“You ‘wake from day-dreams to this real Night,’ apparently, Mr. Flint. I could see you had gone a-wandering, even if it was only for an instant or two. I’m glad; for it shows you understand.”
I have given an account of some of these apparently aimless and inconclusive discussions between us in order to show clearly the manner in which we went to work. At first, we oscillated between the practical side of things, the planning of houses, the laying out of towns, the applications of electricity and so forth, on the one hand, and the most abstract considerations of the mental side of the problem on the other. I remember that one evening we began with the desirability of uniforms for the population while at work. I was in favour of it on the grounds that it would facilitate mass-production and would also mark the worker’s trade and possibly thus develop a greater esprit de corps. She conceded these points, but insisted that women should be allowed to dress as they chose, once their work was done. This brought us to the question of luxury trades, and so led by degrees to the consideration of the cultivation of artistic taste and finally to the problems of Art in general under the new conditions. Looking back, I see that our earlier advances were mainly gropings towards something which we had not clearly conceived ourselves. We did not know exactly what we wanted; and we threshed out many matters more for the sake of clarifying our ideas than with any real intention of applying our conclusions in practice.
Gradually, however, things grew more definite as we proceeded. We had certain ideas in common, general principles which we both accepted: and as time went on, this skeleton began to clothe itself in flesh and become a living organism. She converted me to her idea that happiness meant more than anything, provided it was gained in the right way. Altruism was her ideal, I found, because to her it appeared to be the most general mode of reaching contentment. At the back of all her ideas, this ideal seemed to lie. She wanted the new world to be a happy world; and each of her suggestions and all of her criticism took this as a basis.
It seems hardly necessary to enter into an account of the final form which we gave to our plans. It was not Fata Morgana that we built; but I think that at least we laid the foundation-stone upon which our dream-city may yet arise. These far-flung communities which you know to-day, these groves and pleasure-grounds, these lakes and pleasances, bright streets and velvet lawns, all sprang from our brain: and the children who throng them, happier and more intelligent than their fathers in their day, are also in part our work, taught and trained in the ideals which inspired us. If anything, we were too timid in our planning, for we had no clue to what the future held in store for us. Had we known in time, we might have ventured to launch into the air the high towers of Fata Morgana itself to catch the rising sun. On the material side, we could have done it; but I believe we were wise in our timidity. Dream-cities are not to be trodden by the human foot. The refining of mankind will be a longer process than the building of cities; and only a pure race could live in happiness in that Theleme which we planned.
Looking backward, I think that during all these hours of designing and peering into the future I caught something of her spirit and she something of mine. By imperceptible stages we came together, mind reaching out to mind. Unnoticed by ourselves, our collaboration grew more efficient; our divergences less and less.
I can still recall these long lamp-lit evenings, the rustle of her skirts as she moved about the room, the cadences of her voice, the eagerness and earnestness of her face under its crown of fair hair. Often, as we moulded the future in that quiet room with its shaded lights, we must have seemed like children with an ever-new plaything which changed continually beneath our hands. Meanwhile, over us and between us stood the shadow of Nordenholt, ever grimmer as the days went by, carrying his projects to their ruthless termination like some great machine which pursues its appointed course uninfluenced by human failings or human desires. To me, at that time, he seemed to loom above us like some labouring Titan, aloof, mysterious, inscrutable.
CHAPTER XIV
Winter in the Outer World
My narrative has hitherto been confined to affairs in the British Isles; but to give a complete picture of the time I must now deal, even though very briefly, with the effects of B. diazotans in other parts of the globe. My account will, of necessity, be incomplete: because our knowledge of that period is at best a scanty one.