CHAPTER II. IN THE WOOL-SHED
CHAPTER III. UP THE RIVER
CHAPTER IV. THE SADDLE
CHAPTER V. THE RIVER AND THE RANGE
CHAPTER VI. INTO EREWHON
CHAPTER VII. FIRST IMPRESSIONS
CHAPTER VIII. IN PRISON
CHAPTER IX. TO THE METROPOLIS
CHAPTER X. CURRENT OPINIONS
CHAPTER XI. SOME EREWHONIAN TRIALS
CHAPTER XII. MALCONTENTS
CHAPTER XIII. THE VIEWS OF THE EREWHONIANS CONCERNING DEATH
CHAPTER XIV. MAHAINA
CHAPTER XV. THE MUSICAL BANKS
CHAPTER XVI. AROWHENA
CHAPTER XVII. YDGRUN AND THE YDGRUNITES
CHAPTER XVIII. BIRTH FORMULAE
CHAPTER XIX. THE WORLD OF THE UNBORN
CHAPTER XX. WHAT THEY MEAN BY IT
CHAPTER XXI. THE COLLEGES OF UNREASON
CHAPTER XXII. THE COLLEGES OF UNREASON—Continued
CHAPTER XXIII. THE BOOK OF THE MACHINES
CHAPTER XXIV. THE MACHINES—continued
CHAPTER XXV. THE MACHINES—concluded
CHAPTER XXVI. THE VIEWS OF AN EREWHONIAN PROPHET CONCERNING THE RIGHTS
OF ANIMALS
CHAPTER XXVII. THE VIEWS OF AN EREWHONIAN PHILOSOPHER CONCERNING THE
RIGHTS OF VEGETABLES
CHAPTER XXVIII. ESCAPE
CHAPTER XXIX. CONCLUSION
Footnotes
PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION
The Author wishes it to be understood that Erewhon is pronounced as a
word of three syllables, all short—thus, Ĕ-rĕ-whŏn.
PREFACE TO SECOND EDITION
Having been enabled by the kindness of the public to get through an
unusually large edition of “Erewhon” in a very short time, I have taken
the opportunity of a second edition to make some necessary corrections,
and to add a few passages where it struck me that they would be
appropriately introduced; the passages are few, and it is my fixed
intention never to touch the work again.
I may perhaps be allowed to say a word or two here in reference to “The
Coming Race,” to the success of which book “Erewhon” has been very
generally set down as due. This is a mistake, though a perfectly
natural one. The fact is that “Erewhon” was finished, with the
exception of the last twenty pages and a sentence or two inserted from
time to time here and there throughout the book, before the first
advertisement of “The Coming Race” appeared. A friend having called my
attention to one of the first of these advertisements, and suggesting
that it probably referred to a work of similar character to my own, I
took “Erewhon” to a well-known firm of publishers on the 1st of May
1871, and left it in their hands for consideration. I then went abroad,
and on learning that the publishers alluded to declined the MS., I let
it alone for six or seven months, and, being in an out-of-the-way part
of Italy, never saw a single review of “The Coming Race,” nor a copy of
the work. On my return, I purposely avoided looking into it until I had
sent back my last revises to the printer. Then I had much pleasure in
reading it, but was indeed surprised at the many little points of
similarity between the two books, in spite of their entire independence
to one another.
I regret that reviewers have in some cases been inclined to treat the
chapters on Machines as an attempt to reduce Mr. Darwin’s theory to an
absurdity. Nothing could be further from my intention, and few things
would be more distasteful to me than any attempt to laugh at Mr.
Darwin; but I must own that I have myself to thank for the
misconception, for I felt sure that my intention would be missed, but
preferred not to weaken the chapters by explanation, and knew very well
that Mr. Darwin’s theory would take no harm. The only question in my
mind was how far I could afford to be misrepresented as laughing at
that for which I have the most profound admiration. I am surprised,
however, that the book at which such an example of the specious misuse
of analogy would seem most naturally levelled should have occurred to
no reviewer; neither shall I mention the name of the book here, though
I should fancy that the hint given will suffice.
I have been held by some whose opinions I respect to have denied men’s
responsibility for their actions. He who does this is an enemy who
deserves no quarter. I should have imagined that I had been
sufficiently explicit, but have made a few additions to the chapter on
Malcontents, which will, I think, serve to render further mistake
impossible.
An anonymous correspondent (by the hand-writing presumably a clergyman)
tells me that in quoting from the Latin grammar I should at any rate
have done so correctly, and that I should have written “agricolas”
instead of “agricolae”. He added something about any boy in the fourth
form, &c., &c., which I shall not quote, but which made me very
uncomfortable. It may be said that I must have misquoted from design,
from ignorance, or by a slip of the pen; but surely in these days it
will be recognised as harsh to assign limits to the all-embracing
boundlessness of truth, and it will be more reasonably assumed that
each of the three possible causes of misquotation must have had its
share in the apparent blunder. The art of writing things that shall
sound right and yet be wrong has made so many reputations, and affords
comfort to such a large number of readers, that I could not venture to
neglect it; the Latin grammar, however, is a subject on which some of
the younger members of the community feel strongly, so I have now
written “agricolas”. I have also parted with the word “infortuniam”
(though not without regret), but have not dared to meddle with other
similar inaccuracies.
For the inconsistencies in the book, and I am aware that there are not
a few, I must ask the indulgence of the reader. The blame, however,
lies chiefly with the Erewhonians themselves, for they were really a
very difficult people to understand. The most glaring anomalies seemed
to afford them no intellectual inconvenience; neither, provided they
did not actually see the money dropping out of their pockets, nor
suffer immediate physical pain, would they listen to any arguments as
to the waste of money and happiness which their folly caused them. But
this had an effect of which I have little reason to complain, for I was
allowed almost to call them life-long self-deceivers to their faces,
and they said it was quite true, but that it did not matter.
I must not conclude without expressing my most sincere thanks to my
critics and to the public for the leniency and consideration with which
they have treated my adventures.
June 9, 1872
PREFACE TO THE REVISED EDITION
My publisher wishes me to say a few words about the genesis of the
work, a revised and enlarged edition of which he is herewith laying
before the public. I therefore place on record as much as I can
remember on this head after a lapse of more than thirty years.
The first part of “Erewhon” written was an article headed “Darwin among
the Machines,” and signed Cellarius. It was written in the Upper
Rangitata district of the Canterbury Province (as it then was) of New
Zealand, and appeared at Christchurch in the Press Newspaper, June 13,
1863. A copy of this article is indexed under my books in the British
Museum catalogue. In passing, I may say that the opening chapters of
“Erewhon” were also drawn from the Upper Rangitata district, with such
modifications as I found convenient.
A second article on the same subject as the one just referred to
appeared in the Press shortly after the first, but I have no copy. It
treated Machines from a different point of view, and was the basis of
pp. 270-274 of the present edition of “Erewhon.”[1] This view
ultimately led me to the theory I put forward in “Life and Habit,”
published in November 1877. I have put a bare outline of this theory
(which I believe to be quite sound) into the mouth of an Erewhonian
philosopher in Chapter XXVII. of this book.
In 1865 I rewrote and enlarged “Darwin among the Machines” for the
Reasoner, a paper published in London by Mr. G. J. Holyoake. It
appeared July 1, 1865, under the heading, “The Mechanical Creation,”
and can be seen in the British Museum. I again rewrote and enlarged it,
till it assumed the form in which it appeared in the first edition of
“Erewhon.”
The next part of “Erewhon” that I wrote was the “World of the Unborn,”
a preliminary form of which was sent to Mr. Holyoake’s paper, but as I
cannot find it among those copies of the Reasoner that are in the
British Museum, I conclude that it was not accepted. I have, however,
rather a strong fancy that it appeared in some London paper of the same
character as the Reasoner, not very long after July 1, 1865, but I have
no copy.
I also wrote about this time the substance of what ultimately became
the Musical Banks, and the trial of a man for being in a consumption.
These four detached papers were, I believe, all that was written of
“Erewhon” before 1870. Between 1865 and 1870 I wrote hardly anything,
being hopeful of attaining that success as a painter which it has not
been vouchsafed me to attain, but in the autumn of 1870, just as I was
beginning to get occasionally hung at Royal Academy exhibitions, my
friend, the late Sir F. N. (then Mr.) Broome, suggested to me that I
should add somewhat to the articles I had already written, and string
them together into a book. I was rather fired by the idea, but as I
only worked at the MS. on Sundays it was some months before I had
completed it.
I see from my second Preface that I took the book to Messrs. Chapman &
Hall May 1, 1871, and on their rejection of it, under the advice of one
who has attained the highest rank among living writers, I let it sleep,
till I took it to Mr. Trübner early in 1872. As regards its rejection
by Messrs. Chapman & Hall, I believe their reader advised them quite
wisely. They told me he reported that it was a philosophical work,
little likely to be popular with a large circle of readers. I hope that
if I had been their reader, and the book had been submitted to myself,
I should have advised them to the same effect.
“Erewhon” appeared with the last day or two of March 1872. I attribute
its unlooked-for success mainly to two early favourable reviews—the
first in the Pall Mall Gazette of April 12, and the second in the
Spectator of April 20. There was also another cause. I was complaining
once to a friend that though “Erewhon” had met with such a warm
reception, my subsequent books had been all of them practically
still-born. He said, “You forget one charm that ‘Erewhon’ had, but
which none of your other books can have.” I asked what? and was
answered, “The sound of a new voice, and of an unknown voice.”
The first edition of “Erewhon” sold in about three weeks; I had not
taken moulds, and as the demand was strong, it was set up again
immediately. I made a few unimportant alterations and additions, and
added a Preface, of which I cannot say that I am particularly proud,
but an inexperienced writer with a head somewhat turned by unexpected
success is not to be trusted with a preface. I made a few further very
trifling alterations before moulds were taken, but since the summer of
1872, as new editions were from time to time wanted, they have been
printed from stereos then made.
Having now, I fear, at too great length done what I was asked to do, I
should like to add a few words on my own account. I am still fairly
well satisfied with those parts of “Erewhon” that were repeatedly
rewritten, but from those that had only a single writing I would gladly
cut out some forty or fifty pages if I could.
This, however, may not be, for the copyright will probably expire in a
little over twelve years. It was necessary, therefore, to revise the
book throughout for literary inelegancies—of which I found many more
than I had expected—and also to make such substantial additions as
should secure a new lease of life—at any rate for the copyright. If,
then, instead of cutting out, say fifty pages, I have been compelled to
add about sixty invitâ Minervâ—the blame rests neither with my
publisher nor with me, but with the copyright laws. Nevertheless I can
assure the reader that, though I have found it an irksome task to take
up work which I thought I had got rid of thirty years ago, and much of
which I am ashamed of, I have done my best to make the new matter
savour so much of the better portions of the old, that none but the
best critics shall perceive at what places the gaps of between thirty
and forty years occur.
Lastly, if my readers note a considerable difference between the
literary technique of “Erewhon” and that of “Erewhon Revisited,” I
would remind them that, as I have just shown, “Erewhon” took something
like ten years in writing, and even so was written with great
difficulty, while “Erewhon Revisited” was written easily between
November 1900 and the end of April 1901. There is no central idea
underlying “Erewhon,” whereas the attempt to realise the effect of a
single supposed great miracle dominates the whole of its successor. In
“Erewhon” there was hardly any story, and little attempt to give life
and individuality to the characters; I hope that in “Erewhon Revisited”
both these defects have been in great measure avoided. “Erewhon” was
not an organic whole, “Erewhon Revisited” may fairly claim to be one.
Nevertheless, though in literary workmanship I do not doubt that this
last-named book is an improvement on the first, I shall be agreeably
surprised if I am not told that “Erewhon,” with all its faults, is the
better reading of the two.
SAMUEL BUTLER.
August 7, 1901
CHAPTER I. WASTE LANDS
If the reader will excuse me, I will say nothing of my antecedents, nor
of the circumstances which led me to leave my native country; the
narrative would be tedious to him and painful to myself. Suffice it,
that when I left home it was with the intention of going to some new
colony, and either finding, or even perhaps purchasing, waste crown
land suitable for cattle or sheep farming, by which means I thought
that I could better my fortunes more rapidly than in England.
It will be seen that I did not succeed in my design, and that however
much I may have met with that was new and strange, I have been unable
to reap any pecuniary advantage.
It is true, I imagine myself to have made a discovery which, if I can
be the first to profit by it, will bring me a recompense beyond all
money computation, and secure me a position such as has not been
attained by more than some fifteen or sixteen persons, since the
creation of the universe. But to this end I must possess myself of a
considerable sum of money: neither do I know how to get it, except by
interesting the public in my story, and inducing the charitable to come
forward and assist me. With this hope I now publish my adventures; but
I do so with great reluctance, for I fear that my story will be doubted
unless I tell the whole of it; and yet I dare not do so, lest others
with more means than mine should get the start of me. I prefer the risk
of being doubted to that of being anticipated, and have therefore
concealed my destination on leaving England, as also the point from
which I began my more serious and difficult journey.
My chief consolation lies in the fact that truth bears its own impress,
and that my story will carry conviction by reason of the internal
evidences for its accuracy. No one who is himself honest will doubt my
being so.
I reached my destination in one of the last months of 1868, but I
dare not mention the season, lest the reader should gather in which
hemisphere I was. The colony was one which had not been opened up even
to the most adventurous settlers for more than eight or nine years,
having been previously uninhabited, save by a few tribes of savages who
frequented the seaboard. The part known to Europeans consisted of a
coast-line about eight hundred miles in length (affording three or four
good harbours), and a tract of country extending inland for a space
varying from two to three hundred miles, until it reached the offshoots
of an exceedingly lofty range of mountains, which could be seen from
far out upon the plains, and were covered with perpetual snow. The
coast was perfectly well known both north and south of the tract to
which I have alluded, but in neither direction was there a single
harbour for five hundred miles, and the mountains, which descended
almost into the sea, were covered with thick timber, so that none would
think of settling.
With this bay of land, however, the case was different. The harbours
were sufficient; the country was timbered, but not too heavily; it was
admirably suited for agriculture; it also contained millions on
millions of acres of the most beautifully grassed country in the world,
and of the best suited for all manner of sheep and cattle. The climate
was temperate, and very healthy; there were no wild animals, nor were
the natives dangerous, being few in number and of an intelligent
tractable disposition.
It may be readily understood that when once Europeans set foot upon
this territory they were not slow to take advantage of its
capabilities. Sheep and cattle were introduced, and bred with extreme
rapidity; men took up their 50,000 or 100,000 acres of country, going
inland one behind the other, till in a few years there was not an acre
between the sea and the front ranges which was not taken up, and
stations either for sheep or cattle were spotted about at intervals of
some twenty or thirty miles over the whole country. The front ranges
stopped the tide of squatters for some little time; it was thought that
there was too much snow upon them for too many months in the year,—that
the sheep would get lost, the ground being too difficult for
shepherding,—that the expense of getting wool down to the ship’s side
would eat up the farmer’s profits,—and that the grass was too rough and
sour for sheep to thrive upon; but one after another determined to try
the experiment, and it was wonderful how successfully it turned out.
Men pushed farther and farther into the mountains, and found a very
considerable tract inside the front range, between it and another which
was loftier still, though even this was not the highest, the great
snowy one which could be seen from out upon the plains. This second
range, however, seemed to mark the extreme limits of pastoral country;
and it was here, at a small and newly founded station, that I was
received as a cadet, and soon regularly employed. I was then just
twenty-two years old.
I was delighted with the country and the manner of life. It was my
daily business to go up to the top of a certain high mountain, and down
one of its spurs on to the flat, in order to make sure that no sheep
had crossed their boundaries. I was to see the sheep, not necessarily
close at hand, nor to get them in a single mob, but to see enough of
them here and there to feel easy that nothing had gone wrong; this was
no difficult matter, for there were not above eight hundred of them;
and, being all breeding ewes, they were pretty quiet.
There were a good many sheep which I knew, as two or three black ewes,
and a black lamb or two, and several others which had some
distinguishing mark whereby I could tell them. I would try and see all
these, and if they were all there, and the mob looked large enough, I
might rest assured that all was well. It is surprising how soon the eye
becomes accustomed to missing twenty sheep out of two or three hundred.
I had a telescope and a dog, and would take bread and meat and tobacco
with me. Starting with early dawn, it would be night before I could
complete my round; for the mountain over which I had to go was very
high. In winter it was covered with snow, and the sheep needed no
watching from above. If I were to see sheep dung or tracks going down
on to the other side of the mountain (where there was a valley with a
stream—a mere _cul de sac_), I was to follow them, and look out for
sheep; but I never saw any, the sheep always descending on to their own
side, partly from habit, and partly because there was abundance of good
sweet feed, which had been burnt in the early spring, just before I
came, and was now deliciously green and rich, while that on the other
side had never been burnt, and was rank and coarse.
It was a monotonous life, but it was very healthy and one does not much
mind anything when one is well. The country was the grandest that can
be imagined. How often have I sat on the mountain side and watched the
waving downs, with the two white specks of huts in the distance, and
the little square of garden behind them; the paddock with a patch of
bright green oats above the huts, and the yards and wool-sheds down on
the flat below; all seen as through the wrong end of a telescope, so
clear and brilliant was the air, or as upon a colossal model or map
spread out beneath me. Beyond the downs was a plain, going down to a
river of great size, on the farther side of which there were other high
mountains, with the winter’s snow still not quite melted; up the river,
which ran winding in many streams over a bed some two miles broad, I
looked upon the second great chain, and could see a narrow gorge where
the river retired and was lost. I knew that there was a range still
farther back; but except from one place near the very top of my own
mountain, no part of it was visible: from this point, however, I saw,
whenever there were no clouds, a single snow-clad peak, many miles
away, and I should think about as high as any mountain in the world.
Never shall I forget the utter loneliness of the prospect—only the
little far-away homestead giving sign of human handiwork;—the vastness
of mountain and plain, of river and sky; the marvellous atmospheric
effects—sometimes black mountains against a white sky, and then again,
after cold weather, white mountains against a black sky—sometimes seen
through breaks and swirls of cloud—and sometimes, which was best of
all, I went up my mountain in a fog, and then got above the mist; going
higher and higher, I would look down upon a sea of whiteness, through
which would be thrust innumerable mountain tops that looked like
islands.
I am there now, as I write; I fancy that I can see the downs, the huts,
the plain, and the river-bed—that torrent pathway of desolation, with
its distant roar of waters. Oh, wonderful! wonderful! so lonely and so
solemn, with the sad grey clouds above, and no sound save a lost lamb
bleating upon the mountain side, as though its little heart were
breaking. Then there comes some lean and withered old ewe, with deep
gruff voice and unlovely aspect, trotting back from the seductive
pasture; now she examines this gully, and now that, and now she stands
listening with uplifted head, that she may hear the distant wailing and
obey it. Aha! they see, and rush towards each other. Alas! they are
both mistaken; the ewe is not the lamb’s ewe, they are neither kin nor
kind to one another, and part in coldness. Each must cry louder, and
wander farther yet; may luck be with them both that they may find their
own at nightfall. But this is mere dreaming, and I must proceed.
I could not help speculating upon what might lie farther up the river
and behind the second range. I had no money, but if I could only find
workable country, I might stock it with borrowed capital, and consider
myself a made man. True, the range looked so vast, that there seemed
little chance of getting a sufficient road through it or over it; but
no one had yet explored it, and it is wonderful how one finds that one
can make a path into all sorts of places (and even get a road for
pack-horses), which from a distance appear inaccessible; the river was
so great that it must drain an inner tract—at least I thought so; and
though every one said it would be madness to attempt taking sheep
farther inland, I knew that only three years ago the same cry had been
raised against the country which my master’s flock was now overrunning.
I could not keep these thoughts out of my head as I would rest myself
upon the mountain side; they haunted me as I went my daily rounds, and
grew upon me from hour to hour, till I resolved that after shearing I
would remain in doubt no longer, but saddle my horse, take as much
provision with me as I could, and go and see for myself.
But over and above these thoughts came that of the great range itself.
What was beyond it? Ah! who could say? There was no one in the whole
world who had the smallest idea, save those who were themselves on the
other side of it—if, indeed, there was any one at all. Could I hope to
cross it? This would be the highest triumph that I could wish for; but
it was too much to think of yet. I would try the nearer range, and see
how far I could go. Even if I did not find country, might I not find
gold, or diamonds, or copper, or silver? I would sometimes lie flat
down to drink out of a stream, and could see little yellow specks among
the sand; were these gold? People said no; but then people always said
there was no gold until it was found to be abundant: there was plenty
of slate and granite, which I had always understood to accompany gold;
and even though it was not found in paying quantities here, it might be
abundant in the main ranges. These thoughts filled my head, and I could
not banish them.