Walled towns

Beaulieu is a Walled Town and it lies about forty miles from one of the largest cities of New England. The forty-mile road is in all things about what such a road is today; the same industrial suburbs, with the further fringe of slate-grey tenements in their dreary and dirty yards, then the subsidiary towns of dull or flamboyant cottages, barren railway stations, third-rate shops, harsh factories, each separated from the next by marshes or barrens where refuse is dumped, and speculative roads and house-lots cry their unsavoury wares. Little by little decent residences crop up and so the ring of reasonable opulence is reached,—now as then good so far as nature is let alone, bad where the architect and landscapist and gardener exercise their ingenuity. Farms follow, and pasture and woodland, unkempt but inoffensive, sometimes even beautiful when the hand of man has been withheld. Three or four ambitious and growing towns break the good country, each contributing of its own in the shape of mills, slums, wastes, commercial architecture, gaudy signs, hurry, noise, dust and bad smells. After the last there is an interval of comparative quiet and decency while the road runs through a respectable forest, rising as it enters among low hills, with a glimpse of water here and there, a small lake, a brook, and at last a fairly wide view.

On the bridge the view changes. There is something different in the lands beyond, though the difference is at first intangible. It is farming land for some two or three miles in front and reaching in a wide sweep right and left, while beyond the land rises swiftly with a rather thick growth of large trees above which lift two or three grey stone towers, and a silvery spire, very delicate and lofty; a view that might be in any English county or in France or the Rhineland. The farms are evidently under high cultivation, divided into rather small fields by hedgerows marked by an unusual number of well-kept trees. There are few farmhouses but many large barns of stone somewhat suggesting those of western Pennsylvania. Such houses as there are, are also of stone in great part, with brick here and there and considerable white plaster. The well-built road is, as before, crowded with motor vehicles, but two things have wholly ceased at the river—advertising signs and smoking factory chimney; as far as the eye can see neither is visible.

The zone of farms is quickly passed and then comes a space of orchards and vineyards; the highway divides, one branch to the right, another to the left, and at the fork stands a stone shrine with the figure of St. Christopher; practically all the motors go to the right, but we take the road to the left, which curves sharply after a few hundred yards, crosses a stone bridge of a single arch over a narrow but swift river, and is intercepted by a long, irregular mass of stone buildings with many mullioned windows, and a lofty tower something like that of St. John’s College in Cambridge, with a broad, high, pointed arch, and a chain reaching from side to side, blocking the way to all wheeled traffic. This is the Bar Gate of the Walled Town of Beaulieu, and here all automobiles must stop, for they are not permitted within the town. There is a good garage on one side; a sort of inn and a livery stable on the other, where one may hire a carriage or saddle horses, which alone are allowed inside the gates.

The rambling grey-stone building, which in parts rises sheer from the river’s edge and is not unlike Warwick Castle, serves many purposes. The octroi is strict and all goods brought into the town for sale must pay a varying ad valorem tax, while the “liberty of the town” is granted to outsiders only on payment of a small fee. No one can sell in the town without a license, while some things are wholly prohibited, such, for example, as those things that would compete with native products, whether of food-stuffs, manufacture or artisanship, and those articles which the town has prohibited as deleterious or as “useless luxuries.” A bailiff and council of three sit here in a fine stone-vaulted room opening off the great gate, for three hours each morning, to issue their licenses or prohibitions. Here also are the town telephones and telegraphs, for while these as well as motor cars are recognized as necessities on emergency occasions, they are held to be “useless luxuries” as private possessions and are forbidden within the walls. There is nothing to prevent a townsman owning and using a motor car or private telephone beyond the town walls, if he likes, though this is looked on with disfavour, and as a matter of fact is unusual. In the early days of this, as of all Walled Towns, and to some extent thereafter, those who became townsmen continued their business or professions “in the world outside the walls,” that is to say in some neighboring city, and the jurisdiction of the Walled Town did not extend beyond its own precincts and lands. Usually in a few years’ time these men adapted themselves to the town life and law, giving up their outside interests and becoming “Burgesses of the Free City” with their interests and material activities concentrated within its limits. Conduct of government is wholly within the hands of these burgesses. As for the town telephones and motor cars, their use is free to all townsmen in cases of illness or other recognized emergency.

Over the gate-tower floats the big banner of the town, above the arch is its coat of arms emblazoned in colour and gold, and within the gate are always two halberdiers on guard. This is not affectation or a wilful mediævalism, but because all the Walled Towns know the value of symbolism and use it universally and intelligently. All civic ceremonials, indeed all the common acts of the town officials, are carried out with much show and dignity and magnificence. There are fine robes of office, precise etiquette, elaborate functions; nothing is done casually or haphazard, but with dignity, beauty and a real pride in the nobility of the communal life. Long before the founding of the first Walled Town it was generally known that the depravity, or at least the incompetence, that had become chronic in civic life, was partially due to the false “democracy” which had shorn it of every vestige of dignity, of ceremonial, of difference from the common affairs of business life, and the potency of symbolism was one of the original elements in the great revolution which brought the Walled Towns into existence.

Passing now under the great echoing vault of the Bar Gate, we come at once into the town itself. There is first of all a small square or market-place with rather thickly set, stone-built and gabled house, with glimpses between, and through occasional archways, into gardens behind. On one side is the Exchange, a considerable building with an open arcade along its front; it is here that the surplus products of the town are sold—grain and farm produce, cloth, or whatever it may be that is paid through the tax in kind or placed in the hands of the Exchange officials for sale outside the community. The main street leads from the square and curves up a slight grade. Here the houses are well separated, with garden walls between, sometimes pierced by grated openings that give more glimpses of gardens around and behind. As in the old days, these houses are mostly workshops and salesrooms as well as residences, for this is the street of craftsmen of all sorts—workers in metals, wood, leather; potters, embroiderers, tailors; carvers in stone, painters, makers of musical instruments. Every craft and art that is needed by the townspeople is found here, for one of the foundation stones of the Walled Towns is self-sufficiency; that is to say, everything ordinarily needful is produced by the town for the town, the necessities that cannot be furnished because of physical and climatic difficulties being reduced to the smallest number. Coffee and tea, a few spices, tropical fruits, rice, tobacco, cotton, silk and certain wines are beyond the contriving of a Walled Town in the north temperate zone and must be imported; but this is done by town officials, who are paid salaries, and the goods are resold at a standard advance on the wholesale cost. Everything that is possible is produced within the town itself, and either by individual craftsmen or, where bulk products are necessary, in the workshops maintained by the community under the charge of a special and salaried group of officials.

The specialization and localizing of industries and the division of labour were two of the causes of industrial civilization—and still are in “the world without.” That one town or district should be given over to the weaving of cotton or the spinning of wool; that shoes should chiefly be produced in Lynn, furniture in Grand Rapids, glass in Pittsburgh, beer in Milwaukee, hams in Chicago; that from all over a vast district the raw material of manufacture should be transported for hundreds, perhaps thousands of miles, to various howling wildernesses of highly specialized factories, only to be shipped back again after fabrication to be used or consumed by many of the original producers, was and is one of the preposterous absurdities of an industrial system supported on some of the most appalling sophistry that ever issued out of the Adullamite caves of political economy.

In the Walled Towns all this is changed. In the first place no man is a free burgess unless he is a land-holder, and the minimum is garden land sufficient to supply all the needs of his family that can be satisfied from this source; the maximum is that amount of farm land that he can maintain at a minimum standard of productivity. So far as I know every family also keeps as many cows and poultry as will furnish the normal requirements in the shape of dairy products, eggs, and fowl for eating. The farms, which lie outside the walls and quite surround the town, do more than this, and much produce finds its way to the communal dairy, which is used for the production of butter and cheese for the townspeople, and also for sale outside the walls. As each town has its own special products, maintained always at the highest standard, the market never fails.

In the matter of cloth and clothing, wool and flax are grown both by individuals and by the community, and the spinning and weaving are done in the town mills. These are built and equipped at the common charge and managed by officials who serve for fixed salaries. A certain percentage on the value of all raw material brought in for working up into the finished product is assessed on the owner, and this may be paid in cash or in kind. No raw material is ever acquired from outside the community; all internal surplus is purchased and made up into cloth, which is sold first to any townspeople who wish to buy, or second to outside purchasers, the profits going to defray the running expenses. As a matter of fact, there is always a large surplus of wool and flax over and above the normal needs of each producer, and the mills not only run at a profit but pay well on the original investment. In these mills highly perfected machinery is used, for while the Walled Towns were formed partly for the elimination, so far as possible, of machines in the affairs of life, it is realized that they may be used as actual labour-savers, and without serious injury to the workman, where they are employed on bulk-production such as cloth, and where the element of competition is eliminated. Since in manufacture of this kind division of labour is unavoidable and the work is mechanical and akin to drudgery, the wages paid are high, while the hours of employment never exceed thirty a week. Practically all the employees are able to take care of their own gardens and many have small farms as well. During the seed-time and harvest periods the mills are shut down. When it happens (as it often does) that a mill shows a profit, all in excess of three per cent on the value of the plant is divided between the employees and the clerical force, for one of the established laws of all Walled Towns is that capital is entitled only to a fixed return, the surplus belonging to the labour, both mental and physical, that produces the results. Stock companies as such are strictly prohibited and it is unlawful to pay money for the use of money furnished by inactive investors. The mills are of course not large; they are pleasantly situated, not without architectural quality, and they are always run either by water-power or by electricity hydraulically generated. Steam is not used in any case.

The restoration of real crafts has resulted in reducing the use of machinery to the lowest terms. Handicraft has been restored, in wood, metals, all fancy weaving, glass making, pottery, leather-work, and to a certain extent in printing, not only because the results are in every way finer and more durable, but because labour so employed is intelligent, mentally stimulating and physically satisfying, while by so much the production of coal, the mining, smelting and forging of iron ore, and the fabricating of articles of iron and steel are reduced. The Walled Towns hold that such labour is mentally stultifying if not actually degrading, and it is with them a point of morals that they should make it necessary to the smallest degree possible.

The main street leads into the central square of the town, a spacious open place of great dignity and beauty, surrounded by admirable buildings of public character, where the simplicity of the houses and shops gives place to considerable richness both in design and in colour. On one side is the parish church, in this particular case not unlike St. Cuthbert’s, Wells, only half hidden by fine trees and surrounded by a green and shady churchyard. On another side is the Town Hall, also with a lofty tower flying the great flag of the city, while the other sides of the square are filled with the rich façades of the Guild Halls. Opening out of this central square is the Market Place, entered through a noble archway between two of the Guild Halls, and in this square is the Market House and several more Guild Halls. Opposite, a street connects after some few hundred feet with a third open place, in this case a pleasure garden, and here are the theatre, the concert hall, the public baths, the principal inn and several cafés and shops, the latter being more especially devoted to those things which are associated with the lighter side of life.

Beyond the immediate vicinity of these squares come the dwelling-places, each a separate house with a garden never less than an acre in extent. No multiple houses of any sort are permitted and each family must maintain a separate house and garden. The roads here wind pleasantly and are well shaded by trees; niched statues, both secular and religious, and shrines, are quite common. Here also are the several conventual establishments belonging to various orders, and varying much as between one town and another, but there is always a house for men and one for women. In the particular town we are considering, the chief monastic institution is Benedictine, and it stands on higher land than the rest of the town and is a true abbey both in size and in its official status. There is also a house of Dominican Sisters and one of Canons Regular of St. Augustine. Where the land begins to drop down again towards the river as it curves around on the side of the town opposite that at which we entered, is the college, with very spacious grounds, groves and gardens, the whole commanding a wide view out across the zone of farms and so to the low hills on the horizon to the west.

Let us now retrace our steps to the group of squares and see something of the significance of the various buildings and the part they play in the life of the Walled Town. We will interrogate some citizen in each case who can best explain that portion of the polity with which he is associated. The first shall be the parish priest, and he shall talk to us as we sit in the lych-gate with the silvery grey church behind, and in front the square where people are constantly passing back and forth,—not the dull, drab throng of men in ugly “sack-suits” and “derby” hats of the cities of the outer world, and women in fantastic finery or sordid, sad-coloured gowns, but a self-respecting people with some sense of beauty and a manifest delight in colour.

“There is,” says the parson, “as you will see, only one parish church, though as the town has grown other chapels have been added in other quarters, each of which is under a vicar who is one of the general body of parish clergy. The whole town forms one parish and the whole body of parochial clergy sit together to deal with the spiritual affairs of the town, while all the free burgesses meet in common to deal with the temporal interests of the parish. No, there are no denominational divisions. Each town as it is founded is made up only of those of the same religious convictions, and thereafter none is added who is not of the same belief. Denominationalism is inconsistent with unity of action, coöperation and true democracy, and however much the laws and customs of the Walled Towns may vary (and there is no little diversity) in this there is complete unanimity. No one is of course constrained to go to church or accept the ministrations of the clergy, although refusal is practically unheard of. There have been cases of those who have lost their faith, but sooner or later this means their withdrawal from the town itself. The parish church is actually the centre of spiritual life of the community. Its services are very numerous, particularly on Sundays and holy days, and it is, as you have seen, a sort of synthesis of all the arts raised to the highest attainable level. Each guild has either its own chapel or altar, and once a year it holds a great service at which its members are bound to be present.”

“The relationship between the Church and civic life is, I suppose, about what it was before the Reformation. Religion enters into all the affairs of life as it did then, and the visible manifestations are pretty much the same. You will have noticed the many shrines and statues in all parts of the town, and you can also see within a few days’ time one of the many festival processions through the streets. In the Walled Towns religion is not a hidden thing, nor is it segregated in a few places and confined to one day in the week. In the world outside the walls, where the old sectarian divisions still continue, this realization of religion would be impossible; but within the walls, because of the unanimity of conviction on the part of those that are drawn to any particular town, it is not only possible but inevitable.”

We cross the square and enter the Town Hall with its shady arcades and its painted and gilded statues like those on the Hôtel de Ville of Bourges. We go up a broad stone stairway and enter the anteroom of the Provost, who is the head of the government. The room has fine tapestries on the walls, with much well-carved furniture, and the guards and ushers suggest neither by their costumes nor their manners the familiar police officers on duty in the ordinary city hall. The building and the officials and the grave and rather stately ceremonial all convey the impression that a Walled Town is both a City State and a Free State, and that its formal and personal expression is a matter of dignity, reverence and self-respect. Once, not long ago, being in a large city of the North-West, I was invited to address the Mayor and Aldermen on certain matters pertaining to that department of my own city government of which I happened to be the head. The corridors were crowded with dirty or sinister loafers interspersed with burly policemen. There were spitoons everywhere which served only a part of their purpose. The Mayor’s reception room was not unhandsome, but it was full of knots of whispering and sly-eyed political hangers-on, reporters, and more loafers, while the air was rank with tobacco-smoke. Presently the Mayor and Aldermen strolled in, hailing various individuals by nicknames and slang phrases, and disposed themselves at ease around a long table; some were in their shirt-sleeves, for it was a hot midsummer day. I was listened to politely enough, and the questions asked were not unintelligent; it was the attitude, the form, that was at fault. The whole thing was more like a social meeting of commercial travellers in the office of a country hotel than a session of the governing body of a great city.

After this digression let us return to our Walled Town. From the anteroom we are conducted to the state reception room, and here we are received by the Provost in his long, furred gown and his gold chain of office. He is an old man, grey-bearded, and his courtly manners indicate at once his breeding, his self-respect and his sense of the dignity and significance of his position. From him we learn that only land-holders are burgesses of the town and that no others possess a vote or may hold office; the distinction is less invidious than it might appear, for land-holding is so fundamental a principle in the Walled Towns that there are almost none who cannot qualify. Government is in the hands of the Provost and Council, with a small group of department heads who with the Provost form the executive. Any hundred burgesses may unite for the purpose of choosing one of their number to the Council, and as this particular town contains about three thousand burgesses the Council consists of thirty men who are chosen annually, while the Provost, who is elected by the Council, holds office for ten years. There would appear to be very little legislation; each year the Provost presents, with the financial budget, a programme of legislation, and until this is disposed of, private legislative bills may not be considered. A further guard against the universal curse of democracy, reckless and ill-digested legislation initiated by single individuals, is the provision that any private bill must be indorsed by one fifth of all the Councillors before it can be introduced.

Taxation is almost wholly in the form of rent of land, and here the scale is fixed from the moment the land is taken over, while it varies as between arable land, forest, orchard, pasture, garden and “tenement,” i. e. land on which is a dwelling. If through his own industry a land-holder improves any portion of his holding, he receives a rebate on his taxes; if he allows any land to degenerate, his tax is increased. The tax revenue is supplemented by various fees, small in amount and not numerous, and by the “gate tax” imposed on those from outside who are admitted to buy or sell within the walls. Public indebtedness is prohibited by law, the revenue must always meet the annual expenditure, and no bonds secured by public credit may be issued.

The Walled Towns have definitely abandoned the nineteenth century theory that the vote is a “natural right.” As said before, this privilege is exercised only by land-holders (the great majority of citizens) but it may be withdrawn for long or short periods and for reasons specified in the charter. Any man found guilty of a crime or misdemeanour forfeits the franchise, and for periods varying from one year to life, dependent on the gravity of the offence. The burgesses vote only through their “hundreds” and solely for the choosing of Councillors, but the election of a Provost must be confirmed by a mass-meeting of all burgesses, and any change in the charter must be submitted for the same approval.

The Law Courts of a Walled Town offer many points of difference to those of “the world without.” In the first place, it is a fundamental principle that the object of a Court of Law is the administering of justice, the defence of right, and the punishment of wrong. An appeal to technicalities is therefore prohibited, and any advocate who makes such an appeal is promptly disbarred. Normally all cases are tried and determined by a bench of judges, though in certain cases the plaintiff or defendant may demand a jury trial. Of course all Judges are appointed by the Provost for life. In addition to the regular municipal courts there is a Court of Conciliation. Under the oath of each citizen to obey and support the charter, every case must be taken to the Court of Conciliation before recourse is had to the regular courts of law, the result being that very few cases fail of adjustment without formal legal process. The Law Courts themselves are housed in a building of a degree of beauty unusual even in a Walled Town where ugliness is unknown, while the form and ceremony reach the final height of grave majesty.

Let us now visit one of the guild halls, for it is in the guild that we may find the root of the entire economic system which so sharply differentiates society within the walls from that without. We may take any one of the half-dozen or more, for all are practically the same except in the design of their buildings and the decoration, the liveries of the members and officials, and the guild banner.

All society is organized under the guild system, and every man must be a registered member of one guild or another. The guild of the farmers is the largest, and usually it is to this that those citizens belong who are officials or professional men. Then there are guilds of metal-workers of all kinds, cloth-makers, builders, artists, etc. When a Walled Town is founded with small numbers the list of guilds is very small, but as the town increases so do the guilds, and the different industries organize their own groups. A guild is an artificial family made up of all those of a common interest. Its objects are: human fellowship, coöperation, mutual aid in illness or misfortune, the maintaining of the highest standard in the product of all its members, prevention of inordinate profits, regulation of the relationship between masters, journeymen and apprentices, the standardizing of wages and profits, craft training and education, the maintenance of and common participation in religious services, and finally the purchase of raw materials and the ownership and maintenance of large and costly machinery in the few cases where that is employed.

In the Walled Town the division between capital and labour does not and can not exist. Since production is for use, not profit, since competition is impossible under the guild system, and since no advertising is permitted beyond a sign-board (and they are sometimes most notable works of art, these painted and gilded and carven signs), exploitation, whether of labour or markets, is unknown. One of the fundamental points in the town charters is the definite prohibition of the “unearned increment.” Money may not be taken or paid for the use of money, except within each guild, and here only under what are practically emergency conditions, the rate of interest never exceeding three per cent. Every guild has its own fund, made up from dues, bequests, and a percentage of profits on the sale by the guild of such surplus products as may be handed over to its officers for disposal; but this fund cannot be invested at interest outside the walls nor is any portion available for other than guild members, except that the town may use it for current expenses in anticipation of the regular land-taxes (or rent), paying three per cent therefor, and returning it within the space of a year. The system is practically a restoration of the guild system of the Middle Ages, and any one may find for himself further details by referring to the many books on the subject; e. g. those of William Morris, Arthur Penty and Prince Kropotkin. It is the precise antithesis of collectivism, socialism and trades-unionism of whatever form.

Within the Walled Towns the educational system shows few points of resemblance to the standards and methods still pursued outside. It is universally recognized that the prime object of all education is the development of inherent character, and for this reason it is never divorced from religion; the idea of a rigidly secularized education is abhorrent, and the dwellers in the Walled Towns rightly attribute to its prevalence in the nineteenth century much of the retrogression in character, the loss of sound standards of value, and the disappearance of leadership which synchronized with the twentieth century break-down of civilization even if it were not indeed its primary cause. Neither is there any false estimate of the possibilities of education; it is held that while it can measurably develop qualities latent in the child by reason of its racial impulse, it cannot put in what is not there already. The old superstition that education and environment were omnipotent, and that they were the safeguards as well as the justification of democracy, since given an identical environment and equal educational opportunities an hundred children of as many classes, races and antecedents would turn out equal as potential members of a free society, has long since been abandoned. It is impossible to enter into this question at length, but the chief points are these.

Education is not compulsory, but parents are bound to see that their children can “read, write and cipher.” Primary schools are maintained by the town and are conducted largely along the lines first developed by Dr. Thomas Edward Shields in the early twentieth century. Beyond primary grades the schools are maintained by various units such as the guilds, the parish and the monasteries and convents. While considerable variation exists as between one school and another, they are all under the supervision of the Director of Education in order that certain standards may be maintained. Variety both in subjects taught and in methods followed is held to be most desirable, and complete freedom of choice exists between the schools, though a parent wishing to send a child to some school other than those maintained by his own guild pays an annual fee for the privilege. Beyond reading, writing, arithmetic and music, which are common to all, the curriculum varies widely, though history, literature and Latin are practically universal. In some schools mathematics will be carried further than in others, in some natural science, while elsewhere literature, history, modern languages will be emphasized. There is no effort to subject all children to the same methods and to force them to follow the same courses,—quite the reverse; neither is the object the carrying of all children through the same schools to the same point. It is held that beyond a certain stage most children profit little or nothing by continued intensive study. On the other hand, there are always those whose desires and capacities would carry them to the limit. These are watched for with the most jealous care, and if a boy or girl shows special aptitude along any particular line he becomes an honour student, and thereafter he is in a sense a ward of the community, being sent without charge to the higher schools, the college, and even on occasion to some university beyond the limits of the Walled Town if he can gain there something not available within the walls. Of course any student may continue as far as he likes, or is able, but this is not encouraged except in the case of the honour student, and he must himself meet his own expenses. The authorities are particularly careful to discover any special ability in any of the arts, literature and philosophy, and it is the boast of the Walled Towns that no one who gives promise along any one of these lines need fail of achievement through lack of opportunity. In the case of the various crafts also the same care is exercised, and a boy showing particular aptitude is at once given the opportunity of entrance into the proper guild as an apprentice, after he has been prepared for this by a modified course of instruction adapted to his particular ability.

The college has something the effect of a blending of New College, Oxford, and St. John’s, Cambridge. It is perhaps the most beautiful element in the Walled Town, and here every intellectual, spiritual and artistic quality is fostered to the fullest degree. The college is a corporation under control of the alumni and the faculty, not in the hands of trustees, as was the unfortunate fashion amongst American universities in the nineteenth century. There are many fellowships granted for notable achievements along many lines, and a Fellow may claim free food and lodgings for life, if he choose, the return being certain service of a limited nature in the line of instruction, either as lecturer or preceptor. A few students are received from without the walls, but the number may not exceed five per cent of the student body, and high fees are charged for the privilege. There are no regular courses divided into four years. An honour student must take his Bachelor’s Degree within six years, his Master’s Degree in not less than two years thereafter, and his Doctorate in another four years, otherwise his privilege lapses and he must pay as other students, in which case there are no limits whatever and a man may spend a lifetime in study if he desires—and can pay the price. All the regular members of the Faculty must be burgesses, but many lecture courses are given by visiting professors from all parts of the world. Latin is a prerequisite for the Bachelor’s and Master’s Degrees, and Greek for a Doctorate, whatever the line that may be followed.

As has been said above, the recreation quarter of the town is around a square or garden a short distance from the central square. Here are to be found the public baths and gymnasium, together with a number of gay and attractive cafés and restaurants, the theatres, concert halls, etc. To a very great extent all the music and drama are the product of the people themselves. As has been said, music is almost the foundation of the educational system, therefore trained as they are from earliest childhood, good music, vocal, instrumental, orchestral, even operatic, is a natural and even inevitable result. The same is true of the drama, and nightly plays, operas, concerts are given by the townspeople themselves which reach a standard comparable with that of professionals elsewhere. Now and then, as a mark of special commendation, actors, singers and musicians are invited by the Provost and Council to visit the town, but as a general thing all is done by the people themselves. The moving picture show is prohibited.

With all the rich pageantry of life in a Walled Town, the magnificent church services, where all the arts assemble in the greatest æsthetic synthesis man has ever devised, the religious and secular festivals with their processions and merrymaking and dancing, the form and ceremony of ecclesiastical and civic life, and the unbroken environment of beauty, the craving for “shows” which holds without the walls and must be satisfied by tawdry and sensational dramatic performances, professional entertainers and the “movies,” is largely absent here where all life is couched in terms of true drama and living beauty. Here is no hard line of demarcation between a drab and sordid and hustling daily life on the one hand, and “amusement” on the other. All the arts are in constant use, and music and drama are merely extensions of this common use into slightly different fields. The same holds good of the other arts. An “art museum” is unknown, for it is a contradiction in terms. The Walled Town is full of pictures and sculpture and all the products of the art-crafts; but the latter are in every household, while the pictures and sculptures are in all the churches and public buildings, where they belong, and are constantly and universally visible. If an old picture is obtained, or a Mediæval statue or a tapestry, it is at once placed in a position similar to that for which it was originally intended. It would be perfectly impossible for the authorities to put a Bellini altar-piece in a yawning museum, jostled by crowded others and visible on week-days on payment of an admission fee, “Saturday afternoon and Sunday free.” Instead it is placed over an altar in the parish church or in some chapel. There are museums of sorts, but they are connected with the guild halls and contain only models for instruction and emulation.

And what of the social organism as it has developed under these definite modes of action? In the first place there are certain explicit inhibitions, as has already been indicated, the elimination of many details of luxury and artificial desires which tend to turn much human energy to futile ends, to raise the cost of living to abnormal heights, to establish false levels between those that have and those that have not, and that defeat every sane effort towards a simplification of life and its maintenance in accordance with right standards of comparative value. Desires have not been reduced in force, but they have been vastly cut down in number and turned towards real values. Owing to the ban on usury and the unearned increment, and the restoration of production for use in place of production for profit, wide variations in wealth no longer exist, although there are still differences due to thrift, more intelligent or prolonged work, and above all to superiority in the thing produced. Variations in social status still exist; indeed they are fostered, as a matter of fact, but they are no longer based either on money or on power. A Walled Town is at the same time individualist, coöperative and aristocratic, so far more closely resembling Mediæval society than any other that has existed, and therefore sharply differentiated both from society as it had become in the nineteenth century, and as it was aimed at by the socialists, the anarchists and the democrats of the same period. As all society is organized in guilds, and as in each there are the three classes of apprentices, journeymen and masters, so while each class has its own recognized status, there is an equally recognized difference between them. An apprentice may not hold land, therefore he cannot be a burgess of the free city, while a journeyman or master may not become a burgess unless he does hold land, and only burgesses participate in the civic duties and privileges of the town. There are certain offices which only a master may hold, and there are others which are open only to those masters who have become members of one of the Academies, or who belong to the Order of Knighthood. The Provost, for example, may be chosen only from amongst the knights. These highest ranks of dignity are constituted as follows:

In each Walled Town there are several Academies, each made up of those masters in the several guilds who have achieved the highest eminence. There is one Academy of Science and Craft, an Academy of Arts and Letters, an Academy of Philosophy, etc. Entrance into this circle of supreme achievement is effected either by direct choice of the members of the Academy, in which case the guild from which the candidate is chosen must ratify the choice, or by nomination on the part of the guild, when the recommendation so made must be sanctioned by the members of the Academy. Only high proficiency in some specified direction is ground for election to these Academies, and membership is an honour of the greatest distinction. The Order of Knighthood, however, is conferred rather for high qualities of character and for public service; any man, apprentice, minor official, servant, may be made a Knight if he demonstrates some high quality of honour or service. Here the power to nominate lies in the hands both of the Provost and of the knights themselves, but the latter have the right to confirm or reject the nominee of the Provost, while he has the same power if the nomination comes from the knights. Both the Academies and the knights have the right to degrade and expel a member of their own order; but when this is done it must be as the result of an open trial, if the accused so demands. Conviction of certain crimes and offences works degradation automatically.

The object of these higher circles of specially chosen individuals is the official recognition of character and achievement and the constituting of certain groups of distinguished men whose duty it is to guard the highest ideals, not only of their own crafts, but of society itself through the free city which embodies their communal life. The Walled Towns know well that, while all men are equal in the sight of God and before the Law, there is otherwise no such thing as equality, that it would be fatal were it ever achieved, and that the efforts at its accomplishment have undermined such society as we once had until it has crumbled and crashed into the unhandsome débris of its own ruin. The determination of inequalities by false standards of comparative value is almost as ill-favoured a thing as a doctrinaire equality; between the cash values of the bourgeois nineteenth century and the crazy overturnings and levellings and topsy-turvydom of twentieth century “democracy,” or Bolshevism, there is little to choose. High values, few, cherished, recognized and honoured, are one great end of society, of life itself, and it is in these crowning marks of distinction and achievement that humanity finds its best expression as well as its safe guides and sure leaders. In the Walled Towns is always the ardent quest for something to honour, whether it is some concrete product of art, science, letters, craftsmanship, or whether it is a citizen, an ideal, a memory of the past, a figure in history, a saint—or God Himself. Honour, service, loyalty, worship,—these things have wholly taken the place of an insolent assurance of equality, a bawling about rights, a denial of superiority, a proclaiming of the omnipotence of men “by virtue of their manhood alone.”