1858.3 格林德维尔的管理机器

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The Grindwell Governing Machine
“Every American voter or votress is allowed to keep his or her little intellectual wind-mill, coffee-mill, pepper-mill, loom, steam-engine, hand-organ, or whatever moral manufacturing or grinding apparatus he or she likes. Each one may be his own Church or his own State, and yet be none the less a good and useful citizen, and the union of the States be in none the more danger. But it is not so in Grindwell.”

MARCH 1858 ISSUE
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On the other side of the Atlantic there is a populous city called Grandville. It is, as its name indicates, a great city, — but it is said that it thinks itself a good deal greater than it really is. I meant to say that Grandville was its original name, and the name by which even at the present day it is called by its own citizens. But there are certain wits, or it may be, vulgar people, who by some process have converted this name into Grindwell.

I may be able, in the course of this sketch, to give a reason why so sounding and aristocratic a name as Grandville has been changed into the plebeian one of Grindwell. I might account for it by adducing similar instances of changes in the names of cities through the bad pronunciation and spelling of foreigners. For instance, the English nickname Livorno Leghorn, the Germans insist on calling Venice Venedig, and the French convert Washington into the Chinese word Voss-Hang-Tong. And so it may be that the name Grindwell has originated among us Americans simply from miscalling or misspelling the foreign name of Grandville.


I incline to think, however, that there is a better reason for the name.

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For a good many years Grandville has been famous for a great machine, of a very curious construction, which is said to regulate the movements of the whole city, and almost to convert the men, women, and children into cranks, wheels, and pinions. As a model of this machine does not exist in our Patent Office at Washington, I shall beg the readers indulgence while I attempt to give some account of it. It may be thought a very curious, affair, though I believe there is little about it that is original or new. The idea of it was handed down from remote generations.

In America I know that many persons may consider the Grindwell Governing Machine a humbug, — an obsolete, absurd, and tyrannous institution, wholly unfitted to the nineteenth century. A machine that proposes to think and act for the whole people, and which is rigidly opposed to the people’s thinking and acting for themselves, is likely to find little favor among us. With us the doctrine is, that each one should think for himself, — be an individual mind and will, and not the spoke of a wheel. Every American voter or votress is allowed to keep his or her little intellectual wind-mill, coffee-mill, pepper-mill, loom, steam-engine, hand-organ, or whatever moral manufacturing or grinding apparatus he or she likes. Each one may be his own Church or his own State, and yet be none the less a good and useful citizen, and the union of the States be in none the more danger. But it is not so in Grindwell. The rules of the Grindwell machine allow no one to do his own grinding, unless his mill-wheel is turned by the central governing power. He must allow the big State machine to do everything, — he paying for it, of course. A regular programme prescribes what he shall believe and say and do and any departure from this order is considered a violation of the laws, or at least a reprehensible invasion of the time-honored customs of the city.


The Grindwell Governing Machine (though a patent has been taken out for it in Europe, and it is thought everything of by royal heads and the gilded flies that buzz about them) is really an old machine, nearly worn out, and every now and then patched up and painted and varnished anew. If a committee of our knowing Yankees were sent over to gain information with regard to its actual condition, I am inclined to think they would bring back a curious and not very favorable report. It wouldn’t astonish me, if they should pronounce the whole apparatus of the State rotten from top to bottom, and only kept from falling to pieces by all sorts of ingenious contrivances of an external and temporary nature, — here a wheel, or pivot, or spring to be replaced, — there a prop or buttress to be set up, — here a pipe choked up, there a boiler burst, — and so on, from one end of the works to the other. However, the machine keeps a-going, and many persons think it works beautifully.

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Everything is reduced to such perfect system in its operations, that the necessity for individual opinion is almost superseded, and even private consciences are laid upon the shelf, — just as people lay by an antiquated timepiece that no winding-up or shaking can persuade into marking the hours, — for have they not the clock on the Government railroad station opposite, which they can at any time consult by stepping to the window? For instance, individual honesty is set aside and replaced by a system of rewards and punishments. Honesty is an old-fashioned coat. The police, like a great sponge, absorbs the private virtue. It says to conscience, “Stay there, — don’t trouble yourself, — I will act for you.”

You drop your purse in the street. A rogue picks it up. In his private conscience he says, “Honesty is a very good thing, perhaps, but it is by no means the best policy, — it is simply no policy at all, — it is sheer stupidity. What can be more politic than for me to pocket this windfall and turn the corner quick?” — So preacheth his crooked fag-end of a conscience, that very, very small still voice, in very husky tones; but he knows that a policeman, walking behind him, saw him pick up the purse, which alters the case, — which, in fact, completely sets aside his fag-end of a husky-voiced conscience, and makes virtue his necessity, and necessity his virtue. External morality is hastily drawn on as a decent overcoat to hide the tag-rags of his roguishness, while he magnanimously restores the purse to the owner.


Jones left his umbrella in a cab one night. Discovering that he hadn’t it under his arm, he rushed after the cabman; but he was gone. Jones had his number, however, and with. it proceeded the next day to the police-office, feeling sure that he would find his umbrella there. And there, in a closet appropriated to articles left in hackney-coaches, — a perfect limbo of canes, parasols, shawls, pocket-books, and what-not, — he found it, ticketed and awaiting its lawful owner. The explanation of which mystery is, that the cabmen in Grindwell are strictly amenable to the police for any departure from the system which provides for the security of private property, and a yearly reward is given to those of the coach-driving fraternity who prove to be the most faithful restorers of articles left in their carriages. Surely, the result of system can no farther go than this, — that Monsieur Vaurien’s moral sense, like his opinions, should be absorbed and overruled by the governing powers.

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What a capital thing it is to have the great governmental head and heart thinking and feeling for us! Why, even the little boys, on winter afternoons, are restricted by the policemen from sliding on the ice in the streets, for fear the impetuous little fellows should break or dislocate some of their bones, and the hospital might have the expense of setting them; so patriarchal a regard has the machine for its young friends!

I might allude here to a special department of the machine, which once had great power in overruling the thoughts and consciences of the people, and which is still considered by some as not altogether powerless. I refer to the Ecclesiastic department of the Grindwell works. This was formerly the greatest labor-saving machinery ever invented. But however powerful the operation of the Church machinery upon the grandmothers and grandfathers of the modern Grindwellites, it has certainly fallen greatly into disuse, and is kept a-going now more for the sake of appearances than for any real efficacy. The most knowing ones think it rather old-fashioned and cumbrous, — at any rate, not comparable to the State machinery, either in its design or its mode of operation. And as in these days of percussion-caps and Miniè rifles we lay by an old matchlock or crossbow, using it only to ornament our walls, — or as the powdered postilion with his horn and his boots is superseded by the locomotive and the electric telegraph, — so the old rusty Church wheels are removed into buildings apart from the daily life of the people, where they seem to revolve harmlessly and without any necessary connection with the State wheels.

Not that I mean to say that it works smoothly and well at all times, — this Grindwell machine. How can such an old patched and crumbling apparatus be expected always to work well? And how can you hope to find, even in the most enslaved or routine-ridden community, entire obedience to the will of the monarch and his satellites? Unfortunately for the cause of order and quiet, there will always be found certain tough lumps, in the shape of rebellious or non-conformist men, which refuse to be melted in the strong solvents or ground up in the swift mills of Absolutism. Government must look after these impediments. If they are positively dangerous, they must be destroyed or removed. If only suspected, or known to be powerless or inactive, they must at least be watched.

And here, again, the machine of government shows a remarkable ingenuity of organization.

For instance, it is said that there are pipes laid all along the streets, like hose, leading from a central reservoir. Nobody knows exactly what they are for but if any one steps upon them, up spirts something like a stream of gas, and takes the form of a gendarme, — and the unlucky street-walker must pay dear for his carelessness. Telegraph wires radiate like cobwebs from the chamber of the main-spring, and carry intelligence of all that is going on in the houses and streets. Man-traps are laid under the pavements, — sometimes they are secretly introduced under your very table or bed, — and if anything is said against that piece of machinery called the main-spring, or against the head engineer, the trap will nab you and fly away with you, like the spider that carried off Margery Mopp. If a number of people get together to discuss the meaning of and the reasons for the existence of the main-spring, or any of the big wheels immediately connected therewith, the ground under them will sometimes give way, and they will suddenly find themselves in unfurnished apartments not to their liking. And if any one should be so rash as to put his hand on the wheels, he is cut to pieces or strangled by the silent, incessant, fatal whirl of the engine.

The head engineer keeps his machine, and the city on which it acts, as much in the dark as possible. He has a special horror of sunshine. He seems to think that the sky is one great burning lens, and his machine-rooms and the city a vast powder-magazine.

There are certain articles thought to be especially dangerous. Newspapers are strictly forbidden, — unless first steeped in a tincture of asbestos of a very dull color, expressly manufactured and supplied by the Governing Machine. When properly saturated with the essence of dulness and death, and brought down from a glaring white and black to a decidedly ashy-gray neutral color, a few small newspapers are permitted to be circulated, but with the greatest caution. They sometimes take fire, it is said, — these journals, — when brought too near any brain overcharged with electricity. Two or three times, it is said, the Governing Machine has been put out of order by the newspapers and their readers bringing too much electro-magnetism (or something like it) to bear on parts of the works; — the machine had even taken fire and been nearly burnt up, and the head engineer got so singed that he never dared to take the management of the works again.

So it is thought that nothing is so unfavorable to the working of the wheels as light, heat, electricity, magnetism, and, generally, all the imponderable and uncatchable essences that float about in the air; and these, it is thought, are generated and diffused by these villanous newspapers. Certain kinds of books are also forbidden, as being electric conductors. Most of the books allowed in the city of Grindwell are so heavy, that they are thought to be usually non-conductors, and therefore quite safe in the hands of the people.

It is at the city gates that most vigilance is required with regard to the prohibited articles. There the poor fellows who keep the gates have no rest night or day, — so many suspicious-looking boxes, bundles, bales, and barrels claim admittance. Quantities of articles are arrested and prevented from entering. Nothing that can in any way interfere with the great machine can come in. Newspapers and books from other countries are torn and burnt up. Speaking-trumpets, ear-trumpets, spectacles, microscopes, spy-glasses, telescopes, and, generally, all instruments and contrivances for extending the sphere of ordinary knowledge, are very narrowly examined before they are admitted. The only trumpets freely allowed are of a musical sort, fit to amuse the people, — the only spectacles, green goggles to keep out the glare of truth’s sunshine, — the magnifying-glasses, those which exaggerate the proportions of the imperial governor of the machinery. All sorts of moral lightning-rods and telegraph-wires are arrested, and lie in great piles outside the city walls.

But in spite of the utmost vigilance and care of the officers at the gates and the sentinels on the thick walls, dangerous articles and dangerous people will pass in. A man like Kossuth or Mazzini going through would produce such a current of the electric fluid, that the machine would be in great danger of combustion. Remonstrances were sometimes sent to neighboring cities, to the effect that they should keep their light and heat to themselves, and not be throwing such strong reflections into the weak eyes of the Grindwellites, and putting in danger the governmental powder-magazine, — as the machine-offices were sometimes called. An inundation or bad harvest, producing a famine among the poor, causes great alarm, and the government officers have a time of it, running about distributing alms, or raising money to keep down the price of bread. Thousands of servants in livery, armed with terrific instruments for the destruction of life, are kept standing on and around the walls of the city, ready at a moment’s notice to shoot down any one who makes any movement or demonstration in a direction contrary to the laws of the machine. And to support this great crowd of liveried lackeys, the people are squeezed like sponges, till they furnish the necessary money.

The respectable editors of the daily papers go about somewhat as the dogs do in August, with muzzles on their mouths. They are prohibited from printing more than a hundred words a day. Any reference to the sunshine, or to any of the subtile and imponderable substances before mentioned, is considered contrary to the order of the machine; to compensate for which, there is great show of gas-light (under glass covers) throughout the city. Gas and moonshine are the staple subjects of conversation. Besides lighting the streets and shops, the chief use of fire seems to be for cooking, lighting pipes and cigars, and fireworks to amuse the working classes.

Great attention is paid to polishing and beautifying the outer case of the machine, and the outer surface generally of the city of Grindwell. Where any portion of the framework has fallen into dilapidation and decay, the gaunt skeleton bones of the ruined structure are decked and covered with leaves and flowers. Old rusty boilers that are on the verge of bursting are newly painted, varnished, and labelled with letters of gold. The main-spring, which has grown old and weak, is said to be helped by the secret application of steam, — and the fires are fed with huge bundles of worthless bank-bills and other paper promises. The noise of the clanking piston and wheels is drowned by orchestras of music; the roofs and sides of the machine buildings are covered all over with roses; and the smell of smoke and machine oil is prevented by scattering delicious perfumes. The minds of the populace are turned from the precarious condition of things by all sorts of public amusements, such as mask balls, theatres, operas, public gardens, etc.

But all this does not preserve some persons from the continual apprehension that there will be one day a great and terrific explosion. Some say the city is sleeping over volcanic fires, which will sooner or later burst up from below and destroy or change the whole upper surface. The actual state of things might be represented on canvas by a gaping, laughing crowd pressing around a Punch-and-Judy exhibition in the street, beneath a great ruined palace in the process of repairing, where the rickety scaffolding, the loose stones and mortar, and in fact the whole rotten building, may at any moment topple down upon their heads.

But while such grave thoughts are passing in the minds of some people, I must relate one or two amusing scenes which lately occurred at the city gates.

Travellers are not prohibited from going and coming; but on entering, it is necessary to be sure that they bring with their passports and baggage no prohibited or dangerous articles. A young man from our side of the Atlantic, engaged in commerce, had been annoyed a good deal by the gate-officers opening and searching his baggage. The next time he went to Grindwell, he brought, besides his usual trunks and carpet-bags, a rather large and very mysterious-looking box. After going through with the trunks and bags, the officers took hold of this box.

“Gentlemen,” said the young practical joker, “I have great objections to having that box opened. Yet it contains, I assure you, nothing contraband, nothing dangerous to the peace of the Grindwell government or people. It is simply a toy I am taking to a friend’s house as a Christmas present to his little boy. If I open it, I fear I shall have difficulty in arranging it again as neatly as I wish, — and it would be a great disappointment to my little friend Auguste Henri, if he should not find it neatly packed. It would show at once that it had been opened; and children like to have their presents done up nicely, just as they issued from the shop. Gentlemen, I shall take it as a great favor, if you will let it pass.”

“Sir,” said the head officer, “it is impossible to grant the favor you ask. The government is very strict. Many prohibited articles have lately found their way in. We are determined to put a stop to it.”

“Gentlemen,” said the young man, “take hold of that box, — lift it. You see how light it is; you see that there can be no contraband goods there, — still less, anything dangerous. I pray you to let it pass.”

“Impossible, Sir!” said the officer. “How do I know that there is nothing dangerous there? The weight is nothing. Its lightness rather makes it the more suspicious. Boxes like this are usually heavy. This is something out of the usual course. I’m afraid there’s electricity here. Gentlemen officers, proceed to do your duty!”

So a crowd of custom-house officers gathered around the suspected box, with their noses bent down over the lid, awaiting the opening. One of them was about to proceed with hammer and chisel.

“Stop,” said the young merchant, “I can save you a great deal of trouble. I can open it in an instant. Allow me—by touching a little spring here” —

As he said this, he pressed a secret spring on the side of the box. No sooner was it done than the lid was thrown back with sudden and tremendous violence, as if by some living force, and up jumped a hideous and shaggy monster which knocked the six custom-house officers flat on their backs. It was an enormous Punchinello on springs, who had been confined in the box like the Genie in the Arabian story, and by the broad grin on his face he seemed delighted with his liberty and his triumph over his inquisitors. The six officers lay stunned by the blow; and while others ran up to see what was the matter, the young traveller persuaded Mr. Punch back again into his box, and, shutting him down, took advantage of the confusion to carry it off with the rest of his baggage, and reach a cab in safety. When the officers recovered their senses, the practical joker had escaped into the crowded city. They could give no clear account of what had happened; but I verily believe they thought that Lucifer himself had knocked them down, and was now let loose in the city of Grindwell.

Another amusing incident occurred afterwards at the city gates. An American lady, who was a great lover of Art, had purchased a bronze bust of Plato somewhere on the Continent. She had it carefully boxed, and took it along with her baggage. She got on very well until she reached the city of Grindwell. Here she was stopped, of course, and her baggage examined. Finding nothing contraband, they were about to let her pass, when they came to the box containing the ancient philosopher’s head.

“What’s this?” they asked. “What’s in this box, so heavy?”

“A bust,” said the lady.

“A bust? so heavy? a bust in a lady’s baggage? — Impossible!”

“I assure you, it is nothing but a bust.”

“Pray, whose bust may it be, Madam?”

“The bust of Plato.”

“Plato? Plato? Who’s Plato? Is he an Italian?”

“He was a Greek philosopher.”

“Why is it so heavy?”

“It is a bronze bust.”

“We beg your pardon, Madam; but we fear there’s something wrong here. This Plato may be a conspirator, — a Carbonaro, — a member of some secret society, — a red-republican, — a conductor of the electric fluid. How can we answer for this Plato? We don’t like this heavy box; — these very heavy boxes are suspicious. Suppose it should be some infernal-machine. Madam, we have our doubts. This box must be detained till full inquiries are made.”

There was no help for it. The box was detained. “It must be so, Plato!” After waiting several hours, it was brought forward in presence of the entire company of inquisitors, and cautiously opened. Seeing no Plato, but only some sawdust, they grew still more suspicious. Having placed the box on the ground, they all retired to a safe distance, as if awaiting some explosion. They evidently took it for an infernal-machine. In their eyes everything was a machine of some sort or other. After waiting some time, and finding that it didn’t burst, nor emit even a smell of sulphur, the boldest man of the party approached it very cautiously, and upset it with his foot and ran.

All this while the lady and her friends stood by, silent spectators of this farce. The only danger of explosion was on their part, with laughter at the whole scene. They contrived, however, to keep their countenances, though less rigidly than the Greek philosopher in the box did his.

When the custom-house officials found, that, though the box was upset, nothing occurred, they grew more bold, and, approaching, saw a piece of the bronze head peering above the sawdust. Then, for the first time, they began to feel ashamed of themselves. So replacing the sawdust and the cover, they allowed the box to pass into the city, and tried, by avoiding to speak of the affair among themselves, to forget what donkeys they had been.

The Grindwell government has many such alarms, and never appears entirely at its ease. It is fully aware of the combustible nature of the component parts of the Governing Machine. There is consequently great outlay of means to insure its safety. An immense number of public spies and functionaries are constantly employed in looking after the fires and lights about the city. Heavy restrictions are laid on all substances containing electricity, and great care is taken lest this subtile fluid should condense in spots and take the form of lightning. Fortunately, the unclouded sunshine seldom comes into Grindwell, else there would be the same fears with regard to light.


So long as this perpetual surveillance is kept up, the machine seems to work on well enough in the main; but the moment there is any remissness on the part of the police, — bang! goes a small explosion somewhere, — or, crack! a bit of the machinery, — and out rush the engineers with their bags of cotton-wool or tow to stop up the chinks, or their bundles of paper money to keep up the steam, or their buckets of oil and soft soap to pour upon the wheels.

One eccentric gentleman of my acquaintance persists in predicting that any day there may be a general blow-up, and the whole concern, engineers, financiers, priests, soldiers, and flunkies, all go to smash. He evidently wishes to see though, as far as personal comfort goes, one would rather be out of the way at such a time.

Most people seem to think, that, considering all things, the present head engineer is about the best man that could be found for the post he occupies. There are, however, a number of the Grindwell people—I can’t say how many, for they are afraid to speak—who feel more and more that they are living in a stifled and altogether abnormal condition, and wish for an indefinite supply of the light, heat, air, and electricity which they see some of the neighboring cities enjoying.

What the result is to be no one can yet tell. We are such stuff as dreams are made of, and our little life is rounded with—a crust; some say, a very thin crust, such as might be got up by a skilful patissier, and over which gilded court-flies, and even scarabœi, may crawl with safety, but which must inevitably cave in beneath the boot-heels of a real, true, thinking man. We cannot forget that there are measureless catacombs and caverns yawning beneath the streets and houses of modern Grindwell.





格林德维尔的管理机器
"每个美国选民或女选民都被允许保留他或她的小智力风车、咖啡机、胡椒机、织布机、蒸汽机、手摇风车，或任何他或她喜欢的道德制造或研磨设备。每个人都可以成为他自己的教会或自己的国家，但也不失为一个好的和有用的公民，而国家的联合也不会有更大的危险。但在格林威治，情况并非如此。"

1858年3月号
补贴
在大西洋的另一边，有一个人口众多的城市叫格兰德维尔。正如它的名字所示，它是一座伟大的城市，--但据说它认为自己比实际情况要伟大得多。我的意思是说，格兰德维尔是它的原名，甚至在今天，它也被自己的公民称为这个名字。但有一些聪明人，也可能是粗俗的人，通过某种程序将这个名字变成了格兰德维尔。

在这个过程中，我也许能给出一个理由，为什么格兰德维尔这样一个响亮的贵族名字被改成了格林德维尔这样一个平民的名字。我可以举出类似的例子来说明，由于外国人的错误发音和拼写，城市的名字也发生了变化。例如，英国人把里窝那昵称为Leghorn，德国人坚持把威尼斯称为Venedig，法国人把华盛顿转换成中文的Voss-Hang-Tong。因此，格林德维尔这个名字在我们美国人中的起源可能只是因为误称或误拼了格兰德维尔这个外国名字。


然而，我倾向于认为，这个名字有一个更好的理由。

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许多年来，格兰德维尔因一台伟大的机器而闻名，它的结构非常奇特，据说可以调节整个城市的运动，几乎可以把男人、女人和孩子变成曲柄、车轮和小齿轮。由于华盛顿的专利局里没有这个机器的模型，我想请读者原谅，我试图对它作一些说明。它可能被认为是一件非常奇怪的事情，尽管我相信它没有什么原创性或新意。它的想法是从遥远的年代流传下来的。

在美国，我知道很多人可能会认为格林德维尔管理机器是一个愚蠢的东西，--一个过时的、荒谬的、暴虐的机构，完全不适合19世纪的情况。一个提议为全体人民思考和行动的机器，如果严格反对人民为自己思考和行动，那么它在我们中间可能不会得到什么青睐。我们的理论是，每个人都应该为自己思考，成为个人的思想和意志，而不是车轮上的轮辐。每个美国选民或女选民都被允许保留他或她的小智力风车、咖啡机、胡椒机、织布机、蒸汽机、手摇发电机，或任何他或她喜欢的道德制造或研磨设备。每个人都可以成为他自己的教会或自己的国家，但也不失为一个好的和有用的公民，而国家的联合也不会有更大的危险。但在格林威治，情况并非如此。Grindwell机器的规则不允许任何人做他自己的研磨，除非他的磨盘由中央管理机构转动。他必须让大的国家机器来做一切事情，当然，他要为此付钱。一个固定的方案规定了他应该相信什么，说什么，做什么，任何偏离这一秩序的行为都被认为是违反法律，或者至少是对该城市历史悠久的习俗的应受谴责的侵犯。


格林德维尔管理机器（尽管它在欧洲已经申请了专利，而且它被皇室首脑和在他们身边嗡嗡作响的镀金苍蝇认为是一切）实际上是一台旧机器，几乎已经破旧不堪，而且每隔一段时间就会被修补起来，重新上漆和清漆。如果我们派一个了解情况的北方人组成的委员会去了解它的实际状况，我倾向于认为他们会带回一份奇怪的、不太有利的报告。如果他们宣布这个国家的整个设备从上到下都腐烂了，而只是通过各种外部和临时性的巧妙装置来保持其不至于崩溃，我也不会感到惊讶，--这里要更换一个轮子、枢轴或弹簧，那里要设置一个支架或支撑物，这里有一根管道被堵塞，那里有一个锅炉爆裂，--诸如此类，从工程的这一端到另一端。然而，这台机器一直在运转，许多人认为它运转得很好。

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一切都被简化为如此完美的系统运作，以至于个人意见的必要性几乎被取代，甚至私人的良知也被束之高阁，--就像人们躺在一个陈旧的计时器上，没有发条或摇晃可以说服他们标记时间，--因为他们没有对面政府铁路站的时钟，只要走到窗口就可以随时查阅？例如，个人的诚实被搁置一旁，取而代之的是一种奖惩制度。诚信是一件老式的外套。警察，就像一块巨大的海绵，吸收了私人的美德。它对良知说："呆在那里，--不要自寻烦恼，--我将为你采取行动。"

你的钱包掉在了街上。一个流氓捡到了它。在他私人的良知中，他说："也许诚实是一件非常好的事情，但它绝不是最好的政策，--它根本就不是政策，--它是纯粹的愚蠢。还有什么比我把这笔意外之财收入囊中并迅速转弯更有政治意义的呢？" - 他就这样宣扬着他那歪歪扭扭的良心，那非常非常小的静止的声音，用非常沙哑的语调；但他知道，一个警察走在他身后，看到他捡起了钱包，这改变了情况，--事实上，这完全抛开了他那沙哑的良心，使美德成为他的必需品，而必需品成为他的美德。外在的道德被匆匆穿上，作为一件体面的大衣来掩盖他流氓的破烂，而他宽宏大量地把钱包还给了主人。


一天晚上，琼斯把他的雨伞落在出租车上。他发现自己的伞不在胳膊下，就急忙追赶出租车司机；但他已经走了。然而，琼斯有他的电话号码，并在第二天带着它去了警察局，他觉得他肯定会在那里找到他的伞。在那里，在一个专门用于存放遗留在黑车上的物品的柜子里--一个完美的手杖、阳伞、披肩、口袋书和其他东西的地方--他找到了它，开了罚单，等待它的合法主人。对这一谜团的解释是，格林德维尔的出租车司机对任何偏离私有财产安全制度的行为都要严格服从警察的管理，而且每年都会对那些被证明是最忠实地归还留在车厢里的物品的马车司机兄弟给予奖励。当然，制度的结果不会比这更远，即沃里安先生的道德感，就像他的观点一样，应该被管理当局吸收和推翻。

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有伟大的政府的头脑和心灵为我们思考和感受，这是一件多么了不起的事情啊！为什么连小男孩都在为我们思考？为什么，连小男孩在冬天的下午都被警察限制在街上的冰面上滑行，因为担心这些急躁的小家伙们会摔断或脱臼，而医院可能要花钱给他们安装；机器对它的年轻朋友有如此的父权主义关怀

我可以在这里提到机器的一个特殊部门，它曾经在支配人民的思想和良心方面有很大的权力，而且有些人仍然认为它并非完全无能为力。我指的是格林威治工厂的教会部门。这在以前是有史以来最伟大的省力机器。但是，无论教会机器对现代格林德韦尔人的祖母和祖父的作用有多大，它肯定已经大大荒废了，现在保持运转更多的是为了表象，而不是为了任何真正的功效。最了解情况的人认为它相当老式和笨重，--无论如何，在设计和操作方式上都无法与国家机器相比。就像在这个有打击乐帽和Miniè步枪的时代，我们把老式火柴枪或弩放在一边，只用它来装饰我们的墙壁，--或者就像带着喇叭和靴子的邮差被火车头和电报所取代，--所以老式生锈的教堂车轮被移到与人们的日常生活无关的建筑物中，在那里它们似乎无害地旋转着，与国家车轮没有任何必要联系。

我并不是说它在任何时候都工作得很顺利，很好，--这个格林威治的机器。这样一个打着补丁、摇摇欲坠的老机器，怎么能指望它总是运转良好？而且，即使是在最被奴役或例行公事的社区，你怎么能希望找到对君主和他的附属机构的意志的完全顺从？对秩序和安静的事业来说，不幸的是，总会发现某些坚硬的块状物，即叛逆或不守规矩的人，他们拒绝在强烈的溶剂中融化或在绝对主义的快速磨坊中磨碎。政府必须照顾这些障碍物。如果他们确实具有危险性，就必须将其销毁或清除。如果只是被怀疑，或者知道它们无能为力或不活跃，至少必须对它们进行监视。

在这里，政府的机器再次显示了组织的非凡的独创性。

例如，据说有一些管道沿着街道铺设，像水管一样，从一个中央水库引出。没人知道它们到底是干什么用的，但如果有人踩到它们，就会喷出类似气体的东西，并变成宪兵的样子，而不幸的走街串巷者必须为自己的粗心大意付出沉重的代价。电报线像蜘蛛网一样从主泉室辐射出来，传递着房屋和街道上发生的所有事情的情报。人行道下布满了陷阱--有时它们会被偷偷地放在你的桌子或床上，--如果有人对那台叫做主弹簧的机器或对首席工程师说了什么，陷阱就会抓住你并带你飞走，就像带走Margery Mopp的那只蜘蛛。如果一些人聚在一起讨论主弹簧或与之密切相关的任何一个大轮子存在的意义和原因，他们脚下的土地有时会让步，他们会突然发现自己在没有家具的公寓里，这不符合他们的意愿。如果有人轻率地将手放在车轮上，他就会被无声的、不间断的、致命的发动机旋风切成碎片或勒死。

工程师长让他的机器和它所赖以生存的城市尽可能地处于黑暗之中。他对阳光有一种特殊的恐惧。他似乎认为天空是一个巨大的燃烧镜头，而他的机房和城市是一个巨大的火药库。

有一些物品被认为是特别危险的。报纸是严格禁止的，除非首先浸泡在一种颜色非常暗淡的石棉酊剂中，这种酊剂是由管理机器明确制造和提供的。当适当地浸泡了沉闷和死亡的精华，并从耀眼的白色和黑色降到明显的灰白色中性颜色时，一些小报纸被允许流通，但要非常小心。据说，这些期刊有时会起火，当它们太靠近任何带电的大脑时。据说，有两三次，管理机器被报纸和他们的读者带着太多的电磁力（或类似的东西）影响到工程的某些部分而失去了秩序；--机器甚至着火了，几乎被烧毁，首席工程师被烧伤，他再也不敢管理工程了。

因此，人们认为，没有什么比光、热、电、磁，以及所有漂浮在空气中的不可估量和不可捕捉的精华更不利于车轮的工作；而这些，人们认为，是由这些卑鄙的报纸产生和传播的。某些种类的书籍也被禁止，因为它们是电导体。格林威治市允许的大多数书籍都很重，它们被认为通常是不导电的，因此在人们的手中是相当安全的。

在城门处，需要对违禁物品保持最大的警惕。在那里，看守城门的可怜人日夜不得安宁，因为有许多看起来可疑的箱子、捆绑物、包袱和木桶要求进入。大量的物品被逮捕并被阻止进入。任何能以任何方式干扰这个伟大机器的东西都不能进入。来自其他国家的报纸和书籍被撕毁和烧毁。说话的小号、耳朵的小号、眼镜、显微镜、窥视镜、望远镜，以及一般来说，所有用于扩大普通知识范围的仪器和装置，在进入之前都要经过严格的检查。唯一被允许的小号是音乐类的，适合于娱乐人们，--唯一的眼镜是绿色的护目镜，以防止真理阳光的刺眼，--放大镜，那些夸大了机器的帝国管理者的比例的眼镜。各种道德上的避雷针和电报线都被逮捕，并在城墙外堆积如山。

但是，尽管城门上的官员和厚厚的城墙上的哨兵极为警惕和小心，危险的物品和危险的人还是会进来。像科苏特或马志尼这样的人经过时，会产生如此大的电流，机器会有很大的燃烧危险。有时会向邻近的城市发出提醒，大意是他们应该把他们的光和热留给自己，而不是把如此强烈的反射扔到格林德韦尔人的弱小的眼睛里，并把政府的火药库置于危险之中，因为机器办公室有时被称为。一场水灾或歉收，在穷人中产生了饥荒，引起了极大的恐慌，政府官员们在这段时间里四处奔波，分发救济品，或筹集资金来压低面包的价格。数以千计穿着制服的仆人，带着毁灭生命的可怕工具，站在城墙上和城墙周围，随时准备射杀任何违反机器法的运动或示威的人。为了支持这一大群穿制服的奴才，人们像海绵一样被挤压，直到他们提供必要的资金。

日报的受人尊敬的编辑们就像狗在八月里做的那样，嘴上戴着口罩。他们被禁止每天印刷超过100个字。任何关于阳光或前面提到的任何微妙和不可估量的物质的说法，都被认为违反了机器的秩序；为了弥补这一点，整个城市都有大量的煤气灯（在玻璃罩下）的展示。煤气和月光是谈话的主要内容。除了照亮街道和商店外，火的主要用途似乎是做饭、点烟斗和雪茄，以及放烟花来取悦工人阶级。

人们非常注意擦亮和美化机器的外壳，以及格林威治市的一般外表面。在框架的任何部分已经陷入破旧和腐烂的地方，废墟结构的憔悴骨架被装饰起来，用树叶和鲜花覆盖。濒临爆裂的老式生锈锅炉被重新刷上油漆、清漆，并贴上金字标签。主弹簧已经变得又老又弱，据说可以通过秘密使用蒸汽来帮助它，--火堆里装的是一大捆不值钱的银行票据和其他纸质承诺。叮叮当当的活塞和车轮的噪音被管弦乐所淹没；机器建筑物的屋顶和侧面都铺满了玫瑰花；烟雾和机器油的气味被散布的美味香水所阻止。各种公共娱乐活动，如假面舞会、剧院、歌剧、公共花园等，使人们的注意力从岌岌可危的状况中转移。

但这一切并不能使一些人不继续担心有一天会发生巨大的、可怕的爆炸。有人说，这座城市正沉睡在火山的火光中，它迟早会从下面迸发出来，摧毁或改变整个上层的表面。事情的实际情况可以在画布上表现出来：一群人张口结舌，笑嘻嘻地围着街上的《庞克与朱迪》展览，在一座正在维修的巨大废墟宫殿下面，摇摇欲坠的脚手架、松动的石头和灰泥，以及事实上整个腐朽的建筑，随时都可能倾倒在他们的头上。

但是，当这种严肃的想法在一些人的脑海中闪现时，我必须讲述最近在城门口发生的一两件有趣的事情。

我们并不禁止旅行者来往，但在入境时，必须确保他们的护照和行李中没有携带违禁或危险物品。一位来自大西洋彼岸的从事商业活动的年轻人，曾因门卫人员打开并搜查他的行李而感到非常恼火。下一次他去格林威治时，除了他通常的行李箱和地毯袋外，还带了一个相当大的、看起来非常神秘的箱子。在检查了行李箱和袋子之后，官员们拿起了这个箱子。

"先生们，"这位年轻的实用笑话家说，"我非常反对打开这个箱子。但是，我向你们保证，里面没有任何违禁品，没有任何对格林德维尔政府或人民的和平有危险的东西。这只是一个玩具，我要把它带到一个朋友家，作为给他小儿子的圣诞礼物。如果我打开它，恐怕我很难再像我希望的那样把它摆放整齐，--如果我的小朋友奥古斯特-亨利发现它没有包装整齐，那会让他感到非常失望。这将立即显示出它已经被打开了；孩子们喜欢把他们的礼物整理得很好，就像他们从商店里出来一样。先生们，如果你们能让它通过，我将认为这是一个很大的恩惠。"

"先生，"首席官员说，"不可能答应你的请求。政府是非常严格的。最近有许多违禁物品被发现进入。我们决心要制止它。"

"先生们，"年轻人说，"握住那个箱子，--把它抬起来。你看它有多轻；你看那里不可能有违禁品，更不可能有任何危险的东西。我请求你让它通过。"

"不可能，先生！"军官说。"我怎么知道那里没有危险物品？它的重量不算什么。它的轻盈反而使它更令人怀疑。像这样的箱子通常都很重。这是不符合常规的东西。恐怕这里有电。各位官员，继续履行你们的职责吧！"

于是，一群海关官员聚集在可疑的箱子周围，他们的鼻子俯在箱盖上，等待着打开。其中一个人正准备用锤子和凿子进行。

"停，"年轻的商人说，"我可以为你们省去很多麻烦。我可以在一瞬间打开它。请允许我触摸这里的一个小弹簧。

他一边说，一边按了一下盒子边上的一个秘密弹簧。没等他说完，箱子的盖子就突然被巨大的暴力推开了，就像被某种活生生的力量推开了一样，一个狰狞的、毛茸茸的怪物跳了起来，把六个海关官员撞了个仰面朝天。那是一个巨大的带弹簧的Punchinello，他像阿拉伯故事中的精灵一样被关在箱子里，从他脸上的宽厚笑容来看，他似乎对自己的自由和对审问者的胜利感到高兴。六名官员被这一击吓呆了；当其他人跑上前去查看情况时，年轻的旅行者劝说彭克先生再次回到他的箱子里，并把他关了起来，趁着混乱，把箱子和他的其他行李一起带走，安全地到达一辆出租车。当警官们恢复理智时，这个实用的小丑已经逃到了拥挤的城市中。他们无法清楚地说明发生了什么事；但我确实相信他们认为是路西法本人把他们打倒了，现在在格林威治市被放出来了。

后来在城门口又发生了一件有趣的事情。一位非常热爱艺术的美国女士在欧洲大陆的某个地方买了一个柏拉图的半身铜像。她把它小心翼翼地装在箱子里，和她的行李一起带走了。她走得很顺利，直到她到达格林德维尔市。在这里，她当然被拦住了，她的行李也被检查了。没有发现任何违禁品，他们准备让她通过，这时他们看到了装有古代哲学家头颅的盒子。

"这是什么？"他们问。"这箱子里是什么，这么重？"

"一个半身像，"女士说。

"一个半身像，这么重，一个半身像放在一个女士的行李里，不可能！"

"我向你保证，这只不过是一个半身像。"

"请问，这可能是谁的半身像，夫人？"

"柏拉图的半身像。"

"柏拉图？柏拉图？谁是柏拉图？他是意大利人吗？"

"他是一位希腊哲学家。"

"为什么它这么重？"

"这是一个青铜半身像。"

"请您原谅，夫人；但我们担心这里有问题。这个柏拉图可能是一个阴谋家，--一个卡波纳罗，--某个秘密社团的成员，--一个红色共和党人，--一个电液的导体。我们怎么能为这个柏拉图做出解释呢？我们不喜欢这个沉重的盒子；--这些非常沉重的盒子是可疑的。假设它是某个地狱机器。夫人，我们有疑虑。这个箱子必须被扣留，直到进行全面调查。"

没有任何帮助。盒子被扣下了。"一定是这样，柏拉图！" 等了几个小时后，它被带到了整个审问者的面前，并被小心翼翼地打开。没有看到柏拉图，只看到一些锯末，他们更加怀疑了。把盒子放在地上后，他们都退到了一个安全的距离，仿佛在等待着什么爆炸。他们显然把它当成了一台地狱机器。在他们眼里，所有的东西都是某种机器。等了一会儿，发现它没有爆炸，也没有散发出硫磺的气味，队伍中最大胆的人非常谨慎地走近它，用脚把它踢开，然后跑了。

在这期间，这位女士和她的朋友们都站在一旁，默默地看着这场闹剧。爆炸的唯一危险是在他们身上，他们对整个场景大笑。不过，他们还是努力保持着自己的脸色，虽然没有包厢里的希腊哲学家那么僵硬。

当海关官员发现，虽然箱子被打乱了，但没有发生任何事情，他们的胆子就更大了，走近一看，发现有一块铜头在锯末上窥视。然后，他们第一次开始为自己感到羞愧。于是，他们换上了锯末和盖子，让箱子进了城，并试图通过避免在他们之间谈论这件事，来忘记他们曾经是什么驴子。

Grindwell政府有很多这样的警报，而且从来没有完全自在地出现过。它充分意识到管理机器的组成部分的可燃性。因此，有大量的手段来确保其安全。大量的公共间谍和职能人员不断被雇用来照看城市的火和灯。对所有含电的物质都有严格的限制，并且非常小心，以免这种微妙的液体在一些地方凝结成闪电的形式。幸运的是，没有遮挡的阳光很少进入格林德韦尔，否则人们对灯光也会有同样的担心。


只要保持这种持续不断的监视，这台机器总体上似乎运转良好；但一旦警察方面有任何疏忽，--砰！某处就会发生小爆炸，--或者，裂缝！机器的某个部位，--工程师们就会带着他们的棉絮袋或毛巾袋冲出来堵住缝隙，或者带着一捆纸币来保持蒸汽，或者带着一桶油和软肥皂来浇灌车轮。

我认识的一位古怪的先生坚持预测，任何一天都有可能发生大爆炸，整个公司，包括工程师、金融家、牧师、士兵和仆从，都会被炸得粉碎。他显然希望看到，虽然就个人的舒适度而言，人们宁愿在这种时候置身事外。

大多数人似乎都认为，考虑到所有的事情，目前的首席工程师是可以为他所占据的职位找到的最佳人选。然而，有一些格林德韦尔人--我不能说有多少，因为他们不敢说话--越来越觉得他们生活在一种窒息的、完全不正常的状态中，并希望无限期地供应他们看到的一些邻近城市所享有的光、热、空气和电力。

结果是什么，现在还没有人知道。我们是梦寐以求的东西，我们的小生命是有外壳的；有人说，是非常薄的外壳，就像一个熟练的糕点师可能得到的那样，镀金的宫廷苍蝇，甚至scarabœi，可以安全地爬过，但在一个真正的、真正的、有思想的人的鞋跟下，它不可避免地会塌陷。我们不能忘记，在现代格林威治的街道和房屋下面，有无量的地下墓穴和洞穴。