“Then, on the whole, the children of those in each class respectively remain in the class in which they are born?”
“That is so as a rule. The percentage has been worked out carefully by the statistical branch of the Sociological Department. About 4 per cent of the Seventh Class enter the Sixth, about 5 per cent of the Sixth enter the Fifth, about 3 per cent of the Fifth enter the Fourth, about 8 per cent of the Fourth enter the Third. No one, strictly speaking, enters the Second from the Third, but as many of the men of the Second Class marry women in the Third Class, which is the rich class, the sons may enter the Second Class, if they are suitable as officers in the Army. Also, a number of the women of the Second Class marry men in the Third Class, and their sons also may enter the Army.”
“It is a wonderful system,” I ventured to observe.
“It is simplicity itself,” said Prigge, “yet no other nation has had the intelligence to discover it, nor even to copy it. As a matter of fact, it is the only logical and scientific classification of society; it puts everybody in his proper place.”
After this conversation, or rather this discourse, we walked out to ascend the look-out tower; but on the way we had to cross the great square of Prince Mechow, and there, for the first time, I saw the great monument about which I had heard so much. I had expected something extraordinary, but I was not prepared for the actual thing. It was as high as a church steeple. At the base was a huge shapeless mass of basalt. Above this rose a square granite block, twenty feet high, covered with high-relief sculptures representing in allegorical form the reconstruction of the Meccanian Super-State. At the four corners were four figures representing Arms, Intellect, Culture and Power. Above this again towered a great pedestal a hundred feet high and forty feet in diameter. On the top stood the colossal statue of Prince Mechow, a gigantic portrait-figure of a man in the uniform of the First Class, his breast covered with decorations, a sword in one hand and a mace or some symbolical weapon in the other. The impression of brute force which it conveyed was terrific. Every person in the square, as he came within sight of it, took off his hat; those in military dress saluted it, and pronounced the words, “Long live Meccania and God bless Prince Mechow!”
My first feeling on seeing it was one of intense disgust at the barbarity of the thing, and I was just going to make some satirical remark when I caught sight of Prigge’s face. It wore an expression of absolute ecstasy, and the look of fierce disdain with which he said “Uncover!” was startling. He added something which sounded like “Mongolian monkey,” but in the excitement of the moment I was not quite sure what he said.
I tried to pacify him by saying, in as innocent a tone as I could assume, “It is indeed the most remarkable statue I have ever seen.”
“It is the most perfect embodiment of Meccanian Culture: no other country could produce such a work,” he replied solemnly.
“I am inclined to agree,” I said. “Who was the artist who conceived and executed a monument of such wonderful proportions?”