So I began by asking how the diminishing numbers of the military couldkeep a sufficient watch, and how it was that every one submitted someekly to the proclamation. She answered that the police recruitedthemselves yearly from the more active and noble-minded of the people,that custom had a lot to do with the submissive attitude of mankind,and that apart from that, there was a great resolve abroad to carryout the project of King Harris to fulfilment. She went on to inform methat Smithia was tasteless, and would act even when drunk at meals,and not merely as an injection, that it acted on both sexes, and thatit was otherwise innocuous. By now most of the well-springs,reservoirs, and cisterns had been contaminated by the fluid, of whichlarge quantities had been prepared at a very cheap price. Aftergleaning sundry other details, I thanked her heartily and left thecell.
Outside in the courtyard I discovered a large concourse of peopleexamining the baby, who was naturally enough an object of extremewonder to the whole countryside. The women called it a duck, and usedother pet names that were not then in fashion, but most of the menthought it was an ugly little brat at best. The child was seated on acushion, and despite his mother's absence was crowing vigorously andkicking with puny force. There was some debate as to how it should bekilled. Some were for boiling and eating it; others were for hittingit on the head with a club. However, the official who held the cushionbrought the conference to a close by inadvertently dropping the childon to the flags, and thereby breaking its neck.
V
THE FLORENTINE LEAGUE
I feel certain on reflection that the scene of the last episode musthave been America, for I remember returning to Europe on a French boatwhich landed me at Havre, and immediately taking the train to Paris.As I passed through Normandy, I saw hardly a soul stirring in thevillages, and the small houses were all in a most dilapidatedcondition. There was no more need for farms, and villagers in theirloneliness were flocking to the towns. Even the outer suburbs of Pariswere mere masses of flaked and decaying plaster. An unpleasant crashinto the buffers of Saint Lazare reminded me that the engine was beingdriven by an amateur; indeed, we had met the Dieppe train at Rouen,sent a pilot engine ahead to clear the way, and then raced it to Parison the up-line amid enthusiastic cheers. We won, but were badlyshaken.
We left the train beside the platform, trusting to the ChurchMissionary Society man to put it away in the engine-shed. Theseexcellent philanthropists were unwearying in their efforts to preventneedless loss of life, and such work as was still done in the worldwas performed almost entirely by them and by members of kindredBritish Protestant societies. They wore a blue badge to distinguishthemselves, and were ordered about by every one. At the call of"Anglais, Anglais!" some side-whiskered man would immediately run upto obey the summons, and you could send him to get food from the Storefor you, and he would be only too pleased. They would also cook hotdinners.
I walked through the Boulevard Montmartre, and at every step I took Ibecame more profoundly miserable. One had called Paris the pleasurecity, the fairest city in the world, in the days before theProclamation; for one found it vibrating with beauty and life. And nowassuredly it was supremely a city of pleasure, for there was no workto be done at all. So no artist ever took any trouble now, since therewas neither payment nor fame attainable; and wonderful caricatures ofphilanthropists scribbled on the pavement or elsewhere, or cleverribald songs shrieking out of gramophones were the only reminder ofthat past and beautiful Paris that I had known. There was a fatuousand brutal expression on most of the faces, and the people seemed tobe too lazy to do anything except drink and fondle. Even the lunaticsattracted but little attention. There was a flying-machine man who wasdetermined, as he expressed it, "that it should not be said of thehuman race that it never flew." Even the "Anglais" were tired ofhelping him with his machine, which he was quietly building on thePlace de l'Opera--a mass of intricate wires, bamboos, and paper boxes;and the inventor himself frequently got lost as he climbed cheerilyamong the rigging.
Weary of all this, I slept, alone, in one of the public beds, andearly next morning I clambered up the sacred slope of the Butte to seethe sunrise. The great silence of early morning was over the town, adeathly and unnatural stillness. As I stood leaning over the parapet,thinking miserably, a young man came up the hill slowly yetgracefully, so that it was a pleasure to look at him. His face was sadand noble, and as I had never thought to see nobility again, I hopedhe would be a friend to me. However, he turned himself almost roughly,and said:
"Why have you come here?"
"To look at the fallen city I loved long ago," I replied, withcareless sorrow.
"Have you then also read of the old times in books?" he said, lookinground at me with large bright eyes.
"Yes, I have read many books," said I, trying to evade the subject."But will you forgive me if I ask an impertinent question?"
"Nothing coming from you, sir, could be impertinent."
"I wanted to ask how old you are, because you seem so young. You seemto be only seventeen."
"You could tell me nothing more delightful," the young man replied,with a gentle, yet strong and deep intonation. "I am indeed one of theyoungest men alive--I am twenty-two years old. And I am looking forthe last time on the city of Paris."
"Do not say that," I cried. "All this may be horrible, but it cannotbe as dull as Death. Surely there must be some place in the worldwhere we could live among beauty, some other folk besides ourselveswho are still poets. Why should one die until life becomes hopelesslyugly and deformed?"
"I am not going to kill myself, as you seem to think," said the youngman. "I am going, and I pray and implore you to come with me, to aplace after your heart and mine, that some friends have prepared. Itis a garden, and we are a League. I have already been there threemonths, and I have put on these horrible clothes for one day only, inobedience to a rule of our League, that every one should go out once ayear to look at the world around. We are thinking of abolishing therule."
"How pleasant and beautiful it sounds!"
"It is, and will you come with me there right now?"
"Shall I be admitted?"
"My word will admit you at once. Come this way with me. I have a motorat the bottom of the hill."
During the journey I gathered much information about the League, whichwas called the Florentine League. It had been formed out of theyoungest "years" of the race, and its members had been chosen fortheir taste and elegance. For although few parents of the day hadthought it worth while to teach their children anything more reconditethan their letters and tables, yet some of the boys and girls haddeveloped a great desire for knowledge, and an exceeding great delightin Poetry, Art, Music, and all beautiful sights and sounds.
"We live," he said, "apart from the world, like that merry company ofgentle-folk who, when the plague was raging at Florence, left thecity, and retiring to a villa in the hills, told each other thoseenchanting tales. We enjoy all that Life, Nature, and Art can give us,and Love has not deserted the garden, but still draws his golden bow.It is no crippled and faded Eros of the city that dwells among us, butthe golden-thighed God himself. For we do all things with refinement,and not like those outside, seeing to it that in all our acts we keepour souls and bodies both delicate and pure."
We came to the door of a long wall, and knocked. White-robedattendants appeared in answer to our summons, and I was stripped,bathed, and anointed by their deft hands. All the while a sound ofsinging and subdued laughter made me eager to be in the garden. I wasthen clothed in a very simple white silk garment with a gold clasp;the open door let sunshine in upon the tiles, and my friend, alsoclothed in silk, awaited me. We walked out into the garden, which wasespecially noticeable for those flowers which have always been calledold-fashioned--I mean hollyhocks, sweet-william, snapdragons, andCanterbury bells, which were laid out in regular beds. Everywhereyoung men and women were together: some were walking about idly in theshade; some played at fives; some were reading to each other in thearbours. I was shown a Grecian
temple in which was a library, anddwelling-places near it. I afterwards asked a girl called Fiore diFiamma what books the Florentines preferred to read, and she told methat they loved the Poets best, not so much the serious and strenuousas those whose vague and fleeting fancies wrap the soul in anenchanting sorrow.
I asked: "Do you write songs, Fiore di Fiamma?"
"Yes, I have written a few, and music for them."
"Do sing me one, and I will play the guitar."
So she sang me one of the most mournful songs I had ever heard, a songwhich had given up all hope of fame, written for the moment's laughteror for the moment's tears.
"Wind," I said that night, "stay with me many years in the garden."
But it was not the Wind I kissed.
VI
OUTSIDE
I passed many years in that sad, enchanted place, dreaming at times ofmy mother's roses, and of friends that I had known before, andwatching our company grow older and fewer. There was a rule that noone should stay there after their thirty-seventh birthday, and someold comrades passed weeping from us to join the World Outside. Butmost of them chose to take poison and to die quietly in the Garden; weused to burn their bodies, singing, and set out their urns on thegrass. In time I became Prince of the Garden: no one knew my age, andI grew no older; yet my Flame-Flower knew when I intended to die. Thuswe lived on undisturbed, save for some horrible shout that rose fromtime to time from beyond the walls; but we were not afraid, as we hadcannon mounted at our gates. At last there were twelve of us left inthe precinct of delight, and we decided to die all together on the eveof the Queen's birthday. So we made a great feast and held good cheer,and had the poison prepared, and cast lots. The first lot fell toFiore di Fiamma, and the last lot to me; whereat all applauded. Iwatched my Queen, who had never seemed to me as noble as then, in hermature and majestic beauty. She kissed me, and drank, and the othersdrank, became very pale, and fell to earth. Then I, rising with a lastpaean of exultation, raised the cup to my lips.
But that moment the trees and flowers bent beneath a furious storm,and the cup was wrenched out of my hand by a terrific blast and senthurtling to the ground. I saw the rainbow-coloured feathers flashing,and for a second I saw the face of the Wind himself. I trembled, andsinking into my chair buried my face in my hands. A wave of despairand loneliness broke over me. I felt like a drowning man.
"Take me back, Lord of the Wind!" I cried. "What am I doing amongthese dead aesthetes? Take me back to the country where I was born, tothe house where I am at home, to the things I used to handle, to thefriends with whom I talked, before man went mad. I am sick of thisgeneration that cannot strive or fight, these people of one idea, thisdoleful, ageing world. Take me away!"
But the Wind replied in angry tones, not gently as of old:--
"Is it thus you treat me, you whom I singled out from men? You haveforgotten me for fifteen years; you have wandered up and down agarden, oblivious of all things that I had taught you, incurious,idle, listless, effeminate. Now I have saved you from dying a mockdeath, like a jester in a tragedy; and in time I will take you back,for that I promised; but first you shall be punished as you deserve."So saying, the Wind raised me aloft and set me beyond the wall.
I dare not describe--I fear to remember the unutterable loathing ofthe three years I spent outside. The unhappy remnant of a middle-agedmankind was gradually exchanging lust for gluttony. Crowds squatted byday and by night round the Houses of Dainty Foods that had beenstocked by Harris the King; there was no youthful face to be foundamong them, and scarcely one that was not repulsively deformed withthe signs of lust, cunning, and debauch. At evening there wereincessant fires of crumbling buildings, and fat women made horribleattempts at revelry. There seemed to be no power of thought in thesecreatures. The civilisation of ages had fallen from them like aworthless rag from off their backs. Europeans were as bestial asHottentots, and the noblest thing they ever did was to fight. Forsometimes a fierce desire of battle seized them, and then they toreeach other passionately with teeth and nails.
I cannot understand it even now. Surely there should have been somePuritans somewhere, or some Philosophers waiting to die with dignityand honour. Was it that there was no work to do? Or that there were nochildren to love? Or that there was nothing young in the World? Orthat all beautiful souls perished in the garden?
I think it must have been the terrible thought of approachingextinction that obsessed these distracted men. And perhaps they werenot totally depraved. There was a rough fellowship among them, adesire to herd together; and for all that they fought so much, theyfought in groups. They never troubled to look after the sick and thewounded, but what could they do?
One day I began to feel that I too was one of them--I, who had heldaloof in secret ways so long, joined the gruesome company in theirnightly dance, and sat down to eat and drink their interminable meal.Suddenly a huge, wild, naked man appeared in front of the firelight, aprophet, as it appeared, who prophesied not death but life. He flungout his lean arms and shouted at us: "In vain have you schemed andlingered and died, O Last Generation of the Damned. For the citiesshall be built again, and the mills shall grind anew, and the churchbells shall ring, and the Earth be repeopled with new miseries inGod's own time."
I could not bear to hear this fellow speak. Here was one of the oldsort of men, the men that talked evil, and murmured about God."Friends," I said, turning to the Feasters, "we will have no skeletonslike that at our feast." So saying I seized a piece of flaming woodfrom the fire, and rushed at the man. He struggled fiercely, but hehad no weapon, and I beat him about the head till he fell, and deathrattled in his throat--rattled with what seemed to me a most familiarsound. I stood aghast; then wiped the blood from the man's eyes andlooked into them.
"Who are you?" I exclaimed. "I have seen you before; I seem to knowthe sound of your voice and the colour of your eyes. Can you speak aword and tell us your story, most unhappy prophet, before you die?"
"Men of the Last Generation," said the dying man, raising himself onhis elbow--"Men of the Last Generation, I am Joshua Harris, yourKing."
As brainless frogs who have no thought or sense in them, yet shrinkwhen they are touched, and swim when the accustomed water laves theireager limbs, so did these poor creatures feel a nerve stirring withinthem, and unconsciously obey the voice which had commanded them ofold. As though the mere sound of his tremulous words conveyed anirresistible mandate, the whole group came shuffling nearer. All thewhile they preserved a silence that made me afraid, so reminiscent wasit of that deadly hush that had followed the Proclamation, of thequiet army starting for London, and especially of that mysterious andsultry morning so many years ago when the roses hung their enamelledheads and the leaves were as still as leaves of tin or copper. Theysat down in circles round the fire, maintaining an orderlydisposition, like a stray battalion of some defeated army which isweary of fruitless journeys in foreign lands, but still remembersdiscipline and answers to command. Meanwhile, the dying man wasgathering with a noiseless yet visible effort every shred of strengthfrom his massive limbs, and preparing to give them his last message.As he looked round on that frightful crowd great tears, that his ownpain and impending doom could never have drawn from him, filled hisstrange eyes.
"Forgive me--forgive me," he said at last, clearly enough for all tohear. "If any of you still know what mercy is, or the meaning offorgiveness, say a kind word to me. Loving you, relying on humanityand myself, despising the march of Time and the power of Heaven, Ibecame a false redeemer, and took upon my back the burden of all sin.But how was I to know, my people, I who am only a man, whither myplans for your redemption would lead? Have none of you a word to say?
"Is there no one here who remembers our fighting days? Where are thegreat lieutenants who stood at my side and cheered me with counsel?Where are Robertson, Baldwin, and Andrew Spencer? Are there none ofthe old set left?"
He brushed the tears and blood from his eyes and gazed into the crowd.Pointing joyously to an ol
d man who sat not far away he called out, "Iknow you, Andrew, from that great scar on your forehead. Come here,Andrew, and that quickly."
The old man seemed neither to hear nor understand him, but sat likeall the rest, blinking and unresponsive.
"Andrew," he cried, "you must know me! Think of Brum and South MeltonStreet. Be an Englishman, Andrew--come and shake hands!"
The man looked at him with staring, timid eyes; then shuddered allover, scrambled up from the ground, and ran away.
"It does not matter," murmured the King of the World. "There are nomen left. I have lived in the desert, and I saw there that which Iwould I had seen long ago--visions that came too late to warn me. Fora time my Plan has conquered; but that greater Plan shall bevictorious in the end."
I was trying to stanch the wounds I had inflicted, and I hoped tocomfort him, but he thrust me aside.
"I know that no man of this generation could have killed me. I havenothing in common with you, bright Spirit. It was not you I loved, notfor you I fought and struggled, but for these. I do not want to bereminded, by that light of reason shining in your eyes, of what wewere all of us, once. It was a heroic age, when good and evil livedtogether, and misery bound man to man. Yet I will not regret what Ihave done. I ask forgiveness not of God, but of Man; and I claim thegratitude of thousands who are unknown, and unknown shall ever remain.For ages and ages God must reign over an empty kingdom, since I havebrought to an end one great cycle of centuries. Tell me, Stranger, wasI not great in my day?"