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Re-issue of the Works of the late
Samuel Butler
Author of " Erewhon," " The Way of All Flesh," etc.
Mr. FiriELD hag pleasure in announcing he has taken over the publication
of the entire worlci (save one) of the late Samuel Butler, novelist, philosopher,
scientist, satirist and classicist; "in his own department," says Mr. Bernard
Shaw, "the greatest English writer of the latter half of the 19th century."
"The Way of All Flesh" and "Erewhon " which have been out of print for
some time are now reprinted, and all the other works with one exception are
now offered at more popular prices.
The Way of All Flesh. A Novel. New Edition. 6s.
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Erewhon Revisited. 2nd Impression, 340 pages. 2s. 6d. nett.
(A few copies of the original edition, gilt top, 6s.)
Essays on Life, Art and Science. 340 pages. 2s. 6d. nett.
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The Alps and Sanctuaries of Piedmont and the
Canton Ticino. Profusely illustrated by Charles
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The Fair Haven.
Life and Habit. An essay after a completer view
of Evolution. 2nd edition.
Evolution Old and New. A comparison of the
theories of Buftbn, Erasmus Darwin and Lamarck,
with that of Charles Darwin.
Luck or Cunning, as the main means of organic
modification.
The Authoress of the Odyssey, who and what
she was, when and where she wrote, etc.
The Iliad of Homer, rendered into English prose.
The Odyssey, rendered into English prose.
Shakespeare's Sonnets, with notes and original text.
Ex Voto. An account of the Sacro Monte or New
Jerusalem at Varallo-Sesia.
Selections from Butler's Works.
London : A. C. Fifield, 44 Fleet Street, E.G.
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Anarchism. By Dr. Paul Eltzbacher, translated by
S. T. Byington. 330 pages. Cloth extra, 6s. 6d. nett.
A careful and unbiassed «tudy of the anarchist doctrines of Godwin,
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from their works, and portraits of all save Stirner. This is perhaps the
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On Cambrian and Cumbrian Hills. By Henry S.
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A study of Snowdonia and the Fells, written from intimate experience,
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climber. A delightful pocket companion for the hills.
The Autobiography of a Super-Tramp. By W. H.
Davies, w^ith 8-page Preface by G. Bernard Shaw. 6s.
In this book Mr. Davies, whose poetic genius was recently discovered,
tells the frank unvarnished story of his life as a tramp in England, the
United States, and Canada. Mr. G. Bernard Shaw when sending the
manuscript to the publisher wrote, " I recommend this most remarkable
autobiography of a super-tramp to your special attention."
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London : A. C. Fifield, 44 Fleet Street, E.C.
EREWHON
" It is not wonderful that such a man as Butler
should be the author of * Erewhon/ a shrewd and
biting satire on modern life and thought — the best
of its kind since ' Gulliver's Travels.' . . . To
lash the age, to ridicule vain pretension, to expose
hypocrisy, to deride humbug in education, politics,
and religion, are tasks beyond most men's powers ;
but occasionally, very occasionally, a bit of genuine
satire secures for itself more than a passing nod of
recognition. * Erewhon,' I think, is such a satire."
— Augustine Birrell, in The Speaker.
EREWHON
OR
OVER THE RANGE
BY
SAMUEL BUTLER
author of
•life and habit," "the authoress of the odyssey,"
" Shakespeare's sonnets reconsidered,"
AND other works
NEW AND REVISED EDITION
" Tov yap flvai Sokovvtos dyadov X^P'-^ navTa irpaTTOvfft
Travres." — Arist. Fol.
" There is no action save upon a balance of
considerations." — Paraphrase.
LONDON
A. C. FIFIELD, 44 FLEET STREET, E.G.
1908
Popular Reprint from \oth, Revised Edition
Third Impression^ April 1908
All rights reserved
Printed by Ballantvne, Hanson <5r» Co.
At the Ballantyne Press, Edinburgh
PREFACE TO FIRST EDITION
The Author wishes it to be understood that
Erewhon is pronounced as a word of three
syllables, all short — thus, £-re-wh6n.
PREFACE TO SECOND EDITION
Having been enabled by the kindness of the
public to get through an unusually large edition
of " Erewhon " in a very short time, I have taken
the opportunity of a second edition to make some
necessary corrections, and to add a few passages
where it struck me that they would be appro-
priately introduced ; the passages are few, and it
is my fixed intention never to touch the work
again.
I may perhaps be allowed to say a word or two
here in reference to "The Coming Race," to the
success of which book " Erewhon " has been very
generally set down as due. This is a mistake,
though a perfectly natural one. The fact is that
" Erewhon " was finished, with the exception of
the last twenty pages and a sentence or two in-
serted from time to time here and there through-
out the book, before the first advertisement of
"The Coming Race" appeared. A friend having
called my attention to one of the first of these
advertisements, and suggesting that it probably
referred to a work of similar character to my own,
I took " Erewhon " to a well-known firm of pub-
lishers on the ist of May 1871, and left it in their
hands for consideration. I then went abroad, and
Preface
on learning that the pubHshers alluded to declined
the MS., I let it alone for six or seven months, and,
being in an out-of-the-way part of Italy, never saw
a single review of "The Coming Race," nor a copy
of the work. On my return, I purposely avoided
looking into it until I had sent back my last revises
to the printer. Then 1 had much pleasure in read-
ing it, but was indeed surprised at the many little
points of similarity between the two books, in spite
of their entire independence of one another.
1 regret that reviewers have in some cases been
inclined to treat the chapters on Machines as an
attempt to reduce Mr. Darwin's theory to an ab-
surdity. Nothing could be further from my inten-
tion, and few things would be more distasteful to
me than any attempt to laugh at Mr. Darwin ; but
I must own that I have myself to thank for the
misconception, for I felt sure that my intention
would be missed, but preferred not to weaken the
chapters by explanation, and knew very well that
Mr. Darwin's theory would take no harm. The
only question in my mind was how far / could
afford to be misrepresented as laughing at that for
which I have the most profound admiration. I am
surprised, however, that the book at which such
an example of the specious misuse of analogy would
seem most naturally levelled should have occurred
to no reviewer ; neither shall I mention the name
of the book here, though I should fancy that the
hint given will suffice.
1 have been held by some whose opinions I re-
To Second Edition
spect to have denied men's responsibility for their
actions. He who does this is an enemy who de-
serves no quarter. I should have imagined that
I had been sufficiently explicit, but have made a few-
additions to the chapter on Malcontents, which will,
I think, serve to render further mistake impossible.
An anonymous correspondent (by the hand-
writing presumably a clergyman) tells me that in
quoting from the Latin grammar I should at any
rate have done so correctly, and that I should have
written "agricolas" instead of "agricolae." He
added something about any boy in the fourth form,
&c., &c., which I shall not quote, but which made
me very uncomfortable. It may be said that I must
have misquoted from design, from ignorance, or by
a slip of the pen ; but surely in these days it will
be recognised as harsh to assign limits to the all-
embracing boundlessness of truth, and it will be
more reasonably assumed that each of the three
possible causes of misquotation must have had its
share in the apparent blunder. The art of writing
things that shall sound right and yet be wrong has
made so many reputations, and affords comfort to
such a large number of readers, that I could not
venture to neglect it ; the Latin grammar, however,
is a subject on which some of the younger mem-
bers of the community feel strongly, so I have now
written " agricolas." 1 have also parted with the
word " infortuniam " (though not without regret),
but have not dared to meddle with other similar
inaccuracies.
is
Preface
For the inconsistencies in the book, and I am
aware that there are not a few, I must ask the in-
dulgence of the reader. The blame, however, lies
chiefly with the Erewhonians themselves, for they
were really a very difiicult people to understand.
The most glaring anomahes seemed to afford them
no intellectual inconvenience ; neither, provided
they did not actually see the money dropping out of
their pockets, nor suffer immediate physical pain,
would they listen to any arguments as to the waste
of money and happiness which their folly caused
them. But this had an effect of which I have little
reason to complain, for I was allowed almost to
call them life-long self-deceivers to their faces, and
they said it was quite true, but that it did not
matter.
I must not conclude without expressing my most
sincere thanks to my critics and to the public for
the leniency and consideration with which they
have treated my adventures.
June 9, 1872.
PREFACE TO THE REVISED
EDITION
My publisher wishes me to say a few words about the
genesis of the work, a revised and enlarged edition oj
which he is herewith laying before the public. I there-
fore place on record as much as I can remember on this
head after a lapse of more than thirty years.
The first part of " Erewhon ** written was an article
headed " Darwin among the Machines," and signed
Cellarius. It was written in the Upper Rangitata
district of the Canterbury Province (as it then was) of
New Zealand, and appeared at Christchurch in the
Press Newspaper, June 13, 1863. A copy of this
article is indexed under my books in the British
Museum catalogue. In passing, I may say that the
opening chapters of " Erewhon " were also drawn from
the Upper Rangitata district, with such modifications
as I found convenient.
A second article on the same subject as the one just re-
ferred to appeared in the Press shortly after the first,
but I have no copy. It treated Machines from a dif-
ferent point of vinv, and was the basis of pp. 270—274
of the present edition of " Erewhon." This view ulti-
mately led me to the theory I put forward in " Life
Preface
and Habit," published in November 1877. / have put
a bare outline of this theory (which I believe to be quite
sound) into the mouth of an Erewhonian philosopher in
Chapter XXVII. of this book.
In 1865 I rewrote and enlarged ^^ Darwin among
the Machines " for the Reasoner, a paper published in
London by Mr. G. J. Holyoake. It appeared July i,
1865, under the heading, " The Mechanical Creation"
and can be seen in the British Museum. I again
rewrote and enlarged it, till it assumed the form in
which it appeared in the first edition of " Erewhon."
The next part of " Ereivhon " that I wrote was the
" World of the Unborn," a preliminary form of which
was sent to Mr. Holyoake' s paper, but as I cannot find
it among those copies of the Reasoner that are in the
British Museum, I conclude that it was not accepted.
I have, however, rather a strong fancy that it appeared
in seme London paper of the same character as the
Reasoner, not very long after July i, 1865, but I have
no copy.
I also wrote about this time the substance of what
ultimately became the Musical Banks, and the trial
of a man for being in a consumption. These four de-
tached papers were, I believe, all that was written of
** Erewhon" before 1870. Between 1865 and 18 70
/ wrote hardly anything, being hopeful of attaining that
success as a painter which it has not been vouchsafed
Preface
me to attain, but in the autumn of I1S70, just as I was
beginning to get occasionally hung at Royal Academy
exhibitions, my friend, the late Sir F. N. (then Mr.)
Broome, suggested to me that I should add somewhat
to the articles I had already written, and string them
together into a book. I was rather fired by the idea,
but as I only worked at the MS. on Sundays it was
some months before I had completed it.
I see from my second Preface that I took the book
to Messrs. Chapman &■ Hall May i , 1 8 7 1 , and on
their rejection of it, under the advice of one who has
attained the highest rank among living writers, I let
it sleep, till I took it to Mr. Triibner early in 1872.
As regards its rejection by Messrs. Chapman &■ Hall,
I believe their reader advised them quite wisely. They
told me he reported that it was a philosophical work,
little likely to be popular with a large circle of readers.
I hope that if I had been their reader, and the book
had been submitted to myself, I should have advised
them to the same effect.
" Erewhon " appeared with the last day or two of
March 1872. / attribute its unlooked-for success mainly
to two early favourable reviews — the first in the Pall
Mall Gazette of April 1 2, and the second in the
Spectator of April 20. There was also another cause.
I was complaining once to a friend that though " Ere-
whon " had met with such a warm reception, my subse-
Preface
quent books had teen all of them practically still-born.
He said, " You forget one charm that ' Erewhon '
had, but which none of your other books can have."
I asked what? and was answered, " The sound of a
new voice, and of an unknown voice."
The first edition of " Ereivhon " sold in about three
weeks; I had not taken moulds, and as the demand
was strong, it was set up again immediately. I made
a few unimportant alterations and additions, and added
a Preface, of which I cannot say that I am particularly
proud, but an inexperienced writer with a head some-
what turned by unexpected success is not to be trusted
with a preface. I made a few further very trifling
alterations before motdds were taken, but since the
summer of 1872, as new editions were from time to
time wanted, they have been 'printed from stereos then
made.
Having now, I fear, at too great length done what
I was asked to do, I should like to add a few words
on my own account. I am still fairly well satisfied
with those parts of " Erewhon " that were repeatedly
rewritten, but from those that had only a single writing
I would gladly cut out some forty or fifty pages if I
could.
This, hotvever, may not be, for the copyright will
probably expire in a little over twelve years. It was
necessary, therefore^ to revise the book throughout for
Preface
literary tnelegancies — of which I found many more
than I had expected — and also to make such substantial
additions as should secure a new lease of life — at any
rate for the copyright. If then, instead of cutting out,
say fifty pages, I have been compelled to add about
sixty invita Minerva — the blague rests neither with my
publisher nor with me, but with the copyright laws.
Nevertheless I can assure the reader that, though I have
found it an irksome task to take up work which I
thought I had got rid of thirty years ago, and much
of which I am ashamed of I have done my best to
make the new matter savour so much of the better
portions of the old, that none but the best critics shall
perceive at what places the gaps of between thirty and
forty years occur.
Lastly, if my readers note a considerable difference
between the literary technique of " Erewhon " and that
of *' Erewhon Revisited," I would remind them that,
as I have just shown, "Erewhon" took something like
ten years in writing, and even so was written with
great difficulty, while " Erewhon Revisited " was written
easily between November 1900 and the end of April
1 90 1. There is no central idea underlying " Ere-
whon,^^ whereas the attempt to realise the effect of a
single supposed great miracle dominates the whole of its
successor. In " Erewhon " there was hardly any story,
and little attempt to give life and individuality to the
XV I
Preface
characters ; I hope that in " Erewhon Revisited*^ both
these defects have been in great measure avoided. " Ere-
whon " was not an organic whole, " Erewhon Revisited"
may fairly claim to be one. Nevertheless, though in
literary workmanship I do not doubt that this last-
named book is an improvement on the first, I shall be
agreeably surprised if I am not told that " Erewhon"
with all its faults, is the better reading of the two.
SAMUEL BUTLER.
August 7, 1901,
sn
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
I. Waste lands i
II. In the wool-shed lo
III. Up the river i6
IV. The saddle 24
V. The river and the range 35
VI, Into Erewhon 47
VII. First impressions 58
VIII. In prison 68
IX. To the metropolis 79
X. Current opijiions 94
XI. Sotne Erewhonian trials 109
XII. Malcontents 119
XIII. The views of the Erewhonians concerning death . 1 30
XIV. Mahaina , 140
XV. The musical banks .146
XVI. Arowhetia 163
XVII. Ydgrun and the Ydgr unites . . . .174
XVIII. Birth formulae 183
XIX. The world of the unborn 190
XX. What they tnean by it 201
XXI. The colleges of unreason 211
xvii
Contents
PAGE
XXII. The colleges of unreason {conXmu&A) . . . 222
XXIII. The book of the machines 235
XXIV. The book of the machines — (continued) . . 244
XXV. The book of the fnachiftes — (concluded) . . 257
XXVI. The views of an Erewhonian prophet concern-
ing the rights of animals .... 270
XXVII. The views of an Erewhoniaft philosopher con-
cerning the rights of vegetables . , . 287
XXVIII. Escape 299
XXIX. Conclusion , . .314
Erewhon
CH A PTE R I
WASTE LANDS
If the reader will excuse me, I will say nothing of
my antecedents, nor of the circumstances which
led me to leave my native country ; the narrative
would be tedious to him and painful to myself.
Suffice it, that when I left home it was with the
intention of going to some new colony, and either
finding, or even perhaps purchasing, waste crown
land suitable for cattle or sheep farming, by which
means I thought that I could better my fortunes
more rapidly than in England.
It will be seen that I did not succeed in my
design, and that however much I may have met with
that was new and strange, I have been unable to reap
any pecuniary advantage.
It is true, I imagine myself to have made a dis-
covery which, if I can be the first to profit by it,
will bring me a recompense beyond all money com-
putation, and secure me a position such as has not
been attained by more than some fifteen or sixteen
persons, since the creation of the universe. But to
I A
Erewhon
this end I must possess myself of a considerable
sum of money : neither do I know how to get it,
except by interesting the public in my story, and
inducing the charitable to come forward and assist
me. Withthis hope I now publish my adventures; but
I do so with great reluctance, for I fear that my
story will be doubted unless I tell the whole of it ;
and yet I dare not do so, lest others with more
means than mine should get the start of me. I
prefer the risk of being doubted to that of being
anticipated, and have therefore concealed my
destination on leaving England, as also the point
from which I began my more serious and difficult
journey.
My chief consolation Hes in the fact that truth
bears its own impress, and that my story will carry
conviction by reason of the internal evidences for its
accuracy. No one who is himself honest will doubt
my being so.
I reached my destination in one of the last months
of 1868, but I dare not mention the season, lest the
reader should gather in which hemisphere I was.
The colony was one which had not been opened up
even to the most adventurous settlers for more than
eight or nine years, having been previously unin-
habited, save by a few tribes of savages who fre-
quented the seaboard. The part known to Europeans
consisted of a coast-line about eight hundred miles
in length (affording three or four good harbours),
and a tract of country extending inland for a space
varying from two to three hundred miles, until it
Waste Lands
reached the offshoots of an exceedingly lofty range
of mountains, which could be seen from far out
upon the plains, and were covered with perpetual
snow. The coast was perfectly well known both
north and south of the tract to which I have
alluded, but in neither direction was there a single
harbour for five hundred miles, and the moun-
tains, which descended almost into the sea, were
covered with thick timber, so that none would
think of settling.
With this bay of land, however, the case was
different. The harbours were sufficient ; the country
was timbered, but not too heavily ; it was admir-
ably suited for agriculture ; it also contained
millions on millions of acres of the most beauti-
fully grassed country in the world, and of the best
suited for all manner of sheep and cattle. The
■climate was temperate, and very healthy; there were
no wild animals, nor were the natives dangerous,
being few in number and of an intelligent tractable
disposition.
It may be readily understood that when once
Europeans set foot upon this territory they were
not slow to take advantage of its capabilities. Sheep
and cattle were introduced, and bred with extreme
rapidity ; men took up their 50,000 or 100,000 acres
of country, going inland one behind the other, till
in a few years there was not an acre between the
sea and the front ranges which was not taken up,
and stations either for sheep or cattle were spotted
about at intervals of some twenty or thirty miles
3
Erewhon
over the whole country. The front ranges stopped
the tide of squatters for some Httle time ; it was
thought that there was too much snow upon them
for too many months in the year, — that the sheep
would get lost, the ground being too difficult for
shepherding, — that the expense of getting wool
down to the ship's side would eat up the farmer's
profits, — and that the grass was too rough and
sour for sheep to thrive upon ; but one after
another determined to try the experiment, and
it was wonderful how successfully it turned out.
Men pushed farther and farther into the moun-
tains, and found a very considerable tract inside
the front range, between it and another which
was loftier still, though even this was not the
highest, the great snowy one which could be seen
from out upon the plains. This second range,
however, seemed to mark the extreme limits of
pastoral country ; and it was here, at a small and
newly founded station, that I was received as a cadet,
and soon regularly employed. I was then just twenty-
two years old.
I was delighted with the country and the manner
of life. It was my daily business to go up to the
top of a certain high mountain, and down one of its
spurs on to the fiat, in order to make sure that no
sheep had crossed their boundaries. I was to see the
sheep, not necessarily close at hand, nor to get them
in a single mob, but to see enough of them here and
there to feel easy that nothing had gone wrong ; this
was no difficult matter, for there were not above eight
4
Waste Lands
hundred of them ; and, being all breeding ewes, they
were pretty quiet.
There were a good many sheep which I knew, as
two or three black ewes, and a black lamb or two,
and several others which had some distinguishing
mark whereby I could tell them. I would try and
see all these, and if they were all there, and the mob
looked large enough, I might rest assured that all
was well. It is surprising how soon the eye becomes
accustomed to missing twenty sheep out of two or
three hundred. I had a telescope and a dog, and
would take bread and meat and tobacco with me.
Starting with early dawn, it would be night before I
could complete my round ; for the mountain over
which I had to go was very high. In winter it was
covered with snow, and the sheep needed no watch-
ing from above. If I were to see sheep dung or
tracks going down on to the other side of the
mountain (where there was a valley with a stream —
a mere cul de sac), I was to follow them, and look
out for sheep ; but I never saw any, the sheep
always descending on to their own side, partly from
habit, and partly because there was abundance of
good sweet feed, which had been burnt in the early
spring, just before I came, and was now deliciously
green and rich, while that on the other side had
never been burnt, and was rank and coarse.
It was a monotonous life, but it was very healthy ;
and one does not much mind anything when one is
well. The country was the grandest that can be
imagined. How often have I sat on the mountain
Erewhon
side and watched the wavhig downs, with the two
white specks of huts in the distance, and the httle
square of garden behind them ; the paddock with a
patch of bright green oats above the huts, and the
yards and wool-sheds down on the flat below ; all
seen as through the wrong end of a telescope, so
clear and brilliant was the air, or as upon a colossal
model or map spread out beneath me. Beyond the
downs was a plain, going down to u river of great
size, on the farther side of which there were other
high mountains, with the winter's snow still not
quite melted ; up the river, which ran winding in
many streams over a bed some two miles broad, I
looked upon the second great chain, and could see
a narrow gorge where the river retired and was lost.
I knew that there was a range still farther back ; but
except from one place near the very top of my own
mountain, no part of it was visible : from this point,
however, I saw, whenever there were no clouds, a
single snow-clad peak, many miles away, and I
should think about as high as any mountain in the
world. Never shall I forget the utter loneliness of
the prospect — only the little far-away homestead
giving sign of human handiwork ; — the vastness of
mountain and plain, of river and sky ; the marvellous
atmospheric effects — sometimes black mountains
against a white sky, and then again, after cold
weather, white mountains against a black sky —
sometimes seen through breaks and swirls of cloud —
and sometimes, which was best of all, I went up my
mountain in a fog, and then got above the mist ;
6
Waste Lands
going higher and higher, I would look down upon a
sea of whiteness, through which would be thrust
innumerable mountain tops that looked like islands.
I am there now, as I write ; I fancy that I can see
the downs, the huts, the plain, and the river-bed —
that torrent pathway of desolation, with its distant
roar of waters. Oh, wonderful ! wonderful ! so
lonely and so solemn, with the sad grey clouds
above, and no sound save a lost lamb bleating upon
the mountain side, as though its little heart were
breaking. Then there comes some lean and withered
old ewe, with deep gruff voice and unlovely aspect,
trotting back from the seductive pasture ; now she
examines this gully, and now that, and now she
stands listening with uplifted head, that she may hear
the distant wailing and obey it. Aha ! they see, and
rush towards each other. Alas ! they are both mis-
taken ; the ewe is not the lamb's ewe, they are
neither kin nor kind to one another, and part in
coldness. Each must cry louder, and wander
farther yet ; may luck be with them both that they
may find their own at nightfall. But this is mere
dreaming, and I must proceed.
I could not help speculating upon what might lie
farther up the river and behind the second range. I
had no money, but if I could only find workable
country, I might stock it with borrowed capital, and
consider myself a made man. True, the range looked
so vast, that there seemed little chance of getting a
sufficient road through it or over it ; but no one had
yet explored it, and it is wonderful how one finds
Erewhon
that one can make a path into all sorts of places
(and even get a road for pack-horses), which from a
distance appear inaccessible ; the river was so great
that it must drain an inner tract — at least I thought
so ; and though every one said it would be madness
to attempt taking sheep farther inland, I knew that
only three years ago the same cry had been raised
against the country which my master's flock was now
overrunning. I could not keep these thoughts out
of my head as I would rest myself upon the moun-
tain side ; they haunted me as I went my daily
rounds, and grew upon me from hour to hour, till
I resolved that after shearing I would remain in
doubt no longer, but saddle my horse, take as much
provision with me as I could, and go and see for
myself.
But over and above these thoughts came that of
the great range itself. What was beyond it ? Ah !
who could say ? There was no one in the whole
world who had the smallest idea, save those who were
themselves on the other side of it — if, indeed, there
was any one at all. Could I hope to cross it ? This
would be the highest triumph that I could wish for ;
but it was too much to think of yet. I would try the
nearer range, and see how far I could go. Even if
I did not find country, might I not find gold, or
diamonds, or copper, or silver ? I would sometimes
lie flat down to drink out of a stream, and could see
little yellow specks among the sand ; were these
gold ? People said no ; but then people always said
there was no gold until it was found to be abundant :
Waste Lands
there was plenty of slate and granite, which I had
always understood to accompany gold ; and even
though it was not found in paying quantities here,
it might be abundant in the main ranges. These
thoughts filled my head, and I could not banish
them.
CHAPTER II
IN THE WOOL-SHED
At last shearing came ; and with the shearers there
was an old native, whom they had nicknamed Chow-
bok — though, I believe, his real namiC was Kahabuka.
He was a sort of chief of the natives, could speak a
little English, and was a great favourite with the
missionaries. He did not do any regular work with
the shearers, but pretended to help in the yards, his
real aim being to get the grog, which is always more
freely circulated at shearing-time : he did not get
much, for he was apt to be dangerous when drunk ;
and very little would make him so : still he did get it
occasionally, and if one wanted to get anything out
of him, it was the best bribe to offer him. I resolved
to question him, and get as much information from
him as I could. I did so. As long as I kept to
questions about the nearer ranges, he was easy to get
on with — he had never been there, but there were
traditions among his tribe to the effect that there
was no sheep-country, nothing, in fact, but stunted
timber and a few river-bed flats. It was very difficult
to reach ; still there vi^ere passes : one of them up our
own river, though not directly along the river-bed,
the gorge of which was not practicable ; he had
never seen any one who had been there : was there
In the Wool-shed
not enough on this side ? But when I came to the
main range, his manner changed at once. He
became uneasy, and began to prevaricate and shuffle.
In a very few minutes I could see that of this too
there existed traditions in his tribe ; but no efforts
or coaxing could get a word from him about them.
At last I hinted about grog, and presently he feigned
consent : I gave it him ; but as soon as he had drunk
it he began shamming intoxication, and then went
to sleep, or pretended to do so, letting me kick him
pretty hard and never budging.
I was angry, for I had to go without my own
grog and had got nothing out of him ; so the next
day I determined that he should tell me before I
gave him any, or get none at all.
Accordingly, when night came and the shearers
had knocked off work and had their supper, I got my
share of rum in a tin pannikin and made a sign to
Chowbok to follow me to the wool-shed, which he
willingly did, slipping out after me, and no one taking
any notice of either of us. When we got down to the
wool-shed we lit a tallow candle, and having stuck it
in an old bottle we sat down upon the wool bales and
began to smoke. A wool-shed is a roomy place,
built somewhat on the same plan as a cathedral,
with aisles on either side full of pens for the sheep,
a great nave, at the upper end of which the shearers
work, and a further space for wool sorters and
packers. It always refreshed me with a semblance
of antiquity (precious in a new country), though I
very well knew that the oldest wool-shed in the
Erewhon
settlement was not more than seven years old, while
this was only two. Chowbok pretended to expect his
grog at once, though we both of us knew very well
what the other was after, and that we were each play-
ing against the other, the one for grog the other for
information.
We had a hard fight : for more than two hours he
had tried to put me off with lies but had carried no
conviction ; during the whole time we had been
morally wrestling with one another and had neither
of us apparently gained the least advantage ; at
length, however, I had become sure that he would
give in ultimately, and that with a little further
patience I should get his story out of him. As upon
a cold day in winter, when one has churned (as I
had often had to do), and churned in vain, and the
butter makes no sign of coming, at last one tells by
the sound that the cream has gone to sleep, and then
upon a sudden the butter comes, so I had churned at
Chowbok until I perceived that he had arrived, as it
were, at the sleepy stage, and that with a con-
tinuance of steady quiet pressure the day was
mine. On a sudden, without a word of warning, he
rolled two bales of wool (his strength was very great)
into the middle of the floor, and on the top of these
he placed another crosswise ; he snatched up an empty
wool-pack, threw it like a mantle over his shoulders,
jumped upon the uppermost bale, and sat upon it.
In a moment his whole form was changed. His high
shoulders dropped ; he set his feet close together, heel
to heel and toe to toe ; he laid his arms and hands
In the Wool-shed
close alongside of his body, the palms following his
thighs ; he held his head high but quite straight, and
his eyes stared right in front of him ; but he frowned
horribly, and assumed an expression of face that was
positively fiendish. At the best of times Chowbok
was very ugly, but he now exceeded all conceivable
limits of the hideous. His mouth extended almost
from ear to ear, grinning horribly and showing all his
teeth ; his eyes glared, though they remained quite
fixed, and his forehead was contracted with a most
malevolent scowl.
I am afraid my description will have conveyed
only the ridiculous side of his appearance ; but the
ridiculous and the sublimeare near, and the grotesque
fiendishness of Chowbok's face approached this last,
if it did not reach it. I tried to be amused, but I felt
a sort of creeping at the roots of my hair and over
my whole body, as I looked and wondered what he
could possibly be intending to signify. He continued
thus for about a minute, sitting bolt upright, as stiff
as a stone, and making this fearful face. Then there
came from his lips a low moaning like the wind,
rising and falling by infinitely small gradations till it
became almost a shriek, from which it descended and
died away ; after that, he jumped down from the bale
and held up the extended fingers of both his hands,
as one who should say " Ten," though I did not then
understand him.
For myself I was open-mouthed with astonish-
ment. Chowbok rolled the bales rapidly into their
place, and stood before me shuddering as in great
13
Erewhon
fear ; horror was written upon his face — this time
quite involuntarily — as though the natural panic of
one who had committed an awful crime against
unknown and superhuman agencies. He nodded his
head and gibbered, and pointed repeatedly to the
mountains. He would not touch the grog, but, after
a few seconds he made a run through the wool-shed
door into the moonlight; nor did he reappear till
next day at dinner-time, when he turned up, looking
very sheepish and abject in his civility towards my-
self.
Of his meaning I had no conception. How could
I ? All I could feel sure of was, that he had a mean-
ing which was true and awful to himself. It was
enough for me that I believed him to have given me
the best he had and all he had. This kindled my
imagination more than if he had told me intelligible
stories by the hour together. I knew not what the
great snowy ranges might conceal, but I could no
longer doubt that it would be something well worth
discovering.
I kept aloof from Chowbok for the next few days,
and showed no desire to question him further ; when
I spoke to him I called him Kahabuka, which grati-
fied him greatly : he seemed to have become afraid of
me, and acted as one who was in my power. Having
therefore made up my mind that I would begin ex-
ploring as soon as shearing was over, I thought it
would be a good thing to take Chowbok with me ;
so I told him that I meant going to the nearer
ranges for a few days' prospecting, and that he was
14
In the Wool-shed
to come too. I made him promises of nightly grog,
and held out the chances of finding gold. I said
nothing about the main range, for I knew it would
frighten him. I would get him as far up our own
river as I could, and trace it if possible to its source.
I would then either go on by myself, if I felt my
courage equal to the attempt, or return with Chow-
bok. So, as soon as ever shearing was over and
the wool sent off, I asked leave of absence, and ob-
tained it. Also, I bought an old pack-horse and
pack-saddle, so that I might take plenty of provisions,
and blankets, and a small tent. I was to ride and
find fords over the river ; Chowbok was to follow and
lead the pack-horse, which would also carry him over
the fords. My master let me have tea and sugar,
ship's biscuits, tobacco, and salt mutton, with two or
three bottles of good brandy ; for, as the wool was
now sent down, abundance of provisions would come
up with the empty drays.
Everything being now ready, all the hands on the
station turned out to see us off, and we started on our
journey, not very long after the summer solstice of
1870.
15
CHAPTER II I
UP THE RIVER
The first day we had an easy time, following up the
great flats by the river side, which had ah'eady been
twice burned, so that there was no dense under-
growth to check us, though the ground was often
rough, and we had to go a good deal upon the river-
bed. Towards nightfall we had made a matter of
some five-and-twenty miles, and camped at the point
where the river entered upon the gorge.
The weather was delightfully warm, considering
that the valley in which we were encamped must
have been at least two thousand feet above the level
of the sea. The river-bed was here about a mile
and a half broad and entirely covered with shingle
over which the river ran in many winding channels,
looking, when seen from above, like a tangled skein
of ribbon, and glistening in the sun. We knew that
it was liable to very sudden and heavy freshets ; but
even had we not known it, we could have seen it by
the snags of trees, which must have been carried
long distances, and by the mass of vegetable and
mineral debris which was banked against their lower
side, showing that at times the whole river-bed must
be covered with a roaring torrent many feet in depth
and of ungovernable fury. At present the river was
i6
Up the River
low, there being but five or six streams, too deep
and rapid for even a strong man to ford on foot,
but to be crossed safely on horseback. On either
side of it there were still a few acres of flat, which
grew wider and wider down the river, till they
became the large plains on which we looked from
my master's hut. Behind us rose the lowest spurs
of the second range, leading abruptly to the range
itself ; and at a distance of half a mile began the
gorge, where the river narrowed and became bois-
terous and terrible. The beauty of the scene cannot
be conveyed in language. The one side of the valley
was blue with evening shadow, through which
loomed forest and precipice, hillside and mountain
top ; and the other was still brilliant with the sunset
gold. The wide and wasteful river with its cease-
less rushing — the beautiful water-birds too, which
abounded upon the islets and were so tame that we
could come close up to them — the ineffable purity
of the air — the solemn peacefulness of the untrodden
region — could there be a more delightful and ex-
hilarating combination ?
We set about making our camp, close to some
large bush w^hich came down from the mountains
on to the flat, and tethered out our horses upon
ground as free as we could find it from anything
round which they might wind the rope and get
themselves tied up. We dared not let them run
loose, lest they might stray down the river home
again. We then gathered wood and lit the fire.
We filled a tin pannikin with water and set it against
17 B
Erewhon
the hot ashes to boil. When the water boiled we
threw in two or three large pinches of tea and let
them brew.
We had caught half a dozen young ducks in the
course of the day — an easy matter, for the old birds
made such a fuss in attempting to decoy us away
from them — pretending to be badly hurt as they say
the plover does— that we could always find them by
going about in the opposite direction to the old bird
till we heard the young ones crying : then we ran
them down, for they could not fly though they were
nearly full grown. Chowbok plucked them a little
and singed them a good deal. Then we cut them
up and boiled them in another pannikin, and this
completed our preparations.
When, we had done supper it was quite dark. The
silence and freshness of the night, the occasional
sharp cry of the wood-hen, the ruddy glow of the fire,
the subdued rushing of the river, the sombre forest,
and the immediate foreground of our saddles packs
and blankets, made a picture worthy of a Salvator
Rosa or a Nicolas Poussin. 1 call it to mind and
delight in it now, but I did not notice it at the time.
We next to never know when we are well off : but
this cuts two ways, — for if we did, we should perhaps
know better when we are ill off also ; and I have
sometimes thought that there are as many ignorant
of the one as of the other. He who wrote, "0
fortunatos nimiiim sua si bona noriut agricolas,"
might have written quite as truly, " 0 infortiinatos
nimiuni sua si mala norint " ; and there are few of us
i8
up the River
who are not protected from the keenest pain by our
inabiUty to see what it is that we have done, what
we are suffering, and what we truly are. Let us be
grateful to the mirror for revealing to us our appear-
ance only.
We found as soft a piece of ground as we could —
though it was all stony — and having collected grass
and so disposed of ourselves that we had a little
hollow for our hip-bones, we strapped our blankets
around us and went to sleep. Waking in the night
I saw the stars overhead and the moonlight bright
upon the mountains. The river was ever rushing ;
I heard one of our horses neigh to its companion,
and was assured that they were still at hand ; I had
no care of mind or body, save that I had doubtless
many difficulties to overcome ; there came upon me
a delicious sense of peace, a fulness of contentment
which I do not believe can be felt by any but those
who have spent days consecutively on horseback, or
at any rate in the open air.
Next morning we found our last night's tea-leaves
frozen at the bottom of the pannikins, though it was
not nearly the beginning of autumn ; we breakfasted
as we had supped, and were on our way by six
o'clock. In half an hour we had entered the gorge,
and turning round a corner we bade farewell to the
last sight of my master's country.
The gorge was narrow and precipitous ; the river
was now only a few yards wide, and roared and
thundered against rocks of many tons in weight ; the
sound was deafening, for there was a great volume
19
Erewhon
of water. We were two hours in making less than
a mile, and that with danger, sometimes in the river
and sometimes on the rock. There was that damp
black smell of rocks covered with slimy vegetation,
as near some huge waterfall where spray is ever
rising. The air w^as clammy and cold. I cannot
conceive how our horses managed to keep their
footing, especially the one with the pack, and I
dreaded the having to return almost as much as
going forward. I suppose this lasted three miles,
but it was well midday when the gorge got a little
wider, and a small stream came into it from a
tributary valley. Farther progress up the main
river was impossible, for the cliffs descended like
walls ; so we went up the side stream, Chowbok
seeming to think that here must be the pass of
which reports existed among his people. We
now incurred less of actual danger but more
fatigue, and it was only after infinite trouble, owing
to the rocks and tangled vegetation, that we got
ourselves and our horses upon the saddle from
which this small stream descended; by that time
clouds had descended upon us, and it was raining
heavily. Moreover, it was six o'clock and we were
tired out, having made perhaps six miles in twelve
hours.
On the saddle there was some coarse grass which
was in full seed, and therefore very nourishing for the
horses ; also abundance of anise and sow-thistle, of
which they are extravagantly fond, so we turned them
loose and prepared to camp. Everything was soaking
Up the River
wet and we were half-perished with cold ; indeed
we were very uncomfortable. There was brush-
wood about, but we could get no fire till we had
shaved off the wet outside of some dead branches
and filled our pockets with the dry inside chips.
Having done this we managed to start a fire,
nor did we allow it to go out when we had once
started it ; we pitched the tent and by nine o'clock
were comparatively warm and dry. Next morning
it was fine ; we broke camp, and after advancing
a short distance we found that, by descending
over ground less difficult than yesterday's, we
should come again upon the river-bed, which had
opened out above the gorge ; but it was plain at
a glance that there was no available sheep country,
nothing but a few flats covered with scrub on
either side the river, and mountains which were
perfectly worthless. But we could see the main
range. There was no mistake about this. The
glaciers were tumbling down the mountain sides like
cataracts, and seemed actually to descend upon the
river-bed ; there could be no serious difficulty in
reaching them by following up the river, which was
wide and open ; but it seemed rather an objectless
thing to do, for the main range looked hopeless, and
my curiosity about the nature of the country above
the gorge was now quite satisfied; there was no
money in it whatever, unless there should be
minerals, of which I saw no more signs than lower
down.
However, I resolved that I would follow the river
21
Erewhon
up, and not return until I was compelled to do so. I
would go up every branch as far as I could, and wash
well for gold. Chowbok liked seeing me do this, but
it never came to anything, for we did not even
find the colour. His dislike of the main range
appeared to have worn off, and he made no objec-
tions to approaching it. I think he thought there
w'as no danger of my trying to cross it, and he was
not afraid of anything on this side ; besides, we
might find gold. But the fact was that he had
made up his mind what to do if he saw me getting
too near it.
We passed three weeks in exploring, and never did
I find time go more quickly. The weather was fine,
though the nights got very cold. We followed every
stream but one, and always found it lead us to a
glacier which was plainly impassable, at any rate
without a larger party and ropes. One stream re-
mained, which I should have followed up already,
had not Chowbok said that he had risen early one
morning while I was yet asleep, and after going up
it for three or four miles, had seen that it was im-
possible to go farther, I had long ago discovered
that he was a great liar, so I was bent on going
up myself : in brief, I did so : so far from
being impossible, it was quite easy travelling ;
and after five or six miles I saw a saddle at the
end of it, which, though cov^ered deep in snow,
was not glaciered, and which did verily appear to be
part of the main range itself. No words can express
the intensity of my delight. My blood was all on
Up the River
fire with hope and elation ; but on looking round
for Chowbok, who was behind me, I saw to my
surprise and anger that he had turned back, and
was going down the valley as hard as he could.
He had left me.
>}
CHAPTER IV
THE SADDLE
I COOEYED to him, but he would not hear. I ran
after him, but he had got too good a start. Then I
sat down on a stone and thought the matter care-
fully over. It was plain that Chowbok had
designedly attempted to keep me from going up
this valley, yet he had shown no unwillingness to
follow me anywhere else. What could this mean,
unless that I was now upon the route by which
alone the mysteries of the great ranges could be
revealed ? What then should I do ? Go back at the
very moment when it had become plain that I was
on the right scent ? Hardly ; yet to proceed alone
would be both difficult and dangerous. It would
be bad enough to return to my master's run, and
pass through the rocky gorges, with no chance of
help from another should I get into a difficulty ;
but to advance for any considerable distance with-
out a companion would be next door to madness.
Accidents which are slight when there is another at
hand (as the spraining of an ankle, or the falling
into some place whence escape would be easy by
means of an outstretched hand and a bit of rope)
may be fatal to one who is alone. The more I
pondered tlie less 1 liked it ; and yet, the less could
24
The Saddle
I make up my mind to return when I looked at the
saddle at the head of the valley, and noted the com-
parative ease with vi^hich its smooth sweep of snow
might be surmounted : I seemed to see my way
almost from my present position to the very top.
After much thought, I resolved to go forward until
I should come to some place which was really
dangerous, but then to return. I should thus, I
hoped, at any rate reach the top of the saddle, and
satisfy myself as to what might be on the other
side.
I had no time to lose, for it was now between ten
and eleven in the morning. Fortunately I was well
equipped, for on leaving the camp and the horses at
the lower end of the valley I had provided myself
(according to my custom) with everything that I was
likely to want for four or five days. Chowbok had
carried half, but had dropped his whole swag — I
suppose, at the moment of his taking flight — for I
came upon it when I ran after him. I had, there-
fore, his provisions as well as my own. Accordingly,
I took as many biscuits as I thought I could carry,
and also some tobacco, tea, and a few matches. I
rolled all these things (together with a flask nearly
full of brandy, which I had kept in my pocket for
fear lest Chowbok should get hold of it) inside my
blankets, and strapped them very tightly, making the
whole into a long roll of some seven feet in length
and six inches in diameter. Then I tied the two
ends together, and put the whole round my neck
and over one shoulder. This is the easiest way of
25
Erewhon
carrying a heavy swag, for one can rest one's self by
shifting the burden from one shoulder to the other.
I strapped my pannikin and a small axe about my
waist, and thus equipped began to ascend the valley,
angry at having been misled by Chowbok, but deter-
mined not to return till I was compelled to do so.
I crossed and recrossed the stream several times
without difficulty, for there were many good fords.
At one o'clock I was at the foot of the saddle ; for
four hours I mounted, the last two on the snow,
where the going was easier ; by five, I was within
ten minutes of the top, in a state of excitement
greater, I think, than I had ever known before. Ten
minutes more, and the cold air from the other side
came rushing upon me.
A glance. I was not on the main range.
Another glance. There was an awful river, muddy
and horribly angry, roaring over an immense river-
bed, thousands of feet below me.
It went round to the westward, and I could see no
farther up the valley, save that there were enormous
glaciers which must extend round the source of the
river, and from which it must spring.
Another glance, and then I remained motionless.
There was an easy pass in the mountains directly
opposite to me, through which I caught a glimpse
of an immeasurable extent of blue and distant
plains.
Easy ? Yes, perfectly easy ; grassed nearly to the
summit, which was, as it were, an open path between
two glaciers, from which an inconsiderable stream
26
The Saddle
came tumbling down over rough but very possible
hillsides, till it got down to the level of the great
river, and formed a flat where there was grass and a
small bush of stunted timber.
Almost before I could believe my eyes, a cloud
had come up from the valley on the other side, and
the plains were hidden. What wonderful luck was
mine ! Had I arrived five minutes later, the cloud
would have been over the pass, and I should not
have known of its existence. Now that the cloud
was there, I began to doubt my memory, and to be
uncertain whether it had been more than a blue line
of distant vapour that had filled up the opening. I
could only be certain of this much, namely, that the
river in the valley below must be the one next to the
northward of that which flowed past my master's
station ; of this there could be no doubt. Could I,
however, imagine that my luck should have led me
up a wrong river in search of a pass, and yet brought
me to the spot where I could detect the one weak
place in the fortifications of a more northern basin ?
This was too improbable. But even as I doubted
there came a rent in the cloud opposite, and a
second time I saw blue lines of heaving downs,
growing gradually fainter, and retiring into a far
space of plain. It was substantial ; there had been
no mistake whatsoever. I had hardly made myself
perfectly sure of this, ere the rent in the clouds
joined up again and I could see nothing more.
What, then, should I do ? The night would be
upon me shortly, and I was already chilled with
27
Erewhon
standing still after the exertion of climbing. To stay
where I was would be impossible ; I must either go
backwards or forwards. I found a rock which gave
me shelter from the evening wind, and took a good
pull at the brandy flask, which immediately warmed
and encouraged me.
I asked myself, Could I descend upon the river-bed
beneath me ? It was impossible to say what preci-
pices might prevent my doing so. If I were on the
river-bed, dare I cross the river ? I am an excellent
swimmer, yet, once in that frightful rush of waters, I
should be hurled whithersoever it willed, absolutely
powerless. Moreover, there was my swag ; I should
perish of cold and hunger if I left it, but I should
certainly be drowned if I attempted to carry it across
the river. These were serious considerations, but the
hope of finding an immense tract of available sheep
country (which I was determined that I would
monopolise as far as I possibly could) sufficed to
outweigh them ; and, in a few minutes, I felt resolved
that, having made so important a discovery as a pass
into a country which was probably as valuable as
that on our own side of the ranges, I would follow it
up and ascertain its value, even though I should pay
the penalty of failure with life itself. The more I
thought, the more determined I became either to
win fame and perhaps fortune, by entering upon
this unknown world, or give up life in the attempt.
In fact, I felt that life would be no longer valuable
if I were to have seen so great a prize and refused
to grasp at the possible profits therefrom.
28
The Saddle
I had still an hour of good daylight during which I
might begin my descent on to some suitable camping-
ground, but there was not a moment to be lost. At
first I got along rapidly, for I was on the snow, and
sank into it enough to save me from falling, though
I went forward straight down the mountain side as
fast as I could ; but there was less snow on this side
than on the other, and I had soon done with it,
getting on to a coomb of dangerous and very stony
ground, where a slip might have given me a disastrous
fall. But I was careful with all my speed, and got
safely to the bottom, where there were patches of
coarse grass, and an attempt here and there at brush-
wood : what was below this I could not see. I
advanced a few hundred yards farther, and found
that I was on the brink of a frightful precipice,
which no one in his senses would attempt descending.
I bethought me, however, to try the creek which
drained the coomb, and see whether it might not
have made itself a smoother way. In a few minutes
I found myself at the upper end of a chasm in the
rocks, something like Twll Dhu, only on a greatly
larger scale ; the creek had found its way into it,
and had worn a deep channel through a material
which appeared softer than that upon the other side
of the mountain. I believe it must have been a
different geological formation, though I regret to say
that I cannot tell what it was.
I looked at this rift in great doubt ; then I went
a little way on either side of it, and found myself
looking over the edge of horrible precipices on io
29
Erewhon
the river, which roared some four or five thousand
feet below me. I dared not think of getting down
at all, unless I committed myself to the rift, of
which I was hopeful when I reflected that the rock
was soft, and that the water might have worn its
channel tolerably evenly through the whole extent.
The darkness was increasing with every minute, but
I should have twilight for another half-hour, so I
went into the chasm (though by no means without
fear), and resolved to return and camp, and try some
other path next day, should I come to any serious
difticulty. In about five minutes I had completely
lost my head ; the side of the rift became hundreds
of feet in height, and overhung so that I could not
see the sky. It was full of rocks, and I had many
falls and bruises. I was wet through from falling
into the water, of which there was no great volume,
but it had such force that I could do nothing against
it ; once I had to leap down a not inconsiderable
waterfall into a deep pool below, and my swag was
so heavy that I was very nearly drowned. I had
indeed a hair's-breadth escape ; but, as luck would
have it, Providence was on my side. Shortly after-
wards I began to fancy that the rift was getting
wider, and that there was more brushwood.
Presently I found myself on an open grassy slope,
and feeling my way a little farther along the stream,
I came upon a flat place with wood, where I could
camp comfortably ; which was well, for it was now
quite dark.
My first care was for my matches ; were they dry ?
30
The Saddle
The outside of my swag had got completely wet ;
but, on undoing the blankets, I found things warm
and dry within. How thankful I was ! I lit a fire,
and was grateful for its warmth and company. I
made myself some tea and ate two of my biscuits :
my brandy I did not touch, for I had little left, and
might want it when my courage failed me. All that
I did, I did almost mechanically, for I could not
realise my situation to myself, beyond knowing that
I was alone, and that return through the chasm
which I had just descended would be impossible.
It is a dreadful feeling that of being cut off from all
one's kind. I was still full of hope, and built golden
castles for myself as soon as I was warmed with food
and fire ; but I do not believe that any man could
long retain his reason in such solitude, unless he had
the companionship of animals. One begins doubting
one's own identity.
I remember deriving comfort even from the sight
of my blankets, and the sound of my watch ticking —
things which seemed to link me to other people ;
but the screaming of the wood-hens frightened
me, as also a chattering bird which I had never
heard before, and which seemed to laugh at me ;
though I soon got used to it, and before long could
fancy that it was many years since I had first
heard it.
I took off my clothes, and wrapped my inside
blanket about me, till my things were dry. The night
was very still, and I made a roaring fire ; so I soon
got warm, and at last could put my clothes on again.
31
Erewhon
Then I strapped my blanket round me, and went to
sleep as near the fire as I could.
I dreamed that there was an organ placed in my
master's wool-shed : the wool-shed faded away, and
the organ seemed to grow and grow amid a blaze of
brilliant light, till it became like a golden city upon
the side of a mountain, with rows upon rows of pipes
set in cliffs and precipices, one above the other, and
in mysterious caverns, like that of Fingal, within
whose depths I could see the burnished pillars gleam-
ing. In the front there was a flight of lofty terraces,
at the top of which I could see a man with his head
buried forward towards a key-board, and his body
swaying from side to side amid the storm of huge
arpeggioed harmonies that came crashing overhead
and round. Then there was one who touched me
on the shoulder, and said, " Do you not see ? it is
Handel " ; — but I had hardly apprehended, and was
trying to scale the terraces, and get near him, when
I awoke, dazzled with the vividness and distinctness
of the dream.
A piece of wood had burned through, and the ends
had fallen into the ashes with a blaze : this, I sup-
posed, had both given me my dream and robbed me
of it. I was bitterly disappointed, and sitting up on
my elbow, came back to reality and my strange
surroundings as best I could.
I was thoroughly aroused — moreover, I felt a fore-
shadowing as though my attention were arrested by
something more than the dream, although no sense
in particular was as yet appealed to. I held my
32
The Saddle
breath and waited, and then I heard — was it fancy ?
Nay ; I Hstened again and again, and I did hear a
faint and extremely distant sound of music, like
that of an ^olian harp, borne upon the wind
which was blowing fresh and chill from the opposite
mountains.
The roots of my hair thrilled. I listened, but the
wind had died ; and, fancying that it must have been
the wind itself — no ; on a sudden I remembered the
noise which Chowbok had made in the wool-shed.
Yes ; it was that.
Thank Heaven, whatever it was, it was over now.
I reasoned with myself, and recovered my firmness.
I became convinced that I had only been dreaming
more vividly than usual. Soon I began even to
laugh, and think what a fool I was to be frightened
at nothing, reminding myself that even if I were
to come to a bad end it would be no such dreadful
matter after all. I said my prayers, a duty which I
had too often neglected, and in a little time fell into
a really refreshing sleep, which lasted till broad day-
light, and restored me. I rose, and searching among
the embers of my fire, I found a few live coals and
soon had a blaze again. I got breakfast, and was
delighted to have the company of several small birds,
which hopped about me and perched on my boots
and hands. I felt comparatively happy, but I can
assure the reader that I had had a far worse time of
it than I have told him ; and I strongly recommend
him to remain in Europe if he can ; or, at any rate,
in some country which has been explored and
33 " c
Erewhon
settled, rather than go into places where others have
not been before him. Exploring is delightful to
look forward to and back upon, but it is not comfort-
able at the time, unless it be of such an easy nature
as not to deserve the name.
S4
CHAPTER V
THE RIVER AND THE RANGE
My next business was to descend upon the river. I
had lost sight of the pass which I had seen from the
saddle, but had made such notes of it that I could
not fail to find it. I was bruised and stiff, and my
boots had begun to give, for I had been going on
rough ground for more than three weeks; but, as the
day wore on, and I found myself descending without
serious difficulty, I became easier. In a couple of
hours I got among pine forests where there was little
undergrowth, and descended quickly till I reached
the edge of another precipice, which gave me a great
deal of trouble, though I eventually managed to
avoid it. By about three or four o'clock 1 found
myself on the river-bed.
From calculations which I made as to the height
of the valley on the other side the saddle over which
I had come, I concluded that the saddle itself could
not be less than nine thousand feet high ; and I
should think that the river-bed, on to which I now
descended, was three thousand feet above the sea-
level. The water had a terrific current, with a fall
of not less than forty to fifty feet per mile. It was
certainly the river next to the northward of that
which flowed past my master's run, and would have
35
Erewhon
to go through an impassable gorge (as is commonly
the case with the rivers of that country) before it
came upon known parts. It was reckoned to be
nearly two thousand feet above the sea-level where it
came out of the gorge on to the plains.
As soon as I got to the river side I liked it even
less than I thought I should. It was muddy, being
near its parent glaciers. The stream was wide,
rapid, and rough, and I could hear the smaller stones
knocking against each other under the rage of the
waters, as upon a seashore. Fording was out of
the question. I could not swim and carry my
swag, and I dared not leave my swag behind me.
My only chance was to make a small raft ; and that
would be difficult to make, and not at all safe when
it was made, — not for one man in such a current.
As it was too late to do much that afternoon, I
spent the rest of it in going up and down the river
side, and seeing where I should find the most favour-
able crossing. Then I camped early, and had a quiet
comfortable night with no more music, for which I
was thankful, as it had haunted me all day, although
I perfectly well knew that it had been nothing but my
own fancy, brought on by the reminiscence of what I
had heard from Chowbok and by the over-excitement
of the preceding evening.
Next day I began gathering the dry bloom stalks
of a kind of flag or iris-looking plant, which was
abundant, and whose leaves, when torn into strips,
were as strong as the strongest string. I brought
them to the waterside, and fell to making myself a
36
River and Range
kind of rough platform, which should suffice for
myself and my swag if I could only stick to it. The
stalks were ten or twelve feet long, and very strong,
but light and hollow. I made my raft entirely of
them, binding bundles of them at right angles to
each other, neatly and strongly, with strips from the
leaves of the same plant, and tying other rods across.
It took me all day till nearly four o'clock to finish
the raft, but I had still enough daylight for crossing,
and resolved on doing so at once.
I had selected a place where the river was broad
and comparatively still, some seventy or eighty yards
above a furious rapid. At this spot 1 had built my
raft. I now launched it, made my swag fast to the
middle, and got on to it myself, keeping in my hand
one of the longest blossom stalks, so that I might
punt myself across as long as the water was shallow
enough to let me do so. I got on pretty well for
twenty or thirty yards from the shore, but even in
this short space I nearly upset my raft by shifting
too rapidly from one side to the other. The water
then became much deeper, and I leaned over so far
in order to get the bloom rod to the bottom that I
had to stay still, leaning on the rod for a few seconds.
Then, when I lifted up the rod from the ground, the
current was too much for me and I found myself
being carried down the rapid. Everything in a
second flew past me, and I had no more control over
the raft ; neither can I remember anything except
hurry, and noise, and waters which in the end upset
me. But it all came right, and 1 found myself near
37
Erewhon
the shore, not more than up to my knees in water and
pulling my raft to land, fortunately upon the left bank
of the river, which was the one I wanted. When I
had landed I found that I was about a mile, or
perhaps a little less, below the point from which I
started. My swag was wet upon the outside, and I
was myself dripping ; but I had gained my point,
and knew that my difficulties were for a time over.
I then lit my fire and dried myself ; having done so
I caught some of the young ducks and sea-gulls,
which were abundant on and near the river-bed, so
that I had not only a good meal, of which I was in
great want, having had an insufficient diet from the
time that Chowbok left me, but was also well pro-
vided for the morrow.
I thought of Chowbok, and felt how useful he had
been to me, and in how many ways I was the loser
by his absence, having now to do all sorts of things
for myself which he had hitherto done for me, and
could do infinitely better than I could. Moreover,
I had set my heart upon making him a real convert
to the Christian religion, which he had already em-
braced outwardly, though I cannot think that it had
taken deep root in his impenetrably stupid nature. I
used to catechise him by our camp fire, and explain
to him the mysteries of the Trinity and of original
sin, with which I was myself familiar, having been
the grandson of an archdeacon by my mother's side,
to say nothing of the fact that my father was a clergy-
man of the English Church. I was therefore suffi-
ciently qualified for the task, and was the more
38
River and Range
inclined to it, over and above my real desire to save
the unhappy creature from an eternity of torture,
by recollecting the promise of St. James, that if any
one converted a sinner (which Chowbok surely was)
he should hide a multitude of sins. I reflected,
therefore, that the conversion of Chowbok might in
some degree compensate for irregularities and short-
comings in my own previous life, the remembrance
of which had been more than once unpleasant to me
during my recent experiences.
Indeed, on one occasion I had even gone so far as
to baptize him, as well as I could, having ascertained
that he had certainly not been both christened and
baptized, and gathering (from his telling me that he
had received the name William from the missionary)
that it was probably the first-mentioned rite to which
he had been subjected. I thought it great carelessness
on the part of the missionary to have omitted the
second, and certainly more important, ceremony
which I have always understod precedes christening
both in the case of infants and of adult converts ;
and when I thought of the risks we were both in-
curring I determined that there should be no further
delay. Fortunately it was not yet twelve o'clock, so
I baptized him at once from one of the pannikins
(the only vessels I had) reverently, and, I trust, effi-
ciently. I then set myself to work to instruct him
in the deeper mysteries of our belief, and to make
him, not only in name, but in heart a Christian.
It is true that I might not have succeeded, for
Chowbok was very hard to teach. Indeed, on the
39
Erewhon
evening of the same day that I baptized him he tried
for the twentieth time to steal the brandy, which
made me rather unhappy as to whether I could have
baptized him rightly. He had a prayer-book — more
than twenty years old — which had been given him
by the missionaries, but the only thing in it which
had taken any living hold upon him was the title of
Adelaide the Queen Dowager, which he would repeat
whenever strongly moved or touched, and which did
really seem to have some deep spiritual significance
to him, though he could never completely separate
her individuality from that of Mary Magdalene,
whose name had also fascinated him, though in a
less degree.
He was indeed stony ground, but by digging about
him I might have at any rate deprived him of all faith
in the religion of his tribe, which would have been
half way towards making him a sincere Christian ;
and now all this was cut off from me, and I could
neither be of further spiritual assistance to him nor
he of bodily profit to myself : besides, any company
was better than being quite alone.
I got very melancholy as these reflections crossed
me, but when I had boiled the ducks and eaten them
I was much better. I had a little tea left and about
a pound of tobacco, which should last me for another
fortnight with moderate smoking. I had also eight
ship biscuits, and, most precious of all, about six
ounces of brandy, which I presently reduced to four,
for the night was cold.
1 rose with early dawn, and in an hour I was on
40
River and Range
my way, feeling strange, not to say weak, from the
burden of solitude, but full of hope when I con-
sidered how many dangers I had overcome, and that
this day should see me at the summit of the dividing
range.
After a slow but steady climb of between three and
four hours, during which I met with no serious hin-
drance, I found myself upon a tableland, and close to
a glacier which I recognised as marking the summit
of the pass. Above it towered a succession of rugged
precipices and snowy mountain sides. The solitude
was greater than I could bear ; the mountain upon
my master's sheep-run was a crowded thoroughfare
in comparison with this sombre sullen place. The
air, moreover, was dark and heavy, which made the
loneliness even more oppressive. There was an inky
gloom over all that was not covered with snow and
ice. Grass there was none.
Each moment I felt increasing upon me that dread-
ful doubt as to my own identity — as to the continuity
of my past and present existence — which is the first
sign of that distraction which comes on those who
have lost themselves in the bush. I had fought
against this feeling hitherto, and had conquered it ;
but the intense silence and gloom of this rocky
wilderness were too much for me, and I felt that
my power of collecting myself was beginning to be
impaired.
I rested for a little while, and then advanced over
very rough ground, until I reached the lower end of
the glacier. Then I saw another glacier, descending
Erewhon
from the eastern side into a small lake. I passed
along the western side of the lake, where the ground
was easier, and when I had got about half way I ex-
pected that I should see the plains which I had already
seen from the opposite mountains ; but it was not to
be so, for the clouds rolled up to the very summit of the
pass, though they did not overlip it on to the side from
which I had come. I therefore soon found myself
enshrouded by a cold thin vapour, which prevented
my seeing more than a very few yards in front of me.
Then I came upon a large patch of old snow, in which
I could distinctly trace the half-melted tracks of goats
— and in one place, as it seemed to me, there had been
a dog following them. Had I lighted upon aland of
shepherds? The ground, where not covered with snow,
was so poor and stony, and there was so litde herbage,
that I could see no sign of a path or regular sheep-
track. But I could not help feeling rather uneasy as
I wondered whatsortof a reception 1 might meet with
if I were to come suddenly upon inhabitants. I was
thinking of this, and proceeding cautiously through
the mist, when I began to fancy that I saw some
objects darker than the cloud looming in front of
me. A few steps brought me nearer, and a shudder
of unutterable horror ran through me when I saw a
circle of gigantic forms, many times higher than
myself, upstanding grim and grey through the veil of
cloud before me.
I suppose I must have fainted, for I found myself
some time afterwards sitting upon the ground, sick
and deadly cold. There were the figures, quite still
42
River and Range
and silent, seen vaguely through the thick gloom, but
in human shape indisputably.
A sudden thought occurred to me, which would
have doubtless struck me at once had I not been pre-
possessed with forebodings at the time that I first
saw the figures, and had not the cloud concealed them
from me — I mean that they were not living beings,
but statues. I determined that I would count fifty
slowly, and was sure that the objects were not alive
if during that time I could detect no sign of motion.
How thankful was I when I came to the end of
my fifty and there had been no movement !
I counted a second time — but again all was still.
I then advanced timidly forward, and in another
moment I saw that my surmise was correct. I
had come upon a sort of Stonehenge of rude and
barbaric figures, seated as Chowbok had sat when
I questioned him in the wool-shed, and with the same
superhumanly malevolent expression upon theirfaces.
They had been all seated, but two had fallen. They
were barbarous — neither Egyptian, nor Assyrian, nor
Japanese — different from any of these, and yet akin
to all. They were six or seven times larger than life,
of great antiquity, worn and lichen grown. They
were ten in number. There was snow upon their
heads and wherever snow could lodge. Each statue
had been built of four or five enormous blocks, but
how these had been raised and put together is known
to those alone who raised them. Each was terrible
after a different kind. One was raging furiously, as
in pain and great despair ; another was lean and
43
Erewhon
cadaverous with famine ; another cruel and idiotic,
but with the silhest simper that can be conceived —
this one had fallen, and looked exquisitely ludicrous
in his fall — the mouths of all were more or less
open, and as I looked at them from behind, I saw
that their heads had been hollowed.
I was sick and shivering with cold. Solitude had
unmanned me already, and I was utterly unfit to
have come upon such an assembly of fiends in such
a dreadful wilderness and without preparation. I
would have given everything I had in the world to
have been back at my master's station ; but that was
not to be thought of : my head was failing, and I felt
sure that I could never get back alive.
Then came a gust of howling wind, accompanied
with a moan from one of the statues above me. I
clasped my hands in fear. I felt like a rat caught
in a trap, as though I would have turned and bitten
at whatever thing was nearest me. The wildness of
the wind increased, the moans grew shriller, coming
from several statues, and swelling into a chorus. I
almost immediately knew what it was, but the sound
was so unearthly that this was but little consolation.
The inhuman beings into whose hearts the Evil One
had put it to conceive these statues, had made their
heads into a sort of organ-pipe, so that their mouths
should catch the wind and sound with its blowing.
It was horrible. However brave a man might be, he
could never stand such a concert, from such lips, and
in such a place. I heaped every invective upon
them that my tongue could utter as I rushed away
44
River and Range
from them into the mist, and even after I had lost
sight of them, and turning my head round could see
nothing but the storm-wraiths driving behind me, I
heard their ghostly chanting, and felt as though one
of them would rush after me and grip me in his hand
and throttle me.
I may say here that, since my return to England,
I heard a friend playing some chords upon the organ
which put me very forcibly in mind of the Ere-
wohnian statues (for Erewhon is the name of the
country upon which I was now entering). They
rose most vividly to my recollection the moment my
friend began. They are as follows, and are by the
greatest of all musicians* : —
Prelude : arpeggio.
1 \
'^^^^
A-.
!Et,gEiElE^Ijas.§ft^pEi
* See Handel's compositions for the harpsichord, published
by Litolf, p. 78.
45
Erewhon
^
^o^^
-1—4-
f
:g:
-SH -^
=S=^:
J — U-
-f^l=^i=S
FP^— g=
^Si
iGp — ^
--gr
-T 1 : 1 !-••■
j^^tt^-g:
:p=4
ff^ -T^r4 -cji — c^
4€
CHAPTER VI
INTO EREWHON
And now I found myself on a narrow path which
followed a small watercourse. I was too glad to have
an easy track for my flight, to lay hold of the full
significance of its existence. The thought, however,
soon presented itself to me that I must be in an in-
habited country, but one which was yet unknown.
What, then, was to be my fate at the hands of its
inhabitants ? Should I be taken and offered up as a
burnt-offering to those hideous guardians of the pass?
It might be so. I shuddered at the thought, yet the
horrors of solitude had now fairly possessed me ; and
so dazed was I, and chilled, and woebegone, that I
could lay hold of no idea firmly amid the crowd of
fancies that kept wandering in upon my brain,
I hurried onward — down, down, down. More
streams came in ; then there was a bridge, a few pine
logs thrown over the water ; but they gave me com-
fort, for savages do not make bridges. Then I had a
treat such as I can never convey on paper — a moment,
perhaps, the most striking and unexpected in my
whole life — the one I think that, with some three or
four exceptions, I would most gladly have again, were
I able to recall it. I got below the level of the clouds,
into a burst of brilliant evening sunshine. I was
47
Erewhon
facing the north-west, and the sun was full upon me.
Oh, how its light cheered me ! But what I saw I It
was such an expanse as was revealed to Moses when
he stood upon the summit of Mount Sinai, and beheld
that promised laiid which it was not to be his to enter.
The beautiful sunset sky was crimson and gold ;
blue, silver, and purple ; exquisite and tranquillising;
fading away therein were plains, on which I could
see many a town and city, with buildings that had
lofty steeples and rounded domes. Nearer beneath
me lay ridge behind ridge, outline behind outline,
sunlight behind shadow, and shadow behind sunlight,
gully and serrated ravine. I saw large pine forests,
and the glitter of a noble river winding its way upon
the plains ; also many villages and hamlets, some of
them quite near at hand ; and it was on these that I
pondered most. I sank upon the ground at the foot
of a large tree and thought what I had best do ;
but I could not collect myself. I was quite tired out ;
and presently, feeling warmed by the sun, and quieted,
I fell off into a profound sleep.
I was awoke by the sound of tinkling bells, and
looking up, I saw four or five goats feeding near me.
As soon as I moved, the creatures turned their heads
towards me with an expression of infinite wonder.
They did not run away, but stood stock still, and
looked at me from every side, as I at them. Then
came the sound of chattering and laughter, and there
approached two lovely girls, of about seventeen or
eighteen years old, dressed each in a sort of linen
gaberdine, with a girdle round the waist. They saw
4S
Into Erewhon
me. I sat quite still and looked at them, dazzled
with their extreme beauty. For a moment they
looked at me and at each other in great amazement ;
then they gave a little frightened cry and ran off as
hard as they could.
"So that's that," said I to myself, as I watched
them scampering. I knew that I had better stay
where I was and meet my fate, whatever it was to
be, and even if there were a better course, I had no
strength left to take it. I must come into contact
with the inhabitants sooner or later, and it might as
well be sooner. Better not to seem afraid of them,
as I should do by running away and being caught
with a hue and cry to-morrow or next day. So I
remained quite still and waited. In about an hour
I heard distant voices talking excitedly, and in a
few minutes I saw the two girls bringing up a party
of six or seven men, well armed with bows and
arrows and pikes. There was nothing for it, so I
remained sitting quite still, even after they had seen
me, until they came close up. Then we all had a
good look at one another.
Both the girls and the men were very dark in
colour, but not more so than the South Italians or
Spaniards. The men wore no trousers, but were
dressed nearly the same as the Arabs whom I have
seen in Algeria. They were of the most magnificent
presence, being no less strong and handsome than
the women were beautiful ; and not only this, but
their expression was courteous and benign. I think
they would have killed me at once if 1 had made
49 D
Erewhon
the slightest show of violence ; but they gave me no
impression of their being likely to hurt me so long
as I was quiet. I am not much given to liking any-
body at first sight, but these people impressed me
much more favourably than I should have thought
possible, so that I could not fear them as I scanned
their faces one after another. They were all powerful
men. I might have been a match for any one of
them singly, for I have been told that I have more to
glory in the flesh than in any other respect, being
over six feet and proportionately strong ; but any
two could have soon mastered me, even were I not
so bereft of energy by my recent adventures. My
colour seemed to surprise them most, for I have
light hair, blue eyes, and a fresh complexion. They
could not understand how these things could be ;
my clothes also seemed quite beyond them. Their
eyes kept wandering all over me, and the more they
looked the less they seemed able to make me out.
At last I raised myself upon my feet, and leaning
upon my stick, I spoke whatever came into my head
to the man who seemed foremost among them. I
spoke in English, though I was very sure that he
would not understand. I said that I had no idea
what country I was in ; that I had stumbled upon it
almost by accident, after a series of hairbreadth
escapes ; and that I trusted they would not allow
any evil to overtake me now that I was completely
at their mercy. All this I said quietly and firmly,
with hardly any change of expression. They could
not understand me, but they looked approvingly to
50
Into Erewhon
one another, and seemed pleased (so I thought) that
I showed no fear nor acknowledgment of inferiority
— the fact being that I was exhausted beyond the
sense of fear. Then one of them pointed to the
mountain, in the direction of the statues, and made
a grimace in imitation of one of them. I laughed
and shuddered expressively, whereon they all burst
out laughing too, and chattered hard to one another.
I could make out nothing of what they said, but I
think they thought it rather a good joke that I had
come past the statues. Then one among them came
forward and motioned me to follow, which I did
without hesitation, for I dared not thwart them ;
moreover, I liked them well enough, and felt tolerably
sure that they had no intention of hurting me.
In about a quarter of an hour we got to a small
namlet built on the side of a hill, with a narrow
street and houses huddled up together. The roofs
were large and overhanging. Some few windows
were glazed, but not many. Altogether the village
was exceedingly like one of those that one comes
upon in descending the less known passes over the
Alps on to Lombardy. I will pass over the excite-
ment which my arrival caused. Suffice it, that
though there was abundance of curiosity, there
was no rudeness. I was taken to the principal
house, which seemed to belong to the people who
had captured me. There I was hospitably enter-
tained, and a supper of milk and goat's flesh with a
kind of oatcake was set before me, of which I ate
heartily. But all the time I was eating I could not
51
Erewhon
help turning my eyes upon the two beautiful girls
whom I had first seen, and who seemed to consider
me as their lawful prize — which indeed I was, for I
would have gone through fire and water for either
of them.
Then came the inevitable surprise at seeing me
smoke, which I will spare the reader ; but I noticed
that when they saw me strike a match, there was a
hubbub of excitement which, it struck me, was not
altogether unmixed with disapproval : why, I could
not guess. Then the women retired, and I was left
alone with the men, who tried to talk to me in every
conceivable way ; but we could come to no under-
standing, except that I was quite alone, and had
come from a long way over the mountains. In the
course of time they grew tired, and I very sleepy.
I made signs as though I would sleep on the floor
in my blankets, but they gave me one of their bunks
with plenty of dried fern and grass, on to which I
had no sooner laid myself than I fell fast asleep ;
nor did I awake till well into the following day,
when I found myself in the hut with two men
keeping guard over me and an old woman cooking.
When I woke the men seemed pleased, and spoke to
me as though bidding me good morning in a pleasant
tone.
I went out of doors to wash in a creek which ran
a few yards from the house. My hosts were as
engrossed with me as ever ; they never took their
eyes oii me, following every action that I did, no
matter how trifling, and each looking towards the
52
Into Erewhon
other for his opinion at every touch and turn. They
took great interest in my ablutions, for they seemed
to have doubted whether I was in all respects human
like themselves. They even laid hold of my arms
and overhauled them, and expressed approval when
they saw that they were strong and muscular. They
now examined my legs, and especially my feet.
When they desisted they nodded approvingly to
each other ; and when I had combed and brushed
my hair, and generally made myself as neat and well
arranged as circumstances would allow, I could see
that their respect for me increased greatly, and that
they were by no means sure that they had treated
me with sufficient deference — a matter on which I
am not competent to decide. All I know is that
they were very good to me, for which I thanked
them heartily, as it might well have been other-
wise.
For my own part, I liked them and admired them,
for their quiet self-possession and dignified ease
impressed me pleasurably at once. Neither did
their manner make me feel as though I were per-
sonally distasteful to them — only that I was a thing
utterly new and unlooked for, which they could not
comprehend. Their type was more that of the most
robust Italians than any other ; their manners also
were eminently Italian, in their entire unconscious-
ness of self. Having travelled a good deal in Italy,
I was struck with little gestures of the hand and
shoulders, which constantly reminded me of that
country. My feeling was that my wisest plan would
53
Erewhon
be to go on as I had begun, and be simply myself
for better or worse, such as I was, and take my
chance accordingly.
I thought of these things while they were waiting
for me to have done washing, and on my way back.
Then they gave me breakfast — hot bread and milk,
and fried flesh of something between mutton and
venison. Their ways of cooking and eating were
European, though they had only a skewer for a
fork, and a sort of butcher's knife to cut with.
The more I looked at everything in the house, the
more I was struck with its quasi-European
character ; and had the walls only been pasted over
with extracts from the Illustrated London News and
Punch, I could have almost fancied myself in a
shepherd's hut upon my master's sheep-run. And
yet everything was slightly different. It was much
the same with the birds and flowers on the other
side, as compared with the English ones. On my
arrival I had been pleased at noticing that nearly all
the plants and birds were very like common English
ones : thus, there was a robin, and a lark, and a
wren, and daisies, and dandelions ; not quite the
same as the English, but still very like them —
quite like enough to be called by the same name ;
so now, here, the ways of these two men, and the
things they had in the house, were all very nearly
the same as in Europe. It was not at all like going
to China or Japan, where everything that one sees is
strange. I was, indeed, at once struck with the
primitive character of their appliances, for they
54
Into Erewhon
seemed to be some five or six hundred years behind
Europe in their inventions ; but this is the case in
many an Italian village.
All the time that I was eating my breakfast I kept
speculating as to what family of mankind they could
belong to ; and shortly there came an idea into my
head, which brought the blood into my cheeks with
excitement as I thought of it. Was it possible that
they might be the lost ten tribes of Israel, of whom
I had heard both my grandfather and my father
make mention as existing in an unknown country,
and awaiting a final return to Palestine ? Was it
possible that / might have been designed by
Providence as the instrument of their conversion ?
Oh, what a thought was this ! I laid down my
skewer and gave them a hasty survey. There was
nothing of a Jewish type about them : their noses
were distinctly Grecian, and their lips, though full,
were not Jewish.
How could I settle this question ? I knew neither
Greek nor Hebrew, and even if I should get to
understand the language here spoken, I should be
unable to detect the roots of either of these tongues.
I had not been long enough among them to ascer-
tain their habits, but they did not give me the
impression of being a religious people. This too
was natural : the ten tribes had been always
lamentably irreligious. But could I not make them
change ? To restore the lost ten tribes of Israel to
a knowledge of the only truth : here would be
indeed an immortal crown of glory ! My heart beat
53
Erewhon
fast and furious as I entertained the thought. What
a position would it not ensure me in the next world;
or perhaps even in this ! What folly it would be to
throw such a chance away ! I should rank next to
the Apostles, if not as high as they — certainly above
the minor prophets, and possibly above any Old
Testament writer except Moses and Isaiah. For
such a future as this I would sacrifice all that I have
without a moment's hesitation, could I be reasonably
assured of it. I had always cordially approved of
missionary efforts, and had at times contributed my
mite towards their support and extension ; but I
had never hitherto felt drawn towards becoming a
missionary myself ; and indeed had always admired,
and envied, and respected them, more than I had
exactly liked them. But if these people were the
lost ten tribes of Israel, the case would be widely
different : the opening was too excellent to be lost,
and 1 resolved that should I see indications which
appeared to confirm my impression that I had
indeed come upon the missing tribes, I would
certainly convert them.
I may here mention that this discovery is the one
to which 1 alluded in the opening pages of my story.
Time strengthened the impression made upon me at
first ; and, though I remained in doubt for several
months, I feel now no longer uncertain.
When I fiad done eating, my hosts approached,
and pointed down the valley leading to their own
country, as though wanting to show that I must go
with them ; at the same time they laid hold of my
5^
Into Erewhon
arms, and made as though they would take me, but
used no violence. I laughed, and motioned my
hand across my throat, pointing down the valley as
though I was afraid lest I should be killed when I
got there. But they divined me at once, and shook
their heads with much decision, to show that I was
in no danger. Their manner quite reassured me ;
and in half an hour or so I had packed up my swag,
and was eager for the forward journey, feeling
wonderfully strengthened and refreshed by good
food and sleep, while my hope and curiosity were
aroused to their very utmost by the extraordinary
position in which I found myself.
But already my excitement had begun to cool ;
and I reflected that these people might not be the
ten tribes after all ; in which case I could not but
regret that my hopes of making money, which had
led me into so much trouble and danger, were
almost annihilated by the fact that the country was
full to overflowing, with a people who had probably
already developed its more available resources.
Moreover, how was I to get back ? For there was
something about my hosts which told me that they
had got me, and meant to keep me, in spite of all
their goodness.
37
CHAPTER VII
FIRST IMPRESSIONS
We followed an Alpine path for some four miles,
now hundreds of feet above a brawling stream
which descended from the glaciers, and now nearly
alongside it. The morning was cold and somewhat
foggy, for the autumn had made great strides latterly.
Sometimes we went through forests of pine, or rather
yew trees, though they looked like pine ; and I re-
member that now and again we passed a little way-
side shrine, wherein there would be a statue of great
beauty, representing some figure, male or female, in
the very heyday of youth, strength, and beauty, or of
the most dignified maturity and old age. My
hosts always bowed their heads as they passed one of
these shrines, and it shocked me to see statues that
had no apparent object, beyond the chronicling of
some unusual individual excellence or beauty, receive
so serious a homage. However, I showed no sign of
wonder or disapproval ; for I remembered that to be
all things to all men was one of the injunctions of
the Gentile Apostle, which for the present I should
do well to heed. Shortly after passing one of these
chapels wecame suddenly upon a village which started
up out of the mist ; and I was alarmed lest I should
be made an object of curiosity or dislike. But it was
38
First Impressions
not so. My guides spoke to many in passing, and
those spoken to showed much amazement. My
guides, however, were well known, and the natural
politeness of the people prevented them from putting
me to any inconvenience ; but they could not help
eyeing me, nor I them. I may as well say at once
what my after-experience taught me — namely, that
with all their faults and extraordinary obliquity of
mental vision upon many subjects, they are the very
best-bred people that I ever fell in with.
The village was just like the one we had left, only
rather larger. The streets were narrow and un-
paved, but very fairly clean. The vine grew outside
many of the houses ; and there were some with sign-
boards, on which was painted a bottle and a glass,
that made me feel much at home. Even on this
ledge of human society there was a stunted growth
of shoplets, which had taken root and vegetated
somehow, though as in an air mercantile of the
bleakest. It was here as hitherto : all things were
generically the same as in Europe, the differences
being of species only ; and I was amused at seeing
in a window some bottles with barley-sugar and
sweetmeats for children, as at home ; but the barley-
sugar was in plates, not in twisted sticks, and
was coloured blue. Glass was plentiful in the better
houses.
Lastly, I should say that the people were of a
physical beauty which was simply amazing. I never
saw anything in the least comparable to them. The
women were vigorous, and had a most majestic gait,
59
Erewhon
their heads being set upon their shoulders with a
grace beyond all power of expression. Each feature
was finished, eyelids, eyelashes, and ears being
almost invariably perfect. Their colour was equal
to that of the finest Italian paintings ; being of the
clearest olive, and yet ruddy with a glow of perfect
health. Their expression was divine ; and as they
glanced at me timidly but with parted lips in great
bewilderment, I forgot all thoughts of their conver-
sion in feelings that were far more earthly. I was
dazzled as I saw one after the other, of whom 'I
could only feel that each was the loveliest I had
ever seen. Even in middle age they were still
comely, and the old grey-haired women at their
cottage doors had a dignity, not to say majesty, of
their own.
The men were as handsome as the women beauti-
ful. I have always delighted in and reverenced
beauty ; but I felt simply abashed in the presence of
such a splendid type — a compound of all that is best
in Egyptian, Greek and Italian. The children were
infinite in number, and exceedingly merry ; I need
hardly say that they came in for their full share of
the prevailing beauty. I expressed by signs my
admiration and pleasure to my guides, and they
were greatly pleased. I should add that all seemed
to take a pride in their personal appearance, and
that even the poorest (and none seemed rich) were
well kempt and tidy. I could fill many pages with
a description of their dress and the ornaments
which they wore, and a hundred details which
60
First Impressions
struck me with all the force of novelty ; but I must
not stay to do so.
When we had got past the village the fog rose, and
revealed magnificent views of the snowy mountains
and their nearer abutments, while in front I could
now and again catch glimpses of the great plains
which I had surveyed on the preceding evening. The
country was highly cultivated, every ledge being
planted with chestnuts, walnuts, and apple-trees from
which the apples were now gathering. Goats were
abundant ; also a kind of small black cattle, in the
marshes near the river, which was now fast widening,
and running between larger flats from which the hills
receded more and more. I saw a few sheep with
rounded noses and enormous tails. Dogs were there
in plenty, and very English ; but I saw no cats, nor
indeed are these creatures known, their place being
supplied by a sort of small terrier.
In about four hours of walking from the time we
started, and after passing two or three more villages,
we came upon a considerable town, and my guides
made many attempts to make me understand some-
thing, but I gathered no inkling of their meaning,
except that I need be under no apprehension of
danger. I will spare the reader any description of
the town, and would only bid him think of
Domodossola or Faido. Suffice it that I found
myself taken before the chief magistrate, and by his
orders was placed in an apartment with two other
people, who were the first I had seen looking any-
thing but well and handsome. In fact, one of them
6i
Erewhon
was plainly very much out of health, and coughed
violently from time to time in spite of manifest
efforts to suppress it. The other looked pale and ill
but he was marvellously self-contained, and it was
impossible to say what was the matter with him.
Both of them appeared astonished at seeing one who
was evidently a stranger, but they were too ill to
come up to me, and form conclusions concerning
me. These two were first called out ; and in about
a quarter of an hour I was made to follow them,
which I did in some fear, and with much curiosity.
The chief magistrate was a venerable-looking man,
with white hair and beard and a face of great
sagacity. He looked me all over for about five
minutes, letting his eyes wander from the crown of
my head to the soles of my feet, up and down, and
down and up ; neither did his mind seem in the
least clearer when he had done looking than when
he began. He at length asked me a single short
question, which I supposed meant "Who are
you ? " I answered in English quite composedly as
though he would understand me, and endeavoured
to be my very most natural self as well as I could.
He appeared more and more puzzled, and then
retired, returning with two others much like him-
self. Then they took me into an inner room, and
the two fresh arrivals stripped me, while the chief
looked on. They felt my pulse, they looked at my
tongue, they listened at my chest, they felt all my
muscles ; and at the end of each operation they
looked at the chief and nodded, and said something
62
First Impressions
in a tone quite pleasant, as though I were all right.
They even pulled down my eyelids, and looked, I
suppose, to see if they were bloodshot ; but it was
not so. At length they gave up ; and I think that
all were satisfied of my being in the most perfect
health, and very robust to boot. At last the old
magistrate made me a speech of about five minutes
long, which the other two appeared to think greatly
to the point, but from which I gathered nothing.
As soon as it was ended, they proceeded to over-
haul my swag and the contents of my pockets.
This gave me little uneasiness, for I had no money
with me, nor anything which they were at all likely
to want, or which I cared about losing. At least I
fancied so, but I soon found my mistake.
They got on comfortably at first, though they
were much puzzled with my tobacco-pipe and
insisted on seeing me use it. When I had shown
them what I did with it, they were astonished but
not displeased, and seemed to like the smell. But
by and by they came to my watch, which I had
hidden away in the inmost pocket that I had, and
had forgotten when they began their search. They
seemed concerned and uneasy as soon as they got
hold of it. They then made me open it and show
the works ; and when I had done so they gave signs
of very grave displeasure, which disturbed me all
the more because I could not conceive wherein it
could have offended them.
I remember that when they first found it I had
thought of Paley, and how he tells us that a savage
63
Erewhon
on seeing a watch would at once conclude that it
was designed. True, these people were not savages,
but I none the less felt sure that this was the
conclusion they would arrive at ; and I was
thinking what a wonderfully wise man Archbishop
Paley must have been, when I was aroused by a
look of horror and dismay upon the face of the
magistrate, a look which conveyed to me the
impression that he regarded my watch not as having
been designed, but rather as the designer of himself
and of the universe ; or as at any rate one of the
great first causes of all things.
Then it struck me that this view was quite as
likely to be taken as the other by a people who had
no experience of European civilisation, and I was
a little piqued with Paley for having led me so
much astray ; but I soon discovered that I had
misinterpreted the expression on the magistrate's
face, and that it was one not of fear, but hatred. He
spoke to me solemnly and sternly for two or three
minutes. Then, reflecting that this was of no use,
he caused me to be conducted through several pas-
sages into a large room, which I afterwards found
was the museum of the town, and wherein I beheld
a sight which astonished me more than anything
that I had yet seen.
It was filled with cases containing all manner of
curiosities — such as skeletons, stuffed birds and
animals, carvings in stone (whereof I saw several
that were like those on the saddle, only smaller), but
the greater part of the room was occupied by broken
64
First Impressions
machinery of all descriptions. The larger speci-
mens had a case to themselves, and tickets with
writing on them in a character which I could not
understand. There were fragments of steam
engines, all broken and rusted ; among them I
saw a cylinder and piston, a broken fly-wheel, and
part of a crank, which was laid on the ground by
their side. Again, there was a very old carriage
whose wheels in spite of rust and decay, I could
see, had been designed originally for iron rails.
Indeed, there were fragments of a great many of
our own most advanced inventions ; but they
seemed all to be several hundred years old, and to
be placed where they were, not for instruction, but
curiosity. As I said before, all were marred and
broken.
We passed many cases, and at last came to one
in which there were several clocks and two or
three old watches. Here the magistrate stopped,
and opening the case began comparing my watch
with the others. The design was different, but the
thing was clearly the same. On this he turned to me
and made me a speech in a severe and injured tone
of voice, pointing repeatedly to the watches in the
case, and to my own ; neither did he seem in the
least appeased until I made signs to him that he
had better take my watch and put it with the
others. This had some effect in calming him. I
said in English (trusting to tone and manner to
convey my meaning) that I was exceedingly sorry
if I had been found to have anything contraband
65 E
Erewhon
in my possession ; that I had had no intention of
evading the ordinary tolls, and that I would gladly
forfeit the watch if my doing so would atone for
an unintentional violation of the law. He began
presently to relent, and spoke to me in a kinder
manner. I think he saw that I had offended
without knowledge ; but I believe the chief thing
that brought him round was my not seeming to be
afraid of him, although I was quite respectful ;
this, and my having light hair and complexion,
on which he had remarked previously by signs, as
every one else had done.
I afterwards found that it was reckoned a very
great merit to have fair hair, this being a thing of
the rarest possible occurrence, and greatly admired
and envied in all who were possessed of it. However
that might be, my watch was taken from me ; but
our peace was made, and I was conducted back to
the room where I had been examined. The magis-
trate then made me another speech, whereon I was
taken to a building hard by, which I soon dis-
covered to be the common prison of the town, but
in which an apartment was assigned me separate
from the other prisoners. The room contained a
bed, table, and chairs, also a fireplace and a
washing-stand. There was another door, which
opened on to a balcony, with a flight of steps
descending into a walled garden of some size. The
man who conducted me into this room made signs
to me that I might go down and walk in the garden
whenever I pleased, and intimated that I should
66
First Impressions
shortly have something brought me to eat. I was
allowed to retain my blankets, and the few things
which I had wrapped inside them, but it was plain
that I was to consider myself a prisoner — for how
long a period I could not by any means determine.
He then left me alone.
67
CHAPTER VIII
IN PRISON
And now for the first time my courage completely
failed me. It is enough to say that I was penni-
less, and a prisoner in a foreign country, where I
had no friend, nor any knowledge of the customs
or language of the people. I was at the mercy of
men with whom I had little in common. And yet,
engrossed as I was with my extremely difficult and
doubtful position, I could not help feeling deeply
interested in the people among whom I had fallen.
What was the meaning of that room full of old
machinery which I had just seen, and of the dis-
pleasure with which the magistrate had regarded
my watch ? The people had very little machinery
now. I had been struck with this over and over
again, though I had not been more than four-
and-twenty hours in the country. They were
about as far advanced as Europeans of the twelfth
or thirteenth century ; certainly not more so. And
yet they must have had at one time the fullest
knowledge of our own most recent inventions.
How could it have happened that having been
once so far in advance they were now as much
behind us ? It was evident that it was not from
ignorance. They knew my watch as a watch when
68
In Prison
they saw it ; and the care with which the broken
machines were preserved and ticketed, proved that
they had not lost the recollection of their former
civilisation. The more I thought, the less I could
understand it ; but at last I concluded that they
must have worked out their mines of coal and iron,
till either none were left, or so few, that the use of
these metals was restricted to the very highest
nobility. This was the only solution I could think
of ; and, though I afterwards found how entirely
mistaken it was, I felt quite sure then that it must
be the right one.
I had hardly arrived at this opinion for above
four or five minutes, when the door opened, and a
young woman made her appearance with a tray,
and a very appetising smell of dinner. I gazed
upon her with admiration as she laid a cloth and
set a savoury-looking dish upon the table. As I
beheld her I felt as though my position was already
much ameliorated, for the very sight of her carried
great comfort. She was not more than twenty, rather
above the middle height, active and strong, but yet
most delicately featured ; her lips were full and
sweet ; her eyes were of a deep hazel, and fringed
with long and springing eyelashes ; her hair was
neatly braided from off her forehead ; her com-
plexion was simply exquisite ; her figure as robust
as was consistent with the most perfect female
beauty, yet not more so ; her hands and feet might
have served as models to a sculptor. Having set
the stew upon the table, she retired with a glance
69
Erewhon
of pity, whereon (remembering pity's kinsman) I
decided that she should pity me a httle more. She
returned with a bottle and a glass, and found me
sitting on the bed with my hands over my face,
looking the very picture of abject misery, and, like
all pictures, rather untruthful. As I watched her,
through my fingers, out of the room again, I felt
sure that she was exceedingly sorry for me. Her
back being turned, I set to work and ate my dinner,
which was excellent.
She returned in about an hour to take away ; and
there came with her a man who had a great bunch
of keys at his waist, and whose manner convinced
me that he was the jailor. I afterwards found that
he was father to the beautiful creature who had
brought me my dinner. I am not a much greater
hypocrite than other people, and do what I would,
I could not look so very miserable. I had already
recovered from my dejection, and felt in a most
genial humour both with my jailor and his daughter.
I thanked them for their attention towards me ;
and, though they could not understand, they looked
at one another and laughed and chattered till the
old man said something or other which I suppose
was a joke ; for the girl laughed merrily and ran
away, leaving her father to take away the dinner
things. Then I had another visitor, who was not
so prepossessing, and who seemed to have a great
idea of himself and a small one of me. He brought
a book with him, and pens and paper — all very
English ; and yet, neither paper, nor printing, nor
70
In Prison
binding, nor pen, nor ink, were quite the same as
ours.
He gave me to understand that he was to teach
me the language and that we were to begin at once.
This deHghted me, both because I should be more
comfortable when I could understand and make
myself understood, and because I supposed that
the authorities would hardly teach me the language
if they intended any cruel usage towards me after-
wards. We began at once, and I learnt the names
of everything in the room, and also the numerals
and personal pronouns. I found to my sorrow
that the resemblance to European things, which I
had so frequently observed hitherto, did not hold
good in the matter of language ; for I could detect
no analogy whatever between this and any tongue
of which I have the slightest knowledge, — a thing
which made me think it possible that I might be
learning Hebrew.
I must detail no longer ; from this time my days
were spent with a monotony which would have
been tedious but for the society of Yram, the jailor's
daughter, who had taken a great fancy for me and
treated me with the utmost kindness. The man
came every day to teach me the language, but my
real dictionary and grammar were Yram ; and I
consulted them to such purpose that I made the
most extraordinary progress, being able at the end
of a month to understand a great deal of the con-
versation which I overheard between Yram and her
father. My teacher professed himself well satisfied,
71
Erewhon
and said he should make a favourable report of me
to the authorities. I then questioned him as to
what would probably be done with me. He told
me that my arrival had caused great excitement
throughout the counti*y, and that I was to be
detained a close prisoner until the receipt of advices
from the Government. My having had a watch, he
said, was the only damaging feature in the case.
And then, in answer to my asking why this should
be so, he gave me a long story of which with my
imperfect knowledge of the language I could make
nothing whatever, except that it was a very heinous
offence, almost as bad (at least, so I thought I
understood him) as having typhus fever. But he
said he thought my light hair would save me.
I was allowed to walk in the garden ; there was
a high wall so that I managed to play a sort of
hand faves, which prevented my feeling the bad
effects of my confinement, though it was stupid
work playing alone. In the course of time people
from the town and neighbourhood began to pester
the jailor to be allowed to see me, and on receiving
handsome fees he let them do so. The people were
good to me ; almost too good, for they were in-
clined to make a lion of me, which I hated — at
least the women were ; only they had to beware of
Yram, who was a young lady of a jealous tempera-
ment, and kept a sharp eye both on me and on my
lady visitors. However, I felt so kindly towards
her, and was so entirely dependent upon her for
almost all that made my life a blessing and a
72
In Prison
comfort to me, that I took good care not to vex
her, and we remained excellent friends. The men
were far less inquisitive, and would not, I believe,
have come near me of their own accord ; but the
women made them come as escorts. I was de-
lighted with their handsome mien, and pleasant
genial manners.
My food was plain, but always varied and whole-
some, and the good red wine was admirable. I had
found a sort of wort in the garden, which I sweated
in heaps and then dried, obtaining thus a substitute
for tobacco ; so that what with Yram, the language,
visitors, fives in the garden, smoking, and bed, my
time slipped by more rapidly and pleasantly than
might have been expected. I also made myself a
small flute ; and being a tolerable player, amused
myself at times with playing snatches from operas,
and airs such as "O where and oh where," and
" Home, sweet home." This was of great advantage
to me, for the people of the country were ignorant
of the diatonic scale and could hardly believe their
ears on hearing some of our most common
melodies. Often, too, they would make me sing ;
and I could at any time make Yram's eyes swim
with tears by singing "Wilkins and his Dinah,"
"Billy Taylor," "The Ratcatcher's Daughter," or
as much of them as I could remember.
I had one or two discussions with them because
I never would sing on Sunday (of which I kept
count in my pocket-book), except chants and hymn
tunes ; of these I regret to say that I had forgotten
73
Erewhon
the words, so that I could only sing the tune.
They appeared to have Uttle or no rehgious feehng,
and to have never so much as heard of the divine
institution of the Sabbath, so they ascribed my
observance of it to a fit of sulkiness, which they re-
marked as coming over me upon every seventh day.
But they were very tolerant, and one of them said
to me quite kindly that she knew how impossible
it was to help being sulky at times, only she thought
I ought to see some one if it became more serious
— a piece of advice which I then failed to under-
stand, though I pretended to take it quite as a
matter of course.
Once only did Yram treat me in a way that was
unkind and unreasonable, — at least so I thought
it at the time. It happened thus. I had been
playing fives in the garden and got much heated.
Although the day was cold, for autumn was now
advancing, and Cold Harbour (as the name of the
town in which my prison was should be translated)
stood fully 3000 feet above the sea, I had played
without my coat and waistcoat, and took a sharp
chill on resting myself too long in the open air
without protection. The next day I had a severe
cold and felt really poorly. Being little used even
to the lightest ailments, and thinking that it would
be rather nice to be petted and cossetted by Yram,
I certainly did not make myself out to be any
better than I was ; in fact, I remember that I made
the worst of things, and took it into my head to
consider myself upon the sick list. When Yram
74
In Prison
brought me my breakfast I complained somewhat
dolefully of my indisposition, expecting the
sympathy and humouring which I should have re-
ceived from my mother and sisters at home. Not
a bit of it. She fired up in an instant, and asked
me what I meant by it, and how I dared to
presume to mention such a thing, especially when
I considered in what place I was. She had the
best mind to tell her father, only that she was
afraid the consequences would be so very serious
for me. Her manner was so injured and decided,
and her anger so evidently unfeigned, that I forgot
my cold upon the spot, begging her by all means
to tell her father if she wished to do so, and telling
her that I had no idea of being shielded by her
from anything whatever ; presently mollifying, after
having said as many biting things as I could, I
asked her what it was that I had done amiss, and
promised amendment as soon as ever I became
aware of it. She saw that I was really ignorant,
and had had no intention of being rude to her;
whereon it came out that illness of any sort was
considered in Erewhon to be highly criminal and
immoral ; and that I was liable, even for catching
cold, to be had up before the magistrates and im-
prisoned for a considerable period — an announce-
ment which struck me dumb with astonishment.
I followed up the conversation as well as my
imperfect knowledge of the language would allow,
and caught a glimmering of her position with
regard to ill-health ; but I did not even then fully
75
Erewhon
comprehend it, nor had I as yet any idea of the
other extraordinary perversions of thought which
existed among the Erewhonians, but with which I
was soon to become familiar. I propose, therefore,
to make no mention of what passed between us on
this occasion, save that we were reconciled, and
that she brought me surreptitiously a hot glass of
spirits and water before I went to bed, as also a pile
of extra blankets, and that next morning I was
quite well. I never remember to have lost a cold
so rapidly.
This little affair explained much which had
hitherto puzzled me. It seemed that the two men
who were examined before the magistrates on the
day of my arrival in the country, had been given in
charge on account of ill health, and were both con-
demned to a long term of imprisonment with hard
labour ; they were now expiating their offence in
this very prison, and their exercise ground was a
yard separated by my fives wall from the garden in
which I walked. This accounted for the sounds of
coughing and groaning which I had often noticed
as coming from the other side of the wall : it was
high, and I had not dared to climb it for fear the
jailor should see me and think that I was trying to
escape ; but I had often wondered what sort of
people they could be on the other side, and had
resolved on asking the jailor ; but I seldom saw
him, and Yram and I generally found other things
to talk about.
Another month flew by, during which I made
76
In Prison
such progress in the language that I could under-
stand all that was said to me, and express myself
with tolerable fluency. My instructor professed
to be astonished with the progress I had made ; I
was careful to attribute it to the pains he had taken
with me and to his admirable method of explaining
my difficulties, so we became excellent friends.
My visitors became more and more frequent.
Among them there were some, both men and
women, who delighted me entirely by their sim-
plicity, unconsciousness of self, kindly genial man-
ners, and last, but not least, by their exquisite
beauty ; there came others less well-bred, but still
comely and agreeable people, while some were
snobs pure and simple.
At the end of the third month the jailor and my
instructor came together to visit me and told me
that communications had been received from the
Government to the effect that if I had behaved well
and seemed generally reasonable, and if there
could be no suspicion at all about my bodily
health and vigour, and if my hair was really light,
and my eyes blue and complexion fresh, I was to be
sent up at once to the metropolis in order that the
King and Queen might see me and converse with
me ; but that when I arrived there I should be set
at liberty, and a suitable allowance would be made
me. My teacher also told me that one of the
leading merchants had sent me an invitation to
repair to his house and to consider myself his
guest for as long a time as I chose. " He is a
77
Erewhon
delightful man," continued the interpreter, "but
has suffered terribly from" (here there came a long
word which I could not quite catch, only it was
much longer than kleptomania), " and has but
lately recovered from embezzling a large sum of
money under singularly distressing circumstances ;
but he has quite got over it, and the straighteners
say that he has made a really wonderful recovery ;
you are sure to like him."
7»
CHAPTER IX
TO THE METROPOLIS
With the above words the good man left the room
before I had time to express my astonishment at
hearing such extraordinary language from the lips
of one who seemed to be a reputable member of
society. " Embezzle a large sum of money under
singularly distressing circumstances ! " I exclaimed
to myself, " and ask me to go and stay with him !
I shall do nothing of the sort — compromise myself
at the very outset in the eyes of all decent people,
and give the death-blow to my chances of either
converting them if they are the lost tribes of Israel,
or making money out of them if they are not ! No.
I will do anything rather than that." And when I
next saw my teacher I told him that I did not at all
like the sound of what had been proposed for me,
and that I would have nothing to do with it. For
by my education and the example of my own
parents, and I trust also in some degree from in-
born instinct, I have a very genuine dislike for all
unhandsome dealings in money matters, though
none can have a greater regard for money than I
have, if it be got fairly.
The interpreter was much surprised by my
79
Erewhon
answer, and said that I should be very fooHsh if
I persisted in my refusal.
"Mr, Nosnibor," he continued, "is a man of
at least 500,000 horse-power" (for their way of
reckoning and classifying men is by the number
of foot pounds which they have money enough to
raise, or more roughly by their horse-power), " and
keeps a capital table ; besides, his two daughters
are among the most beautiful women in Ere-
whon."
When I heard all this, I confess that I was much
shaken, and inquired whether he was favourably
considered in the best society.
" Certainly," was the answer ; " no man in the
country stands higher."
He then went on to say that one would have
thought from my manner that my proposed host
had had jaundice or pleurisy or been generally
unfortunate, and that I was in fear of infection.
" I am not much afraid of infection," said I,
impatiently, "but I have some regard for my
character ; and if I know a man to be an em-
bezzler of other people's money, be sure of it, I
will give him as wide a berth as I can. If he were
ill or poor "
"111 or poor!" interrupted the interpreter, with
a face of great alarm. "So that's your notion of
propriety ! You would consort with the basest
criminals, and yet deem simple embezzlement a
bar to friendly intercourse. I cannot understand
you."
80
To the Metropolis
" But I am poor myself," cried I.
" You were," said he ; " and you were liable to be
severely punished for it, — indeed, at the council
which was held concerning you, this fact was very
nearly consigning you to what I should myself
consider a well-deserved chastisement " (for he was
getting angry, and so was I); "but the Queen was
so inquisitive, and wanted so much to see you, that
she petitioned the King and made him give you his
pardon, and assign you a pension in consideration
of your meritorious complexion. It is lucky for
you that he has not heard what you have been
saying now, or he would be sure to cancel it."
As I heard these words my heart sank within me.
I felt the extreme difficulty of my position, and
how wicked I should be in running counter to
established usage. I remained silent for several
minutes, and then said that I should be happy
to accept the embezzler's invitation, — on which
my instructor brightened and said I was a sensible
fellow. But I felt very uncomfortable. When
he had left the room, I mused over the conversa-
tion which had just taken place between us, but
I could make nothing out of it, except that it
argued an even greater perversity of mental vision
than I had been yet prepared for. And this made
me wretched ; for I cannot bear having much to
do with people who think differently from myself.
All sorts of wandering thoughts kept coming into
my head. I thought of my master's hut, and my
seat upon the mountain side, where I had first
8l F
Erewhon
conceived the insane idea of exploring. What
years and years seemed to have passed since I
had begun my journey !
I thought of my adventures in the gorge, and on
the journey hither, and of Chovvbok. I wondered
what Chowbok told them about me when he got
back, — he had done well in going back, Chowbok
had. He was not handsome — nay, he was hideous;
and it would have gone hardly with him. Twi-
light drew on, and rain pattered against the win-
dows. Never yet had I felt so unhappy, except
during three days of sea-sickness at the beginning
of my voyage from England. I sat musing and
in great melancholy, until Yram made her ap-
pearance with light and supper. She too, poor
girl, was miserable ; for she had heard that I
was to leave them. She had made up her mind
that I was to remain always in the town, even
after my imprisonment was over ; and I fancy
had resolved to marry me though I had never
so much as hinted at her doing so. So what with
the distressingly strange conversation with my
teacher, my own friendless condition, and Yram's
melancholy, I felt more unhappy than I can de-
scribe, and remained so till I got to bed, and
sleep sealed my eyelids.
On awaking next morning I was much better.
It was settled that I was to make my start in a
conveyance which was to be in waiting for me
at about eleven o'clock ; and the anticipation of
change put me in good spirits, which even the
82
To the Metropolis
tearful face of Yram could hardly altogether de-
range. I kissed her again and again, assured her
that we should meet hereafter, and that in the
meanwhile I should be ever mindful of her kind-
ness. I gave her two of the buttons off my coat
and a lock of my hair as a keepsake, taking a
goodly curl from her own beautiful head in
return : and so, having said good-bye a hundred
times, till 1 was fairly overcome with her great
sweetness and her sorrow, I tore myself away
from her and got down-stairs to the caleche which
was in waiting. How thankful I was when it was
all over, and I was driven away and out of sight.
Would that I could have felt that it was out of
mind also ! Pray heaven that it is so now, and
that she is married happily among her own
people, and has forgotten me !
And now began a long and tedious journey
with which I should hardly trouble the reader
if I could. He is safe, however, for the simple
reason that I was blindfolded during the greater
part of the time. A bandage was put upon my
eyes every morning, and was only removed at
night when I reached the inn at which we were
to pass the night. We travelled slowly, although
the roads were good. We drove but one horse,
which took us our day's journey from morning
till evening, about six hours, exclusive of two
hours' rest in the middle of the day. I do not
suppose we made above thirty or thirty-five miles
on an average. Each day we had a fresh horse.
83
Erewhon
As I have said already, I could see nothing of
the country. I only know that it was level, and
that several times we had to cross large rivers
in ferry-boats. The inns were clean and com-
fortable. In one or two of the larger towns they
were quite sumptuous, and the food was good
and well cooked. The same wonderful health
and grace and beauty prevailed everywhere.
I found myself an object of great interest ; so
much so, that the driver told me he had to keep
our route secret, and at times to go to places
that were not directly on our road, in order to
avoid the press that would otherwise have awaited
us. Every evening I had a reception, and grew
heartily tired of having to say the same things
over and over again in answer to the same ques-
tions, but it was impossible to be angry with
people whose manners were so delightful. They
never once asked after my health, or even whether
I was fatigued with my journey ; but their first
question was almost invariably an inquiry after
my temper, the naivete of which astonished me
till I became used to it. One day, being tired
and cold, and weary of saying the same thing
over and over again, I turned a little brusquely
on my questioner and said that I was exceedingly
cross, and that I could hardly feel in a worse
humour with myself and every one else than at
that moment. To my surprise, I was met with
the kindest expressions of condolence, and heard
it buzzed about the room that I was in an ill
64
To the Metropolis
temper ; whereon people began to give me nice
things to smell and to eat, which really did seem
to have some temper-mending quality about them,
for I soon felt pleased and was at once congratu-
lated upon being better. The next morning two
or three people sent their servants to the hotel
with sweetmeats, and inquiries whether I had quite
recovered from my ill humour. On receiving the
good things I felt in half a mind to be ill-tempered
every evening ; but I disliked the condolences and
the inquiries, and found it most comfortable to
keep my natural temper, which is smooth enough
generally.
Among those who came to visit me were some
who had received a liberal education at the Col-
leges of Unreason, and taken the highest degrees
in hypothetics, which are their principal study.
These gentlemen had now settled down to various _
employments in the country, as straighteners,
managers and cashiers of the Musical Banks,
priests of religion, or what not, and carrying their
education with them they diffused a leaven of
culture throughout the country. I naturally ques-
tioned them about many of the things which had
puzzled me since my arrival. I inquired what
was the object and meaning of the statues which
I had seen upon the plateau of the pass. I was
told that they dated from a very remote period,
and that there were several other such groups
in the country, but none so remarkable as the
one which I had seen. They had a religious
85
Erewhon
origin, having been designed to propitiate the
gods of deformity and disease. In former times
it had been the custom to make expeditions over
the ranges, and capture the ugHest of Chowbok's
ancestors whom they could find, in order to
sacrifice them in the presence of these deities,
and thus avert ughness and disease from the
Erewhonians themselves. It had been whispered
(but my informant assured me untruly) that cen-
turies ago they had even offered up some of their
own people who were ugly or out of health, in
order to make examples of them ; these detestable
customs, however, had been long discontinued ;
neither was there any present observance of the
statues.
I had the curiosity to inquire what would be
done to any of Chowbok's tribe if they crossed
over into Erewhon. I was told that nobody knew,
inasmuch as such a thing had not happened for
ages. They would be too ugly to be allowed to
go at large, but not so much so as to be criminally
liable. Their offence in having come would be a
moral one ; but they would be beyond the straight-
ener's art. Possibly they would be consigned to
the Hospital for Incurable Bores, and made to
work at being bored for so many hours a day by
the Erewhonian inhabitants of the hospital, who
are extremely impatient of one another's boredom,
but would soon die if they had no one whom they
might bore — in fact, that they would be kept as
professional borees. When I heard this, it oc-
86
To the Metropolis
curred to me that some rumours of its substance
might perhaps have become current among Chow-
bok's people ; for the agony of his fear had been
too great to have been inspired by the mere dread
of being burnt ahve before the statues,
I also questioned them about the museum of
old machines, and the cause of the apparent retro-
gression in all arts, sciences, and inventions. I
learnt that about four hundred years previously,
the state of mechanical knowledge was far beyond
our own, and was advancing with prodigious
rapidity, until one of the most learned professors
of hypothetics wrote an extraordinary book (from
which I propose to give extracts later on), proving
that the machines were ultimately destined to sup-
plant the race of man, and to become instinct with
a vitality as different from, and superior to, that
of animals, as animal to vegetable life. So con-
vincing was his reasoning, or unreasoning, to this
effect, that he carried the country with him ; and
they made a clean sweep of all machinery that had
not been in use for more than two hundred and
seventy-one years (which period was arrived at
after a series of compromises), and strictly forbade
all further improvements and inventions under pain
of being considered in the eye of the law to be
labouring under typhus fever, which they regard
as one of the worst of all crimes.
This is the only case in which they have con-
founded mental and physical diseases, and they do
it even here as by an avowed legal fiction. I be-
87
Erewhon
came uneasy when I remembered about my watch ;
but they comforted me with the assurance that
transgression in this matter was now so unheard
of, that the law could afford to be lenient towards
an utter stranger, especially towards one who had
such a good character (they meant physique), and
such beautiful light hair. Moreover the watch was
a real curiosity, and would be a welcome addition
to the metropolitan collection ; so they did not
think I need let it trouble me seriously.
I will write, however, more fully upon this sub-
ject when I deal with the Colleges of Unreason,
and the Book of the Machines.
In about a month from the time of our starting
I was told that our journey was nearly over. The
bandage was now dispensed with, for it seemed
impossible that I should ever be able to find my
way back without being captured. Then we rolled
merrily along through the streets of a handsome
town, and got on to a long, broad, and level road,
with poplar trees on either side. The road was
raised slightly above the surrounding country, and
had formerly been a railway ; the fields on either
side were in the highest conceivable cultivation,
but the harvest and also the vintage had been
already gathered. The weather had got cooler
more rapidly than could be quite accounted for
by the progress of the season ; so I rather thought
that we must have been making away from the
sun, and were some degrees farther from the
equator than when we started. Even here the
88
To the Metropolis
vegetation showed that the climate was a hot one,
yet there was no lack of vigour among the people ;
on the contrary, they were a very hardy race, and
capable of great endurance. For the hundredth
time I thought that, take them all round, I had
never seen their equals in respect of physique, and
they looked as good-natured as they were robust.
The flowers were for the most part over, but their
absence was in some measure compensated for by
a profusion of delicious fruit, closely resembling
the figs, peaches, and pears of Italy and France.
I saw no wild animals, but birds were plentiful and
much as in Europe, but not tame as they had been
on the other side the ranges. They were shot at
with the cross-bow and with arrows, gunpowder
being unknown, or at any rate not in use.
We were now nearing the metropolis and I
could see great towers and fortifications, and lofty
buildings that looked like palaces. I began to be
nervous as to my reception ; but I had got on very
well so far, and resolved to continue upon the
same plan as hitherto — namely, to behave just as
though I were in England until I saw that I was
making a blunder, and then to say nothing till I
could gather how the land lay. We drew nearer
and nearer. The news of my approach had got
abroad, and there was a great crowd collected on
either side the road, who greeted me with marks
of most respectful curiosity, keeping me bowing
constantly in acknowledgement from side to side.
When we were about a mile off, we were met
Erewhon
by the Mayor and several Councillors, among
whom was a venerable old man, who was intro-
duced to me by the Mayor (for so I suppose I
should call him) as the gentleman who had invited
me to his house. I bowed deeply and told him
how grateful I felt to him, and how gladly I would
accept his hospitality. He forbade me to say more,
and pointing to his carriage, which was close at
hand, he motioned me to a seat therein. I again
bowed profoundly to the Mayor and Councillors,
and drove off with my entertainer, whose name
was Senoj Nosnibor. After about half a mile the
carriage turned off the main road, and we drove
under the walls of the town till we reached a
palazzo on a slight eminence, and just on the out-
skirts of the city. This was Senoj Nosnibor's
house, and nothing can be imagined finer. It was
situated near the magnificent and venerable ruins
of the old railway station, which formed an impos-
ing feature from the gardens of the house. The
grounds, some ten or a dozen acres in extent, were
laid out in terraced gardens, one above the other,
with flights of broad steps ascending and descend-
ing the declivity of the garden. On these steps
there were statues of most exquisite workmanship.
Besides the statues there were vases filled with
various shrubs that were new to me ; and on either
side the fiights of steps there were rows of old
cypresses and cedars, with grassy alleys between
them. Then came choice vineyards and orchards
of fruit-trees in full bearing.
90
To the Metropolis
The house itself was approached by a court-yard,
and round it was a corridor on to which rooms
opened, as at Pompeii. In the middle of the court
there was a bath and a fountain. Having passed
the court we came to the main body of the house,
which was two stories in height. The rooms were
large and lofty ; perhaps at first they looked rather
bare of furniture, but in hot climates people gene-
rally keep their rooms more bare than they do in
colder ones. I missed also the sight of a grand
piano or some similar instrument, there being no
means of producing music in any of the rooms save
the larger drawing-room, where there were half a
dozen large bronze gongs, which the ladies used
occasionally to beat about at random. It was not
pleasant to hear them, but I have heard quite as
unpleasant music both before and since.
Mr. Nosnibor took me through several spacious
rooms till we reached a boudoir where were his
wife and daughters, of whom I had heard from the
interpreter. Mrs. Nosnibor was about forty years
old, and still handsome, but she had grown very
stout : her daughters were in the prime of youth
and exquisitely beautiful. I gave the preference
almost at once to the younger, whose name was
Arowhena ; for the elder sister was haughty, while
the younger had a very winning manner. Mrs.
Nosnibor received me with the perfection of cour-
tesy, so that I must have indeed been shy and
nervous if I had not at once felt welcome. Scarcely
was the ceremony of my introduction well com-
91
Erewhon
pleted before a servant announced that dinner was
ready in tl)e next room. I was exceedingly hungry,
and the dinner was beyond all praise. Can the
reader wonder that I began to consider myself in
excellent quarters? "That man embezzle money?"
thought I to myself ; " impossible."
But I noticed that my host was uneasy during the
whole meal, and that he ate nothing but a little
bread and milk ; towards the end of dinner there
came a tall lean man with a black beard, to whom
Mr. Nosnibor and the whole family paid great
attention : he was the family straightener. With
this gentleman Mr. Nosnibor retired into another
room, from which there presently proceeded a
sound of weeping and wailing. I could hardly be-
lieve my ears, but in a few minutes I got to know
for a certainty that they came from Mr. Nosnibor
himself.
" Poor papa," said Arowhena, as she helped her-
self composedly to the salt, "how terribly he has
suffered."
" Yes," answered her mother ; " but I think he is
quite out of danger now."
Then they went on to explain to me the circum-
stances of the case, and the treatment which the
straightener had prescribed, and how successful he
had been — all which 1 will reserve for another
chapter, and put rather in the form of a general
summary of the opinions current upon these
subjects than in the exact words in which the facts
were delivered to me ; the reader, however, is
9-
To the Metropolis
earnestly requested to believe that both in this
next chapter and in those that follow it I have
endeavoured to adhere most conscientiously to the
strictest accuracy, and that I have never willingly
misrepresented, though I may have sometimes
failed to understand all the bearings of an opinion
or custom.
93
CHAPTER X
CURRENT OPINIONS
This is what I gathered. That in that country if a
man falls into ill health, or catches any disorder,
or fails bodily in any way before he is seventy years
old, he is tried before a jury of his countrymen,
and if convicted is held up to public scorn and
sentenced more or less severely as the case may
be. There are subdivisions of illnesses into crimes
and misdemeanours as with offences amongst our-
selves— a man being punished very heavily for
serious illness, while failure of eyes or hearing
in one over sixty-five, who has had good health
hitherto, is dealt with by fine only, or imprison-
ment in default of payment. But if a man forges
a cheque, or sets his house on fire, or robs with
violence from the person, or does any other such
things as are criminal in our own country, he
is either taken to a hospital and most carefully
tended at the public expense, or if he is in good
circumstances, he lets it be known to all his friends
that he is suffering from a severe fit of immorality,
just as we do when we are ill, and they come and
visit him with great solicitude, and inquire with
interest how it all came about, what symptoms
first showed themselves, and so forth, — questions
94
Current Opinions
which he will answer with perfect unreserve ; for
bad conduct, though considered no less deplorable
than illness with ourselves, and as unquestionably
indicating something seriously wrong with the in-
dividual who misbehaves, is nevertheless held to be
the result of either pre-natal or post-natal mis-
fortune.
The strange part of the story, however, is that
though they ascribe moral defects to the effect of
misfortune either in character or surroundings,
they will not listen to the plea of misfortune in
cases that in England meet with sympathy and
commiseration only. Ill luck of any kind, or even
ill treatment at the hands of others, is considered
an offence against society, inasmuch as it makes
people uncomfortable to hear of it. Loss of for-
tune, therefore, or loss of some dear friend on
whom another was much dependent, is punished
hardly less severely than physical delinquency.
Foreign, indeed, as such ideas are to our own,
traces of somewhat similar opinions can be found
even in nineteenth-century England. If a person
has an abscess, the medical man will say that it
contains " peccant " matter, and people say that
they have a " bad " arm or finger, or that they
are very " bad " all over, when they only mean
" diseased." Among foreign nations Erewhonian
opinions may be still more clearly noted. The
Mahommedans, for example, to this day, send
their female prisoners to hospitals, and the New
Zealand Maories visit any misfortune with forcible
95
Erewhon
entry into the house of the offender, and the break-
ing up and burning of all his goods. The Italians,
again, use the same word for " disgrace " and " mis-
fortune." I once heard an Italian lady speak of a
young friend whom she described as endowed with
every virtue under heaven, "ma," she exclaimed,
"povero disgraziato, ha ammazzato suo zio." ("Poor
unfortunate fellow, he has murdered his uncle.")
On mentioning this, which I heard when taken to
Italy as a boy by my father, the person to whom I
told it showed no surprise. He said that he had
been driven for two or three years in a certain
city by a young Sicilian cabdriver of prepossessing
manners and appearance, but then lost sight of him.
On asking what had become of him, he was told
that he was in prison for having shot at his father
with intent to kill him — happily without serious
result. Some years later my informant again
found himself warmly accosted by the prepos-
sessing young cabdriver. " Ah, caro signore,"
he exclaimed, "sono cinque anni che non lo
vedo — tre anni di militare, e due anni di dis-
grazia," &c. (" My dear sir, it is five years since
I saw you — three years of military service, and
two of misfortune ") — during which last the poor
fellow had been in prison. Of moral sense he
showed not so much as a trace. He and his
father were now on excellent terms, and were
likely to remain so unless either of them should
again have the misfortune mortally to offend the
other.
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Current Opinions
In the following chapter I will give a few ex-
amples of the way in which what we should call
misfortune, hardship, or disease are dealt with by
the Erewhonians, but for the moment will return
to their treatment of cases that with us are criminal.
As I have already said, these, though not judicially
punishable, are recognised as requiring correction.
Accordingly, there exists a class of men trained in
soul-craft, whom they call straighteners, as nearly
as I can translate a w^ord which literally means
** one w^ho bends back the crooked." These men
practise much as medical men in England, and
receive a quasi -surreptitious fee on every visit.
They are treated with the same unreserve, and
obeyed as readily, as our own doctors — that is to
say, on the whole sufficiently — because people know
that it is their interest to get well as soon as they
can, and that they will not be scouted as they
would be if their bodies were out of order, even
though they may have to undergo a very painful
course of treatment.
When I say that they will not be scouted, I do
not mean that an Erewhonian will suffer no social
inconvenience in consequence, we will say, of hav-
ing committed fraud. Friends will fall away from
him because of his being less pleasant company,
just as we ourselves are disinclined to make com-
panions of those who are either poor or poorly.
No one with any sense of self-respect will place
himself on an equality in the matter of affection
with those who are less lucky than himself in birth,
97 G
Erewhon
health, money, good looks, capacity, or anything
else. Indeed, that dislike and even disi^ust should
be felt by the fortunate for the unfortunate, or at
any rate for those who have been discovered to
have met with any of the more serious and less
familiar misfortunes, is not only natural, but desir-
able for any society, whether of man or brute.
The fact, therefore, that the Erewhonians attach
none of that guilt to crime which they do to
physical ailments, does not prevent the more sel-
fish among them from neglecting a friend who has
robbed a bank, for instance, till he has fully re-
covered ; but it does prevent them from even
thinking of treating criminals with that con-
temptuous tone which would seem to say, " I, if
I were you, should be a better man than you are,"
a tone which is held quite reasonable in regard
to physical ailment. Hence, though they conceal
ill health by every cunning and hypocrisy and
artifice which they can devise, they are quite open
about the most flagrant mental diseases, should
they happen to exist, which to do the people
justice is not often. Indeed, there are some who
are, so to speak, spiritual valetudinarians, and who
make themselves exceedingly ridiculous by their
nervous supposition that they are wicked, while
they are very tolerable people all the time. This
however is exceptional ; and on the whole they
use much the same reserve or unreserve about the
state of their moral welfare as we do about our
health.
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Current Opinions
Hence all the ordinary greetings among our-
selves, such as, How do you do ? and the like,
are considered signs of gross ill-breeding ; nor do
the politer classes tolerate even such a common
complimentary remark as telling a man that he is
looking well. They salute each other with, " I hope
you are good this morning ; " or " I hope you have
recovered from the snappishness from which you
were suffering when I last saw you ; " and if the
person saluted has not been good, or is still
snappish, he says so at once and is condoled with
accordingly. Indeed, the straighteners have gone
so far as to give names from the hypothetical lan-
guage (as taught at the Colleges of Unreason), to
all known forms of mental indisposition, and to
classify them according to a system of their own,
which, though I could not understand it, seemed to
work well in practice ; for they are always able to
tell a man what is the matter with him as soon as
they have heard his story, and their familiarity with
the long names assures him that they thoroughly
understand his case.
The reader will have no difficulty in believing
that the laws regarding ill health were frequently
evaded by the help of recognised fictions, which
every one understood, but which it would be con-
sidered gross ill-breeding to even seem to under-
stand. Thus, a day or two after my arrival at the
Nosnibors', one of the many ladies who called on
me made excuses for her husband's only sending
his card, on the ground that when gomg through
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Erewhon
the public market-place that morning he had stolen
a pair of socks. I had already been warned that I
should never show surprise, so I merely expressed
my sympathy, and said that though I had only
been in the capital so short a time, I had already
had a very narrow escape from stealing a clothes-
brush, and that though I had resisted temptation
so far, I was sadly afraid that if I saw any object
of special interest that was neither too hot nor
too heavy, I should have to put myself in the
straightener's hands.
Mrs. Nosnibor, who had been keeping an ear on
all that I had been saying, praised me when the
lady had gone. Nothing, she said, could have been
more polite according to Erewhonian etiquette.
She then explained that to have stolen a pair of
socks, or " to have the socks " (in more colloquial
language), was a recognised way of saying that the
person in question was slightly indisposed.
In spite of all this they have a keen sense of the
enjoyment consequent upon what they call being
"well." They admire mental health and love it in
other people, and take all the pains they can (con-
sistently with their other duties) to secure it for them-
selves. They have an extreme dislike to marrying
into what they consider unhealtiiy families. They
send for the straighten er at once whenever they
have been guilty of anything seriously flagitious —
often even if they think that they are on the point of
committing it ,' and though his remedies are some-
times exceedingly painful, involving close confine-
Current Opinions
ment for weeks, and in some cases the most cruel
physical tortures, I never heard of a reasonable
Erewhonian refusing to do what his straightener
told him, any more than of a reasonable English-
man refusing to undergo even the most frightful
operation, if his doctors told him it was necessary.
We in England never shrink from telling our
doctor what is the matter with us merely through
the fear that he will hurt us. We let him do his
worst upon us, and stand it without a murmur,
because we are not scouted for being ill, and be-
cause we know that the doctor is doing his best
to cure us, and that he can judge of our case better
than we can ; but we should conceal all illness if
we were treated as the Erewhonians are when they
have anything the matter with them ; we should do
the same as with moral and intellectual diseases, —
we should feign health with the most consummate
art, till we were found out, and should hate a single
flogging given in the way of mere punishment more
than the amputation of a limb, if it were kindly and
courteously performed from a wish to help us out
of our difficulty, and with the full consciousness
on the part of the doctor that it was only by an
accident of constitution that he was not in the like
plight himself. So the Erewhonians take a flogging
once a week, and a diet of bread and water for two
or three months together, whenever their straightener
recommends it.
I do not suppose that even my host, on having
swindled a confiding widow out of the whole of her
Erewhon
property, was put to more actual suffering than a
man will readily undergo at the hands of an Eng-
lish doctor. And yet he must have had a very
bad time of it. The sounds I heard were sufficient
to show that his pain was exquisite, but he never
shrank from undergoing it. He was quite sure that
it did him good ; and I think he was right. I can-
not believe that that man will ever embezzle money
again. He may — but it will be a long time before
he does so.
During my confinement in prison, and on my
journey, I had already discovered a great deal of
the above ; but it still seemed surpassingly strange,
and I was in constant fear of committing some
piece of rudeness, through my inability to look at
things from the same stand-point as my neighbours;
but after a few weeks' stay with the Nosnibors, I
got to understand things better, especially on hav-
ing heard all about my host's illness, of which he
told me fully and repeatedly.
It seemed that he had been on the Stock Ex-
change of the city for many years and had amassed
enormous wealth, without exceeding the limits of
what was generally considered justifiable, or at any
rate, permissible dealing ; but at length on several
occasions he had become aware of a desire to
make money by fraudulent representations, and
had actually dealt with two or three sums in a
way which had made him rather uncomfortable.
He had unfortunately made light of it and pooh-
poohed the ailment, until circumstances eventually
Current Opinions
presented themselves which enabled him to cheat
upon a very considerable scale ; — he told me what
they were, and they were about as bad as anything
could be, but 1 need not detail them ; — he seized
the opportunity, and became aware, when it was
too late, that he must be seriously out of order. He
had neglected himself too long.
He drove home at once, broke the news to his
wife and daughters as gently as he could, and sent
off for one of the most celebrated straighteners
of the kingdom to a consultation with the family
practitioner, for the case was plainly serious. On
the arrival of the straightener he told his story,
and expressed his fear that his morals must be
permanently impaired.
The eminent man reassured him with a few cheer-
ing words, and then proceeded to make a more
careful diagnosis of the case. He inquired concern-
ing Mr. Nosnibor's parents — had their moral health
been good ? He was answered that there had not
been anything seriously amiss with them, but that
his maternal grandfather, whom he was supposed
to resemble somewhat in person, had been a con-
summate scoundrel and had ended his days in
a hospital, — while a brother of his father's, after
having led a most flagitious life for many years,
had been at last cured by a philosopher of a new
school, which as far as 1 could understand it bore
much the same relation to the old as homoeopathy
to allopathy. The straightener shook his head at
this, and laughingly replied that the cure must have
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Erewhon
been due to nature. After a few more questions he
wrote a prescription and departed.
I saw the prescription. It ordered a fine to the
State of double the money embezzled ; no food
but bread and milk for six months, and a severe
flogging once a month for twelve. I was surprised
to see that no part of the fine was to be paid to the
poor woman whose money had been embezzled,
but on inquiry I learned that she would have been
prosecuted in the Misplaced Confidence Court, if
she had not escaped its clutches by dying shortly
after she had discovered her loss.
As for Mr. Nosnibor, he had received his eleventh
flogging on the day of my arrival. I saw him later
on the same afternoon, and he was still twinged ;
but there had been no escape from following out
the straight ener's prescription, for the so-called
sanitary laws of Erewhon are very rigorous, and
unless the straightener was satisfied that his orders
had been obeyed, the patient would have been
taken to a hospital (as the poor are), and would
have been much worse off. Such at least is the
law, but it is never necessary to enforce it.
On a subsequent occasion I was present at an
interview between Mr. Nosnibor and the family
straightener, who was considered competent to
watch the completion of the cure. 1 was struck
with the delicacy with which he avoided even the
remotest semblance of inquiry after the physical
well-being of his patient, though there was a certain
yellowness about my host's eyes which argued a
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Current Opinions
bilious habit of body. To have taken notice of
this would have been a gross breach of professional
etiquette. 1 was told, however, that a straightener
sometimes thinks it right to glance at the possibility
of some slight physical disorder if he finds it im-
portant in order to assist him in his diagnosis ; but
the answers which he gets are generally untrue or
evasive, and he forms his own conclusions upon
the matter as well as he can. Sensible men have
been known to say that the straightener should in
strict confidence be told of every physical ailment
that is likely to bear upon the case ; but people are
naturally shy of doing this, for they do not like
lowering themselves in the opinion of the straight-
ener, and his ignorance of medical science is su-
preme. I heard of one lady, indeed, who had the
hardihood to confess that a furious outbreak of ill-
humour and extravagant fancies for which she was
seeking advice was possibly the result of indisposi-
tion. " You should resist that," said the straightener,
in a kind, but grave voice ; " we can do nothing for
the bodies of our patients ; such matters are beyond
our province, and I desire that I may hear no fur-
ther particulars." The lady burst into tears, and
promised faithfully that she would never be unwell
again.
But to return to Mr. Nosnibor. As the afternoon
wore on many carriages drove up with callers to
inquire how he had stood his flogging. It had
been very severe, but the kind inquiries upon every
side gave him great pleasure, and he assured me
105
Erewhon
that he felt almost tempted to do wrong again by
the solicitude with which his friends had treated
him during his recovery : in this I need hardly say
that he was not serious.
During the remainder of my stay in the country
Mr. Nosnibor was constantly attentive to his busi-
ness, and largely increased his already great posses-
sions ; but I never heard a whisper to the effect of
his having been indisposed a second time, or made
money by other than the most strictly honourable
means. I did hear afterwards in confidence that
there had been reason to believe that his health had
been not a little affected by the straightener's treat-
ment, but his friends did not choose to be over-
curious upon the subject, and on his return to his
affairs it was by common consent passed over as
hardly criminal in one who was otherwise so much
afflicted. For they regard bodily ailments as the
more venial in proportion as they have been pro-
duced by causes independent of the constitution.
Thus if a person ruin his health by excessive indul-
gence at the table or by drinking, they count it to
be almost a part of the mental disease which
brought it about, and so it goes for little, but they
have no mercy on such illnesses as fevers or
catarrhs or lung diseases, which to us appear to
be beyond the control of the individual. They
are only more lenient towards the diseases of the
young — such as measles, which they think to be
like sowing one's wild oats — and look over them as
pardonable indiscretions if they have not been too
1 06
Current Opinions
serious, and if they are atoned for by complete sub-
sequent recovery.
It is hardly necessary to say that the office of
straightener is one which requires long and special
training. It stands to reason that he who would
cure a moral ailment must be practically acquainted
with it in all its bearings. The student for the
profession of straightener is required to set apart
certain seasons for the practice of each vice in turn,
as a religious duty. These seasons are called
"fasts," and are continued by the student until he
finds that he really can subdue all the more usual
vices in his own person, and hence can advise his
patients from the results of his own experience.
Those who intend to be specialists, rather than
general practitioners, devote themselves more par-
ticularly to the branch in which their practice will
mainly lie. Some students have been obliged to
continue their exercises during their whole lives,
and some devoted men have actually died as
martyrs to the drink, or gluttony, or whatever
branch of vice they may have chosen for their
especial study. The greater number, however, take
no harm by the excursions into the various depart-
ments of vice which it is incumbent upon them to
study.
For the Erewhonians hold that unalloyed virtue
is not a thing to be immoderately indulged in. I
was shown more than one case in which the real
or supposed virtues of parents were visited upon
the children to the third and fourth generation.
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Erewhon
The straighteners say that the most that can be truly
said for virtue is that there is a considerable balance
in its favour, and that it is on the whole a good
deal better to be on its side than against it ; but
they urge that there is much pseudo-virtue going
about, which is apt to let people in very badly
before they find it out. Those men, they say, are
best who are not remarkable either for vice or
virtue. I told them about Hogarth's idle and in-
dustrious apprentices, but they did not seem to
think that the industrious apprentice was a very
nice person.
io8
CHAPTER XI
SOME EREWHONIAN TRIALS
In Erewhon as in other countries there are some
courts of justice that deal with special subjects.
Misfortune generally, as I have above explained, is
considered more or less criminal, but it admits of
classification, and a court is assigned to each of the
main heads under which it can be supposed to fall.
Not very long after I had reached the capital I
strolled into the Personal Bereavement Court, and
was mvich both interested and pained by listening
to the trial of a man who was accused of having
just lost a wife to whom he had been tenderly
attached, and who had left him with three little
children, of whom the eldest was only three years
old.
The defence which the prisoner's counsel en-
deavoured to establish was, that the prisoner had
never really loved his wife ; but it broke down
completely, for the public prosecutor called witness
after witness who deposed to the fact that the
couple had been devoted to one another, and the
prisoner repeatedly wept as incidents were put in
evidence that reminded him of the irreparable
nature of the Joss he had sustained. The jury
returned a verdict of guilty after very little deli-
109
Erewhon
beration, but recommended the prisoner to mercy
on the ground that he had but recently insured his
wife's Hfe for a considerable sum, and might be
deemed lucky inasmuch as he had received the
money without demur from the insurance com-
pany, though he had only paid two premiums.
I have just said that the jury found the prisoner
guilty. When the judge passed sentence, I was
struck with the way in which the prisoner's counsel
was rebuked for having referred to a work in which
the guilt of such misfortunes as the prisoner's was
extenuated to a degree that roused the indignation
of the court.
"We shall have," said the judge, "these crude
and subversionary books from time to time until it
is recognised as an axiom of morality that luck is
the only fit object of human veneration. How far
a man has any right to be more lucky and hence
more venerable than his neighbours, is a point that
always has been, and always will be, settled proxi-
mately by a kind of higgling and haggling of the
market, and ultimately by brute force ; but how-
ever this may be, it stands to reason that no man
should be allowed to be unlucky to more than a
very moderate extent."
Then, turning to the prisoner, the judge
continued : — " You have suffered a great loss.
Nature attaches a severe penalty to such offences,
and human law must emphasise the decrees of
nature. But for the recommendation of the jury
1 should have given you six months' hard labour.
Some Erewhonian Trials
I will, however, commute your sentence to one of
three months, with the option of a fine of twenty-
five per cent, of the money you have received from
the insurance company."
The prisoner thanked the judge, and said that as
he had no one to look after his children if he was
sent to prison, he would embrace the option mer-
cifully permitted him by his lordship, and pay the
sum he had named. He was then removed from
the dock.
The next case was that of a youth barely arrived
at man's estate, who was charged with having been
swindled out of large property during his minority
by his guardian, who was also one of his nearest
relations. His father had been long dead, and it
was for this reason that his offence came on for
trial in the Personal Bereavement Court. The lad,
who was undefended, pleaded that he was young,
inexperienced, greatly m awe of his guardian, and
without independent professional advice. " Young
man," said the judge sternly, " do not talk non-
sense. People have no right to be young, inex-
perienced, greatly in awe of their guardians, and
without independent professional advice. If by
such indiscretions they outrage the moral sense of
their friends, they must expect to suffer accord-
ingly." He then ordered the prisoner to apologise
to his guardian, and to receive twelve strokes with a
cat-of-nine-tails.
But I shall perhaps best convey to the reader an
idea of the entire perversion of thought which
Erewhon
exists among this extraordinary people, by describ-
ing the piibHc trial of a man who was accused of
pulmonary consumption — an offence which was
punished witli death until quite recently. It did
not occur till I had been some months in the coun-
try, and I am deviating from chronological order
in giving it here ; but I had perhaps better do so
in order that I may exhaust this subject before
proceeding to others. Moreover I should never
come to an end were I to keep to a strictly narra-
tive form, and detail the infinite absurdities with
which I daily came in contact.
The prisoner was placed in the dock, and the
jury were sworn much as in Europe ; almost all
our own modes of procedure were reproduced,
even to the requiring the prisoner to plead guilty
or not guilty. He pleaded not guilty, and the case
proceeded. The evidence for the prosecution was
very strong ; but I must do the court the justice to
observe that the trial was absolutely impartial.
Counsel for the prisoner was allowed to urge every-
thing that could be said in his defence : the line
taken was that the prisoner was simulating con-
sumption in order to defraud an insurance com-
pany, from which he was about to buy an annuity,
and that he hoped thus to obtain it on more ad-
vantageous terms. If this could have been shown
to be the case he would have escaped a criminal
prosecution, and been sent to a hospital as for a
moral ailment. The view, however, was one which
could not be reasonably sustained, in spite of all
Some Erewhonian Trials
the ingenuity and eloquence of one of the most
celebrated advocates of the country. The case
was only too clear, for the prisoner was almost at
the point of death, and it was astonishing that he
had not been tried and convicted long previously.
His coughing was incessant during the whole trial,
and it was all that the two jailors in charge of him
could do to keep him on his legs until it was over.
The summing up of the judge was admirable.
He dwelt upon every point that could be construed
in favour of the prisoner, but as he proceeded it
became clear that the evidence was too convincing
to admit of doubt, and there was but one opinion
in the court as to the impending verdict when the
jury retired from the box. They were absent for
about ten minutes, and on their return the foreman
pronounced the prisoner guilty. There was a faint
murmur of applause, but it was instantly repressed.
The judge then proceeded to pronounce sentence
in words which I can never forget, and which I
copied out into a note-book next day from the
report that was published in the leading newpaper.
I must condense it somewhat, and nothing which I
could say would give more than a faint idea of the
solemn, not to say majestic, severity with which it
was delivered. The sentence was as follows : —
" Prisoner at the bar, you have been accused of
the great crime of labouring under pulmonary
consumption, and after an impartial trial before
a jury of your countrymen, you have been found
guilty. Against the justice of the verdict I can say
113 H
Erewhon
r
nothing : the evidence against you was conchisive,
and it only remains for me to pass such a sentence
upon you, as shall satisfy the ends of the law.
That sentence must be a very severe one. It pains
me much to see one who is yet so young, and
whose prospects in life were otherwise so excellent,
brought to this distressing condition by a constitu-
tion which I can only regard as radically vicious ;
but yours is no case for compassion : this is not
your first offence : you have led a career of crime,
and have only profited by the leniency shown you
upon past occasions, to offend yet more seriously
against the laws and institutions of your country.
You were convicted of aggravated bronchitis last
year : and I find that though you are now only
twenty-three years old, you have been imprisoned
on no less than fourteen occasions for illnesses of
a more or less hateful character ; in fact, it is not
too much to say that you have spent the greater
part of your life in a jail.
" It is all very well for you to say that you came
of unhealthy parents, and had a severe accident in
your childhood which permanently undermined
your constitution ; excuses such as these are the
ordinary refuge of the criminal ; but they cannot
for one moment be listened to by the ear of justice.
I am not here to enter upon curious metaphysical
questions as to the origin of this or that — questions
to which there would be no end were their intro-
duction once tolerated, and which would result in
throwing the only guilt on the tissues of the
114
Some Erewhonian Trials
primordial cell, or on the elementary gases. There
is no question of how you came to be wicked,
but only this — namely, are you wicked or not ?
This has been decided in the affirmative, neither
can I hesitate for a single moment to say that
it has been decided justly. You are a bad and
dangerous person, and stand branded in the eyes
of your fellow-countrymen with one of the most
heinous known offences.
" It is not my business to justify the law : the law
may in some cases have its inevitable hardships,
and I may feel regret at times that I have not the
option of passing a less severe sentence than 1
am compelled to do. But yours is no such case ;
on the contrary, had not the capital punishment
for consumption been abolished, I should certainly
inflict it now.
" It is intolerable that an example of such terrible
enormity should be allowed to go at large un-
punished. Your presence in the society of re-
spectable people would lead the less able-bodied
to think more lightly of all forms of illness ; neither
can it be permitted that you should have the chance
of corrupting unborn beings who might hereafter
pester you. The unborn must not be allowed to
come near you : and this not so much for their
protection (for they are our natural enemies), as
for our own ; for since they will not be utterly
gainsaid, it must be seen to that they shall be
quartered upon those who are least likely to corrupt
them.
"5
Erewhon
" But independently of this consideration, and
independently of the physical guilt which attaches
itself to a crime so great as yours, there is yet
another reason why we should be unable to show
you mercy, even if we were inclined to do so. I
refer to the existence of a class of men who lie
hidden among us, and who are called physicians.
Were the severity of the law or the current feeling
of the country to be relaxed never so slightly,
these abandoned persons, who are now compelled
to practise secretly and who can be consulted only
at the greatest risk, would become frequent visitors
in every household ; their organisation and their
intimate acquaintance with all family secrets would
give them a power, both social and political, which
nothing could resist. The head of the household
would become subordinate to the family doctor,
who would interfere between man and wife, be-
tween master and servant, until the doctors should
be the only depositaries of power in the nation,
and have all that we hold precious at their mercy.
A time of universal dephysicalisation would ensue ;
medicine-vendors of all kinds would abound in our
streets and advertise in all our newspapers. There
is one remedy for this, and one only. It is that
which the laws of this country have long received
and acted upon, and consists in the sternest re-
pression of all diseases whatsoever, as soon as their
existence is made manifest to the eye of the law.
Would that that eye were far more piercing than
it is.
Il6
Some Erewhonian Trials
" But 1 will enlarge no further upon things that
are themselves so obvious. You may say that
it is not your fault. The answer is ready enough
at hand, and it amounts to this — that if you had
been born of healthy and well-to-do parents, and
been well taken care of when you were a child,
you would never have offended against the laws
of your country, nor found yourself in your present
disgraceful position. If you tell me that you had
no hand in your parentage and education, and that
it is therefore unjust to lay these things to your
charge, I answer that whether your being in a
consumption is your fault or no, it is a fault in
you, and it is my duty to see that against such
faults as this the commonwealth shall be protected.
You may say that it is your misfortune to be
criminal ; I answer that it is your crime to be
unfortunate.
" Lastly, I should point out that even though the
jury had acquitted you — a supposition that I cannot
seriously entertain — I should have felt it my duty
to inflict a sentence hardly less severe than that
which I must pass at present; for the more you
had been found guiltless of the crime imputed to
you, the more you would have been found guilty
of one hardly less heinous — I mean the crime of
having been maligned unjustly.
" I do not hesitate therefore to sentence you to
Imprisonment, with hard labour, for the rest of your
miserable existence. During that period I would
earnestly entreat you to repent of the wrongs you
117
Erewhon
have done already, and to entirely reform the con-
stitution of your whole body. I entertain but little
hope that you will pay attention to my advice ; you
are already far too abandoned. Did it rest with
myself, I should add nothing in mitigation of the
sentence which I have passed, but it is the merciful
provision of the law that even the most hardened
criminal shall be allowed some one of the three
ofticial remedies, which is to be prescribed at the
time of his conviction. 1 shall therefore order that
you receive two tablespoonfuls of castor oil daily,
until the pleasure of the court be further known."
When the sentence was concluded the prisoner
acknowledged in a few scarcely audible words that
he was justly punished, and that he had had a fair
trial. He was then removed to the prison from
which he was never to return. There was a second
attempt at applause when the judge had finished
speaking, but as before it was at once repressed ;
and though the feeling of the court was strongly
against the prisoner, there was no show of any
violence against him, if one may except a little
hooting from the bystanders when he was being
removed in the prisoners' van. Indeed, nothing
struck me more during my whole sojourn in the
country, than the general respect for law and
order.
ii8
CHAPTER XII
MALCONTENTS
I CONFESS that I felt rather unhappy when 1 got
home, and thought more closely over the trial that
I had just witnessed. For the time I was carried
away by the opinion of those among whom I was.
They had no misgivings about what they were
doing. There did not seem to be a person in the
whole court who had the smallest doubt but that
all was exactly as it should be. This universal
unsuspecting confidence was imparted by sympathy
to myself, in spite of all my training in opinions so
widely different. So it is with most of us : that
which we observe to be taken as a matter of course
by those around us, we take as a matter of course
ourselves. And after all, it is our duty to do this,
save upon grave occasion.
But when I was alone, and began to think the
trial over, it certainly did strike me as betraying a
strange and untenable position. Had the judge
said that he acknowledged the probable truth,
namely, that the prisoner was born of unhealthy
parents, or had been starved in infancy, or had
met with some accidents which had developed con-
sumption ; and had he then gone on to say that
though he knew all this, and bitterly regretted that
119
Erewhon
the protection of society obliged him to inflict
additional pain on one who had suffered so much
already, yet that there was no help for it, I could
have understood the position, however mistaken I
might have thought it. The judge was fully per-
suaded that the infliction of pain upon the weak
and sickly was the only means of preventing weak-
ness and sickliness from spreading, and that ten
times the suffering now inflicted upon the accused
was eventually warded off from others by the
present apparent severity. I could therefore per-
fectly understand his mflicting whatever pain he
might consider necessary in order to prevent so
bad an example from spreading further and lower-
ing the Erewhonian standard; but it seemed almost
childish to tell the prisoner that he could have been
in good health, if he had been more fortunate in
his constitution, and been exposed to less hardships
when he was a boy.
I write with great diffidence, but it seems to me
that there is no unfairness in punishing people for
their misfortunes, or rewarding them for their sheer
good luck : it is the normal condition of human life
that this should be done, and no right-minded
person will complain of being subjected to the
common treatment. There is no alternative open
to us. It is idle to say that men are not respon-
sible for their misfortunes. What is responsibility ?
Surely to be responsible means to be liable to have
to give an answer should it be demanded, and all
things which live are responsible for their lives and
Malcontents
actions should society see tit to question them
through the mouth of its authorised agent.
What is the offence of a himb that we should
rear it, and tend it, and lull it into security, for the
express purpose of killing it ? Its offence is the
misfortune of being something which society wants
to eat, and which cannot defend itself. This is
ample. Who shall limit the right of society except
society itself ? And what consideration for the
individual is tolerable unless society be the gainer
thereby ? Wherefore should a man be so richly
rewarded for having been son to a millionaire, were
it not clearly provable that the common welfare is
thus better furthered ? We cannot seriously de-
tract from a man's merit in having been the son
of a rich father without imperilling our own tenure
of things which we do not wish to jeopardise ; if
this were otherwise we should not let him keep his
money for a single hour ; we would have it our-
selves at once. For property is robbery, but then,
we are all robbers or would-be robbers together,
and have found it essential to organise our thieving,
as we have found it necessary to organise our lust
and our revenge. Property, marriage, the law ; as
the bed to the river, so rule and convention to the
instinct ; and woe to him who tampers with the
banks while the flood is flowing.
But to return. Even in England a man on
board a ship with yellow fever is held responsible
for his mischance, no matter what his being kept
in quarantine may cost him. He may catch the
Erewhon
fever and die ; we cannot help it ; he must take his
chance as other people do ; but surely it would be
desperate unkindness to add contumely to our self-
protection, unless, indeed, we believe that contumely
is one of our best means of self-protection. Again,
take the case of maniacs. We say that they are irre-
sponsible for their actions, but we take good care, or
ought to take good care, that they shall answer to us
for their insanity, and we imprison them in what we
call an asylum (that modern sanctuary !) if w^e do
not like their answers. This is a strange kind of
irresponsibility. What we ought to say is that we
can afford to be satisfied w'ith a less satisfactory
answer from a lunatic than from one who is not
mad, because lunacy is less infectious than crime.
We kill a serpent if we go in danger by it, simply
for being such and such a serpent in such and such
a place ; but w-e never say that the serpent has only
itself to blame for not having been a harmless
creature. Its crime is that of being the thing
which it is : but this is a capital offence, and we
are right in killing it out of the way, unless we
think it more danger to do so than to let it escape ;
nevertheless we pity the creature, even though we
kill It.
But in the case of him whose trial I have de-
scribed above, it was imposible that any one in the
court should not have known that it was but by
an accident of birth and circumstances that he was
not himself also in a consumption ; and yet none
thought that it disgraced them to hear the judge
Malcontents
give vent to the most cruel truisms about him.
The judge himself was a kind and thoughtful
person. He was a man of magnificent and benign
presence. He was evidently of an iron consti-
tution, and his face wore an expression of the
maturest wisdom and experience ; yet for all this,
old and learned as he was, he could not see things
which one would have thought would have been
apparent even to a child. He could not emancipate
himself from, nay, it did not even occur to him to
feel, the bondage of the ideas in which he had
been born and bred.
So was it also with the jury and bystanders ;
and — most wonderful of all — so was it even with
the prisoner. Throughout he seemed fully im-
pressed with the notion that he was being dealt
with justly : he saw nothing wanton in his being
told by the judge that he was to be punished, not
so much as a necessary protection to society
(although this was not entirely lost sight of), as
because he had not been better born and bred than
he was. But this led me to hope that he suffered
less than he would have done if he had seen the
matter in the same light that I did. And, after all,
justice is relative.
I may here mention that only a few years before
my arrival in the country, the treatment of all con-
victed invalids had been much more barbarous
than now, for no physical remedy was provided,
and prisoners were put to the severest labour in
all sorts of weather, so that most of them soon
123
Erewhon
succumbed to the extreme hardships which they
suffered ; this was supposed to be beneficial in
some ways, inasmuch as it put the country to less
expense for the maintenance of its criminal class ;
but the growth of luxury had induced a relaxation
of the old severity, and a sensitive age would no
longer tolerate what appeared to be an excess of
rigour, even towards the most guilty ; moreover,
it was found that juries were less willing to convict,
and justice was often cheated because there was
no alternative between virtually condemning a man
to death and letting him go free ; it was also held
that the country paid in recommittals for its over-
severit}^ ; for those who had been imprisoned even
for trifling ailments were often permanently dis-
abled by their imprisonment ; and when a man had
been once convicted, it was probable that he would
seldom afterwards be off the hands of the country.
These evils had long been apparent and recog-
nised ; yet people were too indolent, and too
indifferent to suffering not their own, to bestir
themselves about putting an end to them, until at
last a benevolent reformer devoted his whole life
to effecting the necessary changes. He divided
all illnesses into three classes — those affecting the
head, the trunk, and the lower limbs — and obtained
an enactment that all diseases of the head, whether
internal or external, should be treated with lauda-
num, those of the body with castor-oil, and those
of the lower limbs with an embrocation of strong
sulphuric acid and water.
124
Malcontents
It may be said that the classification was not
sulTicicntly careful, and that the remedies were ill
chosen ; but it is a hard thing to initiate any re-
form, and it was necessary to familiarise the public
mind with the principle, by inserting the thin end
of the wedge first : it is not, therefore, to be won-
dered at that among so practical a people there
should still be some room for improvement. The
mass of the nation are well pleased with existing
arrangements, and believe that their treatment of
criminals leaves little or nothing to be desired ; but
there is an energetic minority who hold what are
considered to be extreme opinions, and who are
not at all disposed to rest contented until the prin-
ciple lately admitted ha ; been carried further.
I was at some pains to discover the opinions of
these men, and their reasons for entertaining them.
They are held in great odium by the generality of
the public, and are considered as subverters of all
morality whatever. The malcontents, on the other
hand, assert that illness is the inevitable result
of certain antecedent causes, which, in the great
majority of cases, were beyond the control of the
individual, and that therefore a man is only guilty
for being in a consumption in the same way as
rotten fruit is guilty for having gone rotten. True,
the fruit must be thrown on one side as unfit for
man's use, and the man in a consumption must
be put in prison for the protection of his fellow-
citizens ; but these radicals would not punish him
further than by loss of liberty and a strict surveil-
125
Erewhon
lance. So long as he was prevented from injuring
society, they would allow him to make himself
useful by supplying whatever of society's wants
he could supply. If he succeeded in thus earning
money, they would have him made as comfortable
in prison as possible, and would in no way inter-
fere with his liberty more than was necessary to
prevent him from escaping, or from becoming
more severely indisposed within the prison walls ;
but they would deduct from his earnings the ex-
penses of his board, lodging, surveillance, and half
those of his conviction. If he was too ill to do
anything for his support in prison, they would
allow him nothing but bread and water, and very
little of that.
They say that society is foolish in refusing to
allow itself to be benefited by a man merely
because he has done it harm hitherto, and that
objection to the labour of the diseased classes
is only protection in another form. It is an
attempt to raise the natural price of a commodity
by saying that such and such persons, who are
able and willing to produce it, shall not do so,
whereby every one has to pay more for it.
Besides, so long as a man has not been actually
killed he is our fellow-creature, though perhaps
a very unpleasant one. It is in a great degree the
doing of others that he is what he is, or in other
w^ords, the society which now condemns him is
partly answerable concerning him. They say that
there is no fear of any increase of disease under
126
Malcontents
these circumstances ; for the loss of liberty, the
surveillance, the considerable and compulsory de-
duction from the prisoner's earnings, the very
sparing use of stimulants (of which they would
allow but little to any, and none to those who did
not earn them), the enforced celibacy, and above
all, the loss of reputation among friends, are in
their opinion as ample safeguards to society
against a general neglect of health as those now
resorted to. A man, therefore, (so they say) should
carry his profession or trade into prison with him
if possible ; if not, he must earn his living by the
nearest thing to it that he can ; but if he be a
gentleman born and bred to no profession, he
must pick oakum, or write art criticisms for a
newspaper.
These people say further, that the greater part
of the illness which exists in their country is
brought about by the insane manner in which
it is treated.
They believe that illness is in many cases just
as curable as the moral diseases which they see
daily cured around them, but that a great re-
form is impossible till men learn to take a juster
view of what physical obliquity proceeds from.
Men will hide their illnesses as long as they are
scouted on its becoming known that they are
ill ; it is the scouting, not the physic, which
produces the concealment ; and if a man felt that
the news of his being in ill-health would be re-
ceived by his neighbours as a deplorable fact,
127
Erewhon
but one as much the result of necessary ante-
cedent causes as though he had broken into a
jeweller's shop and stolen a valuable diamond
necklace — as a fact which might just as easily
have happened to themselves, only that they had
the luck to be better born or reared ; and if they
also felt that they would not be made more un-
comfortable in the prison than the protection of
society against infection and the proper treat-
ment of their own disease actually demanded,
men would give themselves up to the police as
readily on perceiving that they had taken small-
pox, as they go now to the straightener when
they feel that they are on the point ot forging
a will, or running away with somebody else's
wife.
But the main argument on which they rely is
that of economy ; for they know that they will
sooner gain their end by appealing to men's
pockets, in which they have generally something
of their own, than to their heads, which contain
for the most part little but borrowed or stolen
property ; and also, they believe it to be the
readiest test and the one which has most to show
for itself. If a course of conduct can be shown
to cost a country less, and this by no dishonourable
saving and with no indirectly increased expendi-
ture in other ways, they hold that it requires a
good deal to upset the arguments in favour of
its being adopted, and whether rightly or wrongly
I cannot pretend to say, they think that the more
128
Malcontents
medicinal and humane treatment of the diseased
of which they are the advocates would in the long
run be much cheaper to the country : but I did
not gather that these reformers were opposed
to meeting some of the more violent forms of
illness with the cat-of-nine-tails, or with death ;
for they saw no so effectual way of checking
them ; they would therefore both flog and hang,
but they would do so pitifully.
I have perhaps dwelt too long upon opinions
which can have no possible bearing upon our
own, but I have not said the tenth part of what
these would-be reformers urged upon me. I feel,
however, that I have sufficiently trespassed upon
the attention of the reader.
129
CHAPTER XIII
THE VIEWS OF THE EREWHONIANS
CONCERNING DEATH
The Erewhonians regard death with less abhor-
rence than disease. If it is an offence at all, it is
one beyond the reach of the law, which is there-
fore silent on the subject; but they insist that the
greater number of those who are commonly said to
die, have never yet been born — not, at least, into
that unseen world which is alone worthy of con-
sideration. As regards this unseen world I under-
stand them to say that some miscarry in respect to
it before they have even reached the seen, and
some after, while few are ever truly born into it at
all — the greater part of all the men and women
over the whole country miscarrying before they
reach it. And they say that this does not matter so
much as we think it does.
As for what we call death, they argue that too
much has been made of it. The mere knowledge
that we shall one day die docs not make us very
unhappy ; no one thinks that he or she will escape,
so that none are disappointed. We do not care
greatly even though we know that we have not
long to live ; the only thing that would seriously
affect us would be the knowing — or rather thinking
130
Views Concerning Death
that we know — the precise moment at which the
blow will fall. Happily no one can ever certainly
know this, though many try to make themselves
miserable by endeavouring to find it out. It seems
as though there were some power somewhere which
mercifully stays us from putting that sting into the
tail of death, which we would put there if we could,
and which ensures that though death must always
be a bugbear, it shall never under any conceivable
circumstances be more than a bugbear.
For even though a man is condemned to die in a
week's time and is shut up in a prison from which
it is certain that he cannot escape, he will always
hope that a reprieve may come before the week is
over. Besides, the prison may catch fire, and he
may be suft'ocated not with a rope, but with com-
mon ordinary smoke ; or he may be struck dead
by lightning while exercising in the prison yards.
When the morning is come on which the poor
wretch is to be hanged, he may choke at his break-
fast, or die from failure of the heart's action before
the drop has fallen ; and even though it has fallen,
he cannot be quite certain that he is going to die,
for he cannot know this till his death has actually
taken place, and it will be too late then for him to
discover that he was going to die at the appointed
hour after all. The Erewhonians, therefore, hold
that death, like life, is an affair of being more
frightened than hurt.
They burn their dead, and the ashes are presently
scattered over any piece of ground which the deceased
131
Erewhon
may himself have chosen. No one is permitted to
refuse this hospitality to the dead : people, there-
fore, generally choose some garden or orchard
which they may have known and been fond of
when they were young. The superstitious hold
that those whose ashes are scattered over any land
become its jealous guardians from that time for-
ward ; and the living like to think that they shall
become identified with this or that locality where
they have once been happy.
They do not put up monuments, nor write
epitaphs, for their dead, though in former ages
their practice was much as ours, but they have a
custom which comes to much the same thing, for
the instinct of preserving the name alive after the
death of the body seems to be common to all man-
kind. They have statues of themselves made while
they are still alive (those, that is, who can afford it),
and write inscriptions under them, which are often
quite as untruthful as are our own epitaphs — only
in another way. For they do not hesitate to de-
scribe themselves as victims to ill temper, jealousy,
covetousness, and the like, but almost always lay
claim to personal beauty, whether they have it or
not, and, often, to the possession of a large sum in
the funded debt of the country. If a person is
ugly he does not sit as a model for his own statue,
although it bears his name. He gets the hand-
somest of his friends to sit for him, and one of the
ways of paying a compliment to another is to ask
him to sit for such a statue. Women generally sit
132
Views Concerning Death
for their own statues, from a natural disinclination
to admit the superior beauty of a friend, but they
expect to be ideaHsed. I understood that the
multitude of these statues was beginning to be felt
as an encumbrance in almost every family, and that
the custom would probably before long fall into
desuetude.
Indeed, this has already come about to the satis-
faction of every one, as regards the statues of
public men — not more than three of which can
be found in the whole capital. I expressed my
surprise at this, and was told that some five hun-
dred years before my visit, the city had been so
overrun with these pests, that there was no getting
about, and people were worried beyond endurance
by having their attention called at every touch and
turn to something, which, when they had attended
to it, they found not to concern them. Most of
these statues were mere attempts to do for some
man or woman what an animal-stuffer does more
successfully for a dog, or bird, or pike. They were
generally foisted on the public by some coterie
that was trying to exalt itself in exalting some one
else, and not unfrequently they had no other in-
ception than desire on the part of some member
of the coterie to find a job for a young sculptor
to whom his daughter was engaged. Statues so
begotten could never be anything but deformities,
and this is the way in which they are sure to be
begotten, as soon as the art of making them at all
has become widely practised.
133
Erewhon
I know not why, but all the noblest arts hold
in perfection but for a very little moment. They
soon reach a height from which they begin to
decline, and when they have begun to decline it
is a pity that they cannot be knocked on the head ;
for an art is like a living organism — better dead
than dying. There is no way of making an aged
art young again ; it must be born anew and grow
up from infancy as a new thing, working out its
own salvation from effort to effort in all fear and
trembling.
The Erewhonians five hundred years ago under-
stood nothing of all this — I doubt whether they even
do so now. They wanted to get the nearest thing
they could to a stuffed man whose stuffing should
not grow mouldy. They should have had some
such an establishment as our Madame Tussaud's,
where the figures wear real clothes, and are painted
up to nature. Such an institution might have been
made self-supporting, for people might have been
made to pay before going in. As it was, they
had let their poor cold grimy colourless heroes
and heroines loaf about in squares and in corners
of streets in all weathers, without any attempt at
artistic sanitation — for there was no provision for
burying their dead works of art out of their sight
— no drainage, so to speak, whereby statues that
had been sufficiently assimilated, so as to form
part of the residuary impression of the country,
might be carried away out of the system. Hence
they put them up with a light heart on the cackling
134
Views Concerning Death
of their coteries, and they and their children had
to live, often enough, with some wordy windbag
whose cowardice had cost the country untold loss
in blood and money.
At last the evil reached such a pitch that the
people rose, and with indiscriminate fury destroyed
good and bad alike. Most of what was destroyed
was bad, but some few works were good, and the
sculptors of to-day wring their hands over some
of the fragments that have been preserved in
museums up and down the country. For a couple
of hundred years or so, not a statue was made from
one end of the kingdom to the other, but the in-
stinct for having stuffed men and women was so
strong, that people at length again began to try
to make them. Not knowing how to make them,
and having no academies to mislead them, the
earliest sculptors of this period thought things out
for themselves, and again produced works that were
full of interest, so that in three or four generations
they reached a perfection hardly if at all inferior to
that of several hundred years earlier.
On this the same evils recurred. Sculptors
obtained high prices — the art became a trade —
schools arose which professed to sell the holy
spirit of art for money ; pupils flocked from far
and near to buy it, in the hopes of selling it later
on, and were struck purblind as a punishment
for the sin of those who sent them. Before long
a second iconoclastic fury would infallibly have
followed, but for the prescience of a statesman
135
Erewhon
who succeeded in passing an Act to the effect
that no statue of any pubhc man or woman should
be allowed to remain unbroken for more than fifty
years, unless at the end of that time a jury of
twenty-four men taken at random from the street
pronounced in favour of its being allowed a second
fifty years of life. Every fifty years this recon-
sideration was to be repeated, and unless there was
a majority of eighteen in favour of the retention
of the statue, it was to be destroyed.
Perhaps a simpler plan would have been to for-
bid the erection of a statue to any public man or
woman till he or she had been dead at least one
hundred years, and even then to insist on recon-
sideration of the claims of the deceased and the
merit of the statue every fifty years — but the work-
ing of the Act brought about results that on the
whole were satisfactory. For in the first place,
many public statues that would have been voted
under the old system, were not ordered, when it
was known that they would be almost certainly
broken up after fifty years, and in the second,
public sculptors knowing their work to be so ephe-
meral, scamped it to an extent that made it offensive
even to the most uncultured eye. Hence before
long subscribers took to paying the sculptor for
the statue of their dead statesmen, on condition
that he did not make it. The tribute of respect was
thus paid to the deceased, the public sculptors were
not mulcted, and the rest of the public suffered no
inconvenience.
136
Views Concerning Death
I was told, however, that an abuse of this custom
is growing up, inasmuch as the competition for the
commission not to make a statue is so keen, that
sculptors have been known to return a considerable
part of the purchase money to the subscribers, by
an arrangement made with them beforehand. Such
transactions, however, are always clandestine. A
small inscription is let into the pavement, where
the public statue would have stood, which informs
the reader that such a statue has been ordered for
the person, whoever he or she may be, but that as
yet the sculptor has not been able to complete it.
There has been no Act to repress statues that are
intended for private consumption, but as I have
said, the custom is falling into desuetude.
Returning to Erewhonian customs in connection
with death, there is one which I can hardly pass
over. When any one dies, the friends of the family
write no letters of condolence, neither do they
attend the scattering, nor wear mourning, but they
send little boxes filled with artificial tears, and with
the name of the sender painted neatly upon the out-
side of the lid. The tears vary in number from two
to fifteen or sixteen, according to degree of inti-
macy or relationship ; and people sometimes find
it a nice point of etiquette to know the exact
number which they ought to send. Strange as it
may appear, this attention is highly valued, and its
omission by those from whom it might be expected
is keenly felt. These tears were formerly stuck
with adhesive plaster to the cheeks of the bereaved,
137
Erewhon
and were worn in public for a few months after the
death of a relative ; they were then banished to the
hat or bonnet, and are now no longer worn.
The birth of a child is looked upon as a painful
subject on which it is kinder not to touch : the ill-
ness of the mother is carefully concealed until the
necessity for signing the birth-formula (of which
hereafter) renders further secrecy impossible, and
for some months before the event the family live in
retirement, seeing very little company. When the
offence is over and done with, it is condoned by the
common want of logic ; for this merciful provision
of nature, this buffer against collisions, this friction
which upsets our calculations but without which
existence would be intolerable, this crowning glory
of human invention whereby we can be blind and
see at one and the same moment, this blessed in-
consistency, exists here as elsewhere ; and though
the strictest writers on morality have maintained
that it is wicked for a woman to have children at
all, inasmuch as it is wrong to be out of health that
good may come, yet the necessity of the case has
caused a general feeling in favour of passing over
such events in silence, and of assuming their non-
existence except in such flagrant cases as force
themselves on the public notice. Against these the
condemnation of society is inexorable, and if it is
believed that the illness has been dangerous and
protracted, it is almost impossible for a woman to
recover her former position in society.
The above conventions struck me as arbitrary
13S
Views Concerning Death
and cruel; but they put a stop to many fancied ail-
ments ; for the situation, so far from being con-
sidered interesting, is looked upon as savouring
more or less distinctly of a very reprehensible con-
dition of things, and the ladies take care to conceal
it as long as they can even from their own hus-
bands, in anticipation of a severe scolding as soon
as the misdemeanour is discovered. Also the baby
is kept out of sight, except on the day of sign-
ing the birth-formula, until it can walk and talk.
Should the child unhappily die, a coroner's in-
quest is inevitable, but in order to avoid disgracing
a family which may have been hitherto respected,
it is almost invariably found that the child was over
seventy-five years old, and died from the decay of
nature.
139
CHAPTER XIV
MAHAINA
I CONTINUED my sojourn with the Nosnibors. In
a few days Mr. Nosnibor had recovered from his
flogging, and was looking forward with glee to the
fact that the next would be the last. I did not
think that there seemed any occasion even for
this ; but he said it was better to be on the safe
side, and he would make up the dozen. He now
went to his business as usual ; and I understood
that he was never more prosperous, in spite of his
heavy fine. He was unable to give me much of
his time during the day ; for he was one of those
valuable men who are paid, not by the year, month,
week, or day, but by the minute. His wife and
daughters, however, made much of me, and intro-
duced me to their friends, who came in shoals to
call upon me.
One of these persons was a lady called Mahaina.
Zulora (the elder of my host's daughters) ran up
to her and embraced her as soon as she entered
the room, at the same time inquiring tenderly after
her " poor dipsomania." Mahaina answered that
it was just as bad as ever ; she was a perfect martyr
to it, and her excellent health was the only thing
which consoled her under her affliction.
140
Mahaina
Then the other ladies joined in with condolences
and the never-failing suggestions which they had
ready for every mental malady. They recom-
mended their own straightener and disparaged
Mahaina's. Mrs. Nosnibor had a favourite nos-
trum, but I could catch little of its nature. I
heard the words " full confidence that the desire
to drink will cease when the formula has been
repeated * * * this confidence is everything * * *
far from undervaluing a thorough determination
never to touch spirits again * * * fail too often
* * * formula a certain cure (with great emphasis)
* * * prescribed form * * * full conviction."
The conversation then became more audible, and
was carried on at considerable length. I should
perplex myself and the reader by endeavouring to
follow the ingenious perversity of all they said ;
enough, that in the course of time the visit came
to an end, and Mahaina took her leave receiving
affectionate embraces from all the ladies. I had
remained in the background after the first cere-
mony of introduction, for I did not like the looks
of Mahaina, and the conversation displeased me.
When she left the room I had some consolation in
the remarks called forth by her departure.
At first they fell to praising her very demurely.
She was all this that and the other, till I disliked
her more and more at every word, and inquired
how it was that the straighteners had not been
able to cure her as they had cured Mr. Nosnibor.
There was a shade of significance on Mrs. Nos-
141
Erewhon
nibor's face as I said this, which seemed to imply
that she did not consider Mahaina's case to be
quite one for a straightener. It flashed across me
that perhaps the poor woman did not drink at
all. I knew that I ought not to have inquired, but
I could not help it, and asked point blank whether
she did or not.
"We can none of us judge of the condition of
other people," said Mrs. Nosnibor in a gravely
charitable tone and with a look towards Zulora.
"Oh, mamma," answered Zulora, pretending to
be half angry but rejoiced at being able to say
out what she was already longing to insinuate ; " I
don't believe a word of it. It's all indigestion. I
remember staying in the house with her for a
whole month last summer, and I am sure she
never once touched a drop of wine or spirits. The
fact is, Mahaina is a very weakly girl, and she
pretends to get tipsy in order to win a forbearance
from her friends to which she is not entitled. She
is not strong enough for her calisthenic exercises,
and she knows she would be made to do them
unless her inability was referred to moral causes."
Here the younger sister, who was ever sweet and
kind, remarked that she thought Mahaina did tipple
occasionally. " I also think," she added, "that she
sometimes takes poppy juice."
"Well, then, perhaps she does drink sometimes,"
said Zulora ; " but she would make us all think
that she does it much oftener in order to hide her
weakness."
142
Mahaina
And so they went on for half an hour and more,
bandying about the question as to how far their
late visitor's intemperance was real or no. Every
now and then they would join in some charitable
commonplace, and would pretend to be all of one
mind that Mahaina was a person whose bodily
health would be excellent if it were not for her
unfortunate inability to refrain from excessive
drinking ; but as soon as this appeared to be fairly
settled they began to be uncomfortable until they
had undone their work and left some serious im-
putation upon her constitution. At last, seeing that
the debate had assumed the character of a cyclone
or circular storm, going round and round and round
and round till one could never say where it began
nor where it ended, I made some apology for an
abrupt departure and retired to my own room.
Here at least I was alone, but I was very un-
happy. I had fallen upon a set of people who, in
spite of their high civilisation and many excellences,
had been so warped by the mistaken views pre-
sented to them during childhood from generation
to generation, that it was impossible to see how
they could ever clear themselves. Was there
nothing which I could say to make them feel
that the constitution of a person's body was a
thing over which he or she had had at any rate
no initial control whatever, while the mind was
a perfectly different thing, and capable of being
created anew and directed according to the plea-
sure of its possessor ? Could I never bring them
143
Erewhon
to see that while habits of mind and character were
entirely independent of initial mental force and
early education, the body was so much a creature
of parentage and circumstances, that no punish-
ment for ill-health should be ever tolerated save
as a protection from contagion, and that even
where punishment was inevitable it should be
attended with compassion ? Surely, if the un-
fortunate Mahaina were to feel that she could
avow her bodily weakness without fear of being
despised for her infirmities, and if there were
medical men to whom she could fairly state her
case, she would not hesitate about doing so
through the fear of taking nasty medicine. It was
possible that her malady was incurable (for I had
heard enough to convince me that her dipsomania
was only a pretence and that she was temperate
in all her habits) ; in that case she might perhaps
be justly subject to annoyances or even to restraint;
but who could say whether she was curable or
not, until she was able to make a clean breast
of her symptoms instead of concealing them ? In
their eagerness to stamp out disease, these people
overshot their mark ; for people had become so
clever at dissembling — they painted their faces
with such consummate skill — they repaired the
decay of time and the effects of mischance with
such profound dissimulation — that it was really
impossible to say whether any one was well or ill
till after an intimate acquaintance of months or
years. Even then the shrewdest were constantly
144
Mahaina
mistaken in their judgements, and marriages were
often contracted with most deplorable results, owing
to the art with which infirmity had been concealed.
It appeared to me that the first step towards the
cure of disease should be the announcement of
the fact to a person's near relations and friends.
If any one had a headache, he ought to be per-
mitted within reasonable limits to say so at once,
and to retire to his own bedroom and take a pill,
without every one's looking grave and tears being
shed and all the rest of it. As it was, even upon
hearing it whispered that somebody else was
subject to headaches, a whole company must look
as though they had never had a headache in their
lives. It is true they were not very prevalent,
for the people were the healthiest and most comely
imaginable, owing to the severity with which ill
health was treated ; still, even the best were liable
to be out of sorts sometimes, and there were few
families that had not a medicine-chest in a cup-
board somewhere.
145
CHAPTER XV
THE MUSICAL BANKS
On my return to the drawing-room, I found that
the Mahaina current had expended itself. The
ladies were just putting away their work and
preparing to go out. 1 asked them where they
were going. They answered with a certain air of
reserve that they were going to the bank to get
some money.
Now I had already collected that the mercantile
affairs of the Erewhonians were conducted on a
totally different system from our own ; I had, how-
ever, gathered little hitherto, except that they had
two distinct commercial systems, of which the one
appealed more strongly to the imagination than
anything to which we are accustomed in Europe,
inasmuch as the banks that were conducted upon
this system were decorated in the most profuse
fashion, and all mercantile transactions were
accompanied with music, so that they were called
Musical Banks, though the music was hideous to
a European ear.
As for the system itself I never understood it,
neither can I do so now : they have a code in
connection with it, which I have not the slightest
doubt that they understand, but no foreigner can
146
The Musical Banks
hope to do so. One rule runs into, and against,
another as in a most compHcated grammar, or as
in Chinese pronunciation, wherein I am told that
the slightest change in accentuation or tone of voice
alters the meaning of a whole sentence. Whatever
is incoherent in my description must be referred to
the fact of my never having attained to a full com-
prehension of the subject.
So far, however, as I could collect anything
certain^ I gathered that they have two distinct
currencies, each under the control of its own banks
and mercantile codes. One of these (the one with
the Musical Banks) was supposed to be the system,
and to give out the currency in which all monetary
transactions should be carried on ; and as far as I
could see, all who wished to be considered respect-
able, kept a larger or smaller balance at these
banks. On the other hand, if there is one thing of
which I am more sure than another, it is that the
amount so kept had no direct commercial value in
the outside world ; I am sure that the managers
and cashiers of the Musical Banks were not paid in
their own currency. Mr. Nosnibor used to go to
these banks, or rather to the great mother bank of
the city, sometimes but not very often. He was a
pillar of one of the other kind of banks, though he
appeared to hold some minor office also in the
musical ones. The ladies generally went alone ; as
indeed was the case in most families, except on
state occasions.
I had long wanted to know more of this strange
147
Erewhon
system, and had the greatest desire to accompany
my hostess and her daughters. I had seen them
go out almost every morning since my arrival and
had noticed that they carried their purses in their
hands, not exactly ostentatiously, yet just so as that
those who met them should see whither they were
going. I had never, however, yet been asked to go
with them myself.
It is not easy to convey a person's manner by
words, and I can hardly give any idea of the
peculiar feehng that came upon me when I saw the
ladies on the point of starting for the bank. There
was a something of regret, a something as though
they would wish to take me with them, but did not
like to ask me, and yet as though I were hardly to
ask to be taken. I was determined, however, to
bring matters to an issue with my hostess about my
going with them, and after a little parleying, and
many inquiries as to whether I was perfectly sure
that I myself wished to go, it was decided that I
might do so.
We passed through several streets of more or less
considerable houses, and at last turning round a
corner we came upon a large piazza, at the end of
which was a magnificent building, of a strange but
noble architecture and of great antiquity. It did
not open directly on to the piazza, there being a
screen, through which was an archway, between
the piazza and the actual precincts of the bank.
On passing under the archway we entered upon a
green sward, round which there ran an arcade or
148
The Musical Banks
cloister, while in front of us uprose the majestic
towers of the bank and its venerable front, which
was divided into three deep recesses and adorned
with all sorts of marbles and many sculptures. On
either side there were beautiful old trees wherein
the birds were busy by the hundred, and a number
of quaint but substantial houses of singularly com-
fortable appearance ; they were situated in the
midst of orchards and gardens, and gave me an
impression of great peace and plenty.
Indeed it had been no error to say that this
building was one that appealed to the imagination ;
it did more — it carried both imagination and judge-
ment by storm. It was an epic in stone and
marble, and so powerful was the effect it produced
on me, that as I beheld it I was charmed and
melted. I felt more conscious of the existence of
a remote past. One knows of this always, but the
knowledge is never so living as in the actual
presence of some witness to the life of bygone ages.
I felt how short a space of human life was the
period of our own existence. I was more impressed
with my own littleness, and much more inclinable
to believe that the people whose sense of the fitness
of things was equal to the upraising of so serene a
handiwork, were hardly likely to be wrong in the
conclusions they might come to upon any subject.
My feeling certainly was that the currency of this
bank must be the right one.
We crossed the sward and entered the building.
If the outside had been impressive the inside was
149
Erewhon
\ even more so. It was very lofty and divided into
several parts by walls which rested upon massive
pillars ; the windows were filled with stained glass
descriptive of the principal commercial incidents of
the bank for many ages. In a remote part of the
building there were men and boys singing ; this
was the only disturbing feature, for as the gamut
was still unknown, there was no music in the
country which could be agreeable to a European
ear. The singers seemed to have derived their in-
spirations from the songs of birds and the wailing of
the wind, which last they tried to imitate in melan-
choly cadences that at times degenerated into a
howl. To my thinking the noise was hideous, but
it produced a great effect upon my companions,
who professed themselves much moved. As soon
as the singing was over, the ladies requested me to
stay where I was while they went inside the place
from which it had seemed to come.
During their absence certain reflections forced
themselves upon me.
In the first place, it struck me as strange that the
building should be so nearly empty ; I was almost
alone, and the few besides myself had been led by
curiosity, and had no intention of doing business
with the bank. But there might be more inside.
I stole up to the curtain, and ventured to draw the
extreme edge of it on one side. No, there was
hardly any one there. I saw a large number of
cashiers, all at their desks ready to pay cheques,
and one or two who seemed to be the managing
150
The Musical Banks
partners. I also saw my hostess and her daughters
and two or three other ladies ; also three or four
old women and the boys from one of the neighbour-
ing Colleges of Unreason ; but there was no one
else. This did not look as though the bank was
doing a very large business ; and yet I had always
been told that every one in the city dealt with this
establishment.
I cannot describe all that took place in these
inner precincts, for a sinister-looking person in a
black gown came and made unpleasant gestures at
me for peeping. I happened to have in my pocket
one of the Musical Bank pieces, which had been
given me by Mrs. Nosnibor, so I tried to tip him
with it ; but having seen what it was, he became so
angry that I had to give him a piece of the other
kind of money to pacify him. When I had done
this he became civil directly. As soon as he was
gone I ventured to take a second look, and saw
Zulora in the very act of giving a piece of paper
which looked like a cheque to one of the cashiers.
He did not examine it, but putting his hand into an
antique coffer hard by, he pulled out a quantity of
metal pieces apparently at random, and handed
them over without counting them ; neither did
Zulora count them, but put them into her purse
and went back to her seat after dropping a few
pieces of the other coinage into an alms box that
stood by the cashier's side. Mrs. Nosnibor and
Arowhena then did likewise, but a little later they
gave all (so far as I could see) that they had
Erewhon
received from the cashier back to a verger, who I
have no doubt put it back into the coffer from
which it had been taken. They then began making
towards the curtain ; whereon I let it drop and re-
treated to a reasonable distance.
They soon joined me. For some few minutes we
all kept silence, but at last I ventured to remark
that the bank was not so busy to-day as it probably
often was. On this Mrs. Nosnibor said that it was
indeed melancholy to see what little heed people
paid to the most precious of all institutions. I
could say nothing in reply, but I have ever been of
opinion that the greater part of mankind do ap-
proximately know where they get that which does
them good.
Mrs. Nosnibor went on to say that I must not
think there was any want of confidence in the
bank because I had seen so few people there ; the
heart of the country was thoroughly devoted to
these establishments, and any sign of their being in
danger would bring in support from the most un-
expected quarters. It was only because people
knew them to be so very safe, that in some cases
(as she lamented to say in Mr. Nosnibor's) they felt
that their support was unnecessary. Moreover
these institutions never departed from the safest
and most approved banking principles. Thus they
never allowed interest on deposit, a thing now fre-
quently done by certain bubble companies, which
by doing an illegitimate trade had drawn many cus-
tomers away ; and even the shareholders were
152
The Musical Banks
fewer than formerly, owing to the innovations of
these unscrupulous persons, for the Musical Banks
paid little or no dividend, but divided their profits
by way of bonus on the original shares once in
every thirty thousand years ; and as it was now
only two thousand 3^ears since there had been one
of these distributions, people felt that they could
not hope for another in their own time and pre-
ferred investments whereby they got some more
tangible return ; all which, she said, was very
melancholy to think of.
Having made these last admissions, she returned
to her original statement, namely, that every one in
the country really supported these banks. As to
the fewness of the people, and the absence of the
able-bodied, she pointed out to me with some jus-
tice that this was exactly what we ough' .o expect.
The men who were most conversant about the
stability of human institutions, such as the lawyers,
men of science, doctors, statesmen, painters, and
the like, were just those who were most likely to be
misled by their own fancied accomplishments, and
to be made unduly suspicious by their licentious
desire for greater present return, which was at the
root of nine-tenths of the opposition ; by their
vanity, which would prompt them to affect superi-
ority to the prejudices of the vulgar ; and by the
stings of their own conscience, which was con-
stantly upbraiding them in the most cruel manner
on account of their bodies, which were generally
diseased.
153
Erewhon
Let a person's intellect (she continued) be never
so sound, unless his body is in absolute health, he
can form no judgement worth having on matters of
this kind. The body is everything : it need not
perhaps be such a strong body (she said this
because she saw that I was thinking of the old and
infirm-looking folks whom I had seen in the bank),
but it must be in perfect health ; in this case, the
less active strength it had the more free would be
the working of the intellect, and therefore the
sounder the conclusion. The people, then, whom
I had seen at the bank were in reality the very ones
whose opinions were most worth having ; they de-
clared its advantages to be incalculable, and even
professed to consider the immediate return to be
far larger than they were entitled to ; and so she
ran on, nor did she leave off till we had got back to
the house.
She might say what she pleased, but her manner
carried no conviction, and later on I saw signs of
general indifference to these banks that were not to
be mistaken. Their supporters often denied it, but
the denial was generallyso couched as to add another
proof of its existence. In commercial panics, and in
times of general distress, the people as a mass did
not so much as even think of turning to these banks.
A few might do so, some from habit and early
training, some from the instinct that prompts us to
catch at any straw when we think ourselves drown-
ing, but few from a genuine belief that the Musical
Banks could save them from iinancial ruin, if they
154
The Musical Banks
were unable to meet their engagements in the other
kind of currency.
In conversation with one of the Musical Bank
managers I ventured to hint this as plainly as polite-
ness would allow. He said that it had been more
or less true till lately ; but that now they had put
fresh stained glass windows into all the banks in the
country, and repaired the buildings, and enlarged
the organs ; the presidents, moreover, had taken to
riding in omnibuses and talking nicely to people in
the streets, and to remembering the ages of their
children, and giving them things when they were
naughty, so that all would henceforth go smoothly.
" But haven't you done anything to the money
itself ? " said I, timidly.
"It is not necessary," he rejoined; "not in the
least necessary, I assure you."
And yet any one could see that the money given
out at these banks was not that with which people
bought their bread, meat, and clothing. It was
like it at a first glance, and was stamped with de-
signs that were often of great beauty ; it was not,
again, a spurious coinage, made with the intention
that it should be mistaken for the money in actual
use ; it was more like a toy money, or the counters
used for certain games at cards ; for, notwithstand-
ing the beauty of the designs, the material on which
they were stamped was as nearly valueless as pos-
sible. Some were covered with tin foil, but the
greater part were frankly of a cheap base metal the
exact nature of which I was not able to determine.
155
Erewhon
Indeed they were made of a great variety of metals,
or, perhaps more accurately, alloys, some of which
were hard, while others would bend easily and
assume almost any form which their possessor
might desire at the moment.
Of course every one knew that their commercial
value was nil, but all those who wished to be con-
sidered respectable thought it incumbent upon
them to retain a few coins in their possession, and
to let them be seen from time to time in their hands
and purses. Not only this, but they would stick to
it that the current coin of the realm was dross in
comparison with the Musical Bank coinage. Per-
haps, however, the strangest thing of all was that
these very people would at times make fun in small
ways of the whole system ; indeed, there was hardly
any insinuation against it which they would not
tolerate and even applaud in their daily newspapers
if written anonymously, while if the same thing
were said without ambiguity to their faces — nomi-
native case verb and accusative being all in their
right places, and doubt impossible — they would
consider themselves very seriously and justly out-
raged, and accuse the speaker of being unwell.
I never could understand (neither can I quite do
so now, though I begin to see better what they
mean) why a single currency should not suffice
them ; it would seem to me as though all their
dealings would have been thus greatly simplified ;
but I was met with a look of horror if ever I dared
to hint at it. Even those who to my certain know-
156
The Musical Banks
ledge kept only just enough money at the Musical
Banks to swear by, would call the other banks
(where their securities really lay) cold, deadening,
paralysing, and the like.
I noticed another thing, moreover, which struck
me greatly. I was taken to the opening of one of
these banks in a neighbouring town, and saw a
large assemblage of cashiers and managers. I sat
opposite them and scanned their faces attentively.
They did not please me ; they lacked, with few ex-
ceptions, the true Erewhonian frankness ; and an
equal number from any other class would have
looked happier and better men. When I met them
in the streets they did not seem like other people,
but had, as a general rule, a cramped expression
upon their faces which pained and depressed me.
Those who came from the country were better ;
they seemed to have lived less as a separate class,
and to be freer and healthier ; but in spite of my
seeing not a few whose looks were benign and
noble, I could not help asking myself concerning
the greater number of those whom I met, whether
Erewhon would be a better country if their ex-
pression were to be transferred to the people in
general. I answered myself emphatically, no. The
expression on the faces of the high Ydgrunites was
that which one would wish to diffuse, and not that
of the cashiers.
A man's expression is his sacrament ; it is the
outward and visible sign of his inward and spiritual
grace, or want of grace ; and as I looked at the
^37
Erewhon
majority of these men, I could not help feeling that
there must be a something in their lives which had
stunted their natural development, and that they
would have been more healthily minded in any
other profession. I was always sorry for them, for
in nine cases out of ten they were well-meaning
persons ; they were in the main very poorly paid ;
their constitutions were as a rule above suspicion ;
and there were recorded numberless instances of
their self-sacrifice and generosity ; but they had had
the misfortune to have been betrayed into a false
position at an age for the most part when their
judgement was not matured, and after having been
kept in studied ignorance of the real difficulties of
the system. But this did not make their position
the less a false one, and its bad effects upon them-
selves were unmistakable.
Few people would speak quite openly and freely
before them, which struck me as a very bad sign.
When they were in the room every one would talk
as though all currency save that of the Musical
Banks should be abolished ; and yet they knew
perfectly well that even the cashiers themselves
hardly used the Musical Bank money more than
other people. It was expected of them that they
should appear to do so, but this was all. The less
thoughtful of them did not seem particularly un-
happy, but many were plainly sick at heart, though
perhaps they hardly knew it, and would not have
owned to being so. Some few were opponents of
the whole system ; but these were liable to be dis-
158
The Musical Banks
missed from their employment at any moment, and
this rendered them very careful, for a man who had
once been cashier at a Musical Bank was out of the
field for other employment, and was generally un-
fitted for it by reason of that course of treatment
which was commonly called his education. In fact
it was a career from which retreat was virtually
impossible, and into which young men were gener-
ally induced to enter before they could be reason-
ably expected, considering their training, to have
formed any opinions of their own. Not unfre-
quently, indeed, they were induced, by what we in
England should call undue influence, concealment,
and fraud. Few indeed were those who had the
courage to insist on seeing both sides of the ques-
tion before they committed themselves to what was
practically a leap in the dark. One would have
thought that caution in this respect was an ele-
mentary principle, — one of the first things that an
honourable man would teach his boy to understand ;
but in practice it was not so.
I even saw cases in which parents bought the
right of presenting to the office of cashier at one
of these banks, with the fixed determination that
some one of their sons (perhaps a mere child)
should fill it. There was the lad himself — growing
up with every promise of becoming a good and
honourable man — but utterly without warning con-
cerning the iron shoe which his natural protector
was providing for him. Who could say that the
whole thing would not end in a life-long lie, and
»59
Erewhon
vain chafing to escape ? I confess that there were
few things in Erewhon which shocked me more
than this.
Yet we do something not so very different from
this even in England, and as regards the dual com-
mercial system, all countries have, and have had, a
law of the land, and also another law, which,
though professedly more sacred, has far less effect
on their daily life and actions. It seems as though
the need for some law over and above, and some-
times even conflicting with, the law of the land,
must spring from something that lies deep down
in man's nature ; indeed, it is hard to think that
man could ever have become man at all, but for
the gradual evolution of a perception that though
this world looms so large when we are in it, it
may seem a little thing when we have got away
from it.
When man had grown to the perception that in
the everlasting Is-and-Is-Not of nature, the world
and all that it contains, including man, is at the
same time both seen and unseen, he felt the need
of two rules of life, one for the seen, and the other
for the unseen side of things. For the laws affect-
ing the seen world he claimed the sanction of seen
powers; for the unseen (of which he knows nothing
save that it exists and is powerful) he appealed to
the unseen power (of which, again, he knows
nothing save that it exists and is powerful) to
which he gives the name of God.
Some Erevvhonian opinions concerning the intel-
i6o
The Musical Banks
ligence of the unborn embryo, that I regret my
space win not permit me to lay before the reader,
have led me to conclude that the Erewhonian
Musical Banks, and perhaps the religious systems
of all countries, are now more or less of an
attempt to uphold the unfathomable and un-
conscious instinctive wisdom of millions of past
generations, against the comparatively shallow, con-
sciously reasoning, and ephemeral conclusions
drawn from that of the last thirty or forty.
The saving feature of the Erewhonian Musical
Bank system (as distinct from the quasi-idolatrous
views w'hich coexist with it, and on which I will
touch later) was that while it bore witness to the
existence of a kingdom that is not of this world, it
made no attempt to pierce the veil that hides it
from human eyes. It is here that almost all re-
ligions go wrong. Their priests try to make us
believe that they know more about the unseen
world than those whose eyes are still blinded by
the seen, can ever know — forgetting that while to
deny the existence of an unseen kingdom is bad,
to pretend that we know more about it than its
bare existence is no better.
This chapter is already longer than I intended,
but I should like to say that in spite of the saving
feature of which I have just spoken, I cannot help
thinking that the Erewhonians are on the eve of
some great change in their religious opinions, or
at any rate in that part of them which finds ex-
pression through their Musical Banks. So far as I
l6l L
Erewhon
could see, fully ninety per cent, of the population
of the metropolis looked upon these banks with
something not far removed from contempt. If this
is so, any such startling event as is sure to arise
sooner or later, may serve as nucleus to a new
order of things that will be more in harmony with
both the heads and hearts of the people.
I62
CHAPTER XVI
AROWHENA
The reader will perhaps have learned by this time
a thing which I had myself suspected before I had
been twenty-four hours in Mr. Nosnibor's house —
I mean, that though the Nosnibors show^ed me every
attention, I could not cordially like them, with the
exception of Arowhena who was quite different
from the rest. They were not fair samples of
Erewhonians. I saw many families with whom
they were on visiting terms, whose manners
charmed me more than I know how to say, but
I never could get over my original prejudice against
Mr. Nosnibor for having embezzled the money.
Mrs. Nosnibor, too, was a very worldly woman,
yet to hear her talk one would have thought that
she was singularly the reverse ; neither could I
endure Zulora; Arowhena however was perfection.
She it was who ran all the little errands for her
mother and Mr. Nosnibor and Zulora, and gave
those thousand proofs of sweetness and unsel-
fishness which some one member of a family is
generally required to give. All day long it was
Arowhena this, and Arowhena that ; but she never
seemed to know that she was being put upon, and
was always bright and willing from morning till
163
Erewhon
evening. Zulora certainly was very handsome, but
Arowhena was infinitely the more graceful of the
two and was the very ne plus ultra of youth and
beauty. I will not attempt to describe her, for any-
thing that I could say would fall so far short of the
reality as only to mislead the reader. Let him
think of the very loveliest that he can imagine, and
he will still be below the truth. Having said this
much, 1 need hardly say that 1 had fallen in love
with her.
She must have seen what 1 felt for her, but I
tried my hardest not to let it appear even by the
slightest sign. I had many reasons for this. 1 had
no idea what Mr. and Mrs. Nosnibor would say to
it ; and I knew that Arowhena would not look at
me (at any rate not yet) if her father and mother
disapproved, which they probably would, consider-
ing that I had nothing except the pension of about
a pound a day of our money which the King had
granted me. I did not yet know of a more serious
obstacle.
In the meantime, I may say that I had been pre-
sented at court, and was told that my reception had
been considered as singularly gracious ; indeed, I
had several interviews both with the King and
Queen, at which from time to time the Queen got
everything from me that I had in the world, clothes
and all, except the two buttons I had given to
Yram, the loss of which seemed to annoy her a
good deal. I was presented with a court suit, and
her Majesty had my old clothes put upon a wooden
164
Arowhena
dummy, on which they probably remain, unless
they have been removed in consequence of my
subsequent downfall. His Majesty's manners were
those of a cultivated English gentleman. He was
much pleased at hearing that our government was
monarchical, and that the mass of the people were
resolute that it should not be changed ; indeed, 1
was so much encouraged by the evident pleasure
with which he heard me, that I ventured to quote
to him those beautiful lines of Shakespeare's —
" There's a divinity doth hedge a king,
Rough hew him how we may ;"
but I was sorry I had done so afterwards, for I do
not think his Majesty admired the lines as much
as I could have wished.
There is no occasion for me to dwell further
upon my experience of the court, but I ought
perhaps to allude to one of my conversations with
the King, inasmuch as it was pregnant with the
most important consequences.
He had been asking me about my watch, and
enquiring whether such dangerous inventions were
tolerated in the country from which I came. I
owned with some confusion that watches were not
uncommon ; but observing the gravity which came
over his Majesty's face I presumed to say that they
were fast dying out, and that we had few if any
other mechanical contrivances of which he was
likely to disapprove. Upon his asking me to name
some of our most advanced machines, I did not
165
Erewhon
dare to tell him of our steam-engines and railroads
and electric telegraphs, and was puzzling my brains
to think what I could say, when, of all things in the
world, balloons suggested themselves, and I gave
him an account of a very remarkable ascent which
was made some years ago. The King was too
polite to contradict, but I felt sure that he did
not believe me, and from that day forward though
he always showed me the attention which was due
to my genius (for in this light was my complexion
regarded), he never questioned me about the man-
ners and customs of my country.
To return, however, to Arowhena. I soon
gathered that neither Mr. nor Mrs. Nosnibor
would have any objection to my marrying into
the family ; a physical excellence is considered
in Erewhon as a set off against almost any other
disqualification, and my light hair was sufficient
to make me an eligible match. But along with
this welcome fact I gathered another which filled
me with dismay : I was expected to marry Zulora,
for whom I had already conceived a great aversion.
At first I hardly noticed the little hints and the
artifices which were resorted to in order to bring
us together, but after a time they became too
plain. Zulora, whether she was in love with me
or not, was bent on marrying me, and 1 gathered
in talking with a young gentleman of my acquaint-
ance who frequently visited the house and whom
I greatly disliked, that it was considered a sacred
and inviolable rule that whoever married into a
i66
Arowhena
family must marry the eldest daughter at that
time unmarried. The young gentleman urged
this upon me so frequently that I at last saw he
was in love with Arowhena himself, and wanted
me to get Zulora out of the way ; but others told
me the same story as to the custom of the country,
and I saw there was a serious difficulty. My only
comfort was that Arowhena snubbed my rival and
would not look at him. Neither would she look
at me ; nevertheless there was a difference in the
manner of her disregard ; this was all 1 could
get from her.
Not that she avoided me ; on the contrary I
had many a tete-a-tete with her, for her mother
and sister were anxious for me to deposit some
part of my pension in the Musical Banks, this
being in accordance with the dictates of their
goddess Ydgrun, of whom both Mrs. Nosnibor
and Zulora were great devotees. I was not sure
whether I had kept my secret from being per-
ceived by Arowhena herself, but none of the
others suspected me, so she was set upon me to
get me to open an account, at any rate pro forma,
with the Musical Banks ; and I need hardly say
that she succeeded. But I did not yield at once ;
I enjoyed the process of being argued with too
keenly to lose it by a prompt concession ; besides,
a little hesitation rendered the concession itself
more valuable. It was in the course of conversa-
tions on this subject that I learned the more
defined religious opinions of the Erewhonians,
167
Erewhon
that coexist with the Musical Bank system, but
are not recognised by those curious institutions.
I will describe them as briefly as possible in the
following chapters before I return to the personal
adventures of Arowhena and myself.
They were idolaters, though of a comparatively
enlightened kind ; but here, as in other things,
there was a discrepancy between their professed
and actual belief, for they had a genuine and
potent faith which existed without recognition
alongside of their idol worship.
The gods whom they worship openly are personi-
fications of human qualities, as justice, strength,
hope, fear, love, &c., &c. The people think that
prototypes of these have a real objective existence
in a region far beyond the clouds, holding, as did
the ancients, that they are like men and women
both in body and passion, except that they are
even comelier and more powerful, and also that
they can render themselves invisible to human
eyesight. They are capable of being propitiated
by mankind and of coming to the assistance of
those who ask their aid. Their interest in human
affairs is keen, and on the whole beneficent ; but
tiiey become very angry if neglected, and punish
rather the first they come upon, than the actual
person who has offended them ; their fury being
blind when it is raised, though never raised without
reason. They will not punish with any less severity
when people sin against them from ignorance, and
without the chance of having had knowledge ; they
1 68
Arowhena
will take no excuses of this kind, but are even as
the English law, which assumes itself to be known
to every one.
Thus they have a law that two pieces of matter
may not occupy the same space at the same
moment, which law is presided over and ad-
ministered by the gods of time and space jointly,
so that if a flying stone and a man's head attempt
to outrage these gods, by " arrogating a right which
they do not possess " (for so it is written in one
of their books), and to occupy the same space
simultaneously, a severe punishment, sometimes
even death itself, is sure to follow, without any
regard to whether the stone knew that the man's
head was there, or the head the stone ; this at
least is their view of the common accidents of
life. Moreover, they hold their deities to be quite
regardless of motives. Witii them it is the thing
done which is everything, and the motive goes
for nothing.
Thus they hold it strictly forbidden for a man
to go without common air in his lungs for more
than a very few minutes ; and if by any chance
he gets into the water, the air-god is very angry,
and will not suffer it ; no matter whether the
man got into the water by accident or on purpose,
whether through the attempt to save a child or
through presumptuous contempt of the air-god,
the air-god will kill him, unless he keeps his head
high enough out of the water, and thus gives the
air-god his due.
169
Erewhon
This with regard to the deities who manage
physical affairs. Over and above these they per-
sonify hope, fear, love, and so forth, giving them
temples and priests, and carving likenesses of them
in stone, which they verily believe to be faithful
representations of living beings who are only not
human in being more than human. If any one
denies the objective existence of these divinities,
and says that there is really no such being as a
beautiful woman called Justice, with her eyes
blinded and a pair of scales, positively living
and moving in a remote and ethereal region, but
that justice is only the personified expression of
certain modes of human thought and action —
they say that he denies the existence of justice
in denying her personality, and that he is a wanton
disturber of men's religious convictions. They
detest nothing so much as any attempt to lead them
to higher spiritual conceptions of the deities whom
they profess to worship. Arowhena and I had a
pitched battle on this point, and should have had
many more but for my prudence in allowing her
to get the better of me.
I am sure that in her heart she was suspicious
of her own position for she returned more than
once to the subject. " Can you not see," I had
exclaimed, " that the fact of justice being admirable
will not be affected by the absence of a belief in
her being also a living agent ? Can you really
think that men will be one whit less hopeful,
because they no longer believe that hope is an
170
Arowhena
actual person ? " She shook her head, and said
that with men's behef in the personaHty all in-
centive to the reverence of the thing itself, as
justice or hope, would cease ; men from that hour
would never be either just or hopeful again.
I could not move her, nor, indeed, did I seriously
wish to do so. She deferred to me in most things,
but she never shrank from maintaining her opinions
if they were put in question ; nor does she to this
day abate one jot of her belief in the religion of
her childhood, though in compliance with my re-
peated entreaties she has allowed herself to be
baptized into the English Church. She has, how-
ever, made a gloss upon her original faith to the
effect that her baby and I are the only human
beings exempt from the vengeance of the deities
for not believing in their personality. She is quite
clear that we are exempted. She should never
have so strong a conviction of it otherwise. How
it has come about she does not know, neither does
she wish to know ; there are things which it is
better not to know and this is one of them ; but
when I tell her that I believe in her deities as
much as she does — and that it is a difference
about words, not things, she becomes silent with
a slight emphasis.
I own that she very nearly conquered me once ;
for she asked me what I should think if she were to
tell me that my God, whose nature and attributes I
had been explaining to her, was but the expression
for man's highest conception of goodness, wisdom,
171
Erewhon
and power ; that in order to generate a more vivid
conception of so great and glorious a thought, man
had personified it and called it by a name ; that it
was an unworthy conception of the Deity to hold
Him personal, inasmuch as escape from human
contingencies became thus impossible ; that the
real thing men should worship was the Divine,
whereinsoever they could find it; that "God"
was but man's way of expressing his sense of the
Divine ; that as justice, hope, wisdom, &c., were
all parts of goodness, so God was the expression
which embraced all goodness and all good power ;
that people would no more cease to love God on
ceasing to believe in His objective personality, than
they had ceased to love justice on discovering that
she was not really personal ; nay, that they would
never truly love Him till they saw Him thus.
She said all this in her artless way, and with
none of the coherence with which I have here
written it ; her face kindled, and she felt sure that
she had convinced me that I was wrong, and that
justice was a living person. Indeed I did wince
a little ; but 1 recovered myself immediately, and
pointed out to her that we had books whose genu-
ineness was beyond all possibility of doubt, as they
were certainly none of them less than 1800 years
old ; that in these there were the most authentic
accounts of men who had been spoken to by the
Deity Himself, and of one prophet who had been
allowed to see the back parts of God through the
hand that was laid over his face.
Arowhena
This was conclusive ; and I spoke with such
solemnity that she was a little frightened, and
only answered that they too had their books, in
which their ancestors had seen the gods ; on which
1 saw that further argument was not at all likely
to convince her ; and fearing that she might tell
her mother what 1 had been saying, and that I
might lose the hold upon her affections which I
was beginning to feel pretty sure that I was
obtaining, I began to let her have her own way,
and to convince me ; neither till after we were
safely married did I show the cloven hoof again.
Nevertheless, her remarks have haunted me, and
I have since met with many very godly people
who have had a great knowledge of divinity, but
no sense of the divine: and again, I have seen a
radiance upon the face of those who were worship-
ping the divine either in art or nature — in picture
or statue — in field or cloud or sea — in man, woman,
or child — which I have never seen kindled by any
talking about the nature and attributes of God.
Mention but the word divinity, and our sense of
the divine is clouded.
173
CHAPTER XVII
YDGRUN AND THE YDGRUNITES
In spite of all the to-do they make about their
idols, and the temples they build, and the priests
and priestesses whom they support, I could never
think that their professed religion was more than
skin-deep ; but they had another which they carried
with them into all their actions ; and although no
one from the outside of things would suspect it to
have any existence at all, it was in reality their great
guide, the mariner's compass of their lives ; so that
there were very few things which they ever either
did, or refrained from doing, without reference to
its precepts.
Now I suspected that their professed faith had
no great hold upon them — firstly, because I often
heard the priests complain of the prevailing in-
difference, and they would hardly have done so
without reason ; secondly, because of the show
which was made, for there was none of this about
the worship of the goddess Ydgrun, in whom they
really did believe ; thirdly, because though the
priests were constantly abusing Ydgrun as being
the great enemy of the gods, it was well known that
she had no more devoted worshippers in the whole
country than these very persons, who were often
174
Ydgrun and Ydgrunites
priests of Ydgrun rather than of their own deities.
Neither am I by any means sure that these were
not the best of the priests.
Ydgrun certainly occupied a very anomalous
position ; she was held to be both omnipresent and
omnipotent, but she was not an elevated concep-
tion, and was sometimes both cruel and absurd.
Even her most devoted worshippers were a little
ashamed of her, and served her more with heart
and in deed than with their tongues. Theirs was
no lip service ; on the contrary, even when worship-
ping her most devoutly, they would often deny her.
Take her all in all, however, she was a beneficent
and useful deity, who did not care how much she
was denied so long as she was obeyed and feared,
and who kept hundreds of thousands in those paths
which make life tolerably happy, who would never
have been kept there otherwise, and over whom a
higher and more spiritual ideal would have had
no power.
I greatly doubt whether the Erewhonians are yet
prepared for any better religion, and though (con-
sidering my gradually strengthened conviction that
they were the representatives of the lost tribes of
Israel) I would have set about converting them at
all hazards had I seen the remotest prospect of
success, I could hardly contemplate the displace-
ment of Ydgrun as the great central object of their
regard without admitting that it would be attended
with frightful consequences ; in fact were I a mere
philosopher, 1 should sav that the gradual raising
175
Erewhon
of the popular conception of Ydgrun would be the
greatest spiritual boon which could be conferred
upon them, and that nothing could effect this ex-
cept example. I generally found that those who
complained most loudly that Ydgrun was not high
enough for them had hardly as yet come up to the
Ydgrun standard, and I often met with a class of
men whom I called to myself "high Ydgrunites"
(the rest being Ydgrunites, and low Ydgrunites),
who, in the matter of human conduct and the
affairs of life, appeared to me to have got about as
far as it is in the right nature of man to go.
They were gentlemen in the full sense of the
word ; and what has one not said in saying this ?
They seldom spoke of Ydgrun, or even alluded to
her, but would never run counter to her dictates
without ample reason for doing so : in such cases
they would override her with due self-reliance, and
the goddess seldom punished them ; for they are
brave, and Ydgrun is not. They had most of them
a smattering of the hypothetical language, and some
few more than this, but only a few. I do not think
that this language has had much hand in making
them what they are ; but rather that the fact of
their being generally possessed of its rudiments
was one great reason for the reverence paid to the
hypothetical language itself.
Being inured from youth to exercises and ath-
letics of all sorts, and living fearlessly under the
eye of their peers, among whom there exists a high
standard of courage, generosity, honour, and every
176
Ydgrun and Ydgrunites
good and manly quality — what wonder that they
should have become, so to speak, a law unto them-
selves ; and, while taking an elevated view of the
goddess Ydgrun, they should have gradually lost
all faith in the recognised deities of the country ?
These they do not openly disregard, for conformity
until absolutely intolerable is a law of Ydgrun, yet
they have no real belief in the objective existence
of beings which so readily explain themselves as ab-
stractions, and whose personality demands a quasi-
materialism which it baffles the imagination to
realise. They keep their opinions, however, greatly
to themselves, inasmuch as most of their country-
men feel strongly about the gods, and they hold it
wrong to give pain, unless for some greater good
than seems likely to arise from their plain speaking.
On the other hand, surely those whose own
minds are clear about any given matter (even
though it be only that there is little certainty)
should go so far towards imparting that clearness
to others, as to say openly what they think and
why they think it, whenever they can properly do
so ; for they may be sure that they owe their own
clearness almost entirely to the fact that others
have done this by them : after all, they may be
mistaken, and if so, it is for their own and the
general well-being that they should let their error
be seen as distinctly as possible, so that it may
be more easily refuted. I own, therefore, that on
this one point I disapproved of the practice even of
the highest Ydgrunites, and objected to it all the
177 M
Erewhon
more because I knew that I should find my own
future task more easy if the high Ydgrunites had
already undermined the behef which is supposed
to prevail at present.
In other respects they were more like the best
class of Englishmen than any whom I have seen
in other countries. I should have liked to have
persuaded half-a-dozen of them to come over to
England and go upon the stage, for they had most
of them a keen sense of humour and a taste for
acting : they would be of great use to us. The
example of a real gentleman is, if I may say so
without profanity, the best of all gospels ; such a
man upon the stage becomes a potent humanising
influence, an Ideal which all may look upon for
a shilling.
I always liked and admired these men, and al-
though I could not help deeply regretting their
certain ultimate perdition (for they had no sense of
a hereafter, and their only religion was that of self-
respect and consideration for other people), I never
dared to take so great a liberty with them as to
attempt to put them in possession of my own
religious convictions, in spite of my knowing that
they were the only ones which could make them
really good and happy, either here or hereafter. I
did try sometimes, being impelled to do so by a
strong sense of duty, and by my deep regret that
so much that was admirable should be doomed
to ages if not eternity of torture ; but the words
stuck in my throat as soon as I began.
178
Ydgrun and Ydgrunites
Whether a professional missionary might have
a better chance I know not ; such persons must
doubtless know more about the science of conver-
sion : for myself, I could only be thankful that I
was in the right path, and was obliged to let others
take their chance as yet. If the plan fails by
which I propose to convert them myself, I would
gladly contribute my mite towards the sending two
or three trained missionaries, who have been
known as successful converters of Jews and Ma-
hometans ; but such have seldom much to glory
in the flesh, and when I think of the high Ydgrun-
ites, and of the figure which a missionary would
probably cut among them, I cannot feel sanguine
that much good would be arrived at. Still the
attempt is worth making, and the worst danger to
the missionaries themselves would be that of
being sent to the hospital where Chowbok would
have been sent had he come with me into
Erewhon.
Taking then their religious opinions as a whole, I
must own that the Erewhonians are superstitious,
on account of the views which they hold of their
professed gods, and their entirely anomalous and
inexplicable worship of Ydgrun, a worship at once
the most powerful, yet most devoid of formalism,
that 1 ever met with ; but in practice things worked
better than might have been expected, and the
conflicting claims of Ydgrun and the gods were
arranged by unwritten compromises (for the most
part in Ydgrun's favour), which in ninety-nine
179
Erewhon
cases out of a hundred were very well under-
stood.
I could not conceive why they should not openly
acknowledge high Ydgrunism, and discard the
objective personality of hope, justice, &c. ; but
whenever I so much as hinted at this, I found that
I was on dangerous ground. They would never
have it ; returning constantly to the assertion that
ages ago the divinities were frequently seen, and
that the moment their personality was disbelieved in,
men would leave off practising even those ordinary
virtues which the common experience of mankind
has agreed on as being the greatest secret of happi-
ness. "Who ever heard," they asked, indignantly,
"of such things as kindly training, a good example,
and an enlightened regard to one's own welfare,
being able to keep men straight?" In my hurry,
forgetting things which I ought to have remem-
bered, I answered that if a person could not be
kept straight by these things, there was nothing
that could straighten him, and that if he were not
ruled by the love and fear of men whom he had
seen, neither would he be so by that of the gods
whom he had not seen.
At one time indeed I came upon a small but
growing sect who believed, after a fashion, in the
immortality of the soul and the resurrection from
the dead ; they taught that those who had been
born with feeble and diseased bodies and had
passed their lives in ailing, would be tortured eter-
nally hereafter ; but that those who had been
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Ydgrun and Ydgrunites
born strong and healthy and handsome would be
rewarded for ever and ever. Of moral qualities or
conduct they made no mention.
Bad as this was, it was a step in advance, inas-
much as they did hold out a future state of some
sort, and I was shocked to find that for the most
part they met with opposition, on the score that
their doctrine was based upon no sort of founda-
tion, also that it was immoral in its tendency, and
not to be desired by any reasonable beings.
When I asked how it could be immoral, I was
answered, that if firmly held, it would lead people
to cheapen this present life, making it appear to be
an affair of only secondary importance ; that it
would thus distract men's minds from the perfect-
ing of this world's economy, and was an impatient
cutting, so to speak, of the Gordian knot of life's
problems, whereby some people might gain pre-
sent satisfaction to themselves at the cost of infinite
damage to others ; that the doctrine tended to
encourage the poor in their improvidence, and in
a debasing acquiescence in ills which they might
well remedy ; that the rewards were illusory and
the result, after all, of luck, whose empire should
be bounded by the grave ; that its terrors were
enervating and unjust ; and that even the most
blessed rising would be but the disturbing of a still
more blessed slumber.
To all which I could only say tiiat the thing had
been actually known to happen, and that there
were several well-authenticated instances of people
Erewhon
having died and come to life again — instances
which no man in his senses could doubt.
" If this be so," said my opponent, " we must
bear it as best we may."
I then translated for him, as well as I could, the
noble speech of Hamlet in which he says that it is
the fear lest worse evils may befall us after death
which alone prevents us from rushing into death's
arms.
" Nonsense," he answered, " no man was ever yet
stopped from cutting his throat by any such fears
as your poet ascribes to him — and your poet
probably knew this perfectly well. If a man cuts
his throat he is at bay, and thinks of nothing but
escape, no matter whither, provided he can shufHe
off his present. No. Men are kept at their posts,
not by the fear that if they quit them they may quit
a frying-pan for a fire, but by the hope that if they
hold on, the iire may burn less fiercely. 'The
respect,' to quote your poet, * that makes calamity
of so long a life/ is the consideration that though
calamity may live long, the sufferer may live longer
still."
On this, seeing that there was little probability
of our coming to an agreement, I let the argument
drop, and my opponent presently left me with as
much disapprobation as he could show without
being overtly rude.
1S2
CHAPTER XVIII
BIRTH FORMULA
I HEARD what follows not from Arowhena, but
from Mr. Nosnibor and some of the gentlemen who
occasionally dined at the house : they told me that
the Erewhonians believe in pre-existence ; and not
only this (of which I will write more fully in the
next chapter), but they believe that it is of their own
free act and deed in a previous state that they
come to be born into this world at all. They hold
that the unborn are perpetually plaguing and tor-
menting the married of both sexes, fluttering about
them incessantly, and giving them no peace either
of mind or body until they have consented to take
them under their protection. If this were not so
(this at least is what they urge), it would be a
monstrous freedom for one man to take with
another, to say that he should undergo the chances
and changes of this mortal life without any option
in the matter. No man would have any right to
get married at all, inasmuch as he can never tell what
frightful misery his doing so may entail forcibly
upon a being who cannot be unhappy as long as
he does not exist. They feel this so strongly that
they are resolved to shift the blame on to other
shoulders ; and have fashioned a long mythologv
183
Erewhon
as to the world in which the unborn people live,
and what they do, and the arts and machinations to
which they have recourse in order to get themselves
into our own world. But of this more anon : what
I would relate here is their manner of dealing with
those who do come.
It is a distinguishing peculiarity of the Erewhon-
ians that when they profess themselves to be quite
certain about any matter, and avow it as a base on
which they are to build a system of practice, they
seldom quite believe in it. If they smell a rat
about the precincts of a cherished institution, they
will always stop their noses to it if they can.
This is what most of them did in this matter of
the unborn, for I cannot (and never could) think
that they seriously believed in their mythology con-
cerning pre-existence : they did and they did not ;
they did not know themselves what they believed ;
all they did know was that it was a disease not to
believe as they did. The only thing of which they
were quite sure was that it was the pestering of the
unborn which caused them to be brought into this
world, and that they would not have been here if
they would have only let peaceable people alone.
It would be hard to disprove this position, and
they might have a good case if they would only
leave it as it stands. But this they will not do ;
they must have assurance doubly sure ; they must
have the written word of the child itself as soon as
it is born, giving the parents indemnity from all
responsibility on the score of its birth, and asserting
Birth Formulae
its own pre-existence. They have therefore devised
something which they call a birth formula — a
document which varies in words according to the
caution of parents, but is much the same practically
in all cases ; for it has been the business of the
Erewhonian lawyers during many ages to exercise
their skill in perfecting it and providing for every
contingency.
These formulae are printed on common paper at
a moderate cost for the poor ; but the rich have
them written on parchment and handsomely bound,
so that the getting up of a person's birth formula is
a test of his social position. They commence by
setting forth, That whereas A. B. was a member of
the kingdom of the unborn, where he was well
provided for in every way, and had no cause of
discontent, &c., &c., he did of his own wanton
depravity and restlessness conceive a desire to
enter into this present world ; that thereon having
taken the necessary steps as set forth in laws of the
unborn kingdom, he did with malice aforethought
set himself to plague and pester two unfortunate
people who had never wronged him, and who were
quite contented and happy until he conceived this
base design against their peace ; for which wrong
he now humbly entreats their pardon.
He acknowledges that he is responsible for all
physical blemishes and deficiencies which may
render him answerable to the laws of his country ;
that his parents have nothing whatever to do with
any of these things ; and that they have a right to
185
Erewhon
kill him at once if they be so minded, though he
entreats them to show their marvellous goodness
and clemency by sparing his life. If they will do
this, he promises to be their most obedient and
abject creature during his earlier years, and indeed
all his life, unless they should see fit in their
abundant generosity to remit some portion of his
service hereafter. And so the formula continues,
going sometimes into very minute details, according
to the fancies of family lawyers, who will not make
it any shorter than they can help.
The deed being thus prepared, on the third or
fourth day after the birth of the child, or as they
call it, the " final importunity," the friends gather
together, and there is a feast held, where they are
all very melancholy— as a general rule, I believe,
quite truly so — and make presents to the father and
mother of the child in order to console them for
the injury which has just been done them by the
unborn.
By-and-by the child himself is brought down by
his nurse, and the company begin to rail upon him,
upbraiding him for his impertinence, and asking
him what amends he proposes to make for the
wrong that he has committed, and how he can
look for care and nourishment from those who have
perhaps already been injured by the unborn on
some ten or twelve occasions ; for they say of
people with large families, that they have suffered
terrible injuries from the unborn ; till at last, when
this has been carried far enough, some one suggests
I80
Birth Formulae
the formula, which is brought out and solemnly
read to the child by the family straightener. This
gentleman is always invited on these occasions, for
the very fact of intrusion into a peaceful family
shows a depravity on the part of the child which
requires his professional services.
On being teased by the reading and tweaked by
the nurse, the child will commonly begin to cry,
which is reckoned a good sign, as showing a
consciousness of guilt. He is thereon asked. Does
he assent to the formula ? on which, as he still
continues crying and can obviously make no
answer, some one of the friends comes forward
and undertakes to sign the document on his behalf,
feeling sure (so he says) that the child would do it
if he only knew how, and that he will release
the present signer from his engagement on arriving
at maturity. The friend then inscribes the signa-
ture of the child at the foot of the parchment,
which is held to bind the child as much as though
he had signed it himself.
Even this, however, does not fully content them,
for they feel a little uneasy until they have got the
child's own signature after all. So when he is about
fourteen, these good people partly bribe him by
promises of greater liberty and good things, and
partly intimidate him through their great power
of making themselves actively unpleasant to him,
so that though there is a show of freedom made,
there is really none ; they also use the offices of
the teachers in the Colleges of Unreason, till
1S7
Erewhon
at last, in one way or another, they take very good
care that he shall sign the paper by which he
professes to have been a free agent in coming
into the world, and to take all the responsibility
of having done so on to his own shoulders. And
yet, though this document is obviously the most
important which any one can sign in his whole
life, they will have him do so at an age when
neither they nor the law vj'iW for many a year
allow any one else to bind him to the smallest
obligation, no matter how righteously he may owe
it, because they hold him too young to know what
he is about, and do not consider it fair that he
should commit himself to anything that may
prejudice him in after years.
I ow-n that all this seemed rather hard, and not
of a piece with the many admirable institutions
existing among them. I once ventured to say a
part of what I thought about it to one of the
Professors of Unreason. I did it very tenderly,
but his justification of the system was quite out
of my comprehension. I remember asking him
whether he did not think it would do harm to a
lad's principles, by weakening his sense of the
sanctity of his word and of truth generally, that
he should be led into entering upon a solemn
declaration as to the truth of things about which
all that he can certainly know is that he knows
nothing — whether, in fact, the teachers who so
led him, or who taught anything as a certainty
of which they were themselves uncertain, were
iSS
Birth Formulae
not earning their living by impairing the truth-
sense of their pupils (a delicate organisation mostly),
and by vitiating one of their most sacred instincts.
The Professor, who was a delightful person,
seemed greatly surprised at the view which 1
took, but it had no infiuence with him whatso-
ever. No one, he answered, expected that the
boy either would or could know all that he said
he knew ; but the world was full of compromises ;
and there was hardly any affirmation which would
bear being interpreted literally. Human language
was too gross a vehicle of thought — thought being
incapable of absolute translation. He added, that
as there can be no translation from one language
into another which shall not scant the meaning
somewhat, or enlarge upon it, so there is no
language which can render thought without a
jarring and a harshness somewhere — and so forth ;
all of which seemed to come to this in the end, that
it was the custom of the country, and that the
Erewhonians were a conservative people ; that the
boy would have to begin compromising sooner
or later, and this was part of his education in the
art. It was perhaps to be regretted that com-
promise should be as necessary as it was ; still
it was necessary, and the sooner the boy got to
understand it the better for himself. But they
never tell this to the boy.
From the book of their mythology about the
unborn 1 made the extracts which will form the
following chapter.
189
CHAPTER XIX
THE WORLD OF THE UNBORN
The Erewhonians say that we are drawn through
life backwards ; or again, that we go onwards into
the future as into a dark corridor. Time walks
beside us and flings back shutters as we advance ;
but the light thus given often dazzles us, and
deepens the darkness which is in front. We can
see but little at a time, and heed that little far
less than our apprehension of what we shall see
next ; ever peering curiously through the glare
of the present into the gloom of the future, we
presage the leading lines of that which is before
us, by faintly reflected lights from dull mirrors
that are behind, and stumble on as we may till
the trap-door opens beneath us and we are gone.
They say at other times that the future and
the past are as a panorama upon two rollers ;
that which is on the roller of the future unwraps
itself on to the roller of the past ; we cannot hasten
it, and we may not stay it ; we must see all that is
unfolded to us whether it be good or ill ; and what
we have seen once we may see again no more. It
is ever unwinding and being wound ; we catch it
in transition for a moment, and call it present ; our
flustered senses gather what impression they can,
190
World of the Unborn
and we guess at what is coming by the tenor of
th;it which we have seen. The same hand has
painted the whole picture, and the incidents vary
httle— rivers, woods, plains, mountains, towns and
peoples, love, sorrow, and death : yet the interest
never flags, and we look hopefully for some good
fortune, or fearfully lest our own faces be shown
us as figuring in something terrible. When the
scene is past we think we know it, though there
is so much to see, and so little time to see it, that
our conceit of knowledge as regards the past is for
the most part poorly founded ; neither do we care
about it greatly, save in so far as it may affect the
future, wherein our interest mainly lies.
The Erewhonians say it was by chance only that
the earth and stars and all the heavenly worlds
began to roll from east to west, and not from west
to east, and in like manner they say it is by chance
that man is drawn through life with his face to the
past instead of to the future. For the future is
there as much as the past, only that we may not
see it. Is it not in the loins of the past, and must
not the past alter before the future can do so ?
Sometimes, again, they say that there was a race
of men tried upon the earth once, who knew the
future better than the past, but that they died in a
twelvemonth from the misery which their know-
ledge caused them ; and if any were to be born too
prescient now, he would be culled out by natural
selection, before he had time to transmit so peace-
destroying a faculty to his descendants.
191
Erewhon
strange fate for man ! He must perish if he get
that, which he must perish if he strive not after.
If he strive not after it he is no better than the
brutes, if he get it lie is more miserable than the
devils.
Having waded through many chapters Hke the
above, I came at last to the unborn themselves, and
found that they were held to be souls pure and
simple, having no actual bodies, but living in a sort
of gaseous yet more or less anthropomorphic exis-
tence, like that of a ghost ; they have thus neither
flesh nor blood nor warmth. Nevertheless they
are supposed to have local habitations and cities
wherein they dwell, though these are as unsub-
stantial as their inhabitants ; they are even thought
to eat and drink some thin ambrosial sustenance,
and generally to be capable of doing whatever man-
kind can do, only after a visionary ghostly fashion
as in a dream. On the other hand, as long as they
remain where they are they never die — the only
form of death in the unborn world being the
leaving it for our own. They are believed to be
extremely numerous, far more so than mankind.
They arrive from unknown planets, full grown, in
large batches at a time ; but they can only leave
the unborn world by taking the steps necessary
for their arrival here — which is, in fact, by suicide.
They ought to be an exceedingly happy people,
for they have no extremes of good or ill fortune ;
never marrying, but living in a state much like that
fabled by the poets as the primitive condition of
192
World of the Unborn
mankind. In spite of this, however, they are in-
cessantly complaining ; they know that we in this
world have bodies, and indeed they know every-
thing else about us, for they move among us
whithersoever they will, and can read our thoughts,
as well as survey our actions at pleasure. One
would think that this should be enough for them ;
and most of them are indeed alive to the desperate
risk which they will run by indulging themselves
in that body with " sensible warm motion " which
they so much desire ; nevertheless, there are some
to whom the enmii of a disembodied existence is so
intolerable that they will venture anything for a
change ; so they resolve to quit. The conditions
which they must accept are so uncertain, that none
but the most foolish of the unborn will consent to
them ; and it is from these, and these only, that
our own ranks are recruited.
When they have finally made up their minds to
leave, they must go before the magistrate of the
nearest town, and sign an affidavit of their desire
to quit their then existence. On their having done
this, the magistrate reads them the conditions which
they must accept, and which are so long that 1 can
only extract some of the principal points, which are
mainly the following : —
First, they must take a potion which will destroy
their memory and sense of identity ; they must go
into the world helpless, and without a will of their
own ; they must draw lots for their dispositions
before they go, and take them, such as they are,
193 N
Erewhon
for better or worse — neither are they to be allowed
any choice in the matter of the body which they so
much desire ; they are simply allotted by chance,
and without appeal, to two people whom it is their
business to find and pester until they adopt them.
Who these are to be, whether rich or poor, kind or
unkind, healthy or diseased, there is no knowing ;
they have, in fact, to entrust themselves for many
years to the care of those for whose good constitu-
tion and good sense they have no sort of guarantee.
It is curious to read the lectures which the wiser
heads give to those who are meditating a change.
They talk with them as we talk with a spendthrift,
and with about as much success.
'*To be born," they say, "is a felony — it is a
capital crime, for which sentence may be executed
at any moment after the commission of the offence.
You may perhaps happen to live for some seventy
or eighty years, but what is that, compared with
the eternity you now enjoy ? And even though
the sentence were commuted, and you were
allowed to live on for ever, you would in time
become so terribly weary of life that execution
would be the greatest mercy to you.
" Consider the infinite risk ; to be born of wicked
parents and trained in vice ! to be born of silly
parents, and trained to unrealities ! of parents who
regard you as a sort of chattel or property, belong-
ing more to them than to yourself ! Again, you
may draw utterly unsympathetic parents, who will
never be able to understand you, and who will do
194
World of the Unborn
their best to thwart you (as a hen when she has
hatched a duckling), and then call you ungrateful
because you do not love them ; or, again, you may
draw parents who look upon you as a thing to be
cowed while it is still young, lest it should give
them trouble hereafter by having wishes and feel-
ings of its own.
" In later life, when you have been finally al-
lowed to pass muster as a full member of the
world, you will yourself become liable to the pes-
terings of the unborn — and a very happy life you
may be led in consequence ! For we solicit so
strongly that a few only — nor these the best — can
refuse us; and yet not to refuse is much the same
as going into partnership with half-a-dozen differ-
ent people about whom one can know absolutely
nothing beforehand — not even w-hether one is
going into partnership with men or women, nor
with how many of either. Delude not yourself
with thinking that you will be wiser than your
parents. You may be an age in advance of those
whom you have pestered, but unless you are one
of the great ones you will still be an age behind
those who will in their turn pester you.
" Imagine what it must be to have an unborn
quartered upon you, who is of an entirely different
temperament and disposition to your own ; nay,
half-a-dozen such, who will not love you though
you have stinted yourself in a thousand ways to
provide for their comfort and well-being, — who
will forget all your self-sacrifice, and of whom you
195
Erewhon
may never be sure that they are not bearing a
grudge against you for errors of judgement into
which you may have fallen, though you had hoped
that such had been long since atoned for. Ingrati-
tude such as this is not uncommon, yet fancy what
it must be to bear! It is hard upon the duckling
to have been hatched by a hen, but is it not also
hard upon the hen to have hatched the duckling ?
"Consider it again, we pray you, not for our sake
but for your own. Your initial character you must
draw by lot ; but whatever it is, it can only come
to a tolerably successful development after long
training ; remember that over that training you
will have no control. It is possible, and even
probable, that whatever you may get in after life
which is of real pleasure and service to you, will
have to be won in spite of, rather than by the help
of, those whom you are now about to pester, and
that you will only win your freedom after years
of a painful struggle in which it will be hard to
say whether you have suffered most injury, or
inflicted it.
" Remember also, that if you go into the world
3^ou will have free will ; that you will be obliged to
have it ; that there is no escaping it ; that you will
be fettered to it during your whole life, and must
on every occasion do that which on the whole
seems best to you at any given time, no matter
whether you are right or wrong in choosing it.
Your mind will be a balance for considerations,
and your action will go with the heavier scale.
196
World of the Unborn
How it shall fall will depend upon the kind of
scales which you may have drawn at birth, the
bias which they will have obtained by use, and
the weight of the immediate considerations. If the
scales were good to start with, and if they have
not been outrageously tampered with in childhood,
and if the combinations into which you enter are
average ones, you may come off well ; but there
are too many ' ifs ' in this, and with the failure of
any one of them your misery is assured. Reflect
on this, and remember that should the ill come
upon you, you will have yourself to thank, for it
is your own choice to be born, and there is no
compulsion in the matter.
" Not that we deny the existence of pleasures
among mankind ; there is a certain show of sundry
phases of contentment which may even amount to
very considerable happiness ; but mark how they
are distributed over a man's life, belonging, all the
keenest of them, to the fore part, and few indeed
to the after. Can there be any pleasure worth
purchasing with the miseries of a decrepit age ?
If you are good, strong, and handsome, you have a
fine fortune indeed at twenty, but how much of it
will be left at sixty ? For you must live on your
capital ; there is no investing your powers so that
you may get a small annuity of life for ever : you
must eat up your principal bit by bit, and be
tortured by seeing it grow continually smaller and
smaller, even though you happen to escape being
rudely robbed of it by crime or casualty,
197
Erewhon
" Remember, too, that there never yet was a
man of forty who would not come back into the
world of the unborn if he could do so with decency
and honour. Being in the world he will as a
general rule stay till he is forced to go ; but do you
think that he would consent to be born again, and
re-live his life, if he had the ojffer of doing so ? Do
not think it. If he could so alter the past as that
he should never have come into being at all, do
you not think that he would do it very gladly ?
" What was it that one of their own poets meant,
if it was not this, when he cried out upon the day
in which he was born, and the night in which it was
said there is a man child conceived ? ' For now,' he
says, ' I should have lain still and been quiet, I
should have slept ; then had I been at rest with
kings and counsellors of the earth, which built
desolate places for themselves ; or with princes
that had gold, who filled their houses with silver ;
or as an hidden untimely birth, I had not been ; as
infants which never saw light. There the wicked
cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest.'
Be very sure that the guilt of being born carries
this punishment at times to all men ; but how can
they ask for pity, or complain of any mischief that
may befall them, having entered open-eyed into
the snare ?
"One word more and we have done. If any
faint remembrance, as of a dream, flit in some
puzzled moment across your brain, and you shall
feel that the potion which is to be given you shall
198
World of the Unborn
not have done its work, and the memory of this
existence which you are leaving endeavours vainly
to return ; we say in such a moment, when you
clutch at the dream but it eludes your grasp,
and you watch it, as Orpheus watched Eurydice,
gliding back again into the twilight kingdom, fly —
fly — if you can remember the advice — to the haven
of your present and immediate duty, taking shelter
incessantly in the work which you have in hand.
This much you may perhaps recall ; and this, if
you will imprint it deeply upon your every faculty,
will be most likely to bring you safely and honour-
ably home through the trials that are before you.''^
This is the fashion in which they reason with
those who would be for leaving them, but it is
seldom that they do much good, for none but the
unquiet and unreasonable ever think of being
born, and those who are foolish enough to think
of it are generally foolish enough to do it. Find-
ing, therefore, that they can do no more, the friends
follow weeping to the courthouse of the chief
magistrate, where the one who wishes to be born
declares solemnly and openly that he accepts the
conditions attached to his decision. On this he
is presented with a potion, which immediately
destroys his memory and sense of identity, and
dissipates the thin gaseous tenement which he has
inhabited : he becomes a bare vital principle, not to
^ The myth above alluded to exists in Erewhon with changed
names, and considerable modifications. I have taken the liberty of
referring to the story as familiar to ourselves.
199
Erewhon
be perceived by human senses, nor to be by any
chemical test appreciated. He has but one instinct,
which is that he is to go to such and such a place,
where he will find two persons whom he is to
importune till they consent to undertake him ; but
whether he is to find these persons among the race
of Chowbok or the Erewhonians themselves is not
for him to choose.
CHAPTER XX
WHAT THEY MEAN BY IT
I HAVE given the above mythology at some length,
but it is only a small part of what they have upon
the subject. My first feeling on reading it was that
any amount of folly on the part of the unborn in
coming here was justified by a desire to escape
from such intolerable prosing. The mythology is
obviously an unfair and exaggerated representation
of life and things ; and had its authors been so
minded they could have easily drawn a picture
which would err as much on the bright side as
this does on the dark. No Erewhonian believes
that the world is as black as it has been here
painted, but it is one of their peculiarities that
they very often do not believe or mean things
which they profess to regard as indisputable.
In the present instance their professed views
concerning the unborn have arisen from their
desire to prove that people have been presented
with the gloomiest possible picture of their own
prospects before they came here ; otherwise, they
could hardly say to one whom they are going to
punish for an affection of the heart or brain that
it is all his own doing. In practice they modify
their theory to a considerable extent, and seldom
Erewhon
refer to the birth formula except in extreme cases ;
for the force of habit, or what not, gives many of
them a kindly interest even in creatures who have
so much wronged them as the unborn have done ;
and though a man generally hates the unwelcome
little stranger for the first twelve months, he is apt
to mollify (according to his lights) as time goes
on, and sometimes he will become inordinately
attached to the beings whom he is pleased to call
his children.
Of course, according to Erewhonian premises, it
would serve people right to be punished and scouted
for moral and intellectual diseases as much as for
physical, and I cannot to this day understand why
they should have stopped short half way. Neither,
again, can I understand why their having done so
should have been, as it certainly was, a matter of so
much concern to myself. What could it matter
to me how many absurdities the Erewhonians
might adopt ? Nevertheless I longed to make
them think as I did, for the wish to spread those
opinions that we hold conducive to our own
welfare is so deeply rooted in the English character
that few of us can escape its influence. But let
this pass.
In spite of not a few modifications in practice
of a theory which is itself revolting, the relations
between children and parents in that country are
less happy than in Europe. It was rarely that I
saw cases of real hearty and intense affection
between the old people and the young ones. Here
What they Mean
and there I did so, and was quite sure that the
children, even at the age of twenty, were fonder
of their parents than they were of any one else ;
and that of their own inclination, being free to
choose what company they would, they would
often choose that of their father and mother. The
straightener's carriage was rarely seen at the door
of those houses. I saw two or three such cases
during the time that I remained in the country, and
cannot express the pleasure which I derived from
a sight suggestive of so much goodness and wisdom
and forbearance, so richly rewarded ; yet I firmly
believe that the same thing would happen in nine
families out of ten if the parents were merely to
remember how they felt when they were young,
and actually to behave towards their children as
they would have had their own parents behave
towards themselves. But this, which would appear
to be so simple and obvious, seems also to be a
thing which not one in a hundred thousand is able
to put in practice. It is only the very great and
good who have any living faith in the simplest
axioms ; and there are few who are so holy as to
feel that 19 and 13 make 32 as certainly as 2 and 2
make 4.
I am quite sure that if this narrative should ever
fall into Erewhonian hands, it will be said that
what I have written about the relations between
parents and children being seldom satisfactory is
an infamous perversion of facts, and that in truth
there are few young people who do not feel happier
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Erewhon
in the society of their nearest relations^ than in any
other. Mr. Nosnibor would be sure to say this.
Yet I cannot refrain from expressing an opinion
that he would be a good deal embarrassed if his
deceased parents were to reappear and propose to
pay him a six months' visit. I doubt whether there
are many things which he would regard as a greater
infliction. They had died at a ripe old age some
twenty years before I came to know him, so the
case is an extreme one ; but surely if they had
treated him with what in his youth he had felt to
be true unselfishness, his face would brighten when
he thought of them to the end of his life.
In the one or two cases of true family affection
which I met with, I am sure that the young people
who were so genuinely fond of their fathers and
mothers at eighteen, would at sixty be perfectly
delighted were they to get the chance of welcoming
them as their guests. There is nothing which could
please them better, except perhaps to watch the
happiness of their own children and grandchildren.
This is how things should be. It is not an
impossible ideal ; it is one which actually does exist
in some few cases, and might exist in almost all,
with a little more patience and forbearance upon
the parents' part ; but it is rare at present — so rare
that they have a proverb which I can only translate
in a very roundabout way, but which says that
the great happiness of some people in a future
■ What a safe word " relation " is ; how little it predicates ! yet it has
overgrown "kinsman."
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What they Mean
state will consist in watching the distress of their
parents on returning to eternal companionship with
their grandfathers and grandmothers ; whilst " com-
pulsory affection " is the idea which Hes at the root
of their word for the deepest anguish.
There is no talisman in the word "parent" which
can generate miracles of affection, and I can well
believe that my own child might find it less of a
calamity to lose both Arowhena and myself when
he is six years old, than to find us again when he is
sixt}^ — a sentence which I would not pen did I not
feel that by doing so I was giving him something
like a hostage, or at any rate putting a weapon into
his hands against me, should my selfishness exceed
reasonable limits.
Money is at the bottom of all this to a great
extent. If the parents would put their children in
the way of earning a competence earlier than they
do, the children would soon become self-support-
ing and independent. As it is, under the present
system, the young ones get old enough to have
all manner of legitimate wants (that is, if they have
any " go " about them) before they have learnt the
means of earning money to pay for them ; hence
they must either do without them, or take more
money than the parents can be expected to spare.
This is due chiefly to the schools of Unreason,
where a boy is taught upon hypothetical principles,
as I will explain hereafter ; spending years in being
incapacitated for doing this, that, or the other (he
hardly knows what), during all which time he
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Erewhon
ought to have been actually doing the thing itself,
beginning at the lowest grades, picking it up
through actual practice, and rising according to
the energy which is in him.
These schools of Unreason surprised me much.
It would be easy to fall into pseudo-utilitarianism,
and I would fain believe that the system may be
good for the children of very rich parents, or for
those who show a natural instinct to acquire hypo-
thetical lore ; but the misery was that their Ydgrun-
worship required all people with any pretence to
respectability to send their children to some one or
other of these schools, mulcting them of years of
money. It astonished me to see what sacrifices the
parents would make in order to render their chil-
dren as nearly useless as possible ; and it was hard to
say whether the old suffered most from the expense
which they were thus put to, or the young from
being deliberately swindled in some of the most
important branches of human inquiry, and directed
into false channels or left to drift in the great
majority of cases.
I cannot think I am mistaken in believing that
the growing tendency to limit families by infanticide
— an evil which was causing general alarm through-
out the country — was almost entirely due to the
way in which education had become a fetish from
one end of Erewhon to the other. Granted that
provision should be made whereby every child
should be taught reading, writing, and arithmetic,
but here compulsory state-aided education should
206
What they Mean
end, and the child should begin (with all due pre-
cautions to ensure that he is not overworked) to
acquire the rudiments of that art whereby he is to
earn his living.
He cannot acquire these in what we in England
call schools of technical education ; such schools
are cloister life as against the rough and tumble of
the world ; they unfit, rather than fit for work in
the open. An art can only be learned in the work-
shop of those who are winning their bread by it.
Boys, as a rule, hate the artificial, and delight in
the actual ; give them the chance of earning, and
they will soon earn. When parents find that their
children, instead of being made artificially burden-
some, will early begin to contribute to the well-being
of the family, they will soon leave off killing them,
and will seek to have that plenitude of offspring
which they now avoid. As things are, the state
lays greater burdens on parents than flesh and
blood can bear, and then wrings its hands over an
evil for which it is itself mainly responsible.
With the less well-dressed classes the harm was
not so great ; for among these, at about ten years
old, the child has to begin doing something : if he
is capable he makes his way up ; if he is not, he is
at any rate not made more incapable by what his
friends are pleased to call his education. People
find their level as a rule ; and though they unfor-
tunately sometimes miss it, it is in the main true
that those who have valuable qualities are perceived
to have them and can sell them. I think that the
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Erewhon
Erewhonians are beginning to become aware of
these things, for there was much talk about putting
a tax upon all parents whose children were not
earning a competence according to their degrees
by the time they were twenty years old. I am sure
that if they will have the courage to carry it through
they will never regret it ; for the parents will take
care that the children shall begin earning money
(which means "doing good" to society) at an early
age ; then the children will be independent early,
and they will not press on the parents, nor the
parents on them, and they will like each other
better than they do now.
This is the true philanthropy. He who makes a
colossal fortune in the hosiery trade, and by his
energy has succeeded in reducing the price of
woollen goods by the thousandth part of a penny
in the pound — this man is worth ten professional
philanthropists. So strongly are the Erewhonians
impressed with this, that if a man has made a for-
tune of over ;^2o,ooo a year they exempt him from
all taxation, considering him as a work of art, and
too precious to be meddled with ; they say, '' How
very much he must have done for society before
society could have been prevailed upon to give him
so much money ; " so magnificent an organisation
overawes them ; they regard it as a thing dropped
from heaven.
" Money," they say, " is the symbol of duty, it is
the sacrament of having done for mankind that
which mankind wanted. Mankind mav not be a
20S
What they Mean
very good judge, but there is no better." This
used to shock me at first, when I remembered that
it had been said on high authority that they who
have riches shall enter hardly into the kingdom of
heaven ; but the influence of Erewhon had made
me begin to see things in a new light, and I could
not help thinking that they who have not riches
shall enter more hardly still.
People oppose money to culture, and imply that
if a man has spent his time in making money he
will not be cultivated — fallacy of fallacies ! As
though there could be a greater aid to culture
than the having earned an honourable indepen-
dence, and as though any amount of culture will
do much for the man who is penniless, except
make him feel his position more deeply. The
young man who was told to sell all his goods and
give to the poor, must have been an entirely ex-
ceptional person if the advice was given wisely,
either for him or for the poor ; how much more
often does it happen that we perceive a man to
have all sorts of good qualities except money, and
feel that his real duty lies in getting every half-
penny that he can persuade others to pay him for
his services, and becoming rich. It has been said
that the love of money is the root of all evil. The
want of money is so quite as truly.
The above may sound irreverent, but it is con-
ceived in a spirit of the most utter reverence for
those things which do alone deserve it — that is, for
the things which are, which mould us and fashion
209 o
Erewhon
us, be they what they may ; for the things that have
power to punish us, and which will punish us if we
do not heed them ; for our masters therefore. But
I am drifting away from my story.
They have another plan about which they are mak-
ing a great noise and fuss, much as some are doing
with women's rights in England. A party of extreme
radicals have professed themselves unable to decide
upon the superiority of age or youth. At present
all goes on the supposition that it is desirable to
make the young old as soon as possible. Some
would have it that this is wrong, and that the
object of education should be to keep the old
young as long as possible. They say that each age
should take it turn in turn about, week by week, one
week the old to be topsavvyers, and the other the
young, drawing the line at thirty-five years of age ;
but they insist that the young should be allowed to
inflict corporal chastisement on the old, without
which the old would be quite incorrigible. In any
European country this would be out of the ques-
tion ; but it is not so there, for the straighteners
are constantly ordering people to be flogged, so
that they are familiar with the notion. I do not
suppose that the idea will be ever acted upon ; but
its having been even mooted is enough to show the
utter perversion of the Erewhonian mind.
CHAPTER XXI
THE COLLEGES OF UNREASON
I HAD now been a visitor with the Nosnibors for
some five or six months, and though I had fre-
quently proposed to leave them and take apart-
ments of my own, they would not hear of my
doing so. I suppose they thought I should be
more likely to fall in love with Zulora if I re-
mained, but it was my affection for Arowhena that
kept me.
During all this time both Arowhena and my-
self had been dreaming, and drifting towards an
avowed attachment, but had not dared to face
the real difficulties of the position. Gradually,
however, matters came to a crisis in spite of our-
selves, and we got to see the true state of the
case, all too clearly.
One evening we were sitting in the garden, and I
had been trying in every stupid roundabout way to
get her to say that she should be at any rate sorry
for a man, if he really loved a woman who would
not marry him. I had been stammering and blush-
ing, and been as silly as any one could be, and I
suppose had pained her by fishing for pity for my-
self in such a transparent way, and saying nothing
about her own need of it ; at any rate, she turned
Erewhon
upon me with a sweet sad smile and said, " Sorry ?
I am sorry for myself ; I am sorry for you ; and
I am sorry for every one." The words had no
sooner crossed her lips than she bowed her head,
gave me a look as though I were to make no
answer, and left me.
The words were few and simple, but the manner
with which they were uttered was inelTable : the
scales fell from my eyes, and I felt that I had no
right to try and induce her to infringe one of the
most inviolable customs of her country, as she
needs must do if she were to marry me. I sat for
a long while thinking, and when I remembered the
sin and shame and misery which an unrighteous
marriage — for as such it would be held in Erewhon
— would entail, I became thoroughly ashamed of
myself for having been so long self-blinded. I
write coldly now, but I suffered keenly at the time,
and should probably retain a much more vivid
recollection of what I felt, had not all ended so
happily.
As for giving up the idea of marrying Arowhena,
it never so much as entered my head to do so : the
solution must be found in some other direction
than this. The idea of waiting till somebody
married Zulora was to be no less summarily dis-
missed. To marry Arowhena at once in Erewhon
— this had already been abandoned : there remained
therefore but one alternative, and that was to run
away with her, and get her with me to Europe,
where there would be no bar to our union save
Colleges of Unreason
my own impeciiniosity, a matter which gave me
no uneasiness.
To this obvious and simple plan I could see bui
two objections that deserved the name, — the first,
that perhaps Arowhena would not come ; the
second, that it was almost impossible for me to
escape even alone, for the king had himself told
me that I was to consider myself a prisoner on
parole, and that the first sign of my endeavouring
to escape would cause me to be sent to one of the
hospitals for incurables. Besides, I did not know
the geography of the country, and even were I to
try and find my way back, I should be discovered
long before I had reached the pass over which I
had come. How then could I hope to be able
to take Arowhena with me ? For days and days
I turned these difficulties over in my mind, and
at last hit upon as wild a plan as was ever sug-
gested by extremity. This was to meet the second
difficulty : the first gave me less uneasiness, for
when Arowhena and I next met after our interview-
in the garden I could see that she had suffered not
less acutely than myself.
I resolved that I would have another interview
with her — the last for the present — that I would
then leave her, and set to work upon maturing my
plan as fast as possible. We got a chance of being
alone together, and then I gave myself the loose
rein, and told her how passionately and devotedly
I loved her. She said little in return, but her tears
(which I could not refrain from answering with
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Erewhon
my own) and the little she did say were quite
enough to show me that I should meet with no
obstacle from her. Then I asked her whether she
would run a terrible risk which we should share
in common, if, in case of success, I could take her
to my own people, to the home of my mother and
sisters, who would welcome her very gladly. At
the same time I pointed out that the chances of
failure were far greater than those of success, and
that the probability was that even though I could
get so far as to carry my design into execution, it
would end in death to us both.
I was not mistaken in her ; she said that she
believed I loved her as much as she loved me, and
that she would brave anything if I could only assure
her that what I proposed would not be thought dis-
honourable in England ; she could not live without
me, and would rather die with me than alone ; that
death was perhaps the best for us both ; that I
must plan, and that when the hour came I was to
send for her, and trust her not to fail me ; and so
after many tears and embraces, we tore ourselves
away.
I then left the Nosnibors, took a lodging in the
town, and became melancholy to my heart's con-
tent. Arowhena and I used to see each other
sometimes, for I had taken to going regularly to
the Musical Banks, but Mrs. Nosnibor and Zulora
both treated me with considerable coldness. I felt
sure that they suspected me. Arowhena looked
miserable, and I saw that her purse was now always
214
Colleges of Unreason
as full as she could jfill it with the Musical Bank
money — much fuller than of old. Then the horrible
thought occurred to me that her health might break
down, and that she might be subjected to a criminal
prosecution. Oh ! how I hated Erewhon at that
time.
I was still received at court, but my good looks
were beginning to fail me, and I was not such an
adept at concealing the effects of pain as the Ere-
whonians are. I could see that my friends began
to look concerned about me, and was obliged to
take a leaf out of Mahaina's book, and pretend to
have developed a taste for drinking. I even con-
sulted a straightener as though this were so, and
submitted to much discomfort. This made matters
better for a time, but I could see that my friends
thought less highly of my constitution as my flesh
began to fall away.
I was told that the poor made an outcry about
my pension, and I saw a stinging article in an anti-
ministerial paper, in which the writer went so far
as to say that my having light hair reflected little
credit upon me, inasmuch as I had been reported
to have said that it was a common thing in the
country from which I came. I have reason to
believe that Mr. Nosnibor himself inspired this
article. Presently it came round to me that the
king had begun to dwell upon my having been
possessed of a watch, and to say that I ought to
be treated medicinally for having told him a lie
about the balloons. I saw misfortune gathering
215
Erewhon
round me in every direction, and felt that I should
have need of all my wits and a good many more,
if I was to steer myself and Arowhena to a good
conclusion.
There were some who continued to show me kind-
ness, and strange to say, I received the most from
the very persons from whom I should have least
expected it — I mean from the cashiers of the
Musical Banks. I had made the acquaintance of
several of these persons, and now that I frequented
their bank, they were inclined to make a good deal
of me. One of them, seeing that I was thoroughly
out of health, though of course he pretended not to
notice it, suggested that I should take a little change
of air and go down with him to one of the principal
towns, which was some two or three days' journey
from the metropolis, and the chief seat of the
Colleges of Unreason ; he assured me that I should
be delighted with what I saw, and that I should
receive a most hospitable welcome. I determined
therefore to accept the invitation.
We started two or three days later, and after a
night on the road, we arrived at our destination
towards evening. It was now full spring, and as
nearly as might be ten months since I had started
with Chowbok on my expedition, but it seemed
more like ten years. The trees were in their freshest
beauty, and the air had become warm without
being oppressively hot. After having lived so many
months in the metropolis, the sight of the country,
and the country villages through which we passed
216
Colleges of Unreason
refreshed me greatly, but 1 could not forget my
troubles. The last five miles or so were the most
beautiful part of the journey, for the country be-
came more undulating, and the woods were more
extensive ; but the first sight of the city of the col-
leges itself was the most delightful of all. I cannot
imagine that there can be any fairer in the whole
world, and I expressed my pleasure to my com-
panion, and thanked him for having brought me.
We drove to an inn in the middle of the town,
and then, while it was still light, my friend the
cashier, whose name was Thims, took me for a
stroll in the streets and in the court-yards of the
principal colleges. Their beauty and interest were
extreme ; it was impossible to see them without
being attracted towards them ; and I thought to
myself that he must be indeed an ill-grained and
ungrateful person who can have been a member of
one of these colleges without retaining an affec-
tionate feeling towards it for the rest of his life.
All my misgivings gave way at once when I saw the
beauty and venerable appearance of this delightful
city. For half-an-hour I forgot both myself and
Arowhena.
After supper Mr. Thims told me a good deal
about the system of education which is here prac-
tised. I already knew a part of what I heard, but
much was new to me, and I obtained a better idea
of the Erewhonian position than I had done hither-
to : nevertheless there were parts of the scheme of
which I could not comprehend the fitness, although
217
Erewhon
I fully admit that this inability was probably the
result of my having been trained so very differently,
and to my being then much out of sorts.
The main feature in their system is the promi-
nence which they give to a study which I can only
translate by the word "hypothetics." They argue
thus — that to teach a boy merely the nature of the
things which exist in the world around him, and
about which he will have to be conversant during
his whole life, would be giving him but a narrow
and shallow conception of the universe, which it is
urged might contain all manner of things which
are not now to be found therein. To open his eyes
to these possibilities, and so to prepare him for all
sorts of emergencies, is the object of this system of
hypothetics. To imagine a set of utterly strange
and impossible contingencies, and require the
youths to give intelligent answers to the questions
that arise therefrom, is reckoned the fittest conceiv-
able way of preparing them for the actual conduct
of their affairs in after life.
Thus they are taught what is called the hypo-
thetical language for many of their best years — a
language which was originally composed at a time
when the country was in a very different state of
civilisation to what it is at present, a state which
has long since disappeared and been superseded.
Many valuable maxims and noble thoughts which
were at one time concealed in it have become
current in their modern literature, and have been
translated over and over again into the language
2lS
Colleges of Unreason
now spoken. Surely then it would seem enough
that the study of the original language should be
confined to the few whose instincts led them
naturally to pursue it.
But the Erewhonians think differently ; the store
they set by this hypothetical language can hardly
be believed ; they will even give any one a main-
tenance for life if he attains a considerable pro-
ficiency in the study of it ; nay, they will spend
years in learning to translate some of their own
good poetry into the hypothetical language — to do
so with fluency being reckoned a distinguishing
mark of a scholar and a gentleman. Heaven forbid
that I should be flippant, but it appeared to me to
be a wanton waste of good human energy that
men should spend years and years in the perfection
of so barren an exercise, when their own civilisation
presented problems by the hundred which cried
aloud for solution and would have paid the solver
handsomely ; but people know their own affairs
best. If the youths chose it for themselves I should
have wondered less ; but they do not choose it ;
they have it thrust upon them, and for the most
part are disinclined towards it. I can only say
that all I heard in defence of the system was
insufficient to make me think very highly of its
advantages.
The arguments in favour of the deliberate de-
velopment of the unreasoning faculties were much
more cogent. But here they depart from the
principles on which they justify their study of
219
Erewhon
hypothetics ; for they base the importance which
they assign to hypothetics upon the fact of their
being a preparation for the extraordinary, while
their study of Unreason rests upon its developing
those faculties which are required for the daily
conduct of atiairs. Hence their professorships of
Inconsistency and Evasion, in both of which studies
the youths are examined before being allowed to
proceed to their degree in hypothetics. The more
earnest and conscientious students attain to a pro-
ficiency in these subjects which is quite surprising ;
there is hardly any inconsistency so glaring but
they soon learn to defend it, or injunction so clear
that they cannot find some pretext for disregard-
ing it.
Life, they urge, would be intolerable if men were
to be guided in all they did by reason and reason
only. Reason betrays men into the drawing of
hard and fast lines, and to the defining by language
— language being like the sun, which rears and
then scorches. Extremes are alone logical, but
they are always absurd ; the mean is illogical, but
an illogical mean is better than the sheer absurdity
of an extreme. There are no follies and no un-
reasonablenesses so great as those which can
apparently be irrefragably defended by reason
itself, and there is hardly an error into which men
may not easily be led if they base their conduct
upon reason only.
Reason might very possibly abolish the double
currency ; it might even attack the personality of
Colleges of Unreason
Hope and Justice. Besides, people have such a
strong natural bias towards it that they will seek
it for themselves and act upon it quite as much as
or more than is good for them : there is no need
of encouraging reason. With unreason the case
is different. She is the natural complement of
reason, without whose existence reason itself were
non-existent.
If, then, reason would be non-existent were there
no such thing as unreason, surely it follows that
the more unreason there is, the more reason there
must be also ? Hence the necessity for the de-
velopment of unreason, even in the interests of
reason herself. The Professors of Unreason deny
that they undervalue reason : none can be more
convinced than they are, that if the double cur-
rency cannot be rigorously deduced as a necessary
consequence of human reason, the double cur-
rency should cease forthwith ; but they say that
it must be deduced from no narrow and exclusive
view of reason which should deprive that admirable
faculty of the one-half of its own existence. Un-
reason is a part of reason ; it must therefore be
allowed its full share in stating the initial condi-
tions.
CHAPTER XXII
THE COLLEGES OF UNREASON — continued
Of genius they make no account, for they say
that every one is a genius, more or less. No one
is so physically sound that no part of him will be
even a little unsound, and no one is so diseased
but that some part of him will be healthy — so
no man is so mentally and morally sound, but
that he will be in part both mad and wicked ;
and no man is so mad and wicked but he will be
sensible and honourable in part. In like manner
there is no genius who is not also a fool, and no
fool who is not also a genius.
When I talked about originality and genius to
some gentlemen whom I met at a supper party
given by Mr. Thims in my honour, and said that
original thought ought to be encouraged, I had
to eat my words at once. Their view evidently
# was that genius was like offences — needs must
that it come, but woe unto that man through
whom it comes. A man's business, they hold, is
to think as his neighbours do, for Heaven help him
if he thinks good what they count bad. And really
it is hard to see how the Ercwhonian theory differs
from our own, for the word " idiot " only means
a person who forms his opinions for himself.
Colleges of Unreason
The venerable Professor of Worldly Wisdom, a
man verging on eighty but still hale, spoke to
me very seriously on this subject in consequence
of the few words that I had imprudently let fall
in defence of genius. He was one of those who
carried most weight in the university, and had the
reputation of having done more perhaps than
any other living man to suppress any kind of
originality.
"It is not our business," he said, "to help
students to think for themselves. Surely this is
the very last thing which one who wishes them
well should encourage them to do. Our duty is
to ensure that they shall think as we do, or at
any rate, as we hold it expedient to say we do."
In some respects, however, he was thought to hold
somewhat radical opinions, for he was President
of the Society for the Suppression of Useless
Knowledge, and for the Completer Obliteration
of the Past.
As regards the tests that a youth must pass
before he can get a degree, I found that they
have no class lists, and discourage anything like
competition among the students ; this, indeed,
they regard as self-seeking and unneighbourly.
The examinations are conducted by way of papers
written by the candidate on set subjects, some
of which are known to him beforehand, while
others are devised with a view of testing his
general capacity and savoir /aire.
My friend the Professor of Worldly Wisdom
223
Erewhon
was the terror of the greater number of students ;
and, so far as I could judge, he very well might
be, for he had taken his Professorship more
seriously than any of the other Professors had
done. I heard of his having plucked one poor
fellow for want of sufficient vagueness in his
saving clauses paper. Another was sent down
for having written an article on a scientific sub-
ject without having made free enough use of the
words " carefully," " patiently," and " earnestly."
One man was refused a degree for being too often
and too seriously in the right, while a few days
before I came a whole batch had been plucked
for insufficient distrust of printed matter.
About this there was just then rather a ferment,
for it seems that the Professor had written an
article in the leading university magazine, which
was well known to be by him, and which abounded
in all sorts of plausible blunders. He then set
a paper which afforded the examinees an oppor-
tunity of repeating these blunders — which, be-
lieving the article to be by their own examiner,
they of course did. The Professor plucked every
single one of them, but his action was considered
to have been not quite handsome.
I told them of Homer's noble line to the effect
that a man should strive ever to be foremost and
in all things to outvie his peers ; but they said
that no wonder the countries in which such a
detestable maxim was held in admiration were
always flying at one another's throats.
224
Colleges of Unreason
" Why," asked one Professor, " should a man
want to be better than his neighbours ? Let him
be thankful if he is no worse."
I ventured feebly to say that I did not see how
progress could be made in any art or science, or
indeed in anything at all, without more or less
self-seeking, and hence unamiability.
"Of course it cannot," said the Professor, "and
therefore we object to progress."
After which there was no more to be said.
Later on, however, a young Professor took me
aside and said he did not think I quite understood
their views about progress.
" We like progress," he said, " but it must com-
mend itself to the common sense of the people.
If a man gets to know more than his neighbours
he should keep his knowledge to himself till he
has sounded them, and seen whether they agree,
or are likely to agree with him. He said it was
as immoral to be too far in front of one's own
age, as to lag too far behind it. If a man can
carry his neighbours with him, he may say what
he likes ; but if not, what insult can be more
gratuitous than the telling them what they do
not want to know ? A man should remember
that intellectual over-indulgence is one of the
most insidious and disgraceful forms that excess
can take. Granted that every one should exceed
more or less, inasmuch as absolutely perfect
sanity would drive any man mad the moment
he reached it, but ..."
225 p
Erewhon
He was now warming to his subject and I
was beginning to wonder how I should get rid
of him, when the party broke up, and though I
promised to call on him before I left, I was
unfortunately prevented from doing so.
I have now said enough to give English readers
some idea of the strange views which the Ere-
whonians hold concerning unreason, hypothetics,
and education generally. In many respects they
were sensible enough, but I could not get over
the hypothetics, especially the turning their own
good poetry into the hypothetical language. In
the course of my stay I met one youth who
told me that for fourteen years the hypothetical
language had been almost the only thing that he
had been taught, although he had never (to his
credit, as it seemed to me) shown the slightest
proclivity towards it, while he had been endowed
with not inconsiderable ability for several other
branches of human learning. He assured me
that he would never open another hypothetical
book after he had taken his degree, but would
follow out the bent of his own inclinations. This
was well enough, but who could give him his
fourteen years back again ?
I sometimes wondered how it was that the mis-
chief done was not more clearly perceptible, and
that the young men and women grew up as sen-
sible and goodly as they did, in spite of the attempts
almost deliberately made to warp and stunt their
growth. Some doubtless received damage, from
226
Colleges of Unreason
which they suffered to their Hfe's end ; but many
seemed httle or none the worse, and some, almost
the better. The reason would seem to be that the
natural instinct of the lads in most cases so abso-
lutely rebelled against their training, that do what
the teachers might they could never get them to
pay serious heed to it. The consequence was that
the boys only lost their time, and not so much of
this as might have been expected, for in their
hours of leisure they were actively engaged in
exercises and sports which developed their physical
nature, and made them at any rate strong and
healthy.
Moreover those who had any special tastes could
not be restrained from developing them : they
would learn what they wanted to learn and liked, in
spite of obstacles which seemed rather to urge them
on than to discourage them, while for those who
had no special capacity, the loss of time was of
comparatively little moment ; but in spite of these
alleviations of the mischief, I am sure that much
harm was done to the children of the sub-wealthy
classes, by the system which passes current among
the Erewhonians as education. The poorest chil-
dren suffered least — if destruction and death have
heard the sound of wisdom, to a certain extent
poverty has done so also.
And yet perhaps, after all, it is better for a
country that its seats of learning should do more
to suppress mental growth than to encourage it.
Were it not for a certain priggishness which these
227
Erewhon
places infuse into so great a number of their
alumni, genuine work would become dangerously
common. It is essential that by far the greater
part of what is said or done in the world should be
so ephemeral as to take itself away quickly ; it
should keep good for twenty-four hours, or even
twice as long, but it should not be good enough a
week hence to prevent people from going on to
something else. No doubt the marvellous develop-
ment of journalism in England, as also the fact that
our seats of learning aim rather at fostering medioc-
rity than anything higher, is due to our subcon-
scious recognition of the fact that it is even more
necessary to check exuberance of mental develop-
ment than to encourage it. There can be no doubt
that this is what our academic bodies do, and they
do it the more effectually because they do it only
subconsciously. They think they are advancing
healthy mental assimilation and digestion, whereas
in reality they are little better than cancer in the
stomach.
Let me return, however, to the Erewhonians.
Nothing surprised me more than to see the occa-
sional flashes of common sense with which one
branch of study or another was lit up, while not a
single ray fell upon so many others. I was particu-
larly struck with this on strolling into the Art
School of the University. Here I found that the
course of study was divided into two branches — the
practical and the commercial — no student being
permitted to continue his studies in the actual prac-
228
Colleges of Unreason
tice of the art he had taken up, unless he made
equal progress in its commercial history.
Thus those who were studying painting were exa-
mined at frequent intervals in the prices which all
the leading pictures of the last fifty or a hundred
years had realised, and in the fluctuations in their
values when (as often happened) they had been
sold and resold three or four times. The artist,
they contend, is a dealer in pictures, and it is as
important for him to learn how to adapt his wares
to the market, and to know approximately what
kind of a picture will fetch how much, as it is for
him to be able to paint the picture. This, I
suppose, is what the French mean by laying so
much stress upon " values."
As regards the city itself, the more I saw the
more enchanted I became. I dare not trust my-
self with any description of the exquisite beauty of
the different colleges, and their walks and gardens.
Truly in these things alone there must be a hallow-
ing and refining influence which is in itself half
an education, and which no amount of error can
wholly spoil. I was introduced to many of the
Professors, who showed me every hospitality and
kindness ; nevertheless I could hardly avoid a sort
of suspicion that some of those whom I was taken
to see had been so long engrossed in their own
study of hypothetics that they had become the exact
antitheses of the Athenians in the days of St. Paul ;
for whereas the Athenians spent their lives in no-
thing save to see and to hear some new thing, there
329
Erewhon
were some here who seemed to devote themselves
to the avoidance of every opinion with which they
were not perfectly familiar, and regarded their
own brains as a sort of sanctuary, to which if an
opinion had once resorted, none other was to
attack it.
I should warn the reader, however, that I was
rarely sure what the men whom I met while
staying with Mr. Thims really meant ; for there
was no getting anything out of them if they
scented even a suspicion that they might be what
they call " giving themselves away." As there is
hardly any subject on which this suspicion cannot
arise, I found it difficult to get definite opinions
from any of them, except on such subjects as the
weather, eating and drinking, holiday excursions,
or games of skill.
If they cannot wriggle out of expressing an
opinion of some sort, they will commonly retail
those of some one who has already written upon
the subject, and conclude by saying that though
they quite admit that there is an element of truth
in what the writer has said, there are many points
on which they are unable to agree with him.
Which these points were, 1 invariably found my-
self unable to determine ; indeed, it seemed to be
counted the perfection of scholarship and good
breeding among them not to have — much less to
express — an opinion on any subject on which it
might prove later that they had been mistaken.
The art of sitting gracefully on a fence has never,
230
Colleges of Unreason
I should think, been brought to greater perfection
than at the Erewhonian Colleges of Unreason.
Even when, wriggle as they may, they find them-
selves pinned down to some expression of definite
opinion, as often as not they will argue in support
of what they perfectly well know to be untrue.
I repeatedly met with reviews and articles even in
their best journals, between the lines of which I
had little difficulty in detecting a sense exactly
contrary to the one ostensibly put forward. So
well is this understood, that a man must be a mere
tyro in the arts of Erewhonian polite society,
unless he instinctively suspects a hidden " yea "
in every "nay" that meets him. Granted that
it comes to much the same in the end, for it does
not matter whether "yea" is called "yea" or
" nay," so long as it is understood which it is to
be ; but our own more direct way of calling a
spade a spade, rather than a rake, with the in-
tention that every one should understand it as
a spade, seems more satisfactory. On the other
hand, the Erewhonian system lends itself better
to the suppression of that downrightness which it
seems the express aim of Erewhonian philosophy
to discountenance.
However this may be, the fear-of-giving-them-
selves-away disease was fatal to the intelligence
of those infected by it, and almost every one at
the Colleges of Unreason had caught it to a
greater or less degree. After a few years atrophy
of the opinions invariably supervened, and the
231
Erewhon
sufferer became stone dead to everything except
the more superficial aspects of those material
objects with which he came most in contact.
The expression on the faces of these people was
repellent ; they did not, however, seem particu-
larly unhappy, for they none of them had the
faintest idea that they were in reality more dead
than alive. No cure for this disgusting fear-of-
giving - themselves - away disease has yet been
discovered.
It was during my stay in City of the Colleges
of Unreason — a city whose Erewhonian name is
so cacophonous that I refrain from giving it — that
I learned the particulars of the revolution which
had ended in the destruction of so many of the
mechanical inventions which were formerly in
common use.
Mr. Thims took me to the rooms of a gentleman
who had a great reputation for learning, but who
was also, so Mr. Thims told me, rather a dangerous
person, inasmuch as he had attempted to introduce
an adverb into the hypothetical language. He had
heard of my watch and been exceedingly anxious
to see me, for he was accounted the most learned
antiquary in Erewhon on the subject of mechanical
lore. We fell to talking upon the subject, and
when I left he gave me a reprinted copy of the
work which brought the revolution about.
It had taken place some five hundred years
before my arrival : people had long become
232
Colleges of Unreason
thoroughly used to the change, although at the
time that it was made the country was plunged
into the deepest misery, and a reaction which
followed had very nearly proved successful. Civil
war raged for many years, and is said to have
reduced the number of the inhabitants by one-
half. The parties were styled the machinists and
the anti-machinists, and in the end, as I have said
already, the latter got the victory, treating their
opponents with such unparalleled severity that
they extirpated every trace of opposition.
The wonder was that they allowed any mechani-
cal appliances to remain in the kingdom, neither do
I believe that they would have done so, had not
the Professors of Inconsistency and Evasion made
a stand against the carrying of the new principles
to their legitimate conclusions. These Professors,
moreover, insisted that during the struggle the
anti-machinists should use every known improve-
ment in the art of war, and several new weapons,
offensive and defensive, were invented, while it was
in progress. I was surprised at there remaining so
many mechanical specimens as are seen in the
museums, and at students having rediscovered their
past uses so completely ; for at the time of the re-
volution the victors wrecked all the more complicated
machines, and burned all treatises on mechanics,
and all engineers' workshops — thus, so they thought,
cutting the mischief out root and branch, at an
incalculable cost of blood and treasure.
Certainly they had not spared their labour, but
233
Erewhon
work of this description can never be perfectly
achieved, and when, some two hundred years
before my arrival, all passion upon the subject
had cooled down, and no one save a lunatic
would have dreamed of reintroducing forbidden
inventions, the subject came to be regarded as a
curious antiquarian study, hke that of some long-
forgotten religious practices among ourselves.
Then came the careful search for whatever frag-
ments could be found, and for any machines that
might have been hidden away, and also numberless
treatises were written, showing what the functions
of each rediscovered machine had been ; all being
done with no idea of using such machinery again,
but with the feelings of an English antiquarian
concerning Druidical monuments or flint arrow
heads.
On my return to the metropolis, during the
remaining weeks or rather days of my sojourn in
Erewhon I made a resume in English of the work
which brought about the already mentioned re-
volution. My ignorance of technical terms has
led me doubtless into many errors, and I have
occasionally, where I found translation impossible,
substituted purely English names and ideas for the
original Erewhonian ones, but the reader may rely
on my general accuracy. 1 have thought it best to
insert my translation here.
234
CHAPTER XXIII
THE BOOK OF THE MACHINES
The writer commences: — "There was a time, when
the earth was to all appearance utterly destitute
both of animal and vegetable life, and when
according to the opinion of our best philosophers
it was simply a hot round ball with a crust gradu-
ally cooling. Now if a human being had existed
while the earth was in this state and had been
allowed to see it as though it were some other
world with which he had no concern, and if at
the same time he were entirely ignorant of all
physical science, would he not have pronounced
it impossible that creatures possessed of anything
like consciousness should be evolved from the
seeming cinder which he was beholding ? Would
he not have denied that it contained any poten-
tiality of consciousness ? Yet in the course of
time consciousness came. Is it not possible then
that there may be even yet new channels dug out
for consciousness, though we can detect no signs
of them at present ?
" Again. Consciousness, in anything like the
present acceptation of the term, having been once
a new thing — a thing, as far as we can see, sub-
sequent even to an individual centre of action and
235
Erewhon
to a reproductive system (which we see existing
in plants without apparent consciousness) — why
may not there arise some new phase of mind
which shall be as different from all present known
phases, as the mind of animals is from that of
vegetables ?
" It would be absurd to attempt to define such
a mental state (or whatever it may be called), in-
asmuch as it must be something so foreign to
man that his experience can give him no help
towards conceiving its nature ; but surely when
we reflect upon the manifold phases of life and
consciousness which have been evolved already,
it would be rash to say that no others can be
developed, and that animal life is the end of
all things. There was a time when fire was the
end of all things : another when rocks and water
were so."
The writer, after enlarging on the above for
several pages, proceeded to inquire whether traces
of the approach of such a new phase of life could
be perceived at present ; whether we could see any
tenements preparing which might in a remote
futurity be adapted for it ; whether, in fact, the
primordial cell of such a kind of life could be now
detected upon earth. In the course of his work
he answered this question in the affirmative and
pointed to the higher machines.
" There is no security " — to quote his own words
— " against the ultimate development of mechanical
consciousness, in the fact of machines possessing
236
Book of the Machines
little consciousness now. A mollusc has not much
consciousness. Reflect upon the extraordinary
advance which machines have made during the last
few hundred years, and note how slowly the animal
and vegetable kingdoms are advancing. The more
highly organised machines are creatures not so
much of yesterday, as of the last five minutes, so to
speak, in comparison with past time. Assume for
the sake of argument that conscious beings have
existed for some twenty million years : see what
strides machines have made in the last thousand !
May not the world last twenty million years longer ?
If so, what will they not in the end become ? Is it
not safer to nip the mischief in the bud and to
forbid them further progress ?
" But who can say that the vapour engine has
not a kind of consciousness ? Where does con-
sciousness begin, and where end ? Who can draw
the line ? Who can draw any line ? Is not every-
thing interwoven with everything ? Is not ma-
chinery linked with animal life in an infinite variety
of ways ? The shell of a hen's egg is made of a
delicate white ware and is a machine as much as an
egg-cup is : the shell is a device for holding the
egg, as much as the egg-cup for holding the shell :
both are phases of the same function ; the hen
makes the shell in her inside, but it is pure pottery.
She makes her nest outside of herself for con-
venience' sake, but the nest is not more of a
machine than the egg-shell is. A * machine ' is
only a * device.' "
237
Erewhon
Then returning to consciousness, and endeavour-
ing to detect its earliest manifestations, the writer
continued : —
** There is a kind of plant that eats organic food
with its flowers : when a fly settles upon the
blossom, the petals close upon it and hold it fast
till the plant has absorbed the insect into its
system ; but they will close on nothing but what
is good to eat ; of a drop of rain or a piece of stick
they will take no notice. Curious ! that so un-
conscious a thing should have such a keen eye to
its own interest. If this is unconsciousness, where
is the use of consciousness ?
" Shall we say that the plant does not know what
it is doing merely because it has no eyes, or ears,
or brains ? If we say that it acts mechanically, and
mechanically only, shall we not be forced to admit
that sundry other and apparently very deliberate
actions are also mechanical ? If it seems to us that
the plant kills and eats a fly mechanically, may it
not seem to the plant that a man must kill and eat
a sheep mechanically ?
" But it may be said that the plant is void of
reason, because the growth of a plant is an in-
voluntary growth. Given earth, air, and due
temperature, the plant must grow : it is like a clock,
which being once wound up will go till it is stopped
or run down : it is like the wind blowing on the
sails of a ship — the ship must go when the wind
blows it. But can a healthy boy help growing if
he have good meat and drink and clothing ? can
238
Book of the Machines
anythin<4 help going as long as it is wound up, or
go on after it is run down ? Is there not a winding
up process everywhere ?
" Even a potato ^ in a dark cellar has a certain
low cunning about him which serves him in ex-
cellent stead. He knows perfectly well what he
wants and how to get it. He sees the light coming
from the cellar window and sends his shoots
crawling straight thereto : they will crawl along the
floor and up the wall and out at the cellar window ;
if there be a little earth anywhere on the journey
he will find it and use it for his own ends. What
deliberation he may exercise in the matter of his
roots when he is planted in the earth is a thing
unknown to us, but we can imagine him saying,
' I will have a tuber here and a tuber there, and I
will suck whatsoever advantage I can from all my
surroundings. This neighbour I will overshadow,
and that I will undermine ; and what I can do shall
be the limit of what I will do. He that is stronger
and better placed than I shall overcome me, and
him that is weaker I will overcome.'
"The potato says these things by doing them,
which is the best of languages. What is conscious-
ness if this is not consciousness ? We find it
difficult to sympathise with the emotions of a
^ The root alluded to is not the potato of our own gardens, but a
plant so near akin to it that I have ventured to translate it thus.
Apropos of its intelligence, had the writer known Butler he would
probably have said—
" He knows what's what, and that's as high.
As metaphysic wit can fly."
239
Erewhon
potato ; so we do with those of an oyster. Neither
of these things makes a noise on being boiled or
opened, and noise appeals to us more strongly than
anything else, because we make so much about our
own sufferings. Since, then, they do not annoy us
by any expression of pain we call them emotionless;
and so qua mankind they are ; but mankind is not
everybody.
" If it be urged that the action of the potato is
chemical and mechanical only, and that it is due
to the chemical and mechanical effects of light and
heat, the answer would seem to lie in an inquiry
whether every sensation is not chemical and me-
chanical in its operation ? whether those things
which we deem most purely spiritual are anything
but disturbances of equilibrium in an infinite series
of levers, beginning with those that are too small
for microscopic detection, and going up to the
human arm and the appliances which it makes use
of ? whether there be not a molecular action of
thought, whence a dynamical theory of the passions
shall be deducible ? Whether strictly speaking we
should not ask what kind of levers a man is made
of rather than what is his temperament ? How
are they balanced ? How much of such and such
will it take to weigh them down so as to make him
do so and so ? "
The writer went on to say that he anticipated a
time when it would be possible, by examining a
single hair with a powerful microscope, to know
whether its owner could be insulted with impunity.
240
Book of the Machines
He then became more and more obscure, so that I
was obUged to give up all attempt at translation ;
neither did I follow the drift of his argument. On
coming to the next part which I could construe, I
found that he had changed his ground.
" Either," he proceeds, " a great deal of action
that has been called purely mechanical and uncon-
scious must be admitted to contain more elements
of consciousness than has been allowed hitherto
(and in this case germs of consciousness will be
found in many actions of the higher machines) — Or
(assuming the theory of evolution but at the same
time denying the consciousness of vegetable and
crystalline action) the race of man has descended
from things which had no consciousness at all. In
this case there is no a priori improbability in the
descent of conscious (and more than conscious)
machines from those which now exist, except that
which is suggested by the apparent absence of any-
thing like a reproductive system in the mechanical
kingdom. This absence however is only apparent,
as I shall presently show.
" Do not let me be misunderstood as living in
fear of any actually existing machine ; there is pro-
bably no known machine which is more than a
prototype of future mechanical life. The present
machines are to the future as the early Saurians to
man. The largest of them will probably greatly
diminish in size. Some of the lowest vertebrata
attained a much greater bulk than has descended to
their more highly organised living representatives,
241 Q
Erewhon
and in like manner a diminution in the size of
machines has often attended their development and
progress.
" Take the watch, for example ; examine its beau-
tiful structure ; observe the intelligent play of the
minute members which compose it; yet this little
creature is but a development of the cumbrous
clocks that preceded it ; it is no deterioration from
them. A day may come when clocks, which cer-
tainly at the present time are not diminishing in
bulk, will be superseded owing to the universal
use of watches, in which case they will become as
extinct as ichthyosauri, while the watch, whose ten-
dency has for some years been to decrease in size
rather than the contrary, will remain the only exist-
ing type of an extinct race.
" But returning to the argument, I would repeat
that I fear none of the existing machines ; what I
fear is the extraordinary rapidity with which they
are becoming something very different to what they
are at present. No class of beings have in any time
past made so rapid a movement forward. Should
not that movement be jealously watched, and
checked while we can still check it ? And is it
not necessary for this end to destroy the more
advanced of the machines which are in use at
present, though it is admitted that they are in
themselves harmless ?
" As yet the machines receive their impressions
through the agency of man's senses: one travelling
machine calls to another in a shrill accent of alarm
242
Book of the Machines
and the other instantly retires ; but it is through the
ears of the driver that the voice of the one has acted
upon the other. Had there been no driver, the
callee would have been deaf to the caller. There
was a time when it must have seemed highly im-
probable that machines should learn to make their
wants known by sound, even through the ears of
man ; may we not conceive, then, that a day will
come when those ears will be no longer needed,
and the hearing will be done by the delicacy of the
machine's own construction ? — when its language
shall have been developed from the cry of animals
to a speech as intricate as our own ?
" It is possible that by that time children will
learn the differential calculus — as they learn now
to speak — from their mothers and nurses, or that
they may talk in the hypothetical language, and
work rule of three sums, as soon as they are born ;
but this is not probable ; we cannot calculate on
any corresponding advance in man's intellectual or
physical powers which shall be a set-off against the
far greater development which seems in store for
the machines. Some people may say that man's
moral influence will suffice to rule them ; but I
cannot think it will ever be safe to repose much
trust in the moral sense of any machine.
" Again, might not the glory of the machines
consist in their being without this same boasted
gift of language ? ' Silence,' it has been said by
one writer, * is a virtue which renders us agreeable
to our fellow-creatures.' "
243
CHAPTER XXIV
THE MACHINES — continued
" But other questions come upon us. What is a
man's eye but a machine for the Httle creature that
sits behind in his brain to look through ? A dead
eye is nearly as good as a living one for some time
after the man is dead. It is not the eye that cannot
see, but the restless one that cannot see through it.
Is it man's eyes, or is it the big seeing-engine which
has revealed to us the existence of worlds beyond
worlds into infinity ? What has made man familiar
with the scenery of the moon, the spots on the sun,
or the geography of the planets ? He is at the
mercy of the seeing-engine for these things, and is
powerless unless he tack it on to his own identity,
and make it part and parcel of himself. Or, again,
is it the eye, or the little see-engine, which has
shown us the existence of infinitely minute organ-
isms which swarm unsuspected around us ?
" And take man's vaunted power of calculation.
Have we not engines which can do all manner of
sums more quickly and correctly than we can ?
What prizeman in Hypothetics at any of our Col-
leges of Unreason can compare with some of these
machines in their own line ? In fact, wherever
precision is required man flies to the machine
244
Book of the Machines
at once, as far preferable to himself. Our sum-
engines never drop a figure, nor our looms a stitch ;
the machine is brisk and active, when the man is
weary ; it is clear-headed and collected, when the
man is stupid and dull ; it needs no slumber, when
man must sleep or drop ; ever at its post, ever
ready for work, its alacrity never fiags, its patience
never gives in ; its might is stronger than combined
hundreds, and swifter than the flight of birds ; it
can burrow beneath the earth, and walk upon the
largest rivers and sink not. This is the green tree ;
what then shall be done in the dry ?
"Who shall say that a man does see or hear?
He is such a hive and swarm of parasites that it is
doubtful whether his body is not more theirs than
his, and whether he is anything but another kind of
ant-heap after all. May not man himself become a
sort of parasite upon the machines ? An affection-
ate machine-tickling aphid ?
" It is said by some that our blood is composed
of infinite living agents which go up and down the
highways and byways of our bodies as people in
the streets of a city. When we look down from
a high place upon crowded thoroughfares, is it
possible not to think of corpuscles of blood travel-
ling through veins and nourishing the heart of the
town ? No mention shall be made of sewers, nor
of the hidden nerves which serve to communicate
sensations from one part of the town's body to
another ; nor of the yawning jaws of the railway
stations, whereby the circulation is carried directly
245
Erewhon
into the heart, — which receive the venous lines, and
disgorge the arterial, with an eternal pulse of
people. And the sleep of the town, how life-like !
with its change in the circulation."
Here the writer became again so hopelessly ob-
scure that I was obliged to miss several pages. He
resumed : —
" It can be answered that even though machines
should hear never so well and speak never so
wisely, they will still always do the one or the
other for our advantage, not their own ; that man
will be the ruling spirit and the machine the
servant ; that as soon as a machine fails to dis-
charge the service which man expects from it, it
is doomed to extinction ; that the machines stand
to man simply in the relation of lower animals, the
vapour-engine itself being only a more economical
kind of horse ; so that instead of being likely to be
developed into a higher kind of life than man's,
they owe their very existence and progress to their
power of ministering to human wants, and must
therefore both now and ever be man's inferiors.
"Tliis is all very well. But the servant glides by
imperceptible approaches into the master ; and we
have come to such a pass that, even now, man
must suffer terribly on ceasing to benefit the
machines. If all machines were to be annihilated
at one moment, so that not a knife nor lever nor
rag of clothing nor anything whatsoever were left
to man but his bare body alone that he was born
with, and if all knowledge of mechanical laws were
246
Book of the Machines
taken from him so that he could make no more
machines, and all machine-made food destroyed so
that the race of man should be left as it were naked
upon a desert island, we should become extinct
in six weeks. A few miserable individuals might
linger, but even these in a year or two would
become worse than monkeys. Man's very soul is
due to the machines ; it is a machine-made thing :
he thinks as he thinks, and feels as he feels, through
the work that machines have wrought upon him,
and their existence is quite as much a sine qud non
for his, as his for theirs. This fact precludes us from
proposing the complete annihilation of machinery,
but surely it indicates that we should destroy as
many of them as we can possibly dispense with,
lest they should tyrannise over us even more
completely.
"True, from a low materialistic point of view,
it would seem that those thrive best who use
machinery wherever its use is possible with profit ;
but this is the art of the machines — they serve that
they may rule. They bear no malice towards man
for destroying a whole race of them provided he
creates a better instead ; on the contrary, they
reward him liberally for having hastened their
development. It is for neglecting them that he
incurs their wrath, or for using inferior machines,
or for not making sufficient exertions to invent new
ones, or for destroying them without replacing
them ; yet these are the very things we ought to
do, and do quickly ; for though our rebellion
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against their infant power will cause infinite suffer-
ing, what will not things come to, if that rebellion
is delayed ?
" They have preyed upon man's grovelling prefer-
ence for his material over his spiritual interests,
and have betrayed him into supplying that element
of struggle and warfare without which no race can
advance. The lower animals progress because they
struggle with one another ; the weaker die, the
stronger breed and transmit their strength. The
machines being of themselves unable to struggle,
have got man to do their struggling for them : as
long as he fulfils this function duly, all goes well
with him — at least he thinks so ; but the moment
he fails to do his best for the advancement of
machinery by encouraging the good and destroying
the bad, he is left behind in the race of com-
petition ; and this means that he will be made
uncomfortable in a variety of ways, and perhaps
die.
" So that even now the machines will only serve
on condition of being served, and that too upon
their own terms ; the moment their terms are not
complied with, they jib, and either smash both
themselves and all whom they can reach, or turn
churlish and refuse to work at all. How many men
at this hour are living in a state of bondage to the
machines ? How many spend their whole lives,
from the cradle to the grave, in tending them by
night and day ? Is it not plain that the machines
are gaining ground upon us, when we reflect on the
248
Book of the Machines
increasing number of those who are bound down
to them as slaves, and of those who devote their
whole souls to the advancement of the mechanical
kingdom ?
"The vapour-engine must be fed with food and
consume it by fire even as man consumes it ; it
supports its combustion by air as man supports it ;
it has a pulse and circulation as man has. It may
be granted that man's body is as yet the more
versatile of the two, but then man's body is an
older thing ; give the vapour-engine but half the
time that man has had, give it also a continuance
of our present infatuation, and what may it not ere
long attain to ?
"There are certain functions indeed of the
vapour-engine which will probably remain un-
changed for myriads of years — which in fact will
perhaps survive when the use of vapour has been
superseded : the piston and cylinder, the beam, the
fiy-wheel, and other parts of the machine will pro-
bably be permanent, just as we see that man and
many of the lower animals share like modes of
eating, drinking, and sleeping ; thus they have
hearts which beat as ours, veins and arteries, eyes,
ears, and noses ; they sigh even in their sleep, and
weep and yawn ; they are affected by their children;
they feel pleasure and pain, hope, fear, anger,
shame ; they have memory and prescience ; they
know that if certain things happen to them they
will die, and they fear death as much as we do ;
they communicate their thoughts to one another,
249
Erewhon
and some of them deliberately act in concert. The
comparison of similarities is endless : I only make
it because some may say that since the vapour-
engine is not likely to be improved in the main
particulars, it is unlikely to be henceforward exten-
sively modified at all. This is too good to be true :
it will be modified and suited for an infinite variety
of purposes, as much as man has been modified so
as to exceed the brutes in skill.
" In the meantime the stoker is almost as much a
cook for his engine as our own cooks for ourselves.
Consider also the colliers and pitmen and coal
merchants and coal trains, and the men who drive
them, and the ships that carry coals — what an army
of servants do the machines thus employ ! Are
there not probably more men engaged in tending
machinery than in tending men ? Do not machines
eat as it were by mannery ? Are we not ourselves
creating our successors in the supremacy of the
earth ? daily adding to the beauty and delicacy of
their organisation, daily giving them greater skill
and supplying more and more of that self-regulat-
ing self-acting power which will be better than any
intellect ?
"What a new thing it is for a machine to feed at
all ! The plough, the spade, and the cart must eat
through man's stomach ; the fuel that sets them
going must burn in the furnace of a man or of
horses. Man must consume bread and meat or he
cannot dig ; the bread and meat are the fuel which
drive the spade. If a plough be drawn by horses,
250
Book of the Machines
the power is supplied by grass or beans or oats,
which being burnt in the belly of the cattle give the
power of working : without this fuel the work would
cease, as an engine would stop if its furnaces were
to go out.
" A man of science has demonstrated * that no
animal has the power of originating mechanical
energy, but that all the work done in its life by any
animal, and all the heat that has been emitted from
it, and the heat which would be obtained by burn-
ing the combustible matter which has been lost
from its body during life, and by burning its body
after death, make up altogether an exact equivalent
to the heat which would be obtained by burning as
much food as it has used during its life, and an
amount of fuel which would generate as much heat
as its body if burned immediately after death.' I
do not know how he has found this out, but he is
a man of science — how then can it be objected
against the future vitality of the machines that they
are, in their present infancy, at the beck and call
of beings who are themselves incapable of originat-
ing mechanical energy ?
"The main point, however, to be observed as
affording cause for alarm is, that whereas animals
were formerly the only stomachs of the machines,
there are now many which have stomachs of their
own, and consume their food themselves. This is
a great step towards their becoming, if not animate,
yet something so near akin to it, as not to differ
more widely from our own life than animals do
251
Erewhon
from vegetables. And though man should remain,
in some respects, the higher creature, is not this
in accordance with the practice of nature, which
allows superiority in some things to animals which
have, on the whole, "been long surpassed ? Has she
not allowed the ant and the bee to retain superi-
ority over man in the organisation of their com-
munities and social arrangements, the bird in
traversing the air, the fish in swimming, the horse
in strength and fleetness, and the dog in self-sacri-
fice ?
" It is said by some with whom I have conversed
upon this subject, that the machines can never be
developed into animate or quast-a.nim3.te existences,
inasmuch as they have no reproductive system, nor
seem ever likely to possess one. If this be taken
to mean that they cannot marry, and that we are
never likely to see a fertile union between two
vapour-engines with the young ones playing about
the door of the shed, however greatly we might
desire to do so, I will readily grant it. But the
objection is not a very profound one. No one
expects that all the features of the now existing
organisations will be absolutely repeated in an
entirely new class of life. Tiie reproductive system
of animals differs widely from that of plants, but
both are reproductive systems. Has nature ex-
hausted her phases of this power ?
" Surely if a machine is able to reproduce another
machine systematically, we may say that it has a
reproductive system. What is a reproductive sys-
252
Book of the Machines
tern, if it be not a system for reproduction ? And
how few of the machines are there which have not
been produced systematically by other machines ?
But it is man that makes them do so. Yes ; but is
it not insects that make many of the plants repro-
ductive, and would not whole families of plants die
out if their fertilisation was not effected by a class
of agents utterly foreign to themselves ? Does any
one say that the red clover has no reproductive
system because the humble bee (and the humble
bee only) must aid and abet it before it can repro-
duce ? No one. The humble bee is a part of the
reproductive system of the clover. Each one of
ourselves has sprung from minute animalcules
whose entity was entirely distinct from our own,
and which acted after their kind with no thought
or heed of what we might think about it. These
little creatures are part of our own reproductive
system ; then why not we part of that of the
machines ?
" But the machines which reproduce machinery
do not reproduce machines after their own kind.
A thimble may be made by machinery, but it was
not made by, neither will it ever make, a thimble.
Here, again, if we turn to nature we shall find
abundance of analogies which will teach us that a
reproductive system may be in full force without
the thing produced being of the same kind as that
which produced it. Very few creatures reproduce
after their own kind ; they reproduce something
which has the potentiality of becoming that which
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their parents were. Thus the butterfly lays an egg,
which egg can become a caterpillar, which cater-
pillar can become a chrysalis, which chrysalis can
become a butterfly ; and though I freely grant that
the machines cannot be said to have more than the
germ of a true reproductive system at present, have
we not just seen that they have only recently ob-
tained the germs of a mouth and stomach ? And
may not some stride be made in the direction of
true reproduction which shall be as great as that
which has been recently taken in the direction of
true feeding ?
" It is possible that the system when developed
may be in many cases a vicarious thing. Certain
classes of machines may be alone fertile, while the
rest discharge other functions in the mechanical
system, just as the great majority of ants and bees
have nothing to do with the continuation of their
species, but get food and store it, without thought
of breeding. One cannot expect the parallel to be
complete or nearly so ; certainly not now, and
probably never ; but is there not enough analogy
existing at the present moment, to make us feel
seriously uneasy about the future, and to render
it our duty to check the evil while we can still
do so ? Machines can within certain limits beget
machines of any class, no matter how different to
themselves. Every class of machines will probably
have its special mechanical breeders, and all the
higher ones will owe their existence to a large
number of parents and not to two only.
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Book of the Machines
"We are misled by considering any complicated
machine as a single thing ; in truth it is a city or
society, each member of which was bred truly
after its kind. We see a machine as a whole, we
call it by a name and individualise it ; we look at
our own limbs, and know that the combination
forms an individual which springs from a single
centre of reproductive action ; we therefore assume
that there can be no reproductive action which
does not arise from a single centre ; but this assump-
tion is unscientific, and the bare fact that no vapour-
engine was ever made entirely by another, or two
others, of its own kind, is not sufficient to warrant
us in saying that vapour-engines have no repro-
ductive system. The truth is that each part of
every vapour-engine is bred by its own special
breeders, whose function it is to breed that part,
and that only, while the combination of the parts
into a w^hole forms another department of the
mechanical reproductive system, which is at present
exceedingly complex and difficult to see in its
entirety.
** Complex now, but how much simpler and more
intelligibly organised may it not become in another
hundred thousand years ? or in twenty thousand ?
For man at present believes that his interest lies
in that direction ; he spends an incalculable amount
of labour and time and thought in making machines
breed always better and better ; he has already
succeeded in effecting much that at one time ap-
peared impossible, and there seem no limits to the
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Erewhon
results of accumulated improvements if they are
allowed to descend with modification from genera-
tion to generation. It must always be remembered
that man's body is what it is through having been
moulded into its present shape by the chances and
changes of many millions of years, but that his
organisation never advanced with anything like the
rapidity with which that of the machines is advanc-
ing. This is the most alarming feature in the case,
and I must be pardoned for insisting on it so
frequently."
256
CHAPTER XXV
THE MACHINES — concluded
Here followed a very long and untranslatable
digression about the different races and families
of the then existing machines. The writer at-
tempted to support his theory by pointing out
the similarities existing between many machines of
a widely different character, which served to show
descent from a common ancestor. He divided
machines into their genera, subgenera, species,
varieties, subvarieties, and so forth. He proved
the existence of connecting links between machines
that seemed to have very little in common, and
showed that many more such links had existed,
but had now perished. He pointed out tendencies
to reversion, and the presence of rudimentary
organs which existed in many machines feebly de-
veloped and perfectly useless, yet serving to mark
descent from an ancestor to whom the function
was actually useful.
I left the translation of this part of the treatise,
which, by the way, was far longer than all that
I have given here, for a later opportunity. Unfor-
tunately, I left Erewhon before I could return to
the subject ; and though I saved my translation
and other papers at the hazard of my life, I was
257 R
Erewhon
obliged to sacrifice the original work. It went to
my heart to do so ; but I thus gained ten minutes
of invaluable time, without which both Arowhena
and myself must have certainly perished.
I remember one incident which bears upon this
part of the treatise. The gentleman who gave it
to me had asked to see my tobacco-pipe ; he
examined it carefully, and when he came to the
little protuberance at the bottom of the bowl he
seemed much delighted, and exclaimed that it must
be rudimentary. I asked him what he meant.
"Sir," he answered, "this organ is identical with
the rim at the bottom of a cup ; it is but another
form of the same function. Its purpose must have
been to keep the heat of the pipe from marking the
table upon which it rested. You would find, if you
were to look up the history of tobacco-pipes, that
in early specimens this protuberance was of a dif-
ferent shape to what it is now. It will have been
broad at the bottom, and flat, so that while the pipe
was being smoked the bowl might rest upon the
table without marking it. Use and disuse must
have come into play and reduced the function to
its present rudimentary condition. 1 should not
be surprised, sir," he continued, "if, in the course
of time, it were to become modilied still farther,
and to assume the form of an ornamental leaf or
scroll, or even a butterfly, while, in some cases, it
will become extinct."
On my return to England, I looked up the point,
and found that my friend was right.
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Book of the Machines
Returning, however, to the treatise, my transla-
tion recommences as follows : —
" May we not fancy that if, in the remotest geo-
logical period, some early form of vegetable life
had been endowed with the power of reflecting
upon the dawning life of animals which was
coming into existence alongside of its own, it
would have thought itself exceedingly acute if it
had surmised that animals would one day become
real vegetables ? Yet would this be more mistaken
than it would be on our part to imagine that be-
cause the life of machines is a very different one
to our own, there is therefore no higher possible
development of life than ours ; or that because
mechanical life is a very different thing from ours,
therefore that it is not life at all ?
" But I have heard it said, ' granted that this is
so, and that the vapour-engine has a strength of
its own, surely no one will say that it has a will
of its own ? ' Alas 1 if we look more closely, we
shall find that this does not make against the sup-
position that the vapour-engine is one of the germs
of a new phase of life. What is there in this whole
world, or in the worlds beyond it, which has a
will of its own ? The Unknown and Unknowable
only !
" A man is the resultant and exponent of all the
forces that have been brought to bear upon him,
whether before his birth or afterwards. His action
at any moment depends solely upon his constitu-
tion, and on the intensity and direction of the
259
Erewhon
various agencies to which he is, and has been, sub-
jected. Some of these will counteract each other ;
but as he is by nature, and as he has been acted
on, and is now acted on from without, so will he
do, as certainly and regularly as though he were a
machine.
" We do not generally admit this, because we do
not know the whole nature of any one, nor the
whole of the forces that act upon him. We see
but a part, and being thus unable to generalise
human conduct, except very roughly, we deny that
it is subject to any fixed laws at all, and ascribe
much both of a man's character and actions to
chance, or luck, or fortune ; but these are only
words whereby we escape the admission of our
own ignorance ; and a little reflection will teach us
that the most daring flight of the imagination or
the most subtle exercise of the reason is as much
the thing that must arise, and the only thing that
can by any possibility arise, at the moment of its
arising, as the falling of a dead leaf when the wind
shakes it from the tree.
" For the future depends upon the present, and
the present (whose existence is only one of those
minor compromises of which human life is full —
for it lives only on sufferance of the past and
future) depends upon the past, and the past is
unalterable. The only reason why wc cannot see
the future as plainly as the past, is because we
know too little of the actual past and actual pre-
sent ; these things are too great for us, otherwise
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Book of the Machines
the future, in its minutest details, would lie spread
out before our eyes, and we should lose our sense
of time present by reason of the clearness with
which we should see the past and future ; perhaps
we should not be even able to distinguish time at
all ; but that is foreign. What we do know is, that
the more the past and present are known, the more
the future can be predicted ; and that no one
dreams of doubting the fixity of the future in cases
where he is fully cognisant of both past and pre-
sent, and has had experience of the consequences
that followed from such a past and such a present
on previous occasions. He perfectly well knows
what will happen, and will stake his whole fortune
thereon.
" And this is a great blessing ; for it is the foun-
dation on which morality and science are built.
The assurance that the future is no arbitrary and
changeable thing, but that like futures will in-
variably follow like presents, is the groundwork
on which we lay all our plans — the faith on which
we do every conscious action of our lives. If this
were not so we should be without a guide ; we
should have no confidence in acting, and hence
we should never act, for there would be no know-
ing that the results which will follow now will be
the same as those which followed before.
" Who would plough or sow if he disbelieved in
the fixity of the future ? Who would throw water
on a blazing house if the action of water upon fire
were uncertain ? Men will only do their utmost
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Erewhon
when they feel certain that the future will discover
itself against them if their utmost has not been
done. The feeling of such a certainty is a con-
stituent part of the sum of the forces at work upon
them, and will act most powerfully on the best and
most moral men. Those who are most firmly per-
suaded that the future is immutably bound up with
the present in which their work is lying, will best
husband their present, and till it with the greatest
care. The future must be a lottery to those who
think that the same combinations can sometimes
precede one set of results, and sometimes another.
If their belief is sincere they will speculate instead
of working : these ought to be the immoral men ;
the others have the strongest spur to exertion and
morality, if their belief is a living one.
" The bearing of all this upon the machines is
not immediately apparent, but will become so pre-
sently. In the meantime I must deal with friends
who tell me that, though the future is fixed as
regards inorganic matter, and in some respects
with regard to man, yet that there are many ways
in which it cannot be considered as fixed. Thus,
they say that fire applied to dry shavings, and well
fed with oxygen gas, will always produce a blaze,
but that a coward brought into contact with a
terrifying object will not always result in a man
running away. Nevertheless, if there be two
cowards perfectly similar in every respect, and
if they be subjected in a perfectly similar way to
two terrifying agents, which are themselves per-
Book of the Machines
fectly similar, there are few who will not expect a
perfect similarity in the running away, even though
a thousand years intervene between the original
combination and its being repeated.
" The apparently greater regularity in the results
of chemical than of human combinations arises
from our inability to perceive the subtle differences
in human combinations — combinations which are
never identically repeated. Fire we know, and
shavings we know, but no two men ever were or
ever will be exactly alike ; and the smallest differ-
ence may change the whole conditions of the
problem. Our registry of results must be infinite
before we could arrive at a full forecast of future
combinations ; the wonder is that there is as much
certainty concerning human action as there is ; and
assuredly the older we grow the more certain we
feel as to what such and such a kind of person will
do in given circumstances ; but this could never
be the case unless human conduct were under the
influence of laws, with the working of which we
become more and more familiar through experience.
" If the above is sound, it follows that the regu-
larity with which machinery acts is no proof of the
absence of vitality, or at least of germs which may
be developed into a new phase of life. At first
sight it would indeed appear that a vapour-engine
cannot help going when set upon a line of rails
with the steam up and the machinery in full play ;
whereas the man whose business it is to drive it
can help doing so at any moment that he pleases ;
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Erewhon
so that the first has no spontaneity, and is not
possessed of any sort of free will, while the second
has and is.
"This is true up to a certain point; the driver
can stop the engine at any moment that he pleases,
but he can only please to do so at certain points
which have been fixed for him by others, or in the
case of unexpected obstructions which force him
to please to do so. His pleasure is not spon-
taneous ; there is an unseen choir of influences
around him, which make it impossible for him to
act in any other way than one. It is known before-
hand how much strength must be given to these
influences, just as it is known beforehand how
much coal and water are necessary for the vapour-
engine itself ; and curiously enough it will be found
that the influences brought to bear upon the driver
are of the same kind as those brought to bear upon
the engine — that is to say, food and warmth. The
driver is obedient to his masters, because he gets
food and warmth from them, and if these are with-
held or given in insufficient quantities he will cease
to drive ; in like manner the engine will cease to
work if it is insufficiently fed. The only difference
is, that the man is conscious about his wants, and
the engine (beyond refusing to work) does not
seem to be so ; but this is temporary, and has been
dealt with above.
" Accordingly, the requisite strength being given
to the motives that are to drive the driver, there has
never, or hardly ever, been an instance of a man
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Book of the Machines
stopping his engine through wantonness. But
such a case might occur ; yes, and it might occur
that the engine should break down : but if the
train is stopped from some trivial motive it will
be found either that the strength of the necessary
influences has been miscalculated, or that the man
has been miscalculated, in the same way as an
engine may break down from an unsuspected flaw ;
but even in such a case there will have been no
spontaneity ; the action will have had its true
parental causes : spontaneity is only a term for
man's ignorance of the gods.
" Is there, then, no spontaneity on the part of
those who drive the driver ? "
Here followed an obscure argument upon this
subject, which I have thought it best to omit. The
writer resumes: — "After all then it comes to this,
that the difference between the life of a man and
that of a machine is one rather of degree than of
kind, though differences in kind are not wanting.
An animal has more provision for emergency than
a machine. The machine is less versatile ; its
range of action is narrow ; its strength and accu-
racy in its own sphere are superhuman, but it
shows badly in a dilemma ; sometimes when its
normal action is disturbed, it will lose its head,
and go from bad to worse like a lunatic in a
raging frenzy : but here, again, we are met by the
same consideration as before, namely, that the
machines are still in their infancy ; they are mere
skeletons without muscles and flesh.
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Erewhon
" For how many emergencies is an oyster
adapted ? For as many as are likely to happen
to it, and no more. So are the machines ; and so
is man himself. The list of casualties that daily
occur to man through his want of adaptability is
probably as great as that occurring to the machines;
and every day gives them some greater provision
for the unforeseen. Let any one examine the
wonderful self-regulating and self-adjusting con-
trivances which are now incorporated with the
vapour-engine, let him watch the way in which it
supplies itself with oil ; in which it indicates its
wants to those who tend it ; in which, by the
governor, it regulates its application of its own
strength ; let him look at that store-house of
inertia and momentum the fly-wheel, or at the
buffers on a railway carriage ; let him see how
those improvements are being selected for perpe-
tuity which contain provision against the emer-
gencies that may arise to harass the machines, and
then let him think of a hundred thousand years,
and the accumulated progress which they will
bring unless man can be awakened to a sense of
his situation, and of the doom which he is pre-
paring for himself.^
^ Since my return to England, I have been told that those who are
conversant about machines use many terms concerning them which
show that their vitality is here recognised, and that a collection of ex-
pressions in use among those who attend on steam engines would be
no less startling than instructive. I am also informed, that almost all
machines have their own tricks and idiosyncrasies ; that they know
their drivers and keepers ; and that they will play pranks upon a
266
Book of the Machines
"The misery is that man has been bhnd so long
already. In his reliance upon the use of steam he
has been betrayed into increasing and multiplying.
To withdraw steam power suddenly will not have
the effect of reducing us to the state in which we
were before its introduction ; there will be a general
break-up and time of anarchy such as has never
been known ; it will be as though our population
were suddenly doubled, with no additional means
of feeding the increased number. The air we
breathe is hardly more necessary for our animal
life than the use of any machine, on the strength
of which we have increased our numbers, is to our
civilisation ; it is the machines which act upon
man and make him man, as much as man who
has acted upon and made the machines ; but we
must choose between the alternative of undergoing
much present suffering, or seeing ourselves gradu-
ally superseded by our own creatures, till we rank
no higher in comparison with them, than the beasts
of the field with ourselves.
" Herein lies our danger. For many seem in-
clined to acquiesce in so dishonourable a future.
They say that although man should become to the
machines what the horse and dog are to us, yet
that he will continue to exist, and will probably
be better off in a state of domestication under the
stranger. It is my intention, on a future occasion, to bring together
examples both of the expressions in common use among mechanicians,
and of any extraordinary exhibitions of mechanical sagacity and
eccentricity that I can meet with — not as believing in the Erewhonian
Professor's theory, but from the interest of the subject.
267
Erewhon
beneficent rule of the machines than in his present
wild condition. We treat our domestic animals
with much kindness. We give them whatever we
believe to be the best for them ; and there can be
no doubt that our use of meat has increased their
happiness rather than detracted from it. In like
manner there is reason to hope that the machines
will use us kindly, for their existence will be in a
great measure dependent upon ours ; they will rule
us with a rod of iron, but they will not eat us ; they
will not only require our services in the reproduc-
tion and education of their young, but also in waiting
upon them as servants ; in gathering food for them,
and feeding them ; in restoring them to health
when they are sick; and in either burying their
dead or working up their deceased members into
new forms of mechanical existence.
"The very nature of the motive power which
works the advancement of the machines precludes
the possibility of man's life being rendered miser-
able as well as enslaved. Slaves are tolerably
happy if they have good masters, and the revolu-
tion will not occur in our time, nor hardly in ten
thousand years, or ten times that. Is it wise to be
uneasy about a contingency which is so remote ?
Man is not a sentimental animal where his material
interests are concerned, and though here and there
some ardent soul may look upon himself and curse
his fate that he was not born a vapour-engine, yet
the mass of mankind will acquiesce in any arrange-
ment which gives them better food and clothing
268
Book of the Machines
at a cheaper rate, and will refrain from yielding
to unreasonable jealousy merely because there are
other destinies more glorious than their own.
"The power of custom is enormous, and so
gradual will be the change, that man's sense of
what is due to himself will be at no time rudely
shocked ; our bondage will steal upon us noise-
lessly and by imperceptible approaches ; nor will
there ever be such a clashing of desires between
man and the machines as will lead to an encounter
between them. Among themselves the machines will
war eternally, but they will still require man as the
being through whose agency the struggle will be
principally conducted. In point of fact there is
no occasion for anxiety about the future happiness
of man so long as he continues to be in any way
profitable to the machines ; he may become the
inferior race, but he will be infinitely better off
than he is now. Is it not then both absurd and
unreasonable to be envious of our benefactors ?
And should we not be guilty of consummate folly
if we were to reject advantages which we cannot
obtain otherwise, merely because they involve a
greater gain to others than to ourselves ?
"With those who can argue in this way I have
nothing in common. I shrink with as much horror
from believing that my race can ever be superseded
or surpassed, as I should do from believing that
even at the remotest period my ancestors were
other than human beings. Could I believe that
ten hundred thousand years ago a single one of
269
Erewhon
my ancestors was another kind of being to myself,
I should lose all self-respect, and take no further
pleasure or interest in life. I have the same feel-
ing with regard to my descendants, and believe it
to be one that will be felt so generally that the
country will resolve upon putting an immediate
stop to all further mechanical progress, and upon
destroying all improvements that have been made
for the last three hundred years. I would not urge
more than this. We may trust ourselves to deal
with those that remain, and though I should prefer
to have seen the destruction include another two
hundred years, I am aware of the necessity for
compromising, and would so far sacrifice my own
individual convictions as to be content with three
hundred. Less than this will be insufficient."
This was the conclusion of the attack which led
to the destruction of machinery throughout Ere-
whon. There was only one serious attempt to
answer it. Its author said that machines were to
be regarded as a part of man's own physical nature,
being really nothing but extra-corporeal limbs.
Man, he said, was a machinate mammal. The
lower animals keep all their limbs at home in their
own bodies, but many of man's are loose, and lie
about detached, now here and now there, in various
parts of the world — some being kept always handy
for contingent use, and others being occasionally
hundreds of miles away. A machine is merely a
supplementary limb ; this is the be all and end all
of machinery. We do not use our own limbs other
270
Book of the Machines
than as machines ; and a leg is only a much better
wooden leg than any one can manufacture.
" Observe a man digging with a spade ; his right
fore-arm has become artificially lengthened, and
his hand has become a joint. The handle of the
spade is like the knob at the end of the humerus ;
the shaft is the additional bone, and the oblong
iron plate is the new form of the hand which
enables its possessor to disturb the earth in a way
to which his original hand was unequal. Having
thus modified himself, not as other animals are
modified, by circumstances over which they have
had not even the appearance of control, but having,
as it were, taken forethought and added a cubit to
his stature, civilisation began to dawn upon the
race, the social good offices, the genial companion-
ship of friends, the art of unreason, and all those
habits of mind which most elevate man above the
lower animals, in the course of time ensued.
"Thus civihsation and mechanical progress ad-
vanced hand in hand, each developing and being
developed by the other, the earliest accidental use
of the stick having set the ball rolling, and the
prospect of advantage keeping it in motion. In
fact, machines are to be regarded as the mode of
development by which human organism is now
especially advancing, every past invention being
an addition to the resources of the human body.
Even community of limbs is thus rendered possible
to those who have so much community of soul as
to own money enough to pay a railway fare ; for a
271
Erewhon
train is only a seven-leagued foot that five hundred
may own at once."
The one serious danger which this writer appre-
hended was that the machines would so equalise
men's powers, and so lessen the severity of com-
petition, that many persons of inferior physique
would escape detection and transmit their inferi-
ority to their descendants. He feared that the
removal of the present pressure might cause a
degeneracy of the human race, and indeed that
the whole body might become purely rudimentary,
the man himself being nothing but soul and
mechanism, an intelligent but passionless principle
of mechanical action.
" How greatly," he wrote, " do we not now live
with our external limbs ? We vary our physique
with the seasons, with age, with advancing or
decreasing wealth. If it is wet we are furnished
with an organ commonly called an umbrella, and
which is designed for the purpose of protecting our
clothes or our skins from the injurious effects of
rain. Man has now many extra-corporeal mem-
bers, which are of more importance to him than
a good deal of his hair, or at any rate than his
whiskers. His memory goes in his pocket-book.
He becomes more and more complex as he grows
older ; he will then be seen with see-engines, or
perhaps with artificial teeth and hair : if he be a
really well-developed specimen of his race, he will
be furnished with a large box upon wheels, two
horses, and a coachman."
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Book of the Machines
It was this writer who originated the custom of
classifying men by their horse-power, and who
divided them into genera, species, varieties, and
subvarieties, giving them names from the hypo-
thetical language which expressed the number of
limbs which they could command at any moment.
He showed that men became more highly and
delicately organised the more nearly they ap-
proached the summit of opulence, and that none
but millionaires possessed the full complement of
limbs with which mankind could become incor-
porate.
"Those mighty organisms," he continued, "our
leading bankers and merchants, speak to their con-
geners through the length and breadth of the land
in a second of time ; their rich and subtle souls
can defy all material impediment, whereas the
souls of the poor are clogged and hampered by
matter, which sticks fast about them as treacle to
the wings of a fly, or as one struggling in a quick-
sand : their dull ears must take days or weeks to
hear what another would tell them from a distance,
instead of hearing it in a second as is done by the
more highly organised classes. Who shall deny
that one who can tack on a special train to his
identity, and go wheresoever he will whensoever
he pleases, is more highly organised than he who,
should he wish for the same power, might wish for
the wings of a bird with an equal chance of getting
them ; and whose legs are his only means of loco-
motion ? That old philosophic enemy, matter, the
273 s
Erewhon
inlierently and essentially evil, still hangs about the
neck of the poor and strangles him : but to the
rich, matter is immaterial ; the elaborate organisa-
tion of his extra-corporeal system has freed his
soul.
" This is the secret of the homage which we see
rich men receive from those who are poorer than
themselves : it would be a grave error to suppose
that this deference proceeds from motives which
we need be ashamed of : it is the natural respect
which all living creatures pay to those whom they
recognise as higher than themselves in the scale of
animal life, and is analogous to the veneration
which a dog feels for man. Among savage races it
is deemed highly honourable to be the possessor of
a gun, and throughout all known time there has
been a feeling that those who are worth most are
the worthiest."
And so he went on at considerable length,
attempting to show what changes in the distribu-
tion of animal and vegetable life throughout the
kingdom had been caused by this and that of
man's inventions, and in what way each was con-
nected with the moral and intellectual development
of the human species : he even allotted to some the
share which they had had in the creation and modi-
fication of man's body, and that which they would
hereafter have in its destruction ; but the other
writer was considered to have the best of it, and
in the end succeeded in destroying all the inven-
tions that had been discovered for the preceding
274
Book of the Machines
271 years, a period which was agreed upon by all
parties after several years of wrangling as to whether
a certain kind of mangle which was much in use
among washerwomen should be saved or no. It
was at last ruled to be dangerous, and was just
excluded by the limit of 271 years. Then came
the reactionary civil wars which nearly ruined the
country, but which it would be beyond my present
scope to describe.
a75
CHAPTER XXVI
THE VIEWS OF AN EREWHONIAN PROPHET
CONCERNING THE RIGHTS OF ANIMALS
It will be seen from the foregoing chapters that
the Erewhonians are a meek and long-suffering
people, easily led by the nose, and quick to offer
up common sense at the shrine of logic, when a
philosopher arises among them, who carries them
away through his reputation for especial learning,
or by convincing them that their existing institu-
tions are not based on the strictest principles of
morality.
The series of revolutions on which I shall now
briefly touch shows this even more plainly than the
way (already dealt with) in which at a later date
they cut their throats in the matter of machinery ;
for if the second of the two reformers of whom I
am about to speak had had his way — or rather the
way that he professed to have — the whole race
would have died of starvation within a twelve-
month. Happily common sense, though she is by
nature the gentlest creature living, when she feels
the knife at her throat, is apt to develop unexpected
powers of resistance, and to send doctrinaires fly-
ing, even when they have bound her down and
think they have her at their mercy. What hap-
276
Rights of Animals
pened, so far as I could collect it from the best
authorities, was as follows : —
Some two thousand five hundred years ago the
Erewhonians were still uncivilised, and lived by
hunting, fishing, a rude system of agriculture,
and plundering such few other nations as they
had not yet completely conquered. They had no
schools or systems of philosophy, but by a kind of
dog-knowledge did that which was right in their
own eyes and in those of their neighbours ; the
common sense, therefore, of the public being as yet
unvitiated, crime and disease were looked upon
much as they are in other countries.
But with the gradual advance of civilisation and
increase in material prosperity, people began to
ask questions about things that they had hitherto
taken as matters of course, and one old gentleman,
who had great influence over them by reason of the
sanctity of his life, and his supposed inspiration by
an unseen power, whose existence was now begin-
ning to be felt, took it into his head to disquiet
himself about the rights of animals — a question
that so far had disturbed nobody.
All prophets are more or less fussy, and this old
gentleman seems to have been one of the more
fussy ones. Being maintained at the public ex-
pense, he had ample leisure, and not content with
limiting his attention to the rights of animals, he
wanted to reduce right and wrong to rules, to
consider the foundations of duty and of good and
evil, and otherwise to put all sorts of matters on a
277
Erewhon
logical basis, which people whose time is money
are content to accept on no basis at all.
As a matter of course, the basis on which he
decided that duty could alone rest was one that
afforded no standing-room for many of the old-
established habits of the people. These, he assured
them, were all wrong, and whenever any one ven-
tured to differ from him, he referred the matter to
the unseen power with which he alone was in direct
communication, and the unseen power invariably
assured him that he was right. As regards the
rights of animals he taught as follows : —
" You know," he said, " how wicked it is of you
to kill one another. Once upon a time your fore-
fathers made no scruple about not only killing, but
also eating their relations. No one would now go
back to such detestable practices, for it is notorious
that we have lived much more happily since they
were abandoned. From this increased prosperity
we may confidently deduce the maxim that we
should not kill and eat our fellow-creatures. I
have consulted the higher power by whom you
know that I am inspired, and he has assured me
that this conclusion is irrefragable.
" Now it cannot be denied that sheep, cattle,
deer, birds, and fishes are our fellow-creatures.
They differ from us in some respects, but those
in which they differ are few and secondary, while
those that they have in common with us are many
and essential. My friends, if it was wrong of you
to kill and eat your fellow-men, it is wrong also to
278
Rights of Animals
kill and eat fish, flesh, and fowl. Birds, beasts, and
fishes, have as full a right to live as long as they
can unmolested by man, as man has to live un-
molested by his neighbours. These words, let me
again assure you, are not mine, but those of the
higher power which inspires me.
" I grant," he continued, " that animals molest
one another, and that some of them go so far as to
molest man, but I have yet to learn that we should
model our conduct on that of the lower animals.
We should endeavour, rather, to instruct them, and
bring them to a better mind. To kill a tiger, for
example, who has lived on the flesh of men and
women whom he has killed, is to reduce ourselves
to the level of the tiger, and is unworthy of people
who seek to be guided by the highest principles in
all, both their thoughts and actions.
"The unseen power who has revealed himself to
me alone among you, has told me to tell you that
you ought by this time to have outgrown the bar-
barous habits of your ancestors. If, as you believe,
you know better than they, you should do better.
He commands you, therefore, to refrain from killing
any living being for the sake of eating it. The
only animal food that you may eat, is the flesh
of any birds, beasts, or fishes that you may come
upon as having died a natural death, or any
that may have been born prematurely, or so
deformed that it is a mercy to put them out of
their pain ; you may also eat all such animals as
have committed suicide. As regards vegetables you
C79
Erewhon
may eat all those that will let you eat them with
impunity."
So wisely and so well did the old prophet
argue, and so terrible were the threats he hurled
at those who should disobey him, that in the
end he carried the more highly educated part of
the people with him, and presently the poorer
classes followed suit, or professed to do so.
Having seen the triumph of his principles, he was
gathered to his fathers, and no doubt entered
at once into full communion with that unseen
power whose favour he had already so pre-
eminently enjoyed.
He had not, however, been dead very long,
before some of his more ardent disciples took it
upon them to better the instruction of their master.
The old prophet had allowed the use of eggs and
milk, but his disciples decided that to eat a fresh
egg was to destroy a potential chicken, and that
this came to much the same as murdering a live
one. Stale eggs, if it was quite certain that they
were too far gone to be able to be hatched, were
grudgingly permitted, but all eggs offered for sale
had to be submitted to an inspector, who, on being
satisfied that they were addled, would label them
"Laid not less than three months" from the date,
whatever it might happen to be. These eggs, I
need hardly say, were only used in puddings, and
as a medicine in certain cases where an emetic was
urgently required. Milk was forbidden inasmuch
as it could not be obtained without robbing some
280
Rights of Animals
calf of its natural sustenance, and thus endangering
its life.
It will be easily believed that at first there were
many who gave the new rules outward observ-
ance, but embraced every opportunity of indulging
secretly in those flesh-pots to which they had been
accustomed. It was found that animals were con-
tinually dying natural deaths under more or less
suspicious circumstances. Suicidal mania, again,
which had hitherto been confined exclusively to
donkies, became alarmingly prevalent even among
such for the most part self-respecting creatures as
sheep and cattle. It was astonishing how some
of these unfortunate animals would scent out a
butcher's knife if there was one within a mile of
them, and run right up against it if the butcher did
not get it out of their way in time.
Dogs, again, that had been quite law-abiding as
regards domestic poultry, tame rabbits, sucking
pigs, or sheep and lambs, suddenly took to break-
ing beyond the control of their masters, and
killing anything that they were told not to touch.
It was held that any animal killed by a dog had
died a natural death, for it was the dog's nature
to kill things, and he had only refrained from
molesting farmyard creatures hitherto because his
nature had been tampered with. Unfortunately
the more these unruly tendencies became de-
veloped, the more the common people seemed
to delight in breeding the very animals that would
put temptation in the dog's way. There is little
281
Erewhon
doubt, in fact, that they were dehberately evading
the law ; but whether this was so or no they sold
or ate everything their dogs had killed.
Evasion was more difficult in the case of the
larger animals, for the magistrates could not wink
at all the pretended suicides of pigs, sheep, and
cattle that were brought before them. Sometimes
they had to convict, and a few convictions had
a very terrorising effect — whereas in the case of
animals killed by a dog, the marks of the dog's
teeth could be seen, and it was practically im-
possible to prove malice on the part of the owner
of the dog.
Another fertile source of disobedience to the
law was furnished by a decision of one of the
judges that raised a great outcry among the more
fervent disciples of the old prophet. The judge
held that it was lawful to kill any animal in self-
defence, and that such conduct was so natural
on the part of a man who found himself attacked,
that the attacking creature should be held to have
died a natural death. The High Vegetarians had
indeed good reason to be alarmed, for hardly had
this decision become generally known before a
number of animals, hitherto harmless, took to at-
tacking their owners with such ferocity, that it
became necessary to put them to a natural death.
Again, it was quite common at that time to see
the carcase of a calf, lamb, or kid exposed for
sale with a label from the inspector certifying
that it had been killed in self-defence. Sometimes
2S2
Rights of Animals
even the carcase of a lamb or calf was exposed
as "warranted still-born," when it presented every
appearance of having enjoyed at least a month
of life.
As for the flesh of animals that had bona fide
died a natural death, the permission to eat it
was nugatory, for it was generally eaten by some
other animal before man got hold of it ; or failing
this it was often poisonous, so that practically
people were forced to evade the law by some of
the means above spoken of, or to become vege-
tarians. This last alternative was so little to the
taste of the Erewhonians, that the laws against
kiUing animals were falling into desuetude, and
would very likely have been repealed, but for
the breaking out of a pestilence, which was as-
cribed by the priests and prophets of the day
to the lawlessness of the people in the matter of
eating forbidden flesh. On this, there was a re-
action ; stringent laws were passed, forbidding
the use of meat in any form or shape, and per-
mitting no food but grain, fruits, and vegetables
to be sold in shops and markets. These laws
were enacted about two hundred years after the
death of the old prophet who had first unsettled
people's minds about the rights of animals ; but
they had hardly been passed before people again
began to break them.
I was told that the most painful consequence
of all this folly did not lie in the fact that law-
abiding people had to go without animal food
283
Erewhon
— many nations do this and seem none the worse,
and even in flesh-eating countries such as Italy,
Spain, and Greece, the poor seldom see meat from
year's end to year's end. The mischief lay in
the jar which undue prohibition gave to the con-
sciences of all but those who were strong enough
to know that though conscience as a rule boons,
it can also bane. The awakened conscience of
an individual will often lead him to do things in
haste that he had better have left undone, but
the conscience of a nation awakened by a respect-
able old gentleman who has an unseen power up
his sleeve will pave hell with a vengeance.
Young people were told that it was a sin to
do what their fathers had done unhurt for cen-
turies ; those, moreover, who preached to them
about the enormity of eating meat, were an un-
attractive academic folk, and though they over-
awed all but the bolder youths, there were few
who did not in their hearts dislike them. However
much the young person might be shielded, he soon
got to know that men and women of the world —
often far nicer people than the prophets who
preached abstention — continually spoke sneer-
ingly of the new doctrinaire laws, and were be-
lieved to set them aside in secret, though they
dared not do so openly. Small wonder, then, that
the more human among the student classes were
provoked by the touch-not, taste-not, handle-not
precepts of their rulers, into questioning much that
they would otherwise have unhesitatingly accepted.
284
Rights of Animals
One sad story is on record about a young man
of promising amiable disposition, but cursed with
more conscience than brains, who had been told
by his doctor (for as I have above said disease
was not yet held to be criminal) that he ought
to eat meat, law or no law. He was much shocked
and for some time refused to comply with what
he deemed the unrighteous advice given him by
his doctor ; at last, however, finding that he grew
weaker and weaker, he stole secretly on a dark
night into one of those dens in which meat was
surreptitiously sold, and bought a pound of prime
steak. He took it home, cooked it in his bedroom
when every one in the house had gone to rest,
ate it, and though he could hardly sleep for re-
morse and shame, felt so much better next
morning that he hardly knew himself.
Three or four days later, he again found him-
self irresistibly drawn to this same den. Again he
bought a pound of steak, again he cooked and ate
it, and again, in spite of much mental torture, on
the following morning felt himself a different man.
To cut the story short, though he never went be-
yond the bounds of moderation, it preyed upon his
mind that he should be drifting, as he certainly was,
into the ranks of the habitual law-breakers.
All the time his health kept on improving, and
though he felt sure that he owed this to the
beefsteaks, the better he became in body, the
more his conscience gave him no rest ; two voices
were for ever ringing in his ears — the one saying,
285
Erewhon
" 1 am Common Sense and Nature ; heed me, and
I will reward you as I rewarded your fathers
before you." But the other voice said : " Let
not that plausible spirit lure you to your ruin.
I am Duty ; heed me, and I will reward you as
I rewarded your fathers before you."
Sometimes he even seemed to see the faces of
the speakers. Common Sense looked so easy,
genial, and serene, so frank and fearless, that
do what he might he could not mistrust her ;
but as he was on the point of following her, he
would be checked by the austere face of Duty, so
grave, but yet so kindly ; and it cut him to the heart
that from time to time he should see her turn pity-
ing away from him as he followed after her rival.
The poor boy continually thought of the better
class of his fellow-students, and tried to model his
conduct on what he thought was theirs. "They,"
he said to himself, " eat a beefsteak ? Never." But
they most of them ate one now and again, unless it
was a mutton chop that tempted them. And they
used him for a model much as he did them. " He,"
they would say to themselves, " eat a mutton chop ?
Never." One night, however, he was followed by one
of the authorities, who was always prowling about in
search of law-breakers, and was caught coming out
of the den with half a shoulder of mutton concealed
about his person. On this, even though he had not
been put in prison, he would have been sent away
with his prospects in life irretrievably ruined ; he
therefore hanged himself as soon as he got home.
286
CHAPTER XXVII
THE VIEWS OF AN EREWHONIAN PHILOSOPHER
CONCERNING THE RIGHTS OF VEGETABLES
Let me leave this unhappy story, and return to the
course of events among the Erewhonians at large.
No matter how many laws they passed increasing
the severity of the punishments inflicted on those
who ate meat in secret, the people found means of
setting them aside as fast as they were made. At
times, indeed, they would become almost obsolete,
but when they were on the point of being repealed,
some national disaster or the preaching of some
fanatic would reawaken the conscience of the na-
tion, and people were imprisoned by the thousand
for illicitly selling and buying animal food.
About six or seven hundred years, however, after
the death of the old prophet, a philosopher ap-
peared, who, though he did not claim to have any
communication with an unseen power, laid down
the law with as much confidence as if such a power
had inspired him. Many think that this philosopher
did not believe his own teaching, and, being in
secret a great meat-eater, had no other end in view
than reducing the prohibition against eating animal
food to an absurdity, greater even than an Ere-
whonian Puritan would be able to stand.
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Erewhon
Those who take this view hold that he knew how
impossible it would be to get the nation to accept
legislation that it held to be sinful ; he knew also
how hopeless it would be to convince people that it
was not wicked to kill a sheep and eat it, unless he
could show them that they must either sin to a cer-
tain extent, or die. He, therefore, it is believed,
made the monstrous proposals of which I will now
speak.
He began by paying a tribute of profound respect
to the old prophet, whose advocacy of the rights of
animals, he admitted, had done much to soften the
national character, and enlarge its views about the
sanctity of life in general. But he urged that times
had now changed ; the lesson of which the country
had stood in need had been sufficiently learnt, while
as regards vegetables much had become known
that was not even suspected formerly, and which,
if the nation was to persevere in that strict ad-
herence to the highest moral principles which had
been the secret of its prosperity hitherto, must
necessitate a radical change in its attitude towards
them.
It was indeed true that much was now known
that had not been suspected formerly, for the
people had had no foreign enemies, and, being both
quick-witted and inquisitive into the mysteries of
nature, had made extraordinary progress in all the
many branches of art and science. In the chief
Erewhonian museum I was shown a microscope
of considerable power, that was ascribed by the
288
Rights of Vegetables
authorities to a date much about that of the philo-
sopher of whom I am now speaking, and was
even supposed by some to have been the instru-
ment with which he had actually worked.
This philosopher was Professor of botany in the
chief seat of learning then in Erewhon, and
whether with the help of the microscope still pre-
served, or with another, had arrived at a conclusion
now universally accepted among ourselves — I mean,
that all, both animals and plants, have had a com-
mon ancestry, and that hence the second should be
deemed as much alive as the first. He contended,
therefore, that animals and plants were cousins,
and would have been seen to be so, all along, if
people had not made an arbitrary and unreasonable
division between what they chose to call the animal
and vegetable kingdoms.
He declared, and demonstrated to the satisfaction
of all those who were able to form an opinion upon
the subject, that there is no difference appreciable
either by the eye, or by any other test, between a
germ that will develop into an oak, a vine, a rose,
and one that (given its accustomed surroundings)
will become a mouse, an elephant, or a man.
He contended that the course of any germ's
development was dictated by the habits of the
germs from which it was descended, and of whose
identity it had once formed part. If a germ found
itself placed as the germs in the line of its ancestry
were placed, it would do as its ancestors had done,
and grow up into the same kind of organism as
289 T
Erewhon
theirs. If it found the circumstances only a Httle
different, it would make shift (successfully or un-
successfully) to modify its development accord-
ingly ; if the circumstances were widely different, it
would die, probably without an effort at self-adap-
tation. This, he argued, applied equally to the
germs of plants and of animals.
He therefore connected all, both animal and
vegetable development, with intelligence, either
spent and now unconscious, or still unspent and con-
scious ; and in support of his view as regards vege-
table life, he pointed to the way in which all plants
have adapted themselves to their habitual environ-
ment. Granting that vegetable intelligence at first
sight appears to differ materially from animal, yet,
he urged, it is like it in the one essential fact that
though it has evidently busied itself about matters
that are vital to the well-being of the organism that
possesses it, it has never shown the slightest tendency
to occupy itself with anything else. This, he in-
sisted, is as great a proof of intelligence as any
living being can give.
" Plants," said he, " show no sign of interesting
themselves in human affairs. We shall never get a
rose to understand that five times seven are thirty-
five, and there is no use in talking to an oak about
fluctuations in the price of stocks. Hence we say
that the oak and the rose are unintelligent, and on
finding that they do not understand our business
conclude that they do not understand their own.
But what can a creature who talks in this way know
290
Rights of Vegetables
about intelligence ? Which shows greater signs of
intelligence ? He, or the rose and oak ?
" And when we call plants stupid for not under-
standing our business, how capable do we show
ourselves of understanding theirs ? Can we form
even the faintest conception of the way in which
a seed from a rose-tree turns earth, air, warmth and
water into a rose full-blown ? Where does it get
its colour from? From the earth, air, &c.? Yes
— but how ? Those petals of such ineffable texture
— that hue that outvies the cheek of a child — that
scent again ? Look at earth, air, and water — these
are all the raw material that the rose has got to
work with ; does it show any sign of want of intel-
ligence in the alchemy with which it turns mud
into rose-leaves ? What chemist can do anything
comparable ? Why does no one try ? Simply be-
cause every one knows that no human intelligence
is equal to the task. We give it up. It is the rose's
department ; let the rose attend to it — and be
dubbed unintelligent because it baffles us by the
miracles it works, and the unconcerned business-
like way in which it works them.
" See what pains, again, plants take to protect
themselves against their enemies. They scratch,
cut, sting, make bad smells, secrete the most
dreadful poisons (which Heaven only knows how
they contrive to make), cover their precious seeds
with spines like those of a hedgehog, frighten
insects with delicate nervous systems by assuming
portentous shapes, hide themselves, grow in in-
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Erewhon
accessible places, and tell lies so plausibly as to
deceive even their subtlest foes.
" They lay traps smeared with bird-lime, to catch
insects, and persuade them to drown themselves
in pitchers which they have made of their
leaves, and fill with water ; others make them-
selves, as it were, into living rat-traps, which close
with a spring on any insect that settles upon them ;
others make their flowers into the shape of a
certain fly that is a great pillager of honey, so
that when the real fly comes it thinks that the
flowers are bespoke, and goes on elsewhere. Some
are so clever as even to overreach themselves, like
the horse-radish, which gets pulled up and eaten
for the sake of that pungency with which it pro-
tects itself against underground enemies. If, on the
other hand, they think that any insect can be of
service to them, see how pretty they make them-
selves.
" What is to be intelligent if to know how to do
what one wants to do, and to do it repeatedly,
is not to be intelligent ? Some say that the rose-
seed does not want to grow into a rose-bush.
Why, then, in the name of all that is reasonable,
does it grow ? Likely enough it is unaware of
the want that is spurring it on to action. We have
no reason to suppose that a human embryo knows
that it wants to grow into a baby, or a baby into
a man. Nothing ever shows signs of knowing
what it is either wanting or doing, when its con-
victions both as to what it wants, and how to
292
Rights of Vegetables
get it, have been settled beyond further power of
question. The less signs living creatures give of
knowing what they do, provided they do it, and
do it repeatedly and well, the greater proof they
give that in reality they know how to do it, and
have done it already on an infinite number of past
occasions.
" Some one may say," he continued, " * What do
you mean by talking about an infinite number of
past occasions ? When did a rose-seed make itself
into a rose-bush on any past occasion ? '
" I answer this question with another. ' Did the
rose-seed ever form part of the identity of the rose-
bush on which it grew ? ' Who can say that it
did not ? Again I ask : * Was this rose-bush ever
linked by all those links that we commonly con-
sider as constituting personal identity, with the
seed from which it in its turn grew?' Who can
say that it was not ?
"Then, if rose-seed number two is a continuation
of the personality of its parent rose-bush, and if
that rose-bush is a continuation of the personality
of the rose-seed from which it sprang, rose-seed
number two must also be a continuation of the
personality of the earlier rose-seed. And this
rose-seed must be a continuation of the personality
of the preceding rose-seed — and so back and back
ad infinitian. Hence it is impossible to deny
continued personality between any existing rose-
seed and the earliest seed that can be called a
rose-seed at all.
293
Erewhon
" The answer, then, to our objector is not far
to seek. The rose-seed did what it now does in
the persons of its ancestors — to whom it has been
so Hnked as to be able to remember what those
ancestors did when they were placed as the rose-
seed now is. Each stage of development brings
back the recollection of the course taken in the
preceding stage, and the development has been so
often repeated, that all doubt — and with all doubt,
all consciousness of action — is suspended.
" But an objector may still say, ' Granted that
the linking between all successive generations has
been so close and unbroken, that each one of them
may be conceived as able to remember what it did
in the persons of its ancestors — how do you show
that it actually did remember ? '
"The answer is: 'By the action which each
generation takes — an action which repeats all the
phenomena that we commonly associate with
memory — which is explicable on the supposition
that it has been guided by memory — and which
has neither been explained, nor seems ever likely
to be explained on any other theory than the
supposition that there is an abiding memory
between successive generations.'
" Will any one bring an example of any living
creature whose action we can understand, per-
forming an ineffably difficult and intricate action,
time after time, with invariable success, and yet
not knowing how to do it, and never having done
it before ? Show me the example and I will say
294
Rights of Vegetables
no more, but until it is shown me, I shall credit
action where I cannot watch it, with being con-
trolled by the same laws as when it is within
our ken. It will become unconscious as soon as
the skill that directs it has become perfected.
Neither rose-seed, therefore, nor embryo should
be expected to show signs of knowing that they
know what they know — if they showed such signs
the fact of their knowing what they want, and how
to get it, might more reasonably be doubted."
Some of the passages already given in Chapter
XXIII were obviously inspired by the one just
quoted. As I read it, in a reprint shown me by
a Professor who had edited much of the early
literature on the subject, I could not but remember
the one in which our Lord tells His disciples to
consider the lilies of the field, who neither toil nor
spin, but whose raiment surpasses even that of
Solomon in all his glory.
" They toil not, neither do they spin ? " Is that
so ? " Toil not ? " Perhaps not, now that the
method of procedure is so well known as to admit
of no further question — but it is not likely that
lilies came to make themselves so beautifully with-
out having ever taken any pains about the matter.
"Neither do they spin?" Not with a spinning-
wheel ; but is there no textile fabric in a leaf ?
What would the lilies of the field say if they
heard one of us declaring that they neither toil nor
spin ? They would say, I take it, much what we
should if we were to hear of their preaching
295
Erewhon
humility on the text of Solomons, and saying,
" Consider the Solomons in all their glory, they
toil not neither do they spin." We should say
that the lilies were talking about things that they
did not understand, and that though the Solomons
do not toil nor spin, yet there had been no lack
of either toiling or spinning before they came to be
arrayed so gorgeously.
Let me now return to the Professor, I have said
enough to show the general drift of the arguments
on which he relied in order to show that vegetables
are only animals under another name, but have not
stated his case in anything like the fullness with
which he laid it before the public. The conclusion
he drew, or pretended to draw, was that if it was
sinful to kill and eat animals, it was not less sinful
to do the like by vegetables, or their seeds. None
such, he said, should be eaten, save what had died
a natural death, such as fruit that was lying on the
ground and about to rot, or cabbage-leaves that
had turned yellow in late autumn. These and
other like garbage he declared to be the only food
that might be eaten with a clear conscience. Even
so the eater must plant the pips of any apples or
pears that he may have eaten, or any plum-stones,
cherry-stones, and the like, or he would come near
to incurring the guilt of infanticide. The grain of
cereals, according to him, was out of the question,
for every such grain had a living soul as much as
man had, and had as good a right as man to possess
that soul in peace.
296
Rights of Vegetables
Having thus driven his fellow-countrymen into a
corner at the point of a logical bayonet from which
they felt that there was no escape, he proposed that
the question what was to be done should be re-
ferred to an oracle in which the whole country had
the greatest confidence, and to which recourse was
always had in times of special perplexity. It was
whispered that a near relation of the philosopher's
was lady's-maid to the priestess who delivered the
oracle, and the Puritan party declared that the
strangely unequivocal answer of the oracle was
obtained by backstairs influence; but whether this
was so or no, the response as nearly as I can trans-
late it was as follows : —
" He who sins aught
Sins more than he ought ;
But he who sins nought
Has much to be taught.
Beat or be beaten,
Eat or be eaten,
Be killed or kill ;
Choose which you will."
It was clear that this response sanctioned at any
rate the destruction of vegetable life when wanted
as food by man ; and so forcibly had the philo-
sopher shown that what was sauce for vegetables
was so also for animals, that, though the Puritan
party made a furious outcry, the acts forbidding
the use of meat were repealed by a considerable
majority. Thus, after several hundred years of
wandering in the wilderness of philosophy, the
297
Erewhon
country reached the conclusions that common
sense had long since arrived at. Even the Puritans
after a vain attempt to subsist on a kind of jam
made of apples and yellow cabbage leaves, suc-
cumbed to the inevitable, and resigned themselves
to a diet of roast beef and mutton, with all the
usual adjuncts of a modern dinner-table.
One would have thought that the dance they had
been led by the old prophet, and that still madder
dance which the Professor of botany had gravely,
but as I believe insidiously, proposed to lead them,
would have made the Erewhonians for a long time
suspicious of prophets whether they professed to
have communications with an unseen power or no ;
but so engrained in the human heart is the desire
to believe that some people really do know what
they say they know, and can thus save them from
the trouble of thinking for themselves, that in a
short time would-be philosophers and faddists be-
came more powerful than ever, and gradually led
their countrymen to accept all those absurd views
of life, some account of which I have given in my
earlier chapters. Indeed I can see no hope for the
Erewhonians till they have got to understand that
reason uncorrected by instinct is as bad as instinct
luicorrected by reason.
298
CHAPTER XXVIII
ESCAPE
Though busily engaged in translating the extracts
given in the last five chapters, I was also laying
matters in train for my escape with Arowhena.
And indeed it was high time, for I received an
intimation from one of the cashiers of the Musical
Banks, that I was to be prosecuted in a criminal
court ostensibly for measles, but really for having
owned a watch, and attempted the reintroduction
of machinery.
I asked why measles ? and was told that there
was a fear lest extenuating circumstances should
prevent a jury from convicting me, if I were
indicted for typhus or small-pox, but that a verdict
would probably be obtained for measles, a disease
which could be sufficiently punished in a person of
my age. I was given to understand that unless
some unexpected change should come over the
mind of his Majesty, I might expect the blow
to be struck within a very few days.
My plan was this — that Arowhena and I should
escape in a balloon together. I fear that the reader
will disbelieve this part of my story, yet in no other
have I endeavoured to adhere more conscientiously
to facts, and can only throw myself upon his charity.
299
Erewhon
I had already gained the ear of the Queen, and
had so worked upon her curiosity that she promised
to get leave for me to have a balloon made and
inflated ; I pointed out to her that no complicated
machinery would be wanted — nothing, in fact, but
a large quantity of oiled silk, a car, a few ropes, &c.,
&c., and some light kind of gas, such as the anti-
quarians who were acquainted with the means
employed by the ancients for the production of
the lighter gases could easily instruct her workmen
how to provide. Her eagerness to see so strange
a sight as the ascent of a human being into the sky
overcame any scruples of conscience that she might
have otherwise felt, and she set the antiquarians
about showing her workmen how to make the gas,
and sent her maids to buy, and oil, a very large
quantity of silk (for I was determined that the
balloon should be a big one) even before she began
to try and gain the King's permission ; this, how-
ever, she now set herself to do, for I had sent her
word that my prosecution was imminent.
As for myself, I need hardly say that I knew
nothing about balloons ; nor did I see my way to
smuggling Arowhena into the car ; nevertheless,
knowing that we had no other chance of getting
away from Erewhon, I drew inspiration from the
extremity in which we were placed, and made a
pattern from which the Queen's workmen were
able to work successfully. Meanwhile the Queen's
carriage-builders set about making the car, and it
was with the attachments of this to the balloon
300
Escape
that I had the greatest difticulty ; I doubt, indeed,
whether I should have succeeded here, but for the
great intelHgence of a foreman, who threw himself
heart and soul into the matter, and often both
foresaw requirements, the necessity for which had
escaped me, and suggested the means of providing
for them.
It happened that there had been a long drought,
during the latter part of which prayers had been
vainly offered up in all the temples of the air god.
When I first told her Majesty that I wanted a
balloon, I said my intention was to go up into the
sky and prevail upon the air god by means of a
personal interview. I own that this proposition
bordered on the idolatrous, but I have long since
repented of it, and am little likely ever to repeat the
offence. Moreover the deceit, serious though it
was, will probably lead to the conversion of the
whole country.
When the Queen told his Majesty of my pro-
posal, he at first not only ridiculed it, but was
inclined to veto it. Being, however, a very uxo-
rious husband, he at length consented — as he
eventually always did to everything on which the
Queen had set her heart. He yielded all the more
readily now, because he did not believe in the
possibility of my ascent ; he was convinced that
even though the balloon should mount a few feet
into the air, it would collapse immediately, whereon
I should fall and break my neck, and he should be
rid of me. He demonstrated this to her so con-
301
Erewhon
vincingly, that she was alarmed, and tried to talk
me into giving up the idea, but on finding that
I persisted in my wish to have the balloon made,
she produced an order from the King to the
effect that all facilities I might require should be
afforded me.
At the same time her Majesty told me that my
attempted ascent would be made an article of
impeachment against me in case I did not succeed
in prevailing on the air god to stop the drought.
Neither King nor Queen had any idea that I meant
going right away if I could get the wind to take me,
nor had he any conception of the existence of a
certain steady upper current of air which was
always setting in one direction, as could be seen by
the shape of the higher clouds, which pointed
invariably from south-east to north-west. I had
myself long noticed this peculiarity in the climate,
and attributed it, I believe justly, to a trade-wind
which was constant at a few thousand feet above
the earth, but was disturbed by local influences at
lower elevations.
My next business was to break the plan to Aro-
whena, and to devise the means for getting her into
the car. I felt sure that she would come with me,
but had made up my mind that if her courage failed
her, the whole thing should come to nothing. Aro-
whena and I had been in constant communication
through her maid, but I had thought it best not to
tell her the details of my scheme till everything was
settled. The time had now arrived, and I arranged
302
Escape
with the maid that I should be admitted by a
private door into Mr. Nosnibor's garden at about
dusk on the following evening.
I came at the appointed time ; the girl let me
into the garden and bade me wait in a secluded
alley until Arowhena should come. It was now
early summer, and the leaves were so thick upon
the trees that even though some one else had
entered the garden I could have easily hidden
myself. The night was one of extreme beauty ; the
sun had long set, but there was still a rosy gleam in
the sky over the ruins of the railway station ; below
me was the city already twinkling with lights, while
beyond it stretched the plains for many a league
until they blended with the sky. I just noted these
things, but I could not heed them. I could heed
nothing, till, as I peered into the darkness of the
alley, I perceived a white figure gliding swiftly
towards me. I bounded towards it, and ere thought
could either prompt or check, I had caught Aro-
whena to my heart and covered her unresisting
cheek with kisses.
So overjoyed were we that we knew not how to
speak ; indeed I do not know when we should have
found words and come to our senses, if the maid
had not gone off into a fit of hysterics, and
awakened us to the necessity of self-control ; then,
briefly and plainly, I unfolded what I proposed ; I
showed her the darkest side, for I felt sure that the
darker the prospect the more likely she was to
come. I told her that my plan would probably end
303
Erewhon
in death for both of us, and that I dared not press
it — that at a word from her it should be abandoned;
still that there was just a possibility of our escaping
together to some part of the world where there
would be no bar to our getting married, and that I
could see no other hope.
She made no resistance, not a sign or hint of
doubt or hesitation. She would do all I told her,
and come whenever I was ready ; so I bade her
send her maid to meet me nightly — told her that
she must put a good face on, look as bright and
happy as she could, so as to make her father and
mother and Zulora think that she was forgetting
me — and be ready at a moment's notice to come to
the Queen's workshops, and be concealed among
the ballast and under rugs in the car of the
balloon ; and so we parted.
I hurried my preparations forward, for I feared
rain, and also that the King might change his mind;
but the weather continued dry, and in another week
the Queen's workmen had finished the balloon and
car, while the gas was ready to be turned on into
the balloon at any moment. All being now pre-
pared I was to ascend on the following morning.
I had stipulated for being allowed to take abundance
of rugs and wrappings as protection from the cold
of the upper atmosphere, and also ten or a dozen
good-sized bags of ballast.
I had nearly a quarter's pension in hand, and
with this I fee'd Arowhena's maid, and bribed the
Queen's foreman — who would, I believe, have
304
Escape
given me assistance even without a bribe. He
helped me to secrete food and wine in the bags of
ballast, and on the morning of my ascent he kept
the other workmen out of the way while I got
Arowhena into the car. She came with early
dawn, muffled up, and in her maid's dress. She
was supposed to be gone to an early performance
at one of the Musical Banks, and told me that she
should not be missed till breakfast, but that her
absence must then be discovered. I arranged the
ballast about her so that it should conceal her as
she lay at the bottom of the car, and covered her
with wrappings. Although it still wanted some
hours of the time fixed for my ascent, I could not
trust myself one moment from the car, so I got
into it at once, and watched the gradual inflation of
the balloon. Luggage I had none, save the pro-
visions hidden in the ballast bags, the books of
mythology, and the treatises on the machines, with
my own manuscript diaries and translations.
I sat quietly, and awaited the hour fixed for my
departure — quiet outwardly, but inwardly I was in
an agony of suspense lest Arowhena's absence
should be discovered before the arrival of the King
and Queen, who were to witness my ascent. They
were not due yet for another two hours, and during
this time a hundred things might happen, any one
of which would undo me.
At last the balloon was full ; the pipe which had
filled it was removed, the escape of the gas having
been first carefully precluded. Nothing remained
305 u
Erewhon
to hinder the balloon from ascending but the hands
and weight of those who were holding on to it with
ropes. I strained my eyes for the coming of the
King and Queen, but could see no sign of their
approach. I looked in the direction of Mr. Nos-
nibor's house — there was nothing to indicate dis-
turbance, but it was not yet breakfast time. The
crowd began to gather ; they were aware that I
was under the displeasure of the court, but I could
detect no signs of my being unpopular. On the
contrary, I received many kindly expressions of
regard and encouragement, with good wishes as to
the result of my journey.
I was speaking to one gentleman of my acquaint-
ance, and telling him the substance of what I
intended to do when I had got into the presence of
the air god (what he thought of me I cannot guess,
for I am sure that he did not believe in the objective
existence of the air god, nor that I myself believed
in it), when I became aware of a small crowd of
people running as fast as they could from Mr.
Nosnibor's house towards the Queen's workshops.
For the moment my pulse ceased beating, and then,
knowing that the time had come when I must
either do or die, I called vehemently to those who
were holding the ropes (some thirty men) to let go
at once, and made gestures signifying danger, and
that there would be mischief if they held on longer.
Many obeyed ; the rest were too weak to hold on
to the ropes, and were forced to let them go. On
this the balloon bounded suddenly upwards, but
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Escape
my own feeling was that the earth had dropped off
from me, and was sinking fast into the open space
beneath.
This happened at the very moment that the
attention of the crowd was divided, the one half
paying heed to the eager gestures of those coming
from Mr. Nosnibor's house, and the other to the
exclamations from myself. A minute more and
Arowhena would doubtless have been discovered,
but before that minute was over, I was at such a
height above the city that nothing could harm me,
and every second both the town and the crowd
became smaller and more confused. In an in-
credibly short time, I could see little but a vast wall
of blue plains rising up against me, towards which-
ever side I looked.
At first, the balloon mounted vertically upwards,
but after about five minutes, when we had already
attained a very great elevation, I fancied that the
objects on the plain beneath began to move from
under me. I did not feel so much as a breath of
wind, and could not suppose that the balloon itself
was travelling. I was, therefore, wondering what
this strange movement of fixed objects could mean,
when it struck me that people in a balloon do not
feel the wind inasmuch as they travel with it and
offer it no resistance. Then I was happy in think-
ing that I must now have reached the invariable
trade wind of the upper air, and that I should be
very possibly wafted for hundreds or even thousands
of miles, far from Erewhon and the Erewhonians.
3t'7
Erewhon
Already I had removed the wrappings and freed
Arowhena ; but I soon covered her up with them
again, for it was already very cold, and she was
half stupefied with the strangeness of her position.
And now began a time, dream-like and delirious,
of which I do not suppose that I shall ever recover
a distinct recollection. Some things I can recall —
as that we were ere long enveloped in vapour
which froze upon my moustache and whiskers ;
then comes a memory of sitting for hours and
hours in a thick fog, hearing no sound but my own
breathing and Arowhena's (for we hardly spoke)
and seeing no sight but the car beneath us and
beside us, and the dark balloon above.
Perhaps the most painful feeling when the earth
was hidden was that the balloon was motionless,
though our only hope lay in our going forward
with an extreme of speed. From time to time
through a rift in the clouds I caught a glimpse of
earth, and was thankful to perceive that we must
be flying forward faster than in an express train ;
but no sooner was the rift closed than the old con-
viction of our being stationary returned in full
force, and was not to be reasoned with : there was
another feeling also which was nearly as bad ;
for as a child that fears it has gone blind in a
long tunnel if there is no light, so ere the earth
had been many minutes hidden, I became half
frightened lest we might not have broken away from
it clean and for ever. Now and again, I ate and
gave food to Arowhena, but by guess-work as
308
Escape
regards time. Then came darkness, a dreadful
dreary time, without even the moon to cheer us.
With dawn the scene was changed : the clouds
were gone and morning stars were shining ; the
rising of the splendid sun remains still impressed
upon me as the most glorious that 1 have ever
seen ; beneath us there was an embossed chain of
mountains with snow fresh fallen upon them ; but
we were far above them ; we both of us felt our
breathing seriously affected, but I would not allow
the balloon to descend a single inch, not knowing
for how long we might not need all the buoyancy
which we could command ; indeed I was thankful
to find that, after nearly four-and-twenty hours, we
were still at so great a height above the earth.
In a couple of hours we had passed the ranges,
which must have been some hundred and fifty miles
across, and again I saw a tract of level plain ex-
tending far away to the horizon. I knew not where
we were, and dared not descend, lest I should waste
the power of the balloon, but I was half hopeful
that we might be above the country from which I
had originally started. I looked anxiously for any
sign by which I could recognise it, but could see
nothing, and feared that we might be above some
distant part of Erewhon, or a country inhabited
by savages. While I was still in doubt, the balloon
was again wrapped in clouds, and we were left to
blank space and to conjectures.
The weary time dragged on. How I longed for
my unhappy watch ! I felt as though not even
309
Erewhon
time was moving, so dumb and spell-bound were
our surroundings. Sometimes I would feel my
pulse, and count its beats for half-an-hour to-
gether ; anything to mark the time — to prove that
it was there, and to assure myself that we were
within the blessed range of its influence, and not
gone adrift into the timelessness of eternity.
I had been doing this for the twentieth or thirtieth
time, and had fallen into a light sleep : I dreamed
wildly of a journey in an express train, and of
arriving at a railway station where the air was full
of the sound of locomotive engines blowing off
steam with a horrible and tremendous hissing ; I
woke frightened and uneasy, but the hissing and
crashing noises pursued me now that I was awake,
and forced me to own that they were real. What
they were I knew not, but they grew gradually
fainter and fainter, and after a time were lost. In
a few hours the clouds broke, and I saw beneath
me that which made the chilled blood run colder
in my veins. I saw the sea, and nothing but the
sea ; in the main black, but flecked with white
heads of storm-tossed, angry waves.
Arowhena was sleeping quietly at the bottom of
the car, and as I looked at her sweet and saintly
beauty, I groaned, and cursed myself for the misery
into which I had brought her ; but there was no-
thing for it now.
I sat and waited for the worst, and presently I
saw signs as though that worst were soon to be
at hand, for the balloon had begun to sink. On
310
Escape
first seeing the sea I had been impressed with the
idea that we must have been falhng, but now there
could be no mistake, we were sinking, and that
fast. I threw out a bag of ballast, and for a
time we rose again, but in the course of a few
hours the sinking recommenced, and I threw out
another bag.
Then the battle commenced in earnest. It lasted
all that afternoon and through the night until the
following evening. I had seen never a sail nor a
sign of a sail, though I had half blinded myself
with straining my eyes incessantly in every direc-
tion ; we had parted with everything but the clothes
which we had upon our backs ; food and water
were gone, all thrown out to the wheeling alba-
trosses, in order to save us a few hours or even
minutes from the sea. I did not throw away the
books till we were wdthin a few feet of the water,
and clung to my manuscripts to the very last.
Hope there seemed none whatever — yet, strangely
enough we were neither of us utterly hopeless, and
even when the evil that we dreaded was upon us,
and that which we greatly feared had come, we sat
in the car of the balloon with the waters up to our
middle, and still smiled with a ghastly hopefulness
to one another.
3"
Erewhon
He who has crossed the St. Gothard will re-
member that below Andermatt there is one of those
Alpine gorges which reach the very utmost limits
of the sublime and terrible. The feelings of the
traveller have become more and more highly
wrought at every step, until at last the naked and
overhanging precipices seem to close above his
head, as he crosses a bridge hung in mid-air over
a roaring waterfall, and enters on the darkness of
a tunnel, hewn out of the rock.
What can be in store for him on emerging ?
Surely something even wilder and more desolate
than that which he has seen already ; yet his
imagination is paralysed, and can suggest no fancy
or vision of anything to surpass the reality which he
had just witnessed. Awed and breathless he ad-
vances ; when lo ! the light of the afternoon sun
welcomes him as he leaves the tunnel, and behold
a smiling valley — a babbling brook, a village with
tall belfries, and meadows of brilliant green — these
are the things which greet him, and he smiles to
himself as the terror passes away and in another
moment is forgotten.
So fared it now with ourselves. We had been in
the water some two or three hours, and the night
had come upon us. We had said farewell for the
hundredth time, and had resigned ourselves to
meet the end ; indeed I was myself battling with
a drowsiness from which it was only too probable
that I should never wake ; when suddenly, Aro-
whena touched me on the shoulder, and pointed to
312
Escape
a light and to a dark mass which was bearing right
upon us. A cry for help — loud and clear and
shrill — broke forth from both of us at once ; and
in another five minutes we were carried by kind
and tender hands on to the deck of an Italian
vessel.
313
CHAPTER XXIX
CONCLUSION
The ship was the Principe Uinberto, bound from
Callao to Genoa ; she had carried a number of
emigrants to Rio, had gone thence to Callao, where
she had taken in a cargo of guano, and was now on
her way home. The captain was a certain Giovanni
Gianni, a native of Sestri ; he has kindly allowed
me to refer to him in case the truth of my story
should be disputed ; but I grieve to say that I
suffered him to mislead himself in some import-
ant particulars. I should add that when we were
picked up we were a thousand miles from land.
As soon as we were on board, the captain began
questioning us about the siege of Paris, from which
city he had assumed that we must have come, not-
withstanding our immense distance from Europe.
As may be supposed, I had not heard a syllable
about the war between France and Germany, and
was too ill to do more than assent to all that he
chose to put into my mouth. My knowledge of
Italian is very imperfect, and I gathered little from
anything that he said ; but I was glad to conceal
the true point of our departure, and resolved to
take any cue that he chose to give me.
The line that thus suggested itself was that there
314
Conclusion
had been ten or twelve others in the balloon, that
I was an English Milord, and Arowhena a Russian
Countess ; that all the others had been drowned,
and that the despatches which we had carried were
lost. I came afterwards to learn that this story
would not have been credible, had not the captain
been for some weeks at sea, for I found that when
we were picked up, the Germans had already long
been masters of Paris. As it was, the captain settled
the whole story for me, and I was well content.
In a few days we sighted an English vessel
bound from Melbourne to London with wool.
At my earnest request, in spite of stormy weather
which rendered it dangerous for a boat to take us
from one ship to the other, the captain consented
to signal the English vessel, and we were received
on board, but we were transferred with such diffi-
culty that no communication took place as to the
manner of our being found. I did indeed hear the
Italian mate who was in charge of the boat shout
out something in French to the effect that we had
been picked up from a balloon, but the noise of
the wind was so great, and the captain understood
so little French that he caught nothing of the
truth, and it was assumed that we were two per-
sons who had been saved from shipwreck. When
the captain asked me in what ship I had been
wrecked, I said that a party of us had been carried
out to sea in a pleasure-boat by a strong current,
and that Arowhena (whom I described as a Peruvian
lady) and I were alone saved.
315
Erewhon
There were several passengers, whose goodness
towards us we can never repay. I grieve to think
that they cannot fail to discover that we did not take
them fully into our confidence ; but had we told
them all, they would not have believed us, and I
was determined that no one should hear of Ere-
whon, or have the chance of getting there before
me, as long as I could prevent it. Indeed, the
recollection of the many falsehoods which I was
then obliged to tell, would render my life miserable
were I not sustained by the consolations of my
religion. Among the passengers there was a most
estimable clergyman, by whom Arowhena and I
were married within a very few days of our
coming on board.
After a prosperous voyage of about two months,
we sighted the Land's End, and in another week
we were landed at London. A liberal subscription
was made for us on board the ship, so that we
found ourselves in no immediate difficulty about
money. I accordingly took Arowhena down into
Somersetshire, where my mother and sisters had
resided when I last heard of them. To my great
sorrow I found that my mother was dead, and
that her death had been accelerated by the report
of my having been killed, which had been brought
to my employer's station by Chowbok. It ap-
peared that he must have waited for a few days
to see whether I returned, that he then considered
it safe to assume that I should never do so, and
had accordingly made up a story about my having
316
Conclusion
fallen into a whirlpool of seething waters while
coming down the gorge homeward. Search was
made for my body, but the rascal had chosen to
drown me in a place where there would be no
chance of its ever being recovered.
My sisters were both married, but neither of
their husbands was rich. No one seemed over-
joyed on my return ; and I soon discovered that
when a man's relations have once mourned for
him as dead, they seldom like the prospect of
having to mourn for him a second time.
Accordingly I returned to London with my wife,
and through the assistance of an old friend sup-
ported myself by writing good little stories for the
magazines, and for a tract society. I was well
paid ; and I trust that I may not be considered
presumptuous in saying that some of the most
popular of the brochures which are distributed in
the streets, and which are to be found in the
waiting-rooms of the railway stations, have pro-
ceeded from my pen. During the time that I
could spare, I arranged my notes and diary till
they assumed their present shape. There remains
nothing for me to add, save to unfold the scheme
which I propose for the conversion of Erewhon.
That scheme has only been quite recently decided
upon as the one which seems most likely to be
successful.
It will be seen at once that it would be madness
for me to go with ten or a dozen subordinate
missionaries by the same way as that which led
317
Erewhon
me to discover Erewhon. I should be imprisoned
for typhus, besides being handed over to the
straighteners for having run away with Arowhena :
an even darker fate, to which I dare hardly again
allude, would be reserved for my devoted fellow-
labourers. It is plain, therefore, that some other
way must be found for getting at the Erewhonians,
and I am thankful to say that such another way is
not wanting. One of the rivers which descends
from the Snowy Mountains, and passes through
Erewhon, is known to be navigable for several
hundred miles from its mouth. Its upper waters
have never yet been explored, but 1 feel little
doubt that it will be found possible to take a light
gunboat (for we must protect ourselves) to the
outskirts of the Erewhonian country.
I propose, therefore, that one of those associa-
tions should be formed in which the risk of each
of the members is confined to the amount of his
stake in the concern. The first step would be to
draw up a prospectus. In this I would advise that
no mention should be made of the fact that the
Erewhonians are the lost tribes. The discovery is
one of absorbing interest to myself, but it is of a
sentimental rather than commercial value, and busi-
ness is business. The capital to be raised should
not be less than fifty thousand pounds, and might
be either in five or ten pound shares as hereafter
determined. This should be amply sufficient for
the expenses of an experimental voyage.
When the money had been subscribed, it would
318
Conclusion
be our duty to charter a steamer of some twelve
or fourteen hundred tons burden, and with accom-
modation for a cargo of steerage passengers. She
should carry two or three guns in case of her being
attacked by savages at the mouth of the river. Boats
of considerable size should be also provided, and I
think it would be desirable that these also should
carry two or three six-pounders. The ship should
be taken up the river as far as was considered safe,
and a picked party should then ascend in the boats.
The presence both of Arowhena and myself would
be necessary at this stage, inasmuch as our know-
ledge of the language would disarm suspicion, and
facilitate negotiations.
We should begin by representing the advantages
afforded to labour in the colony of Queensland, and
point out to the Erewhonians that by emigrating
thither, they would be able to amass, each and all
of them, enormous fortunes — a fact which would
be easily provable by a reference to statistics. I
have no doubt that a very great number might be
thus induced to come back with us in the larger
boats, and that we could fill our vessel with emi-
grants in three or four journeys.
Should we be attacked, our course would be even
simpler, for the Erewhonians have no gunpowder,
and would be so surprised with its effects that we
should be able to capture as many as we chose ;
in this case we should feel able to engage them on
more advantageous terms, for they would be pri-
soners of war. But even though we were to meet
319
Erewhon
with no violence, I doubt not that a cargo of seven
or eight hundred Erewhonians could be induced,
when they were once on board the vessel, to sign
an agreement which should be mutually advan-
tageous both to us and them.
We should then proceed to Queensland, and
dispose of our engagement with the Erewhonians
to the sugar-growers of that settlement, who are
in great want of labour ; it is believed that the
money thus realised would enable us to declare
a handsome dividend, and leave a considerable
balance, which might be spent in repeating our
operations and bringing over other cargoes of
Erewhonians, with fresh consequent profits. In
fact we could go backwards and forwards as long
as there was a demand for labour in Queensland,
or indeed in any other Christian colony, for the
supply of Erewhonians would be unlimited, and
they could be packed closely and fed at a very
reasonable cost.
It would be my duty and Arowhena's to see that
our emigrants should be boarded and lodged in the
households of religious sugar-growers ; these per-
sons would give them the benefit of that instruction
whereof they stand so greatly in need. Each day,
as soon as they could be spared from their work in
the plantations, they would be assembled for praise,
and be thoroughly grounded in the Church Cate-
chism, while the whole of every Sabbath should
be devoted to singing psalms and church-going.
This must be insisted upon, both in order to put
320
Conclusion
a stop to any uneasy feeling which might show
itself either in Queensland or in the mother country
as to the means whereby the Erewhonians had
been obtained, and also because it would give our
own shareholders the comfort of reflecting that
they were saving souls and filling their own
pockets at one and the same moment. By the
time the emigrants had got too old for work they
would have become thoroughly instructed in re-
ligion ; they could then be shipped back to Ere-
whon and carry the good seed with them.
I can see no hitch nor difficulty about the matter,
and trust that this book will sufficiently advertise
the scheme to insure the subscription of the neces-
sary capital ; as soon as this is forthcoming I will
guarantee that I convert the Erewhonians not only
into good Christians but into a source of consider-
able profit to the shareholders.
I should add that I cannot claim the credit for
having originated the above scheme. I had been
for months at my wit's end, forming plan after plan
for the evangelisation of Erewhon, when by one of
those special interpositions which should be a suffi-
cient answer to the sceptic, and make even the most
confirmed rationalist irrational, my eye was directed
to the following paragraph in the Times newspaper,
of one of the first days in January 1872 : —
"Polynesians in Queensland.— The Marquis of Nor-
manby, the new Governor of Queensland, has completed his
inspection of the northern districts of the colony. It is stated
that at Mackay, one of the best sugar-growing districts, his
321 X
Erewhon
Excellency saw a good deal of the Polynesians. In the course
of a speech to those who entertained him there, the Marquis
said : — ' I have been told that the means by which Polynesians
were obtained were not legitimate, but I have failed to perceive
this, in so far at least as Queensland is concerned ; and, if one
can judge by the countenances and manners of the Polynesians,
they experience no regret at their position.' But his Excellency
pointed out the advantage of giving them religious instruction.
It would tend to set at rest an uneasy feeling which at present
existed in the country to know that they were inclined to retain
the Polynesians, and teach them religion."
I feel that comment is unnecessary, and will
therefore conclude with one word of thanks to the
reader who may have had the patience to follow
me through my adventures without losing his
temper ; but with two, for any who may write at
once to the Secretary of the Erewhon Evangelisa-
tion Company, limited (at the address which shall
hereafter be advertised), and request to have his
name put down as a shareholder.
P.S. — I had just received and corrected the last
proof of the foregoing volume, and was walking
down the Strand from Temple Bar to Charing
Cross, when on passing Exeter Hall I saw a num-
ber of devout-looking people crowding into the
building with faces full of interested and com-
placent anticipation. I stopped, and saw an an-
nouncement that a missionary meeting was to be
held forthwith, and that the native missionary, the
Rev. William Habakkuk, from (the colony
from which I had started on my adventures),
would be introduced, and make a short address.
322
Conclusion
After some little difficulty I obtained admission,
and heard two or three speeches, which were pre-
fatory to the introduction of Mr. Habakkuk. One
of these struck me as perhaps the most presump-
tuous that I had ever heard. The speaker said that
the races of whom Mr. Habakkuk was a specimen,
were in all probability the lost ten tribes of Israel.
I dared not contradict him then, but I felt angry
and injured at hearing the speaker jump to so
preposterous a conclusion upon such insufficient
grounds. The discovery of the ten tribes was mine,
and mine only. I was still in the very height of
indignation, when there was a murmur of expecta-
tion in the hall, and Mr. Habakkuk was brought
forward. The reader may judge of my surprise at
finding that he was none other than my old friend
Chowbok !
My jaw dropped, and my eyes almost started out
of my head with astonishment. The poor fellow
was dreadfully frightened, and the storm of ap-
plause which greeted his introduction seemed only
to add to his confusion. I dare not trust myself to
report his speech — indeed I could hardly listen to
it, for I was nearly choked with trying to suppress
my feelings. I am sure that I caught the words
"Adelaide, the Queen Dowager," and I thought that
I heard " Mary Magdalene " shortly afterwards, but
I had then to leave the hall for fear of being turned
out. While on the staircase, I heard another burst
of prolonged and rapturous applause, so I suppose
the audience were satisfied.
3*3
Erewhon
The feelings that came uppermost in my mind
were hardly of a very solemn character, but I
thought of my iirst acquaintance with Chowbok,
of the scene in the woodshed, of the innumerable
lies he had told me, of his repeated attempts upon
the brandy, and of many an incident which I have
not thouL:;ht it worth while to dwell upon ; and I
could not but derive some satisfaction from the
hope that my own efforts might have contributed
to the change which had been doubtless wrought
upon him, and that the rite which I had performed,
however unprofessionally, on that wild upland
river-bed, had not been wholly without effect. I
trust that what I have written about him in the
earlier part of my book may not be libellous, and
that it may do him no harm with his employers.
He was then unregenerate. I must certainly find
him out and have a talk with him ; but before I
shall have time to do so these pages will be in the
hands of the public.
At the last moment I see a probability of a com-
plication which causes me much uneasiness. Please
subscribe quickly. Address to the Mansion-House,
care of the Lord Mayor, whom I will instruct to
receive names and subscriptions for me until I can
organise a committee.
Printed by Ballantynh, Hanson i^-' Co.
Edinburgh &' London
A Re-issue of the Works
of the late Samuel Butler,
Author of "Erewhon"
Published by A. C. Fifield, 44 Fleet Street, London, E.G.
SAMUEL BUTLER did not during his lifetime enjoy the reputation
to which his remarkable talents entitled him. The reading public
mistrusted his versatility. " Erewhon," his first work, made a hit, but
its successors were coldly received. It seems to have been generally
felt that there must be something dangerous about a man who could
follow up a social satire by works dealing respectively with religion,
evolution, the question of Homeric authorship, Italian art, and the
problem of Shakespeare's sonnets. But since his death his fame has
advanced by leaps and bounds, and the re-issue of his works at more
popular prices will be welcomed by all classes of readers. Little need
be said to recommend Butler to the present generation. That duty has
already been discharged by some of the ablest writers of our time.
Mr. Bernard Shaw, for example, in his preface to " Major Barbara,"
while discussing Undershaft's recognition of the value of money as the
first need, observed: "This dramatic conception has not, of course,
been attained per saltuni. Nor has it been borrowed from Nietzsche
or from any man born beyond the Channel. The late Samuel Butler,
in his own department the greatest English writer of the latter half of
the nineteenth century, steadily inculcated the necessity and morality
of a conscientious Laodiceanism in religion, and of an earnest and con-
stant sense of the importance of money. It drives one almost to
despair of English literature when one sees so extraordinary a study
of English life as Butler's posthumous ' Way of All Flesh ' making so
little impression that when, some years later, I produce plays in which
Butler's extraordinarily fresh, free, and future-piercing suggestions have
an obvious share, I am met with nothing but vague cacklings about
Ibsen and Nietzsche. . . . Really, the English do not deserve to have
great men." Mr. Birrell in a causcrie published some years ago in The
Speaker, said : " It is not wonderful that such a man as Butler should
be the author of ' Erewhon,' a shrewd and biting satire on modern life
and thought, the best of its kind since 'Gulliver's Travels.' Butler
had not indeed Swift's style — who else has ever had it ? — but at least
he is as sincere. ' Erewhon' is a book of good faith, written with grave
intent, and if at times the satire is savage, it is when the author's con-
victions are strongest. . . . To lash the age, to ridicule vain pretension,
to expose hypocrisy, to deride humbug in education, politics, and
religion, are tasks beyond most men's powers ; but occasionally, very
occasionally, a bit of genuine satire secures for itself more than a
passing nod of recognition. 'Erewhon' I think is such a satire."
The List of Samuel Butler's Works
The Way of All Flesh.
A Novel. New Edition. Crown 8vo, 6s.
"A book of extraordinary interest. The style is illuminated all
through with Mr. Butler's often cynical, always clever, criticism of the
ideals and traditions of his age." — Daily News.
Erewhon.
New Edition. Crown 8vo, 2s. 6d. nett.
"It is close upon thirty years since the world was first delighted with
' Erewhon : or, Over the Range,' and perceived that a new satirist
had arisen — a man who, like all true satirists, was an idealist as well,"
— Daily Chronicle.
Erewhon Re-visited.
Crown 8vo, 2s. 6d. nett.
"The novelty and the charm of the book consist, not in its veiled
theological polemic, but in its vivid narrative, in its lifelike verisimili-
tude, in its irony, in its satire, in its quaint and whimsical humour.
To say that in these respects it is a worthy sequel to ' Erewhon ' is to
give it high praise, and quite enough to recommend it to all judicious
readers." — The Times.
Essays on Life, Art and Science.
Crown 8vo, 28. 6d. nett.
In addition to the exceedingly whimsical and characteristic essays,
with their delightful personal note, which form a large part of this
volume, and the suggestive lecture on Thought and Language, there are
three essays grouped under the title of "The Deadlock in Darwinism,"
which reveal Butler in one of his most valuable aspects for this genera-
tion. Butler opposed with all his strength the gloomy and chaotic view
that variations in nature occur by a series of inexplicable lucky chances,
and in its stead revived the Lamarckian theory of purpose in nature,
definite aspiration towards the higher, as the secret of variation, from
whence springs new species. Eminent men in biology and letters are
yearly returning to this view, and in the essays in this book Butler
states the differences between the two schools, with their ultimate
results, perhaps more concisely and clearly than can be found any-
where else.
The Authoress of the Odyssey, where and
when she wrote, who she was, &c.
Demy 8vo, 5s. nett.
•' The book is altogether fascinating reading. And it does not appeal
only to the scholar ; it may be read with enjoyment by those to whom
the Odyssey has hitherto been a mere name. Mr. Butler's theories
may not be sound, but his manner of presenting them is thoroughly
delightful." — The Outlook.
Ex Voto.
An Account of the Sacro Monte or New Jerusalem at
Varallo-Scsia. Demy 8vo, 5s. nett.
"This singular book, with its vivid descriptions, its strange and
fascinating illustrations, its startling ideas — amounting often to dis-
coveries and new departures in the world of religious art — its criticism,
full of knowledge and originality, if also of a certain mocking spirit,
which destroys the effect of it for some minds, . . . this book, with all
its peculiarities, is certainly a striking contribution to literature of the
kind, and will be an authority on the past and present history of such
places as Varallo." — The Spectator.
Life and Habit.
An Essay after a complete view of Evolution. Demy 8vo,
5s. nett.
" It is no new idea to bring together under a uniform point of view
all those manifestations in organic life which are in any way related with
reproductivity. . . . Samuel Butler in ' Life and Habit,' which appeared
in 1878, presented a more thorough treatment of the problem than had
heretofore been attempted. In many respects Butler showed the uni-
formity underlying the peculiarities of the various organic reproductivities
more fully than had Hernig. " — From Preface to Semon's Die Afneme,
1904.
(Note. — Butler's scientific theories are daily gaining ground in in-
fluential quarters, after years of neglect, and are probably destined
to become still more important.)
The Odyssey rendered into English Prose.
Demy 8vo, 58. nett.
"One can imagine Mr. Butler pleasing people who would not care
for the admirable work of Messrs. Butcher and Lang. Admirable it
is, but it is not actual human speech ; no one ever talked it, no one
would ever write it, except for the one purpose of helping a learner to
understand Homer. But Mr. Butler's version is actual speech ; it is
sometimes prosaic, but it is vivid, it gives a picture of life painted
without any conventional lines or colours." — The Spectator.
The Fair Haven.
Demy 8vo, 58. nett.
" A satire which exceeds in skill, pungency, and, we may add,
bitterness, anything that has yet appeared on this important subject."
— The Examiner.
The Iliad of Homer, in English Prose.
Demy Svo, 5s. nett.
"The new translation is wholly delightsome, and we know no
English work which will give the average English reader a better
insight into Homer." — Notes and Queries.
Shakespeare's Sonnets.
With Notes and the Original Text. Demy 8vo, 5s. nett.
"Mr. Samuel Butler's recent edition of the Sonnets is, if we are not
mistaken, likely to prove a most valuable addition to the literature
of the subject. Mr. Butler is always thoughtful and original, and he
writes with equal humour and lucidity, two qualities which do not
invnriably characterise the style of Shakesjjearian commentators." —
The Pilot.
Evolution Old and New.
Demy 8vo, 5s. nett.
" If Swift had lived to be an evolutionist, he would have written
Mr. Butler's new book. The irony of the author of ' Erewhon '
resembles the irony of no other English writer save that one. It is
not a transparent pretence like Gibbon's, nor a playful humour like
Addison's. It has the genuine downright ring of Swift, not only in
its cleverness, its profundity, and its mystification, but to some extent
in its sting. The present volume has a more evident purpose than
any of its predecessors, but it runs in the same groove, and betrays
the same union of oddly assorted qualities. Whatever else it proves,
it proves at least that the author is a man of genius." — Thi Examiner.
Luck, or Cunning, as the main means of
organic modification.
Demy 8vo, 5s. nett.
An attempt to throw additional light on Darwin's theory of natural
selection ; to assist in discrediting " the mindless theory of Charles-
Darwinian natural selection," and to substitute "a mindful theory of
evolution" in its place. A stimulating, fresh, and vigorous work.
The Alps and Sanctuaries of Piedmont and
the Canton Ticino.
Pott 4to, I OS. 6d.
"Mr. Butler tells his readers a great deal about his wanderings in
these districts, and of what he saw and heard and did there, greatly
to his readers' profit and delight. Incidentally, however, he contrives
to discourse a good deal about himself, and to air more paradoxes and
trot out more hobbies than you'll meet among plain people, and on the
low levels of literature in a whole summer tour. As Mr. Butler always
takes the trouble to think for himself, and indulges in no theories that
are not of his own compounding ; as he always writes perspicuously and
forcibly, and as he has something worth hearing to say on all manner
of subjects, he may be fairly described as perhaps as good a travelling
companion as is just now to be found." — Truth.
London : A. C. Fifield, 44 Fleet Street, E.C.
Just Published
Crown 8vo, cloth, 320 pages, 6s.
The Autobiography
of a Super-Tramp
By
William H. Davies
Author of "New Poems," &c.
With Eight-page Preface by
G. Bernard Shaw
In this book Mr. Davies, whose poetic genius
was discovered a year or two ago, tells the
frank unvarnished story of his life as a tramp
in England, the United States, and Canada.
Mr. G. Bernard Shaw, who contributes an eight-
page preface, wrote the publisher when sending
the MS., *' I recommend this most remarkable
Autobiography of a Super-Tramp to your special
attention."
London : A. C. Fifield, 44 Fleet Street, E.C.
Just Published
Foolscap 8vo, cloth gilt, gilt top, 3s. 6d. nett
On Cambrian and
Cumbrian Hills
Pilgrimages to Snowdon and Scawfell
B
y
Henry S. Salt
Author of " The Life of Thoreau," " Percy Bysshe Shelley, Poet and
Pioneer," "Richard Jefferies and his Ideals," &c.
With two Photographs
Mr. Salt writes his new book from intimate experience
of the hill lands of England and Wales, but from the
point of view of a mountain lover rather than a rock
climber. He includes chapters on the joy of climbing,
the human sympathies with mountains, the wild animal
life, the need of " Mountain Sanctuaries," &c., and
some reminiscences of meetings with Ruskin and others
whose names are associated with the Lake District.
His plea for the preservation of Snowdon and its peers
before they are utterly disfigured, may give a needed
warning while there is time.
London : A. C. Fifield, 44 Fleet Street, E.C.
Just Published
Small Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s. 6d. nett
Anarchism
By Dr. Paul Eltzbacher
Translated by S. T. Byington
With Seven Portraits
An entirely impartial and unbiassed study and analysis of the
doctrines of the leading anarchists of the world from Godwin
downwards, with extensive extracts from their works. So im-
partial is the work, that not until the final chapters are reached,
is the author's opposition to anarchism made clear. This is
perhaps the best work on an interesting and vigorous philosophy
yet written. The contents embrace: i. The Problem.
2. Law, the State, and Property. 3. Godwin's Teaching.
4. Proudhon's Teaching. 5. Stirner's Teaching. 6. Bakunin's
Teaching. 7. Krapotkin's Teaching. 8. Tucker's Teaching.
9. Tolstoy's Teaching. 10. The Anarchistic Teachings.
Small Crown 8vo, cloth, 504 pages, 6s. 6d. nett
The Ego and his Own
By Max Stirner
Translated by S. T. Byington
«* The most thoroughgoing prophet of pure gospel of
Egoism." — The Nation.
" Far too important to be missed by anybody in search of
ideas." — Neiv Age.
London : A. C. Fifield, 44 Fleet Street, E.G.
Large Crown 8vo, 320 pages, canvas gilt,
4s. 6d. nett
Phantastes
By
George MacDonald
An entirely New Edition, re-set from new type,
with Thirty-three New Illustrations by
Arthur Hughes
" * Phantasies ' belongs to the line of real romances that were
written in the days when hearts never grew old." — Manchester
Guardian.
" Mr. Hughes ha« produced a series of pictures which will
satisfy the most fastidious admirers of ' Phantasies.' " — The
Boohman.
" The greatest living authority on the subject told me the
other night that in his view ' Phantastes ' was the best of
George MacDonald's productions, and one of the best contri-
butions to the literature of its Itind." — British Weekly.
*' We advise our readers to buy this new edition. If any
writer can lay claim to the gift of Celtic magic it is George
MacDonald, and * Phantastes ' is one of the most remaricable
works of his imagination." — The Speaker.
London : A. C. Fifield, 44 Fleet Street, E.C.
/
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