Looking Backward, 2000 to 1887

by Edward Bellamy

  Chapter 11

  When we arrived home, Dr. Leete had not yet returned, and Mrs. Leetewas 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 questionthat 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 formusic."

  "You must remember, in excuse," I said, "that we had some rather absurdkinds of music."

  "Yes," she said, "I know that; I am afraid I should not have fancied itall 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 orsing to you?"

  "I hoped so, certainly," I replied.

  Seeing that I was a little abashed, she subdued her merriment andexplained. "Of course, we all sing nowadays as a matter of course inthe training of the voice, and some learn to play instruments for theirprivate amusement; but the professional music is so much grander andmore perfect than any performance of ours, and so easily commanded whenwe wish to hear it, that we don't think of calling our singing orplaying music at all. All the really fine singers and players are inthe musical service, and the rest of us hold our peace for the mainpart. 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 anapartment finished, without hangings, in wood, with a floor of polishedwood. I was prepared for new devices in musical instruments, but I sawnothing in the room which by any stretch of imagination could beconceived as such. It was evident that my puzzled appearance wasaffording intense amusement to Edith.

  "Please look at to-day's music," she said, handing me a card, "and tellme what you would prefer. It is now five o'clock, you will remember."

  The card bore the date "September 12, 2000," and contained the longestprogramme 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 remainedbewildered by the prodigious list until Edith's pink finger tipindicated a particular section of it, where several selections werebracketed, with the words "5 P.M." against them; then I observed thatthis prodigious programme was an all-day one, divided into twenty-foursections answering to the hours. There were but a few pieces of musicin the "5 P.M." section, and I indicated an organ piece as mypreference.

  "I am so glad you like the organ," said she. "I think there is scarcelyany music that suits my mood oftener."

  She made me sit down comfortably, and, crossing the room, so far as Icould see, merely touched one or two screws, and at once the room wasfilled with the music of a grand organ anthem; filled, not flooded,for, by some means, the volume of melody had been perfectly graduatedto the size of the apartment. I listened, scarcely breathing, to theclose. Such music, so perfectly rendered, I had never expected to hear.

  "Grand!" I cried, as the last great wave of sound broke and ebbed awayinto silence. "Bach must be at the keys of that organ; but where is theorgan?"

  "Wait a moment, please," said Edith; "I want to have you listen to thiswaltz before you ask any questions. I think it is perfectly charming";and as she spoke the sound of violins filled the room with the witcheryof a summer night. When this had also ceased, she said: "There isnothing in the least mysterious about the music, as you seem toimagine. It is not made by fairies or genii, but by good, honest, andexceedingly clever human hands. We have simply carried the idea oflabor saving by cooperation into our musical service as into everythingelse. There are a number of music rooms in the city, perfectly adaptedacoustically to the different sorts of music. These halls are connectedby telephone with all the houses of the city whose people care to paythe small fee, and there are none, you may be sure, who do not. Thecorps of musicians attached to each hall is so large that, although noindividual performer, or group of performers, has more than a briefpart, each day's programme lasts through the twenty-four hours. Thereare on that card for to-day, as you will see if you observe closely,distinct programmes of four of these concerts, each of a differentorder of music from the others, being now simultaneously performed, andany one of the four pieces now going on that you prefer, you can hearby merely pressing the button which will connect your house-wire withthe hall where it is being rendered. The programmes are so coordinatedthat the pieces at any one time simultaneously proceeding in thedifferent halls usually offer a choice, not only between instrumentaland vocal, and between different sorts of instruments; but also betweendifferent motives from grave to gay, so that all tastes and moods canbe suited."

  "It appears to me, Miss Leete," I said, "that if we could have devisedan arrangement for providing everybody with music in their homes,perfect in quality, unlimited in quantity, suited to every mood, andbeginning and ceasing at will, we should have considered the limit ofhuman felicity already attained, and ceased to strive for furtherimprovements."

  "I am sure I never could imagine how those among you who depended atall on music managed to endure the old-fashioned system for providingit," replied Edith. "Music really worth hearing must have been, Isuppose, wholly out of the reach of the masses, and attainable by themost favored only occasionally, at great trouble, prodigious expense,and then for brief periods, arbitrarily fixed by somebody else, and inconnection with all sorts of undesirable circumstances. Your concerts,for instance, and operas! How perfectly exasperating it must have been,for the sake of a piece or two of music that suited you, to have to sitfor hours listening to what you did not care for! Now, at a dinner onecan skip the courses one does not care for. Who would ever dine,however hungry, if required to eat everything brought on the table? andI am sure one's hearing is quite as sensitive as one's taste. I supposeit was these difficulties in the way of commanding really good musicwhich made you endure so much playing and singing in your homes bypeople who had only the rudiments of the art."

  "Yes," I replied, "it was that sort of music or none for most of us.

  "Ah, well," Edith sighed, "when one really considers, it is not sostrange that people in those days so often did not care for music. Idare say I should have detested it, too."

  "Did I understand you rightly," I inquired, "that this musicalprogramme covers the entire twenty-four hours? It seems to on thiscard, certainly; but who is there to listen to music between saymidnight and morning?"

  "Oh, many," Edith replied. "Our people keep all hours; but if the musicwere provided from midnight to morning for no others, it still would befor the sleepless, the sick, and the dying. All our bedchambers have atelephone attachment at the head of the bed by which any person who maybe sleepless can command music at pleasure, of the sort suited to themood."

  "Is there such an arrangement in the room assigned to me?"

  "Why, certainly; and how stupid, how very stupid, of me not to think totell you of that last night! Father will show you about the adjustmentbefore you go to bed to-night, however; and with the receiver at yourear, I am quite sure you will be able to snap your fingers at all sortsof uncanny feelings if they trouble you again."

  That evening Dr. Leete asked us about our visit to the store, and inthe course of the desultory comparison of the ways of the nineteenthcentury and the twentieth, which followed, something raised thequestion of inheritance. "I suppose," I said, "the inheritance ofproperty is not now allowed."

  "On the contrary," replied Dr. Leete, "there is no interference withit. In fact, you will find, Mr. West, as you come to know us, thatthere is far less interference of any sort with personal libertynowadays than you were accustomed to. We require, indeed, by law thatevery man shall serve the nation for a fixed period, instead of leavinghim his choice, as you did, between working, stealing, or starving.With the exception of this fundamental law, which is, indeed, mer
ely acodification of the law of nature--the edict of Eden--by which it ismade equal in its pressure on men, our system depends in no particularupon legislation, but is entirely voluntary, the logical outcome of theoperation of human nature under rational conditions. This question ofinheritance illustrates just that point. The fact that the nation isthe sole capitalist and land-owner of course restricts the individual'spossessions to his annual credit, and what personal and householdbelongings he may have procured with it. His credit, like an annuity inyour day, ceases on his death, with the allowance of a fixed sum forfuneral expenses. His other possessions he leaves as he pleases."

  "What is to prevent, in course of time, such accumulations of valuablegoods and chattels in the hands of individuals as might seriouslyinterfere with equality in the circumstances of citizens?" I asked.

  "That matter arranges itself very simply," was the reply. "Under thepresent organization of society, accumulations of personal property aremerely burdensome the moment they exceed what adds to the real comfort.In your day, if a man had a house crammed full with gold and silverplate, rare china, expensive furniture, and such things, he wasconsidered rich, for these things represented money, and could at anytime be turned into it. Nowadays a man whom the legacies of a hundredrelatives, simultaneously dying, should place in a similar position,would be considered very unlucky. The articles, not being salable,would be of no value to him except for their actual use or theenjoyment of their beauty. On the other hand, his income remaining thesame, he would have to deplete his credit to hire houses to store thegoods in, and still further to pay for the service of those who tookcare of them. You may be very sure that such a man would lose no timein scattering among his friends possessions which only made him thepoorer, and that none of those friends would accept more of them thanthey could easily spare room for and time to attend to. You see, then,that to prohibit the inheritance of personal property with a view toprevent great accumulations would be a superfluous precaution for thenation. The individual citizen can be trusted to see that he is notoverburdened. So careful is he in this respect, that the relativesusually waive claim to most of the effects of deceased friends,reserving only particular objects. The nation takes charge of theresigned chattels, and turns such as are of value into the common stockonce more."

  "You spoke of paying for service to take care of your houses," said I;"that suggests a question I have several times been on the point ofasking. How have you disposed of the problem of domestic service? Whoare willing to be domestic servants in a community where all are socialequals? Our ladies found it hard enough to find such even when therewas little pretense of social equality."

  "It is precisely because we are all social equals whose equalitynothing can compromise, and because service is honorable, in a societywhose fundamental principle is that all in turn shall serve the rest,that we could easily provide a corps of domestic servants such as younever dreamed of, if we needed them," replied Dr. Leete. "But we do notneed them."

  "Who does your house-work, then?" I asked.

  "There is none to do," said Mrs. Leete, to whom I had addressed thisquestion. "Our washing is all done at public laundries at excessivelycheap rates, and our cooking at public kitchens. The making andrepairing of all we wear are done outside in public shops. Electricity,of course, takes the place of all fires and lighting. We choose housesno larger than we need, and furnish them so as to involve the minimumof trouble to keep them in order. We have no use for domestic servants."

  "The fact," said Dr. Leete, "that you had in the poorer classes aboundless supply of serfs on whom you could impose all sorts of painfuland disagreeable tasks, made you indifferent to devices to avoid thenecessity for them. But now that we all have to do in turn whateverwork is done for society, every individual in the nation has the sameinterest, and a personal one, in devices for lightening the burden.This fact has given a prodigious impulse to labor-saving inventions inall sorts of industry, of which the combination of the maximum ofcomfort and minimum of trouble in household arrangements was one of theearliest results.

  "In case of special emergencies in the household," pursued Dr. Leete,"such as extensive cleaning or renovation, or sickness in the family,we can always secure assistance from the industrial force."

  "But how do you recompense these assistants, since you have no money?"

  "We do not pay them, of course, but the nation for them. Their servicescan be obtained by application at the proper bureau, and their value ispricked off the credit card of the applicant."

  "What a paradise for womankind the world must be now!" I exclaimed. "Inmy day, even wealth and unlimited servants did not enfranchise theirpossessors from household cares, while the women of the merelywell-to-do and poorer classes lived and died martyrs to them."

  "Yes," said Mrs. Leete, "I have read something of that; enough toconvince me that, badly off as the men, too, were in your day, theywere more fortunate than their mothers and wives."

  "The broad shoulders of the nation," said Dr. Leete, "bear now like afeather the burden that broke the backs of the women of your day. Theirmisery came, with all your other miseries, from that incapacity forcooperation which followed from the individualism on which your socialsystem was founded, from your inability to perceive that you could maketen times more profit out of your fellow men by uniting with them thanby contending with them. The wonder is, not that you did not live morecomfortably, but that you were able to live together at all, who wereall confessedly bent on making one another your servants, and securingpossession of one another's goods.

  "There, there, father, if you are so vehement, Mr. West will think youare scolding him," laughingly interposed Edith.

  "When you want a doctor," I asked, "do you simply apply to the properbureau and take any one that may be sent?"

  "That rule would not work well in the case of physicians," replied Dr.Leete. "The good a physician can do a patient depends largely on hisacquaintance with his constitutional tendencies and condition. Thepatient must be able, therefore, to call in a particular doctor, and hedoes so just as patients did in your day. The only difference is that,instead of collecting his fee for himself, the doctor collects it forthe nation by pricking off the amount, according to a regular scale formedical attendance, from the patient's credit card."

  "I can imagine," I said, "that if the fee is always the same, and adoctor may not turn away patients, as I suppose he may not, the gooddoctors are called constantly and the poor doctors left in idleness."

  "In the first place, if you will overlook the apparent conceit of theremark from a retired physician," replied Dr. Leete, with a smile, "wehave no poor doctors. Anybody who pleases to get a little smattering ofmedical terms is not now at liberty to practice on the bodies ofcitizens, as in your day. None but students who have passed the severetests of the schools, and clearly proved their vocation, are permittedto practice. Then, too, you will observe that there is nowadays noattempt of doctors to build up their practice at the expense of otherdoctors. There would be no motive for that. For the rest, the doctorhas to render regular reports of his work to the medical bureau, and ifhe is not reasonably well employed, work is found for him."