prompt:
Chapter: Said I: "How do you manage with politics?"

Said Hammond, smiling: "I am glad that it is of _me_ that you ask that
question; I do believe that anybody else would make you explain yourself,
or try to do so, till you were sickened of asking questions.  Indeed, I
believe I am the only man in England who would know what you mean; and
since I know, I will answer your question briefly by saying that we are
very well off as to politics,--because we have none.  If ever you make a
book out of this conversation, put this in a chapter by itself, after the
model of old Horrebow's Snakes in Iceland."

"I will," said I.

Said I: "How about your relations with foreign nations?"

"I will not affect not to know what you mean," said he, "but I will tell
you at once that the whole system of rival and contending nations which
played so great a part in the 'government' of the world of civilisation
has disappeared along with the inequality betwixt man and man in
society."

"Does not that make the world duller?" said I.

"Why?" said the old man.

"The obliteration of national variety," said I.

"Nonsense," he said, somewhat snappishly.  "Cross the water and see.  You
will find plenty of variety: the landscape, the building, the diet, the
amusements, all various.  The men and women varying in looks as well as
in habits of thought; the costume far more various than in the commercial
period.  How should it add to the variety or dispel the dulness, to
coerce certain families or tribes, often heterogeneous and jarring with
one another, into certain artificial and mechanical groups, and call them
nations, and stimulate their patriotism--_i.e._, their foolish and
envious prejudices?"

"Well--I don't know how," said I.

"That's right," said Hammond cheerily; "you can easily understand that
now we are freed from this folly it is obvious to us that by means of
this very diversity the different strains of blood in the world can be
serviceable and pleasant to each other, without in the least wanting to
rob each other: we are all bent on the same enterprise, making the most
of our lives.  And I must tell you whatever quarrels or misunderstandings
arise, they very seldom take place between people of different race; and
consequently since there is less unreason in them, they are the more
readily appeased."

"Good," said I, "but as to those matters of politics; as to general
differences of opinion in one and the same community.  Do you assert that
there are none?"

"No, not at all," said he, somewhat snappishly; "but I do say that
differences of opinion about real solid things need not, and with us do
not, crystallise people into parties permanently hostile to one another,
with different theories as to the build of the universe and the progress
of time.  Isn't that what politics used to mean?"

"H'm, well," said I, "I am not so sure of that."

Said he: "I take, you, neighbour; they only _pretended_ to this serious
difference of opinion; for if it had existed they could not have dealt
together in the ordinary business of life; couldn't have eaten together,
bought and sold together, gambled together, cheated other people
together, but must have fought whenever they met: which would not have
suited them at all.  The game of the masters of politics was to cajole or
force the public to pay the expense of a luxurious life and exciting
amusement for a few cliques of ambitious persons: and the _pretence_ of
serious difference of opinion, belied by every action of their lives, was
quite good enough for that.  What has all that got to do with us?"

Said I: "Why, nothing, I should hope.  But I fear--In short, I have been
told that political strife was a necessary result of human nature."

"Human nature!" cried the old boy, impetuously; "what human nature?  The
human nature of paupers, of slaves, of slave-holders, or the human nature
of wealthy freemen?  Which?  Come, tell me that!"

"Well," said I, "I suppose there would be a difference according to
circumstances in people's action about these matters."

"I should think so, indeed," said he.  "At all events, experience shows
that it is so.  Amongst us, our differences concern matters of business,
and passing events as to them, and could not divide men permanently.  As
a rule, the immediate outcome shows which opinion on a given subject is
the right one; it is a matter of fact, not of speculation.  For instance,
it is clearly not easy to knock up a political party on the question as
to whether haymaking in such and such a country-side shall begin this
week or next, when all men agree that it must at latest begin the week
after next, and when any man can go down into the fields himself and see
whether the seeds are ripe enough for the cutting."

Said I: "And you settle these differences, great and small, by the will
of the majority, I suppose?"

"Certainly," said he; "how else could we settle them?  You see in matters
which are merely personal which do not affect the welfare of the
community--how a man shall dress, what he shall eat and drink, what he
shall write and read, and so forth--there can be no difference of
opinion, and everybody does as he pleases.  But when the matter is of
common interest to the whole community, and the doing or not doing
something affects everybody, the majority must have their way; unless the
minority were to take up arms and show by force that they were the
effective or real majority; which, however, in a society of men who are
free and equal is little likely to happen; because in such a community
the apparent majority _is_ the real majority, and the others, as I have
hinted before, know that too well to obstruct from mere pigheadedness;
especially as they have had plenty of opportunity of putting forward
their side of the question."

"How is that managed?" said I.

"Well," said he, "let us take one of our units of management, a commune,
or a ward, or a parish (for we have all three names, indicating little
real distinction between them now, though time was there was a good
deal).  In such a district, as you would call it, some neighbours think
that something ought to be done or undone: a new town-hall built; a
clearance of inconvenient houses; or say a stone bridge substituted for
some ugly old iron one,--there you have undoing and doing in one.  Well,
at the next ordinary meeting of the neighbours, or Mote, as we call it,
according to the ancient tongue of the times before bureaucracy, a
neighbour proposes the change, and of course, if everybody agrees, there
is an end of discussion, except about details.  Equally, if no one backs
the proposer,--'seconds him,' it used to be called--the matter drops for
the time being; a thing not likely to happen amongst reasonable men,
however, as the proposer is sure to have talked it over with others
before the Mote.  But supposing the affair proposed and seconded, if a
few of the neighbours disagree to it, if they think that the beastly iron
bridge will serve a little longer and they don't want to be bothered with
building a new one just then, they don't count heads that time, but put
off the formal discussion to the next Mote; and meantime arguments _pro_
and _con_ are flying about, and some get printed, so that everybody knows
what is going on; and when the Mote comes together again there is a
regular discussion and at last a vote by show of hands.  If the division
is a close one, the question is again put off for further discussion; if
the division is a wide one, the minority are asked if they will yield to
the more general opinion, which they often, nay, most commonly do.  If
they refuse, the question is debated a third time, when, if the minority
has not perceptibly grown, they always give way; though I believe there
is some half-forgotten rule by which they might still carry it on
further; but I say, what always happens is that they are convinced, not
perhaps that their view is the wrong one, but they cannot persuade or
force the community to adopt it."

"Very good," said I; "but what happens if the divisions are still
narrow?"

Said he: "As a matter of principle and according to the rule of such
cases, the question must then lapse, and the majority, if so narrow, has
to submit to sitting down under the _status quo_.  But I must tell you
that in point of fact the minority very seldom enforces this rule, but
generally yields in a friendly manner."

"But do you know," said I, "that there is something in all this very like
democracy; and I thought that democracy was considered to be in a
moribund condition many, many years ago."

The old boy's eyes twinkled.  "I grant you that our methods have that
drawback.  But what is to be done?  We can't get _anyone_ amongst us to
complain of his not always having his own way in the teeth of the
community, when it is clear that _everybody_ cannot have that indulgence.
What is to be done?"

"Well," said I, "I don't know."

Said he: "The only alternatives to our method that I can conceive of are
these.  First, that we should choose out, or breed, a class of superior
persons capable of judging on all matters without consulting the
neighbours; that, in short, we should get for ourselves what used to be
called an aristocracy of intellect; or, secondly, that for the purpose of
safe-guarding the freedom of the individual will, we should revert to a
system of private property again, and have slaves and slave-holders once
more.  What do you think of those two expedients?"

"Well," said I, "there is a third possibility--to wit, that every man
should be quite independent of every other, and that thus the tyranny of
society should be abolished."

He looked hard at me for a second or two, and then burst out laughing
very heartily; and I confess that I joined him.  When he recovered
himself he nodded at me, and said: "Yes, yes, I quite agree with you--and
so we all do."

"Yes," I said, "and besides, it does not press hardly on the minority:
for, take this matter of the bridge, no man is obliged to work on it if
he doesn't agree to its building.  At least, I suppose not."

He smiled, and said: "Shrewdly put; and yet from the point of view of the
native of another planet.  If the man of the minority does find his
feelings hurt, doubtless he may relieve them by refusing to help in
building the bridge.  But, dear neighbour, that is not a very effective
salve for the wound caused by the 'tyranny of a majority' in our society;
because all work that is done is either beneficial or hurtful to every
member of society.  The man is benefited by the bridge-building if it
turns out a good thing, and hurt by it if it turns out a bad one, whether
he puts a hand to it or not; and meanwhile he is benefiting the bridge-
builders by his work, whatever that may be.  In fact, I see no help for
him except the pleasure of saying 'I told you so' if the bridge-building
turns out to be a mistake and hurts him; if it benefits him he must
suffer in silence.  A terrible tyranny our Communism, is it not?  Folk
used often to be warned against this very unhappiness in times past, when
for every well-fed, contented person you saw a thousand miserable
starvelings.  Whereas for us, we grow fat and well-liking on the tyranny;
a tyranny, to say the truth, not to be made visible by any microscope I
know.  Don't be afraid, my friend; we are not going to seek for troubles
by calling our peace and plenty and happiness by ill names whose very
meaning we have forgotten!"

He sat musing for a little, and then started and said: "Are there any
more questions, dear guest?  The morning is waning fast amidst my
garrulity?"

"Yes," said I.  "I was expecting Dick and Clara to make their appearance
any moment: but is there time to ask just one or two questions before
they come?"

"Try it, dear neighbour--try it," said old Hammond.  "For the more you
ask me the better I am pleased; and at any rate if they do come and find
me in the middle of an answer, they must sit quiet and pretend to listen
till I come to an end.  It won't hurt them; they will find it quite
amusing enough to sit side by side, conscious of their proximity to each
other."

I smiled, as I was bound to, and said: "Good; I will go on talking
without noticing them when they come in.  Now, this is what I want to ask
you about--to wit, how you get people to work when there is no reward of
labour, and especially how you get them to work strenuously?"

"No reward of labour?" said Hammond, gravely.  "The reward of labour is
_life_.  Is that not enough?"

"But no reward for especially good work," quoth I.

"Plenty of reward," said he--"the reward of creation.  The wages which
God gets, as people might have said time agone.  If you are going to ask
to be paid for the pleasure of creation, which is what excellence in work
means, the next thing we shall hear of will be a bill sent in for the
begetting of children."

"Well, but," said I, "the man of the nineteenth century would say there
is a natural desire towards the procreation of children, and a natural
desire not to work."

"Yes, yes," said he, "I know the ancient platitude,--wholly untrue;
indeed, to us quite meaningless.  Fourier, whom all men laughed at,
understood the matter better."

"Why is it meaningless to you?" said I.

He said: "Because it implies that all work is suffering, and we are so
far from thinking that, that, as you may have noticed, whereas we are not
short of wealth, there is a kind of fear growing up amongst us that we
shall one day be short of work.  It is a pleasure which we are afraid of
losing, not a pain."

"Yes," said I, "I have noticed that, and I was going to ask you about
that also.  But in the meantime, what do you positively mean to assert
about the pleasurableness of work amongst you?"

"This, that _all_ work is now pleasurable; either because of the hope of
gain in honour and wealth with which the work is done, which causes
pleasurable excitement, even when the actual work is not pleasant; or
else because it has grown into a pleasurable _habit_, as in the case with
what you may call mechanical work; and lastly (and most of our work is of
this kind) because there is conscious sensuous pleasure in the work
itself; it is done, that is, by artists."

"I see," said I.  "Can you now tell me how you have come to this happy
condition?  For, to speak plainly, this change from the conditions of the
older world seems to me far greater and more important than all the other
changes you have told me about as to crime, politics, property,
marriage."

"You are right there," said he.  "Indeed, you may say rather that it is
this change which makes all the others possible.  What is the object of
Revolution?  Surely to make people happy.  Revolution having brought its
foredoomed change about, how can you prevent the counter-revolution from
setting in except by making people happy?  What! shall we expect peace
and stability from unhappiness?  The gathering of grapes from thorns and
figs from thistles is a reasonable expectation compared with that!  And
happiness without happy daily work is impossible."

"Most obviously true," said I: for I thought the old boy was preaching a
little.  "But answer my question, as to how you gained this happiness."

"Briefly," said he, "by the absence of artificial coercion, and the
freedom for every man to do what he can do best, joined to the knowledge
of what productions of labour we really wanted.  I must admit that this
knowledge we reached slowly and painfully."

"Go on," said I, "give me more detail; explain more fully.  For this
subject interests me intensely."

"Yes, I will," said he; "but in order to do so I must weary you by
talking a little about the past.  Contrast is necessary for this
explanation.  Do you mind?"

"No, no," said I.

Said he, settling himself in his chair again for a long talk: "It is
clear from all that we hear and read, that in the last age of
civilisation men had got into a vicious circle in the matter of
production of wares.  They had reached a wonderful facility of
production, and in order to make the most of that facility they had
gradually created (or allowed to grow, rather) a most elaborate system of
buying and selling, which has been called the World-Market; and that
World-Market, once set a-going, forced them to go on making more and more
of these wares, whether they needed them or not.  So that while (of
course) they could not free themselves from the toil of making real
necessaries, they created in a never-ending series sham or artificial
necessaries, which became, under the iron rule of the aforesaid World-
Market, of equal importance to them with the real necessaries which
supported life.  By all this they burdened themselves with a prodigious
mass of work merely for the sake of keeping their wretched system going."

"Yes--and then?" said I.

"Why, then, since they had forced themselves to stagger along under this
horrible burden of unnecessary production, it became impossible for them
to look upon labour and its results from any other point of view than
one--to wit, the ceaseless endeavour to expend the least possible amount
of labour on any article made, and yet at the same time to make as many
articles as possible.  To this 'cheapening of production', as it was
called, everything was sacrificed: the happiness of the workman at his
work, nay, his most elementary comfort and bare health, his food, his
clothes, his dwelling, his leisure, his amusement, his education--his
life, in short--did not weigh a grain of sand in the balance against this
dire necessity of 'cheap production' of things, a great part of which
were not worth producing at all.  Nay, we are told, and we must believe
it, so overwhelming is the evidence, though many of our people scarcely
_can_ believe it, that even rich and powerful men, the masters of the
poor devils aforesaid, submitted to live amidst sights and sounds and
smells which it is in the very nature of man to abhor and flee from, in
order that their riches might bolster up this supreme folly.  The whole
community, in fact, was cast into the jaws of this ravening monster, 'the
cheap production' forced upon it by the World-Market."

"Dear me!" said I.  "But what happened?  Did not their cleverness and
facility in production master this chaos of misery at last?  Couldn't
they catch up with the World-Market, and then set to work to devise means
for relieving themselves from this fearful task of extra labour?"

He smiled bitterly.  "Did they even try to?" said he.  "I am not sure.
You know that according to the old saw the beetle gets used to living in
dung; and these people, whether they found the dung sweet or not,
certainly lived in it."

His estimate of the life of the nineteenth century made me catch my
breath a little; and I said feebly, "But the labour-saving machines?"

"Heyday!" quoth he.  "What's that you are saying? the labour-saving
machines?  Yes, they were made to 'save labour' (or, to speak more
plainly, the lives of men) on one piece of work in order that it might be
expended--I will say wasted--on another, probably useless, piece of work.
Friend, all their devices for cheapening labour simply resulted in
increasing the burden of labour.  The appetite of the World-Market grew
with what it fed on: the countries within the ring of 'civilisation'
(that is, organised misery) were glutted with the abortions of the
market, and force and fraud were used unsparingly to 'open up' countries
_outside_ that pale.  This process of 'opening up' is a strange one to
those who have read the professions of the men of that period and do not
understand their practice; and perhaps shows us at its worst the great
vice of the nineteenth century, the use of hypocrisy and cant to evade
the responsibility of vicarious ferocity.  When the civilised
World-Market coveted a country not yet in its clutches, some transparent
pretext was found--the suppression of a slavery different from and not so
cruel as that of commerce; the pushing of a religion no longer believed
in by its promoters; the 'rescue' of some desperado or homicidal madman
whose misdeeds had got him into trouble amongst the natives of the
'barbarous' country--any stick, in short, which would beat the dog at
all.  Then some bold, unprincipled, ignorant adventurer was found (no
difficult task in the days of competition), and he was bribed to 'create
a market' by breaking up whatever traditional society there might be in
the doomed country, and by destroying whatever leisure or pleasure he
found there.  He forced wares on the natives which they did not want, and
took their natural products in 'exchange,' as this form of robbery was
called, and thereby he 'created new wants,' to supply which (that is, to
be allowed to live by their new masters) the hapless, helpless people had
to sell themselves into the slavery of hopeless toil so that they might
have something wherewith to purchase the nullities of 'civilisation.'

"Ah," said the old man, pointing to the Museum, "I have read books and
papers in there, telling strange stories indeed of the dealings of
civilisation (or organised misery) with 'non-civilisation'; from the time
when the British Government deliberately sent blankets infected with
small-pox as choice gifts to inconvenient tribes of Red-skins, to the
time when Africa was infested by a man named Stanley, who--"

"Excuse me," said I, "but as you know, time presses; and I want to keep
our question on the straightest line possible; and I want at once to ask
this about these wares made for the World-Market--how about their
quality; these people who were so clever about making goods, I suppose
they made them well?"

"Quality!" said the old man crustily, for he was rather peevish at being
cut short in his story; "how could they possibly attend to such trifles
as the quality of the wares they sold?  The best of them were of a lowish
average, the worst were transparent make-shifts for the things asked for,
which nobody would have put up with if they could have got anything else.
It was a current jest of the time that the wares were made to sell and
not to use; a jest which you, as coming from another planet, may
understand, but which our folk could not."

Said I: "What! did they make nothing well?"

"Why, yes," said he, "there was one class of goods which they did make
thoroughly well, and that was the class of machines which were used for
making things.  These were usually quite perfect pieces of workmanship,
admirably adapted to the end in view.  So that it may be fairly said that
the great achievement of the nineteenth century was the making of
machines which were wonders of invention, skill, and patience, and which
were used for the production of measureless quantities of worthless make-
shifts.  In truth, the owners of the machines did not consider anything
which they made as wares, but simply as means for the enrichment of
themselves.  Of course the only admitted test of utility in wares was the
finding of buyers for them--wise men or fools, as it might chance."

"And people put up with this?" said I.

"For a time," said he.

"And then?"

"And then the overturn," said the old man, smiling, "and the nineteenth
century saw itself as a man who has lost his clothes whilst bathing, and
has to walk naked through the town."

"You are very bitter about that unlucky nineteenth century," said I.

"Naturally," said he, "since I know so much about it."

He was silent a little, and then said: "There are traditions--nay, real
histories--in our family about it: my grandfather was one of its victims.
If you know something about it, you will understand what he suffered when
I tell you that he was in those days a genuine artist, a man of genius,
and a revolutionist."

"I think I do understand," said I: "but now, as it seems, you have
reversed all this?"

"Pretty much so," said he.  "The wares which we make are made because
they are needed: men make for their neighbours' use as if they were
making for themselves, not for a vague market of which they know nothing,
and over which they have no control: as there is no buying and selling,
it would be mere insanity to make goods on the chance of their being
wanted; for there is no longer anyone who can be compelled to buy them.
So that whatever is made is good, and thoroughly fit for its purpose.
Nothing can be made except for genuine use; therefore no inferior goods
are made.  Moreover, as aforesaid, we have now found out what we want, so
we make no more than we want; and as we are not driven to make a vast
quantity of useless things we have time and resources enough to consider
our pleasure in making them.  All work which would be irksome to do by
hand is done by immensely improved machinery; and in all work which it is
a pleasure to do by hand machinery is done without.  There is no
difficulty in finding work which suits the special turn of mind of
everybody; so that no man is sacrificed to the wants of another.  From
time to time, when we have found out that some piece of work was too
disagreeable or troublesome, we have given it up and done altogether
without the thing produced by it.  Now, surely you can see that under
these circumstances all the work that we do is an exercise of the mind
and body more or less pleasant to be done: so that instead of avoiding
work everybody seeks it: and, since people have got defter in doing the
work generation after generation, it has become so easy to do, that it
seems as if there were less done, though probably more is produced.  I
suppose this explains that fear, which I hinted at just now, of a
possible scarcity in work, which perhaps you have already noticed, and
which is a feeling on the increase, and has been for a score of years."

"But do you think," said I, "that there is any fear of a work-famine
amongst you?"

"No, I do not," said he, "and I will tell why; it is each man's business
to make his own work pleasanter and pleasanter, which of course tends
towards raising the standard of excellence, as no man enjoys turning out
work which is not a credit to him, and also to greater deliberation in
turning it out; and there is such a vast number of things which can be
treated as works of art, that this alone gives employment to a host of
deft people.  Again, if art be inexhaustible, so is science also; and
though it is no longer the only innocent occupation which is thought
worth an intelligent man spending his time upon, as it once was, yet
there are, and I suppose will be, many people who are excited by its
conquest of difficulties, and care for it more than for anything else.
Again, as more and more of pleasure is imported into work, I think we
shall take up kinds of work which produce desirable wares, but which we
gave up because we could not carry them on pleasantly.  Moreover, I think
that it is only in parts of Europe which are more advanced than the rest
of the world that you will hear this talk of the fear of a work-famine.
Those lands which were once the colonies of Great Britain, for instance,
and especially America--that part of it, above all, which was once the
United states--are now and will be for a long while a great resource to
us.  For these lands, and, I say, especially the northern parts of
America, suffered so terribly from the full force of the last days of
civilisation, and became such horrible places to live in, that they are
now very backward in all that makes life pleasant.  Indeed, one may say
that for nearly a hundred years the people of the northern parts of
America have been engaged in gradually making a dwelling-place out of a
stinking dust-heap; and there is still a great deal to do, especially as
the country is so big."

"Well," said I, "I am exceedingly glad to think that you have such a
prospect of happiness before you.  But I should like to ask a few more
questions, and then I have done for to-day."

As I spoke, I heard footsteps near the door; the latch yielded, and in
came our two lovers, looking so handsome that one had no feeling of shame
in looking on at their little-concealed love-making; for indeed it seemed
as if all the world must be in love with them.  As for old Hammond, he
looked on them like an artist who has just painted a picture nearly as
well as he thought he could when he began it, and was perfectly happy.  He
said:

"Sit down, sit down, young folk, and don't make a noise.  Our guest here
has still some questions to ask me."

"Well, I should suppose so," said Dick; "you have only been three hours
and a half together; and it isn't to be hoped that the history of two
centuries could be told in three hours and a half: let alone that, for
all I know, you may have been wandering into the realms of geography and
craftsmanship."

"As to noise, my dear kinsman," said Clara, "you will very soon be
disturbed by the noise of the dinner-bell, which I should think will be
very pleasant music to our guest, who breakfasted early, it seems, and
probably had a tiring day yesterday."

I said: "Well, since you have spoken the word, I begin to feel that it is
so; but I have been feeding myself with wonder this long time past:
really, it's quite true," quoth I, as I saw her smile, O so prettily!  But
just then from some tower high up in the air came the sound of silvery
chimes playing a sweet clear tune, that sounded to my unaccustomed ears
like the song of the first blackbird in the spring, and called a rush of
memories to my mind, some of bad times, some of good, but all sweetened
now into mere pleasure.

"No more questions now before dinner," said Clara; and she took my hand
as an affectionate child would, and led me out of the room and down
stairs into the forecourt of the Museum, leaving the two Hammonds to
follow as they pleased.

We went into the market-place which I had been in before, a thinnish
stream of elegantly {1} dressed people going in along with us.  We turned
into the cloister and came to a richly moulded and carved doorway, where
a very pretty dark-haired young girl gave us each a beautiful bunch of
summer flowers, and we entered a hall much bigger than that of the
Hammersmith Guest House, more elaborate in its architecture and perhaps
more beautiful.  I found it difficult to keep my eyes off the
wall-pictures (for I thought it bad manners to stare at Clara all the
time, though she was quite worth it).  I saw at a glance that their
subjects were taken from queer old-world myths and imaginations which in
yesterday's world only about half a dozen people in the country knew
anything about; and when the two Hammonds sat down opposite to us, I said
to the old man, pointing to the frieze:

"How strange to see such subjects here!"

"Why?" said he.  "I don't see why you should be surprised; everybody
knows the tales; and they are graceful and pleasant subjects, not too
tragic for a place where people mostly eat and drink and amuse
themselves, and yet full of incident."

I smiled, and said: "Well, I scarcely expected to find record of the
Seven Swans and the King of the Golden Mountain and Faithful Henry, and
such curious pleasant imaginations as Jacob Grimm got together from the
childhood of the world, barely lingering even in his time: I should have
thought you would have forgotten such childishness by this time."

The old man smiled, and said nothing; but Dick turned rather red, and
broke out:

"What _do_ you mean, guest?  I think them very beautiful, I mean not only
the pictures, but the stories; and when we were children we used to
imagine them going on in every wood-end, by the bight of every stream:
every house in the fields was the Fairyland King's House to us.  Don't
you remember, Clara?"

"Yes," she said; and it seemed to me as if a slight cloud came over her
fair face.  I was going to speak to her on the subject, when the pretty
waitresses came to us smiling, and chattering sweetly like reed warblers
by the river side, and fell to giving us our dinner.  As to this, as at
our breakfast, everything was cooked and served with a daintiness which
showed that those who had prepared it were interested in it; but there
was no excess either of quantity or of gourmandise; everything was
simple, though so excellent of its kind; and it was made clear to us that
this was no feast, only an ordinary meal.  The glass, crockery, and plate
were very beautiful to my eyes, used to the study of mediaeval art; but a
nineteenth-century club-haunter would, I daresay, have found them rough
and lacking in finish; the crockery being lead-glazed pot-ware, though
beautifully ornamented; the only porcelain being here and there a piece
of old oriental ware.  The glass, again, though elegant and quaint, and
very varied in form, was somewhat bubbled and hornier in texture than the
commercial articles of the nineteenth century.  The furniture and general
fittings of the hall were much of a piece with the table-gear, beautiful
in form and highly ornamented, but without the commercial "finish" of the
joiners and cabinet-makers of our time.  Withal, there was a total
absence of what the nineteenth century calls "comfort"--that is, stuffy
inconvenience; so that, even apart from the delightful excitement of the
day, I had never eaten my dinner so pleasantly before.

When we had done eating, and were sitting a little while, with a bottle
of very good Bordeaux wine before us, Clara came back to the question of
the subject-matter of the pictures, as though it had troubled her.

She looked up at them, and said: "How is it that though we are so
interested with our life for the most part, yet when people take to
writing poems or painting pictures they seldom deal with our modern life,
or if they do, take good care to make their poems or pictures unlike that
life?  Are we not good enough to paint ourselves?  How is it that we find
the dreadful times of the past so interesting to us--in pictures and
poetry?"

Old Hammond smiled.  "It always was so, and I suppose always will be,"
said he, "however it may be explained.  It is true that in the nineteenth
century, when there was so little art and so much talk about it, there
was a theory that art and imaginative literature ought to deal with
contemporary life; but they never did so; for, if there was any pretence
of it, the author always took care (as Clara hinted just now) to
disguise, or exaggerate, or idealise, and in some way or another make it
strange; so that, for all the verisimilitude there was, he might just as
well have dealt with the times of the Pharaohs."

"Well," said Dick, "surely it is but natural to like these things
strange; just as when we were children, as I said just now, we used to
pretend to be so-and-so in such-and-such a place.  That's what these
pictures and poems do; and why shouldn't they?"

"Thou hast hit it, Dick," quoth old Hammond; "it is the child-like part
of us that produces works of imagination.  When we are children time
passes so slow with us that we seem to have time for everything."

He sighed, and then smiled and said: "At least let us rejoice that we
have got back our childhood again.  I drink to the days that are!"

"Second childhood," said I in a low voice, and then blushed at my double
rudeness, and hoped that he hadn't heard.  But he had, and turned to me
smiling, and said: "Yes, why not?  And for my part, I hope it may last
long; and that the world's next period of wise and unhappy manhood, if
that should happen, will speedily lead us to a third childhood: if indeed
this age be not our third.  Meantime, my friend, you must know that we
are too happy, both individually and collectively, to trouble ourselves
about what is to come hereafter."

"Well, for my part," said Clara, "I wish we were interesting enough to be
written or painted about."

Dick answered her with some lover's speech, impossible to be written
down, and then we sat quiet a little.

Dick broke the silence at last, saying: "Guest, forgive us for a little
after-dinner dulness.  What would you like to do?  Shall we have out
Greylocks and trot back to Hammersmith? or will you come with us and hear
some Welsh folk sing in a hall close by here? or would you like presently
to come with me into the City and see some really fine building? or--what
shall it be?"

"Well," said I, "as I am a stranger, I must let you choose for me."

In point of fact, I did not by any means want to be 'amused' just then;
and also I rather felt as if the old man, with his knowledge of past
times, and even a kind of inverted sympathy for them caused by his active
hatred of them, was as it were a blanket for me against the cold of this
very new world, where I was, so to say, stripped bare of every habitual
thought and way of acting; and I did not want to leave him too soon.  He
came to my rescue at once, and said--

"Wait a bit, Dick; there is someone else to be consulted besides you and
the guest here, and that is I.  I am not going to lose the pleasure of
his company just now, especially as I know he has something else to ask
me.  So go to your Welshmen, by all means; but first of all bring us
another bottle of wine to this nook, and then be off as soon as you like;
and come again and fetch our friend to go westward, but not too soon."

Dick nodded smilingly, and the old man and I were soon alone in the great
hall, the afternoon sun gleaming on the red wine in our tall
quaint-shaped glasses.  Then said Hammond:

"Does anything especially puzzle you about our way of living, now you
have heard a good deal and seen a little of it?"

Said I: "I think what puzzles me most is how it all came about."

"It well may," said he, "so great as the change is.  It would be
difficult indeed to tell you the whole story, perhaps impossible:
knowledge, discontent, treachery, disappointment, ruin, misery,
despair--those who worked for the change because they could see further
than other people went through all these phases of suffering; and
doubtless all the time the most of men looked on, not knowing what was
doing, thinking it all a matter of course, like the rising and setting of
the sun--and indeed it was so."

"Tell me one thing, if you can," said I.  "Did the change, the
'revolution' it used to be called, come peacefully?"

"Peacefully?" said he; "what peace was there amongst those poor confused
wretches of the nineteenth century?  It was war from beginning to end:
bitter war, till hope and pleasure put an end to it."

"Do you mean actual fighting with weapons?" said I, "or the strikes and
lock-outs and starvation of which we have heard?"

"Both, both," he said.  "As a matter of fact, the history of the terrible
period of transition from commercial slavery to freedom may thus be
summarised.  When the hope of realising a communal condition of life for
all men arose, quite late in the nineteenth century, the power of the
middle classes, the then tyrants of society, was so enormous and
crushing, that to almost all men, even those who had, you may say despite
themselves, despite their reason and judgment, conceived such hopes, it
seemed a dream.  So much was this the case that some of those more
enlightened men who were then called Socialists, although they well knew,
and even stated in public, that the only reasonable condition of Society
was that of pure Communism (such as you now see around you), yet shrunk
from what seemed to them the barren task of preaching the realisation of
a happy dream.  Looking back now, we can see that the great motive-power
of the change was a longing for freedom and equality, akin if you please
to the unreasonable passion of the lover; a sickness of heart that
rejected with loathing the aimless solitary life of the well-to-do
educated man of that time: phrases, my dear friend, which have lost their
meaning to us of the present day; so far removed we are from the dreadful
facts which they represent.

"Well, these men, though conscious of this feeling, had no faith in it,
as a means of bringing about the change.  Nor was that wonderful: for
looking around them they saw the huge mass of the oppressed classes too
much burdened with the misery of their lives, and too much overwhelmed by
the selfishness of misery, to be able to form a conception of any escape
from it except by the ordinary way prescribed by the system of slavery
under which they lived; which was nothing more than a remote chance of
climbing out of the oppressed into the oppressing class.

"Therefore, though they knew that the only reasonable aim for those who
would better the world was a condition of equality; in their impatience
and despair they managed to convince themselves that if they could by
hook or by crook get the machinery of production and the management of
property so altered that the 'lower classes' (so the horrible word ran)
might have their slavery somewhat ameliorated, they would be ready to fit
into this machinery, and would use it for bettering their condition still
more and still more, until at last the result would be a practical
equality (they were very fond of using the word 'practical'), because
'the rich' would be forced to pay so much for keeping 'the poor' in a
tolerable condition that the condition of riches would become no longer
valuable and would gradually die out.  Do you follow me?"

"Partly," said I.  "Go on."

Said old Hammond: "Well, since you follow me, you will see that as a
theory this was not altogether unreasonable; but 'practically,' it turned
out a failure."

"How so?" said I.

"Well, don't you see," said he, "because it involved the making of a
machinery by those who didn't know what they wanted the machines to do.
So far as the masses of the oppressed class furthered this scheme of
improvement, they did it to get themselves improved slave-rations--as
many of them as could.  And if those classes had really been incapable of
being touched by that instinct which produced the passion for freedom and
equality aforesaid, what would have happened, I think, would have been
this: that a certain part of the working classes would have been so far
improved in condition that they would have approached the condition of
the middling rich men; but below them would have been a great class of
most miserable slaves, whose slavery would have been far more hopeless
than the older class-slavery had been."

"What stood in the way of this?" said I.

"Why, of course," said he, "just that instinct for freedom aforesaid.  It
is true that the slave-class could not conceive the happiness of a free
life.  Yet they grew to understand (and very speedily too) that they were
oppressed by their masters, and they assumed, you see how justly, that
they could do without them, though perhaps they scarce knew how; so that
it came to this, that though they could not look forward to the happiness
or peace of the freeman, they did at least look forward to the war which
a vague hope told them would bring that peace about."

"Could you tell me rather more closely what actually took place?" said I;
for I thought _him_ rather vague here.

"Yes," he said, "I can.  That machinery of life for the use of people who
didn't know what they wanted of it, and which was known at the time as
State Socialism, was partly put in motion, though in a very piecemeal
way.  But it did not work smoothly; it was, of course, resisted at every
turn by the capitalists; and no wonder, for it tended more and more to
upset the commercial system I have told you of; without providing
anything really effective in its place.  The result was growing
confusion, great suffering amongst the working classes, and, as a
consequence, great discontent.  For a long time matters went on like
this.  The power of the upper classes had lessened, as their command over
wealth lessened, and they could not carry things wholly by the high hand
as they had been used to in earlier days.  So far the State Socialists
were justified by the result.  On the other hand, the working classes
were ill-organised, and growing poorer in reality, in spite of the gains
(also real in the long run) which they had forced from the masters.  Thus
matters hung in the balance; the masters could not reduce their slaves to
complete subjection, though they put down some feeble and partial riots
easily enough.  The workers forced their masters to grant them
ameliorations, real or imaginary, of their condition, but could not force
freedom from them.  At last came a great crash.  To explain this you must
understand that very great progress had been made amongst the workers,
though as before said but little in the direction of improved
livelihood."

I played the innocent and said: "In what direction could they improve, if
not in livelihood?"

Said he: "In the power to bring about a state of things in which
livelihood would be full, and easy to gain.  They had at last learned how
to combine after a long period of mistakes and disasters.  The workmen
had now a regular organization in the struggle against their masters, a
struggle which for more than half a century had been accepted as an
inevitable part of the conditions of the modern system of labour and
production.  This combination had now taken the form of a federation of
all or almost all the recognised wage-paid employments, and it was by its
means that those betterments of the conditions of the workmen had been
forced from the masters: and though they were not seldom mixed up with
the rioting that happened, especially in the earlier days of their
organization, it by no means formed an essential part of their tactics;
indeed at the time I am now speaking of they had got to be so strong that
most commonly the mere threat of a 'strike' was enough to gain any minor
point: because they had given up the foolish tactics of the ancient
trades unions of calling out of work a part only of the workers of such
and such an industry, and supporting them while out of work on the labour
of those that remained in.  By this time they had a biggish fund of money
for the support of strikes, and could stop a certain industry altogether
for a time if they so determined."

Said I: "Was there not a serious danger of such moneys being misused--of
jobbery, in fact?"

Old Hammond wriggled uneasily on his seat, and said:

"Though all this happened so long ago, I still feel the pain of mere
shame when I have to tell you that it was more than a danger: that such
rascality often happened; indeed more than once the whole combination
seemed dropping to pieces because of it: but at the time of which I am
telling, things looked so threatening, and to the workmen at least the
necessity of their dealing with the fast-gathering trouble which the
labour-struggle had brought about, was so clear, that the conditions of
the times had begot a deep seriousness amongst all reasonable people; a
determination which put aside all non-essentials, and which to thinking
men was ominous of the swiftly-approaching change: such an element was
too dangerous for mere traitors and self-seekers, and one by one they
were thrust out and mostly joined the declared reactionaries."

"How about those ameliorations," said I; "what were they? or rather of
what nature?"

Said he: "Some of them, and these of the most practical importance to the
mens' livelihood, were yielded by the masters by direct compulsion on the
part of the men; the new conditions of labour so gained were indeed only
customary, enforced by no law: but, once established, the masters durst
not attempt to withdraw them in face of the growing power of the combined
workers.  Some again were steps on the path of 'State Socialism'; the
most important of which can be speedily summed up.  At the end of the
nineteenth century the cry arose for compelling the masters to employ
their men a less number of hours in the day: this cry gathered volume
quickly, and the masters had to yield to it.  But it was, of course,
clear that unless this meant a higher price for work per hour, it would
be a mere nullity, and that the masters, unless forced, would reduce it
to that.  Therefore after a long struggle another law was passed fixing a
minimum price for labour in the most important industries; which again
had to be supplemented by a law fixing the maximum price on the chief
wares then considered necessary for a workman's life."

"You were getting perilously near to the late Roman poor-rates," said I,
smiling, "and the doling out of bread to the proletariat."

"So many said at the time," said the old man drily; "and it has long been
a commonplace that that slough awaits State Socialism in the end, if it
gets to the end, which as you know it did not with us.  However it went
further than this minimum and maximum business, which by the by we can
now see was necessary.  The government now found it imperative on them to
meet the outcry of the master class at the approaching destruction of
Commerce (as desirable, had they known it, as the extinction of the
cholera, which has since happily taken place).  And they were forced to
meet it by a measure hostile to the masters, the establishment of
government factories for the production of necessary wares, and markets
for their sale.  These measures taken altogether did do something: they
were in fact of the nature of regulations made by the commander of a
beleaguered city.  But of course to the privileged classes it seemed as
if the end of the world were come when such laws were enacted.

"Nor was that altogether without a warrant: the spread of communistic
theories, and the partial practice of State Socialism had at first
disturbed, and at last almost paralysed the marvellous system of commerce
under which the old world had lived so feverishly, and had produced for
some few a life of gambler's pleasure, and for many, or most, a life of
mere misery: over and over again came 'bad times' as they were called,
and indeed they were bad enough for the wage-slaves.  The year 1952 was
one of the worst of these times; the workmen suffered dreadfully: the
partial, inefficient government factories, which were terribly jobbed,
all but broke down, and a vast part of the population had for the time
being to be fed on undisguised "charity" as it was called.

"The Combined Workers watched the situation with mingled hope and
anxiety.  They had already formulated their general demands; but now by a
solemn and universal vote of the whole of their federated societies, they
insisted on the first step being taken toward carrying out their demands:
this step would have led directly to handing over the management of the
whole natural resources of the country, together with the machinery for
using them into the power of the Combined Workers, and the reduction of
the privileged classes into the position of pensioners obviously
dependent on the pleasure of the workers.  The 'Resolution,' as it was
called, which was widely published in the newspapers of the day, was in
fact a declaration of war, and was so accepted by the master class.  They
began henceforward to prepare for a firm stand against the 'brutal and
ferocious communism of the day,' as they phrased it.  And as they were in
many ways still very powerful, or seemed so to be; they still hoped by
means of brute force to regain some of what they had lost, and perhaps in
the end the whole of it.  It was said amongst them on all hands that it
had been a great mistake of the various governments not to have resisted
sooner; and the liberals and radicals (the name as perhaps you may know
of the more democratically inclined part of the ruling classes) were much
blamed for having led the world to this pass by their mis-timed pedantry
and foolish sentimentality: and one Gladstone, or Gledstein (probably,
judging by this name, of Scandinavian descent), a notable politician of
the nineteenth century, was especially singled out for reprobation in
this respect.  I need scarcely point out to you the absurdity of all
this.  But terrible tragedy lay hidden behind this grinning through a
horse-collar of the reactionary party.  'The insatiable greed of the
lower classes must be repressed'--'The people must be taught a
lesson'--these were the sacramental phrases current amongst the
reactionists, and ominous enough they were."

The old man stopped to look keenly at my attentive and wondering face;
and then said:

"I know, dear guest, that I have been using words and phrases which few
people amongst us could understand without long and laborious
explanation; and not even then perhaps.  But since you have not yet gone
to sleep, and since I am speaking to you as to a being from another
planet, I may venture to ask you if you have followed me thus far?"

"O yes," said I, "I quite understand: pray go on; a great deal of what
you have been saying was common place with us--when--when--"

"Yes," said he gravely, "when you were dwelling in the other planet.
Well, now for the crash aforesaid.

"On some comparatively trifling occasion a great meeting was summoned by
the workmen leaders to meet in Trafalgar Square (about the right to meet
in which place there had for years and years been bickering).  The civic
bourgeois guard (called the police) attacked the said meeting with
bludgeons, according to their custom; many people were hurt in the
_melee_, of whom five in all died, either trampled to death on the spot,
or from the effects of their cudgelling; the meeting was scattered, and
some hundred of prisoners cast into gaol.  A similar meeting had been
treated in the same way a few days before at a place called Manchester,
which has now disappeared.  Thus the 'lesson' began.  The whole country
was thrown into a ferment by this; meetings were held which attempted
some rough organisation for the holding of another meeting to retort on
the authorities.  A huge crowd assembled in Trafalgar Square and the
neighbourhood (then a place of crowded streets), and was too big for the
bludgeon-armed police to cope with; there was a good deal of dry-blow
fighting; three or four of the people were killed, and half a score of
policemen were crushed to death in the throng, and the rest got away as
they could.  This was a victory for the people as far as it went.  The
next day all London (remember what it was in those days) was in a state
of turmoil.  Many of the rich fled into the country; the executive got
together soldiery, but did not dare to use them; and the police could not
be massed in any one place, because riots or threats of riots were
everywhere.  But in Manchester, where the people were not so courageous
or not so desperate as in London, several of the popular leaders were
arrested.  In London a convention of leaders was got together from the
Federation of Combined Workmen, and sat under the old revolutionary name
of the Committee of Public Safety; but as they had no drilled and armed
body of men to direct, they attempted no aggressive measures, but only
placarded the walls with somewhat vague appeals to the workmen not to
allow themselves to be trampled upon.  However, they called a meeting in
Trafalgar Square for the day fortnight of the last-mentioned skirmish.

"Meantime the town grew no quieter, and business came pretty much to an
end.  The newspapers--then, as always hitherto, almost entirely in the
hands of the masters--clamoured to the Government for repressive
measures; the rich citizens were enrolled as an extra body of police, and
armed with bludgeons like them; many of these were strong, well-fed, full-
blooded young men, and had plenty of stomach for fighting; but the
Government did not dare to use them, and contented itself with getting
full powers voted to it by the Parliament for suppressing any revolt, and
bringing up more and more soldiers to London.  Thus passed the week after
the great meeting; almost as large a one was held on the Sunday, which
went off peaceably on the whole, as no opposition to it was offered, and
again the people cried 'victory.'  But on the Monday the people woke up
to find that they were hungry.  During the last few days there had been
groups of men parading the streets asking (or, if you please, demanding)
money to buy food; and what for goodwill, what for fear, the richer
people gave them a good deal.  The authorities of the parishes also (I
haven't time to explain that phrase at present) gave willy-nilly what
provisions they could to wandering people; and the Government, by means
of its feeble national workshops, also fed a good number of half-starved
folk.  But in addition to this, several bakers' shops and other provision
stores had been emptied without a great deal of disturbance.  So far, so
good.  But on the Monday in question the Committee of Public Safety, on
the one hand afraid of general unorganised pillage, and on the other
emboldened by the wavering conduct of the authorities, sent a deputation
provided with carts and all necessary gear to clear out two or three big
provision stores in the centre of the town, leaving papers with the shop
managers promising to pay the price of them: and also in the part of the
town where they were strongest they took possession of several bakers'
shops and set men at work in them for the benefit of the people;--all of
which was done with little or no disturbance, the police assisting in
keeping order at the sack of the stores, as they would have done at a big
fire.

"But at this last stroke the reactionaries were so alarmed, that they
were, determined to force the executive into action.  The newspapers next
day all blazed into the fury of frightened people, and threatened the
people, the Government, and everybody they could think of, unless 'order
were at once restored.'  A deputation of leading commercial people waited
on the Government and told them that if they did not at once arrest the
Committee of Public Safety, they themselves would gather a body of men,
arm them, and fall on 'the incendiaries,' as they called them.

"They, together with a number of the newspaper editors, had a long
interview with the heads of the Government and two or three military men,
the deftest in their art that the country could furnish.  The deputation
came away from that interview, says a contemporary eye-witness, smiling
and satisfied, and said no more about raising an anti-popular army, but
that afternoon left London with their families for their country seats or
elsewhere.

"The next morning the Government proclaimed a state of siege in London,--a
thing common enough amongst the absolutist governments on the Continent,
but unheard-of in England in those days.  They appointed the youngest and
cleverest of their generals to command the proclaimed district; a man who
had won a certain sort of reputation in the disgraceful wars in which the
country had been long engaged from time to time.  The newspapers were in
ecstacies, and all the most fervent of the reactionaries now came to the
front; men who in ordinary times were forced to keep their opinions to
themselves or their immediate circle, but who began to look forward to
crushing once for all the Socialist, and even democratic tendencies,
which, said they, had been treated with such foolish indulgence for the
last sixty years.

"But the clever general took no visible action; and yet only a few of the
minor newspapers abused him; thoughtful men gathered from this that a
plot was hatching.  As for the Committee of Public Safety, whatever they
thought of their position, they had now gone too far to draw back; and
many of them, it seems, thought that the government would not act.  They
went on quietly organising their food supply, which was a miserable
driblet when all is said; and also as a retort to the state of siege,
they armed as many men as they could in the quarter where they were
strongest, but did not attempt to drill or organise them, thinking,
perhaps, that they could not at the best turn them into trained soldiers
till they had some breathing space.  The clever general, his soldiers,
and the police did not meddle with all this in the least in the world;
and things were quieter in London that week-end; though there were riots
in many places of the provinces, which were quelled by the authorities
without much trouble.  The most serious of these were at Glasgow and
Bristol.

"Well, the Sunday of the meeting came, and great crowds came to Trafalgar
Square in procession, the greater part of the Committee amongst them,
surrounded by their band of men armed somehow or other.  The streets were
quite peaceful and quiet, though there were many spectators to see the
procession pass.  Trafalgar Square had no body of police in it; the
people took quiet possession of it, and the meeting began.  The armed men
stood round the principal platform, and there were a few others armed
amidst the general crowd; but by far the greater part were unarmed.

"Most people thought the meeting would go off peaceably; but the members
of the Committee had heard from various quarters that something would be
attempted against them; but these rumours were vague, and they had no
idea of what threatened.  They soon found out.

"For before the streets about the Square were filled, a body of soldiers
poured into it from the north-west corner and took up their places by the
houses that stood on the west side.  The people growled at the sight of
the red-coats; the armed men of the Committee stood undecided, not
knowing what to do; and indeed this new influx so jammed the crowd
together that, unorganised as they were, they had little chance of
working through it.  They had scarcely grasped the fact of their enemies
being there, when another column of soldiers, pouring out of the streets
which led into the great southern road going down to the Parliament House
(still existing, and called the Dung Market), and also from the
embankment by the side of the Thames, marched up, pushing the crowd into
a denser and denser mass, and formed along the south side of the Square.
Then any of those who could see what was going on, knew at once that they
were in a trap, and could only wonder what would be done with them.

"The closely-packed crowd would not or could not budge, except under the
influence of the height of terror, which was soon to be supplied to them.
A few of the armed men struggled to the front, or climbled up to the base
of the monument which then stood there, that they might face the wall of
hidden fire before them; and to most men (there were many women amongst
them) it seemed as if the end of the world had come, and to-day seemed
strangely different from yesterday.  No sooner were the soldiers drawn up
aforesaid than, says an eye-witness, 'a glittering officer on horseback
came prancing out from the ranks on the south, and read something from a
paper which he held in his hand; which something, very few heard; but I
was told afterwards that it was an order for us to disperse, and a
warning that he had legal right to fire on the crowd else, and that he
would do so.  The crowd took it as a challenge of some sort, and a hoarse
threatening roar went up from them; and after that there was comparative
silence for a little, till the officer had got back into the ranks.  I
was near the edge of the crowd, towards the soldiers,' says this
eye-witness, 'and I saw three little machines being wheeled out in front
of the ranks, which I knew for mechanical guns.  I cried out, "Throw
yourselves down! they are going to fire!"  But no one scarcely could
throw himself down, so tight as the crowd were packed.  I heard a sharp
order given, and wondered where I should be the next minute; and then--It
was as if--the earth had opened, and hell had come up bodily amidst us.
It is no use trying to describe the scene that followed.  Deep lanes were
mowed amidst the thick crowd; the dead and dying covered the ground, and
the shrieks and wails and cries of horror filled all the air, till it
seemed as if there were nothing else in the world but murder and death.
Those of our armed men who were still unhurt cheered wildly and opened a
scattering fire on the soldiers.  One or two soldiers fell; and I saw the
officers going up and down the ranks urging the men to fire again; but
they received the orders in sullen silence, and let the butts of their
guns fall.  Only one sergeant ran to a machine-gun and began to set it
going; but a tall young man, an officer too, ran out of the ranks and
dragged him back by the collar; and the soldiers stood there motionless
while the horror-stricken crowd, nearly wholly unarmed (for most of the
armed men had fallen in that first discharge), drifted out of the Square.
I was told afterwards that the soldiers on the west side had fired also,
and done their part of the slaughter.  How I got out of the Square I
scarcely know: I went, not feeling the ground under me, what with rage
and terror and despair.'

"So says our eye-witness.  The number of the slain on the side of the
people in that shooting during a minute was prodigious; but it was not
easy to come at the truth about it; it was probably between one and two
thousand.  Of the soldiers, six were killed outright, and a dozen
wounded."

I listened, trembling with excitement.  The old man's eyes glittered and
his face flushed as he spoke, and told the tale of what I had often
thought might happen.  Yet I wondered that he should have got so elated
about a mere massacre, and I said:

"How fearful!  And I suppose that this massacre put an end to the whole
revolution for that time?"

"No, no," cried old Hammond; "it began it!"

He filled his glass and mine, and stood up and cried out, "Drink this
glass to the memory of those who died there, for indeed it would be a
long tale to tell how much we owe them."

I drank, and he sat down again and went on.

"That massacre of Trafalgar Square began the civil war, though, like all
such events, it gathered head slowly, and people scarcely knew what a
crisis they were acting in.

"Terrible as the massacre was, and hideous and overpowering as the first
terror had been, when the people had time to think about it, their
feeling was one of anger rather than fear; although the military
organisation of the state of siege was now carried out without shrinking
by the clever young general.  For though the ruling-classes when the news
spread next morning felt one gasp of horror and even dread, yet the
Government and their immediate backers felt that now the wine was drawn
and must be drunk.  However, even the most reactionary of the capitalist
papers, with two exceptions, stunned by the tremendous news, simply gave
an account of what had taken place, without making any comment upon it.
The exceptions were one, a so-called 'liberal' paper (the Government of
the day was of that complexion), which, after a preamble in which it
declared its undeviating sympathy with the cause of labour, proceeded to
point out that in times of revolutionary disturbance it behoved the
Government to be just but firm, and that by far the most merciful way of
dealing with the poor madmen who were attacking the very foundations of
society (which had made them mad and poor) was to shoot them at once, so
as to stop others from drifting into a position in which they would run a
chance of being shot.  In short, it praised the determined action of the
Government as the acme of human wisdom and mercy, and exulted in the
inauguration of an epoch of reasonable democracy free from the tyrannical
fads of Socialism.

"The other exception was a paper thought to be one of the most violent
opponents of democracy, and so it was; but the editor of it found his
manhood, and spoke for himself and not for his paper.  In a few simple,
indignant words he asked people to consider what a society was worth
which had to be defended by the massacre of unarmed citizens, and called
on the Government to withdraw their state of siege and put the general
and his officers who fired on the people on their trial for murder.  He
went further, and declared that whatever his opinion might be as to the
doctrines of the Socialists, he for one should throw in his lot with the
people, until the Government atoned for their atrocity by showing that
they were prepared to listen to the demands of men who knew what they
wanted, and whom the decrepitude of society forced into pushing their
demands in some way or other.

"Of course, this editor was immediately arrested by the military power;
but his bold words were already in the hands of the public, and produced
a great effect: so great an effect that the Government, after some
vacillation, withdrew the state of siege; though at the same time it
strengthened the military organisation and made it more stringent.  Three
of the Committee of Public Safety had been slain in Trafalgar Square: of
the rest the greater part went back to their old place of meeting, and
there awaited the event calmly.  They were arrested there on the Monday
morning, and would have been shot at once by the general, who was a mere
military machine, if the Government had not shrunk before the
responsibility of killing men without any trial.  There was at first a
talk of trying them by a special commission of judges, as it was
called--_i.e._, before a set of men bound to find them guilty, and whose
business it was to do so.  But with the Government the cold fit had
succeeded to the hot one; and the prisoners were brought before a jury at
the assizes.  There a fresh blow awaited the Government; for in spite of
the judge's charge, which distinctly instructed the jury to find the
prisoners guilty, they were acquitted, and the jury added to their
verdict a presentment, in which they condemned the action of the
soldiery, in the queer phraseology of the day, as 'rash, unfortunate, and
unnecessary.'  The Committee of Public Safety renewed its sittings, and
from thenceforth was a popular rallying-point in opposition to the
Parliament.  The Government now gave way on all sides, and made a show of
yielding to the demands of the people, though there was a widespread plot
for effecting a coup d'etat set on foot between the leaders of the two so-
called opposing parties in the parliamentary faction fight.  The well-
meaning part of the public was overjoyed, and thought that all danger of
a civil war was over.  The victory of the people was celebrated by huge
meetings held in the parks and elsewhere, in memory of the victims of the
great massacre.

"But the measures passed for the relief of the workers, though to the
upper classes they seemed ruinously revolutionary, were not thorough
enough to give the people food and a decent life, and they had to be
supplemented by unwritten enactments without legality to back them.
Although the Government and Parliament had the law-courts, the army, and
'society' at their backs, the Committee of Public Safety began to be a
force in the country, and really represented the producing classes.  It
began to improve immensely in the days which followed on the acquittal of
its members.  Its old members had little administrative capacity, though
with the exception of a few self-seekers and traitors, they were honest,
courageous men, and many of them were endowed with considerable talent of
other kinds.  But now that the times called for immediate action, came
forward the men capable of setting it on foot; and a new network of
workmen's associations grew up very speedily, whose avowed single object
was the tiding over of the ship of the community into a simple condition
of Communism; and as they practically undertook also the management of
the ordinary labour-war, they soon became the mouthpiece and intermediary
of the whole of the working classes; and the manufacturing
profit-grinders now found themselves powerless before this combination;
unless _their_ committee, Parliament, plucked up courage to begin the
civil war again, and to shoot right and left, they were bound to yield to
the demands of the men whom they employed, and pay higher and higher
wages for shorter and shorter day's work.  Yet one ally they had, and
that was the rapidly approaching breakdown of the whole system founded on
the World-Market and its supply; which now became so clear to all people,
that the middle classes, shocked for the moment into condemnation of the
Government for the great massacre, turned round nearly in a mass, and
called on the Government to look to matters, and put an end to the
tyranny of the Socialist leaders.

"Thus stimulated, the reactionist plot exploded probably before it was
ripe; but this time the people and their leaders were forewarned, and,
before the reactionaries could get under way, had taken the steps they
thought necessary.

"The Liberal Government (clearly by collusion) was beaten by the
Conservatives, though the latter were nominally much in the minority.  The
popular representatives in the House understood pretty well what this
meant, and after an attempt to fight the matter out by divisions in the
House of Commons, they made a protest, left the House, and came in a body
to the Committee of Public Safety: and the civil war began again in good
earnest.

"Yet its first act was not one of mere fighting.  The new Tory Government
determined to act, yet durst not re-enact the state of siege, but it sent
a body of soldiers and police to arrest the Committee of Public Safety in
the lump.  They made no resistance, though they might have done so, as
they had now a considerable body of men who were quite prepared for
extremities.  But they were determined to try first a weapon which they
thought stronger than street fighting.

"The members of the Committee went off quietly to prison; but they had
left their soul and their organisation behind them.  For they depended
not on a carefully arranged centre with all kinds of checks and counter-
checks about it, but on a huge mass of people in thorough sympathy with
the movement, bound together by a great number of links of small centres
with very simple instructions.  These instructions were now carried out.

"The next morning, when the leaders of the reaction were chuckling at the
effect which the report in the newspapers of their stroke would have upon
the public--no newspapers appeared; and it was only towards noon that a
few straggling sheets, about the size of the gazettes of the seventeenth
century, worked by policemen, soldiers, managers, and press-writers, were
dribbled through the streets.  They were greedily seized on and read; but
by this time the serious part of their news was stale, and people did not
need to be told that the GENERAL STRIKE had begun.  The railways did not
run, the telegraph-wires were unserved; flesh, fish, and green stuff
brought to market was allowed to lie there still packed and perishing;
the thousands of middle-class families, who were utterly dependant for
the next meal on the workers, made frantic efforts through their more
energetic members to cater for the needs of the day, and amongst those of
them who could throw off the fear of what was to follow, there was, I am
told, a certain enjoyment of this unexpected picnic--a forecast of the
days to come, in which all labour grew pleasant.

"So passed the first day, and towards evening the Government grew quite
distracted.  They had but one resource for putting down any popular
movement--to wit, mere brute-force; but there was nothing for them
against which to use their army and police: no armed bodies appeared in
the streets; the offices of the Federated Workmen were now, in
appearance, at least, turned into places for the relief of people thrown
out of work, and under the circumstances, they durst not arrest the men
engaged in such business, all the more, as even that night many quite
respectable people applied at these offices for relief, and swallowed
down the charity of the revolutionists along with their supper.  So the
Government massed soldiers and police here and there--and sat still for
that night, fully expecting on the morrow some manifesto from 'the
rebels,' as they now began to be called, which would give them an
opportunity of acting in some way or another.  They were disappointed.
The ordinary newspapers gave up the struggle that morning, and only one
very violent reactionary paper (called the _Daily Telegraph_) attempted
an appearance, and rated 'the rebels' in good set terms for their folly
and ingratitude in tearing out the bowels of their 'common mother,' the
English Nation, for the benefit of a few greedy paid agitators, and the
fools whom they were deluding.  On the other hand, the Socialist papers
(of which three only, representing somewhat different schools, were
published in London) came out full to the throat of well-printed matter.
They were greedily bought by the whole public, who, of course, like the
Government, expected a manifesto in them.  But they found no word of
reference to the great subject.  It seemed as if their editors had
ransacked their drawers for articles which would have been in place forty
years before, under the technical name of educational articles.  Most of
these were admirable and straightforward expositions of the doctrines and
practice of Socialism, free from haste and spite and hard words, and came
upon the public with a kind of May-day freshness, amidst the worry and
terror of the moment; and though the knowing well understood that the
meaning of this move in the game was mere defiance, and a token of
irreconcilable hostility to the then rulers of society, and though, also,
they were meant for nothing else by 'the rebels,' yet they really had
their effect as 'educational articles.'  However, 'education' of another
kind was acting upon the public with irresistible power, and probably
cleared their heads a little.

"As to the Government, they were absolutely terrified by this act of
'boycotting' (the slang word then current for such acts of abstention).
Their counsels became wild and vacillating to the last degree: one hour
they were for giving way for the present till they could hatch another
plot; the next they all but sent an order for the arrest in the lump of
all the workmen's committees; the next they were on the point of ordering
their brisk young general to take any excuse that offered for another
massacre.  But when they called to mind that the soldiery in that
'Battle' of Trafalgar Square were so daunted by the slaughter which they
had made, that they could not be got to fire a second volley, they shrank
back again from the dreadful courage necessary for carrying out another
massacre.  Meantime the prisoners, brought the second time before the
magistrates under a strong escort of soldiers, were the second time
remanded.

"The strike went on this day also.  The workmen's committees were
extended, and gave relief to great numbers of people, for they had
organised a considerable amount of production of food by men whom they
could depend upon.  Quite a number of well-to-do people were now
compelled to seek relief of them.  But another curious thing happened: a
band of young men of the upper classes armed themselves, and coolly went
marauding in the streets, taking what suited them of such eatables and
portables that they came across in the shops which had ventured to open.
This operation they carried out in Oxford Street, then a great street of
shops of all kinds.  The Government, being at that hour in one of their
yielding moods, thought this a fine opportunity for showing their
impartiality in the maintenance of 'order,' and sent to arrest these
hungry rich youths; who, however, surprised the police by a valiant
resistance, so that all but three escaped.  The Government did not gain
the reputation for impartiality which they expected from this move; for
they forgot that there were no evening papers; and the account of the
skirmish spread wide indeed, but in a distorted form for it was mostly
told simply as an exploit of the starving people from the East-end; and
everybody thought it was but natural for the Government to put them down
when and where they could.

"That evening the rebel prisoners were visited in their cells by _very_
polite and sympathetic persons, who pointed out to them what a suicidal
course they were following, and how dangerous these extreme courses were
for the popular cause.  Says one of the prisoners: 'It was great sport
comparing notes when we came out anent the attempt of the Government to
"get at" us separately in prison, and how we answered the blandishments
of the highly "intelligent and refined" persons set on to pump us.  One
laughed; another told extravagant long-bow stories to the envoy; a third
held a sulky silence; a fourth damned the polite spy and bade him hold
his jaw--and that was all they got out of us.'

"So passed the second day of the great strike.  It was clear to all
thinking people that the third day would bring on the crisis; for the
present suspense and ill-concealed terror was unendurable.  The ruling
classes, and the middle-class non-politicians who had been their real
strength and support, were as sheep lacking a shepherd; they literally
did not know what to do.

"One thing they found they had to do: try to get the 'rebels' to do
something.  So the next morning, the morning of the third day of the
strike, when the members of the Committee of Public Safety appeared again
before the magistrate, they found themselves treated with the greatest
possible courtesy--in fact, rather as envoys and ambassadors than
prisoners.  In short, the magistrate had received his orders; and with no
more to do than might come of a long stupid speech, which might have been
written by Dickens in mockery, he discharged the prisoners, who went back
to their meeting-place and at once began a due sitting.  It was high
time.  For this third day the mass was fermenting indeed.  There was, of
course, a vast number of working people who were not organised in the
least in the world; men who had been used to act as their masters drove
them, or rather as the system drove, of which their masters were a part.
That system was now falling to pieces, and the old pressure of the master
having been taken off these poor men, it seemed likely that nothing but
the mere animal necessities and passions of men would have any hold on
them, and that mere general overturn would be the result.  Doubtless this
would have happened if it had not been that the huge mass had been
leavened by Socialist opinion in the first place, and in the second by
actual contact with declared Socialists, many or indeed most of whom were
members of those bodies of workmen above said.

If anything of this kind had happened some years before, when the masters
of labour were still looked upon as the natural rulers of the people, and
even the poorest and most ignorant man leaned upon them for support,
while they submitted to their fleecing, the entire break-up of all
society would have followed.  But the long series of years during which
the workmen had learned to despise their rulers, had done away with their
dependence upon them, and they were now beginning to trust (somewhat
dangerously, as events proved) in the non-legal leaders whom events had
thrust forward; and though most of these were now become mere
figure-heads, their names and reputations were useful in this crisis as a
stop-gap.

"The effect of the news, therefore, of the release of the Committee gave
the Government some breathing time: for it was received with the greatest
joy by the workers, and even the well-to-do saw in it a respite from the
mere destruction which they had begun to dread, and the fear of which
most of them attributed to the weakness of the Government.  As far as the
passing hour went, perhaps they were right in this."

"How do you mean?" said I.  "What could the Government have done?  I
often used to think that they would be helpless in such a crisis."

Said old Hammond: "Of course I don't doubt that in the long run matters
would have come about as they did.  But if the Government could have
treated their army as a real army, and used them strategically as a
general would have done, looking on the people as a mere open enemy to be
shot at and dispersed wherever they turned up, they would probably have
gained the victory at the time."

"But would the soldiers have acted against the people in this way?" said I.
Said he: "I think from all I have heard that they would have done so if
they had met bodies of men armed however badly, and however badly they
had been organised.  It seems also as if before the Trafalgar Square
massacre they might as a whole have been depended upon to fire upon an
unarmed crowd, though they were much honeycombed by Socialism.  The
reason for this was that they dreaded the use by apparently unarmed men
of an explosive called dynamite, of which many loud boasts were made by
the workers on the eve of these events; although it turned out to be of
little use as a material for war in the way that was expected.  Of course
the officers of the soldiery fanned this fear to the utmost, so that the
rank and file probably thought on that occasion that they were being led
into a desperate battle with men who were really armed, and whose weapon
was the more dreadful, because it was concealed.  After that massacre,
    however, it was at all times doubtful if the regular soldiers would fire
    upon an unarmed or half-armed crowd."

    Said I: "The regular soldiers?  Then there were other combatants against
    the people?"

    "Yes," said he, "we shall come to that presently."

    "Certainly," I said, "you had better go on straight with your story.  I
    see that time is wearing."

    Said Hammond: "The Government lost no time in coming to terms with the
    Committee of Public Safety; for indeed they could think of nothing else
    than the danger of the moment.  They sent a duly accredited envoy to
    treat with these men, who somehow had obtained dominion over people's
    minds, while the formal rulers had no hold except over their bodies.
    There is no need at present to go into the details of the truce (for such
            it was) between these high contracting parties, the Government of the
    empire of Great Britain and a handful of working-men (as they were called
            in scorn in those days), amongst whom, indeed, were some very capable and
    'square-headed' persons, though, as aforesaid, the abler men were not
    then the recognised leaders.  The upshot of it was that all the definite
    claims of the people had to be granted.  We can now see that most of
    these claims were of themselves not worth either demanding or resisting;
    but they were looked on at that time as most important, and they were at
    least tokens of revolt against the miserable system of life which was
    then beginning to tumble to pieces.  One claim, however, was of the
    utmost immediate importance, and this the Government tried hard to evade;
    but as they were not dealing with fools, they had to yield at last.  This
    was the claim of recognition and formal status for the Committee of
    Public Safety, and all the associations which it fostered under its wing.
    This it is clear meant two things: first, amnesty for 'the rebels,' great
    and small, who, without a distinct act of civil war, could no longer be
    attacked; and next, a continuance of the organised revolution.  Only one
    point the Government could gain, and that was a name.  The dreadful
    revolutionary title was dropped, and the body, with its branches, acted
    under the respectable name of the 'Board of Conciliation and its local
    offices.'  Carrying this name, it became the leader of the people in the
    civil war which soon followed."

    "O," said I, somewhat startled, "so the civil war went on, in spite of
    all that had happened?"

    "So it was," said he.  "In fact, it was this very legal recognition which
    made the civil war possible in the ordinary sense of war; it took the
    struggle out of the element of mere massacres on one side, and endurance
    plus strikes on the other."

    "And can you tell me in what kind of way the war was carried on?" said I.

    "Yes" he said; "we have records and to spare of all that; and the essence
    of them I can give you in a few words.  As I told you, the rank and file
    of the army was not to be trusted by the reactionists; but the officers
    generally were prepared for anything, for they were mostly the very
    stupidest men in the country.  Whatever the Government might do, a great
    part of the upper and middle classes were determined to set on foot a
    counter revolution; for the Communism which now loomed ahead seemed quite
    unendurable to them.  Bands of young men, like the marauders in the great
    strike of whom I told you just now, armed themselves and drilled, and
    began on any opportunity or pretence to skirmish with the people in the
    streets.  The Government neither helped them nor put them down, but stood
    by, hoping that something might come of it.  These 'Friends of Order,' as
    they were called, had some successes at first, and grew bolder; they got
    many officers of the regular army to help them, and by their means laid
    hold of munitions of war of all kinds.  One part of their tactics
    consisted in their guarding and even garrisoning the big factories of the
    period: they held at one time, for instance, the whole of that place
    called Manchester which I spoke of just now.  A sort of irregular war was
    carried on with varied success all over the country; and at last the
    Government, which at first pretended to ignore the struggle, or treat it
    as mere rioting, definitely declared for 'the Friends of Order,' and
    joined to their bands whatsoever of the regular army they could get
    together, and made a desperate effort to overwhelm 'the rebels,' as they
    were now once more called, and as indeed they called themselves.

    "It was too late.  All ideas of peace on a basis of compromise had
    disappeared on either side.  The end, it was seen clearly, must be either
    absolute slavery for all but the privileged, or a system of life founded
    on equality and Communism.  The sloth, the hopelessness, and if I may say
    so, the cowardice of the last century, had given place to the eager,
    restless heroism of a declared revolutionary period.  I will not say that
    the people of that time foresaw the life we are leading now, but there
    was a general instinct amongst them towards the essential part of that
    life, and many men saw clearly beyond the desperate struggle of the day
    into the peace which it was to bring about.  The men of that day who were
    on the side of freedom were not unhappy, I think, though they were
    harassed by hopes and fears, and sometimes torn by doubts, and the
    conflict of duties hard to reconcile."

    "But how did the people, the revolutionists, carry on the war?  What were
    the elements of success on their side?"

    I put this question, because I wanted to bring the old man back to the
    definite history, and take him out of the musing mood so natural to an
    old man.

    He answered: "Well, they did not lack organisers; for the very conflict
    itself, in days when, as I told you, men of any strength of mind cast
    away all consideration for the ordinary business of life, developed the
    necessary talent amongst them.  Indeed, from all I have read and heard, I
    much doubt whether, without this seemingly dreadful civil war, the due
    talent for administration would have been developed amongst the working
    men.  Anyhow, it was there, and they soon got leaders far more than equal
    to the best men amongst the reactionaries.  For the rest, they had no
    difficulty about the material of their army; for that revolutionary
    instinct so acted on the ordinary soldier in the ranks that the greater
    part, certainly the best part, of the soldiers joined the side of the
    people.  But the main element of their success was this, that wherever
    the working people were not coerced, they worked, not for the
    reactionists, but for 'the rebels.'  The reactionists could get no work
    done for them outside the districts where they were all-powerful: and
    even in those districts they were harassed by continual risings; and in
    all cases and everywhere got nothing done without obstruction and black
    looks and sulkiness; so that not only were their armies quite worn out
    with the difficulties which they had to meet, but the non-combatants who
    were on their side were so worried and beset with hatred and a thousand
    little troubles and annoyances that life became almost unendurable to
    them on those terms.  Not a few of them actually died of the worry; many
    committed suicide.  Of course, a vast number of them joined actively in
    the cause of reaction, and found some solace to their misery in the
    eagerness of conflict.  Lastly, many thousands gave way and submitted to
    'the rebels'; and as the numbers of these latter increased, it at last
    became clear to all men that the cause which was once hopeless, was now
    triumphant, and that the hopeless cause was that of slavery and
    privilege."

Q: Can you write an appropriate summary of the above paragraphs?
A:

completion: Concerning Politics William asks Old Hammond about politics, and Hammond replies little more than, "I will answer your question briefly by saying that we are very well off as to politics,--because we have none" and asks for that to be the end of the chapter. Chapter 14: How Matters are Managed William inquires about how England now deals with foreign nations. Old Hammond replies that those problems have entirely vanished "along with the inequality betwixt man and man in society" . William implies that this would necessarily diminish "national variety" but Old Hammond refutes this. They turn themselves to political problems within the country, especially in communities, and the old man tells William that people do certainly differ in opinions at times but that this does not turn into a fixed party system. When someone makes a decision that doesn't affect others, there is no problem. When there is a disagreement on what should happen in a situation that does affect multiple people, there is a meeting of the community called a "Mote" during which there is a discussion and a vote followed by more discussions and votes if there is not a clear majority. Finally, anyone who is still in the minority after something is decided does not need to work on the thing , and the thing will ultimately be a benefit or detriment to all of society. Chapter 15: On the Lack of Incentive to Labor in a Communist Society Old Hammond and William agree that Dick and Clara will probably return soon, but William wants to ask a final question. He asks how England's new society gets people to labor without reward. Hammond responds that there is no reward needed but the pleasure of work itself. Hammond admits that it was not an easy process to reach this point in society where people take genuine pleasure in doing good work, and returns to talk about the society of the past as a means of contrast. In the past, people tried to expend the least amount of labor to make the largest amount of a product possible. Because of this, people were unhappy and the quality of goods was low. The creation of "labour-saving machines" did not help with this because they simply freed up time and energy for more work. The only things people made of good quality, says Old Hammond, were these labor-saving machines. William questions Old Hammond about his antipathy toward the 19th century and the old man says that his grandfather "was one of its victims" . He then circles back to the issue at hand, saying that men make quality products now because they know exactly whom they are making them for, and they use machines only for things that would be very annoying or taxing to make without. Because everyone can do and make what they want, there is no forced work or lack of work in any field, especially because all work is basically seen as art in this society and art is "inexhaustible" . Hammond says that the idea of work famine only exists in Europe because Great Britain's colonies, especially America, became so industrialized that they are "very backward in all that makes life pleasant" . Chapter 16: Dinner in the Hall of the Bloomsbury Market William finishes Chapter 15 by saying that he has a few more questions, but Chapter 16 begins with those words being interrupted by footsteps announcing Dick and Clara's return. William describes them as looking beautifully in love, and Hammond seems to be very happy about this. Dick announces that the men have been talking for three and a half hours, and Clara chimes in that the dinner bell will soon be ringing. In just a moment, the bell is rung. Clara takes him by the hand and they go to the marketplace where everyone is gathering in a large hall adorned with pictures from mythology. William tells Clara that he thought society would not have such childish images around and Clara defends the beauty of the pictures and the stories they come from. They are served a good meal and William notes of the food and the architecture and furniture that everything is clearly handmade and of good quality . When the group is drinking wine after their meal, Clara brings William's comment about the paintings back up. She questions why people rarely depict modern life in art, and Old Hammond responds that it has always been this way, especially because in the 19th century there was so little art produced that people always had to "disguise, or exaggerate, or idealise" reality in artwork. Dick remarks that there is also something in us since childhood that appreciates the strange, and Old Hammond agrees that our imagination comes from the childish part of us. The group toasts to "second childhood" . Chapter 17: How the Change Came Dick asks William what he wants to do now that dinner is over. William says that he wants to let Dick decide, though he secretly wishes to stay with Old Hammond rather than be entertained. Sensing this, Old Hammond protests that he wants to talk with William over another bottle of wine. Dick agrees and brings them another bottle before going off with Clara. Old Hammond asks William if he has any more questions about their society. William says that what he still wants to know is how it came to be. Old Hammond says that it would be difficult to tell the whole story, so William narrows down his question to ask whether the revolution was peaceful. Hammond replies that nothing was peaceful in the 19th century, but when pressed he says that there was violence along with strikes and starvation. The poor first went looking for equality within the current political and economic system of the late 19th century. They believed that they could better their financial situations, take some money from the rich, and life would be tolerable. This was impossible, but the "miserable slaves" could not imagine overturning the system entirely at the time. However, workmen started to form unions to organize the struggle against the rich masters of production. These unions collected large enough sums of money such that workers in an entire industry could strike rather than only some workers and these strikes generally worked in gaining small victories such as changes in work hours or minimum wages. Hammond concedes that this money was sometimes misused, but generally people were serious about the cause. However, around 1952 trouble began with factories struggling and many workers needing charitable donations of food. The Combined Workers published the "Resolution" , which was a list of demands and seen as a "declaration of war... by the master class" . The workers met in Trafalgar Square and the police attacked the meeting; many were hurt and five died. Other meetings were held in other cities including Manchester. Another meeting convened in Trafalgar Square, this time too big and crowded for the police to cope with. Many rich fled and an army was amassed but not sent out against the people. In Manchester, some protesters were arrested. Business halted and the government was voted full powers by the Parliament. For a week, the revolution stood still, but the people began to get hungry. People had been begging food from the rich, the government, stores, and the authorities and getting it until then, but on the Monday a week after the big meeting there was a major pillaging of a few provision stores. The newspapers the next day were full of alarmed reactions. The newspaper editors met with government officials and the government proclaimed a state of siege in London, with a young general in charge. The newspapers rejoiced. The general kept things the same for the week, and then on Sunday when there was another big meeting in Trafalgar Square, soldiers poured in. They pressed in from all sides until the mass of people was packed in tightly; a man on horseback read a statement ordering the people to disperse that caused the crowd to yell and then mechanical guns were brought out and fired on the crowd which could not run away or even get down out of the line of fire. William asks if this massacre ended the revolution and Old Hammond replies that, on the contrary, it began it. They drink a toast to those who died and then Hammond continues his story. Two newspapers turned to the side of the rebels. The editors of one of these newspapers called for the government to end the siege against the people. He was arrested, but the government then ended the siege. The prisoners were brought to trial and the jury acquitted them and the Committee of Public Safety was strengthened in its position against the government. In celebration, there were more large meetings throughout England. The government gave in to some of the public's demands, but not enough to give all people "a decent life" . Workmen's associations grew and soon the Conservatives beat out the Liberal Party in the formal government, causing the liberals to join the Committee of Public Safety and the civil war to recommence. The Tory Government, rather than immediately reinstating a state of siege, instead arrested the main members of the Committee of Public Safety; however, because this was a party of the people and not of rule by a few, the group remained undaunted. The next day, no newspapers came out in the morning, and in the afternoon the few that did come out proclaimed a general strike. The government did not know what to do since there were no people out in the streets to fight. The government sat waiting until the next day for someone to fight, but the next day all that happened was that the socialist newspapers published editions full of educational articles about "the doctrines and practice of Socialism" . These papers were bought up quickly, the government still didn't know what to do, and the strike continued. The workmen's groups continued giving out food; a group of young, rich men went out stealing food and were nearly arrested by the government, but in the end few were arrested and the media reported the situation as the government stopping the poor from stealing. On the third day of the strike, the government released the prisoners once again. Soon, the government sent an envoy to meet with the Committee of Public Safety and a truce was met entailing the Committee of Public Safety being officially recognized, meaning rebels could no longer be attacked or jailed and that the organized revolution could continue. What the government gained from this truce was the ability to rename the organization; they chose "Board of Conciliation and its local offices" . Many upper- and middle-class people were still against the revolution and formed a counter-revolutionary group called the Friends of Order; their tactics were generally to guard large factories, and the government soon officially recognized and joined with the group. At this point, all possibility for peace through compromise was gone and the two options going forward seemed to be "absolute slavery for all but the privileged, or a system of life founded on equality and Communism" . The revolution eventually succeeded by a growing membership, with more and more joining every day, such that the power of the people could not be contested. Chapter 14 moves from the idea of national politics to global politics. It seems that the loyalties of people in the 21st century have turned away from nationalism and toward loyalty and faith in the human race as a whole. This book does not tackle the fear that many of Morris' capitalist contemporaries likely had concerning whether other countries that had not turned to socialism would attack England because of its lack of defensive plans.