News from Nowhere

News from Nowhere

William Morris

Up at the League, says a friend, there had been one night a brisk

conversational discussion, as to what would happen on the Morrow of the

Revolution, finally shading off into a vigorous statement by various

friends of their views on the future of the fully-developed new society.

Says our friend: Considering the subject, the discussion was

good-tempered; for those present being used to public meetings and after-

lecture debates, if they did not listen to each others' opinions (which

could scarcely be expected of them), at all events did not always attempt

to speak all together, as is the custom of people in ordinary polite

society when conversing on a subject which interests them. For the rest,

there were six persons present, and consequently six sections of the

party were represented, four of which had strong but divergent Anarchist

opinions. One of the sections, says our friend, a man whom he knows very

well indeed, sat almost silent at the beginning of the discussion, but at

last got drawn into it, and finished by roaring out very loud, and

damning all the rest for fools; after which befel a period of noise, and

then a lull, during which the aforesaid section, having said good-night

very amicably, took his way home by himself to a western suburb, using

the means of travelling which civilisation has forced upon us like a

habit. As he sat in that vapour-bath of hurried and discontented

humanity, a carriage of the underground railway, he, like others, stewed

discontentedly, while in self-reproachful mood he turned over the many

excellent and conclusive arguments which, though they lay at his fingers'

ends, he had forgotten in the just past discussion. But this frame of

mind he was so used to, that it didn't last him long, and after a brief

discomfort, caused by disgust with himself for having lost his temper

(which he was also well used to), he found himself musing on the subject-

matter of discussion, but still discontentedly and unhappily. "If I

could but see a day of it," he said to himself; "if I could but see it!"

As he formed the words, the train stopped at his station, five minutes'

walk from his own house, which stood on the banks of the Thames, a little

way above an ugly suspension bridge. He went out of the station, still

discontented and unhappy, muttering "If I could but see it! if I could

but see it!" but had not gone many steps towards the river before (says

our friend who tells the story) all that discontent and trouble seemed to

slip off him.

It was a beautiful night of early winter, the air just sharp enough to be

refreshing after the hot room and the stinking railway carriage. The

wind, which had lately turned a point or two north of west, had blown the

sky clear of all cloud save a light fleck or two which went swiftly down

the heavens. There was a young moon halfway up the sky, and as the home-

farer caught sight of it, tangled in the branches of a tall old elm, he

could scarce bring to his mind the shabby London suburb where he was, and

he felt as if he were in a pleasant country place--pleasanter, indeed,

than the deep country was as he had known it.

He came right down to the river-side, and lingered a little, looking over

the low wall to note the moonlit river, near upon high water, go swirling

and glittering up to Chiswick Eyot: as for the ugly bridge below, he did

not notice it or think of it, except when for a moment (says our friend)

it struck him that he missed the row of lights down stream. Then he

turned to his house door and let himself in; and even as he shut the door

to, disappeared all remembrance of that brilliant logic and foresight

Well, I awoke, and found that I had kicked my bedclothes off; and no

wonder, for it was hot and the sun shining brightly. I jumped up and

washed and hurried on my clothes, but in a hazy and half-awake condition,

as if I had slept for a long, long while, and could not shake off the

weight of slumber. In fact, I rather took it for granted that I was at

home in my own room than saw that it was so.

When I was dressed, I felt the place so hot that I made haste to get out

of the room and out of the house; and my first feeling was a delicious

relief caused by the fresh air and pleasant breeze; my second, as I began

to gather my wits together, mere measureless wonder: for it was winter

when I went to bed the last night, and now, by witness of the river-side

trees, it was summer, a beautiful bright morning seemingly of early June.

However, there was still the Thames sparkling under the sun, and near

high water, as last night I had seen it gleaming under the moon.

I had by no means shaken off the feeling of oppression, and wherever I

might have been should scarce have been quite conscious of the place; so

it was no wonder that I felt rather puzzled in despite of the familiar

face of the Thames. Withal I felt dizzy and queer; and remembering that

people often got a boat and had a swim in mid-stream, I thought I would

do no less. It seems very early, quoth I to myself, but I daresay I

shall find someone at Biffin's to take me. However, I didn't get as far

as Biffin's, or even turn to my left thitherward, because just then I

began to see that there was a landing-stage right before me in front of

my house: in fact, on the place where my next-door neighbour had rigged

one up, though somehow it didn't look like that either. Down I went on

to it, and sure enough among the empty boats moored to it lay a man on

his sculls in a solid-looking tub of a boat clearly meant for bathers. He

nodded to me, and bade me good-morning as if he expected me, so I jumped

in without any words, and he paddled away quietly as I peeled for my

swim. As we went, I looked down on the water, and couldn't help saying--

"How clear the water is this morning!"

"Is it?" said he; "I didn't notice it. You know the flood-tide always

thickens it a bit."

"H'm," said I, "I have seen it pretty muddy even at half-ebb."

He said nothing in answer, but seemed rather astonished; and as he now

lay just stemming the tide, and I had my clothes off, I jumped in without

more ado. Of course when I had my head above water again I turned

towards the tide, and my eyes naturally sought for the bridge, and so

utterly astonished was I by what I saw, that I forgot to strike out, and

went spluttering under water again, and when I came up made straight for

the boat; for I felt that I must ask some questions of my waterman, so

bewildering had been the half-sight I had seen from the face of the river

with the water hardly out of my eyes; though by this time I was quit of

the slumbrous and dizzy feeling, and was wide-awake and clear-headed.

As I got in up the steps which he had lowered, and he held out his hand

to help me, we went drifting speedily up towards Chiswick; but now he

caught up the sculls and brought her head round again, and said--"A short

swim, neighbour; but perhaps you find the water cold this morning, after

your journey. Shall I put you ashore at once, or would you like to go