I had now been a visitor with the Nosnibors for some five or six
months, and though I had frequently proposed to leave them and take
apartments of my own, they would not hear of my doing so. I suppose
they thought I should be more likely to fall in love with Zulora if I
remained, but it was my affection for Arowhena that kept me.
During all this time both Arowhena and myself had been dreaming, and
drifting towards an avowed attachment, but had not dared to face the
real difficulties of the position. Gradually, however, matters came to
a crisis in spite of ourselves, and we got to see the true state of the
case, all too clearly.
One evening we were sitting in the garden, and I had been trying in
every stupid roundabout way to get her to say that she should be at any
rate sorry for a man, if he really loved a woman who would not marry
him. I had been stammering and blushing, and been as silly as any one
could be, and I suppose had pained her by fishing for pity for myself
in such a transparent way, and saying nothing about her own need of it;
at any rate, she turned all upon me with a sweet sad smile and said,
“Sorry? I am sorry for myself; I am sorry for you; and I am sorry for
every one.” The words had no sooner crossed her lips than she bowed her
head, gave me a look as though I were to make no answer, and left me.
The words were few and simple, but the manner with which they were
uttered was ineffable: the scales fell from my eyes, and I felt that I
had no right to try and induce her to infringe one of the most
inviolable customs of her country, as she needs must do if she were to
marry me. I sat for a long while thinking, and when I remembered the
sin and shame and misery which an unrighteous marriage—for as such it
would be held in Erewhon—would entail, I became thoroughly ashamed of
myself for having been so long self-blinded. I write coldly now, but I
suffered keenly at the time, and should probably retain a much more
vivid recollection of what I felt, had not all ended so happily.
As for giving up the idea of marrying Arowhena, it never so much as
entered my head to do so: the solution must be found in some other
direction than this. The idea of waiting till somebody married Zulora
was to be no less summarily dismissed. To marry Arowhena at once in
Erewhon—this had already been abandoned: there remained therefore but
one alternative, and that was to run away with her, and get her with me
to Europe, where there would be no bar to our union save my own
impecuniosity, a matter which gave me no uneasiness.
To this obvious and simple plan I could see but two objections that
deserved the name,—the first, that perhaps Arowhena would not come; the
second, that it was almost impossible for me to escape even alone, for
the king had himself told me that I was to consider myself a prisoner
on parole, and that the first sign of my endeavouring to escape would
cause me to be sent to one of the hospitals for incurables. Besides, I
did not know the geography of the country, and even were I to try and
find my way back, I should be discovered long before I had reached the
pass over which I had come. How then could I hope to be able to take
Arowhena with me? For days and days I turned these difficulties over in
my mind, and at last hit upon as wild a plan as was ever suggested by
extremity. This was to meet the second difficulty: the first gave me
less uneasiness, for when Arowhena and I next met after our interview
in the garden I could see that she had suffered not less acutely than
myself.
I resolved that I would have another interview with her—the last for
the present—that I would then leave her, and set to work upon maturing
my plan as fast as possible. We got a chance of being alone together,
and then I gave myself the loose rein, and told her how passionately
and devotedly I loved her. She said little in return, but her tears
(which I could not refrain from answering with my own) and the little
she did say were quite enough to show me that I should meet with no
obstacle from her. Then I asked her whether she would run a terrible
risk which we should share in common, if, in case of success, I could
take her to my own people, to the home of my mother and sisters, who
would welcome her very gladly. At the same time I pointed out that the
chances of failure were far greater than those of success, and that the
probability was that even though I could get so far as to carry my
design into execution, it would end in death to us both.
I was not mistaken in her; she said that she believed I loved her as
much as she loved me, and that she would brave anything if I could only
assure her that what I proposed would not be thought dishonourable in
England; she could not live without me, and would rather die with me
than alone; that death was perhaps the best for us both; that I must
plan, and that when the hour came I was to send for her, and trust her
not to fail me; and so after many tears and embraces, we tore ourselves
away.
I then left the Nosnibors, took a lodging in the town, and became
melancholy to my heart’s content. Arowhena and I used to see each other
sometimes, for I had taken to going regularly to the Musical Banks, but
Mrs. Nosnibor and Zulora both treated me with considerable coldness. I
felt sure that they suspected me. Arowhena looked miserable, and I saw
that her purse was now always as full as she could fill it with the
Musical Bank money—much fuller than of old. Then the horrible thought
occurred to me that her health might break down, and that she might be
subjected to a criminal prosecution. Oh! how I hated Erewhon at that
time.
I was still received at court, but my good looks were beginning to fail
me, and I was not such an adept at concealing the effects of pain as
the Erewhonians are. I could see that my friends began to look
concerned about me, and was obliged to take a leaf out of Mahaina’s
book, and pretend to have developed a taste for drinking. I even
consulted a straightener as though this were so, and submitted to much
discomfort. This made matters better for a time, but I could see that
my friends thought less highly of my constitution as my flesh began to
fall away.
I was told that the poor made an outcry about my pension, and I saw a
stinging article in an anti-ministerial paper, in which the writer went
so far as to say that my having light hair reflected little credit upon
me, inasmuch as I had been reported to have said that it was a common
thing in the country from which I came. I have reason to believe that
Mr. Nosnibor himself inspired this article. Presently it came round to
me that the king had begun to dwell upon my having been possessed of a
watch, and to say that I ought to be treated medicinally for having
told him a lie about the balloons. I saw misfortune gathering round me
in every direction, and felt that I should have need of all my wits and
a good many more, if I was to steer myself and Arowhena to a good
conclusion.
There were some who continued to show me kindness, and strange to say,
I received the most from the very persons from whom I should have least
expected it—I mean from the cashiers of the Musical Banks. I had made
the acquaintance of several of these persons, and now that I frequented
their bank, they were inclined to make a good deal of me. One of them,
seeing that I was thoroughly out of health, though of course he
pretended not to notice it, suggested that I should take a little
change of air and go down with him to one of the principal towns, which
was some two or three days’ journey from the metropolis, and the chief
seat of the Colleges of Unreason; he assured me that I should be
delighted with what I saw, and that I should receive a most hospitable
welcome. I determined therefore to accept the invitation.
We started two or three days later, and after a night on the road, we
arrived at our destination towards evening. It was now full spring, and
as nearly as might be ten months since I had started with Chowbok on my
expedition, but it seemed more like ten years. The trees were in their
freshest beauty, and the air had become warm without being oppressively
hot. After having lived so many months in the metropolis, the sight of
the country, and the country villages through which we passed refreshed
me greatly, but I could not forget my troubles. The last five miles or
so were the most beautiful part of the journey, for the country became
more undulating, and the woods were more extensive; but the first sight
of the city of the colleges itself was the most delightful of all. I
cannot imagine that there can be any fairer in the whole world, and I
expressed my pleasure to my companion, and thanked him for having
brought me.
We drove to an inn in the middle of the town, and then, while it was
still light, my friend the cashier, whose name was Thims, took me for a
stroll in the streets and in the court-yards of the principal colleges.
Their beauty and interest were extreme; it was impossible to see them
without being attracted towards them; and I thought to myself that he
must be indeed an ill-grained and ungrateful person who can have been a
member of one of these colleges without retaining an affectionate
feeling towards it for the rest of his life. All my misgivings gave way
at once when I saw the beauty and venerable appearance of this
delightful city. For half-an-hour I forgot both myself and Arowhena.
After supper Mr. Thims told me a good deal about the system of
education which is here practised. I already knew a part of what I
heard, but much was new to me, and I obtained a better idea of the
Erewhonian position than I had done hitherto: nevertheless there were
parts of the scheme of which I could not comprehend the fitness,
although I fully admit that this inability was probably the result of
my having been trained so very differently, and to my being then much
out of sorts.
The main feature in their system is the prominence which they give to a
study which I can only translate by the word “hypothetics.” They argue
thus—that to teach a boy merely the nature of the things which exist in
the world around him, and about which he will have to be conversant
during his whole life, would be giving him but a narrow and shallow
conception of the universe, which it is urged might contain all manner
of things which are not now to be found therein. To open his eyes to
these possibilities, and so to prepare him for all sorts of
emergencies, is the object of this system of hypothetics. To imagine a
set of utterly strange and impossible contingencies, and require the
youths to give intelligent answers to the questions that arise
therefrom, is reckoned the fittest conceivable way of preparing them
for the actual conduct of their affairs in after life.
Thus they are taught what is called the hypothetical language for many
of their best years—a language which was originally composed at a time
when the country was in a very different state of civilisation to what
it is at present, a state which has long since disappeared and been
superseded. Many valuable maxims and noble thoughts which were at one
time concealed in it have become current in their modern literature,
and have been translated over and over again into the language now
spoken. Surely then it would seem enough that the study of the original
language should be confined to the few whose instincts led them
naturally to pursue it.
But the Erewhonians think differently; the store they set by this
hypothetical language can hardly be believed; they will even give any
one a maintenance for life if he attains a considerable proficiency in
the study of it; nay, they will spend years in learning to translate
some of their own good poetry into the hypothetical language—to do so
with fluency being reckoned a distinguishing mark of a scholar and a
gentleman. Heaven forbid that I should be flippant, but it appeared to
me to be a wanton waste of good human energy that men should spend
years and years in the perfection of so barren an exercise, when their
own civilisation presented problems by the hundred which cried aloud
for solution and would have paid the solver handsomely; but people know
their own affairs best. If the youths chose it for themselves I should
have wondered less; but they do not choose it; they have it thrust upon
them, and for the most part are disinclined towards it. I can only say
that all I heard in defence of the system was insufficient to make me
think very highly of its advantages.
The arguments in favour of the deliberate development of the
unreasoning faculties were much more cogent. But here they depart from
the principles on which they justify their study of hypothetics; for
they base the importance which they assign to hypothetics upon the fact
of their being a preparation for the extraordinary, while their study
of Unreason rests upon its developing those faculties which are
required for the daily conduct of affairs. Hence their professorships
of Inconsistency and Evasion, in both of which studies the youths are
examined before being allowed to proceed to their degree in
hypothetics. The more earnest and conscientious students attain to a
proficiency in these subjects which is quite surprising; there is
hardly any inconsistency so glaring but they soon learn to defend it,
or injunction so clear that they cannot find some pretext for
disregarding it.
Life, they urge, would be intolerable if men were to be guided in all
they did by reason and reason only. Reason betrays men into the drawing
of hard and fast lines, and to the defining by language—language being
like the sun, which rears and then scorches. Extremes are alone
logical, but they are always absurd; the mean is illogical, but an
illogical mean is better than the sheer absurdity of an extreme. There
are no follies and no unreasonablenesses so great as those which can
apparently be irrefragably defended by reason itself, and there is
hardly an error into which men may not easily be led if they base their
conduct upon reason only.
Reason might very possibly abolish the double currency; it might even
attack the personality of Hope and Justice. Besides, people have such a
strong natural bias towards it that they will seek it for themselves
and act upon it quite as much as or more than is good for them: there
is no need of encouraging reason. With unreason the case is different.
She is the natural complement of reason, without whose existence reason
itself were non-existent.
If, then, reason would be non-existent were there no such thing as
unreason, surely it follows that the more unreason there is, the more
reason there must be also? Hence the necessity for the development of
unreason, even in the interests of reason herself. The Professors of
Unreason deny that they undervalue reason: none can be more convinced
than they are, that if the double currency cannot be rigorously deduced
as a necessary consequence of human reason, the double currency should
cease forthwith; but they say that it must be deduced from no narrow
and exclusive view of reason which should deprive that admirable
faculty of the one-half of its own existence. Unreason is a part of
reason; it must therefore be allowed its full share in stating the
initial conditions.