper classes in their behalf? Do you + expect to do nothing to bring them together in mutual kindness?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, not this evening,” I said, throwing the end of my cigar away. “I’m + going to bed—aren’t you?” + </p> + <p> + “Not yet.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, good-night. Are you sure you can find your room?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes. Good-night.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VI + </h2> + <p> + I left my guest abruptly, with a feeling of vexation not very easily + definable. His repetition of questions about questions which society has + so often answered, and always in the same way, was not so bad in him as it + would have been in a person of our civilization; he represented a wholly + different state of things, the inversion of our own, and much could be + forgiven him for that reason, just as in Russia much could be forgiven to + an American if he formulated his curiosity concerning imperialism from a + purely republican experience. I knew that in Altruria, for instance, the + possession of great gifts, of any kind of superiority, involved the sense + of obligation to others, and the wish to identify one’s self with the + great mass of men, rather than the ambition to distinguish one’s self from + them; and that the Altrurians honored their gifted men in the measure they + did this. A man reared in such a civilization must naturally find it + difficult to get our point of view; with social inclusion as the ideal, he + would with difficulty conceive of our ideal of social exclusion; but I + think we had all been very patient with him; we should have made short + work with an American who had approached us with the same inquiries. Even + from a foreigner, the citizen of a republic founded on the notion, + elsewhere exploded ever since Cain, that one is his brother’s keeper, the + things he asked seemed inoffensive only because they were puerile; but + they certainly were puerile. I felt that it ought to have been + self-evident to him that when a commonwealth of sixty million Americans + based itself upon the great principle of self-seeking, self-seeking was + the best thing, and, whatever hardship it seemed to work, it must carry + with it unseen blessings in tenfold measure. If a few hundred thousand + favored Americans enjoyed the privilege of socially contemning all the + rest, it was as clearly right and just that they should do so as that four + thousand American millionaires should be richer than all the other + Americans put together. Such a status, growing out of our political + equality and our material prosperity, must evince a divine purpose to any + one intimate with the designs of Providence, and it seemed a kind of + impiety to doubt its perfection. I excused the misgivings which I could + not help seeing in the Altrurian to his alien traditions, and I was aware + that my friends had done so, too. But, if I could judge from myself, he + must have left them all sensible of their effort; and this was not + pleasant. I could not blink the fact that although I had openly disagreed + with him on every point of ethics and economics, I was still responsible + for him as a guest. It was as if an English gentleman had introduced a + blatant American Democrat into Tory society; or, rather, as if a + Southerner of the olden time had harbored a Northern Abolitionist and + permitted him to inquire into the workings of slavery among his neighbors. + People would tolerate him as my guest for a time, but there must be an end + of their patience with the tacit enmity of his sentiments and the explicit + vulgarity of his ideals, and when the end came I must be attainted with + him. + </p> + <p> + I did not like the notion of this, and I meant to escape it if I could. I + confess that I would have willingly disowned him, as I had already + disavowed his opinions, but there was no way of doing it short of telling + him to go away, and I was not ready to do that. Something in the man, I do + not know what, mysteriously appealed to me. He was not contemptibly + puerile without being lovably childlike, and I could only make up my mind + to be more and more frank with him and to try and shield him, as well as + myself, from the effects I dreaded. + </p> + <p> + I fell asleep planning an excursion farther into the mountains, which + should take up the rest of the week that I expected him to stay with me, + and would keep him from following up his studies of American life where + they would be so injurious to both of us as they must in our hotel. A + knock at my door roused me, and I sent a drowsy “Come in!” toward it from + the bedclothes without looking that way. + </p> + <p> + “Good-morning!” came back in the rich, gentle voice of the Altrurian. I + lifted my head with a jerk from the pillow, and saw him standing against + the closed door, with my shoes in his hand. “Oh, I am sorry I waked you. I + thought—” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all, not at all,” I said. “It’s quite time, I dare say. But you + oughtn’t to have taken the trouble to bring my shoes in.” + </p> + <p> + “I wasn’t altogether disinterested in it,” he returned. “I wished you to + compliment me on them. Don’t you think they are pretty well done, for an + amateur?” He came toward my bed, and turned them about in his hands, so + that they would catch the light, and smiled down upon me. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t understand,” I began. + </p> + <p> + “Why,” he said, “I blacked them, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “You blacked them?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he returned, easily. “I thought I would go into the baggage-room, + after we parted last night, to look for a piece of mine that had not been + taken to my room, and I found the porter there, with his wrist bound up. + He said he had strained it in handling a lady’s Saratoga—he said a + Saratoga was a large trunk—and I begged him to let me relieve him at + the boots he was blacking. He refused at first, but I insisted upon trying + my hand at a pair, and then he let me go on with the men’s boots; he said + he could varnish the ladies’ without hurting his wrist. It needed less + skill than I supposed, and after I had done a few pairs he said I could + black boots as well as he.” + </p> + <p> + “Did anybody see you?” I gasped, and I felt a cold perspiration break out + on me. + </p> + <p> + “No, we had the whole midnight hour to ourselves. The porter’s work with + the baggage was all over, and there was nothing to interrupt the + delightful chat we fell into. He is a very intelligent man, and he told me + all about that custom of feeing which you deprecate. He says that the + servants hate it as much as the guests; they have to take the tips now + because the landlords figure on them in the wages, and they cannot live + without them. He is a fine, manly fellow, and—” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Homos,” I broke in, with the strength I found in his assurance that + no one had seen him helping the porter black boots, “I want to speak very + seriously with you, and I hope you will not be hurt if I speak very + plainly about a matter in which I have your good solely at heart.” This + was not quite true, and I winced inwardly a little when he thanked me with + that confounded sincerity of his which was so much like irony; but I went + on: “It is my duty to you, as my guest, to tell you that this thing of + doing for others is not such a simple matter here, as your peculiar + training leads you to think. You have been deceived by a superficial + likeness; but, really, I do not understand how you could have read all you + have done about us and not realize before coming here that America and + Altruria are absolutely distinct and diverse in their actuating + principles. They are both republics, I know; but America is a republic + where every man is for himself, and you cannot help others as you do at + home; it is dangerous—it is ridiculous. You must keep this fact in + mind, or you will fall into errors that will be very embarrassing to you + in your stay among us, and,” I was forced to add, “to all your friends. + Now, I certainly hoped, after what I had said to you and what my friends + had explained of our civilization, that you would not have done a thing of + this kind. I will see the porter, as soon as I am up, and ask him not to + mention the matter to any one, but, I confess, I don’t like to take an + apologetic tone with him; your conditions are so alien to ours that they + will seem incredible to him, and he will think I am stuffing him.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t believe he will think that,” said the Altrurian, “and I hope you + won’t find the case so bad as it seems to you. I am extremely sorry to + have done wrong—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, the thing wasn’t wrong in itself. It was only wrong under the + circumstances. Abstractly, it is quite right to help a fellow-being who + needs help; no one denies that, even in a country where every one is for + himself.” + </p> + <p> + “I am so glad to hear it,” said the Altrurian. “Then, at least, I have not + gone radically astray; and I do not think you need take the trouble to + explain the Altrurian ideas to the porter. I have done that already, and + they seemed quite conceivable to him; he said that poor folks had to act + upon them, even here, more or less, and that if they did not act upon them + there would be no chance for them at all. He says they have to help one + another very much as we do at home, and that it is only the rich folks + among you who are independent. I really don’t think you need speak to him + at all, unless you wish; and I was very careful to guard my offer of help + at the point where I understood from you and your friends that it might do + harm. I asked him if there was not some one who would help him out with + his boot-blacking for money, because in that case I should be glad to pay + him; but he said there was no one about who would take the job; that he + had to agree to black the boots, or else he would not have got the place + of porter, but that all the rest of the help would consider it a disgrace, + and would not help him for love or money. So it seemed quite safe to offer + him my services.” + </p> + <p> + I felt that the matter was almost hopeless, but I asked: “And what he said—didn’t + that suggest anything else to you?” + </p> + <p> + “How anything else?” asked the Altrurian, in his turn. + </p> + <p> + “Didn’t it occur to you that if none of his fellow-servants were willing + to help him black boots, and if he did it only because he was obliged to, + it was hardly the sort of work for you?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, no,” said the Altrurian, with absolute simplicity. He must have + perceived the despair I fell into at this answer, for he asked: “Why + should I have minded doing for others what I should have been willing to + do for myself?” + </p> + <p> + “There are a great many things we are willing to do for ourselves that we + are not willing to do for others. But even on that principle, which I + think false and illogical, you could not be justified. A gentleman is not + willing to black <i>his own</i> boots. It is offensive to his feelings, to + his self-respect; it is something he will not do if he can get anybody + else to do it for him.” + </p> + <p> + “Then in America,” said the Altrurian, “it is not offensive to the + feelings of a gentleman to let another do for him what he would not do for + himself?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” he returned, “then we understand something altogether different by + the word gentleman in Altruria. I see, now, how I have committed a + mistake. I shall be more careful hereafter.” + </p> + <p> + I thought I had better leave the subject, and, “By-the-way,” I said, “how + would you like to take a little tramp with me to-day farther up into the + mountains?” + </p> + <p> + “I should be delighted,” said the Altrurian, so gratefully that I was + ashamed to think why I was proposing the pleasure to him. + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, I shall be ready to start as soon as we have had breakfast. I + will join you down-stairs in half an hour.” + </p> + <p> + He left me at this hint, though really I was half afraid he might stay and + offer to lend me a hand at my toilet, in the expression of his national + character. I found him with Mrs. Makely, when I went down, and she began, + with a parenthetical tribute to the beauty of the mountains in the morning + light: “Don’t be surprised to see me up at this unnatural hour. I don’t + know whether it was the excitement of our talk last night, or what it was, + but my sulphonal wouldn’t act, though I took fifteen grains, and I was up + with the lark, or should have been, if there had been any lark outside of + literature to be up with. However, this air is so glorious that I don’t + mind losing a night’s sleep now and then. I believe that with a little + practice one could get along without any sleep at all here; at least, <i>I</i> + could. I’m sorry to say poor Mr. Makely <i>can’t</i>, apparently. He’s + making up for his share of my vigils, and I’m going to breakfast without + him. Do you know, I’ve done a very bold thing: I’ve got the head-waiter to + give you places at our table; I know you’ll hate it, Mr. Twelvemough, + because you naturally want to keep Mr. Homos to yourself, and I don’t + blame you at all; but I’m simply not going to <i>let</i> you, and that’s + all there is about it.” + </p> + <p> + The pleasure I felt at this announcement was not unmixed, but I tried to + keep Mrs. Makely from thinking so, and I was immensely relieved when she + found a chance to say to me, in a low voice: “I know just how you’re + feeling, Mr. Twelvemough, and I’m going to help you keep him from doing + anything ridiculous, if I can. I <i>like</i> him, and I think it’s a + perfect shame to have people laughing at him. I know we can manage him + between us.” + </p> + <p> + We so far failed, however, that the Altrurian shook hands with the + head-waiter when he pressed open the wire-netting door to let us into the + dining-room, and made a bow to our waitress of the sort one makes to a + lady. But we thought it best to ignore these little errors of his and + reserve our moral strength for anything more spectacular. Fortunately we + got through our breakfast with nothing worse than his jumping up and + stooping to hand the waitress a spoon she let fall; but this could easily + pass for some attention to Mrs. Makely at a little distance. There were + not many people down to breakfast yet; but I could see that there was a + good deal of subdued sensation among the waitresses, standing with folded + arms behind their tables, and that the head-waiter’s handsome face was red + with anxiety. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Makely asked if we were going to church. She said she was driving + that way, and would be glad to drop us. “I’m not going myself,” she + explained, “because I couldn’t make anything of the sermon, with my head + in the state it is, and I’m going to compromise on a good action. I want + to carry some books and papers over to Mrs. Camp. Don’t you think that + will be quite as acceptable, Mr. Homos?” + </p> + <p> + “I should venture to hope it,” he said, with a tolerant seriousness not + altogether out of keeping with her lightness. + </p> + <p> + “Who is Mrs. Camp?” I asked, not caring to commit myself on the question. + </p> + <p> + “Lizzie’s mother. You know I told you about them last night. I think she + must have got through the books I lent her, and I know Lizzie didn’t like + to ask me for more, because she saw me talking with you, and didn’t want + to interrupt us. Such a nice girl! I think the Sunday papers must have + come, and I’ll take them over, too; Mrs. Camp is always so glad to get + them, and she is so delightful when she gets going about public events. + But perhaps you don’t approve of Sunday papers, Mr. Homos.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m sure I don’t know, madam. I haven’t seen them yet. You know this is + the first Sunday I’ve been in America.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I’m sorry to say you won’t see the old Puritan Sabbath,” said Mrs. + Makely, with an abrupt deflection from the question of the Sunday papers. + “Though you ought to, up in these hills. The only thing left of it is + rye-and-Indian bread, and these baked beans and fish-balls.” + </p> + <p> + “But they are very good?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I dare say they are not the worst of it.” + </p> + <p> + She was a woman who tended to levity, and I was a little afraid she might + be going to say something irreverent; but, if she were, she was + forestalled by the Altrurian asking: “Would it be very indiscreet, madam, + if I were to ask you some time to introduce me to that family?” + </p> + <p> + “The Camps?” she returned. “Not at all. I should be perfectly delighted.” + The thought seemed to strike her, and she asked: “Why not go with me this + morning, unless you are inflexibly bent on going to church, you and Mr. + Twelvemough?” + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian glanced at me, and I said I should be only too glad, if I + could carry some books, so that I could compromise on a good action, too. + “Take one of your own,” she instantly suggested. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think they wouldn’t be too severe upon it?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Mrs. Camp might,” Mrs. Makely consented, with a smile. “She goes in + for rather serious fiction; but I think Lizzie would enjoy a good, + old-fashioned love-story, where everybody got married, as they do in your + charming books.” + </p> + <p> + I winced a little, for every one likes to be regarded seriously, and I did + not enjoy being remanded to the young-girl public; but I put a bold face + on it, and said: “My good action shall be done in behalf of Miss Lizzie.” + </p> + <p> + Half an hour later, Mrs. Makely having left word with the clerk where we + were gone, so that her husband need not be alarmed when he got up, we were + striking into the hills on a two-seated buckboard, with one of the best + teams of our hotel, and one of the most taciturn drivers. Mrs. Makely had + the Altrurian get into the back seat with her, and, after some attempts to + make talk with the driver, I leaned over and joined in their talk. The + Altrurian was greatly interested, not so much in the landscape—though + he owned its beauty when we cried out over it from point to point—but + in the human incidents and features. He noticed the cattle in the fields, + and the horses we met on the road, and the taste and comfort of the + buildings, the variety of the crops, and the promise of the harvest. I was + glad of the respite his questions gave me from the study of the intimate + character of our civilization, for they were directed now at these more + material facts, and I willingly joined Mrs. Makely in answering them. We + explained that the finest teams we met were from the different hotels or + boarding-houses, or at least from the farms where the people took city + people to board; and that certain shabby equipages belonged to the natives + who lived solely by cultivating the soil. There was not very much of the + soil cultivated, for the chief crop was hay, with here and there a patch + of potatoes or beans, and a few acres in sweet-corn. The houses of the + natives, when they were for their use only, were no better than their + turnouts; it was where the city boarder had found shelter that they were + modern and pleasant. Now and then we came to a deserted homestead, and I + tried to make the Altrurian understand how farming in New England had + yielded to the competition of the immense agricultural operations of the + West. “You know,” I said, “that agriculture is really an operation out + there, as much as coal-mining is in Pennsylvania, or finance in Wall + Street; you have no idea of the vastness of the scale.” Perhaps I swelled + a little with pride in my celebration of the national prosperity, as it + flowed from our Western farms of five and ten and twenty thousand acres; I + could not very well help putting on the pedal in these passages. Mrs. + Makely listened almost, as eagerly, as the Altrurian, for, as a cultivated + American woman, she was necessarily quite ignorant of her own country, + geographically, politically, and historically. “The only people left in + the hill country of New England,” I concluded, “are those who are too old + or too lazy to get away. Any young man of energy would be ashamed to stay, + unless he wanted to keep a boarding-house or live on the city vacationists + in summer. If he doesn’t, he goes West and takes up some of the new land, + and comes back in middle-life and buys a deserted farm to spend his + summers on.” + </p> + <p> + “Dear me!” said the Altrurian. “Is it so simple as that? Then we can + hardly wonder at their owners leaving these worn-out farms; though I + suppose it must be with the pang of exile, sometimes.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I fancy there isn’t much sentiment involved,” I answered, lightly. + </p> + <p> + “Whoa!” said Mrs. Makely, speaking to the horses before she spoke to the + driver, as some women will. He pulled them up, and looked round at her. + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t that Reuben Camp, <i>now</i>, over there by that house?” she asked, + as if we had been talking of him; that is another way some women have. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, ma’am,” said the driver. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well, then!” and “Reuben!” she called to the young man, who was + prowling about the door-yard of a sad-colored old farm-house, and peering + into a window here and there. “Come here a moment—won’t you, + please?” + </p> + <p> + He lifted his head and looked round, and, when he had located the appeal + made to him, he came down the walk to the gate and leaned over it, waiting + for further instructions. I saw that it was the young man whom we had + noticed with the girl Mrs. Makely called Lizzie on the hotel piazza the + night before. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know whether I should find Lizzie at home this morning?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, she’s there with mother,” said the young fellow, with neither liking + nor disliking in his tone. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I’m so glad!” said the lady. “I didn’t know but she might be at + church. What in the world has happened here? Is there anything unusual + going on inside?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I was just looking to see if it was all right. The folks wanted I + should come round.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, where are they?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, they’re gone.” + </p> + <p> + “Gone?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; gone West. They’ve left the old place, because they couldn’t make a + living here any longer.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, this is quite a case in point,” I said. “Now, Mr. Homos, here is a + chance to inform yourself at first hand about a very interesting fact of + our civilization”; and I added, in a low voice, to Mrs. Makely: “Won’t you + introduce us?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes. Mr. Camp, this is Mr. Twelvemough, the author—you know his + books, of course; and Mr. Homos, a gentleman from Altruria.” + </p> + <p> + The young fellow opened the gate he leaned on and came out to us. He took + no notice of me, but he seized the Altrurian’s hand and wrung it. “I’ve + heard of <i>you</i>” he said. “Mrs. Makely, were you going to our place?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes.” + </p> + <p> + “So do, then. Mother would give almost anything to see Mr. Homos. We’ve + heard of Altruria, over our way,” he added to our friend. “Mother’s been + reading up all she can about it. She’ll want to talk with you, and she + won’t give the rest of us much of a chance, I guess.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I shall be glad to see her,” said the Altrurian, “and to tell her + everything I can. But won’t you explain to me first something about your + deserted farms here? It’s quite a new thing to me.” + </p> + <p> + “It isn’t a new thing to us,” said the young fellow, with a short laugh. + “And there isn’t much to explain about it. You’ll see them all through New + England. When a man finds he can’t get his funeral expenses out of the + land, he don’t feel like staying to be buried in it, and he pulls up and + goes.” + </p> + <p> + “But people used to get their living expenses here,” I suggested. “Why + can’t they now?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, they didn’t use to have Western prices to fight with; and then the + land wasn’t worn out so, and the taxes were not so heavy. How would you + like to pay twenty to thirty dollars on the thousand, and assessed up to + the last notch, in the city?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, what in the world makes your taxes so heavy?” + </p> + <p> + “Schools and roads. We’ve got to have schools, and you city folks want + good roads when you come here in the summer, don’t you? Then the season is + short, and sometimes we can’t make a crop. The frost catches the corn in + the field, and you have your trouble for your pains. Potatoes are the only + thing we can count on, except grass, and, when everybody raises potatoes, + you know where the price goes.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but now, Mr. Camp,” said Mrs. Makely, leaning over toward him, and + speaking in a cosey and coaxing tone, as if he must not really keep the + truth from an old friend like her, “isn’t it a good deal because the + farmers’ daughters want pianos, and the farmers’ sons want buggies? I + heard Professor Lumen saying, the other day, that, if the farmers were + willing to work as they used to work, they could still get a good living + off their farms, and that they gave up their places because they were too + lazy, in many cases, to farm them properly.” + </p> + <p> + “He’d better not let <i>me</i> hear him saying that,” said the young + fellow, while a hot flush passed over his face. He added, bitterly: “If he + wants to see how easy it is to make a living up here, he can take this + place and try for a year or two; he can get it cheap. But I guess he + wouldn’t want it the year round; he’d only want it a few months in the + summer, when he could enjoy the sightliness of it, and see me working over + there on my farm, while he smoked on his front porch.” He turned round and + looked at the old house in silence a moment. Then, as he went on, his + voice lost its angry ring. “The folks here bought this place from the + Indians, and they’d been here more than two hundred years. Do you think + they left it because they were too lazy to run it, or couldn’t get pianos + and buggies out of it, or were such fools as not to know whether they were + well off? It was their <i>home</i>; they were born and lived and died + here. There is the family burying-ground over there.” + </p> + <p> + Neither Mrs. Makely nor myself was ready with a reply, and we left the + word with the Altrurian, who suggested: “Still, I suppose they will be + more prosperous in the West on the new land they take up?” + </p> + <p> + The young fellow leaned his arms on the wheel by which he stood. “What do + you mean by taking up new land?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, out of the public domain—” + </p> + <p> + “There <i>ain’t</i> any public domain that’s worth having. All the good + land is in the hands of railroads and farm syndicates and speculators; and + if you want a farm in the West you’ve got to buy it; the East is the only + place where folks give them away, because they ain’t worth keeping. If you + haven’t got the ready money, you can buy one on credit, and pay ten, + twenty, and thirty per cent. interest, and live in a dugout on the plains—till + your mortgage matures.” The young man took his arms from the wheel and + moved a few steps backward, as he added: “I’ll see you over at the house + later.” + </p> + <p> + The driver touched his horses, and we started briskly off again. But I + confess I had quite enough of his pessimism, and as we drove away I leaned + back toward the Altrurian and said: “Now, it is all perfect nonsense to + pretend that things are at that pass with us. There are more millionaires + in America, probably, than there are in all the other civilized countries + of the globe, and it is not possible that the farming population should be + in such a hopeless condition. All wealth comes out of the earth, and you + may be sure they get their full share of it.” + </p> + <p> + “I am glad to hear you say so,” said the Altrurian. “What is the meaning + of this new party in the West that seems to have held a convention lately? + I read something of it in the train yesterday.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that is a lot of crazy Hayseeds, who don’t want to pay back the money + they have borrowed, or who find themselves unable to meet their interest. + It will soon blow over. We are always having these political flurries. A + good crop will make it all right with them.” + </p> + <p> + “But is it true that they have to pay such rates of interest as our young + friend mentioned?” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” I said, seeing the thing in the humorous light which softens for + us Americans so many of the hardships of others, “I suppose that man likes + to squeeze his brother man when he gets him in his grip. That’s human + nature, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it?” asked the Altrurian. + </p> + <p> + It seemed to me that he had asked something like that before when I + alleged human nature in defence of some piece of every-day selfishness. + But I thought best not to notice it, and I went on: “The land is so rich + out there that a farm will often pay for itself with a single crop.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it possible?” cried the Altrurian. “Then I suppose it seldom really + happens that a mortgage is foreclosed, in the way our young friend + insinuated?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I can’t say that exactly”; and, having admitted so much, I did not + feel bound to impart a fact that popped perversely into my mind. I was + once talking with a Western money-lender, a very good sort of fellow, + frank and open as the day; I asked him whether the farmers generally paid + off their mortgages, and he answered me that if the mortgage was to the + value of a fourth of the land, the farmer might pay it off, but if it were + to a half, or a third even, he never paid it, but slaved on and died in + his debts. “You may be sure, however,” I concluded, “that our young friend + takes a jaundiced view of the situation.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, really,” said Mrs. Makely, “I must insist upon dropping this + everlasting talk about money. I think it is perfectly disgusting, and I + believe it was Mr. Makely’s account of his speculations that kept me awake + last night. My brain got running on figures till the dark seemed to be all + sown with dollar-marks, like the stars in the Milky Way. I—ugh! What + in the world is it? Oh, you dreadful little things!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Makely passed swiftly from terror to hysterical laughter as the + driver pulled up short and a group of barefooted children broke in front + of his horses and scuttled out of the dust into the road-side bushes like + a covey of quails. There seemed to be a dozen of them, nearly all the same + in size, but there turned out to be only five or six; or at least no more + showed their gleaming eyes and teeth through the underbrush in quiet + enjoyment of the lady’s alarm. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you know that you might have got killed?” she demanded, with that + severity good women feel for people who have just escaped with their + lives. “How lovely the dirty little dears are!” she added, in the next + wave of emotion. One bold fellow of six showed a half-length above the + bushes, and she asked: “Don’t you know that you oughtn’t to play in the + road when there are so many teams passing? Are all those your brothers and + sisters?” + </p> + <p> + He ignored the first question. “One’s my cousin.” I pulled out a + half-dozen coppers, and held my hand toward him. “See if there is one for + each.” They had no difficulty in solving the simple mathematical problem + except the smallest girl, who cried for fear and baffled longing. I tossed + the coin to her, and a little fat dog darted out at her feet and caught it + up in his mouth. “Oh, good gracious!” I called out in my light, humorous + way. “Do you suppose he’s going to spend it for candy?” The little people + thought that a famous joke, and they laughed with the gratitude that even + small favors inspire. “Bring your sister here,” I said to the boldest boy, + and, when he came up with the little woman, I put another copper into her + hand. “Look out that the greedy dog doesn’t get it,” I said, and my gayety + met with fresh applause. “Where do you live?” I asked, with some vague + purpose of showing the Altrurian the kindliness that exists between our + upper and lower classes. + </p> + <p> + “Over there,” said the boy. I followed the twist of his head, and glimpsed + a wooden cottage on the border of the forest, so very new that the + sheathing had not yet been covered with clapboards. I stood up in the + buckboard and saw that it was a story and a half high, and could have had + four or five rooms in it. The bare, curtainless windows were set in the + unpainted frames, but the front door seemed not to be hung yet. The people + meant to winter there, however, for the sod was banked up against the + wooden underpinning; a stovepipe stuck out of the roof of a little wing + behind. While I gazed a young-looking woman came to the door, as if she + had been drawn by our talk with the children, and then she jumped down + from the threshold, which still wanted a doorstep, and came slowly out to + us. The children ran to her with their coppers, and then followed her back + to us. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Makely called to her before she reached us: “I hope you weren’t + frightened. We didn’t drive over any of them.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I wasn’t frightened,” said the young woman. “It’s a very safe place + to bring up children, in the country, and I never feel uneasy about them.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, if they are not under the horses’ feet,” said Mrs. Makely, mingling + instruction and amusement very judiciously in her reply. “Are they all + yours?” + </p> + <p> + “Only five,” said the mother, and she pointed to the alien in her flock. + “He’s my sister’s. She lives just below here.” Her children had grouped + themselves about her, and she kept passing her hands caressingly over + their little heads as she talked. “My sister has nine children, but she + has the rest at church with her to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t speak like an American,” Mrs. Makely suggested. + </p> + <p> + “No, we’re English. Our husbands work in the quarry. That’s <i>my</i> + little palace.” The woman nodded her head toward the cottage. + </p> + <p> + “It’s going to be very nice,” said Mrs. Makely, with an evident perception + of her pride in it. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, if we ever get money to finish it. Thank you for the children.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it was this gentleman.” Mrs. Makely indicated me, and I bore the + merit of my good action as modestly as I could. + </p> + <p> + “Then thank <i>you</i>, sir,” said the young woman, and she asked Mrs. + Makely: “You’re not living about here, ma’am?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no, we’re staying at the hotel.” + </p> + <p> + “At the hotel! It must be very dear, there.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it is expensive,” said Mrs. Makely, with a note of that satisfaction + in her voice which we all feel in spending a great deal of money. + </p> + <p> + “But I suppose you can afford it,” said the woman, whose eye was running + hungrily over Mrs. Makely’s pretty costume. “Some are poor, and some are + rich. That’s the way the world has to be made up, isn’t it?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Mrs. Makely, very dryly, and the talk languished from this + point, so that the driver felt warranted in starting up his horses. When + we had driven beyond earshot she said: “I knew she was not an American, as + soon as she spoke, by her accent, and then those foreigners have no + self-respect. That was a pretty bold bid for a contribution to finish up + her ‘little palace’! I’m glad you didn’t give her anything, Mr. + Twelvemough. I was afraid your sympathies had been wrought upon.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, not at all,” I answered. “I saw the mischief I had done with the + children.” + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian, who has not asked anything for a long time, but had + listened with eager interest to all that passed, now came up smiling with + his question: “Will you kindly tell me what harm would have been done by + offering the woman a little money to help finish up her cottage?” + </p> + <p> + I did not allow Mrs. Makely to answer, I was so eager to air my political + economy. “The very greatest harm. It would have pauperized her. You have + no idea how quickly they give way to the poison of that sort of thing. As + soon as they get any sort of help they expect more; they count upon it, + and they begin to live upon it. The sight of those coppers which I gave + her children—more out of joke than charity—demoralized the + woman. She took us for rich people, and wanted us to build her a house. + You have to guard against every approach to a thing of that sort.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t believe,” said Mrs. Makely, “that an American would have hinted, + as she did.” + </p> + <p> + “‘No, an American would not have done that, I’m thankful to say. They take + fees, but they don’t ask charity, yet.” We went on to exult in the noble + independence of the American character in all classes, at some length. We + talked at the Altrurian, but he did not seem to hear us. At last he asked, + with a faint sigh: “Then, in your conditions, a kindly impulse to aid one + who needs your help is something to be guarded against as possibly + pernicious?” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly,” I said. “And now you see what difficulties beset us in dealing + with the problem of poverty. We cannot let people suffer, for that would + be cruel; and we cannot relieve their need without pauperizing them.” + </p> + <p> + “I see,” he answered. “It is a terrible quandary.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish,” said Mrs. Makely, “that you would tell us just how you manage + with the poor in Altruria.” + </p> + <p> + “We have none,” he replied. + </p> + <p> + “But the comparatively poor—you have some people who are richer than + others?” + </p> + <p> + “No. We should regard that as the worst incivism.” + </p> + <p> + “What is incivism?” + </p> + <p> + I interpreted, “Bad citizenship.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, if you will excuse me, Mr. Homos,” she said, “I think that is + simply impossible. There <i>must</i> be rich and there <i>must</i> be + poor. There always have been, and there always will be. That woman said it + as well as anybody. Didn’t Christ Himself say, ‘The poor ye have always + with you’?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VII + </h2> + <p> + The Altrurian looked at Mrs. Makely with an amazement visibly heightened + by the air of complacency she put on after delivering this poser: “Do you + really think Christ meant that you <i>ought</i> always to have the poor + with you?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Why, of course!” she answered, triumphantly. “How else are the sympathies + of the rich to be cultivated? The poverty of some and the wealth of + others, isn’t that what forms the great tie of human brotherhood? If we + were all comfortable, or all shared alike, there could not be anything + like charity, and Paul said, ‘The greatest of these is charity.’ I believe + it’s ‘love’ in the new version, but it comes to the same thing.” + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian gave a kind of gasp, and then lapsed into a silence that + lasted until we came in sight of the Camp farm-house. It stood on the + crest of a road-side upland, and looked down the beautiful valley, bathed + in Sabbath sunlight, and away to the ranges of hills, so far that it was + hard to say whether it was sun or shadow that dimmed their distance. + Decidedly, the place was what the country people call sightly. The old + house, once painted a Brandon red, crouched low to the ground, with its + lean-to in the rear, and its flat-arched wood-sheds and wagon-houses + stretching away at the side of the barn, and covering the approach to it + with an unbroken roof. There were flowers in the beds along the + underpinning of the house, which stood close to the street, and on one + side of the door was a clump of Spanish willow; an old-fashioned June rose + climbed over it from the other. An aged dog got stiffly to his feet from + the threshold stone and whimpered as our buckboard drew up; the poultry + picking about the path and among the chips lazily made way for us, and as + our wheels ceased to crunch upon the gravel we heard hasty steps, and + Reuben Camp came round the corner of the house in time to give Mrs. Makely + his hand and help her spring to the ground, which she did very lightly; + her remarkable mind had kept her body in a sort of sympathetic activity, + and at thirty-five she had the gracile ease and self-command of a girl. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Reuben,” she sighed, permitting herself to call him by his first + name, with the emotion which expressed itself more definitely in the words + that followed, “how I envy you all this dear, old, homelike place! I never + come here without thinking of my grandfather’s farm in Massachusetts, + where I used to go every summer when I was a little girl. If I had a place + like this, I should never leave it.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Mrs. Makely,” said young Camp, “you can have this place cheap, if + you really want it. Or almost any other place in the neighborhood.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t say such a thing!” she returned. “It makes one feel as if the + foundations of the great deep were giving way. I don’t know what that + means exactly, but I suppose it’s equivalent to mislaying George’s hatchet + and going back on the Declaration generally; and I don’t like to hear you + talk so.” + </p> + <p> + Camp seemed to have lost his bitter mood, and he answered, pleasantly: + “The Declaration is all right, as far as it goes, but it don’t help us to + compete with the Western farm operations.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, you believe every one was born free and equal, don’t you?” Mrs. + Makely asked. + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes, I believe that; but—” + </p> + <p> + “Then why do you object to free and equal competition?” + </p> + <p> + The young fellow laughed, and said, as he opened the door for us: “Walk + right into the parlor, please. Mother will be ready for you in a minute.” + He added: “I guess she’s putting on her best cap for you, Mr. Homos. It’s + a great event for her, your coming here. It is for all of us. We’re glad + to have you.” + </p> + <p> + “And I’m glad to be here,” said the Altrurian, as simply as the other. He + looked about the best room of a farm-house that had never adapted itself + to the tastes or needs of the city boarder, and was as stiffly repellent + in its upholstery and as severe in its decoration as hair-cloth chairs and + dark-brown wall-paper of a trellis pattern, with drab roses, could make + it. The windows were shut tight, and our host did not offer to open them. + A fly or two crossed the doorway into the hall, but made no attempt to + penetrate the interior, where we sat in an obscurity that left the + high-hung family photographs on the walls vague and uncertain. I made a + mental note of it as a place where it would be very characteristic to have + a rustic funeral take place; and I was pleased to have Mrs. Makely drop + into a sort of mortuary murmur, as she said: “I hope your mother is as + well as usual this morning?” I perceived that this murmur was produced by + the sepulchral influence of the room. + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes,” said Camp, and at that moment a door opened from the room across + the hall, and his sister seemed to bring in some of the light from it to + us where we sat. She shook hands with Mrs. Makely, who introduced me to + her, and then presented the Altrurian. She bowed very civilly to me, but + with a touch of severity, such as country people find necessary for the + assertion of their self-respect with strangers. I thought it very pretty, + and instantly saw that I could work it into some picture of character; and + I was not at all sorry that she made a difference in favor of the + Altrurian. + </p> + <p> + “Mother will be so glad to see you,” she said to him, and, “Won’t you come + right in?” she added to us all. + </p> + <p> + We followed her and found ourselves in a large, low, sunny room on the + southeast corner of the house, which had no doubt once been the + living-room, but which was now given up to the bedridden invalid; a door + opened into the kitchen behind, where the table was already laid for the + midday meal, with the plates turned down in the country fashion, and some + netting drawn over the dishes to keep the flies away. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Makely bustled up to the bedside with her energetic, patronizing + cheerfulness. “Ah, Mrs. Camp, I am glad to see you looking so well this + morning. I’ve been meaning to run over for several days past, but I + couldn’t find a moment till this morning, and I knew you didn’t object to + Sunday visits.” She took the invalid’s hand in hers, and, with the air of + showing how little she felt any inequality between them, she leaned over + and kissed her, where Mrs. Camp sat propped against her pillows. She had a + large, nobly moulded face of rather masculine contour, and at the same + time the most motherly look in the world. Mrs. Makely bubbled and babbled + on, and every one waited patiently till she had done, and turned and said, + toward the Altrurian: “I have ventured to bring my friend, Mr. Homos, with + me. He is from Altruria.” Then she turned to me and said: “Mr. Twelvemough + you know already through his delightful books”; but, although she paid me + this perfunctory compliment it was perfectly apparent to me that in the + esteem of this disingenuous woman the distinguished stranger was a far + more important person than the distinguished author. Whether Mrs. Camp + read my perception of this fact in my face or not I cannot say, but she + was evidently determined that I should not feel a difference in her. She + held out her hand to me first, and said that I never could know how many + heavy hours I had helped to lighten for her, and then she turned to the + Altrurian and took his hand. “Oh!” she said, with a long, deep-drawn sigh, + as if that were the supreme moment of her life. “And are you really from + Altruria? It seems too good to be true!” Her devout look and her earnest + tone gave the commonplace words a quality that did not inhere in them, but + Mrs. Makely took them on their surface. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, doesn’t it?” she made haste to interpose, before the Altrurian could + say anything. “That is just the way we all feel about it, Mrs. Camp. I + assure you, if it were not for the accounts in the papers and the talk + about it everywhere, I couldn’t believe there <i>was</i> any such place as + Altruria; and if it were not for Mr. Twelvemough here—who has to + keep all his inventions for his novels, as a mere matter of business + routine—I might really suspect him and Mr. Homos of—well, <i>working</i> + us, as my husband calls it.” + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian smiled politely, but vaguely, as if he had not quite caught + her meaning, and I made answer for both: “I am sure, Mrs. Makely, if you + could understand my peculiar state of mind about Mr. Homos, you would + never believe that I was in collusion with him. I find him quite as + incredible as you do. There are moments when he seems so entirely + subjective with me that I feel as if he were no more definite or tangible + than a bad conscience.” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly!” said Mrs. Makely, and she laughed out her delight in my + illustration. + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian must have perceived that we were joking, though the Camps + all remained soberly silent. “I hope it isn’t so bad as that,” he said, + “though I have noticed that I seem to affect you all with a kind of + misgiving. I don’t know just what it is; but, if I could remove it, I + should be very glad to do so.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Makely very promptly seized her chance: “Well, then, in the first + place, my husband and I were talking it over last night after we left you, + and that was one of the things that kept us awake; it turned into money + afterward. It isn’t so much that a whole continent, as big as Australia, + remained undiscovered till within such a very few years, as it is the + condition of things among you: this sort of all living for one another, + and not each one for himself. My husband says that is simply moonshine; + such a thing never was and never can be; it is opposed to human nature, + and would take away incentive and all motive for exertion and advancement + and enterprise. I don’t know <i>what</i> he didn’t say against it; but one + thing, he says it’s perfectly un-American.” The Altrurian remained silent, + gravely smiling, and Mrs. Makely added, with her most engaging little + manner: “I hope you won’t feel hurt, personally or patriotically, by what + I’ve repeated to you. I know my husband is awfully Philistine, though he + <i>is</i> such a good fellow, and I don’t, by any means, agree with him on + all those points; but I <i>would</i> like to know what you think of them. + The trouble is, Mrs. Camp,” she said, turning to the invalid, “that Mr. + Homos is so dreadfully reticent about his own country, and I am so curious + to hear of it at first hands, that I consider it justifiable to use any + means to make him open up about it.” + </p> + <p> + “There is no offence,” the Altrurian answered for himself, “in what Mr. + Makely says, though, from the Altrurian point of view, there is a good + deal of error. + </p> + <p> + “Does it seem so strange to you,” he asked, addressing himself to Mrs. + Camp, “that people should found a civilization on the idea of living for + one another instead of each for himself?” + </p> + <p> + “No indeed!” she answered. “Poor people have always had to live that way, + or they could not have lived at all.” + </p> + <p> + “That was what I understood your porter to say last night,” said the + Altrurian to me. He added, to the company generally: “I suppose that even + in America there are more poor people than there are rich people?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don’t know about that,” I said. “I suppose there are more people + independently rich than there are people independently poor.” + </p> + <p> + “We will let that formulation of it stand. If it is true, I do not see why + the Altrurian system should be considered so very un-American. Then, as to + whether there is or ever was really a practical altruism, a civic + expression of it, I think it cannot be denied that among the first + Christians, those who immediately followed Christ, and might be supposed + to be directly influenced by His life, there was an altruism practised as + radical as that which we have organized into a national polity and a + working economy in Altruria.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, but you know,” said Mrs. Makely, with the air of advancing a point + not to be put aside, “they had to drop <i>that</i>. It was a dead failure. + They found that they couldn’t make it go at all among cultivated people, + and that, if Christianity was to advance, they would have to give up all + that crankish kind of idolatry of the mere letter. At any rate,” she went + on, with the satisfaction we all feel in getting an opponent into close + quarters, “you must confess that there is a much greater play of + individuality here.” + </p> + <p> + Before the Altrurian could reply, young Camp said: “If you want to see + American individuality, the real, simon-pure article, you ought to go down + to one of our big factory towns and look at the mill-hands coming home in + droves after a day’s work, young girls and old women, boys and men, all + fluffed over with cotton, and so dead tired that they can hardly walk. + They come shambling along with all the individuality of a flock of sheep.” + </p> + <p> + “Some,” said Mrs. Makely, heroically, as if she were one of these, “must + be sacrificed. Of course, some are not so individual as others. A great + deal depends upon temperament.” + </p> + <p> + “A great deal more depends upon capital,” said Camp, with an offensive + laugh. “If you have capital in America, you can have individuality; if you + haven’t, you can’t.” + </p> + <p> + His sister, who had not taken part in the talk before, said, demurely: “It + seems to me you’ve got a good deal of individuality, Reub, and you haven’t + got a great deal of capital, either,” and the two young people laughed + together. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Makely was one of those fatuous women whose eagerness to make a point + excludes the consideration even of their own advantage. “I’m sure,” she + said, as if speaking for the upper classes, “we haven’t got any + individuality at all. We are as like as so many peas or pins. In fact, you + have to be so in society. If you keep asserting your own individuality too + much, people avoid you. It’s very vulgar and the greatest bore.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you don’t find individuality so desirable, after all,” said the + Altrurian. + </p> + <p> + “I perfectly detest it!” cried the lady, and evidently she had not the + least notion where she was in the argument. “For my part, I’m never happy + except when I’ve forgotten myself and the whole individual bother.” + </p> + <p> + Her declaration seemed somehow to close the incident, and we were all + silent a moment, which I employed in looking about the room, and taking in + with my literary sense the simplicity and even bareness of its furnishing. + There was the bed where the invalid lay, and near the head a table with a + pile of books and a kerosene-lamp on it, and I decided that she was a good + deal wakeful, and that she read by that lamp when she could not sleep at + night. Then there were the hard chairs we sat on, and some home-made + hooked rugs, in rounds and ovals, scattered about the clean floor; there + was a small melodeon pushed against the wall; the windows had paper + shades, and I recalled that I had not seen any blinds on the outside of + the house. Over the head of the bed hung a cavalryman’s sword, with its + belt—the sword that Mrs. Makely had spoken of. It struck me as a + room where a great many things might have happened, and I said: “You can’t + think, Mrs. Camp, how glad I am to see the inside of your house. It seems + to me so typical.” + </p> + <p> + A pleased intelligence showed itself in her face, and she answered: “Yes, + it is a real old-fashioned farmhouse. We have never taken boarders, and so + we have kept it as it was built pretty much, and only made such changes in + it as we needed or wanted for ourselves.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s a pity,” I went on, following up what I thought a fortunate lead, + “that we city people see so little of the farming life when we come into + the country. I have been here now for several seasons, and this is the + first time I have been inside a farmer’s house.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it possible!” cried the Altrurian, with an air of utter astonishment; + and, when I found the fact appeared so singular to him, I began to be + rather proud of its singularity. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I suppose that most city people come and go, year after year, in the + country, and never make any sort of acquaintance with the people who live + there the year round. We keep to ourselves in the hotels, or, if we go out + at all, it is to make a call upon some city cottager, and so we do not get + out of the vicious circle of our own over-intimacy with ourselves and our + ignorance of others.” + </p> + <p> + “And you regard that as a great misfortune?” asked the Altrurian. + </p> + <p> + “Why, it’s inevitable. There is nothing to bring us together, unless it’s + some happy accident, like the present. But we don’t have a traveler from + Altruria to exploit every day, and so we have no business to come into + people’s houses.” + </p> + <p> + “You would have been welcome in ours long ago, Mr. Twelvemough,” said Mrs. + Camp. + </p> + <p> + “But, excuse me,” said the Altrurian, “what you say really seems dreadful + to me. Why, it is as if you were not the same race or kind of men!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I answered. “It has sometimes seemed to me as if our big hotel + there were a ship anchored off some strange coast. The inhabitants come + out with supplies, and carry on their barter with the ship’s steward, and + we sometimes see them over the side, but we never speak to them or have + anything to do with them. We sail away at the close of the season, and + that is the end of it till next summer.” + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian turned to Mrs. Camp. “And how do you look at it? How does it + seem to you?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t believe we have thought about it very much; but, now that Mr. + Twelvemough has spoken of it, I can see that it does look that way. And it + seems very strange, doesn’t it, for we are all the same people, and have + the same language and religion and country—the country that my + husband fought for and, I suppose I may say, died for; he was never the + same man after the war. It does appear as if we had some interests in + common, and might find it out if we ever came together.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s a great advantage, the city people going into the country so much as + they do now,” said Mrs. Makely. “They bring five million dollars into the + State of New Hampshire, alone, every summer.” + </p> + <p> + She looked round for the general approval which this fact merited, and + young Camp said: “And it shows how worthless the natives are, that they + can’t make both ends meet, with all that money, but have to give up their + farms and go West, after all. I suppose you think it comes from wanting + buggies and pianos.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it certainly comes from something,” said Mrs. Makely, with the + courage of her convictions. + </p> + <p> + She was evidently not going to be put down by that sour young fellow, and + I was glad of it, though I must say I thought the thing she left to rankle + in his mind from our former meeting had not been said in very good taste. + I thought, too, that she would not fare best in any encounter of wits with + him, and I rather trembled for the result. I said, to relieve the strained + situation: “I wish there was some way of our knowing each other better. + I’m sure there’s a great deal of good-will on both sides.” + </p> + <p> + “No, there isn’t,” said Camp, “or at least I can answer for our side that + there isn’t. You come into the country to get as much for your money as + you can, and we mean to let you have as little as we can. That’s the whole + story, and if Mr. Homos believes anything different, he’s very much + mistaken.” + </p> + <p> + “I hadn’t formed any conclusion in regard to the matter, which is quite + new to me,” said the Altrurian, mildly. “But why is there no basis of + mutual kindness between you?” + </p> + <p> + “Because it’s like everything else with us; it’s a question of supply and + demand, and there is no room for any mutual kindness in a question of that + kind. Even if there were, there is another thing that would kill it. The + summer folks, as we call them, look down on the natives, as they call us, + and we know it.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, Mr. Camp, I am sure that you cannot say <i>I</i> look down on the + natives,” said Mrs. Makely, with an air of argument. + </p> + <p> + The young fellow laughed. “Oh yes, you do,” he said, not unamiably, and he + added, “and you’ve got the right to. We’re not fit to associate with you, + and you know it, and we know it. You’ve got more money, and you’ve got + nicer clothes, and you’ve got prettier manners. You talk about things that + most natives never heard of, and you care for things they never saw. I + know it’s the custom to pretend differently, but I’m not going to pretend + differently.” + </p> + <p> + I recalled what my friend the banker said about throwing away cant, and I + asked myself if I were in the presence of some such free spirit again. I + did not see how young Camp could afford it; but then I reflected that he + had really nothing to lose by it, for he did not expect to make anything + out of us; Mrs. Makely would probably not give up his sister as seamstress + if the girl continued to work so well and so cheaply as she said. + </p> + <p> + “Suppose,” he went on, “that some old native took you at your word, and + came to call upon you at the hotel, with his wife, just as one of the city + cottagers would do if he wanted to make your acquaintance?” + </p> + <p> + “I should be perfectly delighted,” said Mrs. Makely, “and I should receive + them with the greatest possible cordiality.” + </p> + <p> + “The same kind of cordiality that you would show to the cottagers?” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose that I should feel that I had more in common with the + cottagers. We should be interested in the same things, and we should + probably know the same people and have more to talk about—” + </p> + <p> + “You would both belong to the same class, and that tells the whole story. + If you were out West, and the owner of one of those big + twenty-thousand-acre farms called on you with his wife, would you act + toward them as you would toward our natives? You wouldn’t. You would all + be rich people together, and you would understand one another because you + had money.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, that is not so,” Mrs. Makely interrupted. “There are plenty of rich + people one wouldn’t wish to know at all, and who really can’t get into + society—who are ignorant and vulgar. And then, when you come to + money, I don’t see but what country people are as glad to get it as + anybody.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, gladder,” said the young man. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” demanded Mrs. Makely, as if this were a final stroke of logic. The + young man did not reply, and Mrs. Makely continued: “Now I will appeal to + your sister to say whether she has ever seen any difference in my manner + toward her from what I show to all the young ladies in the hotel.” The + young girl flushed and seemed reluctant to answer. “Why, Lizzie!” cried + Mrs. Makely, and her tone showed that she was really hurt. + </p> + <p> + The scene appeared to me rather cruel, and I glanced at Mrs. Camp with an + expectation that she would say something to relieve it. But she did not. + Her large, benevolent face expressed only a quiet interest in the + discussion. + </p> + <p> + “You know very well, Mrs. Makely,” said the girl, “you don’t regard me as + you do the young ladies in the hotel.” + </p> + <p> + There was no resentment in her voice or look, but only a sort of regret, + as if, but for this grievance, she could have loved the woman from whom + she had probably had much kindness. The tears came into Mrs. Makely’s + eyes, and she turned toward Mrs. Camp. “And is this the way you <i>all</i> + feel toward us?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Why shouldn’t we?” asked the invalid, in her turn. “But, no, it isn’t the + way all the country people feel. Many of them feel as you would like to + have them feel; but that is because they do not think. When they think, + they feel as we do. But I don’t blame you. You can’t help yourselves any + more than we can. We’re all bound up together in that, at least.” + </p> + <p> + At this apparent relenting Mrs. Makely tricked her beams a little, and + said, plaintively, as if offering herself for further condolence: “Yes, + that is what that woman at the little shanty back there said: some have to + be rich, and some have to be poor; it takes all kinds to make a world.” + </p> + <p> + “How would you like to be one of those that have to be poor?” asked young + Camp, with an evil grin. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know,” said Mrs. Makely, with unexpected spirit; “but I am sure + that I should respect the feelings of all, rich or poor.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry if we have hurt yours, Mrs. Makely,” said Mrs. Camp, with + dignity. “You asked us certain questions, and we thought you wished us to + reply truthfully. We could not answer you with smooth things.” + </p> + <p> + “But sometimes you do,” said Mrs. Makely, and the tears stood in her eyes + again. “And you know how fond I am of you all!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Camp wore a bewildered look. “Perhaps we have said more than we + ought. But I couldn’t help it, and I don’t see how the children could, + when you asked them here, before Mr. Homos.” + </p> + <p> + I glanced at the Altrurian, sitting attentive and silent, and a sudden + misgiving crossed my mind concerning him. Was he really a man, a human + entity, a personality like ourselves, or was he merely a sort of spiritual + solvent, sent for the moment to precipitate whatever sincerity there was + in us, and show us what the truth was concerning our relations to one + another? It was a fantastic conception, but I thought it was one that I + might employ in some sort of purely romantic design, and I was + professionally grateful for it. I said, with a humorous gayety: “Yes, we + all seem to have been compelled to be much more honest than we like; and + if Mr. Homos is going to write an account of his travels when he gets + home, he can’t accuse us of hypocrisy, at any rate. And I always used to + think it was one of our virtues! What with Mr. Camp, here, and my friend + the banker at the hotel, I don’t think he’ll have much reason to complain + even of our reticence.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, whatever he says of us,” sighed Mrs. Makely, with a pious glance at + the sword over the bed, “he will have to say that, in spite of our + divisions and classes, we are all Americans, and, if we haven’t the same + opinions and ideas on minor matters, we all have the same country.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know about that,” came from Reuben Camp, with shocking + promptness. “I don’t believe we all have the same country. America is one + thing for you, and it’s quite another thing for us. America means ease and + comfort and amusement for you, year in and year out, and if it means work, + it’s work that you <i>wish</i> to do. For us, America means work that we + <i>have</i> to do, and hard work all the time if we’re going to make both + ends meet. It means liberty for you; but what liberty has a man got who + doesn’t know where his next meal is coming from? Once I was in a strike, + when I was working on the railroad, and I’ve seen men come and give up + their liberty for a chance to earn their family’s living. They knew they + were right, and that they ought to have stood up for their rights; but + they had to lie down and lick the hand that fed them. Yes, we are all + Americans, but I guess we haven’t all got the same country, Mrs. Makely. + What sort of a country has a blacklisted man got?” + </p> + <p> + “A blacklisted man?” she repeated. “I don’t know what you mean.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, a kind of man I’ve seen in the mill towns, that the bosses have all + got on their books as a man that isn’t to be given work on any account; + that’s to be punished with hunger and cold, and turned into the street, + for having offended them; and that’s to be made to suffer through his + helpless family for having offended them.” + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me, Mr. Camp,” I interposed, “but isn’t a blacklisted man usually + a man who has made himself prominent in some labor trouble?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” the young fellow answered, without seeming sensible of the point I + had made. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” I returned. “Then you can hardly blame the employers for taking it + out of him in any way they can. That’s human nature.” + </p> + <p> + “Good heavens!” the Altrurian cried out. “Is it possible that in America + it is human nature to take away the bread of a man’s family because he has + gone counter to your interest or pleasure on some economical question?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Mr. Twelvemough seems to think so,” sneered the young man. “But + whether it’s human nature or not, it’s a fact that they do it, and you can + guess how much a blacklisted man must love the country where such a thing + can happen to him. What should you call such a thing as blacklisting in + Altruria?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes,” Mrs. Makely pleaded, “do let us get him to talking about + Altruria on any terms. I think all this about the labor question is so + tiresome; don’t you, Mrs. Camp?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Camp did not answer; but the Altrurian said, in reply to her son: “We + should have no name for such a thing, for with us such a thing would be + impossible. There is no crime so heinous with us that the punishment would + take away the criminal’s chance of earning his living.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, if he was a criminal,” said young Camp, “he would be all right <i>here</i>. + The state would give him a chance to earn his living then.” + </p> + <p> + “But if he had no other chance of earning his living, and had committed no + offence against the laws—” + </p> + <p> + “Then the state would let him take to the road—like that fellow.” + </p> + <p> + He pulled aside the shade of the window where he sat, and we saw pausing + before the house, and glancing doubtfully at the doorstep, where the dog + lay, a vile and loathsome-looking tramp, a blot upon the sweet and + wholesome landscape, a scandal to the sacred day. His rags burlesqued the + form which they did not wholly hide; his broken shoes were covered with + dust; his coarse hair came in a plume through his tattered hat; his red, + sodden face, at once fierce and timid, was rusty with a fortnight’s beard. + He offended the eye like a visible stench, and the wretched carrion seemed + to shrink away from our gaze as if he were aware of his loathsomeness. + </p> + <p> + “Really,” said Mrs. Makely, “I thought those fellows were arrested now. It + is too bad to leave them at large. They are dangerous.” Young Camp left + the room, and we saw him going out toward the tramp. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, that’s quite right,” said the lady. “I hope Reuben is going to send + him about his business. Why, surely, he’s not going to feed the horrid + creature!” she added, as Camp, after a moment’s parley with the tramp, + turned with him and disappeared round a corner of the house. “Now, Mrs. + Camp, I think that is really a very bad example. It’s encouraging them. + Very likely he’ll go to sleep in your barn, and set it on fire with his + pipe. What do you do with tramps in Altruria, Mr. Homos?” + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian seemed not to have heard her. He said to Mrs. Camp: “Then I + understand from something your son let fall that he has not always been at + home with you here. Does he reconcile himself easily to the country after + the excitement of town life? I have read that the cities in America are + draining the country of the young people.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think he was sorry to come home,” said the mother, with a touch + of fond pride. “But there was no choice for him after his father died; he + was always a good boy, and he has not made us feel that we were keeping + him away from anything better. When his father was alive we let him go, + because then we were not so dependent, and I wished him to try his fortune + in the world, as all boys long to do. But he is rather peculiar, and he + seems to have got quite enough of the world. To be sure, I don’t suppose + he’s seen the brightest side of it. He first went to work in the mills + down at Ponkwasset, but he was ‘laid off’ there when the hard times came + and there was so much overproduction, and he took a job of railroading, + and was braking on a freight-train when his father left us.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Makely said, smiling: “No, I don’t think that was the brightest + outlook in the world. No wonder he has brought back such gloomy + impressions. I am sure that if he could have seen life under brighter + auspices he would not have the ideas he has.” + </p> + <p> + “Very likely,” said the mother, dryly. “Our experiences have a great deal + to do with forming our opinions. But I am not dissatisfied with my son’s + ideas. I suppose Reuben got a good many of his ideas from his father: he’s + his father all over again. My husband thought slavery was wrong, and he + went into the war to fight against it. He used to say when the war was + over that the negroes were emancipated, but slavery was not abolished + yet.” + </p> + <p> + “What in the world did he mean by that?” demanded Mrs. Makely. + </p> + <p> + “Something you wouldn’t understand as we do. I tried to carry on the farm + after he first went, and before Reuben was large enough to help me much + and ought to be in school, and I suppose I overdid. At any rate, that was + when I had my first shock of paralysis. I never was very strong, and I + presume my health was weakened by my teaching school so much, and + studying, before I was married. But that doesn’t matter now, and hasn’t + for many a year. The place was clear of debt then, but I had to get a + mortgage put on it. The savings-bank down in the village took it, and + we’ve been paying the interest ever since. My husband died paying it, and + my son will pay it all my life, and then I suppose the bank will + foreclose. The treasurer was an old playmate of my husband’s, and he said + that as long as either of us lived the mortgage could lie.” + </p> + <p> + “How splendid of him!” said Mrs. Makely. “I should think you had been very + fortunate.” + </p> + <p> + “I said that you would not see it as we do,” said the invalid, patiently. + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian asked: “Are there mortgages on many of the farms in the + neighborhood?” + </p> + <p> + “Nearly all,” said Mrs. Camp. “We seem to own them, but in fact they own + us.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Makely hastened to say: “My husband thinks it’s the best way to have + your property. If you mortgage it close up, you have all your capital + free, and you can keep turning it over. That’s what you ought to do, Mrs. + Camp. But what was the slavery that Captain Camp said was not abolished + yet?” + </p> + <p> + The invalid looked at her a moment without replying, and just then the + door of the kitchen opened, and Young Camp came in and began to gather + some food from the table on a plate. + </p> + <p> + “Why don’t you bring him to the table, Reub?” his sister called to him. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he says he’d rather not come in, as long as we have company. He says + he isn’t dressed for dinner; left his spike-tail in the city.” + </p> + <p> + The young man laughed, and his sister with him. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VIII + </h2> + <p> + Young Camp carried out the plate of victuals to the tramp, and Mrs. Makely + said to his mother: “I suppose you would make the tramp do some sort of + work to earn his breakfast on week-days?” + </p> + <p> + “Not always,” Mrs. Camp replied. “Do the boarders at the hotel always work + to earn their breakfast?” + </p> + <p> + “No, certainly not,” said Mrs. Makely, with the sharpness of offence. “But + they always pay for it.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think that paying for a thing is earning it. Perhaps some one + else earned the money that pays for it. But I believe there is too much + work in the world. If I were to live my life over again, I should not work + half so hard. My husband and I took this place when we were young married + people, and began working to pay for it. We wanted to feel that it was + ours, that we owned it, and that our children should own it afterward. We + both worked all day long like slaves, and many a moonlight night we were + up till morning, almost, gathering the stones from our fields and burying + them in deep graves that we had dug for them. But we buried our youth and + strength and health in those graves, too, and what for? I don’t own the + farm that we worked so hard to pay for, and my children won’t. That is + what it has all come to. We were rightly punished for our greed, I + suppose. Perhaps no one has a right to own any portion of the earth. + Sometimes I think so, but my husband and I earned this farm, and now the + savings-bank owns it. That seems strange, doesn’t it? I suppose you’ll say + that the bank paid for it. Well, perhaps so; but the bank didn’t earn it. + When I think of that I don’t always think that a person who pays for his + breakfast has the best right to a breakfast.” + </p> + <p> + I could see the sophistry of all this, but I had not the heart to point it + out; I felt the pathos of it, too. Mrs. Makely seemed not to see the one + nor to feel the other very distinctly. “Yes, but surely,” she said, “if + you give a tramp his breakfast without making him work for it, you must + see that it is encouraging idleness. And idleness is very corrupting—the + sight of it.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean to the country people? Well, they have to stand a good deal of + that. The summer folks that spend four or five months of the year here + don’t seem to do anything from morning till night.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, but you must recollect that they are <i>resting</i>! You have no idea + how hard they all work in town during the winter,” Mrs. Makely urged, with + an air of argument. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps the tramps are resting, too. At any rate, I don’t think the sight + of idleness in rags, and begging at back doors, is very corrupting to the + country people; I never heard of a single tramp who had started from the + country; they all come from the cities. It’s the other kind of idleness + that tempts our young people. The only tramps that my son says he ever + envies are the well-dressed, strong young fellows from town that go + tramping through the mountains for exercise every summer.” + </p> + <p> + The ladies both paused. They seemed to have got to the end of their + tether; at least, Mrs. Makely had apparently nothing else to advance, and + I said, lightly: “But that is just the kind of tramps that Mr. Homos would + most disapprove of. He says that in Altruria they would consider exercise + for exercise’ sake a wicked waste of force and little short of lunacy.” + </p> + <p> + I thought my exaggeration might provoke him to denial, but he seemed not + to have found it unjust. “Why, you know,” he said to Mrs. Camp, “in + Altruria every one works with his hands, so that the hard work shall not + all fall to any one class; and this manual labor of each is sufficient to + keep the body in health, as well as to earn a living. After the three, + hours’ work, which constitutes a day’s work with us, is done, the young + people have all sorts of games and sports, and they carry them as late + into life as the temperament of each demands. But what I was saying to Mr. + Twelvemough—perhaps I did not make myself clear—was that we + should regard the sterile putting forth of strength in exercise, if others + were each day worn out with hard manual labor, as insane or immoral. But I + can account for it differently with you, because I understand that in your + conditions a person of leisure could not do any manual labor without + taking away the work of some one who needed it to live by; and could not + even relieve an overworked laborer, and give him the money for the work, + without teaching him habits of idleness. In Altruria we can all keep + ourselves well by doing each his share of hard work, and we can help those + who are exhausted, when such a thing happens, without injuring them + materially or morally.” + </p> + <p> + Young Camp entered at this moment, and the Altrurian hesitated. “Oh, do go + on!” Mrs. Makely entreated. She added to Camp: “We’ve got him to talking + about Altruria at last, and we wouldn’t have him stopped for worlds.” + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian looked around at all our faces, and no doubt read our eager + curiosity in them. He smiled and said: “I shall be very glad, I’m sure. + But I do not think you will find anything so remarkable in our + civilization, if you will conceive of it as the outgrowth of the + neighborly instinct. In fact, neighborliness is the essence of + Altrurianism. If you will imagine having the same feeling toward all,” he + explained to Mrs. Makely, “as you have toward your next-door neighbor—” + </p> + <p> + “My next-door neighbor!” she cried. “But I don’t <i>know</i> the people + next door! We live in a large apartment house, some forty families, and I + assure you I do not know a soul among them.” + </p> + <p> + He looked at her with a puzzled air, and she continued: “Sometimes it <i>does</i> + seem rather hard. One day the people on the same landing with us lost one + of their children, and I should never have been a whit the wiser if my + cook hadn’t happened to mention it. The servants all know each other; they + meet in the back elevator, and get acquainted. I don’t encourage it. You + can’t tell what kind of families they belong to.” + </p> + <p> + “But surely,” the Altrurian persisted, “you have friends in the city whom + you think of as your neighbors?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I can’t say that I have,” said Mrs. Makely. “I have my visiting-list, + but I shouldn’t think of anybody on <i>that</i> as a neighbor.” + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian looked so blank and baffled that I could hardly help + laughing. “Then I should not know how to explain Altruria to you, I’m + afraid.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” she returned, lightly, “if it’s anything like neighborliness as + I’ve seen it in small places, deliver me from it! I like being + independent. That’s why I like the city. You’re let alone.” + </p> + <p> + “I was down in New York once, and I went through some of the streets and + houses where the poor people live,” said young Camp, “and they seemed to + know each other and to be quite neighborly.” + </p> + <p> + “And would you like to be all messed in with one another that way?” + demanded the lady. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I thought it was better than living as we do in the country, so far + apart that we never see one another, hardly. And it seems to me better + than not having any neighbors at all.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, every one to his taste,” said Mrs. Makely. “I wish you would tell + us how people manage with you socially, Mr. Homos.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, you know,” he began, “we have neither city nor country in your + sense, and so we are neither so isolated nor so crowded together. You feel + that you lose a great deal in not seeing one another oftener?” he asked + Camp. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Folks rust out living alone. It’s Human nature to want to get + together.” + </p> + <p> + “And I understand Mrs. Makely that it is human nature to want to keep + apart?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no, but to come together independently,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + “Well, that is what we have contrived in our life at home. I should have + to say, in the first place, that—” + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me just one moment, Mr. Homos,” said Mrs. Makely. This perverse + woman was as anxious to hear about Altruria as any of us, but she was a + woman who would rather hear the sound of her own voice than any other, + even if she were dying, as she would call it, to hear the other. The + Altrurian stopped politely, and Mrs. Makely went on: “I have been thinking + of what Mr. Camp was saying about the blacklisted men, and their all + turning into tramps—” + </p> + <p> + “But I didn’t say that, Mrs. Makely,” the young fellow protested, in + astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it stands to reason that if the tramps have all been blacklisted + men—” + </p> + <p> + “But I didn’t say that, either.” + </p> + <p> + “No matter! What I am trying to get at is this: if a workman has made + himself a nuisance to the employers, haven’t they a right to punish him in + any way they can?” + </p> + <p> + “I believe there’s no law yet against blacklisting,” said Camp. + </p> + <p> + “Very well, then, I don’t see what they’ve got to complain of. The + employers surely know their own business.” + </p> + <p> + “They claim to know the men’s, too. That’s what they’re always saying; + they will manage their own affairs in their own way. But no man, or + company, that does business on a large scale has any affairs that are not + partly other folks’ affairs, too. All the saying in the world won’t make + it different.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, then,” said Mrs. Makely, with a force of argument which she + seemed to think was irresistible, “I think the workmen had better leave + things to the employers, and then they won’t get blacklisted. It’s as + broad as it’s long.” + </p> + <p> + I confess that, although I agreed with Mrs. Makely in regard to what the + workmen had better do, her position had been arrived at by such + extraordinary reasoning that I blushed for her; at the same time, I wanted + to laugh. She continued, triumphantly: “You see, the employers have ever + so much more at stake.” + </p> + <p> + “Then men have everything at stake—the work of their hands,” said + the young fellow. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but surely,” said Mrs. Makely, “you wouldn’t set that against + capital? You wouldn’t compare the two?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I should,” said Camp, and I could see his eye kindle and his jaw + stiffen. + </p> + <p> + “Then I suppose you would say that a man ought to get as much for his work + as an employer gets for his capital. If you think one has as much at stake + as the other, you must think they ought to be paid alike.” + </p> + <p> + “That is <i>just</i> what I think,” said Camp, and Mrs. Makely burst into + a peal of amiable laughter. + </p> + <p> + “Now, that is too preposterous!” + </p> + <p> + “Why is it preposterous?” he demanded, with a quivering nostril. + </p> + <p> + “Why, simply because it <i>is</i>” said the lady, but she did not say why, + and although I thought so, too, I was glad she did not attempt to do it, + for her conclusions seemed to me much better than her reasons. + </p> + <p> + The old wooden clock in the kitchen began to strike, and she rose briskly + to her feet and went and laid the books she had been holding in her lap on + the table beside Mrs. Camp’s bed. “We must really be going,” she said, as + she leaned over and kissed the invalid. “It is your dinner-time, and we + shall barely get back for lunch if we go by the Loop road; and I want very + much to have Mr. Homos see the Witch’s Falls on the way. I have got two or + three of the books here that Mr. Makely brought me last night—I + sha’n’t have time to read them at once—and I’m smuggling in one of + Mr. Twelvemough’s, that he’s too modest to present for himself.” She + turned a gay glance upon me, and Mrs. Camp thanked me, and a number of + civilities followed from all sides. In the process of their exchange, Mrs. + Makely’s spirits perceptibly rose, and she came away in high good-humor + with the whole Camp family. “Well, now, I am sure,” she said to the + Altrurian, as we began the long ascent of the Loop road, “you must allow + that you have seen some very original characters. But how <i>warped</i> + people get living alone so much! That is the great drawback of the + country. Mrs. Camp thinks the savings-bank did her a real injury in taking + a mortgage on her place, and Reuben seems to have seen just enough of the + outside world to get it all wrong. But they are the best-hearted creatures + in the world, and I know you won’t misunderstand them. That unsparing + country bluntness—don’t you think it’s perfectly delightful? I do + like to stir poor Reuben up, and get him talking. He is a good boy, if he + <i>is</i> so wrong-headed, and he’s the most devoted son and brother in + the world. Very few young fellows would waste their lives on an old farm + like that; I suppose, when his mother dies, he will marry and strike out + for himself in some growing place.” + </p> + <p> + “He did not seem to think the world held out any very bright inducements + for him to leave home,” the Altrurian suggested. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, let him get one of these lively, pushing Yankee girls for a wife, and + he will think very differently,” said Mrs. Makely. + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian disappeared that afternoon, and I saw little or nothing of + him till the next day at supper. Then he said he had been spending the + time with young Camp, who had shown him something of the farm-work, and + introduced him to several of the neighbors; he was very much interested in + it all, because at home he was, at present, engaged in farm-work himself, + and he was curious to contrast the American and Altrurian methods. We + began to talk of the farming interest again, later in the day, when the + members of our little group came together, and I told them what the + Altrurian had been doing. The doctor had been suddenly called back to + town; but the minister was there, and the lawyer and the professor and the + banker and the manufacturer. + </p> + <p> + It was the banker who began to comment on what I said, and he seemed to be + in the frank humor of the Saturday night before. “Yes,” he said, “it’s a + hard life, and they have to look sharp if they expect to make both ends + meet. I would not like to undertake it myself with their resources.” + </p> + <p> + The professor smiled, in asking the Altrurian: “Did your agricultural + friends tell you anything of the little rural traffic in votes that they + carry on about election time? That is one of the side means they have of + making both ends meet.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t understand,” said the Altrurian. + </p> + <p> + “Why, you know, you can buy votes among our virtuous yeomen from two + dollars up at the ordinary elections. When party feeling runs high, and + there are vital questions at stake, the votes cost more.” + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian looked round at us all aghast. “Do, you mean that Americans + buy votes?” + </p> + <p> + The professor smiled again. “Oh no; I only mean that they sell them. Well, + I don’t wonder that they rather prefer to blink the fact; but it is a + fact, nevertheless, and pretty notorious.” + </p> + <p> + “Good heavens!” cried the Altrurian. “And what defence have they for such + treason? I don’t mean those who sell; from what I have seen of the + bareness and hardship of their lives, I could well imagine that there + might sometimes come a pinch when they would be glad of the few dollars + that they could get in that way; but what have those who buy to say?” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the professor, “it isn’t a transaction that’s apt to be + talked about much on either side.” + </p> + <p> + “I think,” the banker interposed, “that there is some exaggeration about + that business; but it certainly exists, and I suppose it is a growing evil + in the country. I fancy it arises, somewhat, from a want of, clear + thinking on the subject. Then there is no doubt but it comes, sometimes, + from poverty. A man sells his vote, as a woman sells her person, for + money, when neither can turn virtue into cash. They feel that they must + live, and neither of them would be satisfied if Dr. Johnson told them he + didn’t see the necessity. In fact, I shouldn’t myself, if I were in their + places. You can’t have the good of a civilization like ours without having + the bad; but I am not going to deny that the bad is bad. Some people like + to do that; but I don’t find my account in it. In either case, I confess + that I think the buyer is worse than the seller—incomparably worse. + I suppose you are not troubled with either case in Altruria?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no!” said the Altrurian, with an utter horror, which no repetition of + his words can give the sense of. “It would be unimaginable.” + </p> + <p> + “Still,” the banker suggested, “you have cakes and ale, and at times the + ginger is hot in the mouth?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t pretend that we have immunity from error; but upon such terms as + you have described we have none. It would be impossible.” + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian’s voice expressed no contempt, but only a sad patience, a + melancholy surprise, such as a celestial angel might feel in being + suddenly confronted with some secret shame and horror of the Pit. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the banker, “with us the only way is to take the business + view and try to strike an average somewhere.” + </p> + <p> + “Talking of business,” said the professor, turning to the manufacturer, + who had been quietly smoking, “why don’t some of you capitalists take hold + of farming here in the East, and make a business of it as they do in the + West?” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” said the other; “if you mean me, I would rather not invest.” + He was silent a moment, and then he went on, as if the notion were + beginning to win upon him: “It may come to something like that, though. If + it does, the natural course, I should think, would be through the + railroads. It would be a very easy matter for them to buy up all the good + farms along their lines and put tenants on them, and run them in their own + interest. Really, it isn’t a bad scheme. The waste in the present method + is enormous, and there is no reason why the roads should not own the + farms, as they are beginning to own the mines. They could manage them + better than the small farmers do in every way. I wonder the thing hasn’t + occurred to some smart railroad man.” + </p> + <p> + We all laughed a little, perceiving the semi-ironical spirit of his talk; + but the Altrurian must have taken it in dead earnest: “But, in that case, + the number of people thrown out of work would be very great, wouldn’t it? + And what would become of them?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, they would have whatever their farms brought to make a new start + with somewhere else; and, besides, that question of what would become of + people thrown out of work by a given improvement is something that capital + cannot consider. We used to introduce a bit of machinery in the mill, + every now and then, that threw out a dozen or a hundred people; but we + couldn’t stop for that.” + </p> + <p> + “And you never knew what became of them?” + </p> + <p> + “Sometimes. Generally not. We took it for granted that they would light on + their feet somehow.” + </p> + <p> + “And the state—the whole people—the government—did + nothing for them?” + </p> + <p> + “If it became a question of the poor-house, yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Or the jail,” the lawyer suggested. + </p> + <p> + “Speaking of the poor-house,” said the professor, “did our exemplary rural + friends tell you how they sell out their paupers to the lowest bidder, and + get them boarded sometimes as low as a dollar and a quarter a week?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, young Mr. Camp told me of that. He seemed to think it was terrible.” + </p> + <p> + “Did he? Well, I’m glad to hear that of young Mr. Camp. From all that I’ve + been told before, he seems to reserve his conscience for the use of + capitalists. What does he propose to do about it?” + </p> + <p> + “He seems to think the state ought to find work for them.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, paternalism! Well, I guess the state won’t.” + </p> + <p> + “That was his opinion, too.” + </p> + <p> + “It seems a hard fate,” said the minister, “that the only provision the + law makes for people who are worn out by sickness or a life of work should + be something that assorts them with idiots and lunatics, and brings such + shame upon them that it is almost as terrible as death.” + </p> + <p> + “It is the only way to encourage independence and individuality,” said the + professor. “Of course, it has its dark side. But anything else would be + sentimental and unbusinesslike, and, in fact, un-American.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not so sure that it would be un-Christian,” the minister timidly + ventured, in the face of such an authority on political economy. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, as to that, I must leave the question to the reverend clergy,” said + the professor. + </p> + <p> + A very unpleasant little silence followed. It was broken by the lawyer, + who put his feet together, and, after a glance down at them, began to say: + “I was very much interested this afternoon by a conversation I had with + some of the young fellows in the hotel. You know most of them are + graduates, and they are taking a sort of supernumerary vacation this + summer before they plunge into the battle of life in the autumn. They were + talking of some other fellows, classmates of theirs, who were not so + lucky, but had been obliged to begin the fight at once. It seems that our + fellows here are all going in for some sort of profession: medicine or law + or engineering or teaching or the church, and they were commiserating + those other fellows not only because they were not having the + supernumerary vacation, but because they were going into business. That + struck me as rather odd, and I tried to find out what it meant, and, as + nearly as I could find out, it meant that most college graduates would not + go into business if they could help it. They seemed to feel a sort of + incongruity between their education and the business life. They pitied the + fellows that had to go in for it, and apparently the fellows that had to + go in for it pitied themselves, for the talk seemed to have begun about a + letter that one of the chaps here had got from poor Jack or Jim somebody, + who had been obliged to go into his father’s business, and was groaning + over it. The fellows who were going to study professions were hugging + themselves at the contrast between their fate and his, and were making + remarks about business that were, to say the least, unbusinesslike. A few + years ago we should have made a summary disposition of the matter, and I + believe some of the newspapers still are in doubt about the value of a + college education to men who have got to make their way. What do you + think?” + </p> + <p> + The lawyer addressed his question to the manufacturer, who answered, with + a comfortable satisfaction, that he did not think those young men if they + went into business would find that they knew too much. + </p> + <p> + “But they pointed out,” said the lawyer, “that the great American fortunes + had been made by men who had never had their educational advantages, and + they seemed to think that what we call the education of a gentleman was a + little too good for money-making purposes.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the other, “they can console themselves with the reflection + that going into business isn’t necessarily making money; it isn’t + necessarily making a living, even.” + </p> + <p> + “Some of them seem to have caught on to that fact; and they pitied Jack or + Jim partly because the chances were so much against him. But they pitied + him mostly because in the life before him he would have no use for his + academic training, and he had better not gone to college at all. They said + he would be none the better for it, and would always be miserable when he + looked back to it.” + </p> + <p> + The manufacturer did not reply, and the professor, after a preliminary + hemming, held his peace. It was the banker who took the word: “Well, so + far as business is concerned, they were right. It is no use to pretend + that there is any relation between business and the higher education. + There is no business man who will pretend that there is not often an + actual incompatibility if he is honest. I know that when we get together + at a commercial or financial dinner we talk as if great merchants and + great financiers were beneficent geniuses, who evoked the prosperity of + mankind by their schemes from the conditions that would otherwise have + remained barren. Well, very likely they are, but we must all confess that + they do not know it at the time. What they are consciously looking out for + then is the main chance. If general prosperity follows, all well and good; + they are willing to be given the credit for it. But, as I said, with + business as business, the ‘education of a gentleman’ has nothing to do. + That education is always putting the old Ciceronian question: whether the + fellow arriving at a starving city with a cargo of grain is bound to tell + the people before he squeezes them that there are half a dozen other + fellows with grain just below the horizon. As a gentleman he would have to + tell them, because he could not take advantage of their necessities; but, + as a business man, he would think it bad business to tell them, or no + business at all. The principle goes all through; I say, business is + business; and I am not going to pretend that business will ever be + anything else. In our business battles we don’t take off our hats to the + other side and say, ‘Gentlemen of the French Guard, have the goodness to + fire.’ That may be war, but it is not business. We seize all the + advantages we can; very few of us would actually deceive; but if a fellow + believes a thing, and we know he is wrong, we do not usually take the + trouble to set him right, if we are going to lose anything by undeceiving + him. That would not be business. I suppose you think that is dreadful?” He + turned smilingly to the minister. + </p> + <p> + “I wish—I wish,” said the minister, gently, “it could be otherwise.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I wish so, too,” returned the banker. “But it isn’t. Am I right or + am I wrong?” he demanded of the manufacturer, who laughed. + </p> + <p> + “I am not conducting this discussion. I will not deprive you of the + floor.” + </p> + <p> + “What you say,” I ventured to put in, “reminds me of the experience of a + friend of mine, a brother novelist. He wrote a story where the failure of + a business man turned on a point just like that you have instanced. The + man could have retrieved himself if he had let some people believe that + what was so was not so, but his conscience stepped in and obliged him to + own the truth. There was a good deal of talk about the case, I suppose, + because it was not in real life, and my friend heard divers criticisms. He + heard of a group of ministers who blamed him for exalting a case of common + honesty, as if it were something extraordinary; and he heard of some + business men who talked it over and said he had worked the case up + splendidly, but he was all wrong in the outcome—the fellow would + never have told the other fellows. They said it would not have been + business.” + </p> + <p> + We all laughed except the minister and the Altrurian; the manufacturer + said: “Twenty-five years hence, the fellow who is going into business may + pity the fellows who are pitying him for his hard fate now.” + </p> + <p> + “Very possibly, but not necessarily,” said the banker. “Of course, the + business man is on top, as far as money goes; he is the fellow who makes + the big fortunes; the millionaire lawyers and doctors and ministers are + exceptional. But his risks are tremendous. Ninety-five times out of a + hundred he fails. To be sure, he picks up and goes on, but he seldom gets + there, after all.” + </p> + <p> + “Then in your system,” said the Altrurian, “the great majority of those + who go into what you call the battle of life are defeated?” + </p> + <p> + “The killed, wounded, and missing sum up a frightful total,” the banker + admitted. “But whatever the end is, there is a great deal of prosperity on + the way. The statistics are correct, but they do not tell the whole truth. + It is not so bad as it seems. Still, simply looking at the material + chances, I don’t blame those young fellows for not wanting to go into + business. And when you come to other considerations! We used to cut the + knot of the difficulty pretty sharply; we said a college education was + wrong, or the hot and hot American spread-eaglers did. Business is the + national ideal, and the successful business man is the American type. It + is a business man’s country.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, if I understand you,” said the Altrurian, “and I am very anxious to + have a clear understanding of the matter, the effect of the university + with you is to unfit a youth for business life.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no. It may give him great advantages in it, and that is the theory and + expectation of most fathers who send their sons to the university. But, + undoubtedly, the effect is to render business life distasteful. The + university nurtures all sorts of lofty ideals, which business has no use + for.” + </p> + <p> + “Then the effect is undemocratic?” + </p> + <p> + “No, it is simply unbusinesslike. The boy is a better democrat when he + leaves college than he will be later, if he goes into business. The + university has taught him and equipped him to use his own gifts and powers + for his advancement; but the first lesson of business, and the last, is to + use other men’s gifts and powers. If he looks about him at all, he sees + that no man gets rich simply by his own labor, no matter how mighty a + genius he is, and that, if you want to get rich, you must make other men + work for you, and pay you for the privilege of doing so. Isn’t that true?” + </p> + <p> + The banker turned to the manufacturer with this question, and the other + said: “The theory is, that we give people work,” and they both laughed. + </p> + <p> + The minister said: “I believe that in Altruria no man works for the profit + of another?” + </p> + <p> + “No; each works for the profit of all,” replied the Altrurian. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the banker, “you seem to have made it go. Nobody can deny + that. But we couldn’t make it go here.” + </p> + <p> + “Why? I am very curious to know why our system seems so impossible to + you.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it is contrary to the American spirit. It is alien to our love of + individuality.” + </p> + <p> + “But we prize individuality, too, and we think we secure it under our + system. Under yours, it seems to me that while the individuality of the + man who makes other men work for him is safe, except from itself, the + individuality of the workers—” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that is their lookout. We have found that, upon the whole, it is + best to let every man look out for himself. I know that, in a certain + light, the result has an ugly aspect; but, nevertheless, in spite of all, + the country is enormously prosperous. The pursuit of happiness, which is + one of the inalienable rights secured to us by the Declaration, is, and + always has been, a dream; but the pursuit of the dollar yields tangible + proceeds, and we get a good deal of excitement out of it as it goes on. + You can’t deny that we are the richest nation in the world. Do you call + Altruria a rich country?” + </p> + <p> + I could not quite make out whether the banker was serious or not in all + this talk; sometimes I suspected him of a fine mockery, but the Altrurian + took him upon the surface of his words. + </p> + <p> + “I hardly know whether it is or not. The question of wealth does not enter + into our scheme. I can say that we all have enough, and that no one is + even in the fear of want.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that is very well. But we should think it was paying too much for it + if we had to give up the hope of ever having more than we wanted,” and at + this point the banker uttered his jolly laugh, and I perceived that he had + been trying to draw the Altrurian out and practise upon his patriotism. It + was a great relief to find that he had been joking in so much that seemed + a dead give-away of our economical position. “In Altruria,” he asked, “who + is your ideal great man? I don’t mean personally, but abstractly.” + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian thought a moment. “With us there is so little ambition for + distinction, as you understand it, that your question is hard to answer. + But I should say, speaking largely, that it was some man who had been able + for the time being to give the greatest happiness to the greatest number—some + artist or poet or inventor or physician.” + </p> + <p> + I was somewhat surprised to have the banker take this preposterous + statement seriously, respectfully. “Well, that is quite conceivable with + your system. What should you say,” he demanded of the rest of us + generally, “was our ideal of greatness?” + </p> + <p> + No one replied at once, or at all, till the manufacturer said: “We will + let you continue to run it.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it is a very curious inquiry, and I have thought it over a good + deal. I should say that within a generation our ideal has changed twice. + Before the war, and during all the time from the Revolution onward, it was + undoubtedly the great politician, the publicist, the statesman. As we grew + older and began to have an intellectual life of our own, I think the + literary fellows had a pretty good share of the honors that were going—that + is, such a man as Longfellow was popularly considered a type of greatness. + When the war came, it brought the soldier to the front, and there was a + period of ten or fifteen years when he dominated the national imagination. + That period passed, and the great era of material prosperity set in. The + big fortunes began to tower up, and heroes of another sort began to appeal + to our admiration. I don’t think there is any doubt but the millionaire is + now the American ideal. It isn’t very pleasant to think so, even for + people who have got on, but it can’t very hopefully be denied. It is the + man with the most money who now takes the prize in our national + cake-walk.” + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian turned curiously toward me, and I did my best to tell him + what a cake-walk was. When I had finished, the banker resumed, only to + say, as he rose from his chair to bid us good-night: “In any average + assembly of Americans the greatest millionaire would take the eyes of all + from the greatest statesman, the greatest poet, or the greatest soldier we + ever had. That,” he added to the Altrurian, “will account to you for many + things as you travel through our country.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IX + </h2> + <p> + The next time the members of our little group came together, the + manufacturer began at once upon the banker: + </p> + <p> + “I should think that our friend the professor, here, would hardly like + that notion of yours, that business, as business, has nothing to do with + the education of a gentleman. If this is a business man’s country, and if + the professor has nothing in stock but the sort of education that business + has no use for, I should suppose that he would want to go into some other + line.” + </p> + <p> + The banker mutely referred the matter to the professor, who said, with + that cold grin of his which I hated: + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps we shall wait for business to purge and live cleanly. Then it + will have some use for the education of a gentleman.” + </p> + <p> + “I see,” said the banker, “that I have touched the quick in both of you, + when I hadn’t the least notion of doing so. But I shouldn’t really like to + prophesy which will adapt itself to the other—education or business. + Let us hope there will be mutual concessions. There are some pessimists + who say that business methods, especially on the large scale of the trusts + and combinations, have grown worse instead of better; but this may be + merely what is called a ‘transition state.’ Hamlet must be cruel to be + kind; the darkest hour comes before dawn—and so on. Perhaps when + business gets the whole affair of life into its hands, and runs the + republic, as its enemies now accuse it of doing, the process of purging + and living cleanly will begin. I have known lots of fellows who started in + life rather scampishly; but when they felt secure of themselves, and + believed that they could afford to be honest, they became so. There’s no + reason why the same thing shouldn’t happen on a large scale. We must never + forget that we are still a very novel experiment, though we have matured + so rapidly in some respects that we have come to regard ourselves as an + accomplished fact. We are really less so than we were forty years ago, + with all the tremendous changes since the war. Before that we could take + certain matters for granted. If a man got out of work, he turned his hand + to something else; if a man failed in business, he started in again from + some other direction; as a last resort, in both cases, he went West, + pre-empted a quarter-section of public land, and grew up with the country. + Now the country is grown up; the public land is gone; business is full on + all sides, and the hand that turned itself to something else has lost its + cunning. The struggle for life has changed from a free-fight to an + encounter of disciplined forces, and the free-fighters that are left get + ground to pieces between organized labor and organized capital. Decidedly, + we are in a transition state, and if the higher education tried to adapt + itself to business needs, there are chances that it might sacrifice itself + without helping business. After all, how much education does business + need? Were our great fortunes made by educated men, or men of university + training? I don’t know but these young fellows are right about that.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that may all be,” I put in. “But it seems to me that you give Mr. + Homos, somehow, a wrong impression of our economic life by your + generalizations. You are a Harvard man yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and I am not a rich man. A million or two, more or less; but what is + that? I have suffered, at the start and all along, from the question as to + what a man with the education of a gentleman ought to do in such and such + a juncture. The fellows who have not that sort of education have not that + sort of question, and they go in and win.” + </p> + <p> + “So you admit, then,” said the professor, “that the higher education + elevates a business man’s standard of morals?” + </p> + <p> + “Undoubtedly. That is one of its chief drawbacks,” said the banker, with a + laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” I said, with the deference due even to a man who had only a + million or two, more or less, “we must allow <i>you</i> to say such + things. But if the case is so bad with the business men who have made the + great fortunes—the business men who have never had the disadvantage + of a university education—I wish you would explain to Mr. Homos why, + in every public exigency, we instinctively appeal to the business sense of + the community as if it were the fountain of wisdom, probity, and equity. + Suppose there were some question of vital interest—I won’t say + financial, but political or moral or social—on which it was + necessary to rouse public opinion, what would be the first thing to do? To + call a meeting over the signatures of the leading business men, because no + other names appeal with such force to the public. You might get up a call + signed by all the novelists, artists, ministers, lawyers, and doctors in + the state, and it would not have a tithe of the effect, with the people at + large, that a call signed by a few leading merchants, bank presidents, + railroad men, and trust officers would have. What is the reason? It seems + strange that I should be asking you to defend yourself against yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all, my dear fellow, not at all,” the banker replied, with his + caressing bonhomie. “Though I will confess, to begin with, that I do not + expect to answer your question to your entire satisfaction. I can only do + my best—on the instalment plan.” + </p> + <p> + He turned to the Altrurian, and then went on: “As I said the other night, + this is a business man’s country. We are a purely commercial people; money + is absolutely to the fore; and business, which is the means of getting the + most money, is the American ideal. If you like, you may call it the + American fetish; I don’t mind calling it so myself. The fact that business + is our ideal, or our fetish, will account for the popular faith in + business men, who form its priesthood, its hierarchy. I don’t know, + myself, any other reason for regarding business men as solider than + novelists or artists or ministers, not to mention lawyers and doctors. + They are supposed to have long heads; but it appears that ninety-five + times out of a hundred they haven’t. They are supposed to be very + reliable; but it is almost invariably a business man of some sort who gets + out to Canada while the state examiner is balancing his books, and it is + usually the longest headed business men who get plundered by him. No, it + is simply because business is our national ideal that the business man is + honored above all other men among us. In the aristocratic countries they + forward a public object under the patronage of the nobility and gentry; in + a plutocratic country they get the business men to indorse it. I suppose + that the average American citizen feels that they wouldn’t indorse a thing + unless it was safe; and the average American citizen likes to be safe—he + is cautious. As a matter of fact, business men are always taking risks, + and business is a game of chance, in a certain degree. Have I made myself + intelligible?” + </p> + <p> + “Entirely so,” said the Altrurian; and he seemed so thoroughly well + satisfied that he forbore asking any further question. + </p> + <p> + No one else spoke. The banker lighted a cigar, and resumed at the point + where he left off when I ventured to enter upon the defence of his class + with him. I must say that he had not convinced me at all. At that moment I + would rather have trusted him, in any serious matter of practical concern, + than all the novelists I ever heard of. But I thought I would leave the + word to him, without further attempt to reinstate him in his self-esteem. + In fact, he seemed to be getting along very well without it, or else he + was feeling that mysterious control from the Altrurian which I had already + suspected him of using. Voluntarily or involuntarily, the banker proceeded + with his contribution to the Altrurian’s stock of knowledge concerning our + civilization: + </p> + <p> + “I don’t believe, however, that the higher education is any more of a + failure, as a provision for a business career, than the lower education is + for the life of labor. I suppose that the hypercritical observer might say + that in a wholly commercial civilization like ours the business man really + needed nothing beyond the three R’s, and the working-man needed no R at + all. As a practical affair, there is a good deal to be said in favor of + that view. The higher education is part of the social ideal which we have + derived from the past, from Europe. It is part of the provision for the + life of leisure, the life of the aristocrat, which nobody of our + generation leads, except women. Our women really have some use for the + education of a gentleman, but our men have none. How will that do for a + generalization?” the banker asked of me. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” I admitted, with a laugh, “it is a good deal like one of my own. I + have always been struck with that phase of our civilization.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then,” the banker resumed, “take the lower education. That is part + of the civic ideal which, I suppose, I may say we evolved from the depths + of our inner consciousness of what an American citizen ought to be. It + includes instruction in all the R’s, and in several other letters of the + alphabet. It is given free by the state, and no one can deny that it is + thoroughly socialistic in conception and application.” + </p> + <p> + “Distinctly so,” said the professor. “Now that the text-books are + furnished by the state, we have only to go a step further and provide a + good, hot lunch for the children every day, as they do in Paris.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” the banker returned, “I don’t know that I should have much to say + against that. It seems as reasonable as anything in the system of + education which we force upon the working classes. <i>They</i> know + perfectly well, whether we do or not, that the three R’s will not make + their children better mechanics or laborers, and that, if the fight for a + mere living is to go on from generation to generation, they will have no + leisure to apply the little learning they get in the public schools for + their personal culture. In the mean time we deprive the parents of their + children’s labor, in order that they may be better citizens for their + schooling, as we imagine; I don’t know whether they are or not. We offer + them no sort of compensation for their time, and I think we ought to feel + obliged to them for not wanting wages for their children while we are + teaching them to be better citizens.” + </p> + <p> + “You know,” said the professor, “that has been suggested by some of their + leaders.” + </p> + <p> + “No, really? Well, that is too good!” The banker threw back his head and + roared, and we all laughed with him. When we had sobered down again, he + said: “I suppose that when a working-man makes all the use he can of his + lower education he becomes a business man, and then he doesn’t need the + higher. Professor, you seem to be left out in the cold by our system, + whichever way you take it.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said the professor, “the law of supply and demand works both ways: + it creates the demand, if the supply comes first; and if we keep on giving + the sons of business men the education of a gentleman, we may yet make + them feel the need of it. We shall evolve a new sort of business man.” + </p> + <p> + “The sort that can’t make money, or wouldn’t exactly like to, on some + terms?” asked the banker. “Well, perhaps we shall work out our democratic + salvation in that way. When you have educated your new business man to the + point where he can’t consent to get rich at the obvious cost of others, + you’ve got him on the way back to work with his hands. He will sink into + the ranks of labor, and give the fellow with the lower education a chance. + I’ve no doubt he’ll take it. I don’t know but you’re right, professor.” + </p> + <p> + The lawyer had not spoken as yet. Now he said: “Then it is education, + after all, that is to bridge the chasm between the classes and the masses, + though it seems destined to go a long way around about it. There was a + time, I believe, when we expected religion to do that.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it may still be doing it, for all I know,” said the banker. “What + do you say?” he asked, turning to the minister. “You ought to be able to + give us some statistics on the subject with that large congregation of + yours. You preach to more people than any other pulpit in your city.” + </p> + <p> + The banker named one of the principal cities in the East, and the minister + answered, with, modest pride: “I am not sure of that; but our society is + certainly a very large one.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, and how many of the lower classes are there in it—people who + work for their living with their hands?” + </p> + <p> + The minister stirred uneasily in his chair, and at last he said, with + evident unhappiness: “They—I suppose—they have their own + churches. I have never thought that such a separation of the classes was + right; and I have had some of the very best people—socially and + financially—with me in the wish that there might be more + brotherliness between the rich and poor among us. But as yet—” + </p> + <p> + He stopped; the banker pursued: “Do you mean there are <i>no</i> + working-people in your congregation?” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot think of any,” returned the minister, so miserably that the + banker forbore to press the point. + </p> + <p> + The lawyer broke the awkward pause which followed: “I have heard it + asserted that there is no country in the world where the separation of the + classes is so absolute as in ours. In fact, I once heard a Russian + revolutionist, who had lived in exile all over Europe, say that he had + never seen anywhere such a want of kindness or sympathy between rich and + poor as he had observed in America. I doubted whether he was right. But he + believed that, if it ever came to the industrial revolution with us, the + fight would be more uncompromising than any such fight that the world had + ever seen. There was no respect from low to high, he said, and no + consideration from high to low, as there were in countries with traditions + and old associations.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the banker, “there may be something in that. Certainly, so + far as the two forces have come into conflict here, there has been no + disposition, on either side, to ‘make war with the water of roses.’ It’s + astonishing, in fact, to see how ruthless the fellows who have just got up + are toward the fellows who are still down. And the best of us have been up + only a generation or two—and the fellows who are still down know + it.” + </p> + <p> + “And what do you think would be the outcome of such a conflict?” I asked, + with my soul divided between fear of it and the perception of its + excellence as material. My fancy vividly sketched the outline of a story + which should forecast the struggle and its event, somewhat on the plan of + the Battle of Dorking. + </p> + <p> + “We should beat,” said the banker, breaking his cigar-ash off with his + little finger; and I instantly cast him, with his ironic calm, for the + part of a great patrician leader in my “Fall of the Republic.” Of course, + I disguised him somewhat, and travestied his worldly bonhomie with the + bluff sang-froid of the soldier; these things are easily done. + </p> + <p> + “What makes you think we should beat?” asked the manufacturer, with a + certain curiosity. + </p> + <p> + “Well, all the good jingo reasons: we have got the materials for beating. + Those fellows throw away their strength whenever they begin to fight, and + they’ve been so badly generalled, up to the present time, that they have + wanted to fight at the outset of every quarrel. They have been beaten in + every quarrel, but still they always want to begin by fighting. That is + all right. When they have learned enough to begin by <i>voting</i>, then + we shall have to look out. But if they keep on fighting, and always + putting themselves in the wrong and getting the worst of it, perhaps we + can fix the voting so we needn’t be any more afraid of that than we are of + the fighting. It’s astonishing how short-sighted they are. They, have no + conception of any cure for their grievances except more wages and fewer + hours.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” I asked, “do you really think they have any just grievances?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course not, as a business man,” said the banker. “If I were a + working-man, I should probably think differently. But we will suppose, for + the sake of argument, that their day is too long and their pay is too + short. How do they go about to better themselves? They strike. Well, a + strike is a fight, and in a fight, nowadays, it is always skill and money + that win. The working-men can’t stop till they have put themselves outside + of the public sympathy which the newspapers say is so potent in their + behalf; I never saw that it did them the least good. They begin by + boycotting, and breaking the heads of the men who want to work. They + destroy property, and they interfere with business—the two + absolutely sacred things in the American religion. Then we call out the + militia and shoot a few of them, and their leaders declare the strike off. + It is perfectly simple.” + </p> + <p> + “But will it be quite as simple,” I asked, reluctant in behalf of my + projected romance, to have the matter so soon disposed of—“will it + be quite so simple if their leaders ever persuade the working-men to leave + the militia, as they threaten to do, from time to time?” + </p> + <p> + “No, not quite so simple,” the banker admitted. “Still, the fight would be + comparatively simple. In the first place, I doubt—though I won’t be + certain about it—whether there are a great many working-men in the + militia now. I rather fancy it is made up, for the most part, of clerks + and small tradesmen and book-keepers, and such employés of business as + have time and money for it. I may be mistaken.” + </p> + <p> + No one seemed able to say whether he was mistaken or not; and, after + waiting a moment, he proceeded: “I feel pretty sure that it is so in the + city companies and regiments, at any rate, and that if every working-man + left them it would not seriously impair their effectiveness. But when the + working-men have left the militia, what have they done? They have + eliminated the only thing that disqualifies it for prompt and unsparing + use against strikers. As long as they are in it we might have our + misgivings, but if they were once out of it we should have none. And what + would they gain? They would not be allowed to arm and organize as an + inimical force. <i>That</i> was settled once for all in Chicago, in the + case of the International Groups. A few squads of policemen would break + them up. Why,” the banker exclaimed, with his good-humored laugh, “how + preposterous they are when you come to look at it! They are in the + majority, the immense majority, if you count the farmers, and they prefer + to behave as if they were the hopeless minority. They say they want an + eight-hour law, and every now and then they strike and try to fight it. + Why don’t they <i>vote</i> it? They could <i>make</i> it the law in six + months by such overwhelming numbers that no one would dare to evade or + defy it. They can make any law they want, but they prefer to break such + laws as we have. That ‘alienates public sympathy,’ the newspapers say; but + the spectacle of their stupidity and helpless wilfulness is so lamentable + that I could almost pity them. If they chose, it would take only a few + years to transform our government into the likeness of anything they + wanted. But they would rather not have what they want, apparently, if they + can only keep themselves from getting it, and they have to work hard to do + that!” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose,” I said, “that they are misled by the un-American principles + and methods of the Socialists among them.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, no,” returned the banker, “I shouldn’t say that. As far as I + understand it, the Socialists are the only fellows among them who propose + to vote their ideas into laws, and nothing can be more American than that. + I don’t believe the Socialists stir up the strikes—at least, among + our working-men; though the newspapers convict them of it, generally + without trying them. The Socialists seem to accept the strikes as the + inevitable outcome of the situation, and they make use of them as proofs + of the industrial discontent. But, luckily for the status, our labor + leaders are not Socialists, for your Socialist, whatever you may say + against him, has generally thought himself into a Socialist. He knows that + until the working-men stop fighting, and get down to voting—until + they consent to be the majority—there is no hope for them. I am not + talking of anarchists, mind you, but of Socialists, whose philosophy is + more law, not less, and who look forward to an order so just that it can’t + be disturbed.” + </p> + <p> + “And what,” the minister faintly said, “do you think will be the outcome + of it all?” + </p> + <p> + “We had that question the other night, didn’t we? Our legal friend here + seemed to feel that we might rub along indefinitely as we are doing, or + work out an Altruria of our own; or go back to the patriarchal stage and + own our working-men. He seemed not to have so much faith in the logic of + events as I have. I doubt if it is altogether a woman’s logic. <i>Parole + femmine, fatti maschi,</i> and the logic of events isn’t altogether words; + it’s full of hard knocks, too. But I’m no prophet. I can’t forecast the + future; I prefer to take it as it comes. There’s a little tract of William + Morris’s, though—I forget just what he calls it—that is full + of curious and interesting speculation on this point. He thinks that, if + we keep the road we are now going, the last state of labor will be like + its first, and it will be owned.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don’t believe that will ever happen in America,” I protested. + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” asked the banker. “Practically, it is owned already in a vastly + greater measure than we recognize. And where would the great harm be? The + new slavery would not be like the old. There needn’t be irresponsible + whipping and separation of families, and private buying and selling. The + proletariate would probably be owned by the state, as it was at one time + in Greece; or by large corporations, which would be much more in keeping + with the genius of our free institutions; and an enlightened public + opinion would cast safeguards about it in the form of law to guard it from + abuse. But it would be strictly policed, localized, and controlled. There + would probably be less suffering than there is now, when a man may be + cowed into submission to any terms through the suffering of his family; + when he may be starved out and turned out if he is unruly. You may be sure + that nothing of that kind would happen in the new slavery. We have not had + nineteen hundred years of Christianity for nothing.” + </p> + <p> + The banker paused, and, as the silence continued, he broke it with a + laugh, which was a prodigious relief to my feelings, and I suppose to the + feelings of all. I perceived that he had been joking, and I was confirmed + in this when he turned to the Altrurian and laid his hand upon his + shoulder. “You see,” he said, “I’m a kind of Altrurian myself. What is the + reason why we should not found a new Altruria here on the lines I’ve + drawn? Have you never had philosophers—well, call them + philanthropists; I don’t mind—of my way of thinking among you?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes,” said the Altrurian. “At one time, just before we emerged from + the competitive conditions, there was much serious question whether + capital should not own labor instead of labor owning capital. That was + many hundred years ago.” + </p> + <p> + “I am proud to find myself such an advanced thinker,” said the banker. + “And how came you to decide that labor should own capital?” + </p> + <p> + “We voted it,” answered the Altrurian. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the banker, “our fellows are still fighting it, and getting + beaten.” + </p> + <p> + I found him later in the evening talking with Mrs. Makely. “My dear sir,” + I said, “I liked your frankness with my Altrurian friend immensely; and it + may be well to put the worst foot foremost; but what is the advantage of + not leaving us a leg to stand upon?” + </p> + <p> + He was not in the least offended at my boldness, as I had feared he might + be, but he said, with that jolly laugh of his: “Capital! Well, perhaps I + have worked my candor a little too hard; I suppose there is such a thing. + But don’t you see that it leaves me in the best possible position to carry + the war into Altruria when we get him to open up about his native land?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! If you can get him to do it.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, we were just talking about that. Mrs. Makely has a plan.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the lady, turning an empty chair near her own toward me. “Sit + down and listen.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + X + </h2> + <p> + I sat down, and Mrs. Makely continued: “I have thought it all out, and I + want you to confess that in all practical matters a woman’s brain is + better than a man’s. Mr. Bullion, here, says it is, and I want you to say + so, too.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” the banker admitted, “when it comes down to business a woman is + worth any two of us.” + </p> + <p> + “And we have just been agreeing,” I coincided, “that the only gentlemen + among us are women. Mrs. Makely, I admit, without further dispute, that + the most unworldly woman is worldlier than the worldliest man; and that in + all practical matters we fade into dreamers and doctrinaires beside you. + Now, go on.” + </p> + <p> + But she did not mean to let me off so easily. She began to brag herself + up, as women do whenever you make them the slightest concession. + </p> + <p> + “Here, you men,” she said, “have been trying for a whole week to get + something out of Mr. Homos about his country, and you have left it to a + poor, weak woman, at last, to think how to manage it. I do believe that + you get so much interested in your own talk, when you are with him, that + you don’t let him get in a word, and that’s the reason you haven’t found + out anything about Altruria yet from him.” + </p> + <p> + In view of the manner in which she had cut in at Mrs. Camp’s, and stopped + Homos on the very verge of the only full and free confession he had ever + been near making about Altruria, I thought this was pretty cool; but, for + fear of worse, I said: + </p> + <p> + “You’re quite right, Mrs. Makely. I’m sorry to say that there has been a + shameful want of self-control among us, and that, if we learn anything at + all from him, it will be because you have taught us how.” + </p> + <p> + She could not resist this bit of taffy. She scarcely gave herself time to + gulp it before she said: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it’s very well to say that now! But where would you have been if I + hadn’t set my wits to work? Now, listen! It just popped into my mind, like + an inspiration, when I was thinking of something altogether different. It + flashed upon me in an instant: a good object, and a public occasion.” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” I said, finding this explosion and electrical inspiration rather + enigmatical. + </p> + <p> + “Why, you know, the Union Chapel, over in the village, is in a languishing + condition, and the ladies have been talking all summer about doing + something for it, getting up something—a concert or theatricals or a + dance or something—and applying the proceeds to repainting and + papering the visible church; it needs it dreadfully. But, of course, those + things are not exactly religious, don’t you know; and a fair is so much + trouble; and <i>such</i> a bore, when you get the articles ready, even; + and everybody feels swindled; and now people frown on raffles, so there is + no use thinking of them. What you want is something striking. We did think + of a parlor-reading, or perhaps ventriloquism; but the performers all + charge so much that there wouldn’t be anything left after paying + expenses.” + </p> + <p> + She seemed to expect some sort of prompting at this point; so I said: + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” she repeated, “that is just where your Mr. Homos comes in.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! How does he come in there?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, get him to deliver a Talk on Altruria. As soon as he knows it’s for + a good object, he will be on fire to do it; and they must live so much in + common there that the public occasion will be just the thing that will + appeal to him.” + </p> + <p> + It did seem a good plan to me, and I said so. But Mrs. Makely was so much + in love with it that she was not satisfied with my modest recognition. + </p> + <p> + “Good? It’s magnificent! It’s the very thing! And I have thought it out, + down to the last detail—” + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me,” I interrupted. “Do you think there is sufficient general + interest in the subject, outside of the hotel, to get a full house for + him? I shouldn’t like to see him subjected to the mortification of empty + benches.” + </p> + <p> + “What in the world are you thinking of? Why, there isn’t a farm-house, + anywhere within ten miles, where they haven’t heard of Mr. Homos; and + there isn’t a servant under this roof, or in any of the boarding-houses, + who doesn’t know something about Altruria and want to know more. It seems + that your friend has been much oftener with the porters and the + stable-boys than he has been with us.” + </p> + <p> + I had only too great reason to fear so. In spite of my warnings and + entreaties, he had continued to behave toward every human being he met + exactly as if they were equals. He apparently could not conceive of that + social difference which difference of occupation creates among us. He + owned that he saw it, and from the talk of our little group he knew it + existed; but, when I expostulated with him upon some act in gross + violation of society usage, he only answered that he could not imagine + that what he saw and knew could actually be. It was quite impossible to + keep him from bowing with the greatest deference to our waitress; he shook + hands with the head-waiter every morning as well as with me; there was a + fearful story current in the house, that he had been seen running down one + of the corridors to relieve a chambermaid laden with two heavy water-pails + which she was carrying to the rooms to fill up the pitchers. This was + probably not true; but I myself saw him helping in the hotel hay-field one + afternoon, shirt-sleeved like any of the hired men. He said that it was + the best possible exercise, and that he was ashamed he could give no + better excuse for it than the fact that without something of the kind he + should suffer from indigestion. It was grotesque, and out of all keeping + with a man of his cultivation and breeding. He was a gentleman and a + scholar, there was no denying, and yet he did things in contravention of + good form at every opportunity, and nothing I could say had any effect + with him. I was perplexed beyond measure, the day after I had reproached + him for his labor in the hay-field, to find him in a group of table-girls, + who were listening while the head-waiter read aloud to them in the shade + of the house; there was a corner looking toward the stables which was + given up to them by tacit consent of the guests during a certain part of + the afternoon. + </p> + <p> + I feigned not to see him, but I could not forbear speaking to him about it + afterward. He took it in good part, but he said he had been rather + disappointed in the kind of literature they liked and the comments they + made on it; he had expected that with the education they had received, and + with their experience of the seriousness of life, they would prefer + something less trivial. He supposed, however, that a romantic love-story, + where a poor American girl marries an English lord, formed a refuge for + them from the real world which promised them so little and held them so + cheap. It was quite useless for one to try to make him realize his + behavior in consorting with servants as a kind of scandal. + </p> + <p> + The worst of it was that his behavior, as I could see, had already begun + to demoralize the objects of his misplaced politeness. At first the + servants stared and resented it, as if it were some tasteless joke; but in + an incredibly short time, when they saw that he meant his courtesy in good + faith, they took it as their due. I had always had a good understanding + with the head-waiter, and I thought I could safely smile with him at the + queer conduct of my friend toward himself and his fellow-servants. To my + astonishment he said: “I don’t see why he shouldn’t treat them as if they + were ladies and gentlemen. Doesn’t he treat you and your friends so?” + </p> + <p> + It was impossible to answer this, and I could only suffer in silence, and + hope the Altrurian would soon go. I had dreaded the moment when the + landlord should tell me that his room was wanted; now I almost desired it; + but he never did. On the contrary, the Altrurian was in high favor with + him. He said he liked to see a man make himself pleasant with everybody; + and that he did not believe he had ever had a guest in the house who was + so popular all round. + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” Mrs. Makely went on, “I don’t criticise him—with his + peculiar traditions. I presume I should be just so myself if I had been + brought up in Altruria, which, thank goodness, I wasn’t. But Mr. Homos is + a perfect dear, and all the women in the house are in love with him, from + the cook’s helpers, up and down. No, the only danger is that there won’t + be room in the hotel parlors for all the people that will want to hear + him, and we shall have to make the admission something that will be + prohibitive in most cases. We shall have to make it a dollar.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” I said, “I think that will settle the question as far as the + farming population is concerned. It’s twice as much as they ever pay for a + reserved seat in the circus, and four times as much as a simple admission. + I’m afraid, Mrs. Makely, you’re going to be very few, though fit.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I’ve thought it all over, and I’m going to put the tickets at one + dollar.” + </p> + <p> + “Very good. Have you caught your hare?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I haven’t yet. And I want you to help me catch him. What do you think + is the best way to go about it?” + </p> + <p> + The banker said he would leave us to the discussion of that question, but + Mrs. Makely could count upon him in everything if she could only get the + man to talk. At the end of our conference we decided to interview the + Altrurian together. + </p> + <p> + I shall always be ashamed of the way that woman wheedled the Altrurian, + when we found him the next morning, walking up and down the piazza, before + breakfast—that is, it was before our breakfast; when we asked him to + go in with us, he said he had just had his breakfast, and was waiting for + Reuben Camp, who had promised to take him up as he passed with a load of + hay for one of the hotels in the village. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, that reminds me, Mr. Homos,” the unscrupulous woman began on him at + once. “We want to interest you in a little movement we’re getting up for + the Union Chapel in the village. You know it’s the church where all the + different sects have their services; alternately. Of course, it’s rather + an original way of doing, but there is sense in it where the people are + too poor to go into debt for different churches, and—” + </p> + <p> + “It’s admirable!” said the Altrurian. “I have heard about it from the + Camps. It is an emblem of the unity which ought to prevail among + Christians of all professions. How can I help you, Mrs. Makely?” + </p> + <p> + “I knew you would approve of it!” she exulted. “Well, it’s simply this: + The poor little place has got so shabby that <i>I’m</i> almost ashamed to + be seen going into it, for one; and want to raise money enough to give it + a new coat of paint outside and put on some kind of pretty paper, of an + ecclesiastical pattern, on the inside. I declare, those staring white + walls, with the cracks in the plastering zigzagging every <i>which</i> + way, distract me so that I can’t put my mind on the sermon. Don’t you + think that paper, say of a Gothic design, would be a great improvement? + I’m sure it would; and it’s Mr. Twelvemough’s idea, too.” + </p> + <p> + I learned this fact now for the first time; but, with Mrs. Makely’s + warning eye upon me, I could not say so, and I made what sounded to me + like a Gothic murmur of acquiescence. It sufficed for Mrs. Makely’s + purpose, at any rate, and she went on, without giving the Altrurian a + chance to say what he thought the educational effect of wall-paper would + be: + </p> + <p> + “Well, the long and short of it is that we want you to make this money for + us, Mr. Homos.” + </p> + <p> + “I?” He started in a kind of horror. “My dear lady, I never made any money + in my life. I should think it <i>wrong</i> to make money.” + </p> + <p> + “In Altruria, yes. We all know how it is in your delightful country, and I + assure you that no one could respect your conscientious scruples more than + I do. But you must remember that you are in America now. In America you + have to make money, or else—get left. And then you must consider the + object, and all the good you can do, indirectly, by a little Talk on + Altruria.” + </p> + <p> + He answered, blandly: “A little Talk on Altruria? How in the world should + I get money by that?” + </p> + <p> + She was only too eager to explain, and she did it with so much volubility + and at such great length that I, who am good for nothing till I have had + my cup of coffee in the morning, almost perished of an elucidation which + the Altrurian bore with the sweetest patience. + </p> + <p> + When she gave him a chance to answer, at last, he said: “I shall be very + happy to do what you wish, madam.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Will</i> you?” she screamed. “Oh, I’m so glad! You <i>have</i> been so + slippery about Altruria, you know, that I expected nothing but a + point-blank refusal. Of course, I knew you would be kind about it. Oh, I + can hardly believe my senses! You can’t think what a dear you are.” I knew + she had got that word from some English people who had been in the hotel; + and she was working it rather wildly, but it was not my business to check + her. “Well, then, all you have got to do is to leave the whole thing to + me, and not bother about it a bit till I send and tell you we are ready to + listen. There comes Reuben, with his ox-team. Thank you so much, Mr. + Homos. No one need be ashamed to enter the house of God”—she said + Gawd, in an access of piety—“after we get that paint and paper on + it; and we shall have them on before two Sabbaths have passed over it.” + </p> + <p> + She wrung the Altrurian’s hand; I was only afraid she was going to kiss + him. + </p> + <p> + “There is but one stipulation I should like to make,” he began. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, a thousand,” she cut in. + </p> + <p> + “And that is, there shall be no exclusion from my lecture on account of + occupation or condition. That is a thing that I can in no wise + countenance, even in America; it is far more abhorrent to me even than + money-making, though they are each a part and parcel of the other.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought it was that,” she retorted, joyously. “And I can assure you, + Mr. Homos, there shall be nothing of that kind. Every one—I don’t + care who it is or what they do—shall hear you who buys a ticket. + Now, will that do?” + </p> + <p> + “Perfectly,” said the Altrurian, and he let her wring his hand again. + </p> + <p> + She pushed hers through my arm as we started for the dining-room, and + leaned over to whisper jubilantly: “That will fix it. He will see how much + his precious lower classes care for Altruria if they have to pay a dollar + apiece to hear about it. And I shall keep faith with him to the letter.” + </p> + <p> + I could not feel that she would keep it in the spirit; but I could only + groan inwardly and chuckle outwardly at the woman’s depravity. + </p> + <p> + It seemed to me, though I could not approve of it, a capital joke, and so + it seemed to all the members of the little group whom I had made + especially acquainted with the Altrurian. It is true that the minister was + somewhat troubled with the moral question, which did not leave me wholly + at peace; and the banker affected to find a question of taste involved, + which he said he must let me settle, however, as the man’s host; if I + could stand it, he could. No one said anything against the plan to Mrs. + Makely, and this energetic woman made us take two tickets apiece, as soon + as she got them printed, over in the village. She got little hand-bills + printed, and had them scattered about through the neighborhood, at all the + hotels, boarding-houses, and summer cottages, to give notice of the time + and place of the talk on Altruria. She fixed this for the following + Saturday afternoon, in our hotel parlor; she had it in the afternoon so as + not to interfere with the hop in the evening; she put tickets on sale at + the principal houses and at the village drug-store, and she made me go + about with her and help her sell them at some of the cottages in person. + </p> + <p> + I must say I found this extremely distasteful, especially where the people + were not very willing to buy, and she had to urge them. They all admitted + the excellence of the object, but they were not so sure about the means. + At several places the ladies asked who was this Mr. Homos, anyway; and how + did she know he was really from Altruria? He might be an impostor. + </p> + <p> + Then Mrs. Makely would put me forward, and I would be obliged to give such + account of him as I could, and to explain just how and why he came to be + my guest; with the cumulative effect of bringing back all the misgivings + which I had myself felt at the outset concerning him, and which I had + dismissed as too fantastic. + </p> + <p> + The tickets went off rather slowly, even in our own hotel; people thought + them too dear; and some, as soon as they knew the price, said frankly they + had heard enough about Altruria already, and were sick of the whole thing. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Makely said this was quite what she had expected of those people; + that they were horrid and stingy and vulgar; and she should see what face + they would have to ask her to take tickets when <i>they</i> were trying to + get up something. She began to be vexed with herself, she confessed, at + the joke she was playing on Mr. Homos, and I noticed that she put herself + rather defiantly <i>en evidence</i> in his company whenever she could in + the presence of these reluctant ladies. She told me she had not the + courage to ask the clerk how many of the tickets he had sold out of those + she had left at the desk. + </p> + <p> + One morning, the third or fourth, as I was going in to breakfast with her, + the head-waiter stopped her as he opened the door, and asked modestly if + she could spare him a few tickets, for he thought he could sell some. To + my amazement the unprincipled creature said: “Why, certainly. How many?” + and instantly took a package out of her pocket, where she seemed always to + have them. He asked, Would twenty be more than she could spare? and she + answered: “Not at all. Here are twenty-five.” and bestowed the whole + package upon him. + </p> + <p> + That afternoon Reuben Camp came lounging up toward us, where I sat with + her on the corner of the piazza, and said that if she would like to let + him try his luck with some tickets for the Talk he would see what he could + do. + </p> + <p> + “You can have all you want, Reuben,” she said, “and I hope you’ll have + better luck than I have. I’m perfectly disgusted with people.” + </p> + <p> + She fished several packages out of her pocket this time, and he asked: “Do + you mean that I can have them all?” + </p> + <p> + “Every one, and a band of music into the bargain,” she answered, + recklessly. But she seemed a little daunted when he quietly took them. + “You know there are a hundred here?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I should like to see what I can do among the natives. Then there is + a construction train over at the junction, and I know a lot of the + fellows. I guess some of ‘em would like to come.” + </p> + <p> + “The tickets are a dollar each, you know,” she suggested. + </p> + <p> + “That’s all right,” said Camp. “Well, good-afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Makely turned to me with a kind of gasp as he shambled away. “I don’t + know about that.” + </p> + <p> + “About having the whole crew of a construction train at the Talk? I dare + say it won’t be pleasant to the ladies who have bought tickets.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Oh</i>!” said Mrs. Makely, with astonishing contempt, “I don’t care + what <i>they</i> think. But Reuben has got all my tickets, and suppose he + keeps them so long that I won’t have time to sell any, and then throws + them back on my hands? <i>I</i> know!” she added, joyously. “I can go + around now and tell people that my tickets are all gone; and I’ll go + instantly and have the clerk hold all he has left at a premium.” + </p> + <p> + She came back looking rather blank. + </p> + <p> + “He hasn’t got a single one left. He says an old native came in this + morning and took every last one of them—he doesn’t remember just how + many. I believe they’re going to speculate on them; and if Reuben Camp + serves me a trick like that—Why,” she broke off, “I believe I’ll + speculate on them myself. I should like to know why I shouldn’t. Oh, I + should just <i>like</i> to make some of those creatures pay double, or + treble, for the chances they’ve refused. Ah, Mrs. Bulkham,” she called out + to a lady who was coming down the veranda toward us, “you’ll be glad to + know I’ve got rid of all my tickets. <i>Such</i> a relief!” + </p> + <p> + “You <i>have</i>?” Mrs. Bulkham retorted. + </p> + <p> + “Every one.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought,” said Mrs. Bulkham, “that you understood I wanted one for my + daughter and myself, if she came.” + </p> + <p> + “I certainly didn’t,” said Mrs. Makely, with a wink of concentrated + wickedness at me. “But, if you do, you will have to say so now, without + any ifs or ands about it; and if any of the tickets come back—I let + friends have a few on sale—I will give you two.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I do,” said Mrs. Bulkham, after a moment. + </p> + <p> + “Very well; it will be five dollars for the two. I feel bound to get all I + can for the cause. Shall I put your name down?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Mrs. Bulkham, rather crossly; but Mrs. Makely inscribed her + name on her tablets with a radiant amiability, which suffered no eclipse + when, within the next fifteen minutes, a dozen other ladies hurried up and + bought in at the same rate. + </p> + <p> + I could not stand it, and I got up to go away, feeling extremely <i>particeps + criminis</i>. Mrs. Makely seemed to have a conscience as light as air. + </p> + <p> + “If Reuben Camp or the head-waiter don’t bring back some of those tickets, + I don’t know what I shall do. I shall have to put chairs into the aisles + and charge five dollars apiece for as many people as I can crowd in there. + I never knew anything so perfectly providential.” + </p> + <p> + “I envy you the ability to see it in that light, Mrs. Makely,” I said, + faint at heart. “Suppose Camp crowds the place full of his trainmen, how + will the ladies that you’ve sold tickets to at five dollars apiece like + it?” + </p> + <p> + “Pooh! What do I care how they like it! Horrid things! And for repairs on + the house of Gawd, it’s the same as being in church, where everybody is + equal.” + </p> + <p> + The time passed. Mrs. Makely sold chances to all the ladies in the house; + on Friday night Reuben Camp brought her a hundred dollars; the head-waiter + had already paid in twenty-five. “I didn’t dare to ask them if they + speculated on them,” she confided to me. “Do you suppose they would have + the conscience?” + </p> + <p> + They had secured the large parlor of the hotel, where the young people + danced in the evening, and where entertainments were held, of the sort + usually given in summer hotels; we had already had a dramatic reading, a + time with the phonograph, an exhibition of necromancy, a concert by a + college glee club, and I do not know what else. The room would hold + perhaps two hundred people, if they were closely seated, and, by her own + showing, Mrs. Makely had sold above two hundred and fifty tickets and + chances. All Saturday forenoon she consoled herself with the belief that a + great many people at the other hotels and cottages had bought seats merely + to aid the cause, and would not really come; she estimated that at least + fifty would stay away; but, if Reuben Camp had sold his tickets among the + natives, we might expect every one of them to come and get his money’s + worth; she did not dare to ask the head-waiter how he had got rid of his + twenty-five tickets. + </p> + <p> + The hour set for the Talk to begin was three o’clock, so that people could + have their naps comfortably over, after the one o’clock dinner, and be + just in the right frame of mind for listening. But long before the + appointed time the people who dine at twelve, and never take an afternoon + nap, began to arrive, on foot, in farm-wagons, smart buggies, mud-crusted + carryalls, and all manner of ramshackle vehicles. They arrived as if + coming to a circus, old husbands and wives, young couples and their + children, pretty girls and their fellows, and hitched their horses to the + tails of their wagons, and began to make a picnic lunch in the shadow of + the grove lying between the hotel and the station. About two we heard the + snorting of a locomotive at a time when no train was due, and a + construction train came in view, with the men waving their handkerchiefs + from the windows, and apparently ready for all the fun there was to be in + the thing. Some of them had a small flag in each hand, the American Stars + and Stripes and the white flag of Altruria, in compliment to my guest, I + suppose. A good many of the farmers came over to the hotel to buy tickets, + which they said they expected to get after they came, and Mrs. Makely was + obliged to pacify them with all sorts of lying promises. From moment to + moment she was in consultation with the landlord, who decided to throw + open the dining-room, which connected with the parlor, so as to allow the + help and the neighbors to hear without incommoding the hotel guests. She + said that this took a great burden off her mind, and that now she should + feel perfectly easy, for now no one could complain about being mixed up + with the servants and the natives, and yet every one could hear perfectly. + </p> + <p> + She could not rest until she had sent for Homos and told him of this + admirable arrangement. I did not know whether to be glad or not when he + instantly told her that, if there was to be any such separation of his + auditors, in recognition of our class distinctions, he must refuse to + speak at all. + </p> + <p> + “Then what in the world are we to do?” she wailed out, and the tears came + into her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Have you got the money for all your tickets?” he asked, with a sort of + disgust for the whole transaction in his tone. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and more, too. I don’t believe there’s a soul, in the hotel or out + of it, that hasn’t paid at least a dollar to hear you; and that makes it + so very embarrassing. Oh, <i>dear</i> Mr. Homos! You won’t be so + implacably high-principled as all that! Think that you are doing it for + the house of Gawd.” + </p> + <p> + The woman made me sick. + </p> + <p> + “Then no one,” said the Altrurian, “can feel aggrieved, or unfairly used, + if I say what I have to say in the open air, where all can listen equally, + without any manner of preference or distinction. We will go up to the edge + of the grove overlooking the tennis-court, and hold our meeting there, as + the Altrurian meetings are always held, with the sky for a roof, and with + no walls but the horizon.” + </p> + <p> + “The very thing!” cried Mrs. Makely. “Who would ever have thought you were + so practical, Mr. Homos? I don’t believe you’re an Altrurian, after all; I + believe you are an American in disguise.” + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian turned away, without making any response to this flattering + attribution of our nationality to him; but Mrs. Makely had not waited for + any. She had flown off, and I next saw her attacking the landlord, with + such apparent success that he slapped himself on the leg and vanished, and + immediately the porters and bell-boys and all the men-servants began + carrying out chairs to the tennis-court, which was already well set round + with benches. In a little while the whole space was covered, and settees + were placed well up the ground toward the grove. + </p> + <p> + By half-past two the guests of the hotel came out and took the best seats, + as by right, and the different tallyhoes and mountain wagons began to + arrive from the other hotels, with their silly hotel cries, and their gay + groups dismounted and dispersed themselves over the tennis-court until all + the chairs were taken. It was fine to see how the natives and the trainmen + and the hotel servants, with an instinctive perception of the proprieties, + yielded these places to their superiors, and, after the summer folks were + all seated, scattered themselves on the grass and the pine-needles about + the border of the grove. I should have liked to instance the fact to the + Altrurian, as a proof that this sort of subordination was a part of human + nature, and that a principle which pervaded our civilization, after the + democratic training of our whole national life, must be divinely + implanted. But there was no opportunity for me to speak with him after the + fact had accomplished itself, for by this time he had taken his place in + front of a little clump of low pines and was waiting for the assembly to + quiet itself before he began to speak. I do not think there could have + been less than five hundred present, and the scene had that accidental + picturesqueness which results from the grouping of all sorts of faces and + costumes. Many of our ladies had pretty hats and brilliant parasols, but I + must say that the soberer tone of some of the old farm-wives’ brown + calicoes and outdated bonnets contributed to enrich the coloring, and + there was a certain gayety in the sunny glisten of the men’s straw hats + everywhere that was very good. + </p> + <p> + The sky overhead was absolutely stainless, and the light of the cool + afternoon sun streamed upon the slopes of the solemn mountains to the + east. The tall pines in the background blackened themselves against the + horizon; nearer they showed more and more decidedly their bluish green, + and the yellow of the newly fallen needles painted their aisles deep into + the airy shadows. + </p> + <p> + A little wind stirred their tops, and for a moment, just before the + Altrurian began to speak, drew from them an organ-tone that melted + delicately away as his powerful voice rose. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XI + </h2> + <p> + “I could not give you a clear account of the present state of things in my + country,” the Altrurian began, “without first telling you something of our + conditions before the time of our Evolution. It seems to be the law of all + life that nothing can come to fruition without dying and seeming to make + an end. It must be sown in corruption before it can be raised in + incorruption. The truth itself must perish to our senses before it can + live to our souls; the Son of Man must suffer upon the cross before we can + know the Son, of God. + </p> + <p> + “It was so with His message to the world, which we received in the old + time as an ideal realized by the earliest Christians, who loved one + another and who had all things common. The apostle cast away upon our + heathen coasts won us with the story of this first Christian republic, and + he established a commonwealth of peace and good-will among us in its + likeness. That commonwealth perished, just as its prototype perished, or + seemed to perish; and long ages of civic and economic warfare succeeded, + when every man’s hand was against his neighbor, and might was the rule + that got itself called right. Religion ceased to be the hope of this + world, and became the vague promise of the next. We descended into the + valley of the shadow, and dwelt amid chaos for ages before we groped again + into the light. + </p> + <p> + “The first glimmerings were few and indistinct, but men formed themselves + about the luminous points here and there, and, when these broke and + dispersed into lesser gleams, still men formed themselves about each of + them. There arose a system of things better, indeed, than that darkness, + but full of war and lust and greed, in which the weak rendered homage to + the strong, and served them in the field and in the camp, and the strong + in turn gave the weak protection against the other strong. It was a juggle + in which the weak did not see that their safety was, after all, from + themselves; but it was an image of peace, however false and fitful, and it + endured for a time. It endured for a limited time, if we measure by the + life of the race; it endured for an unlimited time if we measure by the + lives of the men who were born and died while it endured. + </p> + <p> + “But that disorder, cruel and fierce and stupid, which endured because it + sometimes masked itself as order, did at last pass away. Here and there + one of the strong overpowered the rest; then the strong became fewer and + fewer, and in their turn they all yielded to a supreme lord, and + throughout the land there was one rule, as it was called then, or one + misrule, as we should call it now. This rule, or this misrule, continued + for ages more; and again, in the immortality of the race, men toiled and + struggled, and died without the hope of better things. + </p> + <p> + “Then the time came when the long nightmare was burst with the vision of a + future in which all men were the law, and not one man, or any less number + of men than all. + </p> + <p> + “The poor dumb beast of humanity rose, and the throne tumbled, and the + sceptre was broken, and the crown rolled away into that darkness of the + past. We thought that heaven had descended to us, and that liberty, + equality, and fraternity were ours. We could not see what should again + alienate us from one another, or how one brother could again oppress + another. With a free field and no favor we believed we should prosper on + together, and there would be peace and plenty for all. We had the republic + again after so many ages now, and the republic, as we knew it in our dim + annals, was brotherhood and universal happiness. All but a very few, who + prophesied evil of our lawless freedom, were wrapped in a delirium of + hope. Men’s minds and men’s hands were suddenly released to an activity + unheard of before. Invention followed invention; our rivers and seas + became the warp of commerce where the steam-sped shuttles carried the woof + of enterprise to and fro with tireless celerity; machines to save labor + multiplied themselves as if they had been procreative forces, and wares of + every sort were produced with incredible swiftness and cheapness. Money + seemed to flow from the ground; vast fortunes ‘rose like an exhalation,’ + as your Milton says. + </p> + <p> + “At first we did not know that they were the breath of the nethermost pits + of hell, and that the love of money, which was becoming universal with us, + was filling the earth with the hate of men. It was long before we came to + realize that in the depths of our steamships were those who fed the fires + with their lives, and that our mines from which we dug our wealth were the + graves of those who had died to the free light and air, without finding + the rest of death. We did not see that the machines for saving labor were + monsters that devoured women and children, and wasted men at the bidding + of the power which no man must touch. + </p> + <p> + “That is, we thought we must not touch it, for it called itself prosperity + and wealth and the public good, and it said that it gave bread, and it + impudently bade the toiling myriads consider what would become of them if + it took away their means of wearing themselves out in its service. It + demanded of the state absolute immunity and absolute impunity, the right + to do its will wherever and however it would, without question from the + people who were the final law. It had its way, and under its rule we + became the richest people under the sun. The Accumulation, as we called + this power, because we feared to call it by its true name, rewarded its + own with gains of twenty, of a hundred, of a thousand per cent., and to + satisfy its need, to produce the labor that operated its machines, there + came into existence a hapless race of men who bred their kind for its + service, and whose little ones were its prey almost from their cradles. + Then the infamy became too great, and the law, the voice of the people, so + long guiltily silent, was lifted in behalf of those who had no helper. The + Accumulation came under control for the first time, and could no longer + work its slaves twenty hours a day amid perils to life and limb from its + machinery and in conditions that forbade them decency and morality. The + time of a hundred and a thousand per cent. passed; but still the + Accumulation demanded immunity and impunity, and, in spite of its + conviction of the enormities it had practised, it declared itself the only + means of civilization and progress. It began to give out that it was + timid, though its history was full of the boldest frauds and crimes, and + it threatened to withdraw itself if it were ruled or even crossed; and + again it had its way, and we seemed to prosper more and more. The land was + filled with cities where the rich flaunted their splendor in palaces, and + the poor swarmed in squalid tenements. The country was drained of its life + and force, to feed the centres of commerce and industry. The whole land + was bound together with a network of iron roads that linked the factories + and founderies to the fields and mines, and blasted the landscape with the + enterprise that spoiled the lives of men. + </p> + <p> + “Then, all at once, when its work seemed perfect and its dominion sure, + the Accumulation was stricken with consciousness of the lie always at its + heart. It had hitherto cried out for a free field and no favor, for + unrestricted competition; but, in truth, it had never prospered except as + a monopoly. Whenever and wherever competition had play there had been + nothing but disaster to the rival enterprises, till one rose over the + rest. Then there was prosperity for that one. + </p> + <p> + “The Accumulation began to act upon its new consciousness. The iron roads + united; the warring industries made peace, each kind under a single + leadership. Monopoly, not competition, was seen to be the beneficent means + of distributing the favors and blessings of the Accumulation to mankind. + But, as before, there was alternately a glut and dearth of things, and it + often happened that when starving men went ragged through the streets the + storehouses were piled full of rotting harvests that the farmers toiled + from dawn till dusk to grow, and the warehouses fed the moth with the + stuffs that the operative had woven his life into at his loom. Then + followed, with a blind and mad succession, a time of famine, when money + could not buy the super-abundance that vanished, none knew how or why. + </p> + <p> + “The money itself vanished from time to time, and disappeared into the + vaults of the Accumulation, for no better reason than that for which it + poured itself out at other times. Our theory was that the people—that + is to say, the government of the people—made the people’s money, + but, as a matter of fact, the Accumulation made it and controlled it and + juggled with it; and now you saw it, and now you did not see it. The + government made gold coins, but the people had nothing but the paper money + that the Accumulation made. But whether there was scarcity or plenty, the + failures went on with a continuous ruin that nothing could check, while + our larger economic life proceeded in a series of violent shocks, which we + called financial panics, followed by long periods of exhaustion and + recuperation. + </p> + <p> + “There was no law in our economy, but as the Accumulation had never cared + for the nature of law, it did not trouble itself for its name in our order + of things. It had always bought the law it needed for its own use, first + through the voter at the polls in the more primitive days, and then, as + civilization advanced, in the legislatures and the courts. But the + corruption even of these methods was far surpassed when the era of + consolidation came, and the necessity for statutes and verdicts and + decisions became more stringent. Then we had such a burlesque of—” + </p> + <p> + “Look here!” a sharp, nasal voice snarled across the rich, full pipe of + the Altrurian, and we all instantly looked there. The voice came from an + old farmer, holding himself stiffly up, with his hands in his pockets and + his lean frame bent toward the speaker. “When are you goin’ to get to + Altrury? We know all about Ameriky.” + </p> + <p> + He sat down again, and it was a moment before the crowd caught on. Then a + yell of delight and a roar of volleyed laughter went up from the lower + classes, in which, I am sorry to say, my friend the banker joined, so far + as the laughter was concerned. “Good! That’s it! First-rate!” came from a + hundred vulgar throats. + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t it a perfect shame?” Mrs. Makely demanded. “I think some of you + gentlemen ought to say something. What will Mr. Homos think of our + civilization if we let such interruptions go unrebuked?” + </p> + <p> + She was sitting between the banker and myself, and her indignation made + him laugh more and more. “Oh, it serves him right,” he said. “Don’t you + see that he is hoist with his own petard? Let him alone. He’s in the hands + of his friends.” + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian waited for the tumult to die away, and then he said, gently: + “I don’t understand.” + </p> + <p> + The old farmer jerked himself to his feet again. “It’s like this: I paid + my dolla’ to hear about a country where there wa’n’t no co’perations nor + no monop’lies nor no buyin’ up cou’ts; and I ain’t agoin’ to have no + allegory shoved down my throat, instead of a true history, noways. I know + all about how it is <i>here</i>. Fi’st, run their line through your + backya’d, and then kill off your cattle, and keep kerryin’ on it up from + cou’t to cou’t, till there ain’t hide or hair on ‘em left—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, set down, set down! Let the man go on! He’ll make it all right with + you,” one of the construction gang called out; but the farmer stood his + ground, and I could hear him through the laughing and shouting keep saying + something, from time to time, about not wanting to pay no dolla’ for no + talk about co’perations and monop’lies that we had right under our own + noses the whole while, and, you might say, in your very bread-troughs; + till, at last, I saw Reuben Camp make his way toward him, and, after an + energetic expostulation, turn to leave him again. + </p> + <p> + Then he faltered out, “I guess it’s all right,” and dropped out of sight + in the group he had risen from. I fancied his wife scolding him there, and + all but shaking him in public. + </p> + <p> + “I should be very sorry,” the Altrurian proceeded, “to have any one + believe that I have not been giving you a <i>bona fide</i> account of + conditions in my country before the Evolution, when we first took the name + of Altruria in our great, peaceful campaign against the Accumulation. As + for offering you any allegory or travesty of your own conditions, I will + simply say that I do not know them well enough to do so intelligently. + But, whatever they are, God forbid that the likeness which you seem to + recognize should ever go so far as the desperate state of things which we + finally reached. I will not trouble you with details; in fact, I have been + afraid that I had already treated of our affairs too abstractly; but, + since your own experience furnishes you the means of seizing my meaning, I + will go on as before. + </p> + <p> + “You will understand me when I explain that the Accumulation had not + erected itself into the sovereignty with us unopposed. The working-men, + who suffered most from its oppression had early begun to band themselves + against it, with the instinct of self-preservation, first trade by trade + and art by art, and then in congresses and federations of the trades and + arts, until finally they enrolled themselves in one vast union, which + included all the working-men, whom their necessity or their interest did + not leave on the side of the Accumulation. This beneficent and generous + association of the weak for the sake of the weakest did not accomplish + itself fully till the baleful instinct of the Accumulation had reduced the + monopolies to one vast monopoly, till the stronger had devoured the weaker + among its members, and the supreme agent stood at the head of our affairs, + in everything but name, our imperial ruler. We had hugged so long the + delusion of each man for himself that we had suffered all realty to be + taken from us. The Accumulation owned the land as well as the mines under + it and the shops over it; the Accumulation owned the seas and the ships + that sailed the seas, and the fish that swam in their depths; it owned + transportation and distribution, and the wares and products that were to + be carried to and fro; and, by a logic irresistible and inexorable, the + Accumulation <i>was</i>, and we were <i>not</i>. + </p> + <p> + “But the Accumulation, too, had forgotten something. It had found it so + easy to buy legislatures and courts that it did not trouble itself about + the polls. It left us the suffrage, and let us amuse ourselves with the + periodical election of the political clay images which it manipulated and + moulded to any shape and effect at its pleasure. The Accumulation knew + that it was the sovereignty, whatever figure-head we called president or + governor or mayor: we had other names for these officials, but I use their + analogues for the sake of clearness, and I hope my good friend over there + will not think I am still talking about America.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” the old farmer called back, without rising, “we hain’t got there + quite yit.” + </p> + <p> + “No hurry,” said a trainman. “All in good time. Go on!” he called to the + Altrurian. + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian resumed: + </p> + <p> + “There had been, from the beginning, an almost ceaseless struggle between + the Accumulation and the proletariate. The Accumulation always said that + it was the best friend of the proletariate, and it denounced, through the + press which it controlled, the proletarian leaders who taught that it was + the enemy of the proletariate, and who stirred up strikes and tumults of + all sorts, for higher wages and fewer hours. But the friend of the + proletariate, whenever occasion served, treated the proletariate like a + deadly enemy. In seasons of overproduction, as it was called, it locked + the workmen out or laid them off, and left their families to starve, or + ran light work and claimed the credit of public benefactors for running at + all. It sought every chance to reduce wages; it had laws passed to forbid + or cripple the workmen in their strikes; and the judges convicted them of + conspiracy, and wrested the statutes to their hurt, in cases where there + had been no thought of embarrassing them, even among the legislators. God + forbid that you should ever come to such a pass in America; but, if you + ever should, God grant that you may find your way out as simply as we did + at last, when freedom had perished in everything but name among us, and + justice had become a mockery. + </p> + <p> + “The Accumulation had advanced so smoothly, so lightly, in all its steps + to the supreme power, and had at last so thoroughly quelled the uprisings + of the proletariate, that it forgot one thing: it forgot the despised and + neglected suffrage. The ballot, because it had been so easy to annul its + effect, had been left in the people’s hands; and when, at last, the + leaders of the proletariate ceased to counsel strikes, or any form of + resistance to the Accumulation that could be tormented into the likeness + of insurrection against the government, and began to urge them to attack + it in the political way, the deluge that swept the Accumulation out of + existence came trickling and creeping over the land. It appeared first in + the country, a spring from the ground; then it gathered head in the + villages; then it swelled to a torrent in the cities. I cannot stay to + trace its course; but suddenly, one day, when the Accumulation’s abuse of + a certain power became too gross, it was voted out of that power. You will + perhaps be interested to know that it was with the telegraphs that the + rebellion against the Accumulation began, and the government was forced, + by the overwhelming majority which the proletariate sent to our + parliament, to assume a function which the Accumulation had impudently + usurped. Then the transportation of smaller and more perishable wares—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” a voice called—“express business. Go on!” + </p> + <p> + “Was legislated a function of the post-office,” the Altrurian went on. + “Then all transportation was taken into the hands of the political + government, which had always been accused of great corruption in its + administration, but which showed itself immaculately pure compared with + the Accumulation. The common ownership of mines necessarily followed, with + an allotment of lands to any one who wished to live by tilling the land; + but not a foot of the land was remitted to private hands for the purposes + of selfish pleasure or the exclusion of any other from the landscape. As + all business had been gathered into the grasp of the Accumulation, and the + manufacture of everything they used and the production of everything that + they ate was in the control of the Accumulation, its transfer to the + government was the work of a single clause in the statute. + </p> + <p> + “The Accumulation, which had treated the first menaces of resistance with + contempt, awoke to its peril too late. When it turned to wrest the + suffrage from the proletariate, at the first election where it attempted + to make head against them, it was simply snowed under, as your picturesque + phrase is. The Accumulation had no voters, except the few men at its head + and the creatures devoted to it by interest and ignorance. It seemed, at + one moment, as if it would offer an armed resistance to the popular will, + but, happily, that moment of madness passed. Our Evolution was + accomplished without a drop of bloodshed, and the first great political + brotherhood, the commonwealth of Altruria, was founded. + </p> + <p> + “I wish that I had time to go into a study of some of the curious phases + of the transformation from a civility in which the people lived <i>upon</i> + each other to one in which they lived <i>for</i> each other. There is a + famous passage in the inaugural message of our first Altrurian president + which compares the new civic consciousness with that of a disembodied + spirit released to the life beyond this and freed from all the selfish + cares and greeds of the flesh. But perhaps I shall give a sufficiently + clear notion of the triumph of the change among us when I say that within + half a decade after the fall of the old plutocratic oligarchy one of the + chief directors of the Accumulation publicly expressed his gratitude to + God that the Accumulation had passed away forever. You will realize the + importance of such an expression in recalling the declarations some of + your slave-holders have made since the Civil War, that they would not have + slavery restored for any earthly consideration. + </p> + <p> + “But now, after this preamble, which has been so much longer than I meant + it to be, how shall I give you a sufficiently just conception of the + existing Altruria, the actual state from which I come?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” came the nasal of the old farmer again, “that’s what we are here + fur. I wouldn’t give a copper to know all you went through beforehand. + It’s too dumn like what we have been through ourselves, as fur as heard + from.” + </p> + <p> + A shout of laughter went up from most of the crowd, but the Altrurian did + not seem to see any fun in it. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he resumed, “I will tell you, as well as I can, what Altruria is + like; but, in the first place, you will have to cast out of your minds all + images of civilization with which your experience has filled them. For a + time the shell of the old Accumulation remained for our social habitation, + and we dwelt in the old competitive and monopolistic forms after the life + had gone out of them—that is, we continued to live in populous + cities, and we toiled to heap up riches for the moth to corrupt, and we + slaved on in making utterly useless things, merely because we had the + habit of making them to sell. For a while we made the old sham things, + which pretended to be useful things and were worse than the confessedly + useless things. I will give you an illustration from the trades, which you + will all understand. The proletariate, in the competitive and monopolistic + time, used to make a kind of shoes for the proletariate, or the women of + the proletariate, which looked like fine shoes of the best quality. It + took just as much work to make these shoes as to make the best fine shoes; + but they were shams through and through. They wore out in a week, and the + people called them, because they were bought fresh for every Sunday—” + </p> + <p> + “Sat’d’y-night shoes,” screamed the old farmer. “I know ‘em. My gals buy + ‘em. Half-dolla’ a pai’, and not wo’th the money.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the Altrurian, “they were a cheat and a lie in every way, and + under the new system it was not possible, when public attention was called + to the fact, to continue the falsehood they embodied. As soon as the + Saturday-night shoes realized itself to the public conscience, an + investigation began, and it was found that the principle of the + Saturday-night shoe underlay half our industries and made half the work + that was done. + </p> + <p> + “Then an immense reform took place. We renounced, in the most solemn + convocation of the whole economy, the principle of the Saturday-night + shoe, and those who had spent their lives in producing sham shoes—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the professor, rising from his seat near us and addressing the + speaker, “I shall be very glad to know what became of the worthy and + industrious operatives who were thrown out of employment by this explosion + of economic virtue.” + </p> + <p> + “Why,” the Altrurian replied, “they were set to work making honest shoes; + and, as it took no more time to make a pair of honest shoes which lasted a + year than it took to make a pair of dishonest shoes that lasted a week, + the amount of labor in shoemaking was at once enormously reduced.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the professor, “I understand that. What became of the + shoemakers?” + </p> + <p> + “They joined the vast army of other laborers who had been employed, + directly or indirectly, in the fabrication of fraudulent wares. These + shoemakers—lasters, button-holers, binders, and so on—no + longer wore themselves out over their machines. One hour sufficed where + twelve hours were needed before, and the operatives were released to the + happy labor of the fields, where no one with us toils killingly, from dawn + till dusk, but does only as much work as is needed to keep the body in + health. We had a continent to refine and beautify; we had climates to + change and seasons to modify, a whole system of meteorology to readjust, + and the public works gave employment to the multitudes emancipated from + the soul-destroying service of shams. I can scarcely give you a notion of + the vastness of the improvements undertaken and carried through, or still + in process of accomplishment. But a single one will, perhaps, afford a + sufficient illustration. Our southeast coast, from its vicinity to the + pole, had always suffered from a winter of antarctic rigor; but our first + president conceived the plan of cutting off a peninsula, which kept the + equatorial current from making in to our shores; and the work was begun in + his term, though the entire strip, twenty miles in width and ninety-three + in length, was not severed before the end of the first Altrurian decade. + Since that time the whole region of our southeastern coast has enjoyed the + climate of your Mediterranean countries. + </p> + <p> + “It was not only the makers of fraudulent things who were released to + these useful and wholesome labors, but those who had spent themselves in + contriving ugly and stupid and foolish things were set free to the public + employment. The multitude of these monstrosities and iniquities was as + great as that of the shams—” + </p> + <p> + Here I lost some words, for the professor leaned over and whispered to me: + “He has got <i>that</i> out of William Morris. Depend upon it, the man is + a humbug. He is not an Altrurian at all.” + </p> + <p> + I confess that my heart misgave me; but I signalled the professor to be + silent, and again gave the Altrurian—if he was an Altrurian—my + whole attention. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XII + </h2> + <p> + “And so,” the Altrurian continued, “when the labor of the community was + emancipated from the bondage of the false to the free service of the true, + it was also, by an inevitable implication, dedicated to beauty and rescued + from the old slavery to the ugly, the stupid, and the trivial. The thing + that was honest and useful became, by the operation of a natural law, a + beautiful thing. + </p> + <p> + “Once we had not time enough to make things beautiful, we were so + overworked in making false and hideous things to sell; but now we had all + the time there was, and a glad emulation arose among the trades and + occupations to the end that everything done should be done finely as well + as done honestly. The artist, the man of genius, who worked from the love + of his work, became the normal man, and in the measure of his ability and + of his calling each wrought in the spirit of the artist. We got back the + pleasure of doing a thing beautifully, which was God’s primal blessing + upon all His working children, but which we had lost in the horrible days + of our need and greed. There is not a working-man within the sound of my + voice but has known this divine delight, and would gladly know it always + if he only had the time. Well, now we had the time, the Evolution had + given us the time, and in all Altruria there was not a furrow driven or a + swath mown, not a hammer struck on house or on ship, not a stitch sewn or + a stone laid, not a line written or a sheet printed, not a temple raised + or an engine built, but it was done with an eye to beauty as well as to + use. + </p> + <p> + “As soon as we were freed from the necessity of preying upon one another, + we found that there was no hurry. The good work would wait to be well + done; and one of the earliest effects of the Evolution was the disuse of + the swift trains which had traversed the continent, night and day, that + one man might overreach another, or make haste to undersell his rival, or + seize some advantage of him, or plot some profit to his loss. Nine-tenths + of the railroads, which in the old times had ruinously competed, and then, + in the hands of the Accumulation, had been united to impoverish and + oppress the people, fell into disuse. The commonwealth operated the few + lines that were necessary for the collection of materials and the + distribution of manufactures, and for pleasure travel and the affairs of + state; but the roads that had been built to invest capital, or parallel + other roads, or ‘make work,’ as it was called, or to develop resources, or + boom localities, were suffered to fall into ruin; the rails were stripped + from the landscape, which they had bound as with shackles, and the + road-beds became highways for the use of kindly neighborhoods, or nature + recovered them wholly and hid the memory of their former abuse in grass + and flowers and wild vines. The ugly towns that they had forced into + being, as Frankenstein was fashioned, from the materials of the charnel, + and that had no life in or from the good of the community, soon tumbled + into decay. The administration used parts of them in the construction of + the villages in which the Altrurians now mostly live; but generally these + towns were built of materials so fraudulent, in form so vile, that it was + judged best to burn them. In this way their sites were at once purified + and obliterated. + </p> + <p> + “We had, of course, a great many large cities under the old egoistic + conditions, which increased and fattened upon the country, and fed their + cancerous life with fresh infusions of its blood. We had several cities of + half a million, and one of more than a million; we had a score of them + with a population of a hundred thousand or more. We were very proud of + them, and vaunted them as a proof of our unparalleled prosperity, though + really they never were anything but congeries of millionaires and the + wretched creatures who served them and supplied them. Of course, there was + everywhere the appearance of enterprise and activity, but it meant final + loss for the great mass of the business men, large and small, and final + gain for the millionaires. These and their parasites dwelt together, the + rich starving the poor and the poor plundering and misgoverning the rich; + and it was the intolerable suffering in the cities that chiefly hastened + the fall of the old Accumulation and the rise of the commonwealth. + </p> + <p> + “Almost from the moment of the Evolution the competitive and monopolistic + centres of population began to decline. In the clear light of the new + order it was seen that they were not fit dwelling-places for men, either + in the complicated and luxurious palaces where the rich fenced themselves + from their kind, or in the vast tenements, towering height upon height, + ten and twelve stories up, where the swarming poor festered in vice and + sickness and famine. If I were to tell you of the fashion of those cities + of our egoistic epoch, how the construction was one error from the first, + and every correction of an error bred a new defect, I should make you + laugh, I should make you weep. We let them fall to ruin as quickly as they + would, and their sites are still so pestilential, after the lapse of + centuries, that travelers are publicly guarded against them. Ravening + beasts and poisonous reptiles lurk in those abodes of the riches and the + poverty that are no longer known to our life. A part of one of the less + malarial of the old cities, however, is maintained by the commonwealth in + the form of its prosperity, and is studied by antiquarians for the + instruction, and by moralists for the admonition, it affords. A section of + a street is exposed, and you see the foundations of the houses; you see + the filthy drains that belched into the common sewers, trapped and + retrapped to keep the poison gases down; you see the sewers that rolled + their loathsome tides under the streets, amid a tangle of gas-pipes, + steam-pipes, water-pipes, telegraph-wires, electric lighting-wires, + electric motor-wires, and grip-cables—all without a plan, but + makeshifts, expedients, devices, to repair and evade the fundamental + mistake of having any such cities at all. + </p> + <p> + “There are now no cities in Altruria, in your meaning, but there are + capitals, one for each of the regions of our country and one for the whole + commonwealth. These capitals are for the transaction of public affairs, in + which every citizen of Altruria is schooled, and they are the residences + of the administrative officials, who are alternated every year, from the + highest to the lowest. A public employment with us is of no greater honor + or profit than any other, for with our absolute economic equality there + can be no ambition, and there is no opportunity for one citizen to + outshine another. But as the capitals are the centres of all the arts, + which we consider the chief of our public affairs, they are oftenest + frequented by poets, actors, painters, sculptors, musicians, and + architects. We regard all artists, who are in a sort creators, as the + human type which is likest the divine, and we try to conform our whole + industrial life to the artistic temperament. Even in the labors of the + field and shop, which are obligatory upon all, we study the inspiration of + this temperament, and in the voluntary pursuits we allow it full control. + Each, in these, follows his fancy as to what he shall do, and when he + shall do it, or whether he shall do anything at all. In the capitals are + the universities, theatres, galleries, museums, cathedrals, laboratories + and conservatories, and the appliances of every art and science, as well + as the administration buildings; and beauty as well as use is studied in + every edifice. Our capitals are as clean and quiet and healthful as the + country, and these advantages are secured simply by the elimination of the + horse, an animal which we should be as much surprised to find in the + streets of a town as the plesiosaurus or the pterodactyl. All + transportation in the capitals, whether for pleasure or business, is by + electricity, and swift electrical expresses connect the capital of each + region with the villages which radiate from it to the cardinal points. + These expresses run at the rate of a hundred and fifty miles an hour, and + they enable the artist, the scientist, the literary man, of the remotest + hamlet, to visit the capital (when he is not actually resident there in + some public use) every day, after the hours of the obligatory industries; + or, if he likes, he may remain there a whole week or fortnight, giving six + hours a day instead of three to the obligatories, until the time is made + up. In case of very evident merit, or for the purpose of allowing him to + complete some work requiring continuous application, a vote of the local + agents may release him from the obligatories indefinitely. Generally, + however, our artists prefer not to ask this, but avail themselves of the + stated means we have of allowing them to work at the obligatories, and get + the needed exercise and variety of occupation in the immediate vicinity of + the capital. + </p> + <p> + “We do not think it well to connect the hamlets on the different lines of + radiation from the capital, except by the good country roads which + traverse each region in every direction. The villages are mainly inhabited + by those who prefer a rural life; they are farming villages; but in + Altruria it can hardly be said that one man is more a farmer than another. + We do not like to distinguish men by their callings; we do not speak of + the poet This or the shoemaker That, for the poet may very likely be a + shoemaker in the obligatories, and the shoemaker a poet in the + voluntaries. If it can be said that one occupation is honored above + another with us, it is that which we all share, and that is the + cultivation of the earth. We believe that this, when not followed + slavishly, or for gain, brings man into the closest relations to the + Deity, through a grateful sense of the divine bounty, and that it not only + awakens a natural piety in him, but that it endears to the worker that + piece of soil which he tills, and so strengthens his love of home. The + home is the very heart of the Altrurian system, and we do not think it + well that people should be away from their homes very long or very often. + In the competitive and monopolistic times men spent half their days in + racing back and forth across our continent; families were scattered by the + chase for fortune, and there was a perpetual paying and repaying of + visits. One-half the income of those railroads which we let fall into + disuse came from the ceaseless unrest. Now a man is born and lives and + dies among his own kindred, and the sweet sense of neighborhood, of + brotherhood, which blessed the golden age of the first Christian republic + is ours again. Every year the people of each region meet one another on + Evolution day, in the regionic capital; once in four years they all visit + the national capital. There is no danger of the decay of patriotism among + us; our country is our mother, and we love her as it is impossible to love + the step-mother that a competitive or monopolistic nation must be to its + citizens. + </p> + <p> + “I can only touch upon this feature and that of our system as I chance to + think of it. If any of you are curious about others, I shall be glad to + answer questions as well as I can. We have, of course,” the Altrurian + proceeded, after a little indefinite pause, to let any speak who liked, + “no money in your sense. As the whole people control affairs, no man works + for another, and no man pays another. Every one does his share of labor, + and receives his share of food, clothing, and shelter, which is neither + more nor less than another’s. If you can imagine the justice and + impartiality of a well-ordered family, you can conceive of the social and + economic life of Altruria. We are, properly speaking, a family rather than + a nation like yours. + </p> + <p> + “Of course, we are somewhat favored by our insular, or continental, + position; but I do not know that we are more so than you are. Certainly, + however, we are self-sufficing in a degree unknown to most European + countries; and we have within our borders the materials of every comfort + and the resources of every need. We have no commerce with the egoistic + world, as we call that outside, and I believe that I am the first + Altrurian to visit foreign countries avowedly in my national character, + though we have always had emissaries living abroad incognito. I hope that + I may say without offence that they find it a sorrowful exile, and that + the reports of the egoistic world, with its wars, its bankruptcies, its + civic commotions, and its social unhappiness, do not make us discontented + with our own condition. Before the Evolution we had completed the round of + your inventions and discoveries, impelled by the force that drives you on; + and we have since disused most of them as idle and unfit. But we profit, + now and then, by the advances you make in science, for we are passionately + devoted to the study of the natural laws, open or occult, under which all + men have their being. Occasionally an emissary returns with a sum of + money, and explains to the students of the national university the + processes by which it is lost and won; and at a certain time there was a + movement for its introduction among us, not for its use as you know it, + but for a species of counters in games of chance. It was considered, + however, to contain an element of danger, and the scheme was discouraged. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing amuses and puzzles our people more than the accounts our + emissaries give of the changes of fashion in the outside world, and of the + ruin of soul and body which the love of dress often works. Our own dress, + for men and for women, is studied, in one ideal of use and beauty, from + the antique; caprice and vagary in it would be thought an effect of vulgar + vanity. Nothing is worn that is not simple and honest in texture; we do + not know whether a thing is cheap or dear, except as it is easy or hard to + come by, and that which is hard to come by is forbidden as wasteful and + foolish. The community builds the dwellings of the community, and these, + too, are of a classic simplicity, though always beautiful and fit in form; + the splendors of the arts are lavished upon the public edifices, which we + all enjoy in common.” + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t this the greatest rehash of ‘Utopia,’ ‘New Atlantis,’ and ‘City of + the Sun’ that you ever imagined?” the professor whispered across me to the + banker. “The man is a fraud, and a very bungling fraud at that.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you must expose him, when he gets through,” the banker whispered + back. + </p> + <p> + But the professor could not wait. He got upon his feet and called out: + “May I ask the gentleman from Altruria a question?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” the Altrurian blandly assented. + </p> + <p> + “Make it short!” Reuben Camp’s voice broke in, impatiently. “We didn’t + come here to listen to your questions.” + </p> + <p> + The professor contemptuously ignored him. “I suppose you occasionally + receive emissaries from, as well as send them to, the world outside?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, now and then castaways land on our coasts, and ships out of their + reckonings put in at our ports for water or provision.” + </p> + <p> + “And how are they pleased with your system?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, I cannot better answer than by saying that they mostly refuse to + leave us.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, just as Bacon reports!” cried the professor. + </p> + <p> + “You mean in the <i>New Atlantis</i>?” returned the Altrurian. “Yes; it is + astonishing how well Bacon in that book, and Sir Thomas More in his <i>Utopia</i>, + have divined certain phases of our civilization and polity.” + </p> + <p> + “I think he rather <i>has</i> you, professor,” the banker whispered, with + a laugh. + </p> + <p> + “But all those inspired visionaries,” the Altrurian continued, while the + professor sat grimly silent, watching for another chance, “who have borne + testimony of us in their dreams, conceived of states perfect without the + discipline of a previous competitive condition. What I thought, however, + might specially interest you Americans in Altruria is the fact that our + economy was evolved from one so like that in which you actually have your + being. I had even hoped you might feel that, in all these points of + resemblance, America prophesies another Altruria. I know that to some of + you all that I have told of my country will seem a baseless fabric, with + no more foundation, in fact, than More’s fairy-tale of another land where + men dealt kindly and justly by one another, and dwelt, a whole nation, in + the unity and equality of a family. But why should not a part of that + fable have come true in our polity, as another part of it has come true in + yours? When Sir Thomas More wrote that book, he noted with abhorrence the + monstrous injustice of the fact that men were hanged for small thefts in + England; and in the preliminary conversation between its characters he + denounced the killing of men for any sort of thefts. Now you no longer put + men to death for theft; you look back upon that cruel code of your mother + England with an abhorrence as great as his own. We, for our part, who have + realized the Utopian dream of brotherly equality, look back with the same + abhorrence upon a state where some were rich and some poor, some taught + and some untaught, some high and some low, and the hardest toil often + failed to supply a sufficiency of the food which luxury wasted in its + riots. That state seems as atrocious to us as the state which hanged a man + for stealing a loaf of bread seems to you. + </p> + <p> + “But we do not regret the experience of competition and monopoly. They + taught us some things in the operation of the industries. The labor-saving + inventions which the Accumulation perverted to money-making we have + restored to the use intended by their inventors and the Creator of their + inventors. After serving the advantage of socializing the industries which + the Accumulation effected for its own purposes, we continued the work in + large mills and shops, in the interest of the workers, whom we wished to + guard against the evil effects of solitude. But our mills and shops are + beautiful as well as useful. They look like temples, and they are temples, + dedicated to that sympathy between the divine and human which expresses + itself in honest and exquisite workmanship. They rise amid leafy boscages + beside the streams, which form their only power; for we have disused steam + altogether, with all the offences to the eye and ear which its use brought + into the world. Our life is so simple and our needs are so few that the + hand-work of the primitive toilers could easily supply our wants; but + machinery works so much more thoroughly and beautifully that we have in + great measure retained it. Only, the machines that were once the workmen’s + enemies and masters are now their friends and servants; and, if any man + chooses to work alone with his own hands, the state will buy what he makes + at the same price that it sells the wares made collectively. This secures + every right of individuality. + </p> + <p> + “The farm-work, as well as the mill-work and the shop-work, is done by + companies of workers; and there is nothing of that loneliness in our woods + and fields which, I understand, is the cause of so much insanity among + you. It is not good for man to be alone, was the first thought of his + Creator when he considered him, and we act upon this truth in everything. + The privacy of the family is sacredly guarded in essentials, but the + social instinct is so highly developed with us that we like to eat + together in large refectories, and we meet constantly to argue and dispute + on questions of aesthetics and metaphysics. We do not, perhaps, read so + many books as you do, for most of our reading, when not for special + research, but for culture and entertainment, is done by public readers, to + large groups of listeners. We have no social meetings which are not free + to all; and we encourage joking and the friendly give and take of witty + encounters.” + </p> + <p> + “A little hint from Sparta,” suggested the professor. + </p> + <p> + The banker leaned over to whisper to me: “From what I have seen of your + friend when offered a piece of American humor, I should fancy the + Altrurian article was altogether different. Upon the whole, I would rather + not be present at one of their witty encounters, if I were obliged to stay + it out.” + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian had paused to drink a glass of water, and now he went on: + “But we try, in everything that does not inconvenience or injure others, + to let every one live the life he likes best. If a man prefers to dwell + apart, and have his meals in private for himself alone or for his family, + it is freely permitted; only he must not expect to be served as in public, + where service is one of the voluntaries; private service is not permitted; + those wishing to live alone must wait upon themselves, cook their own + food, and care for their own tables. Very few, however, wish to withdraw + from the public life, for most of the discussions and debates take place + at our mid-day meal, which falls at the end of the obligatory labors, and + is prolonged indefinitely, or as long as people like to chat and joke or + listen to the reading of some pleasant book. + </p> + <p> + “In Altruria <i>there is no hurry</i>, for no one wishes to outstrip + another, or in any wise surpass him. We are all assured of enough, and are + forbidden any and every sort of superfluity. If any one, after the + obligatories, wishes to be entirely idle, he may be so, but I cannot now + think of a single person without some voluntary occupation; doubtless + there are such persons, but I do not know them. It used to be said, in the + old times, that ‘it was human nature’ to shirk and malinger and loaf, but + we have found that it is no such thing. We have found that it is human + nature to work cheerfully, willingly, eagerly, at the tasks which all + share for the supply of the common necessities. In like manner we have + found out that it is not human nature to hoard and grudge, but that when + the fear, and even the imagination, of want is taken away, it is human + nature to give and to help generously. We used to say: ‘A man will lie, or + a man will cheat, in his own interest; that is human nature’; but that is + no longer human nature with us, perhaps because no man has any interest to + serve; he has only the interests of others to serve, while others serve + his. It is in no wise possible for the individual to separate his good + from the common good; he is prosperous and happy only as all the rest are + so; and therefore it is not human nature with us for any one to lie in + wait to betray another or seize an advantage. That would be ungentlemanly, + and in Altruria every man is a gentleman and every woman a lady. If you + will excuse me here for being so frank, I would like to say something by + way of illustration which may be offensive if you take it personally.” + </p> + <p> + He looked at our little group, as if he were addressing himself more + especially to us, and the banker called out, jollily: “Go on! I guess we + can stand it,” and “Go ahead!” came from all sides, from all kinds of + listeners. + </p> + <p> + “It is merely this: that as we look back at the old competitive conditions + we do not see how any man could be a gentleman in them, since a gentleman + must think first of others, and these conditions <i>compelled</i> every + man to think first of himself.” + </p> + <p> + There was a silence broken by some conscious and hardy laughter, while we + each swallowed this pill as we could. + </p> + <p> + “What are competitive conditions?” Mrs. Makely demanded of me. + </p> + <p> + “Well, ours are competitive conditions,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Very well, then,” she returned, “I don’t think Mr. Homos is much of a + gentleman to say such a thing to an American audience. Or, wait a moment! + Ask him if the same rule applies to women.” + </p> + <p> + I rose, strengthened by the resentment I felt, and said: “Do I understand + that in your former competitive conditions it was also impossible for a + woman to be a lady?” + </p> + <p> + The professor gave me an applausive nod as I sat down. “I envy you the + chance of that little dig,” he whispered. + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian was thoughtful a moment, and then he answered: “No, I should + not say it was. From what we know historically of those conditions in our + country, it appears that the great mass of women were not directly + affected by them. They constituted an altruistic dominion of the egoistic + empire, and, except as they were tainted by social or worldly ambitions, + it was possible for every woman to be a lady, even in competitive + conditions. Her instincts were unselfish, and her first thoughts were + nearly always of others.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Makely jumped to her feet and clapped violently with her fan on the + palm of her left hand. “Three cheers for Mr. Homos!” she shrieked, and all + the women took up the cry, supported by all the natives and the + construction gang. I fancied these fellows gave their support largely in a + spirit of burlesque; but they gave it robustly, and from that time on, + Mrs. Makely led the applause, and they roared in after her. + </p> + <p> + It is impossible to follow closely the course of the Altrurian’s account + of his country, which grew more and more incredible as he went on, and + implied every insulting criticism of ours. Some one asked him about war in + Altruria, and he said: “The very name of our country implies the absence + of war. At the time of the Evolution our country bore to the rest of our + continent the same relative proportion that your country bears to your + continent. The egoistic nations to the north and the south of us entered + into an offensive and defensive alliance to put down, the new altruistic + commonwealth, and declared war against us. Their forces were met at the + frontier by our entire population in arms, and full of the martial spirit + bred of the constant hostilities of the competitive and monopolistic epoch + just ended. Negotiations began in the face of the imposing demonstration + we made, and we were never afterward molested by our neighbors, who + finally yielded to the spectacle of our civilization and united their + political and social fate with ours. At present, our whole continent is + Altrurian. For a long time we kept up a system of coast defences, but it + is also a long time since we abandoned these; for it is a maxim with us + that where every citizen’s life is a pledge of the public safety, that + country can never be in danger of foreign enemies. + </p> + <p> + “In this, as in all other things, we believe ourselves the true followers + of Christ, whose doctrine we seek to make our life as He made it His. We + have several forms of ritual, but no form of creed, and our religious + differences may be said to be aesthetic and temperamental rather than + theological and essential. We have no denominations, for we fear in this, + as in other matters, to give names to things lest we should cling to the + names instead of the things. We love the realities, and for this reason we + look at the life of a man rather than his profession for proof that he is + a religious man. + </p> + <p> + “I have been several times asked, during my sojourn among you, what are + the sources of compassion, of sympathy, of humanity, of charity with us, + if we have not only no want, or fear of want, but not even any economic + inequality. I suppose this is because you are so constantly struck by the + misery arising from economic inequality and want, or the fear of want, + among yourselves, that you instinctively look in that direction. But have + you ever seen sweeter compassion, tenderer sympathy, warmer humanity, + heavenlier charity than that shown in the family where all are + economically equal and no one can want while any other has to give? + Altruria, I say again, is a family, and, as we are mortal, we are still + subject to those nobler sorrows which God has appointed to men, and which + are so different from the squalid accidents that they have made for + themselves. Sickness and death call out the most angelic ministries of + love; and those who wish to give themselves to others may do so without + hinderance from those cares, and even those duties, resting upon men where + each must look out first for himself and for his own. Oh, believe me, + believe me, you can know nothing of the divine rapture of self-sacrifice + while you must dread the sacrifice of another in it. You are not <i>free</i>, + as we are, to do everything for others, for it is your <i>duty</i> to do + rather for those of your own household! + </p> + <p> + “There is something,” he continued, “which I hardly know how to speak of,” + and here we all began to prick our ears. I prepared myself as well as I + could for another affront, though I shuddered when the banker hardily + called out: “Don’t hesitate to say anything you wish, Mr. Homos. I, for + one, should like to hear you express yourself fully.” + </p> + <p> + It was always the unexpected, certainly, that happened from the Altrurian. + “It is merely this,” he said: “Having come to live rightly upon earth, as + we believe, or having at least ceased to deny God in our statutes and + customs, the fear of death, as it once, weighed upon us, has been lifted + from our souls. The mystery of it has so far been taken away that we + perceive it as something just and natural. Now that all unkindness has + been banished from among us, we can conceive of no such cruelty as death + once seemed. If we do not know yet the full meaning of death, we know that + the Creator of it and of us meant mercy and blessing by it. When one dies + we grieve, but not as those without hope. We do not say that the dead have + gone to a better place, and then selfishly bewail them, for we have the + kingdom of heaven upon earth already, and we know that wherever they go + they will be homesick for Altruria; and when we think of the years that + may pass before we meet them again our hearts ache, as theirs must. But + the presence of the risen Christ in our daily lives is our assurance that + no one ceases to be, and that we shall see our dead again. I cannot + explain this to you; I can only affirm it.” + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian spoke very solemnly, and a reverent hush fell upon the + assembly. It was broken by the voice of a woman wailing out: “Oh, do you + suppose, if we lived so, we should feel so, too? That I should know my + little girl was living?” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” asked the Altrurian. + </p> + <p> + To my vast astonishment, the manufacturer, who sat the farthest from me in + the same line with Mrs. Makely, the professor, and the banker, rose and + asked, tremulously: “And have—have you had any direct communication + with the other world? Has any disembodied spirit returned to testify of + the life beyond the grave?” + </p> + <p> + The professor nodded significantly across Mrs. Makely to me, and then + frowned and shook his head. I asked her if she knew what he meant. “Why, + didn’t you know that spiritualism was that poor man’s foible? He lost his + son in a railroad accident, and ever since—” + </p> + <p> + She stopped and gave her attention to the Altrurian, who was replying to + the manufacturer’s question. + </p> + <p> + “We do not need any such testimony. Our life here makes us sure of the + life there. At any rate, no externation of the supernatural, no objective + miracle, has been wrought in our behalf. We have had faith to do what we + prayed for, and the prescience of which I speak has been added unto us.” + </p> + <p> + The manufacturer asked, as the bereaved mother had asked: “And if I lived + so, should I feel so?” + </p> + <p> + Again the Altrurian answered: “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + The poor woman quavered: “Oh, I do believe it! I just <i>know</i> it must + be true!” + </p> + <p> + The manufacturer shook his head sorrowfully and sat down, and remained + there, looking at the ground. + </p> + <p> + “I am aware,” the Altrurian went on, “that what I have said as to our + realizing the kingdom of heaven on the earth must seem boastful and + arrogant. That is what you pray for every day, but you do not believe it + possible for God’s will to be done on earth as it is done in heaven—that + is, you do not if you are like the competitive and monopolistic people we + once were. We once regarded that petition as a formula vaguely pleasing to + the Deity, but we no more expected His kingdom to come than we expected + Him to give us each day our daily bread; we knew that if we wanted + something to eat we should have to hustle for it, and get there first; I + use the slang of that far-off time, which, I confess, had a vulgar vigor. + </p> + <p> + “But now everything is changed, and the change has taken place chiefly + from one cause—namely, the disuse of money. At first, it was thought + that some sort of circulating medium <i>must</i> be used, that life could + not be transacted without it. But life began to go on perfectly well, when + each dwelt in the place assigned him, which was no better and no worse + than any other; and when, after he had given his three hours a day to the + obligatory labors, he had a right to his share of food, light, heat, and + raiment; the voluntary labors, to which he gave much time or little, + brought him no increase of those necessaries, but only credit and + affection. We had always heard it said that the love of money was the root + of all evil, but we had taken this for a saying, merely; now we realized + it as an active, vital truth. As soon as money was abolished the power to + purchase was gone, and even if there had been any means of buying beyond + the daily needs, with overwork, the community had no power to sell to the + individual. No man owned anything, but every man had the right to anything + that he could use; when he could not use it, his right lapsed. + </p> + <p> + “With the expropriation of the individual the whole vast catalogue of + crimes against property shrank to nothing. The thief could only steal from + the community; but if he stole, what was he to do with his booty? It was + still possible for a depredator to destroy, but few men’s hate is so + comprehensive as to include all other men, and when the individual could + no longer hurt some other individual in his property destruction ceased. + </p> + <p> + “All the many murders done from love of money, or of what money could buy, + were at an end. Where there was no want, men no longer bartered their + souls, or women their bodies, for the means to keep themselves alive. The + vices vanished with the crimes, and the diseases almost as largely + disappeared. People were no longer sickened by sloth and surfeit, or + deformed and depleted by overwork and famine. They were wholesomely housed + in healthful places, and they were clad fitly for their labor and fitly + for their leisure; the caprices of vanity were not suffered to attaint the + beauty of the national dress. + </p> + <p> + “With the stress of superfluous social and business duties, and the + perpetual fear of want which all classes felt, more or less; with the + tumult of the cities and the solitude of the country, insanity had + increased among us till the whole land was dotted with asylums and the mad + were numbered by hundreds of thousands. In every region they were an army, + an awful army of anguish and despair. Now they have decreased to a number + so small, and are of a type so mild, that we can hardly count insanity + among our causes of unhappiness. + </p> + <p> + “We have totally eliminated chance from our economic life. There is still + a chance that a man will be tall or short in Altruria, that he will be + strong or weak, well or ill, gay or grave, happy or unhappy in love, but + none that he will be rich or poor, busy or idle, live splendidly or + meanly. These stupid and vulgar accidents of human contrivance cannot + befall us; but I shall not be able to tell you just how or why, or to + detail the process of eliminating chance. I may say, however, that it + began with the nationalization of telegraphs, expresses, railroads, mines, + and all large industries operated by stock companies. This at once struck + a fatal blow at the speculation in values, real and unreal, and at the + stock-exchange, or bourse; we had our own name for that gambler’s + paradise, or gambler’s hell, whose baleful influence penetrated every + branch of business. + </p> + <p> + “There were still business fluctuations as long as we had business, but + they were on a smaller and smaller scale, and with the final lapse of + business they necessarily vanished; all economic chance vanished. The + founders of the commonwealth understood perfectly that business was the + sterile activity of the function interposed between the demand and the + supply; that it was nothing structural; and they intended its extinction, + and expected it from the moment that money was abolished.” + </p> + <p> + “This is all pretty tiresome,” said the professor to our immediate party. + “I don’t see why we oblige ourselves to listen to that fellow’s stuff. As + if a civilized state could exist for a day without money or business.” + </p> + <p> + He went on to give his opinion of the Altrurian’s pretended description, + in a tone so audible that it attracted the notice of the nearest group of + railroad hands, who were listening closely to Homos, and one of them sang + out to the professor: “Can’t you wait and let the first man finish?” and + another yelled: “Put him out!” and then they all laughed with a humorous + perception of the impossibility of literally executing the suggestion. + </p> + <p> + By the time all was quiet again I heard the Altrurian saying: “As to our + social life, I cannot describe it in detail, but I can give you some + notion of its spirit. We make our pleasures civic and public as far as + possible, and the ideal is inclusive and not exclusive. There are, of + course, festivities which all cannot share, but our distribution into + small communities favors the possibility of all doing so. Our daily life, + however, is so largely social that we seldom meet by special invitation or + engagement. When we do, it is with the perfect understanding that the + assemblage confers no social distinction, but is for a momentary + convenience. In fact, these occasions are rather avoided, recalling, as + they do, the vapid and tedious entertainments of the competitive epoch, + the receptions and balls and dinners of a semi-barbaric people striving + for social prominence by shutting a certain number in and a certain number + out, and overdressing, overfeeding, and overdrinking. Anything + premeditated in the way of a pleasure we think stupid and mistaken; we + like to meet suddenly, or on the spur of the moment, out-of-doors, if + possible, and arrange a picnic or a dance or a play; and let people come + and go without ceremony. No one is more host than guest; all are hosts and + guests. People consort much according to their tastes—literary, + musical, artistic, scientific, or mechanical—but these tastes are + made approaches, not barriers; and we find out that we have many more + tastes in common than was formerly supposed. + </p> + <p> + “But, after all, our life is serious, and no one among us is quite happy, + in the general esteem, unless he has dedicated himself, in some special + way, to the general good. Our ideal is not rights, but duties.” + </p> + <p> + “Mazzini!” whispered the professor. + </p> + <p> + “The greatest distinction which any one can enjoy with us is to have found + out some new and signal way of serving the community; and then it is not + good form for him to seek recognition. The doing any fine thing is the + purest pleasure it can give; applause flatters, but it hurts, too, and our + benefactors, as we call them, have learned to shun it. + </p> + <p> + “We are still far from thinking our civilization perfect; but we are sure + that our civic ideals are perfect. What we have already accomplished is to + have given a whole continent perpetual peace; to have founded an economy + in which there is no possibility of want; to have killed out political and + social ambition; to have disused money and eliminated chance; to have + realized the brotherhood of the race, and to have outlived the fear of + death.” + </p> + <p> + The Altrurian suddenly stopped with these words and sat down. He had + spoken a long time, and with a fulness which my report gives little notion + of; but, though most of his cultivated listeners were weary, and a good + many ladies had left their seats and gone back to the hotel, not one of + the natives, or the work-people of any sort, had stirred; now they + remained a moment motionless and silent before they rose from all parts of + the field and shouted: “Go on! Don’t stop! Tell us all about it!” + </p> + <p> + I saw Reuben Camp climb the shoulders of a big fellow near where the + Altrurian had stood; he waved the crowd to silence with out-spread arms. + “He isn’t going to say anything more; he’s tired. But if any man don’t + think he’s got his dollar’s worth, let him walk up to the door and the + ticket-agent will refund him his money.” + </p> + <p> + The crowd laughed, and some one shouted: “Good for you, Reub!” + </p> + <p> + Camp continued: “But our friend here will shake the hand of any man, + woman, or child that wants to speak to him; and you needn’t wipe it on the + grass first, either. He’s a <i>man</i>! And I want to say that he’s going + to spend the next week with us, at my mother’s house, and we shall be glad + to have you call.” + </p> + <p> + The crowd, the rustic and ruder part of it, cheered and cheered till the + mountain echoes answered; then a railroader called for three times three, + with a tiger, and got it. The guests of the hotel broke away and went + toward the house over the long shadows of the meadow. The lower classes + pressed forward, on Camp’s invitation. + </p> + <p> + “Well, did you ever hear a more disgusting rigmarole?” asked Mrs. Makely, + as our little group halted indecisively about her. + </p> + <p> + “With all those imaginary commonwealths to draw upon, from Plato, through + More, Bacon, and Campanella, down to Bellamy and Morris, he has + constructed the shakiest effigy ever made of old clothes stuffed with + straw,” said the professor. + </p> + <p> + The manufacturer was silent. The banker said: “I don’t know. He grappled + pretty boldly with your insinuations. That frank declaration that Altruria + was all these pretty soap-bubble worlds solidified was rather fine.” + </p> + <p> + “It was splendid!” cried Mrs. Makely. The lawyer and the minister came + toward us from where they had been sitting together. She called out to + them: “Why in the world didn’t one of your gentlemen get up and propose a + vote of thanks?” + </p> + <p> + “The difficulty with me is,” continued the banker, “that he has rendered + Altruria incredible. I have no doubt that he is an Altrurian, but I doubt + very much if he comes from anywhere in particular, and I find this quite a + blow, for we had got Altruria nicely located on the map, and were + beginning to get accounts of it in the newspapers.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that is just exactly the way I feel about it,” sighed Mrs. Makely. + “But still, don’t you think there ought to have been a vote of thanks, Mr. + Bullion?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, certainly. The fellow was immensely amusing, and you must have got a + lot of money by him. It was an oversight not to make him a formal + acknowledgment of some kind. If we offered him money, he would have to + leave it all behind him here when he went home to Altruria.” + </p> + <p> + “Just as <i>we</i> do when we go to heaven,” I suggested; the banker did + not answer, and I instantly felt that in the presence of the minister my + remark was out of taste. + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, don’t you think,” said Mrs. Makely, who had a leathery + insensibility to everything but the purpose possessing her, “that we ought + at least to go and say something to him personally?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I think we ought,” said the banker, and we all walked up to where + the Altrurian stood, still thickly surrounded by the lower classes, who + were shaking hands with him and getting in a word with him now and then. + </p> + <p> + One of the construction gang said, carelessly: “No all-rail route to + Altruria, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” answered Homos, “it’s a far sea voyage.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I shouldn’t mind working my passage, if you think they’d let me + stay after I got there.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, you mustn’t go to Altruria. You must let Altruria come to <i>you</i>” + returned Homos, with that confounded smile of his that always won my + heart. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” shouted Reuben Camp, whose thin face was red with excitement, + “that’s the word. Have Altruria right here, and right now.” + </p> + <p> + The old farmer, who had several times spoken, cackled out: “I didn’t know, + one while, when you was talk’n’ about not havin’ no money, but what some + on us had had Altrury here for quite a spell, already. I don’t pass more’n + fifty dolla’s through my hands most years.” + </p> + <p> + A laugh went up, and then, at sight of Mrs. Makely heading our little + party, the people round Homos civilly made way for us. She rushed upon + him, and seized his hand in both of hers; she dropped her fan, parasol, + gloves, handkerchief, and vinaigrette in the grass to do so. “Oh, Mr. + Homos,” she fluted, and the tears came into her eyes, “it was beautiful, + <i>beautiful</i>, every word of it! I sat in a perfect trance from + beginning to end, and I felt that it was all as true as it was beautiful. + People all around me were breathless with interest, and I don’t know how I + can ever thank you enough.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, indeed,” the professor hastened to say, before the Altrurian could + answer, and he beamed malignantly upon him through his spectacles while he + spoke, “it was like some strange romance.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know that I should go so far as that,” said the banker, in his + turn, “but it certainly seemed too good to be true.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” the Altrurian responded, simply, but a little sadly; “now that I am + away from it all, and in conditions so different, I sometimes had to ask + myself, as I went on, if my whole life had not hitherto been a dream, and + Altruria were not some blessed vision of the night.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you know how to account for a feeling which I must acknowledge, + too?” the lawyer asked, courteously. “But it was most interesting.” + </p> + <p> + “The kingdom of God upon earth,” said the minister—“It ought not to + be incredible; but that, more than anything else you told us of, gave me + pause.” + </p> + <p> + “You of all men?” returned the Altrurian, gently. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the minister, with a certain dejection, “when I remember what + I have seen of men, when I reflect what human nature is, how can I believe + that the kingdom of God will ever come upon the earth?” + </p> + <p> + “But in heaven, where He reigns, who is it does His will? The spirits of + men?” pursued the Altrurian. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but conditioned as men are here—” + </p> + <p> + “But if they were conditioned as men are there?” + </p> + <p> + “Now, I can’t let you two good people get into a theological dispute,” + Mrs. Makely pushed in. “Here is Mr. Twelvemough dying to shake hands with + Mr. Homos and compliment his distinguished guest.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Mr. Homos knows what I must have thought of his talk without my + telling him,” I began, skilfully. “But I am sorry that I am to lose my + distinguished guest so soon.” + </p> + <p> + Reuben Camp broke out: “That was my blunder, Mr. Twelvemough. Mr. Homos + and I had talked it over conditionally, and I was not to speak of it till + he had told you; but it slipped out in the excitement of the moment.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it’s all right,” I said, and I shook hands cordially with both of + them. “It will be the greatest possible advantage for Mr. Homos to see + certain phases of American life at close range, and he couldn’t possibly + see them under better auspices than yours, Camp.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I’m going to drive him through the hill country after haying, and + then I’m going to take him down and show him one of our big factory + towns.” + </p> + <p> + I believe this was done, but finally the Altrurian went on to New York, + where he was to pass the winter. We parted friends; I even offered him + some introductions; but his acquaintance had become more and more + difficult, and I was not sorry to part with him. That taste of his for low + company was incurable, and I was glad that I was not to be responsible any + longer for whatever strange thing he might do next. I think he remained + very popular with the classes he most affected; a throng of natives, + construction hands, and table-girls saw him off on his train; and he left + large numbers of such admirers in our house and neighborhood, devout in + the faith that there was such a commonwealth as Altruria, and that he was + really an Altrurian. As for the more cultivated people who had met him, + they continued of two minds upon both points. + </p> + <h3> + THE END + </h3> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Traveler from Altruria: Romance, by +William Dean Howells + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A TRAVELER FROM ALTRURIA: ROMANCE *** + +***** This file should be named 8449-h.htm or 8449-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/8/4/4/8449/ + +Produced by Suzanne Shell, Charles Bidwell, David Widger and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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