It may be doubted whether a brighter, more prosperous, and specially1 a more orderly colony than Britannula was ever settled by British colonists2. But it had its period of separation from the mother country, though never of rebellion, — like its elder sister New Zealand. Indeed, in that respect it simply followed the lead given her by the Australias, which, when they set up for themselves, did so with the full co-operation of England. There was, no doubt, a special cause with us which did not exist in Australia, and which was only, in part, understood by the British Government when we Britannulists were allowed to stand by ourselves. The great doctrine3 of a “Fixed4 Period” was received by them at first with ridicule5, and then with dismay; but it was undoubtedly6 the strong faith which we of Britannula had in that doctrine which induced our separation. Nothing could have been more successful than our efforts to live alone during the thirty years that we remained our own masters. We repudiated7 no debt, — as have done some of our neighbours; and no attempts have been made towards communism, — as has been the case with others. We have been laborious8, contented9, and prosperous; and if we have been reabsorbed by the mother country, in accordance with what I cannot but call the pusillanimous10 conduct of certain of our elder Britannulists, it has not been from any failure on the part of the island, but from the opposition11 with which the Fixed Period has been regarded.
I think I must begin my story by explaining in moderate language a few of the manifest advantages which would attend the adoption12 of the Fixed Period in all countries. As far as the law went it was adopted in Britannula. Its adoption was the first thing discussed by our young Assembly, when we found ourselves alone; and though there were disputes on the subject, in none of them was opposition made to the system. I myself, at the age of thirty, had been elected Speaker of that Parliament. But I was, nevertheless, able to discuss the merits of the bills in committee, and I did so with some enthusiasm. Thirty years have passed since, and my “period” is drawing nigh. But I am still as energetic as ever, and as assured that the doctrine will ultimately prevail over the face of the civilised world, though I will acknowledge that men are not as yet ripe for it.
The Fixed Period has been so far discussed as to make it almost unnecessary for me to explain its tenets, though its advantages may require a few words of argument in a world that is at present dead to its charms. It consists altogether of the abolition13 of the miseries14, weakness, and fainéant imbecility of old age, by the prearranged ceasing to live of those who would otherwise become old. Need I explain to the inhabitants of England, for whom I chiefly write, how extreme are those sufferings, and how great the costliness15 of that old age which is unable in any degree to supply its own wants? Such old age should not, we Britannulists maintain, be allowed to be. This should be prevented, in the interests both of the young and of those who do become old when obliged to linger on after their “period” of work is over. Two mistakes have been made by mankind in reference to their own race, — first, in allowing the world to be burdened with the continued maintenance of those whose cares should have been made to cease, and whose troubles should be at an end. Does not the Psalmist say the same? — “If by reason of strength they be fourscore years, yet is their strength labour and sorrow.” And the second, in requiring those who remain to live a useless and painful life. Both these errors have come from an ill-judged and a thoughtless tenderness, — a tenderness to the young in not calling upon them to provide for the decent and comfortable departure of their progenitors16; and a tenderness to the old lest the man, when uninstructed and unconscious of good and evil, should be unwilling17 to leave the world for which he is not fitted. But such tenderness is no better than unpardonable weakness. Statistics have told us that the sufficient sustenance18 of an old man is more costly19 than the feeding of a young one, — as is also the care, nourishment20, and education of the as yet unprofitable child. Statistics also have told us that the unprofitable young and the no less unprofitable old form a third of the population. Let the reader think of the burden with which the labour of the world is thus saddled. To these are to be added all who, because of illness cannot work, and because of idleness will not. How are a people to thrive when so weighted? And for what good? As for the children, they are clearly necessary. They have to be nourished in order that they may do good work as their time shall come. But for whose good are the old and effete21 to be maintained amid all these troubles and miseries? Had there been any one in our Parliament capable of showing that they could reasonably desire it, the bill would not have been passed. Though to me the politico-economical view of the subject was always very strong, the relief to be brought to the aged22 was the one argument to which no reply could be given.
It was put forward by some who opposed the movement, that the old themselves would not like it. I never felt sure of that, nor do I now. When the colony had become used to the Fixed Period system, the old would become accustomed as well as the young. It is to be understood that a euthanasia was to be prepared for them; — and how many, as men now are, does a euthanasia await? And they would depart with the full respect of all their fellow-citizens. To how many does that lot now fall? During the last years of their lives they were to be saved from any of the horrors of poverty. How many now lack the comforts they cannot earn for themselves? And to them there would be no degraded feeling that they were the recipients23 of charity. They would be prepared for their departure, for the benefit of their country, surrounded by all the comforts to which, at their time of life, they would be susceptible24, in a college maintained at the public expense; and each, as he drew nearer to the happy day, would be treated with still increasing honour. I myself had gone most closely into the question of expense, and had found that by the use of machinery25 the college could almost be made self-supporting. But we should save on an average ￡50 for each man and woman who had departed. When our population should have become a million, presuming that one only in fifty would have reached the desired age, the sum actually saved to the colony would amount to ￡1,000,000 a-year. It would keep us out of debt, make for us our railways, render all our rivers navigable, construct our bridges, and leave us shortly the richest people on God’s earth! And this would be effected by a measure doing more good to the aged than to any other class of the community!
Many arguments were used against us, but were vain and futile26 in their conception. In it religion was brought to bear; and in talking of this the terrible word “murder” was brought into common use. I remember startling the House by forbidding any member to use a phrase so revolting to the majesty27 of the people. Murder! Did any one who attempted to deter28 us by the use of foul29 language, bethink himself that murder, to be murder, must be opposed to the law? This thing was to be done by the law. There can be no other murder. If a murderer be hanged, — in England, I mean, for in Britannula we have no capital punishment, — is that murder? It is not so, only because the law enacts30 it. I and a few others did succeed at last in stopping the use of that word. Then they talked to us of Methuselah, and endeavoured to draw an argument from the age of the patriarchs. I asked them in committee whether they were prepared to prove that the 969 years, as spoken of in Genesis, were the same measure of time as 969 years now, and told them that if the sanitary31 arrangements of the world would again permit men to live as long as the patriarchs, we would gladly change the Fixed Period.
In fact, there was not a word to be said against us except that which referred to the feelings of the young and old. Feelings are changeable, I told them at that great and glorious meeting which we had at Gladstonopolis, and though naturally governed only by instinct, would be taught at last to comply with reason. I had lately read how feelings had been allowed in England to stand in the way of the great work of cremation32. A son will not like, you say, to lead his father into the college. But ought he not to like to do so? and if so, will not reason teach him to like to do what he ought? I can conceive with rapture33 the pride, the honour, the affection with which, when the Fixed Period had come, I could have led my father into the college, there to enjoy for twelve months that preparation for euthanasia which no cares for this world would be allowed to disturb. All the existing ideas of the grave would be absent. There would be no further struggles to prolong the time of misery34 which nature had herself produced. That temptation to the young to begrudge35 to the old the costly comforts which they could not earn would be no longer fostered. It would be a pride for the young man to feel that his parent’s name had been enrolled36 to all coming time in the bright books of the college which was to be established for the Fixed Period. I have a son of my own, and I have carefully educated him to look forward to the day in which he shall deposit me there as the proudest of his life. Circumstances, as I shall relate in this story, have somewhat interfered37 with him; but he will, I trust, yet come back to the right way of thinking. That I shall never spend that last happy year within the walls of the college, is to me, from a selfish point of view, the saddest part of England’s reassuming our island as a colony.
My readers will perceive that I am an enthusiast38. But there are reforms so great that a man cannot but be enthusiastic when he has received into his very soul the truth of any human improvement. Alas39 me! I shall never live to see carried out the glory of this measure to which I have devoted40 the best years of my existence. The college, which has been built under my auspices41 as a preparation for the happy departure, is to be made a Chamber42 of Commerce. Those aged men who were awaiting, as I verily believe, in impatience43 the coming day of their perfected dignity, have been turned loose in the world, and allowed to grovel44 again with mundane45 thoughts amidst the idleness of years that are useless. Our bridges, our railways, our Government are not provided for. Our young men are again becoming torpid46 beneath the weight imposed upon them. I was, in truth, wrong to think that so great a reform could be brought to perfection within the days of the first reformers. A divine idea has to be made common to men’s minds by frequent ventilation before it will be seen to be fit for humanity. Did not the first Christians47 all suffer affliction, poverty, and martyrdom? How many centuries has it taken in the history of the world to induce it to denounce the not yet abolished theory of slavery? A throne, a lord, and a bishop48 still remain to encumber49 the earth! What right had I, then, as the first of the Fixed–Periodists, to hope that I might live to see my scheme carried out, or that I might be allowed to depart as among the first glorious recipients of its advantages?
It would appear absurd to say that had there been such a law in force in England, England would not have prevented its adoption in Britannula. That is a matter of course. But it has been because the old men are still alive in England that the young in Britannula are to be afflicted50, — the young and the old as well. The Prime Minister in Downing Street was seventy-two when we were debarred from carrying out our project, and the Secretary for the Colonies was sixty-nine. Had they been among us, and had we been allowed to use our wisdom without interference from effete old age, where would they have been? I wish to speak with all respect of Sir William Gladstone. When we named our metropolis51 after him, we were aware of his good qualities. He has not the eloquence52 of his great-grandfather, but he is, they tell us, a safe man. As to the Minister for the Crown Colonies, — of which, alas! Britannula has again become one, — I do not, I own, look upon him as a great statesman. The present Duke of Hatfield has none of the dash, if he has more than the prudence53, of his grandfather. He was elected to the present Upper Chamber as a strong anti-Church Liberal, but he never has had the spirit to be a true reformer. It is now due to the “feelings” which fill no doubt the bosoms54 of these two anti-Fixed–Period seniors, that the doctrine of the Fixed Period has for a time been quenched55 in Britannula. It is sad to think that the strength and intellect and spirit of manhood should thus be conquered by that very imbecility which it is their desire to banish56 from the world.
Two years since I had become the President of that which we gloried to call the rising Empire of the South Pacific. And in spite of all internal opposition, the college of the Fixed Period was already completed. I then received violent notice from the British Government that Britannula had ceased to be independent, and had again been absorbed by the mother country among the Crown Colonies. How that information was received, and with what weakness on the part of the Britannulists, I now proceed to tell.
I confess that I for one was not at first prepared to obey. We were small, but we were independent, and owed no more of submission57 to Great Britain than we do to the Salomon Islands or to Otaheite. It was for us to make our own laws, and we had hitherto made them in conformity58 with the institutions, and, I must say, with the prejudices of so-called civilisation59. We had now made a first attempt at progress beyond these limits, and we were immediately stopped by the fatuous61 darkness of the old men whom, had Great Britain known her own interest, she would already have silenced by a Fixed Period law on her own account. No greater instance of uncalled-for tyranny is told of in the history of the world as already written. But my brother Britannulists did not agree with me that, in the interest of the coming races, it was our duty rather to die at our posts than yield to the menaces of the Duke of Hatfield. One British gunboat, they declared, in the harbour of Gladstonopolis, would reduce us — to order. What order? A 250-ton steam-swiveller could no doubt crush us, and bring our Fixed Period college in premature62 ruin about our ears. But, as was said, the captain of the gunboat would never dare to touch the wire that should commit so wide a destruction. An Englishman would hesitate to fire a shot that would send perhaps five thousand of his fellow-creatures to destruction before their Fixed Period. But even in Britannula fear still remains63. It was decided64, I will confess by the common voice of the island, that we should admit this Governor, and swear fealty65 again to the British Crown. Sir Ferdinando Brown was allowed to land, and by the rejoicing made at the first Government House ball, as I have already learned since I left the island, it appeared that the Britannulists rejoiced rather than otherwise at their thraldom66.
Two months have passed since that time, and I, being a worn-out old man, and fitted only for the glory of the college, have nothing left me but to write this story, so that coming ages may see how noble were our efforts. But in truth, the difficulties which lay in our way were very stern. The philosophical67 truth on which the system is founded was too strong, too mighty68, too divine, to be adopted by man in the immediate60 age of its first appearance. But it has appeared; and I perhaps should be contented and gratified, during the years which I am doomed69 to linger through impotent imbecility, to think that I have been the first reformer of my time, though I shall be doomed to perish without having enjoyed its fruits.
I must now explain before I begin my story certain details of our plan, which created much schism70 among ourselves. In the first place, what should be the Fixed Period? When a party of us, three or four hundred in number, first emigrated from New Zealand to Britannula, we were, almost all of us, young people. We would not consent to measures in regard to their public debt which the Houses in New Zealand threatened to take; and as this island had been discovered, and a part of it cultivated, thither71 we determined72 to go. Our resolution was very popular, not only with certain parties in New Zealand, but also in the mother country. Others followed us, and we settled ourselves with great prosperity. But we were essentially73 a young community. There were not above ten among us who had then reached any Fixed Period; and not above twenty others who could be said to be approaching it. There never could arrive a time or a people when, or among whom, the system could be tried with so good a hope of success. It was so long before we had been allowed to stand on our bottom, that the Fixed Period became a matter of common conversation in Britannula. There were many who looked forward to it as the creator of a new idea of wealth and comfort; and it was in those days that the calculation was made as to the rivers and railways. I think that in England they thought that a few, and but a few, among us were dreamers of a dream. Had they believed that the Fixed Period would ever have become law, they would not have permitted us to be law-makers. I acknowledge that. But when we were once independent, then again to reduce us to submission by a 250-ton steam-swiveller was an act of gross tyranny.
What should be the Fixed Period? That was the first question which demanded an immediate answer. Years were named absurd in their intended leniency74; — eighty and even eighty-five! Let us say a hundred, said I, aloud, turning upon them all the battery of my ridicule. I suggested sixty; but the term was received with silence. I pointed75 out that the few old men now on the island might be exempted76, and that even those above fifty-five might be allowed to drag out their existences if they were weak enough to select for themselves so degrading a position. This latter proposition was accepted at once, and the exempt77 showed no repugnance78 even when it was proved to them that they would be left alone in the community and entitled to no honour, and never allowed even to enter the pleasant gardens of the college. I think now that sixty was too early an age, and that sixty-five, to which I gracefully79 yielded, is the proper Fixed Period for the human race. Let any man look among his friends and see whether men of sixty-five are not in the way of those who are still aspiring80 to rise in the world. A judge shall be deaf on the bench when younger men below him can hear with accuracy. His voice shall have descended81 to a poor treble, or his eyesight shall be dim and failing. At any rate, his limbs will have lost all that robust82 agility83 which is needed for the adequate performance of the work of the world. It is self-evident that at sixty-five a man has done all that he is fit to do. He should be troubled no longer with labour, and therefore should be troubled no longer with life. “It is all vanity and vexation of spirit,” such a one would say, if still brave, and still desirous of honour. “Lead me into the college, and there let me prepare myself for that brighter life which will require no mortal strength.” My words did avail with many, and then they demanded that seventy should be the Fixed Period.
How long we fought over this point need not now be told. But we decided at last to divide the interval84. Sixty-seven and a half was named by a majority of the Assembly as the Fixed Period. Surely the colony was determined to grow in truth old before it could go into the college. But then there came a further dispute. On which side of the Fixed Period should the year of grace be taken? Our debates even on this subject were long and animated85. It was said that the seclusion86 within the college would be tantamount to penal87 departure, and that the old men should thus have the last lingering drops of breath allowed them, without, in the world at large. It was at last decided that men and women should be brought into the college at sixty-seven, and that before their sixty-eighth birthday they should have departed. Then the bells were rung, and the whole community rejoiced, and banquets were eaten, and the young men and women called each other brother and sister, and it was felt that a great reform had been inaugurated among us for the benefit of mankind at large.
Little was thought about it at home in England when the bill was passed. There was, I suppose, in the estimation of Englishmen, time enough to think about it. The idea was so strange to them that it was considered impossible that we should carry it out. They heard of the bill, no doubt; but I maintain that, as we had been allowed to separate ourselves and stand alone, it was no more their concern than if it had been done in Arizona or Idaho, or any of those Western States of America which have lately formed themselves into a new union. It was from them, no doubt, that we chiefly expected that sympathy which, however, we did not receive. The world was clearly not yet alive to the grand things in store for it. We received, indeed, a violent remonstrance88 from the old-fashioned Government at Washington; but in answer to that we stated that we were prepared to stand and fall by the new system — that we expected glory rather than ignominy, and to be followed by mankind rather than repudiated. We had a lengthened89 correspondence also with New Zealand and with Australia; but England at first did not believe us; and when she was given to understand that we were in earnest, she brought to bear upon us the one argument that could have force, and sent to our harbour her 250-ton steam-swiveller. The 250-ton swiveller, no doubt, was unanswerable — unless we were prepared to die for our system. I was prepared, but I could not carry the people of my country with me.
I have now given the necessary prelude90 to the story which I have to tell. I cannot but think that, in spite of the isolated91 manners of Great Britain, readers in that country generally must have become acquainted with the views of the Fixed–Periodists. It cannot but be that a scheme with such power to change, — and, I may say, to improve, — the manners and habits of mankind, should be known in a country in which a portion of the inhabitants do, at any rate, read and write. They boast, indeed, that not a man or a woman in the British Islands is now ignorant of his letters; but I am informed that the knowledge seldom approaches to any literary taste. It may be that a portion of the masses should have been ignorant of what was being done within the empire of the South Pacific. I have therefore written this preliminary chapter to explain to them what was the condition of Britannula in regard to the Fixed Period just twelve months before England had taken possession of us, and once more made us her own. Sir Ferdinando Brown now rules us, I must say, not with a rod of iron, but very much after his own good will. He makes us flowery speeches, and thinks that they will stand in lieu of independence. He collects his revenue, and informs us that to be taxed is the highest privilege of an ornate civilisation. He pointed to the gunboat in the bay when it came, and called it the divine depository of beneficent power. For a time, no doubt, British “tenderness” will prevail. But I shall have wasted my thoughts, and in vain poured out my eloquence as to the Fixed Period, if, in the course of years, it does not again spring to the front, and prove itself to be necessary before man can accomplish all that he is destined92 to achieve.
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specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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colonists
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| n.殖民地开拓者，移民，殖民地居民( colonist的名词复数 ) | |
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doctrine
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| n.教义；主义；学说 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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ridicule
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undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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repudiated
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| v.（正式地）否认( repudiate的过去式和过去分词 )；拒绝接受；拒绝与…往来；拒不履行（法律义务） | |
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laborious
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contented
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pusillanimous
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opposition
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adoption
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abolition
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miseries
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| n.痛苦( misery的名词复数 )；痛苦的事；穷困；常发牢骚的人 | |
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costliness
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progenitors
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unwilling
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sustenance
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costly
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nourishment
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effete
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aged
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recipients
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susceptible
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machinery
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futile
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majesty
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deter
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foul
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sanitary
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cremation
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rapture
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misery
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begrudge
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enrolled
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interfered
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enthusiast
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alas
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devoted
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auspices
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chamber
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impatience
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grovel
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| vi.卑躬屈膝，奴颜婢膝 | |
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mundane
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| adj.平凡的；尘世的；宇宙的 | |
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torpid
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| adj.麻痹的，麻木的，迟钝的 | |
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Christians
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| n.基督教徒( Christian的名词复数 ) | |
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bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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encumber
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| v.阻碍行动，妨碍，堆满 | |
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afflicted
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| 使受痛苦，折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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metropolis
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| n.首府；大城市 | |
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eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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prudence
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| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
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bosoms
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| 胸部( bosom的名词复数 )； 胸怀； 女衣胸部（或胸襟）； 和爱护自己的人在一起的情形 | |
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quenched
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| 解（渴）( quench的过去式和过去分词 )； 终止（某事物）； （用水）扑灭（火焰等）； 将（热物体）放入水中急速冷却 | |
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banish
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| vt.放逐，驱逐；消除，排除 | |
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submission
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| n.服从，投降；温顺，谦虚；提出 | |
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conformity
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| n.一致，遵从，顺从 | |
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civilisation
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| n.文明，文化，开化，教化 | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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fatuous
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| adj.愚昧的；昏庸的 | |
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premature
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| adj.比预期时间早的；不成熟的，仓促的 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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fealty
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| n.忠贞，忠节 | |
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thraldom
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| n.奴隶的身份，奴役，束缚 | |
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philosophical
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| adj.哲学家的，哲学上的，达观的 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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schism
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| n.分派，派系，分裂 | |
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thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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essentially
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| adv.本质上，实质上，基本上 | |
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leniency
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| n.宽大（不严厉） | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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exempted
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| 使免除[豁免]( exempt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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exempt
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| adj.免除的；v.使免除；n.免税者，被免除义务者 | |
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repugnance
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| n.嫌恶 | |
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gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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aspiring
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| adj.有志气的；有抱负的；高耸的v.渴望；追求 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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robust
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| adj.强壮的，强健的，粗野的，需要体力的，浓的 | |
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agility
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| n.敏捷，活泼 | |
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interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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seclusion
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| n.隐遁，隔离 | |
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penal
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| adj.刑罚的；刑法上的 | |
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remonstrance
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| n抗议，抱怨 | |
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lengthened
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| （时间或空间）延长，伸长( lengthen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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prelude
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| n.序言，前兆，序曲 | |
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isolated
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| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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