INTRODUCTION TO MECCO
It is a week since I arrived in Mecco, and for the first time I have
leisure to write up my journal. The life of a Foreign Observer is very
strenuous, for the Meccanian method of seeing everything according
to programme and timetable is very fatiguing. Already I feel that
a holiday will be welcome at the end of my tour. In the whole of
this vast city of Mecco there is nothing casual, nothing incidental,
nothing unprovided for. Although I am only a spectator, I feel like
a little cog in the huge complicated machine. The machine seems to
absorb everything; the individual counts for nothing. That is perhaps
the reason why it seems impossible to get into contact with any human
being other than the officials who instruct me and conduct me every
moment of my time. I begin to wonder whether the individual Meccanian
really exists, or whether his personality is merged in the official
personality which is all that is visible to me.
To resume the record of my experiences. Before I left Bridgetown,
Sub-Conductor Sheep repeated his opinion that in choosing Tour No. 1,
which allowed only a week for the study of an important town, I had
revealed my incapacity as a Foreign Observer. He evidently put me down
in one of the pigeon-holes of his mind as a mere tourist--a creature
almost extinct in Meccania. The day before my departure I paid the
bill for his services, which were reckoned at the modest rate of 16s.
a day. My hotel bill was also discharged, and I proceeded to my final
interview with the Police Authorities. I had to submit to another
disinfecting bath, but apart from this the medical examination was a
formality.
At the Police Office, Inspector of Foreigners Stiff was very sarcastic
at my expense. "So you think there is nothing more to be learnt in
Bridgetown," he remarked. "It is not more than ten days since you left
Luniland, and you think yourself qualified to proceed to the very
centre of our national Culture. Evidently your stay in Luniland has not
improved whatever powers of appreciation you may have possessed; but
that is what one would expect from that country of amateurs, charlatans
and cranks. You have seen nothing of our Museum, our Art Collections,
our Libraries: you are not interested in such things. How, then, do you
suppose you will be able to appreciate what you will find in Mecco? We
do our best to assist all Foreign Observers, but it is rather a waste
of time to provide an experienced and qualified Conductor for persons
who are so clever that they only require a week to learn all there
is to know in a whole city. However," he added, "the law with respect
to Foreign Observers does not forbid you to proceed to Mecco. You
have your medical certificate, I suppose, to show that you are still
disease-free?" I produced it. "Have you notified the Railway Authority
of your intention to travel to Mecco?" I had not done so.
"Turn to paragraph 44 of your Instructions and you will see that a
day's notice must be given," he said brusquely. "You will have to stay
another night in the hotel and travel to-morrow. Good morning."
Sheep accompanied me to the booking-office at the station, where I
filled up a form of application. When this was presented to the clerk
in charge, a fussy little old man in a chocolate-coloured uniform, he
turned to Sheep in great excitement and whispered something which I did
not hear. Then he turned indignantly to me and said, "But you are not
an Ambassador, nor even a Government Agent."
"No," I said; "I am merely National Councillor Ming."
"So I see," he answered testily, "but why do you wish to travel First
Class?" (I had filled in the word "First" in the space for "Class.")
"Are you not aware," he said, "that only foreigners who are Ambassadors
are ever permitted to travel First Class? You will travel Third Class
in the compartment for Foreign Observers."
Next morning I went to the station in good time. An attendant from the
hotel brought my bags over and handed them to one of the porters. I
did not see them again until I found them in the hotel at Mecco. I was
handed over to an official at the station. This person looked at my
travel-permit and informed me curtly that I had arrived too early. I
said, "Oh, that does not matter. I can look about the station until the
train starts."
"That is not permitted," he said. "You will go to the waiting-room--that
is what a waiting-room is for. Your train will come in a quarter of an
hour before it is due to leave, and you will then take your seat,
Coach Third Class, Compartment IV., Seat No. 12."
So I was taken to the waiting-room. Apparently I did not miss much of
interest, for the station was one of the quietest and dullest I have
ever seen. There is very little traffic across the frontier, so that
Bridgetown station is a sort of dead-end. Only three passenger trains a
day go direct to Mecco, and these are by no means crowded. I have since
learnt that the restrictions on travelling in all parts of Meccania are
part of the general policy designed to keep down unnecessary forms of
expenditure to a minimum.
The train was due to leave at ten o'clock. At a quarter before ten
exactly, as I looked through the window screen I saw it gliding along
the platform into the bay. A bell rang, and my porter came to take me
to my place. As I stepped across the platform I saw about a hundred
people preparing to get into the train. Where they had been up to this
moment I do not know. There was no bustle. Each person took his place
as if he had been taking his seat in a concert-room. There was no
examination of tickets. Every one had booked his seat the day before,
and every seat was numbered. The train was made up of five passenger
coaches, a post-office van, a baggage wagon, two wagons for perishable
goods and a special coach for soldiers (privates). One of the passenger
coaches painted red bore a large Roman II., indicating that it was a
Second Class coach, another painted yellow was marked III., two others
painted green were marked IV., and another painted chocolate was marked
V. There was no First Class coach on this train, as there were no
persons of the First Class travelling by it. Neither, apparently, were
there any Sixth or Seventh Class passengers. Every one travelling wore
a sort of uniform overcoat of the same colour as that of the coach in
which he travelled. It was only later that I was able to recognise
readily and without confusion the colours appropriate to the seven
social classes, but I did notice that the Fifth Class wore chocolate,
the Fourth green, the Third yellow and the Second red or scarlet.
I was taken to a compartment temporarily set apart for foreigners in
the Third Class coach. There was still ten minutes before the train
started, so I looked out of the window and saw the porters and minor
officials storing the luggage, putting in the mails, and so forth. The
perishable goods had already been loaded, in a siding I suppose. No one
was permitted on the platform except the railway servants, so that the
station looked almost deserted. Presently the stationmaster, dressed in
a green uniform with chocolate facings and a bit of gold braid on his
cap, came on the platform and looked at his watch. Then, exactly as the
big bell of the station clock began to strike ten, he waved a signal
and the train glided out.
In a few minutes we were going at 100 miles an hour, and in less than
a quarter of an hour the speed increased to 150. The track was smooth,
but I began to feel dizzy when I looked out of the window. There was
little to be seen, for every now and then we passed between embankments
that shut out the view. I pulled down the blinds, turned on the light
and tried to read. In a short time I had almost forgotten the immense
speed at which we were travelling.
I had previously learnt that if I went to Mecco by the express I
should see nothing of the country, and had consequently proposed to
travel by a stopping train, perhaps breaking my journey a few times.
But when I mentioned this to Sheep he said it would be impossible. I
could not stop at any place to make a stay of less than three days,
and each of the places I stopped at would have to be notified. I must
either go direct to Mecco, or to some other city. So here I was, almost
flying to Mecco. After about an hour, one of the guards came in to
see that everything was in order. He wore a chocolate uniform, with a
number of stripes and other symbols to indicate his particular grade,
occupation and years of service. After stamping my ticket he grinned
good-humouredly for a Meccanian, and said, "So you are going to see the
wonders of our wonderful Mecco. Lucky man! There is nothing like it
anywhere in the world."
"Indeed," I said, "you have travelled abroad a good deal, then?"
"Oh no. I have never been out of Meccania, thank God!"
"What makes you think there is nothing like it, then, in any other
country?" I asked.
"Oh, the wide streets, the buildings, the gardens, the monuments, the
uniforms, the music, everything--it is c-o-l-o-s-s-a-l! When you have
seen the great monument, the statue of Prince Mechow! There is nothing
like it anywhere. You will see! And you must not miss the Memorial
Museum of Prince Mechow! I tell you it is a privilege to live in Mecco.
But I must not gossip," he said, as if half ashamed; "I have many
duties," and off he went. Towards the end of the journey, which lasted
a little over two hours, he looked in again and said, "You must not
leave Mecco until you have seen the great festival on Prince Mechow's
birthday." I promised to remember it.
As we drew near to Mecco the train slackened speed, and I could see,
but only for a minute or two, a great city spread over a wide plain.
There were domes and towers, steeples and pinnacles, huge masses of
masonry suggesting great public buildings, then miles of houses and
gardens and in the far distance warehouses and factories, but no smoke.
We plunged into a tunnel and then emerged suddenly into a blaze of
light. The train glided along the platform, and as I stepped out I
could not help looking round in admiration at the truly magnificent
arches and lofty dome of the great Central Station of Mecco. The roof
seemed to be made of some wonderful prismatic glass that radiated light
everywhere. The ground was covered with immense tiles in coloured
patterns, all as clean as if they had been washed and scrubbed that
very hour. Not a speck of dirt or smoke was to be seen. Although
hundreds of people were in the station, there was no bustle. No one
sauntered about; every one seemed to go just where he had business.
There was no scrambling for luggage or for cabs. No one was allowed to
take luggage with him unless it could be carried in one hand; the rest
was all registered and sent to its destination by the railway servants.
Only persons of the third or a higher class were allowed to use
motor-cabs, and these were all ordered beforehand. The impression of
orderliness was almost uncanny. As I reached the end of the platform I
was touched on the shoulder by a man in the green uniform of the Fourth
Class, decorated with several stripes and badges. "You are National
Councillor Ming," he said, "and I am Conductor of Foreign Observers
Prigge."
He seemed to be in very good spirits, but this made him rather
offensive than amiable. He treated me as if I were a sort of prisoner,
or at any rate as if I were a very juvenile pupil. He said that as my
bags had gone to the Hotel for Foreign Observers we need not go there
first, but could proceed straight to the Police Office. This was not
far from the station and was a large building, almost like a fortress
in front. Viewed from the other side, as I afterwards saw, it was more
like a set of offices with large windows.
First of all I was taken to the police doctor, who spent nearly two
hours upon a minute medical examination of me. The object of this
could not have been to make sure that I was "disease-free," for I
had been seen the day before by the police doctor at Bridgetown. It
could not have been for the purpose of identification, seeing that the
authorities had obtained all the finger-prints and everything else
they required, on my first arrival. I could only conclude that it was
for the purpose of scientific research. I judged from the remarks
made by Doctor Pincher in the course of his investigations that he
was an expert anthropologist. He took samples of my hair, not only
from my head, but from various parts of my body. He took a sample of
my blood, and of the perspiration from several different glands. He
even removed a small particle of skin, without any pain. He tested
my eyesight, hearing and smell, my muscular powers, and all sorts of
reactions to various stimuli. He informed me that I should require a
pair of spectacles. I said I did not think it was worth while, as I
had never yet experienced any discomfort. He replied that that made no
difference, and proceeded to write out a prescription which he told me
to take to a certain office, where, in a few days, I should be supplied
with the necessary glasses. He then took a cast of my mouth and of my
ears, and measured me in twenty different places. Finally he gave me a
drink of what appeared to be water, but which made me unconscious for
several minutes. What he did during those few minutes I do not know,
and he did not deign to inform me. As I left him he smiled--I suppose
he thought he was being amiable--and said, "We do not have the pleasure
of seeing a Chinaman here every day."
I was then taken to the office of Chief Inspector of Foreigners Pryer.
He looked at me, asked a few trivial questions, and handed me over to a
subordinate, Lower Inspector of Foreigners Bulley. This gentleman sat
at a desk, and after noting the time and my name on a sort of tablet,
took out a yellow form, foolscap size, upon which he proceeded to make
notes of my answers to his questions. He put me through a catechism
as to what I had seen in Bridgetown. Which of the local institutions
had I visited, which of the national, which of the local and national?
What had I learnt of the industrial and social economy of Bridgetown?
What had I learnt of the cultural institutions? Had I made notes of my
daily tours, and could I produce them? (Luckily all my notes were in a
language that Inspector Bulley could not read.)
He then proceeded to discuss plans for my tours of observation in
Mecco. In the first place, how long did I propose to stay? I did not
know. What did the length of my stay depend upon? I said it would
largely depend upon my ability to stand the strain of it.
I thought this would perhaps annoy him, but on the contrary it pleased
him immensely. "Good!" he said. "You are here to study the institutions
of Mecco, and you will stay as long as you have the strength to carry
out your task."
That was not what I meant, but I let it pass.
"I think you had better select the preliminary six months' tour of
observation," he said. "After that, you can begin the study of any
special branch for which you are qualified, and for which you have
an inclination; possibly industry, possibly art, possibly sociology,
possibly education. We can decide that at the end of your preliminary
period. You will have for your guide, for the first few weeks, Lower
Conductor Prigge. As, however, he has just been promoted to a higher
rank in the police service, he will not be available after the first
few weeks, but I will arrange for a suitable successor."
He then presented me with several documents. "This," he said, handing
me a thick notebook of some two hundred pages, "is the preliminary
diary in which you make your notes in whatever form you like. There
are four pages for each day. This is the formal diary for the Time
Department, to be carefully entered up each week and posted before
Sunday morning. These are the sheets of Instructions specially drawn
up for Foreign Observers in Mecco; you will notice they are all marked
'Tour No. 4,' and numbered consecutively. And this," handing me a thin
metal plate about half the size of a postcard, "is your identification
ticket."
It was now the middle of the afternoon. I had had no luncheon, so when
Prigge came to take me off to the hotel, I proposed that we should
have some tea. He demurred a little, as he did not drink tea, but he
consented to have some coffee and a cigar in the smoke-room if I would
drink my tea there. So we went on talking over our tea and coffee, and
this is a specimen of the conversation:--
"You will understand," said Prigge, "that everything depends upon
your own energy and intelligence. If you apply yourself thoroughly
to the work before you, you will learn more in a fortnight under
my guidance than in a whole year in Luniland. I have had a long
experience in conducting foreigners. Most of them have no idea how to
observe, especially those who come from Luniland. They want to roam
about without any system or method at all. They want to see an Art
Gallery one day, and a manufactory the next; or even on the same day.
Then they want to see a natural history museum on the same day as an
archæological museum; they will fly from pottery to pictures, and from
geology to botany. Why, I was taking one of them through our great
museum illustrative of the stages of culture, which is arranged in
twenty successive centuries, and when we had reached the sixteenth he
actually wanted to turn back to look at something in the twelfth!"
"I think it will be a good thing," I said, "if I ask you questions as
we go along, about matters that strike me. With all your knowledge you
will be able to tell me many things outside the regular routine."
"Your proposal implies," he replied, "that I shall not give you
the appropriate information in proper order. If you will follow my
directions you will learn more than by any amount of aimless and
desultory questioning. I have studied the principles of Pedagogy as
applied to conducting Foreign Observers, and I shall accommodate the
presentation of new matter to the existing content of your mind, in so
far as your mind has any definite content. You will not be precluded
from asking questions, but whether I shall answer them will depend upon
their relevance to the subject in hand."
Before we parted he gave me some general instructions. "For the first
week," he said, "you will not be permitted to converse with other
foreigners staying in the hotel. Tonight you will be free to attend
to your private affairs and prepare for tomorrow. We shall begin by a
survey of the general geography of the city, and in the evening you
will have permission to attend one of the lectures specially given
to Foreign Observers by Professor Proser-Toady on Prince Mechow, the
re-Founder of the Meccanian State. Professor Proser-Toady is the
Professor of Historical Culture in Mecco, and this course of lectures
is given periodically, so that foreigners may have no excuse for being
ignorant of the true history of the rise and development of Meccanian
culture."
So I spent the evening in writing letters, looking up my 'Instructions,'
and filling up my diary. For this day, interviews with officials
accounted for at least five hours. Next morning at nine o'clock
Conductor Prigge turned up, looking more perky than ever. He had all
the airs of a professor, a police officer, and a drill sergeant rolled
into one. "Our first business will be to study the map," he said. "To
that we will give one and a half hours. After that we will ascend the
look-out tower in the Meteorological Department and take a view of
the city in the concrete. In the afternoon we will go by tram-car in
three concentric circles, and in the evening you will attend Professor
Proser-Toady's lecture."
We began with the maps. I remembered something of the maps of the old
city from my geographical studies at home, and I remarked on the great
changes, for hardly a vestige of the old city seemed to remain.
Prigge appeared rather pleased. "That is an instance of the superiority
of our culture," he remarked. "All the other capitals of Europe," he
said, "still preserve the plan of the mediæval city, in the central
parts at least. And the central parts are the most important. The
authorities profess to have preserved them because of their historical
interest. In reality it is because they do not know how to remodel
them. Against human stupidity the very gods fight in vain, but to
intelligence all things are possible. Any dolt can plan a new city,
but we are the only people in Europe who know how to remodel our old
cities. Now you will notice," he went on, "that we have preserved the
old royal palace and several other important buildings. They do not
interfere with the general plan. The large central ring, over a square
mile in extent, is occupied by Government buildings; and although there
is a larger number than in all the European capitals put together,
they are not crowded. The square of Prince Mechow, where the great
statue stands, is the largest in Europe. The ring outside that is
occupied by Cultural Institutions, Museums, Art Galleries, Libraries,
the University, the Zoological Gardens, the Botanical Gardens, and so
forth. Next comes a very much larger ring, occupied almost entirely by
the residential quarters of the six social classes. (In Mecco itself
there are no members of the Seventh Class.) The whole presents a
superficial resemblance to a great wheel."
"Where, then, is the manufacturing quarter and the business quarter?"
"Now where would you expect?" he asked, as if to show off his own
cunning.
"I saw a number of factories in the distance," I said.
"Yes," he answered, "the manufacturing quarter lies outside the ring
and forms a sort of town by itself."
"And the business quarter? That must be centrally placed," I said.
"Not necessarily. If you draw a line from the centre of Mecco to the
industrial quarter you will find the commercial quarter occupying
a long rectangle between the second ring and the outer edge of the
exterior circle. The commercial quarter thus cuts the residential ring
on one side. The residential quarters of the Sixth and Fifth Classes
lie on each side of the commercial quarter and are therefore nearest to
the industrial quarter.
[Illustration]
"You will observe," he continued, "that we have no Seventh Class in
Mecco itself. We are an Imperial city, and even the servants of the
well-to-do belong to the Sixth Class. It is the greatest privilege of
a Meccanian citizen to live in Mecco, and all the citizens of Mecco
are, so to speak, selected. None but loyal upholders of the national
and imperial ideal are allowed the privilege of living here. It would
not be right. There again, it is our superior national culture that
has enabled us to realise such a plan. What Government in Europe could
drive out of its capital all citizens who did not actively support the
State?"
"It is indeed a wonderful thing," I said. "But what becomes of such
disloyal citizens when they are, shall I say, expelled or exiled?"
"Ah! You must not believe that _we_ have had to indulge in any policy
of expulsion. You will not find any disloyal element anywhere in
Meccania. A few individuals you might find, but most of them are in
lunatic asylums."
"But surely," I said, "I have read in the histories of Meccania, that
formerly there were large numbers of people, among the working classes
chiefly, who were, well, rather revolutionary in their ideas, and whom
I should not have expected to see becoming loyal to such a State as the
Meccania of to-day."
He smiled a very superior smile. "Really," he said, "the ignorance of
our country which foreigners betray is extraordinary. Disloyalty to
the State is found in every country _except_ Meccania. We have got rid
of it long ago by the simple process of Education. If we find an odd
individual who displays disloyal sentiments we regard him as a lunatic
and treat him accordingly."
"How?" I asked.
"We put him in a lunatic asylum."
"And your lunatic asylums? Have you enough for the purpose?" I ventured
to ask.
Conductor Prigge luckily did not see the point. "In most cases," he
said, "the threat is sufficient. We require very few lunatic asylums,
just as we require few prisons. But we are wandering from the subject,"
he remarked; and he drew out a map of the residential quarters,
coloured in white, red, yellow, green, chocolate and grey, the colours
of the classes, omitting the Seventh.
I noticed that the parts coloured white, red and yellow covered about
half the circle. I was going to put some questions to Prigge as to the
relative numbers of the classes, when he said, "I do not think you
have yet grasped our sevenfold classification of the citizenship of
Meccania."
"Somewhat imperfectly, I am afraid," I replied.
"Then you have not grasped it," he said. "You cannot be said to grasp
it if you are not perfectly clear about it. I will explain. Attend!
Begin with the lowest. That is the logical order. The Seventh Class
consists of persons of the lowest order of intelligence who cannot
profit by the ordinary instruction in the schools beyond a very
moderate degree. They are not very numerous. From the age of ten they
are taught to do simple work of a purely mechanical kind, and when
strong enough are set to do the most menial work which requires little
intelligence. A few other persons, who have failed in life through
their own fault, are relegated to this class as a punishment.
"The Sixth Class corresponds to the unskilled labouring class of most
foreign countries. They are recruited from the children who at twelve
years of age show only average ability. They are then trained to do
either simple manual work, or to act as servants in families below the
Second Class.
"The Fifth is the largest class; it is larger than the Sixth and
Seventh together. We require a very large number of skilled artisans
and clerks in a subordinate capacity. Consequently, we train all who
are capable of profiting by a combination of theoretical and practical
instruction until the age of fifteen, and even for some years after
that, in industrial schools, where they study the practical aspects of
mathematics and science. Consequently, they are by far the most skilled
artisan class in the world. We have no trouble in inducing them to
apply themselves to study, for any member of the Fifth Class who failed
to profit by the system of instruction provided for him would soon find
himself in the Sixth Class, which enjoys much less in the shape of
privileges and material well-being than the Fifth.
"The Fourth Class includes most of the bourgeoisie, the bulk of the
officials and clergy, as well as the small group of professional people
who are not officials. In detail it comprises tradesmen, managers of
businesses and foremen in responsible positions. All these are in the
Industrial and Commercial world. Then come all Civil servants below
the first grade, all non-commissioned officers in the Army and Navy,
all the Clergy below the rank of Bishops. The professional people I
referred to are a few who have not been absorbed in the official class.
We have no journalists in Meccania, no doctors who are not in the State
service, and no lawyers who are not officials."
"Then who _are_ these professional people?" I interrupted.
"They are merely a handful of people, mostly possessed of small private
means, who write books that are never published, or cultivate art, or
music, or science. They are not good enough to be taken into the State
service, and they are gradually disappearing altogether.
"The Third Class," he resumed, "corresponds partly to the Higher
Bourgeoisie of other countries, but it also includes several
more important elements. It comprises the richer merchants and
manufacturers, who must possess an income of at least £5000 a year; the
first class of Civil servants, the Higher Clergy, those University
Professors who have held their posts for ten years and are approved
by the Ministry of Culture, landed proprietors who are District
Councillors and Magistrates, and all Fund-holders with an income of
£10,000 a year.
"The Second Class is the military class. It includes all officers, who
must be of noble birth. A few of the highest Civil servants are in this
class, but they must have previously served as officers in the Army or
Navy.
"The First Class is partly military and partly civil; but, except
members of royal or ducal families, all in the First Class have
previously passed through the Second. Ambassadors are in the First
Class, but they have all served for a period as officers in the Army.
Even the head of a department of State is not admitted to the First
Class unless he has previously been in the Second Class.
"Lastly, the relative numbers of the various classes are as follows:
out of a total population of 100,000,000 only about 10,000 are in the
First Class; 4,000,000 are in the Second; 6,000,000 are in the Third;
20,000,000 are in the Fourth; 40,000,000 are in the Fifth; 20,000,000
are in the Sixth; and the rest, nearly 10,000,000, in the Seventh Class.
"All women take the rank of their fathers or their husbands, whichever
is the higher; children take the rank of their parents until their
sixteenth year. Is that clear?"
"Quite clear," I replied, "except in one particular."
"What is that?"
"I take it that some, at any rate, pass from one class to another. By
what means, for example, does a person who starts life, let us say in
the Fourth Class, obtain admission to the Third?"
"We must take some particular category."
"A business man, a small manufacturer who is highly successful, perhaps
makes some valuable discovery which enriches him. How does he obtain
admission to the Third Class?"
"He must have an income of at least £5000 a year, and he must have
performed some service to the State," answered Prigge promptly.
"And a Civil servant?"
"If he is promoted to the first grade he also is admitted to the Third
Class, but this does not frequently happen."
"Then, on the whole, the children of those in each class respectively
remain in the class in which they are born?"
"That is so as a rule. The percentage has been worked out carefully by
the statistical branch of the Sociological Department. About 4 per cent
of the Seventh Class enter the Sixth, about 5 per cent of the Sixth
enter the Fifth, about 3 per cent of the Fifth enter the Fourth, about
8 per cent of the Fourth enter the Third. No one, strictly speaking,
enters the Second from the Third, but as many of the men of the Second
Class marry women in the Third Class, which is the rich class, the sons
may enter the Second Class, if they are suitable as officers in the
Army. Also, a number of the women of the Second Class marry men in the
Third Class, and their sons also may enter the Army."
"It is a wonderful system," I ventured to observe.
"It is simplicity itself," said Prigge, "yet no other nation has had
the intelligence to discover it, nor even to copy it. As a matter of
fact, it is the only logical and scientific classification of society;
it puts everybody in his proper place."
* * * * *
After this conversation, or rather this discourse, we walked out to
ascend the look-out tower; but on the way we had to cross the great
square of Prince Mechow, and there, for the first time, I saw the great
monument about which I had heard so much. I had expected something
extraordinary, but I was not prepared for the actual thing. It was
as high as a church steeple. At the base was a huge shapeless mass
of basalt. Above this rose a square granite block, twenty feet high,
covered with high-relief sculptures representing in allegorical form
the reconstruction of the Meccanian Super-State. At the four corners
were four figures representing Arms, Intellect, Culture and Power.
Above this again towered a great pedestal a hundred feet high and
forty feet in diameter. On the top stood the colossal statue of Prince
Mechow, a gigantic portrait-figure of a man in the uniform of the
First Class, his breast covered with decorations, a sword in one hand
and a mace or some symbolical weapon in the other. The impression of
brute force which it conveyed was terrific. Every person in the square,
as he came within sight of it, took off his hat; those in military
dress saluted it, and pronounced the words, "Long live Meccania and God
bless Prince Mechow!"
My first feeling on seeing it was one of intense disgust at the
barbarity of the thing, and I was just going to make some satirical
remark when I caught sight of Prigge's face. It wore an expression
of absolute ecstasy, and the look of fierce disdain with which he
said "Uncover!" was startling. He added something which sounded like
"Mongolian monkey," but in the excitement of the moment I was not quite
sure what he said.
I tried to pacify him by saying, in as innocent a tone as I could
assume, "It is indeed the most remarkable statue I have ever seen."
"It is the most perfect embodiment of Meccanian Culture: no other
country could produce such a work," he replied solemnly.
"I am inclined to agree," I said. "Who was the artist who conceived and
executed a monument of such wonderful proportions?"
"The artist? What other nation could produce a man who united such
gifts with such a true Meccanian spirit? He desired that his name
should never be spoken. When the work was completed after ten years,
he gave up his life, and begged to be allowed to be buried underneath
the rock with all the tools that had been used in the execution of the
statue. His dying request was respected. His name is never uttered,
but every child in Meccania knows it, and every citizen in Meccania
comes once every ten years to salute the statue of Prince Mechow and do
honour to the hero-artist who lies buried beneath."
"I shall never forget the story," I said, and we walked on to the
look-out tower. On the way, I noticed that every person in the street
saluted every other person of higher rank than himself. I have since
learnt that there are six different forms of salute, one for each class
above the Seventh, and that it is a point of strict etiquette to give
the right salute. A salute appropriate to the Fourth Class given to
a member of the Third is an insult, and the wrong salute given to a
member of the Second (military) Class may cost the offender his life.
We ascended the look-out tower. The sight was magnificent. From where
we stood the details of the architecture could not be seen, nor even
the style of the buildings. But the general impression produced by such
a vast assemblage of massive edifices was one of grandeur and power,
while the bright sunlight and the absence of smoke and dirt gave the
whole city the appearance of having suddenly sprung up in a night, like
Aladdin's palace.
To the west, in a great semicircle, the quarters of the first three
classes presented a spectacle such as I have not seen in any capital.
Every house was a mansion or a villa surrounded by a pleasant garden.
Here and there one saw large stretches of beautiful park. To the east
the houses were clustered more thickly together, but even on this side
there was an air of orderliness and comfort, although certainly not of
luxury, which contrasted favourably with the populous districts of the
towns I had seen in other countries. About five miles away we could
see distinctly, with the aid of the glasses, the manufactories and
workshops and warehouses of the industrial town that served the needs
of the whole capital.
Conductor Prigge seemed duly satisfied with the impression made on me.
"Here," he said, "you are at the centre of the civilisation of the
modern world. Here are three million thoroughly efficient Meccanians,
every one in his proper place, every one fulfilling his appointed duty.
Think of the disorder, the squalor, the conflict of aims, the absence
of ideals, represented by a city like Lunopolis, or Prisa, and look on
this picture!"
We descended and returned to the hotel.
After luncheon we proceeded with our tour of the tramway system. By
this means I got a good view of the exterior appearance of the houses
of the various classes. It confirmed the impression I had gained
from the look-out tower, except in one respect. The houses of the
well-to-do looked as if they had all been designed by the same school
of architects, and except that they differed in size they might have
been turned out by machinery. The houses of the rest of the population
were 'standardised' to an even greater degree. The dwellings of the
Sixth Class are really blocks of small flats of a standard size; those
of the Fifth Class are similar, except that the rooms are a little
larger and there are more of them. One curious fact came to light in
the course of Conductor Prigge's explanation of the housing system.
It seems that the Births Department determines the number of children
each family is expected to have within a given period of years, and
the houses are distributed accordingly. Thus a family in the Fifth
Class which is due to have, let us say, four children within the next
seven years, is assigned a flat of five rooms. Then, if the same family
is due to have two more children within the next five years, they
move into a house with seven rooms. Persons in the first grade of the
Fifth Class are allowed to take a flat with more rooms on payment of a
special rate or tax.
Apparently there is very little choice of houses. As all the houses of
a certain grade are practically alike, if a tenant wishes to move to
another street he has to furnish valid reasons; and it is not easy to
furnish reasons satisfactory to the authorities. Besides, the number of
houses or flats is very closely proportioned to the number of tenants,
and there are never many vacant houses. The members of the Third and
higher classes own their own houses, and can therefore change their
residences by purchasing or exchanging. By special privilege members
of the Fourth Class can obtain permission to buy their houses, but as
these are mostly flats they are usually rented from the municipality.