EDWARD BELLAMY.
THE AUTHOR OF “LOOKING BACKWARD.”
HE most remarkable sensation created by any recent American author was perhaps awakened by Edward Bellamy’s famous book, “Looking Backward,” of which over a half million copies have been sold in this country alone, and more than as many more on the other side of the Atlantic. This book was issued from the press in 1887, and maintained for several years an average sale of 100,000 copies per year in America alone. In 1897 a demand for sociological literature in England called for the printing of a quarter of a million copies in that country within the space of a few months, and the work has been translated into the languages of almost every civilized country on the earth. Its entire sale throughout the world is probably beyond two million copies.
Mr. Bellamy’s ideal as expressed in this book is pure communism, and the work is no doubt the outgrowth of the influence of Emersonian teaching, originally illustrated in the Brook Farm experiment. As for Mr. Bellamy’s dream, it can never be realized until man’s heart is entirely reformed and the promised millennium shall dawn upon the earth; but that such an ideal state is [♦]pleasant to contemplate is evinced by the great popularity and enormous sale of his book. In order to give his theory a touch of human sympathy and to present the matter in a manner every way appropriate, Mr. Bellamy causes his hero to go to sleep, at the hands of a mesmerist, in an underground vault and to awake, undecayed, in the perfect vigor of youth, one hundred years later, to find if not a new heaven, at least a new earth so far as its former social conditions were concerned. Selfishness was all gone from man, universal peace and [♠]happiness reigned over the earth, and all things were owned in common. The story is well constructed and well written, and captivates the reader’s imagination.
[♦] ‘pleasent’ replaced with ‘pleasant’
[♠] ‘happines’ replaced with ‘happiness’
Edward Bellamy was born in Boston, [♦]Massachusetts, on March 26th, 1850. He attended Union College, but did not graduate. After studying in Germany he read law and was admitted to the bar in 1871 and has since practiced his profession, at the same time doing journalistic and literary work. For several years he was assistant editor of the “Springfield (Mass.) Union” and an editorial writer for the New York “Evening Post.” He has also contributed a number of articles to the magazines. His books are “Six to One, a Nantucket Idyl” (1877); “Dr. Heidenhoff’s Process” (1879); “Miss [♠]Ludington’s Sister: a romance of Immortality” (1884); “Looking Backward” (1887); “Equality: a Romance of the future” (1897). The last named is a continuation of the same theme as “Looking Backward,” being more argumentative and entering into the recent conditions of society and new phases of politics and industrial questions. It is a larger book and a deeper study than its predecessor. The work was issued simultaneously in the United States, Great Britain, France, Germany, Switzerland, Belgium, Spain, and other countries. Owing to the recent interest in sociological literature it is believed by Mr. Bellamy and his publishers that this book will attain as wide a popularity as his other work on the subject. Mr. Bellamy’s writings have caused the founding of nationalist and communistic clubs throughout the United States, and his influence for the last few years has been powerfully felt in European countries. If this movement should continue to grow there is little doubt but Mr. Bellamy will be honored in the future for the impetus his books have given to communistic doctrines.
[♦] ‘Massachsetts’ replaced with ‘Massachusetts’
[♠] “Luddington’s” replaced with “Ludington’s”
The home of this author, near Boston, is said to be an ideal one, presided over by a most amiable wife, who is in hearty sympathy with her literary husband, both in his ideals and in his work. They have several bright children, and their home has been pointed out by reviewers as a remarkably happy one, constituting within itself something of a miniature illustration of the ideal community which his theory portrays, if, indeed, it may not be said to heartily advocate.
MUSIC IN THE YEAR 2000.
(FROM “LOOKING BACKWARD.”)
By Permission of Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin & Co.
HEN we arrived home, Dr. Leete had not yet returned, and Mrs. Leete was not visible. “Are you fond of music, Mr. West?” Edith asked.
I assured her that it was half of life, according to my notion. “I ought to apologize for inquiring,” she said. “It is not a question we ask one another nowadays; but I have read that in your day, even among the cultured class, there were some who did not care for music.”
“You must remember, in excuse,” I said, “that we had some rather absurd kinds of music.”
“Yes,” she said, “I know that; I am afraid I should not have fancied it all myself. Would you like to hear some of ours now, Mr. West?”
“Nothing would delight me so much as to listen to you,” I said.
“To me!” she exclaimed, laughing. “Did you think I was going to play or sing to you?”
“I hoped so, certainly,” I replied.
Seeing that I was a little abashed, she subdued her merriment and explained. “Of course, we all sing nowadays as a matter of course in the training of the voice, and some learn to play instruments for their private amusement; but the professional music is so much grander and more perfect than any performance of ours, and so easily commanded when we wish to hear it, that we don’t think of calling our singing or playing music at all. All the really fine singers and players are in the musical service, and the rest of us hold our peace for the main part. But would you really like to hear some music?”
I assured her once more that I would.
“Come, then, into the music-room,” she said, and I followed her into an apartment finished, without hangings, in wood, with a floor of polished wood. I was prepared for new devices in musical instruments, but I saw nothing in the room which by any stretch of imagination could be conceived as such. It was evident that my puzzled appearance was affording intense amusement to Edith.
“Please look at to-day’s music,” she said, handing me a card, “and tell me what you would prefer. It is now five o’clock, you will remember.”
The card bore the date “September 12, 2000,” and contained the longest programme of music I had ever seen. It was as various as it was long, including a most extraordinary range of vocal and instrumental solos, duets, quartettes, and various orchestral combinations. I remained bewildered by the prodigious list until Edith’s pink finger-tip indicated a peculiar section of it, where several selections were bracketed, with the words “5 P. M.” against them; then I observed that this prodigious programme was an all-day one, divided into twenty-four sections answering to the hours. There were but a few pieces of music in the “5 P. M.” section, and I indicated an organ piece as my preference.
“I am so glad you like the organ,” said she.
“I think there is scarcely any music that suits my mood oftener.”
She made me sit down comfortably, and, crossing the room, so far as I could see, merely touched one or two screws, and at once the room was filled with the music of a grand organ anthem; filled, not flooded, for, by some means, the volume of melody had been perfectly graduated to the size of the department. I listened, scarcely breathing, to the close. Such music, so perfectly rendered, I had never expected to hear.
“Grand!” I cried, as the last great wave of the sound broke and ebbed away into silence. “Bach must be at the keys of that organ; but where is the organ?”
“Wait a moment, please,” said Edith; “I want to have you listen to this waltz before you ask any questions. I think it is perfectly charming;” and as she spoke the sound of violins filled the room with the witchery of a summer night. When this also ceased, she said: “There is nothing in the least mysterious about the music, as you seem to imagine. It is not made by fairies or genii, but by good, honest, and exceedingly clever good hands. We have simply carried the idea of labor-saving by co-operation into our musical service as into everything else. There are a number of music rooms in the city, perfectly adapted acoustically to the different sorts of music. These halls are connected by telephone with all the houses of the city whose people care to pay the small fee, and there are none, you may be sure, who do not. The corps of musicians attached to each hall is so large that, although no individual performer, or group of performers, has more than a brief part, each day’s programme lasts through the twenty-four hours. There are on that card for to-day, as you will see if you observe closely, distinct programmes of four of these concerts, each of a different order of music from the others, being now simultaneously performed, and any one of the four pieces now going on that you prefer, you can hear by merely pressing the button which will connect your house-wire with the hall where it is being rendered. The programmes are so co-ordinated that the pieces at any one time simultaneously proceeding in the different halls usually offer a choice, not only between instrumental and vocal, and between different sorts of instruments; but also between different motives from grave to gay, so that all tastes and moods can be suited.”
