On my return to the drawing-room, I found that the Mahaina current had
expended itself. The ladies were just putting away their work and
preparing to go out. I asked them where they were going. They answered
with a certain air of reserve that they were going to the bank to get
some money.
Now I had already collected that the mercantile affairs of the
Erewhonians were conducted on a totally different system from our own;
I had, however, gathered little hitherto, except that they had two
distinct commercial systems, of which the one appealed more strongly to
the imagination than anything to which we are accustomed in Europe,
inasmuch as the banks that were conducted upon this system were
decorated in the most profuse fashion, and all mercantile transactions
were accompanied with music, so that they were called Musical Banks,
though the music was hideous to a European ear.
As for the system itself I never understood it, neither can I do so
now: they have a code in connection with it, which I have not the
slightest doubt that they understand, but no foreigner can hope to do
so. One rule runs into, and against, another as in a most complicated
grammar, or as in Chinese pronunciation, wherein I am told that the
slightest change in accentuation or tone of voice alters the meaning of
a whole sentence. Whatever is incoherent in my description must be
referred to the fact of my never having attained to a full
comprehension of the subject.
So far, however, as I could collect anything certain, I gathered that
they have two distinct currencies, each under the control of its own
banks and mercantile codes. One of these (the one with the Musical
Banks) was supposed to be _the_ system, and to give out the currency in
which all monetary transactions should be carried on; and as far as I
could see, all who wished to be considered respectable, kept a larger
or smaller balance at these banks. On the other hand, if there is one
thing of which I am more sure than another, it is that the amount so
kept had no direct commercial value in the outside world; I am sure
that the managers and cashiers of the Musical Banks were not paid in
their own currency. Mr. Nosnibor used to go to these banks, or rather
to the great mother bank of the city, sometimes but not very often. He
was a pillar of one of the other kind of banks, though he appeared to
hold some minor office also in the musical ones. The ladies generally
went alone; as indeed was the case in most families, except on state
occasions.
I had long wanted to know more of this strange system, and had the
greatest desire to accompany my hostess and her daughters. I had seen
them go out almost every morning since my arrival and had noticed that
they carried their purses in their hands, not exactly ostentatiously,
yet just so as that those who met them should see whither they were
going. I had never, however, yet been asked to go with them myself.
It is not easy to convey a person’s manner by words, and I can hardly
give any idea of the peculiar feeling that came upon me when I saw the
ladies on the point of starting for the bank. There was a something of
regret, a something as though they would wish to take me with them, but
did not like to ask me, and yet as though I were hardly to ask to be
taken. I was determined, however, to bring matters to an issue with my
hostess about my going with them, and after a little parleying, and
many inquiries as to whether I was perfectly sure that I myself wished
to go, it was decided that I might do so.
We passed through several streets of more or less considerable houses,
and at last turning round a corner we came upon a large piazza, at the
end of which was a magnificent building, of a strange but noble
architecture and of great antiquity. It did not open directly on to the
piazza, there being a screen, through which was an archway, between the
piazza and the actual precincts of the bank. On passing under the
archway we entered upon a green sward, round which there ran an arcade
or cloister, while in front of us uprose the majestic towers of the
bank and its venerable front, which was divided into three deep
recesses and adorned with all sorts of marbles and many sculptures. On
either side there were beautiful old trees wherein the birds were busy
by the hundred, and a number of quaint but substantial houses of
singularly comfortable appearance; they were situated in the midst of
orchards and gardens, and gave me an impression of great peace and
plenty.
Indeed it had been no error to say that this building was one that
appealed to the imagination; it did more—it carried both imagination
and judgement by storm. It was an epic in stone and marble, and so
powerful was the effect it produced on me, that as I beheld it I was
charmed and melted. I felt more conscious of the existence of a remote
past. One knows of this always, but the knowledge is never so living as
in the actual presence of some witness to the life of bygone ages. I
felt how short a space of human life was the period of our own
existence. I was more impressed with my own littleness, and much more
inclinable to believe that the people whose sense of the fitness of
things was equal to the upraising of so serene a handiwork, were hardly
likely to be wrong in the conclusions they might come to upon any
subject. My feeling certainly was that the currency of this bank must
be the right one.
We crossed the sward and entered the building. If the outside had been
impressive the inside was even more so. It was very lofty and divided
into several parts by walls which rested upon massive pillars; the
windows were filled with stained glass descriptive of the principal
commercial incidents of the bank for many ages. In a remote part of the
building there were men and boys singing; this was the only disturbing
feature, for as the gamut was still unknown, there was no music in the
country which could be agreeable to a European ear. The singers seemed
to have derived their inspirations from the songs of birds and the
wailing of the wind, which last they tried to imitate in melancholy
cadences that at times degenerated into a howl. To my thinking the
noise was hideous, but it produced a great effect upon my companions,
who professed themselves much moved. As soon as the singing was over,
the ladies requested me to stay where I was while they went inside the
place from which it had seemed to come.
During their absence certain reflections forced themselves upon me.
In the first place, it struck me as strange that the building should be
so nearly empty; I was almost alone, and the few besides myself had
been led by curiosity, and had no intention of doing business with the
bank. But there might be more inside. I stole up to the curtain, and
ventured to draw the extreme edge of it on one side. No, there was
hardly any one there. I saw a large number of cashiers, all at their
desks ready to pay cheques, and one or two who seemed to be the
managing partners. I also saw my hostess and her daughters and two or
three other ladies; also three or four old women and the boys from one
of the neighbouring Colleges of Unreason; but there was no one else.
This did not look as though the bank was doing a very large business;
and yet I had always been told that every one in the city dealt with
this establishment.
I cannot describe all that took place in these inner precincts, for a
sinister-looking person in a black gown came and made unpleasant
gestures at me for peeping. I happened to have in my pocket one of the
Musical Bank pieces, which had been given me by Mrs. Nosnibor, so I
tried to tip him with it; but having seen what it was, he became so
angry that I had to give him a piece of the other kind of money to
pacify him. When I had done this he became civil directly. As soon as
he was gone I ventured to take a second look, and saw Zulora in the
very act of giving a piece of paper which looked like a cheque to one
of the cashiers. He did not examine it, but putting his hand into an
antique coffer hard by, he pulled out a quantity of metal pieces
apparently at random, and handed them over without counting them;
neither did Zulora count them, but put them into her purse and went
back to her seat after dropping a few pieces of the other coinage into
an alms box that stood by the cashier’s side. Mrs. Nosnibor and
Arowhena then did likewise, but a little later they gave all (so far as
I could see) that they had received from the cashier back to a verger,
who I have no doubt put it back into the coffer from which it had been
taken. They then began making towards the curtain; whereon I let it
drop and retreated to a reasonable distance.
They soon joined me. For some few minutes we all kept silence, but at
last I ventured to remark that the bank was not so busy to-day as it
probably often was. On this Mrs. Nosnibor said that it was indeed
melancholy to see what little heed people paid to the most precious of
all institutions. I could say nothing in reply, but I have ever been of
opinion that the greater part of mankind do approximately know where
they get that which does them good.
Mrs. Nosnibor went on to say that I must not think there was any want
of confidence in the bank because I had seen so few people there; the
heart of the country was thoroughly devoted to these establishments,
and any sign of their being in danger would bring in support from the
most unexpected quarters. It was only because people knew them to be so
very safe, that in some cases (as she lamented to say in Mr.
Nosnibor’s) they felt that their support was unnecessary. Moreover
these institutions never departed from the safest and most approved
banking principles. Thus they never allowed interest on deposit, a
thing now frequently done by certain bubble companies, which by doing
an illegitimate trade had drawn many customers away; and even the
shareholders were fewer than formerly, owing to the innovations of
these unscrupulous persons, for the Musical Banks paid little or no
dividend, but divided their profits by way of bonus on the original
shares once in every thirty thousand years; and as it was now only two
thousand years since there had been one of these distributions, people
felt that they could not hope for another in their own time and
preferred investments whereby they got some more tangible return; all
which, she said, was very melancholy to think of.
Having made these last admissions, she returned to her original
statement, namely, that every one in the country really supported these
banks. As to the fewness of the people, and the absence of the
able-bodied, she pointed out to me with some justice that this was
exactly what we ought to expect. The men who were most conversant about
the stability of human institutions, such as the lawyers, men of
science, doctors, statesmen, painters, and the like, were just those
who were most likely to be misled by their own fancied accomplishments,
and to be made unduly suspicious by their licentious desire for greater
present return, which was at the root of nine-tenths of the opposition;
by their vanity, which would prompt them to affect superiority to the
prejudices of the vulgar; and by the stings of their own conscience,
which was constantly upbraiding them in the most cruel manner on
account of their bodies, which were generally diseased.
Let a person’s intellect (she continued) be never so sound, unless his
body is in absolute health, he can form no judgement worth having on
matters of this kind. The body is everything: it need not perhaps be
such a strong body (she said this because she saw that I was thinking
of the old and infirm-looking folks whom I had seen in the bank), but
it must be in perfect health; in this case, the less active strength it
had the more free would be the working of the intellect, and therefore
the sounder the conclusion. The people, then, whom I had seen at the
bank were in reality the very ones whose opinions were most worth
having; they declared its advantages to be incalculable, and even
professed to consider the immediate return to be far larger than they
were entitled to; and so she ran on, nor did she leave off till we had
got back to the house.
She might say what she pleased, but her manner carried no conviction,
and later on I saw signs of general indifference to these banks that
were not to be mistaken. Their supporters often denied it, but the
denial was generally so couched as to add another proof of its
existence. In commercial panics, and in times of general distress, the
people as a mass did not so much as even think of turning to these
banks. A few might do so, some from habit and early training, some from
the instinct that prompts us to catch at any straw when we think
ourselves drowning, but few from a genuine belief that the Musical
Banks could save them from financial ruin, if they were unable to meet
their engagements in the other kind of currency.
In conversation with one of the Musical Bank managers I ventured to
hint this as plainly as politeness would allow. He said that it had
been more or less true till lately; but that now they had put fresh
stained glass windows into all the banks in the country, and repaired
the buildings, and enlarged the organs; the presidents, moreover, had
taken to riding in omnibuses and talking nicely to people in the
streets, and to remembering the ages of their children, and giving them
things when they were naughty, so that all would henceforth go
smoothly.
“But haven’t you done anything to the money itself?” said I, timidly.
“It is not necessary,” he rejoined; “not in the least necessary, I
assure you.”
And yet any one could see that the money given out at these banks was
not that with which people bought their bread, meat, and clothing. It
was like it at a first glance, and was stamped with designs that were
often of great beauty; it was not, again, a spurious coinage, made with
the intention that it should be mistaken for the money in actual use;
it was more like a toy money, or the counters used for certain games at
cards; for, notwithstanding the beauty of the designs, the material on
which they were stamped was as nearly valueless as possible. Some were
covered with tin foil, but the greater part were frankly of a cheap
base metal the exact nature of which I was not able to determine.
Indeed they were made of a great variety of metals, or, perhaps more
accurately, alloys, some of which were hard, while others would bend
easily and assume almost any form which their possessor might desire at
the moment.
Of course every one knew that their commercial value was _nil_, but all
those who wished to be considered respectable thought it incumbent upon
them to retain a few coins in their possession, and to let them be seen
from time to time in their hands and purses. Not only this, but they
would stick to it that the current coin of the realm was dross in
comparison with the Musical Bank coinage. Perhaps, however, the
strangest thing of all was that these very people would at times make
fun in small ways of the whole system; indeed, there was hardly any
insinuation against it which they would not tolerate and even applaud
in their daily newspapers if written anonymously, while if the same
thing were said without ambiguity to their faces—nominative case verb
and accusative being all in their right places, and doubt
impossible—they would consider themselves very seriously and justly
outraged, and accuse the speaker of being unwell.
I never could understand (neither can I quite do so now, though I begin
to see better what they mean) why a single currency should not suffice
them; it would seem to me as though all their dealings would have been
thus greatly simplified; but I was met with a look of horror if ever I
dared to hint at it. Even those who to my certain knowledge kept only
just enough money at the Musical Banks to swear by, would call the
other banks (where their securities really lay) cold, deadening,
paralysing, and the like.
I noticed another thing, moreover, which struck me greatly. I was taken
to the opening of one of these banks in a neighbouring town, and saw a
large assemblage of cashiers and managers. I sat opposite them and
scanned their faces attentively. They did not please me; they lacked,
with few exceptions, the true Erewhonian frankness; and an equal number
from any other class would have looked happier and better men. When I
met them in the streets they did not seem like other people, but had,
as a general rule, a cramped expression upon their faces which pained
and depressed me.
Those who came from the country were better; they seemed to have lived
less as a separate class, and to be freer and healthier; but in spite
of my seeing not a few whose looks were benign and noble, I could not
help asking myself concerning the greater number of those whom I met,
whether Erewhon would be a better country if their expression were to
be transferred to the people in general. I answered myself
emphatically, no. The expression on the faces of the high Ydgrunites
was that which one would wish to diffuse, and not that of the cashiers.
A man’s expression is his sacrament; it is the outward and visible sign
of his inward and spiritual grace, or want of grace; and as I looked at
the a majority of these men, I could not help feeling that there must
be a something in their lives which had stunted their natural
development, and that they would have been more healthily minded in any
other profession. I was always sorry for them, for in nine cases out of
ten they were well-meaning persons; they were in the main very poorly
paid; their constitutions were as a rule above suspicion; and there
were recorded numberless instances of their self-sacrifice and
generosity; but they had had the misfortune to have been betrayed into
a false position at an age for the most part when their judgement was
not matured, and after having been kept in studied ignorance of the
real difficulties of the system. But this did not make their position
the less a false one, and its bad effects upon themselves were
unmistakable.
Few people would speak quite openly and freely before them, which
struck me as a very bad sign. When they were in the room every one
would talk as though all currency save that of the Musical Banks should
be abolished; and yet they knew perfectly well that even the cashiers
themselves hardly used the Musical Bank money more than other people.
It was expected of them that they should appear to do so, but this was
all. The less thoughtful of them did not seem particularly unhappy, but
many were plainly sick at heart, though perhaps they hardly knew it,
and would not have owned to being so. Some few were opponents of the
whole system; but these were liable to be dismissed from their
employment at any moment, and this rendered them very careful, for a
man who had once been cashier at a Musical Bank was out of the field
for other employment, and was generally unfitted for it by reason of
that course of treatment which was commonly called his education. In
fact it was a career from which retreat was virtually impossible, and
into which young men were generally induced to enter before they could
be reasonably expected, considering their training, to have formed any
opinions of their own. Not unfrequently, indeed, they were induced, by
what we in England should call undue influence, concealment, and fraud.
Few indeed were those who had the courage to insist on seeing both
sides of the question before they committed themselves to what was
practically a leap in the dark. One would have thought that caution in
this respect was an elementary principle,—one of the first things that
an honourable man would teach his boy to understand; but in practice it
was not so.
I even saw cases in which parents bought the right of presenting to the
office of cashier at one of these banks, with the fixed determination
that some one of their sons (perhaps a mere child) should fill it.
There was the lad himself—growing up with every promise of becoming a
good and honourable man—but utterly without warning concerning the iron
shoe which his natural protector was providing for him. Who could say
that the whole thing would not end in a life-long lie, and vain chafing
to escape? I confess that there were few things in Erewhon which
shocked me more than this.
Yet we do something not so very different from this even in England,
and as regards the dual commercial system, all countries have, and have
had, a law of the land, and also another law, which, though professedly
more sacred, has far less effect on their daily life and actions. It
seems as though the need for some law over and above, and sometimes
even conflicting with, the law of the land, must spring from something
that lies deep down in man’s nature; indeed, it is hard to think that
man could ever have become man at all, but for the gradual evolution of
a perception that though this world looms so large when we are in it,
it may seem a little thing when we have got away from it.
When man had grown to the perception that in the everlasting
Is-and-Is-Not of nature, the world and all that it contains, including
man, is at the same time both seen and unseen, he felt the need of two
rules of life, one for the seen, and the other for the unseen side of
things. For the laws affecting the seen world he claimed the sanction
of seen powers; for the unseen (of which he knows nothing save that it
exists and is powerful) he appealed to the unseen power (of which,
again, he knows nothing save that it exists and is powerful) to which
he gives the name of God.
Some Erewhonian opinions concerning the intelligence of the unborn
embryo, that I regret my space will not permit me to lay before the
reader, have led me to conclude that the Erewhonian Musical Banks, and
perhaps the religious systems of all countries, are now more or less of
an attempt to uphold the unfathomable and unconscious instinctive
wisdom of millions of past generations, against the comparatively
shallow, consciously reasoning, and ephemeral conclusions drawn from
that of the last thirty or forty.
The saving feature of the Erewhonian Musical Bank system (as distinct
from the quasi-idolatrous views which coexist with it, and on which I
will touch later) was that while it bore witness to the existence of a
kingdom that is not of this world, it made no attempt to pierce the
veil that hides it from human eyes. It is here that almost all
religions go wrong. Their priests try to make us believe that they know
more about the unseen world than those whose eyes are still blinded by
the seen, can ever know—forgetting that while to deny the existence of
an unseen kingdom is bad, to pretend that we know more about it than
its bare existence is no better.
This chapter is already longer than I intended, but I should like to
say that in spite of the saving feature of which I have just spoken, I
cannot help thinking that the Erewhonians are on the eve of some great
change in their religious opinions, or at any rate in that part of them
which finds expression through their Musical Banks. So far as I could
see, fully ninety per cent. of the population of the metropolis looked
upon these banks with something not far removed from contempt. If this
is so, any such startling event as is sure to arise sooner or later,
may serve as nucleus to a new order of things that will be more in
harmony with both the heads and hearts of the people.