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Meccania, the Super-State

by Owen Gregory · English · Gutenberg #44074 · 434,278 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Meccania, the Super-State

Author: Owen Gregory


        
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                Most recently updated: October 23, 2024

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MECCANIA, THE SUPER-STATE ***

  MECCANIA
  THE SUPER-STATE




  MECCANIA
  THE SUPER-STATE

  BY
  OWEN GREGORY

  METHUEN & CO. LTD.
  36 ESSEX STREET W.C.
  LONDON




  _First Published in 1918_




  INSCRIBED

  TO

  W. H. S.

  IN TOKEN OF TWENTY-EIGHT YEARS'
  FRIENDSHIP




CONTENTS


                                          PAGE
  INTRODUCTION: A FEW WORDS ABOUT MR.
      MING AND HIS JOURNAL                  ix

  CHAP.
     I. I BECOME A FOREIGN OBSERVER          1

    II. BRIDGETOWN, TOUR No. 1              17

   III. INTRODUCTION TO MECCO               53

    IV. PROFESSOR PROSER-TOADY'S LECTURE    82

     V. CULTURE IN MECCO                    97

    VI. MORE CULTURE IN MECCO              122

   VII. A MECCANIAN APOSTLE                139

  VIII. THE MECHOW FESTIVAL                163

    IX. MECCANISATION                      177

     X. CONVERSATIONS                      193

    XI. AN ACADEMIC DISCUSSION             240

   XII. THE LATEST INSTITUTION             260

  XIII. NEVER AGAIN                        289




INTRODUCTION

A FEW WORDS ABOUT MR. MING AND HIS JOURNAL


As this book is little more than a transcript of a document originally
written in the form of a journal by a man who, until about a year ago,
was an entire stranger to me, and as the document itself contains not
a few statements which make large demands upon the credulity of the
average reader, it seems necessary to offer some explanation regarding
both the journal and its author, Mr. Ming--or, to give him his full
name, Ming Yuen-hwuy.

If I were able to go bail for Mr. Ming and assure the British Public
that he was an entirely credible and impartial witness, the book might
have stood on the same foundation as other volumes of 'revelations'
concerning a country with which Englishmen are still insufficiently
acquainted. But I cannot go bail for Mr. Ming. The chief source of
my knowledge of him is the journal itself. It has even been suggested
to me that Mr. Ming did not write the journal, but must have stolen
it from some European, probably an Englishman. On this point I shall
have something to say presently. Perhaps the best solution of these
difficulties will be to say what I know of the origin of the book.

Mr. Ming was introduced to me, by a friend whose name it is unnecessary
to give, in November or December 1917. My friend said he remembered
meeting him in London as far back as 1909. Since then, however, Mr.
Ming had not only lived in London and travelled throughout England,
but had also spent about two years in France and Italy, and had
visited America. What his previous career had been I do not know,
nor did my friend know. He appeared always to have plenty of money,
and we surmised that he might have been attached in some way to the
Chinese Legation; but he never gave the least hint about any such
connection. What I do know is that he had a remarkable knowledge of
our language, and a remarkable familiarity with our laws, customs
and political institutions. He professed a great admiration for our
British Constitutions, a circumstance which may account for some of the
political views to which he gives expression in his journal.

A day or two after he had been introduced to me I invited him to dinner
and on this occasion we found much to talk about--chiefly European
politics. At length, after we had finished a bottle of wine and a
liqueur or two, he remarked that of all the countries he had visited in
Western Europe he had been most impressed by Meccania. (He pronounced
the word '_Mek-kah´-nia_.')

My knowledge of Geography is not complete, I admit, but I thought
I knew all the countries of Western Europe (the war has helped
wonderfully to fill up certain gaps). I replied that I had never heard
of such a country.

"Probably not," he answered. "But it exists. And the proof of it is
that I spent some five months there in 1970, and kept a journal of my
experiences."

"You mean 1870," I said.

"No, 1970," he replied.

I hardly knew whether he were experimenting upon my sense of humour, or
had got confused between Chinese and European chronology; or whether
the liqueur had gone to his head. Possibly--and here I became a little
nervous--he was a little 'abnormal.' "Anyhow," he said, "one of my
chief objects in seeking an interview with you was to consult you about
publishing this journal."

We were dining in my chambers and he begged permission to fetch his
hand-bag from the anteroom. He returned with a bulky manuscript. I
wondered if he were hard up and wanted to draw me into some sort of
bargain, but I reflected that he seemed to be a much wealthier man
than I. He said he was convinced that his journal was an important
contribution to political literature, and would be found of interest
not only in Great Britain but in France and America as well. It would
be a good thing also if the Meccanians themselves could read it.
Unfortunately there was no chance of that, he said, because nothing was
read in Meccania except by permission of the Government. He went on to
explain that the journal had been kept partly in English, partly in
Chinese and partly in Meccanian; but that he had since written a rough
translation of the whole in English. His knowledge of English, though
sufficient for most practical purposes, was not such as to satisfy
the literary critics; and that was one of the reasons why he sought
my assistance. The upshot was that I promised to read the manuscript,
which I did in a few hours next day.

I found that it purported to be the journal of a visit or tour, made
in 1970, to a country he called Meccania. I had little difficulty in
penetrating the fiction. (It was obvious what country was meant.) As
to the date, 1970, I soon came to the conclusion that this was another
literary device, to enable him to describe with greater freedom what
he considered to be the probable, or as he would be inclined to say,
the inevitable development of the tendencies he had observed in that
country. Whilst some parts of the description were clear, and even
vivid, many things were left in obscurity. For instance, the extent
and the limits of the country were quite vague. Only two cities were
described in any detail. Little was said about domestic life, little
about religion, little about women and children.

When I questioned him subsequently on these points, he said that the
obstacles to obtaining full information had proved insuperable: he
had not been at liberty to travel about when and where he pleased,
nor to get into close contact with the common people. The journal
itself if carefully read, he said, gave a sufficient answer on these
points, and he had preferred to give a faithful account of what had
actually happened to him, and of the conversations he had had with
representative Meccanians, leaving the evidence to speak for itself. If
he had said little about Education the little that he had said would be
found most illuminating, by the aid of insight and imagination. If he
had said little about military matters, that was because it would have
been positively dangerous to be suspected of spying.

I then questioned him about his references to Luniland, which occur on
the very first page of the journal and are scattered throughout the
book. Did he mean to indicate England by this term? If so, it was not
exactly flattering.

Mr. Ming said he intended no offence. The references _were_ perhaps
a little obscure. The simple fact was that some years ago he had,
for his own amusement, written a harmless satire upon some of our
national characteristics. He had then hit upon the phrase Luniland and
Lunilanders, and he could not get it out of his head. It was just an
instance of his whimsicality.

"But why Luniland?" I asked.

"Why not?" he said. "You do such funny things without seeing that they
are funny."

"Such as what?" I asked.

"Well, to take a few things that have happened recently in connection
with your great war. You are intensely proud of all your soldiers,
and rightly. Yet you seem to pay the citizens who stay at home about
three times as much as the soldiers who go out to fight; and I have
been told, although this seems more difficult to believe, that you pay
the men who volunteered from the very first less than those whom you
subsequently had to compel to serve in your armies."

"I am afraid these things you allege are true," I replied, "but they do
not seem funny to us."

"No, probably not," he said. "Each nation has its own sense of humour!"

"Have you noticed anything else of the same kind?" I asked.

"Oh, a great many things," he said, "but I just gave you a sample of
what first occurred to me. I did hear of some men being excused from
serving in the army because they were engaged in carving gravestones."

"For the soldiers, I suppose?"

"Oh no," he replied, "there is no time to carve gravestones for the
soldiers; for people who die in their beds at home. Yet you do not
profess to be worshippers of the dead."

"Do not misunderstand me," he added. "You are a wonderful people, and
it is perhaps because you are Lunilanders that I cannot help liking
you. We are Lunilanders ourselves if only we knew it. If you were to
come to my country you would find many things just as funny as those I
have observed here. Perhaps when you have more time and the opportunity
is favourable you may like to read my book of observations on
Luniland, but Meccania is a more important subject."

After a careful reading of Mr. Ming's account of Meccania I was
inclined to agree with him. Indeed, I would go so far as to say that
the dangers to be apprehended from Meccania, or Meccanianism, are far
more real and imminent than the dangers from what he would call our
Lunilandishness, and for that reason I have done my best to bring
before the British Public his account of Meccania, although I hope at
some future time to produce, perhaps for a smaller circle of readers,
his notes on Luniland and the Lunilanders.

Lastly, a word about the suggestion that the journal cannot be the
work of a Chinaman. It is implied that the sentiments professed by Mr.
Ming, his interests and his way of looking at things, are those of an
Englishman. What does this really amount to? Mr. Ming does not like the
Meccanians. Certainly _we_ should not like the Meccanians. Therefore
Mr. Ming is an Englishman. Mr. Ming does not like interferences
with his personal habits: he has some belief in the political value
of individual liberty. An Englishman resents interference and is
also credited with a passion for Liberty. Therefore Mr. Ming must
be an Englishman. Now I would suggest that, so far from Mr. Ming's
sentiments being evidence against him, they really substantiate his
character as a Chinaman and remove all suspicion of his having stolen
the document from some Englishman, or some other European. In the first
place, he submits calmly to indignities that a typical Englishman
would fiercely resent. In the second place, he records things with a
detachment that few Englishmen would be capable of, and resigns himself
to the customs of the country in the manner of a mere spectator. In the
third place, he betrays a philosophical interest, which is again very
different from the behaviour of most of our countrymen. He records at
great length conversations which we perhaps find tedious, because he
thinks the ideas of the Meccanians even more significant than their
customs. An Englishman's journal, in the same circumstances, would be
certain to contain angry diatribes against the Meccanians, whereas
Mr. Ming writes with singular restraint, even when he is describing
features of Meccanian life which we should consider revolting.

Possibly the style in which the book is presented, the turns of
expression and the colloquialisms, give the journal an English
appearance; but for these features the editor is responsible, as it was
Mr. Ming's wish that the book should not suffer from the most common
defects of a mere translation.




  NOTE ON PERSONAL NAMES

  The names which occur in the narrative are exactly as given by Mr.
  Ming in his journal, but it would appear that he has taken some
  liberties with the language in attempting to give an approximate
  English equivalent for the original meaning. The translation of
  personal names and place-names is notoriously difficult as many
  names are either corrupt or obscure.




MECCANIA

THE SUPER-STATE




CHAPTER I

I BECOME A FOREIGN OBSERVER


I had already spent several years in various parts of Western Europe,
staying for long periods in Francaria, Romania and Luniland, before I
made up my mind to pay a visit to Meccania. Before coming to Europe
I had read a great deal about Western civilisation generally and had
conceived a great admiration for many of its features. My experiences
during my travels had, on the whole, strengthened my feelings of
admiration; although even an Oriental may be allowed to criticise
some of the characteristics of Western nations. In Romania I had
been delighted with the never-ending spectacle of history displayed
in every part of the country. The whole land was like an infinite
museum; but it was not in Romania that the living forces of the present
were to be found. In Francaria, on the other hand, the people were
more interesting than the country, charming as that country was in
many ways. One perceived that the people were highly civilised; they
displayed a combination of intellectual and moral refinement, an
appreciation of the material and sensuous enjoyment of life as well as
a traditional standard of conduct and manners, while at the same time
they were keenly alive to the most modern political ideas, and were
perpetually discussing new phases of all those problems which must
constantly emerge wherever political liberty is held as an article of
popular faith.

But it was in Luniland that I felt most at home. Just what it was that
kept me constantly pleased and interested it would take long to tell,
and I must reserve my observations on Luniland for another occasion. It
will be sufficient to say here that I was not so much impressed with
the wealth of ideas current in society in Luniland--Francaria was more
prolific in ideas, and in Francaria intellectual discussion was more
brilliant--as with the stability of certain political principles which,
as it seems to me at any rate, are destined to prevail ultimately
throughout the world.

For many reasons I thoroughly enjoyed the three or four years which,
with short intervals of absence, I had spent there. I had made many
acquaintances and even a considerable number of friends. In fact, I
had stayed so long, contrary to my original intention, that there was
little time left for carrying out the project of visiting Meccania, and
I was in some doubt whether I should not have to return home without
seeing that remarkable country. For I had already received one or two
pressing reminders from my family that they were expecting my return.
Before leaving home, however, I had promised some of my political
friends, who were interested in the subject of Meccanian culture, that
I would not return without investigating the social and political
life of Meccania. They had, in fact, written several times to remind
me of my promise, and I had put them off by explaining that, whilst
travelling in the rest of Europe was a simple and easy matter, I could
not enter Meccania without elaborate preparation.

When I began to talk to some of my friends in Luniland of my idea
of investigating Meccanian culture on the spot, I received the most
conflicting advice. Some said, "Don't go on any account. You will be
arrested as a spy, and probably shot!" Others said Meccania was ahead
of Luniland in every respect, and that I should certainly see something
worth remembering if I went there. Others, again, said that if I did
go, I should be looked upon with suspicion on my return. In fact, I
gathered that most of my friends would never open their doors to me
again. Finally, I took counsel with Mr. Yorke, a gentleman occupying an
important position in Lunopolis, a man of wide culture and sober views,
whom it was a great privilege to count among my friends.

He discussed the matter very frankly with me. I remember it was a
cold evening early in March, and we sat by the fire in his study
after an excellent dinner. "We Lunilanders," he said, "do not like
the Meccanians, and few of us ever visit Meccania. We prefer to have
nothing to do with that country, and if you followed the advice which
nine out of ten of my countrymen would give you, you would not go near
Meccania. But you have come to Europe partly, at all events, to study
our civilisation, and not simply to amuse yourself; and although there
is little intercourse between the Meccanians and the rest of us, if
you want to know Europe you cannot afford to neglect Meccania. If I
may advise you, I should say, Go there by all means. See as much as
you can with your own eyes. But try to see the country as a whole.
Don't be content to see just what interests you, or amuses you, or
what excites your admiration. If you do that, you will be like certain
cranks from this country who come back and tell us there is no poverty
in Meccania, there are no strikes, there is no disorder, no ignorance,
no preventible disease. You at any rate are not a simpleton to be taken
in by any sort of hocus-pocus. But the Meccanians are very clever, and
they manage to impose on many people who are not so wideawake as you
are. How much you will be allowed to see I don't know. It is a good
many years since I was there, but, if things are managed as I am told
they are now, you will not see all you want by any means. In fact,
in one sense, you would learn far more from books--you read Meccanian
easily already, I know--than from an actual visit. But unless you go
there you will not feel satisfied that what you read is true, and you
will not have the same sense of reality.

"The great thing is to look at the country as a whole--I don't mean
geographically, but spiritually. There is always a tendency for
foolish people to take this idea from one country and that institution
from another. Enthusiastic reformers are ready to shut their eyes to
everything else if only they can get support for their particular fads.
If you find after a real study of Meccanian life that you would like to
turn your own country into a second edition of Meccania, I shall say,
like old Dogberry, that you are not the man I took you for."

He impressed upon me the importance of a thorough knowledge of the
language, but I was able to satisfy him on that score; for I had learnt
to read easily before coming to Europe, and had already undertaken
a long course of colloquial Meccanian under a good teacher during a
visit to Francaria. Besides, I rather prided myself on my aptitude for
languages, and considered myself well equipped. So I packed up all the
miscellaneous goods I had collected, and stored them in Lunopolis,
reserving only a couple of trunks filled with the usual necessaries for
a mere tourist.

I had my passport from our own Government. I procured another from the
Luniland Foreign Office. I obtained, further, the necessary permission
from the Meccanian Government, and, choosing the shortest route,
arrived at the outer frontier on March 28th. As most people know,
Meccania has a double frontier on the Western side. A belt of country
twenty miles wide is preserved as neutral territory, a veritable
No Man's Land. This is a relic from the Great War. It is entirely
uninhabited and uncultivated. Not a single line of railway crosses
it, and only five roads, which are merely rough tracks, lead across
it from various points to the five frontier towns on the inner side.
These are the only gates into Meccania on the West. The small town on
the outer frontier in Francaria, through which I was to pass, is called
Graves. Here my first delay occurred. Intercourse with Meccania is so
limited that although the official conveyance goes only once a week,
I found no more than a dozen persons collected there in readiness for
the journey across No Man's Land. I was about to take my place in the
conveyance provided to carry us to Bridgetown on the inner frontier,
when it was discovered that I had no ticket authorising me to make this
journey. I produced my passports and the letter giving me permission
to travel in Meccania, but the official who took charge of foreigners
pointed to a printed instruction on the back of the letter informing
me that a ticket would be forwarded by a later post. No explanations
or expostulations were of any use. Until I had that ticket I could not
enter Meccania. The conveyance went only once a week. There was nothing
for it therefore but to stay at some hotel in Graves, or return to
Lunopolis in search of my missing ticket. I put up at a small hotel in
Graves and telegraphed to my last address for my letters. These arrived
two days later, and among them was my precious ticket.

The week I spent in Graves forms no part of my Meccanian tour, so I
will say nothing about it except that it gave me an opportunity of
seeing the extraordinary sight of No Man's Land. It stretched like
a belt of desert as far as one could see. Rough grass grew here and
there, but no other vegetation. Every year, in the warm weather, the
grass was fired, and other means were taken also to ensure that the
weeds should not injure the vegetation on the cultivated side, which by
contrast looked like a garden. At intervals of every twenty yards or
so an iron pole was erected with wire between. Otherwise there was no
obstacle; but no unauthorised person, so I was told, ever crossed the
line.

At the end of the week a few more travellers arrived and were met
by the conveyance from Bridgetown. It was something like a large
prison van, but quite comfortable inside except for the fact that the
passengers could not see outside. My fellow-passengers were evidently
strangers to one another. One or two, I thought, were Meccanians
returning home, but as there was little conversation and the journey
lasted not more than an hour, I was able to learn nothing about any of
them. When the car stopped--it was a sort of large motor-omnibus--the
door was opened by a porter in a dark blue uniform, and I found myself
in the large courtyard of the Bridgetown Police Office. What became
of my fellow-passengers I have no idea, but I was conducted to a
waiting-room, where another subordinate official in a grey uniform
took my papers, and about ten minutes after led me into a small office
adjoining, where a man in a green uniform sat at a desk surrounded by
neat little bundles of papers of various colours. He was a rather stout
man of middle age, with bushy iron-grey hair and whiskers, yet rather
bald in front. With his light grey eyes slightly protruding, he looked
at me for a few seconds and said, "Mr. Ming?"

I said, "I am Mr. Ming."

"I am Inspector of Foreigners Stiff," he said very distinctly, "and
whilst you are in Bridgetown you will be responsible to me for your
good conduct. By what title are you authorised to be addressed?"

"I am plain Mr. Ming, or Citizen Ming," I replied.

"But you have some other title, doubtless," he said. "What office do
you hold in your own country?"

"Well," I replied, "I am what we call a National Councillor. I am also
the President of the Literary Society of my own province, and I have
been once the Mayor of my native town."

"Then you had better be addressed as National Councillor Ming, or as
Literary President Ming, or Mayor Ming," he answered promptly. "Choose
which you prefer, and write down the title on the third line of this
form."

I wrote down, with a smile, "National Councillor Ming."

"National Councillor Ming," he said, as I handed the form back to him,
"before we have any further conversation, you will please pass into the
next room and undergo your medical examination."

I passed into the next room, where I found a man, also in a green
uniform, but with different facings from those worn by Inspector of
Foreigners Stiff. "National Councillor Ming," he said, "allow me to
make my necessary medical examination." I wondered how he had got my
name so pat. Then I remembered that immediately before passing me into
the next room, Inspector Stiff had put a card into a pneumatic tube
by the side of his desk. The doctor led me out of his office into a
small bedroom, next to which stood a bathroom fitted with various
apparatus. After undressing in the bedroom, I was ordered to step into
the bathroom, where first of all I was carefully measured in at least a
score of places: head, ears, arms, hands, legs, feet, chest, etc. etc.
Thumb-prints and foot-prints were taken; I was weighed; my chest was
sounded; my organs were investigated with various curious instruments;
a record of my speaking voice was taken, for which purpose I had to
pronounce several long sentences in Meccanian and in my own language. A
lock of my hair was cut off, and finally I was photographed in several
different positions. I was then ordered to bathe, at first in water,
afterwards in a fluid which was evidently some sort of disinfectant.
At the end of about an hour and a half the doctor pronounced me to be
"disease-free," and asked me to dress myself in some garments specially
used on these occasions. The garments were made either of paper, or
of some substance like paper, and were intended to be destroyed after
use. I was now in the bedroom. The doctor had disappeared, but a sort
of orderly in a grey uniform knocked at the door and brought in a tray
with some food and coffee. He announced that Inspector of Foreigners
Stiff would be ready to see me again in fifteen minutes. I was very
glad of the food, the first I had eaten since my arrival, and at the
end of the fifteen minutes I was again led into Mr. Stiff's room, still
wearing my paper suit.

"Now," said he, "you will remain in your room until morning, when
your own clothes will be restored to you after having been thoroughly
disinfected. You can have supper supplied to you in your room, and
as you will have a few hours to spare I should advise you to make
yourself acquainted with the contents of these documents. You will find
they contain all the instructions you require for the first few days."

I retired to my room feeling rather fatigued by the various experiences
I had already gone through, but for want of something more interesting
I began to study my 'Instructions.' The first document was a closely
printed circular of eight foolscap pages containing numerous extracts
from the Law relating to the Conduct of Foreign Observers. By the time
I had waded through this I thought I had done enough for one day, and
as the orderly came in with preparations for some supper I asked him
if I might see the daily paper. He did not seem to understand what I
meant. After some further explanation he said, "We have no daily paper
in Bridgetown: we have only the weekly local gazette."

"But you have some kind of newspaper which circulates in Bridgetown,"
I said. "Perhaps it is published in some other large town, perhaps in
Mecco?" I suggested. (Mecco is the capital of Meccania.)

"We have no general newspaper published daily," he replied.

I thought he had misunderstood me, so I begged him to bring me the
local Gazette. He said he would try to get me a copy. Presently,
while I was eating my supper, another official, dressed in a bright
chocolate-coloured uniform with green facings, made his appearance. He
explained that Inspector Stiff had gone home--it was then about seven
o'clock or later--and that he was left in charge of the office. I had
asked for a newspaper. For what purpose did I require a newspaper?

"Oh," I said, "just to see the current news."

"News what about?" he asked.

"About anything," I replied. "One likes to see the newspaper to see
what is going on."

"But no one wants anything except for some purpose," he replied, "and
you have not explained the purpose for which you require a newspaper.
Also, there are no general newspapers. There are the various gazettes
issued by the different departments of Government, and there are a few
local gazettes dealing with purely municipal matters. But until you
have entered upon your authorised tour of observation, I should have no
authority to supply you with any of these."

What a fuss about such a trifle, I thought, and wished I had never
troubled him. I apologised for making the request, whereupon he said,
"If you wish for something to read after supper there is a case of
books in the office, from which, no doubt, I can supply your needs."

I thanked him, and presently went to see the books. There was a work
on the _Law in Relation to Foreign Observers_, in three volumes; a
_History of the Development of Town Planning_, in five volumes; a
treatise on _Sewage_, in two volumes; a series of Reports on the
various Municipal Departments of Bridgetown; an _Encyclopædia of
Building_; and a few other works equally interesting. I took away a
volume, hardly noticing what it was, intending to use it only as a
means of inducing sleep, which it did most effectively.

I was awakened about half-past six next morning by the orderly in the
grey uniform entering the bedroom to announce that my bath would be
ready in five minutes, and that it was against the rules to be late. I
promptly went into the bathroom and found the bath half filled with a
thin, greeny-yellowish fluid which smelt like a strong disinfectant.
The orderly explained that all foreigners were obliged to be
disinfected in this way.

"But," I said, "I was disinfected only yesterday."

"The bath yesterday," he explained, "was to ensure that you brought no
disease into the country."

"And what is this for?" I asked.

"This is to prevent you from contracting any new disease through the
change in climate," he answered.

I remarked that the authorities were very solicitous of the welfare of
foreigners, to which he replied:

"Ah, we must look after ourselves; a sick man is a source of
infection."

I was told to remain in the bath forty-five minutes. I found I had no
choice, for, once in, I had no power to get out.

At the end of the forty-five minutes the orderly came and lifted me
out, turned on a shower bath, and said, "Breakfast in ten minutes."
My own clothes had been returned to me. I dressed quickly, ate my
breakfast, which was the usual light continental early breakfast of
rolls and coffee, and was preparing to leave the Police Office when the
orderly informed me that Inspector of Foreigners Stiff was ready to see
me.

"National Councillor Ming," he began, as soon as I entered his room, "I
find you have with you letters of introduction to several persons in
Meccania." (So my private papers had been closely scrutinised during
the process of disinfection.) "You will, of course, not present these
until you have received permission from the proper authority. In no
case can this be given until a period of three months has elapsed.
Now after completing these forms, in accordance with the Instructions
I handed you yesterday, you will be authorised to begin your tour of
observation in Bridgetown." Here he handed me four forms. "You must
first decide whether you mean to stay a week, or a month, or longer;
for that will naturally determine the programme of your tour of
observation. You cannot in any case leave without giving three clear
days' notice and completing your arrangements as to the place you are
proceeding to."

"Oh," I said in some surprise, "I had no idea that would be necessary.
I thought I would just look round, perhaps for a day or two, then go
on to one of your other important cities and make my way by degrees to
Mecco."

"Then you cannot have read the Instruction Form No. 4, or you would
know that is quite impossible. If you intend to stay a month, please
fill up this blue form."

"I think, perhaps, it would be better to say a week," I replied; "then
if I want to stay longer I suppose I could do so?"

"If you had read the Instructions you would have seen that the plan of
a tour of a week is on quite a different scale from that of a tour of a
fortnight or a month. You must decide now which you will take."

I stuck to the week, and we filled up the necessary forms for Tour
No. 1.

"Your conductor will be Sub-Conductor of Foreign Observers Sheep," he
said next.

"My conductor?" I exclaimed. "Is it necessary to have a conductor?"

"You are not still in Luniland," he replied testily, "and I must
again remind you that if you had read the extracts from the Law with
reference to Foreign Observers you would not have asked the question.
Sub-Conductor Sheep will be here in five minutes," he said, evidently
anxious to get rid of me, "and as soon as you have discharged this
bill of expenses he will take you to the Hotel for Foreign Observers,
and you will begin your tour." Here he handed me a sort of invoice
containing the following items:--

To food, 5s.; to bed, one night, 4s.; to medical examination, 10s.; to
temporary garments, 2s.; to service, 2s.--total, 23s.

There was certainly nothing exorbitant about the charges; all the same,
I grudged the 10s. for the medical examination.




CHAPTER II

BRIDGETOWN, TOUR No. 1


Sub-conductor of Foreign Observers Sheep came in as I was paying the
bill. He was a well-set-up man about fifty, and had the appearance of
an old Non-Com. He looked quiet and rather stolid. I never saw him
smile during the whole week I was with him, but he was not offensive in
his manner. Like Inspector Stiff he wore a green uniform, but one with
fewer facings and with chocolate-coloured buttons. Before we started
to walk across to the hotel he asked if I had got my pocket-diary. I
fished out a small notebook, such as I had used in Luniland for marking
engagements.

"That is of no use for the purpose," he informed me. "You must have one
like this"; and he showed me a book about six inches by four inches,
with four pages for each day.

"Oh!" I said, "I shall never need all that; besides, it is spaced for a
month only."

In a perfectly matter-of-fact voice he said calmly, "Every person in
Meccania uses a pocket-diary like this. You will find it indispensable
in order that you may make your entries correctly in your weekly diary
for the Time Department."

"The what department?" I asked, rather puzzled.

"The Time Department: but never mind; I will explain all that in its
proper place. We will get a pocket-diary as we go along."

We walked to the hotel, and on the way Sheep slipped into an office of
some kind and handed me a pocket-diary of the regulation type. As we
entered the hotel, which was a very small affair,--evidently the number
of foreigners in Bridgetown at any one time could not be more than a
dozen if they were all lodged here,--he popped his head into a sort
of box-office near the door and said in a loud voice, "Nine o'clock.
National Councillor Ming." A girl in the box-office echoed the words
whilst making an entry on a large sheet, and handed him a buff-coloured
sheet of cardboard, divided or ruled into small squares. This he
presented to me, telling me to note down on it the exact time when I
entered and left the hotel, and to get it initialed every other day by
the girl clerk in the box-office. If the times did not tally with her
record I was to consult the manager of the hotel.

"The first thing to do is to report yourself to the manager of the
hotel," said Sheep when he had taken me to my room, where I found my
baggage, which I had not seen since I left Graves.

The manager was a rather fussy little man, also in a green uniform
like Sheep's but with different facings. He did not seem specially
pleased to see me. All he said was, "I hope you will not give so much
trouble as the last of your fellow-countrymen we had here. If you will
study the regulations you will save yourself and me much inconvenience.
Meals are at eight, one, and six, and at no other times. And remember
that conversation with other Foreign Observers is prohibited until you
have received the Certificate of Approval."

Conductor Sheep had rung up for a motor-car, and as we waited a few
minutes for its arrival he said, "As you will have seen from the
printed programme of Tour No. 1, we shall first make a geographical
survey of the town, then we shall visit the public buildings, taking
note of their architectural features, and beginning first with those
under local control, following on with those under the joint control
of the Central and Local Government, and concluding with those solely
under the control of the Central Government. And of the first category
we shall see those first which have to do with the bodily needs, and
of these we shall take first those connected with food, then with
clothing, then with housing; for that is the only logical order.
Everything has been carefully prescribed by the Department of Culture
and the Department of Sociology, and the same plan is followed by all
Foreign Observers, whatever city they may be visiting."

We went first to a look-out tower which stood on a hill about a mile
outside the town. Here we had a view of the surrounding country. The
town lay in a bend of the river. It was not exactly picturesque, but
the large number of new public buildings near the centre, the broad
streets lined with villas, each surrounded by a garden in the large
residential quarter on the western side, and even the orderly streets
of houses and flats on the more thickly populated eastern side,
produced altogether a fine effect. The country round was magnificent.
Low wooded hills rose on three sides, backed by higher hills in the
distance. Sheep talked almost learnedly about the geology of the
district and the historical reasons for the situation of Bridgetown.
Then he pointed out that the plan of the town was like a wheel. In
the centre were the public buildings and squares. The main streets
radiated like spokes, and between these came the residential quarters
of the seven social classes; those of the first three on the west side,
those of the fourth to the north and south, those of the fifth, sixth
and seventh, to the east. On the east side also lay the factories,
workshops and warehouses. The shops were arranged in a sort of ring
running through the middle of each of the residential quarters.

"The seven social classes?" I asked. I had heard in a vague way of the
existence of this arrangement, but had little idea what it meant.

"Yes," answered Sheep, as if he were reading from a guide-book, "the
first consists of the highest aristocracy, military and civil; the
second, of the military and naval officers, all of noble birth; the
third, of the highest mercantile class with an income of £5000 a year
and the officials of the first grade in the Imperial civil service; the
fourth, of the officials of the civil service of lower grades and the
bulk of the professional classes; the fifth, of the skilled artisan
class; the sixth, of the semi-skilled; and the seventh, of the menial
industrial groups."

I asked him to go over it again whilst I took a note for future
reference.

The rest of the morning passed in listening to Sheep's elaborate
descriptions of the drainage and sewage systems, the water supply,
the power and light and heat supply, the tramway system, the parcels
system, the postal delivery system, the milk delivery system, all from
the geographical point of view. After lunch we spent some time in going
all over the town on the tramways. This completed the geographical
survey.

At six o'clock I was deposited in the hotel just in time for dinner.
Presently I prepared to go out to some place of amusement; but on
attempting to leave the hotel I was stopped by the porter, who told me
I could not leave the hotel unless accompanied by my conductor.

So I spent the evening in writing up my journal. During the day I
had noticed that everywhere all the men were dressed in a sort of
uniform, and that the colours of these uniforms corresponded to the
rank or class of the wearers. Perhaps I ought to have mentioned this
circumstance earlier, for certainly it was one of the first things
I noticed when I began to go into the streets. The colours of the
uniforms are very striking and even crude. They supply the only
touch of the picturesque in Bridgetown, for, judging by my first
day's impressions of the town, I should imagine that the authorities
responsible for rebuilding it have swept away every vestige of the
tiny mediæval city which once existed on this spot and have replaced
it by a perfectly uniform piece of Meccanian town-planning. In such a
setting these uniforms strike one at first as out of place, but perhaps
I have not yet grasped their purpose or significance. The colour of the
uniforms of the members of the First Class is white; that of the Second
Class, red or scarlet; of the Third, yellow; of the Fourth, green; of
the Fifth, chocolate; of the Sixth, grey; of the Seventh, dark blue.
But so far I have seen no white uniforms, and only a few scarlet. I
saw several yellow uniforms to-day, but the most common were the green
uniforms of the Fourth Class and the chocolate uniforms of the Fifth
Class, to which the skilled artisans belong. Greys and dark blues were
also fairly numerous; but what surprised me most of all was the small
number of people to be seen in the streets. I must ask Sheep for the
explanation of this.

Promptly at nine o'clock next morning Sub-Conductor of Foreign
Observers Sheep made his appearance at the hotel, and we began our tour
of the public buildings. He took me first to the 'Import-Food-Hall,'
which stood alongside the railway on the outskirts of the town near
the industrial quarter. It was a great warehouse through which all
the food brought into the town has to pass before it is allowed to be
sold in the markets and shops. (The sole exception is milk, which is
distributed by municipal servants.) The building was very extensive
and several stories high. The two ends were open for the passage of
railway wagons. The architecture was not without a certain coarse
dignity. The arches were decorated in Romanesque style, and the whole
front facing the street was covered with rude sculptures in high relief
of scenes connected with the production of food. The interior walls
were covered with frescoes depicting similar scenes. Conductor Sheep
grew almost enthusiastic over this exhibition of Meccanian Art. All
these decorations, he said, had been executed by the students of the
Bridgetown Art School. I was not altogether surprised to hear this;
there was something so very naïve and obvious about the whole idea.

We next saw the municipal slaughter-houses, which were almost
adjoining. Inspector Sheep informed me how many minutes it took to
kill and prepare for the meat market a given number of cattle, sheep or
pigs. He dilated on the perfection of the machinery for every process,
and assured me that not a single drop of blood was wasted. The amount
of every particular kind of animal food required for each week in the
year was ascertained by the Sociological Department, and consequently
there was no difficulty in regulating the supply. The perfection of
the methods of preserving meat also effected some economy. Conductor
Sheep assured me that the Meccanian slaughter-houses had become the
models for all the civilised world, and that a former Director of the
Bridgetown slaughter-houses had been lent to a foreign Government to
organise the system of technical instruction for butchers.

The five markets were in five different parts of the city. They served
to distribute perishable foods only, which were not allowed to be
sold in the ordinary shops. All women in the Fifth, Sixth and Seventh
Classes were obliged to do their marketing in person. Each person was
obliged to deal solely with one dealer for a year at a time, and to
attend at the market at a particular hour, so that there should be no
congestion and no waste of time on the part of the dealers. This, I
suppose, explains the wonderful orderliness of these markets. There was
no gossiping or chaffering. Whether the people enjoy this arrangement
is a matter upon which Sheep did not enlighten me. He said it had been
calculated by the Time Department that an economy of 50 per cent had
been effected in the time spent upon the daily purchase of food since
the introduction of the modern market system.

Foods that are not perishable are sold in the shops, and as regards
certain articles there is the same system of choosing each year the
shop at which one buys a particular article, whilst as regards others
trade is free. The housewife must buy her bread always from the same
baker; but things like mustard, spices, coffee or preserved food may be
bought at any shop.

The sale of drink is regulated in a different way. The three lowest
classes are not allowed to keep drink in their houses; but as the
favourite national drink is a mild kind of beer which can be got in
any restaurant, there is no apparent hardship in this regulation. The
way in which excess is checked is very curious. The weekly budgets
of every family, in all classes below the fourth, are checked by the
authorities--by which department I do not know--and if the amount
spent on drink exceeds a certain sum per head, a fine is inflicted and
the offender warned. If the offence is persisted in, the offender is
forbidden to buy any drink for a specified period. One might suppose
that such regulations could easily be evaded; so they could in most
countries, but not in Meccania. Everything is so perfectly scrutinised
that no evasion seems possible--at any rate as far as the three lowest
classes are concerned.

"This scrutiny of family budgets," I remarked, "is it not resented and
even evaded?"

"I do not think it is resented," answered Sheep, "but it certainly
cannot be evaded. Why should it be resented? The facts are only known
to the officials, and in any case they would be required by the
Sociological Department. How else could it obtain the necessary data
for its researches? Every woman is taught how to keep her household
accounts in the proper manner, and she sends in her account book at
the end of each quarter. That is necessary for many reasons. No," he
concluded, as if the idea had not occurred to him before, "I have never
heard of any complaints. Only those would wish to complain who desired
to evade some salutary regulation; consequently there is no reason why,
out of regard for them, we should interfere with a practice that has so
many advantages."

"What are the advantages?" I asked, for so far I had seen no advantage
except the possibility of checking expenditure upon drink.

"The use of these accurate family budgets and household accounts to the
Sociological Department is simply indispensable. To the Department of
Trade and Industry also they are very valuable. In fact, you may take
it that all our Meccanian institutions are so arranged that they serve
several purposes and fit in with the whole Meccanian scheme of life."

Incidentally, in connection with the family expenditure on food, he
mentioned model dietaries. I was curious to know what these were. He
explained that there were three recognised kinds of dietaries. First,
the Food Department prescribed model dietaries for families of the
three lowest classes in normal health. Secondly, when each person was
medically examined--and this happened at least once a year--the medical
officer might prescribe a dietary for the individual; and lastly, if a
person were positively ill, it would be the duty of the medical officer
in charge of the case to prescribe a dietary. I was going to ask some
further questions about the Medical Department, when Sheep reminded me
that we had still several other municipal departments to visit before
we came to the Medical Department, and that we must not depart from the
programme of our tour.

The Department for the Inspection and Regulation of Clothing came next.
I was rather surprised that this should be a municipal institution,
seeing that the regulations were uniform for the whole country.

Sheep explained that it was just because the regulations were so
perfectly uniform that the function of administering them could be
entrusted to the municipality. The department was quite a small
affair. Only about ten inspectors were required for Bridgetown. Their
duties were to see that no person wore any uniform to which he was
not entitled, and that on ceremonial occasions full-dress uniform was
worn. It was quite easy to ensure that a uniform of the right colour
was worn, but in addition to that the various grades of each class
were indicated by the various facings, stripes, buttons and badges, as
were also the different occupations within each class and grade. The
penalties for wearing unauthorised decorations were very heavy, and
infringements were very rare, as detection was almost certain.

"I should have thought that the whole clothing trade would be in the
hands of the Government," I remarked.

"That is not part of our system," replied Sheep. "The production of all
the kinds of cloth for all the uniforms is so standardised that there
would be no advantage in the State taking over the mere manufacture.
Each person chooses his tailor from a small panel. Naturally the
members of the higher classes have the best tailors. In fact, a tailor
of the first grade would not be allowed to make suits for the three
lowest classes; it would be a waste of talent."

"And what about the women's clothing?" I inquired. "They do not wear
uniforms. Is their dress regulated in any way?"

"Only in two ways," answered Sheep. "Every woman must wear, on the
front upper part of each of her outdoor dresses, a piece of cloth of
the regulation pattern and colour, to indicate the class to which she
belongs. Also the expenditure on dress is limited according to the
social class."

When we came to the offices of the Department of Health, Sheep said I
had made a grave error of judgment in choosing Tour No. 1--the tour for
a single week only--as there was enough to occupy us for a week in the
Department of Health alone. It included the Sanitation Section, the
Medical Inspection Section, the Medical Dispensing Section, the Medical
Attendance Section, the Hospital Section, the section of the Special
Medical Board, the Marriages and Births Section, the Post-Mortem
Section, and the Buildings Section.

After this I was not surprised to hear that over a thousand persons were
employed in the Health Department, in addition to the workmen--chiefly
of the Sixth and Seventh Classes--who did the actual menial work of
keeping the sewage system in order and keeping the streets clean. I
might write a whole chapter on the Health Department, but it will
perhaps suffice if I mention the most singular features.

Inspectors visit every house twice a year to see that each house and
flat is kept in a sanitary condition. Each person is medically examined
once a year--this is in addition to the system of medical inspection in
schools--and whatever treatment is prescribed he must submit to.

"What happens," I asked, "if a person declines to submit to treatment?"

"He would be taken before the Special Medical Board," answered Sheep.

"And what is that?" I asked.

"We shall come to that presently," said Sheep reprovingly. He went on
to explain that the Dispensing Section treated all persons of the three
lowest classes who did not require to go into a hospital. The doctors
were municipal officials and there was no choice of doctor.

"Why do you not allow choice of doctor?" I asked.

"That would interfere with the proper classification of the diseases,"
he answered. "As soon as a complaint is diagnosed, it is handed over
to the appropriate doctor for treatment. The same applies to the
Medical Attendance Section; but persons in the three lowest classes
are not generally attended in their homes, they are brought into
the hospitals. The chief work of the Medical Attendance Section is
in connection with births; consequently we employ a number of women
doctor-nurses in this Section. Now we come to the Special Medical
Board. It is a sort of Higher General Staff. It collates the results
of the work of all the other medical sections, and is responsible for
the annual report. It receives the instructions of the Central Medical
Department of Meccania, and sees that these are carried out. It directs
special investigations in all abnormal cases. In the case of so-called
incurable diseases it pronounces its decree as to whether the case is
incurable, and in that event it authorises the death of the patient."

"Authorises the death of the patient?" I said. "Without the patient's
consent?"

"The patient can hardly be the best judge," said Sheep.

"What about the relatives then?" I asked.

"The relatives have no voice in the matter," said Sheep.

"That sounds very drastic," I remarked; "and what about the sort of
case you mentioned a little while ago?"

"The case _you_ mentioned?" said Sheep. "I do not remember any such
cases, but if one occurred it would be dealt with under Section 143 of
the Medical Regulations, which prescribes that in case of persistent
disregard of the instructions of the authorised medical officer, with
the consent of the Special Medical Board, the person guilty of such
refusal is to be removed to an asylum for mental abnormality."

"A lunatic asylum!"

"We do not call them lunatic asylums. The term is obsolete; it does not
accord with our system of classification."

Sheep next dealt with the Marriages and Births Section. This is in some
ways the most remarkable of all. It appears that a licence to marry is
issued to all persons in normal health, the Department prescribing the
number of children to be born within each period of five years. Persons
classified as abnormal are specially dealt with, and on this subject
Sheep referred me to the Report of the Central Medical Department,
which I could obtain in the Great Meccanian Library at Mecco. The
Post-Mortem Section carried out an examination in all cases of interest
to the Health Department before cremation.

I asked what the Buildings Section was. It seems to be a sort of link
between the Architectural Department and the Health Department, and
supervises the building regulations from the hygienic point of view.

The next day Conductor Sheep called punctually at nine o'clock to
continue the tour of observation. We had come to the end of one
section, as marked out in the mind of the 'Authority,' and were now to
begin another, namely, the institutions controlled partly by the City
and partly by the State. I suspect that the control by the City is a
good deal of a fiction, for the State has power to take over any of the
functions that are not performed to its satisfaction.

We began with the Police. The office of the Central Police Station
was in the building where I had first been inspected, examined and
instructed, on my arrival. It was a large building for a town of the
size of Bridgetown, and seemed full of officials, police officers and
clerks. Yet I had noticed very few police officers in the streets. I
remarked upon this to my guide. I said, "In the country I have just
come from they have a great many police officers in the streets of the
large towns, but very few other officials connected with the police
service. Here, apparently, you have few police officers in the streets,
but a great many other officials connected with the police service. Can
you explain that?"

"Yes," he said; "I have heard something of the kind before, and
although I have never been abroad to other countries, the books in
our libraries describe the police systems so fully that I think I can
answer your question. The police in Luniland--so I am informed--do
little else besides keeping order in the streets and following up
criminals."

"Exactly," I remarked. "What else should they do?"

"Here," said Sheep, "these are the least of their functions. We
employ fewer police in keeping order in the streets, and in detecting
criminals, than any country in the world. Crime and disorder are almost
unknown in Meccania. Our people are so well brought up that they
have little desire to commit crime. Those who do show any propensity
in that direction are deported to criminal colonies and give very
little trouble afterwards. Besides, there is, after all, very little
opportunity to commit crime, as you would soon discover if you
attempted to do so."

"I can well believe that," I said. "But what, then, do your police find
to do?"

"Speaking generally, their function is to see that the regulations
devised for the good of the State are properly carried out."

"And those regulations are rather numerous, I suppose?"

"Undoubtedly. As they affect every department of life, there are many
occasions upon which the assistance of the police is necessary in order
that people shall not make mistakes," said Sheep.

"But," I said, "I thought that the officials of each department of
State attended to so many things that there would be little left
for the police. For instance," I added, "the inspectors of food and
clothing, of buildings, of public health, of education, and so forth."

"Yes, yes," answered Conductor Sheep; "but suppose some matter arises
which may belong to several departments; the citizen needs guidance.
Quite apart from that, the police watch over the life of the people
from the point of view of the general public interest. They collect
information from all the other departments. Suppose a man neglects his
attendance at the theatre: the amusement authority must report the case
to the police. Similarly with all the other departments. Suppose, for
instance, a man were to try to make an unauthorised journey, or to
remain absent from work without a medical certificate, or to exceed
his proper expenditure and get into debt, or try to pass himself off
as a member of a higher class: in such cases it is the police who
take cognisance of the offence. Then there is the annual report and
certificate of conduct with respect to every citizen. How could this be
filled up without exact information? All this involves a great deal of
work."

"Indeed it must," I replied.

"You see, then, that our police are not idle," said Sheep triumphantly.

"Indeed I do," I replied.

After this enlightening explanation the offices of the Police
Department no longer presented a mystery to me. I looked with awe at
the hundreds of volumes of police reports in the official library of
the Bridgetown police office, and wondered what the Central Police
Office Library would be like; for I was told it contained a copy of
every police report of every district in the country, as well as those
for the great capital Mecco.

When we came to the Department of Education, which was one of the
institutions managed by the State and the Municipality, Conductor Sheep
regretted once more that I had chosen Tour No. 1. We could only spare
half a day at most for this important department. Here, again, I can
only note a few of the unusual features of the system, as explained
to me by my encyclopædic conductor. We saw no schools except on the
outside, but I noticed the children going to and from school. They
all marched in step, in twos or fours, like little soldiers. They did
not race about the streets or play games. Wherever they started from
they fell into step with their comrades and carried their satchels
like knapsacks. The State Inspectors, it seems, decide what is to be
taught, and how it is to be taught: the local officers carry out their
instructions and classify the children. In the office of the Department
there is a sort of museum of school apparatus in connection with the
stores section. The books are all prescribed by the Central Department,
and no others may be used. The children of the Sixth and Seventh
Classes attend common schools in order to get the benefit of better
classification. There are no schools in Bridgetown for the members
of the First and Second Classes. They go elsewhere, but the other
classes have separate schools. The children of the Sixth and Seventh
Classes stay at school until they are twelve; but their instruction is
largely of a practical and manual kind. Those of the Fifth Class remain
until fifteen, and are trained to be skilled workmen. After fifteen
they receive instruction in science in connection with their several
occupations.

Closely connected with the system of education, for the three lowest
classes, is the Juvenile Bureau of Industry. This is controlled by
the Department of Industry and Commerce. No young person in Meccania
can take up any employment without a certificate granted by this
Department. The officials of the Juvenile Bureau, after consultation
with the officials of the Education Department, decide what occupation
boys and girls may enter, and no employer is allowed to engage a boy or
girl except through the medium of the Bureau.

"What about the inclinations of the boys and girls, and the desires of
their parents?" I remarked to Sheep.

"The inclinations of the boys?" said Sheep, more puzzled than
surprised. "In what way does that affect the question?"

"A boy might like to be a cabinet-maker rather than a metal worker, or
a mason rather than a clerk," I said.

"But such a question as that will have been determined while the boy is
at school."

"Then when does he get the chance of choosing an occupation?"

"It will depend upon his abilities for different kinds of work. And he
can hardly be the judge of that himself," added Sheep.

"Where do the parents come in, then?" I asked.

"The parents will naturally encourage the boy to do his best at school.
And after all, does it matter much whether a boy is a mason or a
carpenter? In any case, the number of carpenters will be decided each
year, and even each quarter, by the Department of Industry. It is not
as if it would alter his class, either; he will be in the same class
unless he is very exceptional and passes the State Examination for
promotion."

I saw it would be useless to suggest any other ideas to Sub-Conductor
Sheep, who seemed constitutionally unable to understand any objections
to the official point of view. I could hardly hope to learn much about
education in a single afternoon. All we saw was the mere machinery from
the outside, and not even a great deal of that. I gathered that there
was a most minute classification, with all sorts of subdivisions, of
the children according to their capacities and future occupations.
There were sufficient local inspectors to provide one for each
large school, and their chief business was to conduct psychological
experiments and apply all sorts of tests of intelligence in order to
introduce improved methods of instruction. The inspectors themselves
were all specialists. One was an expert on mental fatigue, another
devoted himself to classifying the teachers according to their aptitude
for teaching particular subjects, another specialised in organising
profitable recreative employments for different grades of children;
another superintended all juvenile amusements. Sheep showed me the
exterior of a large psychological laboratory attached to the Technical
College. Bridgetown was too small to have a University of its own,
but it had two large 'Secondary' Schools for pupils in the Third and
Fourth Classes, and an enormous technical school for the boys of the
Fifth Class. It was fitted up like a series of workshops for all sorts
of trades, with class-rooms and laboratories attached. Sheep asserted
that it was through these schools that the Meccanian artisans had
become by far the most efficient workmen in the whole world. I had not
time to ask many questions about the provision for games or physical
training, but from something Sheep said I inferred that whilst games
had been reduced to a minimum the experts had devised a system of
physical training which satisfied all Meccanian requirements.

Sheep strongly advised me to study Meccanian education in Mecco if I
ever got there. All true Meccanians recognised, he said, that the whole
national greatness of Meccania rested on their system of education. No
doubt statesmen had done much, but the ground had been prepared by the
schoolmasters, and the statesmen themselves had been brought up in the
Meccanian system of education. He himself, he confided, was the son of
a Meccanian village schoolmaster.

Why then, I asked, begging his pardon if the question were indiscreet,
did he wear the chocolate button which indicated that he had once been
a member of the Fifth Class?

"When the sevenfold classification was introduced," he answered,
"village schoolmasters who were not graduates were in the Fifth
Class, and I was in the Fifth Class until I was thirty and gained my
promotion in the Police Department."

       *       *       *       *       *

Tour No. 1 made no provision for studying the lighter side of life
in Bridgetown. Sheep said that practically all forms of amusement
were controlled by a section of the Department of Culture, but that
the Organising Inspectors of Private Leisure were appointed locally,
subject to the approval of the Central Department.

"Organising Inspectors of Private Leisure!" I exclaimed. "What an
extraordinary institution!"

"In what way extraordinary?" said Sheep.

"I am sure they do not exist in any other country," I replied.

"Perhaps not," replied Sheep; "but, then, our culture is not modelled
on that of any other country. Possibly other countries will discover
the use of such officials when they have developed a better system of
education."

"But what is their function?" I asked.

"Any person who has more than an hour a day unaccounted for, after
doing his day's work, and fulfilling all his other duties, is required
to submit a scheme every half-year, showing what cultural pursuit he
proposes to follow. The inspectors will assist him with expert advice
and will see that he carries out his programme."

"Is there nothing left unregulated in this country?" I asked in as
innocent a tone as I could command.

"That is a very interesting question," replied Sheep. "If you will
consult the _Forty-eighth Annual Report of the Ministry of Culture_
you will find an interesting diagram, or map, showing the whole field
of Meccanian life and the stages in its organisation. One by one all
the spheres of life have been gradually organised. If you examine the
diagram showing the present state of Meccania, and compare it with
similar maps for other countries, you will perceive how very much more
advanced our culture is than that of any other country."

"And what regions still remain for the Department of Culture to
conquer?"

"An investigation is going on at the present time into the interesting
question of individual taste," he answered. "It is being conducted by
the Æsthetic Section of the Department, but they have not yet reported."

Where everything is so completely regulated it is not surprising to
find that poverty, as understood in many countries, no longer exists;
but I was not quite clear how it was provided against. Once more Sheep
was ready with a complete explanation.

"Our laws," he said, "do not permit anyone to remain idle, and the
regulation of the expenditure of the lower classes secures them
against improvidence. Besides, as they contribute to insurance funds,
they receive a pension in old age, and allowances during sickness or
disablement. Poverty is therefore impossible."

"Apparently, then," I remarked, "if the labouring classes will
surrender their liberty to the State they can be relieved of all danger
of poverty."

"I do not understand what you mean by surrendering their liberty,"
replied Sheep.

"In many other countries," I said, "people desire to please themselves
what they will work at, and indeed whether they will work at all. They
like to have the liberty of striking, for instance, against wages or
other conditions that do not satisfy them, and I have heard people in
such countries declare that they would rather preserve their freedom in
such things than be secured even against poverty."

"It is no part of my business to discuss such questions," replied
Sheep, "but I have never heard such a question even discussed in
Meccania. The foundation of Meccanian law is that the private
individual has no rights against the State."

       *       *       *       *       *

It was towards the end of the week that I mentioned to Conductor
Sheep that I had had great difficulty in procuring a copy of the
local newspaper published in Bridgetown; in fact, I had not managed
to get a sight of it. Sheep explained that Tour No. 1 did not allow
time for the study of local social life in such detail as to provide
a place for such a thing, but he was good enough to procure me a
sight of the _Bridgetown Weekly Gazette_. It was well printed on
good paper, but it was more like an official municipal record than a
newspaper. It contained brief reports of municipal committee meetings,
announcements as to forthcoming examinations, lists of persons who
had passed various examinations; and statistics of births, deaths
and marriages. The figures for the births were given in an unusual
form. There were fifty first-born boys, forty-five first-born girls;
forty-seven second-born boys, forty-eight second-born girls; and so on
down to three fourteenth-born boys and seven fourteenth-born girls.
There were statistics of accidents, with brief details. There was a
list of small fines inflicted for various infringements of regulations,
and announcements of forthcoming legal cases. The only advertisements
were a few concerning sales of property and household goods. It was
altogether the driest document calling itself a newspaper I had ever
seen. I tried to draw Sheep on the subject of newspapers in general,
but he seemed rather annoyed.

"I procured this _Gazette_," he said, "as a concession to your
curiosity, although it forms no part of our programme, and now you wish
to go into a subject which is totally unconnected with our tour. The
question is of historical interest only, and if you stay in Meccania
long enough to study the historical development of our Culture,
you will study the history of the Press in its proper place and
connection. I will, however, add for your present information that the
Central Government issues a complete series of Gazettes, which serve
the same purpose for the country as a whole as the _Bridgetown Weekly
Gazette_ for his locality."

With that the subject was closed for the present.

       *       *       *       *       *

Although I had now been here nearly a whole week, I had not yet had
an opportunity of strolling round to see anything that might catch
my fancy. Everything had been done according to the programme.
Nevertheless, I had noticed a few things in the course of my daily
tours which Conductor Sheep did not think worthy of comment. I got very
tired of his guide-book style of explanation. Bridgetown was hardly
worth the painful and systematic study which he compelled me to give to
it, and I decided to go straight on to the capital in a few days.

I saw no drunken people--the regulations do not permit drunkenness.
I saw no loose women in the streets. On this subject I can get no
information from Sheep, but I suspect there is something to learn.
There were no advertisement hoardings. I must confess I rather missed
them; they may be ugly, but they are often interesting. The shops were
very dull. Nothing was displayed in the windows to tempt people to buy,
and there were no people about the streets shopping in a casual way.
People must know what they want, and go to the shops which specialise
in the particular article. There were large stores; but even these were
so divided into departments that there was little fun in shopping.
Indiscriminate and casual shopping is distinctly discouraged by the
State. Advertising is restricted to trade journals, except for a little
in the miserable local gazettes. Only those forms of production which
the State considers necessary are allowed to expand indefinitely;
all the others are regulated. Consequently there are none of the
incitements to expenditure which exist in most modern countries. I have
never been a great shopper, but I could not have believed how much
duller life was without the attractions of the shop windows and the
stores, if I had not been here. For instance, I found that I had very
foolishly come without a pair of bedroom slippers, so I wanted to buy
a pair. I looked round naturally for a shop where I should see such
things displayed in the window, but I had to go to the slipper section
of the boot department of a store, choose from an illustrated catalogue
the quality I wanted, and take whatever they had.

I thought I should have seen book-shops displaying all the most recent
books and publications. In other countries I found it possible to pick
up a great deal of information by noticing the kind of literature
exposed for sale. Booksellers' shops have always an attraction for
me. To my amazement the book-sellers' shops have disappeared from
Meccania, yet I know from my own reading they used to be quite a
feature in the life of the old Meccania. The censorship of the printing
trade has apparently revolutionised the book-selling business. At any
rate, the only place in which I could get to see books in Bridgetown
was at a sort of office in the Technical College. It seems that the
Publications Department of the Ministry of Culture--I think that is the
right name--has in every town a public room, fitted up like a small
library, in which all the current books published are exhibited for six
months at a time. This is really a very useful institution in itself,
but the books exhibited were not on sale, so all the pleasurable
excitement of a book-_shop_ was wanting. To _buy_ books one must order
them through an authorised book-agent, who has a sort of monopoly. I
wondered why such an extraordinary arrangement should have been made,
but when I got the explanation from Sheep it was quite consistent with
the general scheme of things here.

I asked him whether the Government discouraged the public from reading.
He said, "Not at all. Our people are great readers; they do not need
any incitements to read. They consult the lists of new books and come
to the book-room to see any book in which they are interested. Then
they decide whether to buy it or to borrow it from the public library."

"But why do you not permit people to open book-shops?"

"It would be a sheer waste," replied Sheep. "One book-agent can
supply all the books required in Bridgetown without keeping a stock
of thousands of books that would never be wanted or not wanted for
years. Apply the same principle to other towns and you will see that by
keeping only one central stock we effect a great economy."

I pointed out that in other countries the publishers kept the stock and
supplied booksellers with what they wanted, allowing them to keep a few
copies for the immediate sales; and that consequently this was almost
as economical an arrangement.

"But," said Sheep, "we have no publishers in your sense of the word.
When a book is written it cannot be printed without the sanction of the
Government censors, who decide how many copies in the first instance
are to be issued. The publishers are really printers who arrange the
form and style of the book, but undertake no responsibility such as
publishers in other countries undertake."

"Then the Government are really the publishers?" I suggested.

"Well," answered Sheep, "the Government _are_ the publishers of most
books. That is to say, the number of Government publications exceeds
the number of private publications, but as regards the latter the
publishers or printers assume the financial responsibility for the
sales but are insured by the Government against loss, so long as they
comply with the conditions imposed by the Publishing Department."

But I have digressed too far. My interest in book-shops must be my
excuse. Not only were there no casual shoppers, but I saw no one
sauntering about the streets. Everybody seemed to have an object in
view. There were no children playing. The children were either marching
in step to or from school, or they were performing some kind of
organised game--if it could be called a game--under the supervision of
a teacher or guardian. The workmen going to their work, or returning,
also marched in step like soldiers. The women going to market went at
the appointed time and took their place in a little queue if there were
more than three or four in front of them. At the theatre there was no
crowd outside; every one had his numbered seat and went to it at the
minute. Each man's ticket has printed on it the day of his attendance,
the number of the seat and the exact time at which he must be present.

There are no such things here as football matches or other sports
witnessed by crowds. The men attend military drill once a week, some
on Sundays and some on Saturdays. This is in addition to their annual
periods of drill. The only custom which survives from old times,
resembling the customs of other countries, is that of sitting in the
evening in gardens attached to restaurants. Here the people listen to
bands of music whilst they drink a thin kind of liquor and smoke cigars.

The sense of orderliness is almost oppressive. Every hour of the day
has been mapped out for me, except when I have been writing my journal
in the evening. The day before yesterday we began to visit the State
institutions. The chief of these is the Post Office, but the most
remarkable is the Time Department. The Post Office is very much like
any other post office, except that it has a Censor's Department. All
letters are actually read by the clerks in the Censor's Department.
Sheep gave me a curious explanation in justification of this
extraordinary institution. Put briefly, his case was this. The State
could not, with due regard to the interests of the community, allow
_all_ letters to go uncensored. All sorts of mischief might be hatched.
If the State censors any letters it cannot logically stop short of
censoring all. As to the labour involved, this pays for itself. For
the public, knowing that its letters are liable to be read, does not
indulge in unnecessary letter-writing. Thus time is saved, which can be
devoted to more useful purposes. The statistics compiled by the Time
Department have completely proved that the labour of the fifty clerks
employed in censoring the letters effects a saving of more than four
times the amount of time which would otherwise be spent by the public
in useless letter-writing.

This Time Department is the most extraordinary institution of all I
have seen so far. Every person over ten years of age is required to
fill in a diary-form each week showing the time spent daily on every
separate operation. The diary form is a stout double sheet of foolscap
providing four pages altogether. The first page is stamped with the
name, address, and other particulars of the 'diarist.' The two open
pages are ruled into 336 small oblong spaces, one for each half-hour of
the week. In these spaces brief entries are made, such as 'breakfast,'
'tram-journey,' 'conversation,' 'sleeping,' etc. This part of the
diary thus gives a chronological account of each day in successive
half-hours. On the back page is printed a long list of about 150
categories in three columns. I noticed such headings as these:--Sleep,
dressing, meals (subdivided), travelling (conveyance specified),
employment (specified under many heads), study (specified), reading,
letter-writing, interviews with officials, attendance at theatre,
concert, church, museum, etc., conversation (subdivided into family,
friends, others), other amusements (specified), public ceremonies,
drill, etc. Against each of these headings the total number of minutes
spent during the week is recorded.

The information derived from these diaries is scrutinised and worked
up into elaborate reports and statistics for the benefit of the
Sociological Department, the Police Department, the Department of
Trade and Industry, and so forth. I hope to learn more of this most
remarkable feature of Meccanian life when I reach the capital, where
the Central Time Department carries on its work.

I have good reason to remember the Time Department, for on Sunday
morning after breakfast I was sent for by the official who manages
the Hotel for Foreign Observers. He told me rather curtly that he had
just received a telephone message from the local office of the Time
Department inquiring whether I had sent in my diary, as it had not
been received. I told him I knew nothing about such a thing. He said,
"Nonsense. You have had the usual instructions given to all foreigners.
Look among your papers." I did look, and there, sure enough, was a
sheet of instructions and three blank forms. He said, "You had better
fill it up at once." So I went to the writing-room and began. But I
could not remember what had happened at all clearly enough to fill the
half of it in. At the end of an hour the hotel manager came to ask what
I was doing all this time. I explained my difficulty. He asked if I had
not kept a pocket-diary: it was indispensable. I suddenly remembered
the pocket-diary Sheep had procured for me; but I had forgotten to
make use of it. What a fool I was! We spent the next hour doctoring up
the diary and then sent it in. He told me I should have to pay a fine
of ten shillings for the delay. I did not mind that, but the next day
I received a visit from an official from the Time Department, who
came with Conductor Sheep to point out that there were many errors in
the diary. The times for a number of items did not tally with those
in Conductor Sheep's diary, although we had been together the whole
week from 9 a.m. to 6 p.m. each day. I should have to make out a fresh
diary with the assistance of Conductor Sheep, and pay a fine of £1.
The charge of falsifying my diary would not be made, in view of my
colossal ignorance; the charge would be reduced to that of negligence
to verify particulars. Conductor Sheep was rather disagreeable about
the affair, as it might be considered to reflect on him. I certainly
thought he might have taken the trouble to instruct me more fully upon
such a momentous business. However, as I was on the point of leaving
Bridgetown for Mecco, I was not much disturbed by his ill-humour.




CHAPTER III

INTRODUCTION TO MECCO


It is a week since I arrived in Mecco, and for the first time I have
leisure to write up my journal. The life of a Foreign Observer is very
strenuous, for the Meccanian method of seeing everything according
to programme and timetable is very fatiguing. Already I feel that
a holiday will be welcome at the end of my tour. In the whole of
this vast city of Mecco there is nothing casual, nothing incidental,
nothing unprovided for. Although I am only a spectator, I feel like
a little cog in the huge complicated machine. The machine seems to
absorb everything; the individual counts for nothing. That is perhaps
the reason why it seems impossible to get into contact with any human
being other than the officials who instruct me and conduct me every
moment of my time. I begin to wonder whether the individual Meccanian
really exists, or whether his personality is merged in the official
personality which is all that is visible to me.

To resume the record of my experiences. Before I left Bridgetown,
Sub-Conductor Sheep repeated his opinion that in choosing Tour No. 1,
which allowed only a week for the study of an important town, I had
revealed my incapacity as a Foreign Observer. He evidently put me down
in one of the pigeon-holes of his mind as a mere tourist--a creature
almost extinct in Meccania. The day before my departure I paid the
bill for his services, which were reckoned at the modest rate of 16s.
a day. My hotel bill was also discharged, and I proceeded to my final
interview with the Police Authorities. I had to submit to another
disinfecting bath, but apart from this the medical examination was a
formality.

At the Police Office, Inspector of Foreigners Stiff was very sarcastic
at my expense. "So you think there is nothing more to be learnt in
Bridgetown," he remarked. "It is not more than ten days since you left
Luniland, and you think yourself qualified to proceed to the very
centre of our national Culture. Evidently your stay in Luniland has not
improved whatever powers of appreciation you may have possessed; but
that is what one would expect from that country of amateurs, charlatans
and cranks. You have seen nothing of our Museum, our Art Collections,
our Libraries: you are not interested in such things. How, then, do you
suppose you will be able to appreciate what you will find in Mecco? We
do our best to assist all Foreign Observers, but it is rather a waste
of time to provide an experienced and qualified Conductor for persons
who are so clever that they only require a week to learn all there
is to know in a whole city. However," he added, "the law with respect
to Foreign Observers does not forbid you to proceed to Mecco. You
have your medical certificate, I suppose, to show that you are still
disease-free?" I produced it. "Have you notified the Railway Authority
of your intention to travel to Mecco?" I had not done so.

"Turn to paragraph 44 of your Instructions and you will see that a
day's notice must be given," he said brusquely. "You will have to stay
another night in the hotel and travel to-morrow. Good morning."

Sheep accompanied me to the booking-office at the station, where I
filled up a form of application. When this was presented to the clerk
in charge, a fussy little old man in a chocolate-coloured uniform, he
turned to Sheep in great excitement and whispered something which I did
not hear. Then he turned indignantly to me and said, "But you are not
an Ambassador, nor even a Government Agent."

"No," I said; "I am merely National Councillor Ming."

"So I see," he answered testily, "but why do you wish to travel First
Class?" (I had filled in the word "First" in the space for "Class.")
"Are you not aware," he said, "that only foreigners who are Ambassadors
are ever permitted to travel First Class? You will travel Third Class
in the compartment for Foreign Observers."

Next morning I went to the station in good time. An attendant from the
hotel brought my bags over and handed them to one of the porters. I
did not see them again until I found them in the hotel at Mecco. I was
handed over to an official at the station. This person looked at my
travel-permit and informed me curtly that I had arrived too early. I
said, "Oh, that does not matter. I can look about the station until the
train starts."

"That is not permitted," he said. "You will go to the waiting-room--that
is what a waiting-room is for. Your train will come in a quarter of an
hour before it is due to leave, and you will then take your seat,
Coach Third Class, Compartment IV., Seat No. 12."

So I was taken to the waiting-room. Apparently I did not miss much of
interest, for the station was one of the quietest and dullest I have
ever seen. There is very little traffic across the frontier, so that
Bridgetown station is a sort of dead-end. Only three passenger trains a
day go direct to Mecco, and these are by no means crowded. I have since
learnt that the restrictions on travelling in all parts of Meccania are
part of the general policy designed to keep down unnecessary forms of
expenditure to a minimum.

The train was due to leave at ten o'clock. At a quarter before ten
exactly, as I looked through the window screen I saw it gliding along
the platform into the bay. A bell rang, and my porter came to take me
to my place. As I stepped across the platform I saw about a hundred
people preparing to get into the train. Where they had been up to this
moment I do not know. There was no bustle. Each person took his place
as if he had been taking his seat in a concert-room. There was no
examination of tickets. Every one had booked his seat the day before,
and every seat was numbered. The train was made up of five passenger
coaches, a post-office van, a baggage wagon, two wagons for perishable
goods and a special coach for soldiers (privates). One of the passenger
coaches painted red bore a large Roman II., indicating that it was a
Second Class coach, another painted yellow was marked III., two others
painted green were marked IV., and another painted chocolate was marked
V. There was no First Class coach on this train, as there were no
persons of the First Class travelling by it. Neither, apparently, were
there any Sixth or Seventh Class passengers. Every one travelling wore
a sort of uniform overcoat of the same colour as that of the coach in
which he travelled. It was only later that I was able to recognise
readily and without confusion the colours appropriate to the seven
social classes, but I did notice that the Fifth Class wore chocolate,
the Fourth green, the Third yellow and the Second red or scarlet.

I was taken to a compartment temporarily set apart for foreigners in
the Third Class coach. There was still ten minutes before the train
started, so I looked out of the window and saw the porters and minor
officials storing the luggage, putting in the mails, and so forth. The
perishable goods had already been loaded, in a siding I suppose. No one
was permitted on the platform except the railway servants, so that the
station looked almost deserted. Presently the stationmaster, dressed in
a green uniform with chocolate facings and a bit of gold braid on his
cap, came on the platform and looked at his watch. Then, exactly as the
big bell of the station clock began to strike ten, he waved a signal
and the train glided out.

In a few minutes we were going at 100 miles an hour, and in less than
a quarter of an hour the speed increased to 150. The track was smooth,
but I began to feel dizzy when I looked out of the window. There was
little to be seen, for every now and then we passed between embankments
that shut out the view. I pulled down the blinds, turned on the light
and tried to read. In a short time I had almost forgotten the immense
speed at which we were travelling.

I had previously learnt that if I went to Mecco by the express I
should see nothing of the country, and had consequently proposed to
travel by a stopping train, perhaps breaking my journey a few times.
But when I mentioned this to Sheep he said it would be impossible. I
could not stop at any place to make a stay of less than three days,
and each of the places I stopped at would have to be notified. I must
either go direct to Mecco, or to some other city. So here I was, almost
flying to Mecco. After about an hour, one of the guards came in to
see that everything was in order. He wore a chocolate uniform, with a
number of stripes and other symbols to indicate his particular grade,
occupation and years of service. After stamping my ticket he grinned
good-humouredly for a Meccanian, and said, "So you are going to see the
wonders of our wonderful Mecco. Lucky man! There is nothing like it
anywhere in the world."

"Indeed," I said, "you have travelled abroad a good deal, then?"

"Oh no. I have never been out of Meccania, thank God!"

"What makes you think there is nothing like it, then, in any other
country?" I asked.

"Oh, the wide streets, the buildings, the gardens, the monuments, the
uniforms, the music, everything--it is c-o-l-o-s-s-a-l! When you have
seen the great monument, the statue of Prince Mechow! There is nothing
like it anywhere. You will see! And you must not miss the Memorial
Museum of Prince Mechow! I tell you it is a privilege to live in Mecco.
But I must not gossip," he said, as if half ashamed; "I have many
duties," and off he went. Towards the end of the journey, which lasted
a little over two hours, he looked in again and said, "You must not
leave Mecco until you have seen the great festival on Prince Mechow's
birthday." I promised to remember it.

As we drew near to Mecco the train slackened speed, and I could see,
but only for a minute or two, a great city spread over a wide plain.
There were domes and towers, steeples and pinnacles, huge masses of
masonry suggesting great public buildings, then miles of houses and
gardens and in the far distance warehouses and factories, but no smoke.
We plunged into a tunnel and then emerged suddenly into a blaze of
light. The train glided along the platform, and as I stepped out I
could not help looking round in admiration at the truly magnificent
arches and lofty dome of the great Central Station of Mecco. The roof
seemed to be made of some wonderful prismatic glass that radiated light
everywhere. The ground was covered with immense tiles in coloured
patterns, all as clean as if they had been washed and scrubbed that
very hour. Not a speck of dirt or smoke was to be seen. Although
hundreds of people were in the station, there was no bustle. No one
sauntered about; every one seemed to go just where he had business.
There was no scrambling for luggage or for cabs. No one was allowed to
take luggage with him unless it could be carried in one hand; the rest
was all registered and sent to its destination by the railway servants.
Only persons of the third or a higher class were allowed to use
motor-cabs, and these were all ordered beforehand. The impression of
orderliness was almost uncanny. As I reached the end of the platform I
was touched on the shoulder by a man in the green uniform of the Fourth
Class, decorated with several stripes and badges. "You are National
Councillor Ming," he said, "and I am Conductor of Foreign Observers
Prigge."

He seemed to be in very good spirits, but this made him rather
offensive than amiable. He treated me as if I were a sort of prisoner,
or at any rate as if I were a very juvenile pupil. He said that as my
bags had gone to the Hotel for Foreign Observers we need not go there
first, but could proceed straight to the Police Office. This was not
far from the station and was a large building, almost like a fortress
in front. Viewed from the other side, as I afterwards saw, it was more
like a set of offices with large windows.

First of all I was taken to the police doctor, who spent nearly two
hours upon a minute medical examination of me. The object of this
could not have been to make sure that I was "disease-free," for I
had been seen the day before by the police doctor at Bridgetown. It
could not have been for the purpose of identification, seeing that the
authorities had obtained all the finger-prints and everything else
they required, on my first arrival. I could only conclude that it was
for the purpose of scientific research. I judged from the remarks
made by Doctor Pincher in the course of his investigations that he
was an expert anthropologist. He took samples of my hair, not only
from my head, but from various parts of my body. He took a sample of
my blood, and of the perspiration from several different glands. He
even removed a small particle of skin, without any pain. He tested
my eyesight, hearing and smell, my muscular powers, and all sorts of
reactions to various stimuli. He informed me that I should require a
pair of spectacles. I said I did not think it was worth while, as I
had never yet experienced any discomfort. He replied that that made no
difference, and proceeded to write out a prescription which he told me
to take to a certain office, where, in a few days, I should be supplied
with the necessary glasses. He then took a cast of my mouth and of my
ears, and measured me in twenty different places. Finally he gave me a
drink of what appeared to be water, but which made me unconscious for
several minutes. What he did during those few minutes I do not know,
and he did not deign to inform me. As I left him he smiled--I suppose
he thought he was being amiable--and said, "We do not have the pleasure
of seeing a Chinaman here every day."

I was then taken to the office of Chief Inspector of Foreigners Pryer.
He looked at me, asked a few trivial questions, and handed me over to a
subordinate, Lower Inspector of Foreigners Bulley. This gentleman sat
at a desk, and after noting the time and my name on a sort of tablet,
took out a yellow form, foolscap size, upon which he proceeded to make
notes of my answers to his questions. He put me through a catechism
as to what I had seen in Bridgetown. Which of the local institutions
had I visited, which of the national, which of the local and national?
What had I learnt of the industrial and social economy of Bridgetown?
What had I learnt of the cultural institutions? Had I made notes of my
daily tours, and could I produce them? (Luckily all my notes were in a
language that Inspector Bulley could not read.)

He then proceeded to discuss plans for my tours of observation in
Mecco. In the first place, how long did I propose to stay? I did not
know. What did the length of my stay depend upon? I said it would
largely depend upon my ability to stand the strain of it.

I thought this would perhaps annoy him, but on the contrary it pleased
him immensely. "Good!" he said. "You are here to study the institutions
of Mecco, and you will stay as long as you have the strength to carry
out your task."

That was not what I meant, but I let it pass.

"I think you had better select the preliminary six months' tour of
observation," he said. "After that, you can begin the study of any
special branch for which you are qualified, and for which you have
an inclination; possibly industry, possibly art, possibly sociology,
possibly education. We can decide that at the end of your preliminary
period. You will have for your guide, for the first few weeks, Lower
Conductor Prigge. As, however, he has just been promoted to a higher
rank in the police service, he will not be available after the first
few weeks, but I will arrange for a suitable successor."

He then presented me with several documents. "This," he said, handing
me a thick notebook of some two hundred pages, "is the preliminary
diary in which you make your notes in whatever form you like. There
are four pages for each day. This is the formal diary for the Time
Department, to be carefully entered up each week and posted before
Sunday morning. These are the sheets of Instructions specially drawn
up for Foreign Observers in Mecco; you will notice they are all marked
'Tour No. 4,' and numbered consecutively. And this," handing me a thin
metal plate about half the size of a postcard, "is your identification
ticket."

It was now the middle of the afternoon. I had had no luncheon, so when
Prigge came to take me off to the hotel, I proposed that we should
have some tea. He demurred a little, as he did not drink tea, but he
consented to have some coffee and a cigar in the smoke-room if I would
drink my tea there. So we went on talking over our tea and coffee, and
this is a specimen of the conversation:--

"You will understand," said Prigge, "that everything depends upon
your own energy and intelligence. If you apply yourself thoroughly
to the work before you, you will learn more in a fortnight under
my guidance than in a whole year in Luniland. I have had a long
experience in conducting foreigners. Most of them have no idea how to
observe, especially those who come from Luniland. They want to roam
about without any system or method at all. They want to see an Art
Gallery one day, and a manufactory the next; or even on the same day.
Then they want to see a natural history museum on the same day as an
archæological museum; they will fly from pottery to pictures, and from
geology to botany. Why, I was taking one of them through our great
museum illustrative of the stages of culture, which is arranged in
twenty successive centuries, and when we had reached the sixteenth he
actually wanted to turn back to look at something in the twelfth!"

"I think it will be a good thing," I said, "if I ask you questions as
we go along, about matters that strike me. With all your knowledge you
will be able to tell me many things outside the regular routine."

"Your proposal implies," he replied, "that I shall not give you
the appropriate information in proper order. If you will follow my
directions you will learn more than by any amount of aimless and
desultory questioning. I have studied the principles of Pedagogy as
applied to conducting Foreign Observers, and I shall accommodate the
presentation of new matter to the existing content of your mind, in so
far as your mind has any definite content. You will not be precluded
from asking questions, but whether I shall answer them will depend upon
their relevance to the subject in hand."

Before we parted he gave me some general instructions. "For the first
week," he said, "you will not be permitted to converse with other
foreigners staying in the hotel. Tonight you will be free to attend
to your private affairs and prepare for tomorrow. We shall begin by a
survey of the general geography of the city, and in the evening you
will have permission to attend one of the lectures specially given
to Foreign Observers by Professor Proser-Toady on Prince Mechow, the
re-Founder of the Meccanian State. Professor Proser-Toady is the
Professor of Historical Culture in Mecco, and this course of lectures
is given periodically, so that foreigners may have no excuse for being
ignorant of the true history of the rise and development of Meccanian
culture."

So I spent the evening in writing letters, looking up my 'Instructions,'
and filling up my diary. For this day, interviews with officials
accounted for at least five hours. Next morning at nine o'clock
Conductor Prigge turned up, looking more perky than ever. He had all
the airs of a professor, a police officer, and a drill sergeant rolled
into one. "Our first business will be to study the map," he said. "To
that we will give one and a half hours. After that we will ascend the
look-out tower in the Meteorological Department and take a view of
the city in the concrete. In the afternoon we will go by tram-car in
three concentric circles, and in the evening you will attend Professor
Proser-Toady's lecture."

We began with the maps. I remembered something of the maps of the old
city from my geographical studies at home, and I remarked on the great
changes, for hardly a vestige of the old city seemed to remain.

Prigge appeared rather pleased. "That is an instance of the superiority
of our culture," he remarked. "All the other capitals of Europe," he
said, "still preserve the plan of the mediæval city, in the central
parts at least. And the central parts are the most important. The
authorities profess to have preserved them because of their historical
interest. In reality it is because they do not know how to remodel
them. Against human stupidity the very gods fight in vain, but to
intelligence all things are possible. Any dolt can plan a new city,
but we are the only people in Europe who know how to remodel our old
cities. Now you will notice," he went on, "that we have preserved the
old royal palace and several other important buildings. They do not
interfere with the general plan. The large central ring, over a square
mile in extent, is occupied by Government buildings; and although there
is a larger number than in all the European capitals put together,
they are not crowded. The square of Prince Mechow, where the great
statue stands, is the largest in Europe. The ring outside that is
occupied by Cultural Institutions, Museums, Art Galleries, Libraries,
the University, the Zoological Gardens, the Botanical Gardens, and so
forth. Next comes a very much larger ring, occupied almost entirely by
the residential quarters of the six social classes. (In Mecco itself
there are no members of the Seventh Class.) The whole presents a
superficial resemblance to a great wheel."

"Where, then, is the manufacturing quarter and the business quarter?"

"Now where would you expect?" he asked, as if to show off his own
cunning.

"I saw a number of factories in the distance," I said.

"Yes," he answered, "the manufacturing quarter lies outside the ring
and forms a sort of town by itself."

"And the business quarter? That must be centrally placed," I said.

"Not necessarily. If you draw a line from the centre of Mecco to the
industrial quarter you will find the commercial quarter occupying
a long rectangle between the second ring and the outer edge of the
exterior circle. The commercial quarter thus cuts the residential ring
on one side. The residential quarters of the Sixth and Fifth Classes
lie on each side of the commercial quarter and are therefore nearest to
the industrial quarter.

[Illustration]

"You will observe," he continued, "that we have no Seventh Class in
Mecco itself. We are an Imperial city, and even the servants of the
well-to-do belong to the Sixth Class. It is the greatest privilege of
a Meccanian citizen to live in Mecco, and all the citizens of Mecco
are, so to speak, selected. None but loyal upholders of the national
and imperial ideal are allowed the privilege of living here. It would
not be right. There again, it is our superior national culture that
has enabled us to realise such a plan. What Government in Europe could
drive out of its capital all citizens who did not actively support the
State?"

"It is indeed a wonderful thing," I said. "But what becomes of such
disloyal citizens when they are, shall I say, expelled or exiled?"

"Ah! You must not believe that _we_ have had to indulge in any policy
of expulsion. You will not find any disloyal element anywhere in
Meccania. A few individuals you might find, but most of them are in
lunatic asylums."

"But surely," I said, "I have read in the histories of Meccania, that
formerly there were large numbers of people, among the working classes
chiefly, who were, well, rather revolutionary in their ideas, and whom
I should not have expected to see becoming loyal to such a State as the
Meccania of to-day."

He smiled a very superior smile. "Really," he said, "the ignorance of
our country which foreigners betray is extraordinary. Disloyalty to
the State is found in every country _except_ Meccania. We have got rid
of it long ago by the simple process of Education. If we find an odd
individual who displays disloyal sentiments we regard him as a lunatic
and treat him accordingly."

"How?" I asked.

"We put him in a lunatic asylum."

"And your lunatic asylums? Have you enough for the purpose?" I ventured
to ask.

Conductor Prigge luckily did not see the point. "In most cases," he
said, "the threat is sufficient. We require very few lunatic asylums,
just as we require few prisons. But we are wandering from the subject,"
he remarked; and he drew out a map of the residential quarters,
coloured in white, red, yellow, green, chocolate and grey, the colours
of the classes, omitting the Seventh.

I noticed that the parts coloured white, red and yellow covered about
half the circle. I was going to put some questions to Prigge as to the
relative numbers of the classes, when he said, "I do not think you
have yet grasped our sevenfold classification of the citizenship of
Meccania."

"Somewhat imperfectly, I am afraid," I replied.

"Then you have not grasped it," he said. "You cannot be said to grasp
it if you are not perfectly clear about it. I will explain. Attend!
Begin with the lowest. That is the logical order. The Seventh Class
consists of persons of the lowest order of intelligence who cannot
profit by the ordinary instruction in the schools beyond a very
moderate degree. They are not very numerous. From the age of ten they
are taught to do simple work of a purely mechanical kind, and when
strong enough are set to do the most menial work which requires little
intelligence. A few other persons, who have failed in life through
their own fault, are relegated to this class as a punishment.

"The Sixth Class corresponds to the unskilled labouring class of most
foreign countries. They are recruited from the children who at twelve
years of age show only average ability. They are then trained to do
either simple manual work, or to act as servants in families below the
Second Class.

"The Fifth is the largest class; it is larger than the Sixth and
Seventh together. We require a very large number of skilled artisans
and clerks in a subordinate capacity. Consequently, we train all who
are capable of profiting by a combination of theoretical and practical
instruction until the age of fifteen, and even for some years after
that, in industrial schools, where they study the practical aspects of
mathematics and science. Consequently, they are by far the most skilled
artisan class in the world. We have no trouble in inducing them to
apply themselves to study, for any member of the Fifth Class who failed
to profit by the system of instruction provided for him would soon find
himself in the Sixth Class, which enjoys much less in the shape of
privileges and material well-being than the Fifth.

"The Fourth Class includes most of the bourgeoisie, the bulk of the
officials and clergy, as well as the small group of professional people
who are not officials. In detail it comprises tradesmen, managers of
businesses and foremen in responsible positions. All these are in the
Industrial and Commercial world. Then come all Civil servants below
the first grade, all non-commissioned officers in the Army and Navy,
all the Clergy below the rank of Bishops. The professional people I
referred to are a few who have not been absorbed in the official class.
We have no journalists in Meccania, no doctors who are not in the State
service, and no lawyers who are not officials."

"Then who _are_ these professional people?" I interrupted.

"They are merely a handful of people, mostly possessed of small private
means, who write books that are never published, or cultivate art, or
music, or science. They are not good enough to be taken into the State
service, and they are gradually disappearing altogether.

"The Third Class," he resumed, "corresponds partly to the Higher
Bourgeoisie of other countries, but it also includes several
more important elements. It comprises the richer merchants and
manufacturers, who must possess an income of at least £5000 a year; the
first class of Civil servants, the Higher Clergy, those University
Professors who have held their posts for ten years and are approved
by the Ministry of Culture, landed proprietors who are District
Councillors and Magistrates, and all Fund-holders with an income of
£10,000 a year.

"The Second Class is the military class. It includes all officers, who
must be of noble birth. A few of the highest Civil servants are in this
class, but they must have previously served as officers in the Army or
Navy.

"The First Class is partly military and partly civil; but, except
members of royal or ducal families, all in the First Class have
previously passed through the Second. Ambassadors are in the First
Class, but they have all served for a period as officers in the Army.
Even the head of a department of State is not admitted to the First
Class unless he has previously been in the Second Class.

"Lastly, the relative numbers of the various classes are as follows:
out of a total population of 100,000,000 only about 10,000 are in the
First Class; 4,000,000 are in the Second; 6,000,000 are in the Third;
20,000,000 are in the Fourth; 40,000,000 are in the Fifth; 20,000,000
are in the Sixth; and the rest, nearly 10,000,000, in the Seventh Class.

"All women take the rank of their fathers or their husbands, whichever
is the higher; children take the rank of their parents until their
sixteenth year. Is that clear?"

"Quite clear," I replied, "except in one particular."

"What is that?"

"I take it that some, at any rate, pass from one class to another. By
what means, for example, does a person who starts life, let us say in
the Fourth Class, obtain admission to the Third?"

"We must take some particular category."

"A business man, a small manufacturer who is highly successful, perhaps
makes some valuable discovery which enriches him. How does he obtain
admission to the Third Class?"

"He must have an income of at least £5000 a year, and he must have
performed some service to the State," answered Prigge promptly.

"And a Civil servant?"

"If he is promoted to the first grade he also is admitted to the Third
Class, but this does not frequently happen."

"Then, on the whole, the children of those in each class respectively
remain in the class in which they are born?"

"That is so as a rule. The percentage has been worked out carefully by
the statistical branch of the Sociological Department. About 4 per cent
of the Seventh Class enter the Sixth, about 5 per cent of the Sixth
enter the Fifth, about 3 per cent of the Fifth enter the Fourth, about
8 per cent of the Fourth enter the Third. No one, strictly speaking,
enters the Second from the Third, but as many of the men of the Second
Class marry women in the Third Class, which is the rich class, the sons
may enter the Second Class, if they are suitable as officers in the
Army. Also, a number of the women of the Second Class marry men in the
Third Class, and their sons also may enter the Army."

"It is a wonderful system," I ventured to observe.

"It is simplicity itself," said Prigge, "yet no other nation has had
the intelligence to discover it, nor even to copy it. As a matter of
fact, it is the only logical and scientific classification of society;
it puts everybody in his proper place."

       *       *       *       *       *

After this conversation, or rather this discourse, we walked out to
ascend the look-out tower; but on the way we had to cross the great
square of Prince Mechow, and there, for the first time, I saw the great
monument about which I had heard so much. I had expected something
extraordinary, but I was not prepared for the actual thing. It was
as high as a church steeple. At the base was a huge shapeless mass
of basalt. Above this rose a square granite block, twenty feet high,
covered with high-relief sculptures representing in allegorical form
the reconstruction of the Meccanian Super-State. At the four corners
were four figures representing Arms, Intellect, Culture and Power.
Above this again towered a great pedestal a hundred feet high and
forty feet in diameter. On the top stood the colossal statue of Prince
Mechow, a gigantic portrait-figure of a man in the uniform of the
First Class, his breast covered with decorations, a sword in one hand
and a mace or some symbolical weapon in the other. The impression of
brute force which it conveyed was terrific. Every person in the square,
as he came within sight of it, took off his hat; those in military
dress saluted it, and pronounced the words, "Long live Meccania and God
bless Prince Mechow!"

My first feeling on seeing it was one of intense disgust at the
barbarity of the thing, and I was just going to make some satirical
remark when I caught sight of Prigge's face. It wore an expression
of absolute ecstasy, and the look of fierce disdain with which he
said "Uncover!" was startling. He added something which sounded like
"Mongolian monkey," but in the excitement of the moment I was not quite
sure what he said.

I tried to pacify him by saying, in as innocent a tone as I could
assume, "It is indeed the most remarkable statue I have ever seen."

"It is the most perfect embodiment of Meccanian Culture: no other
country could produce such a work," he replied solemnly.

"I am inclined to agree," I said. "Who was the artist who conceived and
executed a monument of such wonderful proportions?"

"The artist? What other nation could produce a man who united such
gifts with such a true Meccanian spirit? He desired that his name
should never be spoken. When the work was completed after ten years,
he gave up his life, and begged to be allowed to be buried underneath
the rock with all the tools that had been used in the execution of the
statue. His dying request was respected. His name is never uttered,
but every child in Meccania knows it, and every citizen in Meccania
comes once every ten years to salute the statue of Prince Mechow and do
honour to the hero-artist who lies buried beneath."

"I shall never forget the story," I said, and we walked on to the
look-out tower. On the way, I noticed that every person in the street
saluted every other person of higher rank than himself. I have since
learnt that there are six different forms of salute, one for each class
above the Seventh, and that it is a point of strict etiquette to give
the right salute. A salute appropriate to the Fourth Class given to
a member of the Third is an insult, and the wrong salute given to a
member of the Second (military) Class may cost the offender his life.

We ascended the look-out tower. The sight was magnificent. From where
we stood the details of the architecture could not be seen, nor even
the style of the buildings. But the general impression produced by such
a vast assemblage of massive edifices was one of grandeur and power,
while the bright sunlight and the absence of smoke and dirt gave the
whole city the appearance of having suddenly sprung up in a night, like
Aladdin's palace.

To the west, in a great semicircle, the quarters of the first three
classes presented a spectacle such as I have not seen in any capital.
Every house was a mansion or a villa surrounded by a pleasant garden.
Here and there one saw large stretches of beautiful park. To the east
the houses were clustered more thickly together, but even on this side
there was an air of orderliness and comfort, although certainly not of
luxury, which contrasted favourably with the populous districts of the
towns I had seen in other countries. About five miles away we could
see distinctly, with the aid of the glasses, the manufactories and
workshops and warehouses of the industrial town that served the needs
of the whole capital.

Conductor Prigge seemed duly satisfied with the impression made on me.
"Here," he said, "you are at the centre of the civilisation of the
modern world. Here are three million thoroughly efficient Meccanians,
every one in his proper place, every one fulfilling his appointed duty.
Think of the disorder, the squalor, the conflict of aims, the absence
of ideals, represented by a city like Lunopolis, or Prisa, and look on
this picture!"

We descended and returned to the hotel.

After luncheon we proceeded with our tour of the tramway system. By
this means I got a good view of the exterior appearance of the houses
of the various classes. It confirmed the impression I had gained
from the look-out tower, except in one respect. The houses of the
well-to-do looked as if they had all been designed by the same school
of architects, and except that they differed in size they might have
been turned out by machinery. The houses of the rest of the population
were 'standardised' to an even greater degree. The dwellings of the
Sixth Class are really blocks of small flats of a standard size; those
of the Fifth Class are similar, except that the rooms are a little
larger and there are more of them. One curious fact came to light in
the course of Conductor Prigge's explanation of the housing system.
It seems that the Births Department determines the number of children
each family is expected to have within a given period of years, and
the houses are distributed accordingly. Thus a family in the Fifth
Class which is due to have, let us say, four children within the next
seven years, is assigned a flat of five rooms. Then, if the same family
is due to have two more children within the next five years, they
move into a house with seven rooms. Persons in the first grade of the
Fifth Class are allowed to take a flat with more rooms on payment of a
special rate or tax.

Apparently there is very little choice of houses. As all the houses of
a certain grade are practically alike, if a tenant wishes to move to
another street he has to furnish valid reasons; and it is not easy to
furnish reasons satisfactory to the authorities. Besides, the number of
houses or flats is very closely proportioned to the number of tenants,
and there are never many vacant houses. The members of the Third and
higher classes own their own houses, and can therefore change their
residences by purchasing or exchanging. By special privilege members
of the Fourth Class can obtain permission to buy their houses, but as
these are mostly flats they are usually rented from the municipality.




CHAPTER IV

PROFESSOR PROSER-TOADY'S LECTURE


Following Conductor Prigge's instructions, I presented myself at
six o'clock in the evening at the entrance to the Great University
of Mecco. It was the first time I had been out without my 'keeper,'
but as everybody else was dressed in the Meccanian costume, whilst
I was wearing the clothes I had been accustomed to wear in Luniland
and Francaria, there was little risk of my going astray. A porter
darted out of a box in the entrance hall and directed me to Room 415,
where the Professor of Historical Culture was to deliver his monthly
four-hour lecture to Foreign Observers. I found about a dozen Foreign
Observers of various nationalities waiting in the small lecture-room,
and presently a few more arrived. Some were Scandinavians, some South
Americans; a few, I thought, were Turks; several were from some part
of India. At 6.10 precisely the Professor came in. He wore a brilliant
yellow uniform of the Third Class, with green facings and buttons and
a number of little ribbons indicating, I suppose, various services
rendered to the cause of Meccanian Culture. Apart from his dress he
resembled the caricatures of Meccanian professors in our comic prints.
His head was bald on the top and at the front, but at the sides great
tufts of white hair protruded. His grey beard was of ample proportions.
His coarse wizened face and staring eyes, covered by a pair of huge
spectacles, gave him the appearance of a Jack-in-the-box as he sat
behind a high reading-desk. His voice was tough and leathery. At the
end of three hours it sounded as fresh and as harsh as in the opening
sentences. I cannot reproduce the whole lecture; if I did it would
almost fill a book by itself. I can only hope to give a rough idea of
it by paraphrasing some of the most salient passages.

He began by saying that to accommodate himself to the culture of his
foreign auditors he would endeavour to present his subject in the
simplest possible form, which was the narrative, and would sketch
the biography of the great re-founder of the Meccanian State, the
true architect of the First Super-State in the world, the greatest
political creative genius that had ever stepped upon the World Stage,
Prince Mechow. We had all seen his memorial statue, a unique monument
to a unique individual, and no doubt it had made an impression
upon our imagination; but it was impossible for any work of art
however great--and here he paid a tribute to the hero-artist who
built the monument--to convey more than a symbolical suggestion of
the all-embracing magnificence of Prince Mechow's truly Meccanian
personality. For that we must look around at the Super-State itself.

Prince Mechow, he said, was historically the culminating figure of
the national development of Meccania. Compared with many countries
in Europe, Meccania could not boast a long history. Some historians
sought a false glory for Meccania by tracing its greatness back to the
so-called Roman Empire of the Middle Ages, but true Meccanian history
went back only a few hundred years. In fact, it was not until the
eighteenth century that the Meccanian State in the proper sense of the
word began, and only in the nineteenth century did it take its place
among the powers of the modern world. In the nineteenth century the
Meccanian State was saved by the genius and will of one great man, the
worthy predecessor of Prince Mechow, his great-uncle Prince BLUDIRON.
From a scientific or philosophical point of view it was difficult
to say whether Prince Bludiron had not contributed as much to the
greatness of Meccania as Prince Mechow; for it was he, undoubtedly, who
laid the foundations upon which the final structure rested. The work
of Prince Bludiron was very different from, but also similar in spirit
to, the work of Prince Mechow. His task had been to rescue the young
and inexperienced State from the perils and distractions of the false
ideals of Liberty and Democracy, to secure the power of the State over
all sections and classes, to create the proud and confident Meccanian
spirit and to set the nation on the right path.

The task of Prince Mechow was to erect the Super-State on the
foundations laid by Prince Bludiron; in other words, to organise the
energies of the whole nation to one supreme end, to train and direct
the powers of every individual so as to produce one mind and one will.

Turning to the work of Prince Bludiron, the Professor said that when
he began his work Meccania was distracted by false and conflicting
ideals, of foreign origin. Revolution was in the air. People were ready
to drive out their lawful rulers. Popular government was demanded.
Parliaments were being set up. It was the saddest page in Meccanian
history. Had these anarchic forces triumphed, Meccania would have sunk
to the level of other nations, and the Super-State would never have
arisen. It was the greatest testimony to the intellectual genius and
moral power of Prince Bludiron that, after forty years of strenuous
work, the whole outlook for Meccania was completely changed. The false
ideal of individual liberty was dead and buried. Popular government
was a discredited superstition. The military aristocracy were secure
in their rightful position. The efficiency of the Government was
demonstrated in every direction, and not least on the field of battle.
Wars had been won with a rapidity unprecedented in any age.

Prince Bludiron's success was so complete that it was almost impossible
for us now to realise how great his difficulties had been. So strong
were the forces of Democracy that even he had to temporise and set up a
Parliament. He even granted manhood suffrage.

Dr. Proser-Toady then explained how Prince Bludiron outwitted the
disloyal elements among the people by securing the reality of power
to the organised centralised State, whilst leaving the semblance of
control to the representative bodies. He quoted a Foreign Observer, at
the end of Prince Bludiron's career, who declared that the institutions
set up by him enabled the State to wield the maximum of power with
the minimum of opposition. Strangely enough, said the Professor, the
very movement that threatened to undo all his work was in reality
of the greatest service. He referred to the movement of Meccanian
Socialism or Social Democracy which owed its peculiar character to a
certain demagogue named Spotts. The career and influence of Spotts
was for a time almost as remarkable as Prince Bludiron's. Spotts
persuaded his followers that the economic tendencies of modern life
must inevitably create the Socialist State. The people need only
wait until these tendencies had worked themselves out and then seize
the power of the State, which would drop into their hands like ripe
fruit. He saw in the existing State nothing but organised Capitalism.
Consequently he encouraged his followers to take no part in the actual
Government, but to maintain themselves in permanent opposition until
the inevitable revolution came about, when they were to assume the
whole control. Spottsian Socialism became the universal doctrine of the
Meccanian proletariat of those days. They talked about the economic
interpretation of history, about economic forces, about economic
revolutions, mixed with vague notions of Liberty and Equality. But in
reality they cared not a straw for Liberty; what they sought was Power.
Yet by standing in permanent opposition to every other element in the
State they played into Prince Bludiron's hands. Whilst they waited for
the inevitable revolution, he had accustomed the people to prosperity;
and had raised the prestige of the State at home and abroad. He had
gained the support of all the strongest elements in society, had
trained an efficient bureaucracy and an efficient military aristocracy.
And yet at his death the followers of Spotts went on waiting for the
economic revolution!

The Professor then dealt briefly with what he said was the most
difficult period for a Meccanian historian, the period between the
death of Prince Bludiron and the rise of the still greater statesman,
Prince Mechow. In that interval no great leader arose, but a number
of foolish statesmen who fancied they were cast in the mould of the
great Bludiron. At that time Meccania had commercial relations with
the whole world, and was rapidly penetrating every country with its
peculiar culture. Its army and navy were growing in strength, and the
temper of the people was becoming restless and aggressive. They lacked
the controlling hand of Prince Bludiron. They were carried away by
dreams of sudden world-conquest. Foolish statesmen allowed the country
to be plunged into war with half the world at once. The Meccanians
performed wonders, but they could not perform miracles, and in the end
the country was reduced to great straits. Provinces were torn away.
Its accumulations of wealth were exhausted; its manhood was decimated.
The situation was terrible, yet it was this tremendous ordeal that
indirectly created the most favourable conditions for the work of
Prince Mechow.

During the war the Government had been compelled to take over, more and
more, the control of every department of life. Under the pressure of
war the last vestiges of the obsolete doctrines of Individualism had
disappeared. Now that the war was over, the necessity for increasing
all the means of wealth-production placed a new power in the hands of
the State. It was in these years of what was called 'Reconstruction'
that Prince Mechow came to the front. Every one was depressed. The
most conflicting views were expressed. Some people lamented that the
whole work of Prince Bludiron had been destroyed. Others said it had
been all a mistake, and that the nation ought to have followed the
example of the rest of Europe. Some advocated hare-brained schemes of
'Internationalism,' as they called it.

Prince Mechow was one of the few who kept a clear head. He saw exactly
where the blunder had been made. Meccania had ventured upon projects of
world-conquest before completing the internal work of perfecting the
Super-State on the foundations laid down by Prince Bludiron. He saw
that we must go back exactly to the point where Prince Bludiron left
off. But the first step was the most difficult. Prince Mechow was quite
a young man, not more than thirty, and was only an Under-Secretary.
He had one advantage in that he was a grand-nephew of Prince Bludiron
and had the ear of the Emperor, who very soon made him Minister of the
Interior, a post created to relieve the Chief Minister.

Professor Proser-Toady said we should obtain the clearest conception
of Prince Mechow's views and the best key to his policy in a volume of
correspondence with his cousin General Count Block. Count Block, like
many of his military colleagues, was alarmed at the general confusion.
He declared there was nothing for it but to sweep away all popular
representative institutions, restrict education to the upper classes
and fall back upon the direct rule of the military. Prince Mechow
pointed out that such a policy would fail utterly: it would bring
about the very revolution it sought to avoid. Efficiency could never
be created by the military alone. Industrial efficiency was absolutely
necessary to military power. He agreed in the main with Count Block's
objects, but declared that his means were clumsy and inadequate.
The work of Prince Bludiron must be continued by the creation of a
Super-State. The _term_ had already been coined, but the _thing_ did
not yet exist.

It is in Prince Mechow's clear conception of the Super-State that we
see his intellectual genius, but it is in the steps he took to bring
it into being that we realise his kinship with his famous predecessor,
Prince Bludiron. Prince Bludiron had had to live from hand to mouth
relying upon his statesman's instinct. Prince Mechow, even before he
became Chief Minister, foresaw every detail of the structure he was
determined to erect.

The State, he said, has hitherto done only what is forced upon it by
necessity. It has never attempted to utilise the whole energies of the
Nation. The Super-State will only come into being by uniting in itself
the will, the knowledge, the wisdom, and the multifarious energies,
of the whole people. The State has been merely the strongest organ of
society: the Super-State must be the only organ, uniting all others in
itself.

How was such a conception to be realised concretely? In explaining his
plans he found ample illustration in the circumstances of the recent
Great War. The State had not only controlled everything essential to
the conduct of the war; it had not only regulated the manufacture of
all supplies, including food and clothing for the whole nation, but had
undertaken a thousand activities never previously dreamt of, except by
the Socialists.

He proposed to capture the whole armoury of the Socialists by gradually
seizing everything for the State itself. The motto of the Super-State
must be Efficiency. But to be efficient the State must absorb all the
persons who represented efficiency. The whole conception of Bureaucracy
must be revolutionised by being carried to its logical conclusion.
The efficiency of a business firm depends upon the efficiency of the
persons composing it. The efficiency of the Super-State will depend
upon the efficiency of the new Bureaucracy and the Military Class.
There was no instance in history of an efficient Government being
overthrown by any popular forces.

A century of industrial development had transformed the material world,
whilst in the meantime the organisation of the State had almost stood
still. The Super-State must borrow from the Socialists the conception
of an all-embracing power and activity, and from the Industrial world
the machinery for the execution of its will. The most efficient and
successful business firms were those which got every ounce of work
out of every member of the firm. The Super-State must not be less
resourceful.

Now as to the methods, said the Professor. How was the State to absorb
into its service all the energies of the nation, without at the same
time becoming a Social Democracy? Already the Social Democrats, as in
Prince Bludiron's time, were proclaiming that the Capitalist State was
working out for them the Social Revolution predicted by Spotts; and as
in Prince Bludiron's days so under Prince Mechow they went on waiting
for the Social Revolution. They are waiting still. In the meantime
Prince Mechow got into the saddle and began his practical reforms. He
was a man of the most extraordinary energy and versatility. He was not
content to begin with Education and wait for a generation. He attacked
a dozen different problems at the same time: Education, Industry,
Commerce, Railways, Finance, the Press, the Stage, the Professions,
the Church--every side of national life received his attention; but
the prime instrument through which he worked was the Bureaucracy. He
laid it down as an axiom that the machinery of the State must work so
smoothly that the people should be unaware of its operations.

There have been instances in history, he wrote in one of his letters,
in which a Government has been overturned in a single day. How? By a
perfectly planned _coup d'état_. What can be accomplished on a single
occasion can be done as a part of the regular working of the State
Machinery. Our Super-State must be capable of a _coup d'état_ every
day. Those of his friends who did not see the necessity for his reforms
he silenced by showing them that if they did not capture the State the
Social Democracy would do so.

During the first ten years of his regime he worked wonders. He renewed
the State control of all the large industries. He took into the service
of the State all the most capable business men and manufacturers, all
the best scientists and engineers as well as the best administrators.
The Censorship of the Press was continued and extended to every form
of literature. He bought up all the big newspapers and drove all the
little ones into bankruptcy. When every clever journalist was engaged
on the State newspapers and all advertisements were controlled,
there was not much room for an 'opposition' Press. The Schools and
Universities were already well under control, but he revised the whole
system. He made every teacher and every professor a direct servant of
the State. Every textbook was revised. He paid particular attention
to history, philosophy and literature. The new generation were thus
educated in an atmosphere calculated to cultivate the true Meccanian
spirit. Inspectors, organisers and directors of Education infused new
energy into the system and trained the whole population to co-operate
with the Super-State.

As to the proletariat, he saw to it that there was no unemployment.
Production went up by leaps and bounds, wages were increased, but there
was no waste. Goods that could not be disposed of immediately were
stored, but methods of control and regulation were introduced to direct
industry into the right channels. Whilst he controlled the wage-earners
he at the same time controlled the employers. All surplus wages and
profits were invested in the State funds.

Of course there was opposition to these reforms. The Military Class
were slow to understand his methods, so he established periodical
military councils, took them into his confidence and eventually won
them over completely. As for the Social Democrats, he did not scruple
to employ against them the same methods they would have employed
against him. He made use of secret agents to preach the doctrine that
by his methods the way would be prepared for the social revolution.
When at length he inaugurated the system of the seven social classes
the Social Democrats professed to see in this a means of stimulating
class consciousness; but after a few years they discovered that no
class was willing to surrender its privileges. The Fifth Class, which
includes the most skilled artisans in Europe, began to see that no
revolution would improve their position, whilst it might lower them to
the level of the Sixth or Seventh Class. The boasted solidarity of the
proletariat proved to be an illusion, like most of Spotts's ideas.

When he reformed the railway system he made travelling free. But of
course if travelling were to be free, restrictions must be imposed.
Similarly in regard to housing. He applied all the technical knowledge
in the country to the problem. Standardised houses and other devices
made it possible to rebuild any portions of our cities and to transfer
population from one region to another with the greatest ease. On the
other hand, restrictions were necessary. You cannot have free trade in
houses and at the same time guarantee a house to every family.

I have condensed Dr. Proser-Toady's lecture, which lasted several
hours, into such short compass that it gives very little idea, I am
afraid, of the complete revolution worked out by Prince Mechow's
reforms. For instance, he showed how the whole character of politics
had been transformed, how the questions that agitated Meccania sixty
years ago had entirely disappeared; how the Press no longer existed,
because its functions had been absorbed by other agencies; how the
Parliament, which I was surprised to hear still existed, was now
organised to correspond with the seven social classes; how the State
was so wealthy that control over taxation was no longer necessary.

He ended with a remarkable passage about the seven social classes and
the national Meccanian uniforms.

"Many Foreign Observers," he said, "in times past, have made merry
over our sevenfold classification and our national costumes. What
have other nations to put in their place? They too have these classes,
for they are natural and inevitable. They have their nobles, their
soldiers, their officials and professional men, their bourgeoisie,
their artisans, their labourers and their degraded 'submerged tenth.'
But they are afraid to call them by their proper names, afraid to
recognise them. They have no uniforms, no dignified and pleasing
costumes; but you never mistake one class for another. You never
mistake the labourer for the wealthy bourgeois or the popinjay
aristocrat. Nowhere else, they say, would people consent to wear the
servile badge of their caste. We Meccanians are proud of our seven
national colours. So far from being a degradation, the historical
origin of the costumes proves that it is a privilege to wear them.
The seven uniforms were once the ceremonial dress of the seven guilds
established by Prince Mechow. When permission was granted for all the
members of the classes to wear the ceremonial dress it was the occasion
of national rejoicings everywhere. The national costumes are part of
the Ritual of the Super-State."

       *       *       *       *       *

Long-winded as some parts of the lecture were, I must confess it was
most illuminating, and to me, as a student of politics and sociology,
exceedingly interesting. I begin to understand now what the Meccanian
Super-State really is.




CHAPTER V

CULTURE IN MECCO


During the first few weeks of my tour in Mecco--Tour No. 4--Conductor
Prigge kept my nose well to the grindstone. At times he made me feel
like a small schoolboy, at times like a prisoner in charge of a warder.
It would be tedious to detail all the incidents of my daily rounds, or
to describe everything in the exact order in which it was presented to
my view. So I propose to set down, as they remain in my mind, the most
interesting or remarkable features of this truly remarkable city. One
circumstance, however, annoys and almost distresses me. I cannot get
into contact with any individual living people. I see everything as a
spectacle from the outside.

As I go about, the impression of orderliness, cleanliness, and even
magnificence of a kind, is such as I have seldom felt in any part of
the world. At times the whole city gives one the same sort of feeling
that one experiences in going through a gigantic hospital, where
everything is spotless and nothing is out of its place. I am even
getting used to the coloured uniforms of the seven classes. In the
central parts of the city green and yellow predominate; for the number
of people belonging to the official class is enormous. Even apart from
their actual number they are the most conspicuous, because the lower
classes are at work in their factories and business houses, and are
consequently seldom seen except when returning home in the evening.
Occasionally I notice a few white uniforms (of the very select First
Class) and occasionally, too, a crowd of officers in their brilliant
scarlet uniforms. At the other end of the scale, the most common colour
visible is the grey, worn by the numerous servants in the well-to-do
quarters. The few servants who wear chocolate are mostly the lackeys of
the very rich, and the upper servants in the large hotels.

On the day after Dr. Proser-Toady's lecture, Conductor Prigge was more
than usually "pedagogic." I wanted to look about the streets and ask
questions about many things that occurred to me at the moment, but
he insisted upon pouring out detailed information about the drainage
system, the postal areas, the parcels' delivery areas, the telephone
system, the market system, and so forth. What did interest me, however,
was the organisation known as the Time Department, of which I had
already seen something at Bridgetown.

There is, as I have said, an enormous number of public buildings in
Mecco, but nobody can miss the gigantic office of the Time Department.
It towers up, about seven stories high, over the surrounding
buildings, and above it rises a great clock that can be seen for
miles. In this central department alone, ten thousand people are
employed--that is, of course, in addition to all those employed in the
local offices of the Time Department in various parts of the country.

Conductor Prigge was tremendously proud of the Time Department.
"Other nations," he said, "have never thought of establishing such an
institution for themselves. They have not even had the intelligence to
imitate ours. We Meccanians were the first to discover both time and
space: our philosophers were the first to understand time and space: we
have been the first Government to organise time and space. We can tell
you," he went on, "the exact amount of time occupied by any person,
or any group of persons, in doing anything. We know exactly how much
time is devoted to eating and drinking, as well as the time required
to produce a picture, or a piece of sculpture, or a poem, or a musical
composition; or how long it takes to learn any language, or any subject
of study."

"But," I said, "what about the time spent by all the clerks and
officials employed all over the country, as well as here, in the Time
Department itself; isn't it rather extravagant? What is the object of
it all?"

"Do you think," he replied, "that we should keep up such an institution
if it had not proved to be useful in the highest degree? Foreigners
have such childish ideas of organisation," he continued. "This was one
of the most brilliant inventions of Prince Mechow, but it has taken
thirty years to bring it to its present state of perfection. It pays
for itself over and over again, in the mere economy it effects; and it
has other far-reaching effects on the whole social and economic life of
the nation. In the first place, in the matter of material production,
in every trade and occupation it enables us to speed-up scientifically.
An increase of 1½ per cent in the productiveness of the four main
industries alone would more than pay all the expenses of the Time
Department. We have increased productiveness all round by at least 20
per cent since the introduction of the Time Department; and although
not all of this increase is due to the Time Department, we may safely
reckon 5 per cent. We have done away with all the dawdlers in art,
all the incompetent painters and novelists and poets. In connection
with the Post Office we have been able to diminish the amount of time
spent in writing useless letters by 50 per cent. Why, without the
Time Department the Department for the Direction of Leisure would be
helpless. In Education, how should we know the right proportion of time
to be devoted to the various subjects, the right amount to recreation
or amusement? And apart from economy, the aid given to the researches
of the Sociological Department is simply invaluable. The efficiency of
the Police Department is due in great measure to the Time Department."

"But," I inquired innocently, "is there no feeling of resentment on the
part of the public at the somewhat inquisitorial methods of the Time
Department?"

"Resentment!" he said, almost angrily. "Why should there be resentment?"

"At having to give an account of all that one does even in one's
leisure time?"

"But when everybody knows that we save millions a year by it, and
when the State has decided that it is for the public benefit, and
the obligation is imposed upon everybody; why should anyone raise
objections?"

"Still," I said, remembering my unfortunate experience, "you find it
necessary to inflict fines in order to ensure compliance with the
regulations about filling up the weekly diaries."

"Naturally. But perhaps you overlook the educative effect of having to
keep the diary. The proper keeping of the diary is almost an education
in itself." My conductor said this with such an air of finality that I
thought it was not worth while to pursue the question further.

I was much amused by a conversation I had a few days ago on another
subject. It was about five o'clock and I was feeling rather tired, so
I proposed that we should have a meal in a restaurant, and then go to
some place of amusement in the evening.

"You may return to the hotel if you are indisposed," said Prigge, "and
rest there during the evening; or you may have a meal in a restaurant
and resume your tour. But until we have completed at least the first
week's tour of observation, you cannot possibly be permitted to visit
any place of amusement, as you call it. Besides, such places as you
probably have in mind, do not exist in Mecco. I have seen, in other
countries, what are termed music halls, where a lot of so-called actors
were making fools of themselves."

"Perhaps," I ventured to say, "you did not look at the performance from
the right point of view."

"I see! You mean that I should have regarded these childish performances
as illustrating the stage of mental culture of the people. From that
point of view your 'music halls' may be of some interest, just as the
drama of foreign countries is of interest; but it is so very primitive."

"Primitive? In what way primitive?" I asked.

"Primitive by comparison with our highly developed drama. For example,
all the foreign dramas I have seen are written in the narrative form,
or rather, I should say, the drama is still in the chronological stage.
We have left that behind."

"Indeed," I said, "I am afraid I can hardly conceive of drama in any
other form."

"Exactly. _You_ cannot understand. But our Meccanian culture is
not exactly designed for the intelligence of foreigners. If you are
specially interested in the subject of the drama--it is not one of
my specialities, although of course I am not ignorant of the drama,
no Meccanian is--I will introduce you to my friend in the Department
of Public Amusement, which is a branch of the Ministry of Education
and Culture. He will probably enable you in the shortest period of
time--and that is always a consideration, although most foreigners are
often quite oblivious of the time aspect of such matters--to understand
the Meccanian drama, in so far as it is possible for a foreigner to
understand it."

I thanked him, and he made a note in his pocket-book to remind him of
his promise. "Perhaps you can tell me," I said, "how your people do
amuse themselves, apart from going to the theatre; for they cannot go
to the theatre every evening."

"I notice that, like all foreigners, you are more interested in
amusement than in the serious aspects of life. You will receive full
information at the proper time if you will avail yourself of my offer
to take you to my friend Dr. Dodderer, the Sub-Controller of Public
Amusements (Section B); but I do not mind giving you a few facts such
as are common knowledge among all Meccanians."

"Well," I said, "take your commercial travellers, who must spend a good
deal of time in towns away from home. What do they do in the evenings?"

"If you were to go to the Great Meccanian Library," he replied, "and
consult the Reports of the Sociological Department for the last twenty
years, you would be able to see exactly how all these persons have
spent their time. But you would perhaps be surprised to find that the
number of persons travelling about and staying away from home is very
small. When you have studied our industrial and commercial system you
will see that we require comparatively few commercial travellers. As
to the way they spend their time, you must understand that in every
town there are guilds of all the professions. Consequently, as every
commercial traveller naturally wishes to improve his knowledge, he
frequents the guild house, where he meets with other members of his
profession and discusses matters of interest. If he comes from Mecco
he will be welcomed, as the provincial members will be only too glad
to learn anything from one who comes from the very centre of Meccanian
culture. Also, he may wish to visit the local museums, or other
cultural institutions. If not, he will attend either an outdoor or an
indoor concert."

"The commercial travellers of Meccania must be quite unlike the
commercial travellers of all other countries if they spend their
leisure in the way you have described," I remarked. "You spoke of
concerts," I continued. "I suppose music is still the most popular form
of amusement in Meccania?"

"Neither the drama nor music are, strictly speaking, mere amusements,"
answered Conductor Prigge. "They may be so regarded in other countries,
but not in Meccania."

"Then what are they?" I asked.

"They form part of our general scheme of culture," replied Prigge. "As
you probably know, attendance at the theatre once a week is compulsory
for all persons over eighteen. Those below eighteen attend the juvenile
theatre as part of their school course in literature."

"Attendance compulsory?" I said. "But if Meccanians are so advanced in
the cultivation of the drama, why should it be necessary to enforce
attendance?"

"Perhaps it is not really necessary, but I doubt whether our scheme of
dramatic culture could be carried out without strict regulation. For
instance, there are some plays more popular than others. People would
want to see these plays in great numbers and there would not be room
for them; whilst the less popular plays would not be well attended."

"Just so," I said, "that is what one would naturally expect; and where
is the harm?"

"Our scheme provides a succession of plays throughout the year, all
designed as part of our culture, and if people were at liberty to pick
and choose what they would see, and what they would not see, we should
have no guarantee that they would have gone through the course."

"Would that matter," I asked, "so long as they were amused?"

"May I repeat that the Meccanian drama is something more than
amusement," he replied testily. "You will learn more of this subject
from Dr. Dodderer. We need not pursue it further."

"Then may I ask whether attendance at concerts is compulsory also?"

"It is not compulsory, but it is strictly regulated as regards the
different grades of music," he answered.

"I should like to know how you regulate attendance at concerts," I
said; "I have never heard of it elsewhere."

"I dare say not," said Prigge. "Other countries are still in a very
backward state as regards musical culture. In the first place, all
persons below eighteen have to pass an examination in some branch
of practical or theoretical music, unless they are defective in the
musical sense. Then, before any adult is admitted to the first, second
or third grades of concerts, he has to pass an examination in musical
appreciation. That is to say, only those are admitted to concerts
of the first class who hold a first-class certificate in musical
appreciation, and so on with the other grades. Otherwise we should have
people whose musical knowledge is very moderate listening to the best
music by the best performers. By means of our system we can provide
exactly the right standard of music at all public concerts. At the
beginning of each season the programmes of all the concerts of the
first three grades are issued. Each person enters his name for a course
of concerts according to the grade of musical culture attained by him.
He is informed how many concerts he may attend in the season; he then
chooses which concerts he will attend, and after that there is no
difficulty."

"No," said I, "I should think there would be no difficulty after such
careful preparation. Then the open-air concerts in the beer gardens," I
said; "where do they come in?"

"Those are not regulated in the same way. We can tell from the Time
Department whether any person is spending too much time at these
performances, and any person who neglects to pass his examination in
musical appreciation before the age of thirty is forbidden to attend
such concerts--if they can be called concerts--more than once a week."

"And is it possible to carry out such a regulation?" I asked.

"You have not studied our Time Department to much purpose if you ask
such a question," answered Prigge.

"I suppose, then," I said, "as I have no certificate I shall not be
permitted to hear any of your best music?"

"Foreigners who are Doctors of Music of any University," replied
Prigge, "are admitted by special leave of the Ministry of Culture
to attend a specified number of concerts even of the first grade,
and others can attend a few concerts of the third grade, likewise by
special permission of the Ministry of Culture."

I think it was on the same day that Prigge said to me, "I notice you
are not wearing your spectacles."

"I have never worn spectacles," I said.

"But you were ordered to wear spectacles by Dr. Pincher."

"He did prescribe them," I said, "but I have not troubled to get them,
as I do not really require them."

Conductor Prigge looked positively aghast. "You must go at once," he
said; "you have the address. You had better pretend that there has been
some delay--but no, your diary will show that you have not been to the
optician. You will certainly be fined in accordance with Regulation 127
of the Instructions to Foreign Observers."

I went accordingly, and in a few days I had the spectacles. I suppose
this incident caused me to notice that nearly all Meccanians wear
spectacles or eyeglasses. Some wear two pairs at once, and I have seen
even three pairs worn. I felt thankful nothing wrong with my teeth had
been discovered.

A day or two later I was taken by Prigge to see Dr. Dodderer. What I
learnt from him was even more remarkable than what my conductor had
told me, so I will not apologise for giving a fairly full account of
my interview.

We were due at ten o'clock, and a whole hour had been reserved for me.
As we entered his room he noted the exact time on his tablet and said,
"The object of your visit is to learn something of the Meccanian drama,
as part of the system of culture, and the relation of amusement to our
system of culture. Very good; if you will be seated I will do my best
to enlighten you."

He was a dried-up little man, with bright black eyes and a narrow but
lofty forehead. I thanked him and prepared to listen. I knew he would
think me disrespectful if I did not make use of my notebook, so I
prepared to make copious notes.

When he saw I was ready, he sat with his eyes shut and his hands
clasped together in front of him, and proceeded to pour forth a long
discourse. He began by saying that all the higher animals showed some
disposition towards play; and that, in particular, the human animal
was pre-eminently distinguished in this respect. Some anthropologists
had argued that the persistence of the play-instinct was a proof
of the essential usefulness of play, in developing both muscular
and intellectual power. He himself did not adopt this view, or, at
any rate, only in a modified form. He held that play was one of the
most wasteful methods of nature, and that if the competition between
the various races and subdivisions of the human species had been
perfect, the race that could reduce play to an absolute minimum,
confined perhaps to the first three years of life, would--_ceteris
paribus_--succeed in winning the foremost place. Play was certainly
the least profitable form of mental activity, and one of the problems
of education was the gradual elimination of play from the scheme of
national culture. It was unfortunately true that even the best system
of education had to make concessions to this instinct of play, and it
would take many generations before it could be reduced to a minimum.
But the experiments of the Meccanian psychologists had demonstrated
that the amount necessary, both in the case of children and in the case
of adults, had been grossly exaggerated in the past, and was still
grossly exaggerated by other nations. These experiments would have
been impossible without the assistance of the Time Department, and the
absence of a Time Department in other countries probably accounted for
the little progress they had made in this direction.

"For example," he continued, "other nations have almost entirely
neglected the value of cultural toys. They have been content, even
where they have given any thought at all to the subject, to devise toys
which gave a little more opportunity for ingenuity, but their object
has been mainly to amuse; they have had no clear conception of the
ultimate purpose of toys in a complete cultural scheme. Now we have a
carefully thought-out scheme, and although it does not come under my
department, but under Section A1, it affords a good illustration of the
basis of our system. All our toys are classified in fifteen stages. We
began with only five stages, but the number has gradually increased,
for the system necessarily becomes more complex as it becomes more
perfect. Stage I. is represented by simple objects which a baby can
grasp and recognise before the age of eighteen months. Stage II. is
represented by balls and cubes and objects of that order. Stage III.
by dolls and images. Stage IV. by objects which can be grouped so
as to afford a basis for the teaching of number. Stage V. by simple
mechanical toys and simple tools. Stage VI. by constructive blocks of
various kinds...."

Here, I am afraid, I became confused, but I remember that Stage XIII.
was represented by toys which formed an introduction to chemistry,
and that the toys of Stage XIV. could only be worked by boys whose
mathematical knowledge was far in advance of what I should have thought
possible. He explained that visits were paid by the domestic Inspectors
of Child-Life to see that the parents made proper use of the system
of cultural toys. There had been great difficulty at first, but the
parents were now properly instructed; and in a short time there would
be no need to instruct them, as they would have grown up in familiarity
with the system.

"Other experiments equally valuable have been conducted in order to
discover what forms of amusement are most profitable from the cultural
point of view; these include experiments designed to improve production.

"For example, in our schools for the children of the Seventh Class,
we find we have to allow a considerable time for non-intellectual
pursuits. It would be sheer waste to allow all this time to be given
to mere amusement. Children who cannot give more than three hours a
day to study, can be very usefully employed in making simple articles.
We have a number of simple machines which can be worked by quite small
children. You would be surprised to learn, perhaps, that goods worth
a million are exported annually which are all the product of the
semi-recreative work of these children. On the other hand, any boys
of the _Second_ Class who cannot profitably be kept at intellectual
pursuits for more than a few hours a day, are trained to be active and
bold and self-reliant in preparation for their military career.

"The same principle applies not only to children at school but to
people of all ages. For example, we discovered, through our Time
Department again, that thousands of men were wasting precious hours
upon games such as chess. We have introduced mathematical exercises
of an interesting kind as a substitute, with most beneficial results.
Others were addicted to aimless walks and rambles in the country.
We began by offering prizes for botanical, entomological and other
specimens, and for essays upon scientific subjects. We have, in fact,
almost eliminated aimless amusement from the life of our common
people. In the Fifth Class, which is a highly intelligent class,
we encourage the pursuit of science by promoting those who pass
certain examinations, which include a thesis, to the first grade of
their class, and in a few cases we are able to promote exceptionally
promising young men to the Fourth Class."

"In what way does this bear upon the drama?" I said in a pause in Dr.
Dodderer's discourse.

"I have been trying to show you the basis of our system of public
amusement. With us, amusement is never an end in itself. We find a
certain crude kind of interest in the drama, or shall I say in the
theatre, in almost all peoples, and some of the greatest poets have
utilised that interest in order to reach the minds of their hearers.
The greatest poets are those who have conceded least to the mere
instinct for amusement. We have followed the same principle. But we
could not carry out this scheme of dramatic culture without first
getting control over the theatre. Prince Mechow, with his usual
insight, saw that it was useless to control and direct the Press, if
he did not at the same time control and direct the Theatre. First of
all he made the censorship a reality. Then he took all the most popular
playwrights into the State service. Then he was able to weed out those
who were incapable of entering into his purpose. Gradually all the
theatres became cultural institutions of the State. All this took time,
of course. Even now there are a few popular theatres where only the
lower kinds of dramatic varieties are performed. Attendance at these is
not compulsory."

"I do not yet understand," I said, "why it should be necessary to make
attendance compulsory when the drama is so popular."

"For the majority of the people," replied Dr. Dodderer, "compulsion is
quite unnecessary; but it is just those who are most in need of the
culture that can be given through the medium of the drama who would be
lax in their attendance. The whole subject has been investigated," he
continued, "by the aid of the Time Department, and we are satisfied
that we get the best results through our present system."

"Since your playwrights became Civil servants has there been no decline
in the quality of your dramatic productions?" I asked.

"On the contrary," replied Dr. Dodderer. "Our modern plays are on a
much higher level. There are several reasons for this. In the first
place, in the old days the uninstructed public were hardly fit judges
of dramatic or literary excellence. They often preferred plays of
little cultural value. Consequently, the men who could write really
good plays often found it impossible to get them produced. Our Board
of Dramatic Criticism is now able to decide the merits of all plays,
and the dramatists are quite independent of the caprice of the public.
Also, we can carry specialisation to a point undreamt of in former
times."

"Specialisation?" I said; "that is quite a new idea to me."

"Naturally, there are writers who have plenty of ingenuity in
devising plots, but who are lacking in literary style; others who
write excellent Meccanian, both prose and verse, but who are weak
in the dramatic instinct. It is, in fact, very seldom that a modern
Meccanian drama is the sole work of any single author. Moreover, the
drama as developed by us lends itself particularly to specialisation.
For example, most of our classical plays are presented in four
phases. The simplest phase comes first. The subject is presented in
chronological-dramatic form, somewhat resembling the dramas of other
days and other countries. Next comes the analytical phase, and after
that the synthetic. The last phase or act is a complete philosophical
symposium in which the whole subject is presented in its highest and
most abstract form."

"When you speak of the subject of a play, what do you mean exactly?" I
asked.

"The old plays had often no real subject; they had titles, it is
true, but these titles were mere names of persons, or mere names
of places or incidents. What, for instance, can you make of a title
such as _Julius Cæsar_? or _The Emperor of the East_? or _Catherine_?
or _The Tyrant of Genoa_? or _The Crime of Boniface_? If you are
acquainted with the development of the drama, you will know that
about ninety years ago a great advance was made by means of what
was then called 'The Problem Play.' Some of these plays had a real
subject. We have gone much further, of course. Take the subjects of
some of our best-known plays: _Efficiency_, _Inefficiency_, _National
Self-Consciousness_. These are all by our Chief Dramatic-Composer
Grubber. His latest play, _Uric Acid_, is in my opinion even better
than these."

"_Uric Acid_!" I exclaimed; "what an extraordinary subject!"

"It is one of a series of medical plays," explained Dr. Dodderer,
quite undisturbed. "The subject lends itself splendidly to the
methods of Meccanian Art. The part played by uric acid in the life
of the individual, the family, the State, treated physiologically,
pathologically, sociologically, ethically and philosophically, is
almost infinite in its possibilities, and Grubber has made the most of
them."

"And do the public enjoy these medical plays?"

"You appear to be obsessed, if I may say so," replied Dr. Dodderer,
"with the idea of enjoyment. You must bear in mind our standpoint,
which I have already explained. But certainly the public take great
interest in the medical plays. Sub-Dramatist Smellie wrote a series,
_Phthisis_, _Nephritis_ and _Meningitis_, which are almost equal to
Grubber's _Uric Acid_, but he fails a little in the higher aspects
of the subject, and consequently his fourth acts fall short of the
highest philosophical perfection. I remember reading the proofs of
his first play, _Gall Stones_. It was excellent until he came to the
philosophical phase. It reminded me of an older play produced in the
transition period, some fifty years ago, called _The Blind and the
Deaf_. It had a considerable vogue for several years, but you see from
its title that the conception was not fully developed."

"These medical plays," I said, "are not the most typical productions of
the dramatic genius of modern Meccania, I suppose?"

"In some ways they are," replied Dr. Dodderer. "That is to say, they
are almost peculiar to our country. But one of our younger playwrights
has developed the subject of economics in a way almost equally unique.
His _Significance of Food_, and his _Insurance_, and _Distribution_,
are a mere introduction to his masterpiece, _Value_. A very slight
work on _Inaccuracy_, which was almost a farce, first attracted
the attention of the Board of Criticism. They refused to produce
_Inaccuracy_ in its original form, and he embodied it in a more mature
work, _Production_, which was the first of his genuine economic plays."

"I suppose, then, you have historical or at least political plays?"

"Historical plays are mostly performed in the juvenile theatres," he
said. "I have very little to do with them. They fall under Section
A, and, as you know, I am the Sub-Controller of Section B," replied
Dodderer. "But," he continued, "we have a certain number of more
advanced historical plays for adults. For instance, _The Evolution of
Society_, with its sequel, _The Triumph of Meccania_, are excellent
historical plays. Political plays have become almost obsolete, but
there are still a few produced occasionally. _The Principle of
Monarchy_ is still quite a classic in its way, and _The Futility of
Democracy_ is one of the most brilliant pieces of Meccanian satire.
_Obedience_ is another classic."

"It seems to me a very remarkable fact that your Sixth and Seventh
Classes should be able to appreciate such plays as those you have been
describing," I said, "especially in parts of the country which cannot
be so far advanced as the capital."

"I do not say that they appreciate the drama in the same degree as the
more educated classes; but you must remember they have gone through
a long course of training. You perhaps now appreciate our wisdom in
making attendance compulsory. Without regularity in attendance we could
not arrange for a proper sequence of plays. Also, I must admit that on
the days when the Sixth and Seventh Classes are due to attend, we put
on the less advanced plays as a rule."

"What happens," I asked, "to the old plays which were written, say, a
hundred years ago; are they never performed?"

"Oh dear, yes," replied Dr. Dodderer; "the performance of such plays
forms a regular part of the literature course at all our Universities
and Colleges. We also utilise quite a number of them in the courses of
plays for the Fifth, Sixth and Seventh Classes; but the form in which
they are written is so simple and childish, such a contrast to the ripe
perfection of the fully developed Meccanian drama."

"It must be a difficult matter," I remarked, "to arrange for
progressive courses of plays for so many people as you have in Mecco."

"On the contrary, the larger the city the easier it is. Members of the
Third Class and, of course, of higher classes, are considered capable
of appreciating all kinds of plays. Class Four consists of four grades,
and the two higher grades, all the members of which are over thirty,
are likewise eligible to attend any plays. We have a very simple plan
of classifying all the others. At the age of eighteen they are all at
liberty to attend plays which are classed as Stage I.; then after six
months any one is at liberty to apply for a certificate entitling him
to attend plays in Stage II. After another year they can obtain a
certificate for Stage III.; and so on. We seldom refuse an application,
and in fact we rather encourage our people to advance, otherwise many
people would be content to remain in Stage II., or Stage III., all
their lives. Then, at the beginning of each season, we know how many
to provide for in each class, and at each stage; and the greater the
number of theatres the easier it is to arrange the plays accordingly."

"What about the actors?" I asked. "In most countries the leading
actors are very much sought after, and can make large fortunes. I
should imagine your system does not allow of that kind of career for a
successful actor."

"All our actors," replied Dr. Dodderer, "are trained in the Imperial
Meccanian Dramatic College. The lower grades belong to the Fifth Class,
the higher grades to the Fourth. The technique of acting has been
brought to such perfection that the 'star' as he used to be called,
has entirely disappeared. There is no room for him in our system. The
'star' was a mere product of popular enthusiasm."

"How do you judge, then, of the popularity of any particular actor?"

"We take no account of it at all," replied Dr. Dodderer. "Our expert
Board of Dramatic Criticism determines the standing of each actor.
We have, of course, expert psychologists, who are able to test the
particular psychological effect both of each phase of the play and of
the impression made by individual actors. Their experiments are of
great value both to our dramatic managers and to the writers of plays."

At this point Dr. Dodderer announced that the hour he had reserved for
me was at an end.




CHAPTER VI

MORE CULTURE IN MECCO


I returned to Conductor Prigge and my daily grind. But as most of
this first period was spent in visiting systematically a number of
institutions similar to those I had seen in Bridgetown, but on a larger
scale, it is hardly necessary to describe them here. For instance,
the arrangements for receiving and distributing food are on the same
principle: the markets are managed in the same way. The general system
of shopping is the same, except that, as the city is much larger, there
is very much more 'shopping by post.' As the shops are not permitted
to display anything in shop windows, nor to advertise except in the
trade gazettes and catalogues, there is not much incentive to spend
time in desultory shopping. The great Stores are more like warehouses
than shops. I had gathered from my conversations with Sheep that the
State seemed to place obstacles in the way of personal expenditure, and
yet at the same time production was encouraged. Sheep's explanations
had not seemed to me entirely satisfactory, so I decided to question
Prigge on this interesting point. As his services were charged for at
double the rate of Sheep's, I thought I ought to get more complete
information from him. So one day I said to him, "How is it that in
Meccania, as far as I can judge, you have brought production to such
a pitch of perfection--I mean as regards the enormous quantities
manufactured--whilst at the same time you seem to restrict expenditure
or consumption in so many ways?"

Prigge tilted back his head and put on his professorial air.

"Such a question would be better dealt with when you come to make a
definite study of our National Economy, but as it is really quite an
elementary question--a commonplace of all our textbooks--I do not
mind explaining it briefly now. Your first error is in supposing that
the State encourages production indiscriminately. We produce what we
require and no more, but we are able to measure our requirements better
than other nations. In other countries people are allowed to buy a lot
of things they do not require; this causes unnecessary production, of
course. Unregulated consumption gives rise to unregulated production."

I still felt puzzled as to what became of the wealth produced by the
wonderfully efficient system of wholesale production, for, as far as I
could tell, the people seemed less luxurious in their habits than those
of countries far less advanced in machine production. But I felt I
should be getting on dangerous ground, and forbore.

The commercial quarter, in which we spent a whole day, was remarkably
small for so large a city, especially considering that the city is not
commercially self-contained. But I learnt that Mecco is not really
the commercial centre of Meccania. The merchants are little more than
the agents for the distribution of goods. The quantities are largely
fixed by the Department of Industry and Commerce, consequently there
is not much room for enterprise, except in effecting economies in
distribution, in bargaining with the Government as to the kinds of
goods to be produced, and in discussing with manufacturers matters
of detail as to patterns and styles. For example, the Schools of Art
produce every year designs for cloth for women's dress. The merchants
select from these the patterns to be manufactured. There is little
excitement in a merchant's career. Most of the clerks seem to be
occupied in the preparation and revision of catalogues, which are the
substitute for advertisements. No new article can be produced until
it has been approved by the Improvements Section of the Department of
Industry and Commerce.

All this side of the life of Mecco was very tame and stereotyped.
Prigge discoursed at length on the merits of the Post Office and all
its works, but the only remarkable thing I noticed about it, besides
the censorship of letters, and the enormous number of people employed,
was the ingenious arrangement whereby a conversation carried on in any
part of Meccania could be overheard at the Central Office.

The absence of life and bustle in the streets was as striking as in
Bridgetown. Most of the people in the Government offices belonged to
the Fourth Class, and as these all lived in the two quarters running
north and south of the central ring, they could reach their offices
in a very short time. The midday meal was taken in a canteen within
the office. The few inferior employees, messengers, porters, cleaners,
etc., who belonged to the Fifth or Sixth Class, lived almost as near.
The higher Civil servants of the Third Class, who of course were less
numerous, did not make a crowd in the street. The green uniforms
of the Fourth Class were the most conspicuous object everywhere.
The industrial classes, living as they do on the side nearest the
industrial town, are transported by an ingenious system of trams and
underground and overhead railways, so that in half an hour they can
all get from their homes to their work, where they remain all day. All
goods arriving from the industrial town for distribution to the Stores
are carried by a regular service of motor-vans. The distribution of
goods to houses is so systematised as to require comparatively few
vehicles. For instance, certain kinds of goods can be delivered only
once a month for each household, others only once a week. Consequently
one sees a perfectly regular stream of traffic, which is never very
dense and never congested. All this might have been very interesting
to a student of municipal socialism and mechanical organisation, but
my chief interests lay in other directions, and it was not until we
came to the cultural institutions that I found things so remarkable,
at any rate from my own point of view, that I shall make no apology
for describing them with some fullness here, even at the risk of being
tedious to those who think more of locomotion than of liberty, or who
regard the Post Office as the highest symbol of civilisation.

I had looked forward with some curiosity to my first visit to a
Meccanian Art Gallery, for, as I had not been into any private houses,
and as there are no shop windows, I had seen hardly any signs of
Meccanian Art Culture, except in Architecture. The decorative work in
the public buildings did not impress me favourably. It was Patriotic
Art, executed by the students of the Imperial Meccanian Academy.

Prigge announced that, as he had been promoted to a higher grade in the
Police Service, he would no longer be available to conduct me. By way
of consoling me for the deprivation he said that in any case I should
have to be handed over to various specialist conductors, as I had
almost completed the general part of my tour and had reached the stage
when I should have to begin the study of definite branches of Meccanian
culture. He had consequently arranged for me to spend the first three
days in the Great Meccanian Gallery under the guidance of Specialist
Art Section Sub-Conductor Musch.

Sub-Conductor Musch met me at the appointed time at the hotel. He
was a very different type from Prigge. He was much less of the
drill-sergeant; in fact he looked rather 'decadent,' if a Meccanian
can be decadent. He spoke in a soft voice, which was quite a contrast
to the leathery voices of most officials I had encountered previously.
He began by saying that before we actually began our inspection of the
pictures there were certain preliminaries.

The Great Meccanian Gallery, he said, was the temple of all that was
sacred in the æsthetic world. I must be properly prepared for it,
so that I could concentrate my attention upon what I saw and not be
distracted by having to ask questions about extraneous matters. If I
would pay careful attention he would describe the general arrangements.

"The Great Meccanian Gallery," he said, "is one of the four galleries
in Mecco; the other three are subsidiary. The first gallery is devoted
to the old historical collections that existed before the time of
Prince Mechow, and contains only foreign pictures. The second gallery
contains Meccanian pictures of a date previous to the foundation of the
Great Meccanian Gallery by Prince Mechow. The fourth gallery contains
foreign pictures contemporary with those in the Great Meccanian
Gallery. And now we come to the Great Meccanian Gallery itself.

"Every picture in that gallery is an expression of the Meccanian
spirit; otherwise it is not admitted. Its technique must also satisfy
the Board of Art of the Department of Culture. Consequently, as
soon as you enter you are in the atmosphere of pure Meccanian Art.
Previous to the creation of this gallery, the influence of Art was
rather de-nationalising. The æsthetic sense was cultivated in total
ignorance of the possibility of marrying it to the Meccanian spirit.
The Meccanian spirit is the active, creative male; the æsthetic sense
is receptive, conceptive, essentially female. Of the two, Meccanian Art
is born."

He went on in this style for several minutes until I thought I had
better get something more definite from him for my 'guidance.' So I
said, "How does one tell whether a picture is an expression of the
Meccanian spirit?"

"To the true Meccanian, all things truly Meccanian are sacred, and
by the inward cultivation of the sense of reverence for what is most
characteristically Meccanian he arrives at a certainty which is
incommunicable to others."

"But suppose opinion is divided. Suppose, for example, one man says,
here is a picture which is full of the Meccanian spirit, and another
man says the contrary."

Musch smiled in a sad, superior way, by which I saw that after all, in
spite of his 'decadence,' he was a true Meccanian. "You are evidently
not well acquainted with either Meccanian history or philosophy,"
he said. "Even our early philosophers taught that the Meccanian
spirit must embody itself in institutions or it would evaporate. The
Imperial Meccanian Academy is the visible embodiment of the highest
manifestation of the Meccanian æsthetic spirit. All Meccanian artists
are trained under the influence of the Academy. Its judgment, as
expressed by the Central Board, is infallible. None of its decisions
has ever been reversed. I do not think you realise how completely the
influence of the Academy has moulded the Meccanian appreciation of Art
during the last generation," he went on in his slow, soft speech. "You
have heard something from my friend Dr. Dodderer of the care taken by
our all-beneficent Super-State in the cultivation of the appreciation
of the Drama, and you have probably heard something too of our musical
culture. Other forms of Art are equally sacred, since they are all
Meccanian. Every person in the Fourth and higher classes goes through a
course of art appreciation, which extends over several years. No person
is admitted beyond the fifth stage of the Great Meccanian Gallery
unless he has passed the advanced test. Attendance at the gallery
is compulsory, once a fortnight, for all persons of the Fourth and
Third Classes between the ages of fourteen and twenty-five. The Fifth
Class are not admitted to rooms beyond Stage III., except by special
permission on four days in the year. For them we have a few local
galleries, as we have for the Sixth Class also, containing pictures
which are soundly Meccanian in spirit but which do not come up to the
standard of the Great Gallery."

Presently we proceeded to the gallery containing the old historical
collection. Musch said that we should see what we wanted of this
in an hour, in fact it was rather a formality to visit it, but the
Regulations for Foreign Observers made it necessary that I should see
this first. It turned out to be really a fine collection, such as I had
seen in many others parts of Europe; but I almost gasped at the strange
freak which had inspired the curators in arranging the pictures. They
were arranged strictly according to subject. All the "Nativities" were
together in one room, all the "Madonnas" together in another, all the
"Adam and Eves" together, all the "Deluges," all the "Susannas," all
the "Prodigal Sons," all the "Venuses," all the "Bacchuses"; whatever
the subject, every picture relating to that subject was placed together
as if the gallery were a collection of butterflies.

Musch took no interest in this collection. It was all dead, he said,
obsolete, pre-Meccanian, untouched by the spirit. When we came to the
second gallery containing the older Meccanian pictures he showed more
interest. Some painted three centuries ago I thought very fine, but
Musch said they were lacking in self-consciousness. The Meccanian
spirit was overlaid by false foreign culture. Only when we came to
some weird and powerful but almost revolting pictures, dating from the
beginning of the century, did he grow enthusiastic. These, he said,
were the genuine precursors and pioneers of Meccanian Art.

It was afternoon when we entered the first section or stage of the
Great Meccanian Gallery. This was the first stage for young persons,
and was divided into a section containing 'elementary-general'
pictures, and another containing historical pictures. The general
pictures were mostly scenes of places of interest in various parts of
Meccania, or national customs and public ceremonies. The technique
was distinctly good. The historical pictures mostly represented wars
against foreign enemies. I noticed that the Meccanians were represented
as heroes, and their enemies as brutalised hordes of semi-lunatics.
Others represented Meccanians discovering all the arts of peace and
war. I spent a dreary day and more, working painfully through Stages
I., II. and III., up to XIX., until, on the third day, we came to the
most advanced specimens. These reminded me of Dr. Dodderer's account of
the Meccanian drama. There was a number of allegorical subjects--"The
Birth of the Meccanian Spirit," "The Victory of Time over Space," "The
Festival of Chemistry," "The Nuptials of Science and Force," "The
Conquests of Culture." Others were more mystical--"War the Servant of
Culture," "The Deity instructing Monarchy," "The Eternal Principle of
Meccanian Monarchy," "The Wisdom of the Super-State," "The Unity of the
Seven Classes."

Some of these were immense canvases forty feet long, full of life-size
figures drawn with microscopic exactness. The artists had certainly
managed to catch and even accentuate the Meccanian features of every
face. I felt the Meccanian atmosphere, but I still could not understand
why such careful cultivation should have been required to produce this
extraordinary collection. I would gladly have given the whole gallery
for a few masterpieces from the old collection.

I could not imagine that any effect produced on the mind even of
patriotic Meccanians could be worth all the trouble spent upon either
the creation of the gallery itself or the organisation of artistic
culture that centred round it. I was therefore curious to see what sort
of effect the sight of the pictures had upon other visitors. In one
of the lower rooms I had seen some groups of schoolgirls accompanied
by a teacher. They all had their notebooks, and were taking down
notes in shorthand. Musch explained enthusiastically that these girls
would spend a whole afternoon on half a dozen pictures, and that by
the time they were twenty years of age they would have studied every
picture up to Stage XIX. in the gallery. What I overheard from the
teacher's lecture was something like this: "Now let us analyse the
colour scheme. By the aid of the colour divider you perceive at once
the proportions in which the colours are distributed. Now notice that
red, which occupies only 7 per cent of the canvas, is more conspicuous
than green, which occupies more than 25 per cent." I did not catch
the next passage, but presently I heard: "All the pictures by the
same artist have the same distribution of colour. Consequently it
would be possible to determine by an analysis of the colour scheme the
authenticity of any picture by this artist. Next notice the method of
the brush strokes. Under the microscope" (here the microscope came into
play) "you will see the characteristic quality of the brush stroke.
It has been already ascertained that in this picture there are 5232
down-strokes of an average length of 3 millimetres, 1079 strokes from
right to left of an average length of 1½ millimetre, only 490 from left
to right, and 72 upward strokes. The same proportion of strokes has
been discovered in several other pictures by the same artist, according
to the size of the picture. This picture was painted in exactly 125
hours. The quantity of paint used must have been almost exactly
three-quarters of a litre, so you can make a calculation to ascertain
the number of brush strokes to the litre."

In another gallery I noticed some superior young men of the Fourth
Class in their green uniforms, discussing the merits of a popular
artist. One of them was saying, "And I maintain that his morality
is pre-Meccanian; he lacks super-masculinity." In another room a
few stolid citizens of middle age were slowly making a pilgrimage.
I wondered why they did not move faster and get it over, until I
discovered there was a rule that, at each visit, non-students were
not allowed to spend less than half an hour in one room, or more than
three-quarters of an hour. This regulation did not apply to me so long
as I was under the charge of Musch, who had access to the whole gallery.

I found Musch a less desirable acquaintance than Prigge. I suspected
him of being addicted to drugs, and wondered how far his enthusiasm
for the Meccanian spirit was an official pose; for, after completing
my visit to the Great Gallery, I was asking him whether all artists
were employed by the State, and whether there were not other types of
pictures produced, besides those represented in the Great Gallery, when
he began to tell me of another phase of art.

"All artists," he said, "who in the seventh year of their training are
accepted by the Academy are employed permanently by the State; the
others are found other employment according to their capacity, but are
not permitted to produce pictures."

"I suppose," I said, "the artists who are taken into the service of the
State are controlled in some way. What happens, for instance, if they
turn out to be idlers?"

"They are certainly controlled. The Board selects the subjects for the
year, for each artist, according to his capacity. Of course he may
suggest subjects too, but until they are approved he is not allowed
to proceed. He must also submit a plan or sketch of his proposed
treatment."

"And is a painter not allowed even in his own leisure to paint subjects
of his own choice?"

"Ah, there you touch upon an interesting subject," replied Musch, with
something like a leer. "The Board are naturally desirous of preserving
the Meccanian spirit in all its purity, but the effort to rise to the
sublime heights of emotion which that demands, produces a reaction, and
many of our artists find an outlet for this, so that beside the pure
stream of Meccanian Art there flows, as it were, another stream."

"In other words," I suggested, "they carry on an illicit production
of works of a lower ethical quality, which can only be disposed of by
being sold to the rich."

"Your intuition is remarkable," he replied.

"Not in the least," I said. "One only requires a little knowledge of
human nature to see what must happen. But how does this practice escape
the attention of the Super-State?" I said.

"There are many patrons of Art among the higher official class,"
replied Musch significantly.

This was the first time I had learnt from any person that the State had
any chinks in its armour.

"Perhaps you can tell me," I said, "something which has puzzled me ever
since I came here, and that is--Why your Super-State occupies itself
so meticulously with such things as Music, and the Drama, and Art.
Such interests seem rather foreign to the main purpose for which, as I
understand it, the great statesmen who have made Meccania what it is,
designed it."

"I have often wondered the same thing myself," replied Musch. "I can
only say that if all this side of life were left unregulated, the life
of the State would be incomplete. Sooner or later the consciousness of
the State must embrace all things."

I said no more, and this was the last I saw of poor Musch, for next day
he was ill, and I was taken by another Sub-Conductor, whose name was
Grovel, to see the Mechow Memorial Museum. Almost everything in Mecco
is a sort of memorial or reminder of Prince Mechow. Mechow Street,
Mechow Square, the Mechow Monument, Mechow Park, the Mechow Palace,
Mechow Hotels meet one at every turn. There are even Mechow whiskers,
of a pattern seldom seen outside Meccania, but immensely popular among
middle-aged officials of the Third and Fourth Classes. Curiously
enough, I learnt that the higher officials rather resent the wearing of
this style of whisker by subordinate officials, but as it is a sort of
symbol of loyalty it is not considered proper to repress it.

The Museum is near the square and is the largest biographical museum in
existence. It contains a model of the house Prince Mechow was born in,
with all his clothes and toys, all the schoolbooks he used, and models
of all the rooms he lived in, including his bedrooms. One room contains
all the letters he wrote, all the letters written to him, all the
minutes he wrote as a Civil servant, the very pens he used, the office
furniture, etc. etc. The library contains not only the books he read,
and the few he wrote, but an enormous number of books and pamphlets
written about him personally and about all his work.

Besides his printed speeches, which run into many volumes, there are
phonographic records of them, which are 'performed' daily in a special
hall, to youths and girls from the High Schools.

One large room contains models of all the towns in Meccania, as they
were before his reforms and as they are now. Another room is devoted
to the great Monument. It contains the original plans and models, as
well as a model of all the copies erected in various towns. Adjoining
this room is a large collection of photographs of Prince Mechow,
casts of his face and waxwork models of him as he appeared on several
great historical occasions. One case in the library struck me as very
characteristic. It was a series of volumes in folio, sumptuously
bound. The first was entitled _Prince Mechow as Statesman_; and there
were at least thirty others with such titles as Prince Mechow as
Subject, Prince Mechow as Conservative, Prince Mechow as Reformer,
Prince Mechow as Student, Prince Mechow as Author, Prince Mechow as
Orator, Prince Mechow as Philosopher, Prince Mechow as Husband and
Father, Prince Mechow as Agriculturist, Prince Mechow's Taste in Art,
Prince Mechow's Taste in Music, Prince Mechow's Taste in Literature,
Prince Mechow's Taste in Nature, Prince Mechow's Loyalty, Prince
Mechow's Generosity, Prince Mechow's Pets, Prince Mechow's Religion.




CHAPTER VII

A MECCANIAN APOSTLE


It was a week or two after my visit to the Mechow Museum that I made
the acquaintance of one of the Foreign Observers who was staying at
the hotel. A day or two before, I had been sent for by the Hotel
Manager, and had been presented with a small certificate authorising
me to take my meals in the common dining-room, and to converse with
other foreigners whose names I was instructed to enter in my diary. I
had previously noticed a certain gentleman from Luniland whose face
seemed familiar to me. On this particular evening he came across to my
table and introduced himself as Mr. Johnson, a friend of Mr. Yorke, in
whose house I had stayed and where he had met me. We soon fell into
conversation, and when dinner was over we retired for a long chat to a
corner of the smoke-room. It appeared that he had been in Mecco over
a year, 

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