Upsidonia Part 6

"My dear fellow, if you had seen as much of the grinding bitterness of wealth as I have," he said, "you would not ask that question. To be at the mercy of your possessions, never to be free from the deadening weight of idleness, never----"

"But surely," I interrupted, "your rich people can amuse themselves.

They needn't be idle. Don't they play games, for instance?"

"Yes, the young do. We make them. But how terrible to _have_ to kill time with cricket and golf and lawn-tennis, and when the game is finished to feel that nothing has been done to further the good of mankind!"

"Why do you make them play, then?"

"To keep them in health. We have the Upsidonian race to think of. We can't afford to deteriorate bodily as a nation."

"And do you mean to say that the rich and healthy young man really dislikes exercising his body and amusing his mind by playing games, simply because nothing comes of it?"

"Not, perhaps, when he is quite young. But to look forward to a life of it--! Besides, he can seldom afford to do even that for long."

"Can't afford it?"

"No. It isn't expensive enough. He has to set about his business of spending money, sometimes--if his parents are very rich--at an early age, and the desire for healthy exercise soon leaves him. Why, after a day of idleness it is sometimes as much as he can do to drag himself to bed, and then very often he can't sleep."

"But surely there is nothing very difficult about spending money, if you really set out to do it! In my country rich men buy fine pictures, and things of that sort."

"Well, unless the fine pictures in your country cost more than the poor ones, I don't see how that's to help them."

"They do cost more. They cost enormous sums."

"Yours seems a very funny sort of country, and I shouldn't say too much about it if I were you, or people will think you are romancing.

Everything here that is worth having is cheap, and everything that isn't is dear. The rich aren't educated up to appreciating the good things."

"What do they learn in their schools?"[5]

"The education is good as far as it goes. In fact, some old-fas.h.i.+oned people say it is too good, and unfits the rich for the serious business of their lives, which is to spend money that the poor earn; although, of course, they would not put it in that way. There was a good deal of grumbling when the last government permitted science to be taught in the public schools. It was felt that the children of rich parents would be much better employed in learning expensive habits, so as to fit them for their station in life. But I, for one, should certainly not give in to that view."

"Well then, couldn't the rich get rid of some of their wealth by building hospitals, or endowing research, or something of that sort?"

"Endowing research?" he repeated in a puzzled way. "How could they do that? Only the poor can endow research--by relieving suitable men of the wealth that might hamper them in their work."

"Well then, building hospitals, or picture galleries, public works--anything?"

"But the state does all that. Of course, the rich contribute their share of the rates and taxes, and there is a good deal of grumbling amongst them at present, because the party that was lately elected to bring about profusion has turned out more economical than the party it defeated. No; it is the overplus of wealth that makes the social difficulty. It _must_ be used, of course, and there _must_, unless we limit supply,[6] be a submerged cla.s.s on whose shoulders rests the burden of using it."

"I still don't see why it shouldn't be wasted, or merely h.o.a.rded. Don't the rich men h.o.a.rd their wealth?"

"How could they? The Government auditors would be down on them at once."

"How would they know?"

"Well, everybody has to keep accounts, and the auditors are quite sharp enough to stop any serious defalcation."[7]

"But why take all this trouble to see that wealth isn't wasted! It _is_ wasted if it keeps a large cla.s.s of people in idle luxury, when the state has made up its mind that idle luxury is a bad thing for mankind."

"Ah, my dear Howard! There you sum up the selfishness of human nature.

As long as the poor have power they will put their burdens on the rich."

"Yes, the burdens of wealth. But why should they object to the rich getting rid of the overplus of wealth in any way they please? It wouldn't make any difference to their own enjoyment of work and poverty."

"It ought not to, perhaps, considering what an evil riches are. But what is it that makes the chief satisfaction of work? Surely, that you are producing something--something useful to mankind. If you knew that a considerable proportion of what you produced would be thrown away, why you might just as well work a treadmill, or play golf, instead of ploughing or sowing, or making useful things, such as clothes or furniture. The dignity of labour would disappear."

"Still, if the overplus of food, for instance, makes eating and drinking hateful, as it seems to do here, and the overplus of other things becomes a burden to a large proportion of the people, the result would seem to be about the same as actual waste."[8]

"Well, it is worse, of course, for the rich. But, unfortunately, the poor do not consider that enough. In your happy country, where the upper cla.s.ses, from what you tell me, act as much for the benefit of the lower cla.s.ses as for themselves, you escape these problems.

"But we will discuss these things further, and you shall see for yourself. Here we are at Magnolia Hall; allow me to give you a warm welcome to our rich abode."

FOOTNOTES:

[4] They did not forget to send in their bill, but I forgot to pay it.

[5] The public schools, of which there were a good number in Upsidonia, were attended exclusively by the rich, as were the two older universities. Luxurious habits were encouraged in these establishments, and learning was at a discount, although this was never acknowledged.

The poor attended council schools, and the newer universities. But even from a school like Seton, where the sons of the worst families were educated, there was a ladder to the more serious seats of learning, and many rich scholars had raised themselves by their own efforts to a position from which they could look down on the families from which they had sprung.

[6] There were two schools of economic reformers in Upsidonia. The one which was supported by the Perrys wished to limit production by law, but I am inclined to think that Mr. Perry did not wish it very much. Edward, however, was strongly in favour of legislation. He thought that the many would benefit at the expense of the few, or so he said.

The other school believed in freedom of consumption, or rather of non-consumption. I never met any of its adherents while in Upsidonia, and only heard them called names.

[7] There was said to be a good deal of corruption in this service. The Government auditors were too well paid to make them altogether trustworthy. Edward was going to see that this was altered when he had time.

[8] This was well said on my part, and I do not regard Edward's reply as convincing.

CHAPTER VII

We had long since left the business streets of the city behind, and had come, first through a district of mean-looking houses occupied chiefly, as Perry told me, by the aristocrats of Culbut, then through a more s.p.a.cious suburb of large and small villas, where he said those of a decent degree of poverty resided. The tram-line had borne us company to the edge of this quarter, and we had walked for the best part of a mile along a country road, bordered by walls or fences enclosing the gardens of larger houses.

We now turned in at a pair of gates flanked by a pretty lodge, and went along a winding drive banked on either side with rhododendrons, now in full flower, until we came out into a beautiful and open garden, whose verdant lawns were ringed by a great variety of flowering shrubs and trees. This charming garden seemed a suitable setting for the long two-storied white-painted house, with its deep eaves, old-fas.h.i.+oned bow windows, and creeper-grown verandah. A giant magnolia, delicately flushed with pink, was in full flower over the front of the house. The still summer air brooded peacefully over all, and the tinkle of water from a fountain in a yew-enclosed rose-garden opening out of the drive fell gratefully on the ear.

"And this," I exclaimed, "your educated cla.s.ses despise, and prefer to coop themselves up in those wretched little houses we pa.s.sed!"

He looked at me in surprise. "Oh, you don't understand in the least," he said.

There was no time for further explanation, for we had now reached the front door, which stood hospitably open, affording a glimpse beyond the lobby of a cool s.p.a.cious hall, paved with black and white marble.

We did not, however, enter at once. Perry rang the bell, and we waited until a butler and a footman in livery[9] appeared, who relieved us of the parcels we carried and showed us into a pleasant morning-room, beautifully furnished and full of flowers.

"Mr. John Howard and Mr. Edward Perry," said my friend to the butler, and we were left to ourselves.

"Excuse my asking," I said, "but do you have to observe strict formalities in your own house?"