When the Sleeper Wakes by H. G. Wells (top romance novels txt) đ
- Author: H. G. Wells
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âWorse. That is what I want you to know, what I want you to see. I know you do not know. They will keep things from you, they will take you presently to a Pleasure City. But you have noticed men and women and children in pale blue canvas, with thin yellow faces and dull eyes?â
âEverywhere.â
âSpeaking a horrible dialect, coarse and weak.â
âI have heard it.â
âThey are the slavesâyour slaves. They are the slaves of the Labour Company you own.â
âThe Labour Company! In some wayâthat is familiar. Ah! now I remember. I saw it when I was wandering about the city, after the lights returned, great fronts of buildings coloured pale blue. Do you really meanâ?â
âYes. How can I explain it to you? Of course the blue uniform struck you. Nearly a third of our people wear itâmore assume it now every day. This Labour Company has grown imperceptibly.â
âWhat is this Labour Company?â asked Graham.
âIn the old times, how did you manage with starving people?â
âThere was the workhouseâwhich the parishes maintained.â
âWorkhouse! Yesâthere was something. In our history lessons. I remember now. The Labour Company ousted the workhouse. It grewâpartlyâout of somethingâyou, perhaps, may remember itâan emotional religious organisation called the Salvation Armyâthat became a business company. In the first place it was almost a charity. To save people from workhouse rigours. Now I come to think of it, it was one of the earliest properties your Trustees acquired. They bought the Salvation Army and reconstructed it as this. The idea in the first place was to give work to starving homeless people.â
âYes.â
âNowadays there are no workhouses, no refuges and charities, nothing but that Company. Its offices are everywhere. That blue is its colour. And any man, woman or child who comes to be hungry and weary and with neither home nor friend nor resort, must go to the Company in the endâor seek some way of death. The Euthanasy is beyond their meansâfor the poor there is no easy death. And at any hour in the day or night there is food, shelter and a blue uniform for all comersâthat is the first condition of the Companyâs incorporationâand in return for a dayâs shelter the Company extracts a dayâs work, and then returns the visitorâs proper clothing and sends him or her out again.â
âYes?â
âPerhaps that does not seem so terrible to you. In your days men starved in your streets. That was bad. But they diedâmen. These people in blueâ. The proverb runs: âBlue canvas once and ever.â The Company trades in their labour, and it has taken care to assure itself of the supply. People come to it starving and helplessâthey eat and sleep for a night and day, theyâwork for a day, and at the end of the day they go out again. If they have worked well they have a penny or soâenough for a theatre or a cheap dancing place, or a kinematograph story, or a dinner or a bet. They wander about after that is spent. Begging is prevented by the police of the ways. Besides, no one gives. They come back again the next day or the day afterâbrought back by the same incapacity that brought them first. At last their proper clothing wears out, or their rags get so shabby that they are ashamed. Then they must work for months to get fresh. If they want fresh. A great number of children are born under the Companyâs care. The mother owes them a month thereafterâthe children they cherish and educate until they are fourteen, and they pay two yearsâ service. You may be sure these children are educated for the blue canvas. And so it is the Company works.â
âAnd none are destitute in the city?â
âNone. They are either in blue canvas or in prison.â
âIf they will not work?â
âMost people will work at that pitch, and the Company has powers. There are stages of unpleasantness in the workâstoppage of foodâand a man or woman who has refused to work once is known by a thumb-marking system in the Companyâs offices all over the world. Besides, who can leave the city poor? To go to Paris costs two Lions. And for insubordination there are the prisonsâdark and miserableâout of sight below. There are prisons now for many things.â
âAnd a third of the people wear this blue canvas?â
âMore than a third. Toilers, living without pride or delight or hope, with the stories of Pleasure Cities ringing in their ears, mocking their shameful lives, their privations and hardships. Too poor even for the Euthanasy, the rich manâs refuge from life. Dumb, crippled millions, countless millions, all the world about, ignorant of anything but limitations and unsatisfied desires. They are born, they are thwarted and they die. That is the state to which we have come.â
For a space Graham sat downcast.
âBut there has been a revolution,â he said. âAll these things will be changed.â Ostrogââ
âThat is our hope. That is the hope of the world. But Ostrog will not do it. He is a politician. To him it seems things must be like this. He does not mind. He takes it for granted. All the rich, all the influential, all who are happy, come at last to take these miseries for granted. They use the people in their politics, they live in ease by their degradation. But youâyou who come from a happier ageâit is to you the people look. To you.â
He looked at her face. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears. He felt a rush of emotion. For a moment he forgot this city, he forgot the race, and all those vague remote voices, in the immediate humanity of her beauty.
âBut what am I to do?â he said with his eyes upon her.
âRule,â she answered, bending towards him and speaking in a low tone. âRule the world as it has never been ruled, for the good and happiness of men. For you might rule itâyou could rule it.
âThe people are stirring. All over the world the people are stirring. It wants but a wordâbut a word from youâto bring them all together. Even the middle sort of people are restless unhappy.
âThey are not telling you the things that are happening. The people will not go back to their drudgeryâthey refuse to be disarmed. Ostrog has awakened something greater than he dreamt ofâhe has awakened hopes.â
His heart was beating fast. He tried to seem judicial, to weigh considerations.
âThey only want their leader,â she said.
âAnd then?â
âYou could do what you would;âthe world is yours.â
He sat, no longer regarding her. Presently he spoke. âThe old dreams, and the thing I have dreamt, liberty, happiness. Are they dreams? Could one manâone manâ?â His voice sank and ceased.
âNot one man, but all menâgive them only a leader to speak the
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