"I think you left directions that you were to be thawed in 199--
precisely?" said the stranger politely. "Allow me to introduce
myself--NUMBER SEVEN MILLION AND SIX. If you feel equal to the effort,
and would care to see the vast improvements in our social condition
since the close of the benighted Nineteenth Century, I shall be pleased
to conduct you."
MR. PUNCH then began to realise that he had had himself frozen by a
patent process just a hundred years ago, and that he had returned to
animation in time for the close of the marvellous Twentieth Century; so
he prepared, in much curiosity and excitement, to accompany his guide.
"By the way," observed the latter, "you must not be annoyed if
your--hem--habiliments, which we are unaccustomed to nowadays, should
attract some attention."
Singularly enough, MR. PUNCH had just begun to feel a certain
embarrassment at the prospect of being seen in Piccadilly or Regent
Street in the company of a person attired in grey cellular pyjamas, a
drab blanket, and a glazed pot hat. However, on reaching the street, he
found that every man he met was similarly clad, while his own
costume--which, in his original century, would only have been remarkable
for its unimpeachable taste--was, in this, the subject of universal and
invidious comment.
"You'll have your regulation pot hat and pyjamas served out to you in
time!" said MR. SEVEN MILLION AND SIX encouragingly. "Then no one will
say anything to you. In these days we resent anything that tends to
confer an artificial distinction on any man. Surnames, for example,
which occasionally suggested superiority of birth, have long been
abolished, and official numbers substituted. You seem to be looking for
something you do not see?" he added, noting a certain blankness and
disappointment in MR. PUNCH'S expressive countenance.
"I was only wondering why I saw no signs of any new and marvellous
inventions at present," said MR. PUNCH. "I rather expected to see the
air full of electric trains, manageable balloons, or coveys of citizens
darting about on mechanical pinions. But I see none, and even more
people go on foot than in my own time."
"Inventions, I take it," was the reply, "only served to enrich the
Capitalist, and save time or labour. Now we have no Capitalists and no
riches, and no reason for hurrying anywhere, while it would be absurd
and useless to lessen the amount of manual labour when, even as it is,
there is scarcely enough to keep everyone employed for six hours a day."
"Why are all the women I see dressed exactly alike in navy-blue woollen
frocks and coal-scuttle bonnets?" MR. PUNCH inquired presently. "Surely
they can't _all_ be members of the Sal----"
"A uniform costume was decreed by plebiscite some years ago," replied
his mentor, promptly. "Any real equality amongst women was found
hopeless so long as some were able to render themselves exceptionally
attractive by a distinctive toilette."
"What!" exclaimed MR. PUNCH, "did all the pretty women consent to such a
sacrifice?"
"They were in a very decided minority, even then," said MR. SEVEN
MILLION AND SIX; "and it is not our way to think much of minorities. At
present, owing no doubt to an enactment which penalised every pretty
woman by compelling her to wear blue goggles and a respirator, feminine
beauty is practically extinct."
MR. PUNCH could not restrain a sigh. They were now entering a somewhat
gloomy thoroughfare, between massive blocks of buildings, with large
doors and innumerable small windows, which towered into the sky on
either hand.
"I seem to miss the shop-fronts," he said aloud, "with their
plate-glass, and all their glitter and luxury. What has become of them
all?"
"Such necessaries as the citizen requires," said his companion, "are
procured at the Public Storehouses, which you see around you, by the
simple method of presenting a ticket. The luxuries you refer to were
only procurable by the rich, and nobody is rich now. If you will come
with me, I will take you over one of the State Dwelling-houses, and show
you one of the suites of rooms. Every citizen has a room; or, if
married, a couple of rooms, exactly the same shape and size as those of
his fellows.... Beautifully clean, you see!" he remarked, complacently,
as he threw open one of the doors. "Neat whitewashed walls, plain deal
furniture, nice holland blinds--what more can any reasonable citizen
want in the way of comfort?"
"There used to be a celebrated poet in my time," said MR. PUNCH,
with some hesitation, "Who designed and sold very beautiful
upholster--tapestry, wall-papers, curtains, and so on. I fancy _he_
held socialistic views. But I see no trace of his work _here_."
"I think I know whom you refer to," was the reply. "The community would
doubless have been glad of his company's services if they would only
have contracted to supply every citizen with precisely the same pattern
and quality of their manufactures at, say, a pork-pie a yard, but, for
some reason, the firm could not see their way to it, and the industry
declined; which is not to be regretted, for it certainly tended to
foster individualism."
"It is curious," said MR. PUNCH, when they were outside again, "that I
have not as yet seen a single policeman."
"Not at all curious. We _have_ none. Crime simply proceeded from the
galling sense of social inequality. Consequently, as soon as that was
removed, Justice, with all its machinery, became an anachronism."
"I think," said MR. PUNCH, presently, "I should like to take a stroll in
Hyde Park."
"That," said his guide, "has not been possible for at least fifty years.
All the parks are now cut up into three-acre allotments, where every
able-bodied citizen does an hour's compulsory spade-work once a
fortnight. A most admirable reform, as you will agree!"
"Capital!" gasped MR. PUNCH, with an anticipatory pain in his back.
"Then I am curious to see what strides have been made by your modern
painters. Could you take me to a picture-gallery?"
"There are _no_ modern painters. It is perhaps a pity--but quite
unavoidable. It was an obvious injustice that, when all citizens had to
perform their share of more or less distasteful manual labour, there
should be any one class that earned a living by work in which they took
a positive pleasure. So that every artist had to do his six hours'
stone-breaking or brick-making; or what not, as an antecedent condition
of being permitted to paint at all, and naturally the State declined to
provide him with paints and brushes at the expense of the community. A
few artists persisted for a while, from sheer love of the thing; but as
no picture fetched more than a pound of sausages, and the average price
was a bowl of porridge, they found it expedient to turn to some more
useful occupation. And it is undeniable that they contribute more to the
resources of the commonwealth by wielding a trowel or a broom than by
messing about with brushes and paint. As a concession to hereditary
instinct, however, their descendants are still set apart as State
white-washers."
"And the drama?" MR. PUNCH inquired next. "How is _that_ getting on? Has
the New Dramatist made his appearance at last?"
"On the contrary, I am glad to say he has disappeared--let us hope for
ever. For, the essence of Drama, as I understand, was Emotion--Passion,
Jealousy, Marital and Parental relations, and so on. Now that marriages
are the subject of State regulation, and extend only for a limited
period, Passion, of course is obsolete; Jealousy, too, is recognised as
merely Selfishness in disguise, and we have grown too altruistic to
desire the exclusive possession of anything. While as the offspring of
every union are removed at birth to a communal _creche_, and brought up
and educated by the State, there are no longer any opportunities for
filial or parental affection."
"Then I presume Fiction is equally----?"
"Just so. Fiction depended on Contrast. When everybody is on precisely
the same level, the novelist is, happily, unnecessary. What are you
looking for _now_?"
"I was wondering if I could buy an evening paper anywhere," said MR.
PUNCH, wistfully. "But perhaps Journalism is also----?"
"Of course. Everyone is so contentedly and peacefully absorbed in
contributing his share of work to the State, that he has no desire to
read about the doings of other persons, even if there was anything of
interest to be told, which there isn't. We produce just sufficient for
our own wants, so there is no commerce; we have no Army or Navy, since
we don't desire to conquer, and are not worth conquering. No Politics,
because we govern ourselves by our own consent and co-operation; no
Science, as inventors only benefited capital at the expense of labour;
and, this being so, what _is_ there to put into a newspaper, if we had
one?"
"Haven't you even a--a _humorous_ paper?" said MR. PUNCH. "I used to do
a little in that way once."
"You had better not do it _here_. Humour, I believe, consisted in
representing Humanity under ridiculous aspects. _We_'re Humanity, and we
don't see any fun in being laughed at. None of your humour here, mind!"
"But the citizens have a certain amount of leisure, I suppose," said MR.
PUNCH. "How _do_ they amuse themselves? For I can discover no
libraries, no circuses, nor concert-rooms, nor anything!"
[Illustration: "None of your humour here, mind!"]
"It was seen to be invidious to furnish any entertainment at the public
expense which did not give equal amusement to all, and so the idea was
gradually dropped. When our citizens have finished their daily task,
they find their relaxation, in the intervals of eating and sleeping, in
the harmless and soothing practice of chewing gum. They can all do
_that_, and the State provides each with a weekly supply for the
purpose. Now tell me--is there anything _more_ I can do for you?"
"Yes," murmured MR. PUNCH; "if you would be so very kind as to freeze me
again for five hundred years or so, I should be exceedingly obliged. I
don't feel quite at home in _this_ century!"
[Illustration]