Through the Eye of the Needle

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Mrs. Chrysostom was accompanied by a lady in her second youth, very
graceful, very charmingly dressed, and with an expression of winning
intelligence, whom she named to me simply as Cecilia, in the Altrurian
fashion. She apparently knew no English, and at first Mrs. Chrysostom
translated each of her questions and my answers. When I had got through,
this lady began to question me herself in Altrurian, which I owned to
understanding a little. She said:

"You know Anatole?"

"Yes, certainly, and I like him, as I think every one must who knows
him."

"He is a skillful _chef_?"

"Mr. Thrall would not have paid him ten thousand dollars a year if he had
not been."

"You have seen some of his water-colors?"

"Yes. They are exquisite. He is unquestionably an artist of rare talent."

"And it is known to you that he is a man of scientific attainments?"

"That is something I cannot judge of so well as Aristides; but _he_ says
M. Anatole is learned beyond any man he knows in edible fungi."

"As an adoptive Altrurian, and knowing the American ideas from our point
of view, should you respect their ideas of social inequality?"

"Not the least in the world. I understand as well as you do that their
ideas must prevail wherever one works for a living and another does not.
hose ideas are practically as much accepted in America as they are in
Europe, but I have fully renounced them."

You see, Dolly, how far I have gone!

The unknown, who could be pretty easily imagined, rose up and gave me her
hand. "If you are in the Region on the third of May you must come to our
wedding."

The same afternoon I had a long talk with Mr. Thrall, whom I found at
work replanting a strawberry-patch during the Voluntaries. He rose up at
the sound of my voice, and after an old man's dim moment for getting me
mentally in focus, he brightened into a genial smile, and said, "Oh, Mrs.
Homos! I am glad to see you."

I told him to go on with his planting, and I offered to get down on my
knees beside him and help, but he gallantly handed me to a seat in the
shade beside his daughter's flower-bed, and it was there that we had a
long talk about conditions in America and Altruria, and how he felt about
the great change in his life.

"Well, I can truly say," he answered much more at length than I shall
report, "that I have never been so happy since the first days of my
boyhood. All care has dropped from me; I don't feel myself rich, and I
don't feel myself poor in this perfect safety from want. The only thing
that gives me any regret is that my present state has not been the effect
of my own will and deed. If I am now following the greatest and truest of
all counsels it has not been because I have sold all and given to the
poor, but because my money has been mercifully taken from me, and I have
been released from its responsibilities in a state of things where there
is no money."

"But, Mr. Thrall," I said, "don't you ever feel that you have a duty to
the immense fortune which you have left in America, and which must be
disposed of somehow when people are satisfied that you are not going to
return and dispose of it yourself?"

"No, none. I was long ago satisfied that I could really do no good with
it. Perhaps if I had had more faith in it I might have done some good
with it, but I believe that I never did anything but harm, even when I
seemed to be helping the most, for I was aiding in the perpetuation of a
state of things essentially wrong. Now, if I never go back--and I never
wish to go back--let the law dispose of it as seems best to the
authorities. I have no kith or kin, and my wife has none, so there is no
one to feel aggrieved by its application to public objects."

"And how do you imagine it will be disposed of?"

"Oh, I suppose for charitable and educational purposes. Of course a good
deal of it will go in graft; but that cannot be helped."

"But if you could now dispose of it according to your clearest ideas of
justice, and if you were forced to make the disposition yourself, what
would you do with it?"

"Well, that is something I have been thinking of, and as nearly as I can
make out, I ought to go into the records of my prosperity and ascertain
just how and when I made my money. Then I ought to seek out as fully as
possible the workmen who helped me make it by their labor. Their wages,
which, were always the highest, were never a fair share, though I forced
myself to think differently, and it should be my duty to inquire for them
and pay them each a fair share, or, if they are dead, then their children
or their next of kin. But even when I had done this I should not be sure
that I had not done them more harm than good."

How often I had heard poor Mr. Strange say things like this, and heard
of other rich men saying them, after lives of what is called beneficence!
Mr. Thrall drew a deep sigh, and cast a longing look at his
strawberry-bed. I laughed, and said, "You are anxious to get back to your
plants, and I won't keep you. I wonder if Mrs. Thrall could see me if I
called; or Lady Moors?"

He said he was sure they would, and I took my way over to the marquee. I
was a little surprised to be met at the door by Lord Moors' man Robert.
He told me he was very sorry, but her ladyship was helping his lordship
at a little job on the roads, which they were doing quite in the
Voluntaries, with the hope of having the National Colonnade extended to a
given point; the ladies were helping the gentlemen get the place in
shape. He was still sorrier, but I not so much, that Mrs. Thrall was
lying down and would like to be excused; she was rather tired from
putting away the luncheon things.

He asked me if I would not sit down, and he offered me one of the
camp-stools at the door of the marquee, and I did sit down for a moment,
while he flitted about the interior doing various little things. At last
I said, "How is this, Robert? I thought you had been assigned to a place
in the communal refectory. You're not here on the old terms?"

He came out and stood respectfully holding a dusting-cloth in his hand.
"Thank you, not exactly, ma'am. But the fact is, ma'am, that the communal
monitors have allowed me to come back here a few hours in the afternoon,
on what I may call terms of my own."

"I don't understand. But won't you sit down, Robert?"

"Thank you, if it is the same to you, ma'am, I would rather stand while
I'm here. In the refectory, of course, it's different."

"But about your own terms?"

"Thanks. You see, ma'am, I've thought all along it was a bit awkward for
them here, they not being so much used to looking after things, and I
asked leave to come and help now and then. Of course, they said that
I could not be allowed to serve for hire in Altruria; and one thing led
to another, and I said it would really be a favor to me, and I didn't
expect money for my work, for I did not suppose I should ever be where I
could use it again, but if they would let me come here and do it for--"

Robert stopped and blushed and looked down, and I took the word, "For
love?"

"Well, ma'am, that's what they called it."

Dolly, it made the tears come into my eyes, and I said very solemnly,
"Robert, do you know, I believe you are the sweetest soul even in this
and flowing with milk and honey?"

"Oh, you mustn't say that, ma'am. There's Mr. Thrall and his lordship and
her ladyship. I'm sure they would do the like for me if I needed their
help. And there are the Altrurians, you know."

"But they are used to it, Robert, and--Robert! Be frank with me! What do
you think of Altruria?"

"Quite frank, ma'am, as if you were not connected with it, as you are?"

"Quite frank."

"Well, ma'am, if you are sure you wouldn't mind it, or consider it out of
the way for me, I should say it was--rum."

"_Rum_? Don't you think it is beautiful here, to see people living for
each other instead of living _on_ each other, and the whole nation like
one family, and the country a paradise?"

"Well, that's just it, ma'am, if you won't mind my saying so. That's what
I mean by rum."

"Won't you explain?"

"It doesn't seem _real_. Every night when I go to sleep, and think that
there isn't a thief or a policeman on the whole continent, and only a few
harmless homicides, as you call them, that wouldn't hurt a fly, and not a
person hungry or cold, and no poor and no rich, and no servants and no
masters, and no soldiers, and no--disreputable characters, it seems as if
I was going to wake up in the morning and find myself on the _Saraband_
and it all a dream here."

"Yes, Robert," I had to own, "that was the way with me, too, for a long
while. And even now I have dreams about America and the way matters are
there, and I wake myself weeping for fear Altruria _isn't_ true. Robert!
You must be honest with me! When you are awake, and it's broad day, and
you see how happy every one is here, either working or playing, and the
whole land without an ugly place in it, and the lovely villages and the
magnificent towns, and everything, does it still seem--rum?"

"It's like that, ma'am, at times. I don't say at all times."

"And you don't believe that the rest of the world--England and
America--will ever be rum, too?"

"I don't see how they can. You see the poor are against it as well as the
rich. Everybody wants to have something of his own, and the trouble seems
to come from that. I don't suppose it was brought about in a day,
Altruria wasn't, ma'am?"

"No, it was whole centuries coming."

"That was what I understood from that Mr. Chrysostom--Cyril, he wants me
to call him, but I can't quite make up my mouth to it--who speaks
English, and says he has been in England. He was telling me about it, one
day when we were drying the dishes at the refectory together. He says
they used to have wars and trusts and trades-unions here in the old days,
just as we do now in civilized countries."

"And you don't consider Altruria civilized?"

"Well, not in just that sense of the word, ma'am. You wouldn't call
heaven civilized?"

"Well, not in just that sense of the word. Robert,"

"You see, it's rum here, because, though everything seems to go so right,
it's against human nature."

"The Altrurians say it isn't."

"I hope I don't differ from you, ma'am, but what would people--the best
people--at home say? They would say it wasn't reasonable; they would say
it wasn't even possible. That's what makes me think it's a dream--that
it's rum. Begging your pardon, ma'am."

"Oh, I quite understand, Robert. Then you don't believe a camel can ever
go through the eye of a needle?"

"I don't quite see how, ma'am."

"But you are proof of as great a miracle, Robert."

"Beg your pardon, ma'am?"

"Some day I will explain. But is there nothing that can make you believe
Altruria is true here, and that it can be true anywhere?"

"I have been thinking a good deal about that, ma'am. One doesn't quite
like to go about in a dream, or think one is dreaming, and I have got to
saying to myself that if some ship was to come here from England or
America, or even from Germany, and we could compare our feelings with the
feelings of people who were fresh to it, we might somehow get to believe
that it was real."

"Yes," I had to own. "We need fresh proofs from time to time. There was a
ship that sailed from here something over a year ago, and the captain
promised his crew to let them bring her back, but at times I am afraid
that was part of the dream, too, and that we're all something I am
dreaming about."

"Just so, ma'am," Robert said, and I came away downhearted enough, though
he called after me, "Mrs. Thrall will be very sorry, ma'am."

Back in the Maritime Capital, and oh, Dolly, Dolly, Dolly! They have
sighted the _Little Sally_ from the terrace! How happy I am! There will
be letters from you, and I shall hear all that has happened in America,
and I shall never again doubt that Altruria is real! I don't know how I
shall get these letters of mine back to you, but somehow it can be
managed. Perhaps the _Saraband's_ crew will like to take the _Little
Sally_ home again; perhaps when Mr. Thrall knows the ship is here he will
want to buy it and go back to his money in America and the misery of it!
Do you believe he will? Should I like to remind my husband of his promise
to take me home on a visit? Oh, my heart misgives me! I wonder if the
captain of the _Little Sally_ has brought his wife and children with him,
and is going to settle among us, or whether he has just let his men have
the vessel, and they have come to Altruria without him? I dare not ask
anything, I dare not think anything!

THE END

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