become more intimate with the great changes that are taking place
in this young and wonderful new world. So far as I have travelled,
watched and listened, I am certain that _concerted_ action, mental
and physical, is good--even necessary! Boys teach one another. The
peer’s son can teach the peasant, the peasant the peer’s son. Mixing
together of the classes in work as well as play makes for unity,
cohesion and strength.
§ 13
A bird’s-eye view of the new world has been indicated. By this time
who read what my dream relates so far will know that the principles
which guide the new worlds are _socialistic_, that the establishment
of Fraternity is the first object. _Inequality is recognised.
Equality is impossible. Liberty is subject to obedience. Tyranny
under licence is certain, under good fellowship is impossible. The
most dangerous of all tyranny is that which is disguised under the
cloak of Freedom. Before any class can rule efficiently it must have
learnt to obey. Bad leaders are worse than none at all._
My dream had hardly taken any shape when the eyes of my spirit were
first awakened. There is a moment between sleep and waking that is
neither one thing or another. At its start, my dream revealed an
indefinite sketch. I must travel back and hover again over the new
city, to see it in detail and work my silent invisible way among
the new things being slowly revealed as my spiritual sense acquires
power. I am in the new city again, and am full of keen watching.
§ 14
There is one railway station, but, unlike those the other world made,
it is clean, orderly, dustless and smokeless. Electric power drives
the trains, which in some subtle way are provided with noiseless
wheels, which run as smoothly as on ice. When, in my dream, I first
saw the railway station, I was sorry. My spirit had been hoping that
the world would be content to travel slower. But when it gave no
evidence of squalor in its neighbourhood or smoke in its vicinity,
my spirit was quieted. Nevertheless, it has not been drawn thither
again. When the new city was laid out, a boundary was fixed, and no
extension is permitted within prescribed limits. One of the great
curses of the old world was the inordinate size of cities. Impossible
to govern well, certain to create squalor and be refuges for the idle
and dissolute, they were intractable. First comes the open country,
freely cultivated, then the city, then a highly cultivated garden of
fruit and flowers on the gradual slope of the Acropolis, upon which
stand the factories, simply and grandly designed, with no pretence of
architecture. What look like broad chimney stacks, reminding one of
the towers of some Italian city, are storehouses as well as shafts in
which fans are constantly working to take pure air into the factories
and workshops. No one but caretakers and watchmen lives on the
Acropolis.
As we have seen, the City is surrounded by a wall. There are four
entrance gates, which are closed at night, when no work is permitted
by the Commune.
More and more interested my spirit became as it made its unseen
journey. The houses of the city are erected upon the flat land, and
entirely surround the Acropolis. They begin in something over a mile
from the Acropolis walls. The circumference of the gardens is two to
three miles. They provide a considerable portion of the fruit and
vegetables for the city inhabitants. They are tended not only by
special gardeners, but any capable citizen is welcome to work in them
in spare time under certain restrictions. A beautiful walk indeed it
is from the city up to the Acropolis, shaded in summer by luxury of
growth (for there is sun now that the smoke fiend has been slain).
It was midday, a bell rings, reminding me by its majestic tone of
the “Vacca,” in Florence. No ear-distracting hooters are permitted
or hellish shrieks of discordant whistles, which in the old factory
towns were so nerve-racking. As the sound of the bell filled the air,
out of the city came its crowd of workers to make their dinners in
their homes. They are a healthy, happy-looking crew. Life shines her
best light upon them. They are cared for; they are good citizens,
content, honest, and industrious. If the climate is not the best,
what is good of it is no longer spoiled. What has become of “strike
leaders” and suchlike misleading and “out for themselves folk,” I did
not hear for certain. But I did hear one man say to another, “We are
well rid of them,” and upon another occasion, pointing to a pond, a
man said, “That’s where we ducked him, he wasn’t straight.”
How solid and compact the city appeared, how sensible its houses, how
clean and orderly. What a change from the old dreary rows of boxes
called houses, slate roofed, almost windowless, more fit for pigs
than human habitations. These being novel in construction, and with
no pretence to be “architecture,” are quite interesting. It appears
that the original soil has been dug out, probably a foot and a half
of it, a solid mass of concrete run in, framed by four courses of
damp-proof bricks; thus is the floor made and a foundation for walls
established. Piers of concrete are erected, from which the roof
springs. The ends of timbers are imbedded in these piers, which are
thereby strengthened. The intervals between the timbers are filled
with strong laths, well bedded in tenacious plaster. Upright posts
are placed between the horizontal timbers, which prevent the longer
ones from sagging and firmly bind together the intervals of lath and
plaster. The roofs are timber covered with red tiles. The colour
effect is very pleasing. The ground plan is oblong, formed of two
cubes. To avoid monotony, the houses are grouped in four, six and
two. Each house measures 40 feet in length and 20 feet in depth.
What would be called the ground floor is open to the height of 7
feet. Here are kept household implements. The space serves also as
a play-place for children, and in winter can be used by members of
the household for skittles, bowls, and other pleasant games. Rising
from the centre of the ground plan is a shaft showing at regular
intervals pigeon-holes. These shafts contain heat generated in the
neighbourhood by electricity. Instead of wasting energy upon the
discovery of poison gas to slaughter fellow-beings, science has found
means to collect and generate electricity as an agent not only for
movement but for heating, and without the expenditure of coal. At
intervals stand towers, which have a fine effect among the houses.
Within them are the electrical generators.
The houses are composed of two floors, one forming the upward
boundary of the ground floor, the other eight feet above that,
forming the ceiling of the first floor and the floor of the upper
chambers, which are immediately under the roof. To save space, the
stairway to the upper chambers is in the form of a ladder with hand
rails. The largest room is that occupied by the women, where are
their looms and all other implements belonging to their home trades,
which are several. The kitchen is a walled off space within the
foundation level; from it, the upper floor is reached by a ladder and
handrail. The entrance to the first floor is by a stairway parallel
with the elevation.
§ 15
The furniture is of simple construction, home made, for, as we have
seen, the householders take pleasure in craftsmanship. In the long
winter evenings neighbours drop in, giving a helping hand to one
another. It has been found to be far cheaper to make at home than to
buy of profiteering tradesmen; it only means a little more industry,
a good deal less drink, and a pleasure in making and creating innate
in all creation, but which so-called civilisation has done much
to crush. Since the prices demanded by labour became impossible,
profiteering labour has been to a large extent boycotted. Now that
economy has to be practised, working men as well as women have
grown to be industrious. Each house is a little centre of industry,
and great pleasure is evidently derived from following an instinct
definite and surviving, that of creating and making all household
implements at home. Since shops are rarer than they were, the home
is a creating centre, a very home of industry. Hence the look of the
people is content, it has something of proudness in its freedom of
aspect. They have come into their rights by Industry, by Fraternity.
Agitators who would renew disturbances are treated with contempt. The
happiness created by productive labour has concentrated the people,
given them health and manly independence, besides adding to their
incomes. The unmanly vice of drunkenness is rare. When it is in
evidence it is punished as an insult to the dignity of the citizen
and a crime against the Commune. From its earliest years the child
is taught that to be a good citizen is a virtue, and to live by
labour a necessity. To give good work for good wage is held to be a
virtue which, if proceeded with through life, makes a good man and
woman. I was so interested in what my dream was revealing that I made
more intimate observation. Upon the partition walls of the houses I
noticed pleasant and quaint designs, childlike and barbaric, if you
like, but gay, and evidently done by someone who wanted to express a
pleasure in making nice shapes and bright colour.
§ 16
The sound of the loom working was music accompanied by singing as the
women and maidens plied their home trades. Evidently the garments of
these are home made--they look too “good” to be bought at high prices
of profiteers. Kaleidoscopic coloured quilts such as I remember in my
childhood made the beds look warm and snug, and curtains of bright
tints gave a generous feeling of warmth where doors are not needed.
By the way, heating is provided by the Commune at a nominal rate,
not subject to variation. As far as I could see, gas is of the past;
hence houses are cleaner than heretofore, and the air is not vitiated
by the fumes of that abominable product. Factory labour is limited to
seven hours. In summer it starts at 5 a.m., in winter at 7 a.m. In
summer it is all over by 12 p.m., in winter by 2 p.m. The remainder
of the days are free, to be enjoyed in garden cultivation or home
labour, other pleasures, and games.
Now that workers are really leading lives in which they take a
personal interest, and are regarded and regard themselves, not as
slaves, but as kings over their own lives, gambling is rare, and
distasteful sports such as dog fighting and prize fights and other
depressing so-called sports are not in vogue. In their leisure the
people are Artists, taking a pride in their homes and competing
whose shall be the most attractive. As yet I had not travelled
about sufficiently to know whence came the wood so much used in the
new Commune, but presently I shall know. Extensive use of lime is
accounted for--it is a local product. To avoid unnecessary expense
and to encourage local labour, the neighbourhood provides material,
for as little foreign material as possible is imported. Water is
plentiful, a good river meanders in the valley not far from the city,
there are pleasant meadows of fine grass that feeds a goodly number
of cattle, whose milk is pure. Adulteration of _milk_ is treated as a
_crime_! Bad people who for profiteering purposes adulterate milk or
bread are put to prison at once on conviction as criminals.
§ 17
Pollution of rivers, lakes or ponds is _absolutely_ forbidden;
hence there is a constant supply of fresh water fish, which forms
an important feature in the food of the city. Rivers, lakes and
ponds are stocked with fish and fry every year, and close times
are respected. The sale of fresh water fish is the outcome of a
recognised trade which is conducted by experts, and woe betide the
poacher, or still more the factory owner, who steals or poisons them.
Preserves for the private pleasure of fishermen or other sportsmen
are not forbidden, but are out of fashion: _Fraternity_ has overcome
_Egoism_ to a large extent. Inasmuch as honesty is regarded as a
virtue and dishonesty a vice (not the case under Trades Unions) it
has spread from large to smaller issues. A factory owner who polluted
a river, besides being punished by the Commune for so doing, would be
regarded a CAD by the public at large, and would find rough handling
unpleasant. For a moment my attention is again called to education,
for my spirit has been listening. _Truthfulness_, _absolute_ and
_pure_, is inculcated from tenderest years at home and at school.
It is involved in the duty to the neighbour as to God, it is the
foundation of Wisdom, Justice and Fraternity. Faith in the good faith
of the neighbour has become a habit. To override, cheat or deceive
a neighbour is an _unmanly_ act. The Communes seek to make _men_,
men who are responsible, not only to their own dignity, but to the
Commune, and this is the first clause of the creed in which there are
but two commands--Duty to the neighbour and to God, the one includes
the other. Fringes to this simple creed there are no doubt, but
those two clauses are essentials on which all addenda hangs. Besides
teaching a craft, scholars are initiated into the works of the great
English poets. Young people are taught to recite passages from
Shakespeare, Milton and other great poets, and they are encouraged
to act the part they recite, because, as we shall presently see, the
Drama takes a prominent place in the mental development of the new
Communes.
§ 18
Caligraphy is taught as an Art. It is pleasant to look over the pages
of children’s writing, so different to the scrawls which were called
writing a while ago. Drawing comes under the section of caligraphy,
to which it belongs. Making nicely shaped lettering means _drawing
letters_. A child who has learned to draw letters well will soon
learn to copy other forms.
Dancing (not romping) but the good old English dancing, so graceful
and dignified, is part of the curriculum of education. It engenders
good manners, elegant deportment, and self-control, besides being an
extremely beneficial exercise. There is no folk music more lovely
than the old English, and it is being revived, that one knows, for
familiar old songs are heard in the fields now almost as constantly
as Italian folk songs are heard in Italy. The people have lost the
stiff, morose manner they had; while they work they sing. Their
health is better now that they are more in the open air, and being
engaged in open air pursuits their spirits have gained in elasticity
and freedom of expression. The invention of new tunes is encouraged;
hence there is quite a little school of modern and simple folk song
growing which is pleasant, uncomplicated, and melodious.
Before learning foreign tongues our own is better taught now.
Dialects are not discouraged; indeed, the reverse, the dialect of a
county is encouraged as an indisputable characteristic of the people.
There is only one dialect that is hateful (Cockney), and every effort
is being made to eradicate that. Our own splendid language is great
in poetry, from Chaucer to Wordsworth; to teach it through the works
of the poets is to get it at its best. In Italy, where the craftsman
class is far more cultivated than it has been in England, her great
poets are common property; one hears Dante quoted constantly, as well
as Tasso and minor poets. Under the new order in England there is
reason to hope that ignorance of our great poets will give place to a
general acquaintance with them. An individual who can speak and write
his own language decently is not ill educated. If he has acquired
facility in the language of his birthplace, diligence will soon give
him some in foreign tongues. Those young people who show an aptitude
for languages have the opportunity of qualifying in them, but the
general run of labour and craftsmanship has no need of them. To fill
the mind and memory with too many subjects at once is to dilute all.
A sound knowledge of craftsmanship is what is wanted, and that is
evidently being supplied by practice, a thousand times better system
than by theory. Constant _occupation_, not _excitements_, create
content. Excitements produce reaction. Occupation, varied in kind,
steadies the character. It is with a view to that that the Communes
do not overwork their workers. Energy is left to them after their
hours of labour for which they are well paid, and to use it either
physically or mentally, out of doors working in gardens or fields,
or in their homes upon all such things which tend to make the home
a happy and profitable little city in itself. A grumbler is voted
a nuisance, an agitator an obstruction. Loiterers and loafers who
would live on the earnings of honest citizens are held to be mean
unproductive weeds for which the Communes have no use. For agitators
there is no room now, the democratic howler at street corners or on
common land finds no listeners; he is treated as a windbag since it
has become known to the community at large that in the past he was a
well-paid mischief-maker, who did far more harm than good to a cause
which he pretended to advance.
§ 19
Dreams are vagarious, they are not restricted to times or seasons.
Night appears during midday hours. The paradox is lively, often very
humorous, but by no means ill fitting. From summer to winter is like
the winking of an eyelid. In my dream the shades of a winter evening
arrived. Factory working hours were over. My spirit was transported
within the walls of one of the houses recently described. Well
placed electric lights made the home as bright as day. A pleasant
warm air gently circulated in the rooms from the pigeon-holes in the
heating shafts. What we used to call England’s sun, the open fire,
with all the smoke and dirt it made, its extravagance of fuel and
insufficient warmth it provided, is no more. Since the abolition of
the use of coal as a speed and warmth producer, sunshine in England
is more than doubled and there is much less rain and mist; so,
even in winter, the air is warmer, while it is clear and clear of
particles which robbed us of light and rendered a clean house almost
an impossibility in the barbarous past.
A family is busy. The head of it, a fine type of workman, clean
and appropriately dressed as a workman should be, is occupied in
making a table. His wife is busy at her loom. Two daughters are
sewing together strips of strong woollen stuff which are to form
by no means inelegant frocks. The stuff is dyed a pleasant blue.
They are not using sewing machines, but ply the needle with patient
hands; a strong thread well waxed is inevitable. Hand sewing being
more durable than machine is, in the long run, more economical. Two
sons are helping their father. In the corner of this bright sitting
and working room, a table is laid for supper, covered by a spotless
cloth. Pewter plates and jugs glisten with their bright polish.
Large loaves of wholemeal look fat and desirable, while a big cheese
fresh from a dairy is appetising and tempting. Hard by is a barrel
of ale, real ale, made of hops and malt, wholesome and invigorating.
No shams enter into its making; no poisonous chemicals destroy its
purity. One or two neighbours have dropped in, and pleasant talk is
in progress. When supper is finished work is suspended, some simple
glees echo pleasantly from the walls, or a story is read aloud and
commented upon. How thrifty it all looks, how homeful, how quietly
gay is the atmosphere of this modestly provided household; what a
contrast it presents to the old squalor, absence of order and often
low dissipation of past times, and not so far off, which were called
civilised and free, but were indeed barbarous and tyrannical.
The streets are quiet, most of the inhabitants are occupied in a
manner similar in motive, if different in the matter of it. At an
early hour, before midnight, the big bells of the Commune ring, when
it is expected that the people will go to rest. Soon after the whole
city is asleep, resting after a day of rich labour.
§ 20
It is midsummer again; my dream is again vagarious! I find my way to
the Market Place. In its centre stands the Town Hall. Now that the
smoke fiend is slain and outdoor life in cities is pleasant, markets,
which fell into disuse owing to grasping profiteering tradesmen,
who put what price they pleased upon indifferent goods, robbed
honest folk right and left, did not like the restraint which markets
put upon unreasonable profits. A weekly market is a wholesome and
sensible institution. It fosters an influx of fresh goods, it tends
to economy and providence, in that the people reckon up their weekly
requirements and purchase them at a price which, if not absolutely
uniform, varies little compared with the chaotic licence permitted in
the less well regulated communities of the past. On every Monday the
market opens early and continues through hours of daylight. Pretty
well any useful article is found there, from reels of cotton, pots
and pans, good woven stuffs, boots and shoes, groceries also, which
under old conditions were the means of elaborate swindling, are to
be bought in all their varieties. Market days bring into contact
town and country folk; their existence is one of the chief causes
of the departure of that expensive nuisance, the middleman. Markets
discourage fluctuation in prices and encourage the sale of fresh,
in place of stale goods. The weekly held market lessens weekly
expenditure by something like half of what it was when tradesmen
charged what they pleased for even stale goods. The middleman was a
rascal, he was the “Muck Rake” in the Pilgrim’s Progress, he grabbed
money earned by his betters, he was a kind of cuckoo laying eggs in
other birds’ nests, he was sharp, not clever, and as unprincipled
as constructively idle. As a social pest the middleman is now being
dealt with by wiser economic measures. Probably the lessening in the
numbers of small tradesmen has tended to speed agriculture. Unable
to build up small fortunes by dishonest trade proceedings, the
class which was pre-eminent in that respect is tending toward _land
labour_, which, under the new conditions of life, is numerically
larger than it was.
On market day all the classes meet. Owing to the high price demanded
by domestic servants in the past, ladies of high rank are their own
housekeepers. The most wealthy keep few servants; hence the young
ladies of noble families are converted into economic housewives, and
setting themselves to their task, do it well; being better educated
now, whatever they set out to do they do with forethought. Thus they
make good wives, daughters, and mothers, and are spending far less
time than formerly upon idle amusements.
The foregoing is a sketch of what the weekly open market is doing for
the community by bracing it up and giving it backbone, eradicating
spineless self-indulgence and a mischievous system of profiteering.
The Town Hall is the most ample building outside the factories. It
is the centre of INTELLECTUAL as well as COMMERCIAL life. While it
belongs to the people it represents also a kind of University. No
pedantic teaching goes on there, but lectures upon all branches of
knowledge are delivered by chosen experts, to which the public are
admitted free. These lectures are delivered voluntarily by good
and cultivated citizens, whose pride it is to give their knowledge
_without fees_. Chiefly these are delivered in the winter months,
because most of the people’s spare time in summer is spent, not
within, but outdoors. Socrates found wisdom in the Agora, and wise
men of to-day search in the market for the same. Hence there is
constant touch of intellectual as well as commercial interests
between class and class. This is leading to a surprising unity of
conception and practice. Within the walls of the Town Hall is the
large concert room, where the best music is given, and as far as
possible by local talent, which does not mean only of the cities,
but coming out of the population of the county _inclusive_. This
concentration gives a chance to local success which importation in
the days of centralisation never achieved, when native talent was
overlooked.
§ 21