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Chapter no 3

Brave New World

Outside, in the garden, it was playtime. Naked in the warmย June sunshine, six or seven hundred little boys and girls were running with shrill yells over the lawns, or playing ball games, or squatting silently in twos and threes among the flowering shrubs. The roses were in bloom, two nightingales soliloquized in the boskage, a cuckoo was just going out of tune among the lime trees. The air was drowsy with the murmur of bees and helicopters.

The Director and his students stood for a short time watching a game of Centrifugal Bumble-puppy. Twenty children were grouped in a circle round a chrome steel tower. A ball thrown up so as to land on the platform at the top of the tower rolled down into the interior, fell on a rapidly revolving disk, was hurled through one or other of the numerous apertures pierced in the cylindrical casing, and had to be caught.

โ€œStrange,โ€ mused the Director, as they turned away, โ€œstrange to think that even in Our Fordโ€™s day most games were played without more apparatus than a ball or two and a few sticks and perhaps a bit of netting. Imagine the folly of allowing people to play elaborate games which do nothing whatever to increase consumption. Itโ€™s madness. Nowadays the Controllers wonโ€™t approve of any new game unless it can be shown that it requires at least as much apparatus as the most complicated of existing games.โ€ He interrupted himself.

โ€œThatโ€™s a charming little group,โ€ he said, pointing.

In a little grassy bay between tall clumps of Mediterranean heather, two children, a little boy of about seven and a little girl who might have been a year older, were playing, very gravely and with all the focussed attention of scientists intent on a labour of discovery, a rudimentary s*xual game.

โ€œCharming, charming!โ€ the D.H.C. repeated sentimentally.

โ€œCharming,โ€ the boys politely agreed. But their smile was rather patronizing. They had put aside similar childish amusements too recently to be able to watch them now without a touch of contempt. Charming? but it was

just a pair of kids fooling about; that was all. Just kids.

โ€œI always think,โ€ the Director was continuing in the same rather maudlin tone, when he was interrupted by a loud boo-hooing.

From a neighbouring shrubbery emerged a nurse, leading by the hand a small boy, who howled as he went. An anxious-looking little girl trotted at her heels.

โ€œWhatโ€™s the matter?โ€ asked the Director.

The nurse shrugged her shoulders. โ€œNothing much,โ€ she answered. โ€œItโ€™s just that this little boy seems rather reluctant to join in the ordinary erotic play. Iโ€™d noticed it once or twice before. And now again to-day. He started yelling just now . . .โ€

โ€œHonestly,โ€ put in the anxious-looking little girl, โ€œI didnโ€™t mean to hurt him or anything. Honestly.โ€

โ€œOf course you didnโ€™t, dear,โ€ said the nurse reassuringly. โ€œAnd so,โ€ she went on, turning back to the Director, โ€œIโ€™m taking him in to see the Assistant Superintendent of Psychology. Just to see if anythingโ€™s at all abnormal.โ€

โ€œQuite right,โ€ said the Director. โ€œTake him in. You stay here, little girl,โ€ he added, as the nurse moved away with her still howling charge. โ€œWhatโ€™s your name?โ€

โ€œPolly Trotsky.โ€

โ€œAnd a very good name too,โ€ said the Director. โ€œRun away now and see if you can find some other little boy to play with.โ€

The child scampered off into the bushes and was lost to sight.

โ€œExquisite little creature!โ€ said the Director, looking after her. Then, turning to his students, โ€œWhat Iโ€™m going to tell you now,โ€ he said, โ€œmay sound incredible. But then, when youโ€™re not accustomed to history, most facts about the pastย doย sound incredible.โ€

He let out the amazing truth. For a very long period before the time of Our Ford, and even for some generations afterwards, erotic play between children had been regarded as abnormal (there was a roar of laughter); and not only abnormal, actually immoral (no!): and had therefore been rigorously suppressed.

A look of astonished incredulity appeared on the faces of his listeners. Poor little kids not allowed to amuse themselves? They could not believe it.

โ€œEven adolescents,โ€ the D.H.C. was saying, โ€œeven adolescents like yourselves . . .โ€

โ€œNot possible!โ€

โ€œBarring a little surreptitious auto-erotism and homos*xualityโ€”absolutely nothing.โ€

โ€œNothing?โ€

โ€œIn most cases, till they were over twenty years old.โ€

โ€œTwenty years old?โ€ echoed the students in a chorus of loud disbelief. โ€œTwenty,โ€ the Director repeated. โ€œI told you that youโ€™d find it incredible.โ€ โ€œBut what happened?โ€ they asked. โ€œWhat were the results?โ€

โ€œThe results were terrible.โ€ A deep resonant voice broke startlingly into the dialogue.

They looked around. On the fringe of the little group stood a strangerโ€”a man of middle height, black-haired, with a hooked nose, full red lips, eyes very piercing and dark. โ€œTerrible,โ€ he repeated.

The D.H.C. had at that moment sat down on one of the steel and rubber benches conveniently scattered through the gardens; but at the sight of the stranger, he sprang to his feet and darted forward, his hand outstretched, smiling with all his teeth, effusive.

โ€œController! What an unexpected pleasure! Boys, what are you thinking of?

This is the Controller; this is his fordship, Mustapha Mond.โ€

In the four thousand rooms of the Centre the four thousand electric clocks simultaneously struck four. Discarnate voices called from the trumpet mouths. โ€œMain Day-shift off duty. Second Day-shift take over. Main Day-shift off

. . .โ€

In the lift, on their way up to the changing rooms, Henry Foster and the Assistant Director of Predestination rather pointedly turned their backs on Bernard Marx from the Psychology Bureau: averted themselves from that unsavoury reputation.

The faint hum and rattle of machinery still stirred the crimson air in the Embryo Store. Shifts might come and go, one lupus-coloured face give place to another; majestically and for ever the conveyors crept forward with their load of future men and women.

Lenina Crowne walked briskly towards the door.

His fordship Mustapha Mond! The eyes of the saluting students almost popped out of their heads. Mustapha Mond! The Resident Controller for Western Europe! One of the Ten World Controllers. One of the Ten . . . and he sat down on the bench with the D.H.C., he was going to stay, to stay, yes, and actually talk to them . . . straight from the horseโ€™s mouth. Straight from the

mouth of Ford himself.

Two shrimp-brown children emerged from a neighbouring shrubbery, stared at them for a moment with large, astonished eyes, then returned to their amusements among the leaves.

โ€œYou all remember,โ€ said the Controller, in his strong deep voice, โ€œyou all remember, I suppose, that beautiful and inspired saying of Our Fordโ€™s: History is bunk. History,โ€ he repeated slowly, โ€œis bunk.โ€

He waved his hand; and it was as though, with an invisible feather wisk, he had brushed away a little dust, and the dust was Harappa, was Ur of the Chaldees; some spider-webs, and they were Thebes and Babylon and Cnossos and Mycenae. Whisk. Whiskโ€”and where was Odysseus, where was Job, where were Jupiter and Gotama and Jesus? Whiskโ€”and those specks of antique dirt called Athens and Rome, Jerusalem and the Middle Kingdomโ€” all were gone. Whiskโ€”the place where Italy had been was empty. Whisk, the cathedrals; whisk, whisk, King Lear and the Thoughts of Pascal. Whisk, Passion; whisk, Requiem; whisk, Symphony; whisk . . .

โ€œGoing to the Feelies this evening, Henry?โ€ enquired the Assistant Predestinator. โ€œI hear the new one at the Alhambra is first-rate. Thereโ€™s a love scene on a bearskin rug; they say itโ€™s marvellous. Every hair of the bear reproduced. The most amazing tactual effects.โ€

โ€œThatโ€™s why youโ€™re taught no history,โ€ the Controller was saying. โ€œBut now the time has come . . .โ€

The D.H.C. looked at him nervously. There were those strange rumours of old forbidden books hidden in a safe in the Controllerโ€™s study. Bibles, poetry

โ€”Ford knew what.

Mustapha Mond intercepted his anxious glance and the corners of his red lips twitched ironically.

โ€œItโ€™s all right, Director,โ€ he said in a tone of faint derision, โ€œI wonโ€™t corrupt them.โ€

The D.H.C. was overwhelmed with confusion.

Those who feel themselves despised do well to look despising. The smile on Bernard Marxโ€™s face was contemptuous. Every hair on the bear indeed!

โ€œI shall make a point of going,โ€ said Henry Foster.

Mustapha Mond leaned forward, shook a finger at them. โ€œJust try to realize it,โ€ he said, and his voice sent a strange thrill quivering along their diaphragms. โ€œTry to realize what it was like to have a viviparous mother.โ€

That smutty word again. But none of them dreamed, this time, of smiling. โ€œTry to imagine what โ€˜living with oneโ€™s familyโ€™ meant.โ€

They tried; but obviously without the smallest success. โ€œAnd do you know what a โ€˜homeโ€™ was?โ€

They shook their heads.

From her dim crimson cellar Lenina Crowne shot up seventeen stories, turned to the right as she stepped out of the lift, walked down a long corridor and, opening the door marked GIRLSโ€™ DRESSING-ROOM, plunged into a deafening chaos of arms and bosoms and underclothing. Torrents of hot water were splashing into or gurgling out of a hundred baths. Rumbling and hissing, eighty vibro-vacuum massage machines were simultaneously kneading and sucking the firm and sunburnt flesh of eighty superb female specimens. Every one was talking at the top of her voice. A Synthetic Music machine was warbling out a super-cornet solo.

โ€œHullo, Fanny,โ€ said Lenina to the young woman who had the pegs and locker next to hers.

Fanny worked in the Bottling Room, and her surname was also Crowne. But as the two thousand million inhabitants of the planet had only ten thousand names between them, the coincidence was not particularly surprising.

Lenina pulled at her zippersโ€”downwards on the jacket, downwards with a double-handed gesture at the two that held trousers, downwards again to loosen her undergarment. Still wearing her shoes and stockings, she walked off towards the bathrooms.

Home, homeโ€”a few small rooms, stiflingly over-inhabited by a man, by a periodically teeming woman, by a rabble of boys and girls of all ages. No air, no space; an understerilized prison; darkness, disease, and smells.

(The Controllerโ€™s evocation was so vivid that one of the boys, more sensitive than the rest, turned pale at the mere description and was on the point of being sick.)

Lenina got out of the bath, toweled herself dry, took hold of a long flexible tube plugged into the wall, presented the nozzle to her breast, as though she meant to commit suicide, pressed down the trigger. A blast of warmed air dusted her with the finest talcum powder. Eight different scents and eau-de- Cologne were laid on in little taps over the wash-basin. She turned on the third from the left, dabbed herself with chypre and, carrying her shoes and stockings in her hand, went out to see if one of the vibro-vacuum machines were free.

And home was as squalid psychically as physically. Psychically, it was a rabbit hole, a midden, hot with the frictions of tightly packed life, reeking with emotion. What suffocating intimacies, what dangerous, insane, obscene relationships between the members of the family group! Maniacally, the mother brooded over her children (herย children) . . . brooded over them like a cat over its kittens; but a cat that could talk, a cat that could say, โ€œMy baby, my baby,โ€ over and over again. โ€œMy baby, and oh, oh, at my breast, the little hands, the hunger, and that unspeakable agonizing pleasure! Till at last my baby sleeps, my baby sleeps with a bubble of white milk at the corner of his mouth. My little baby sleeps . . .โ€

โ€œYes,โ€ said Mustapha Mond, nodding his head, โ€œyou may well shudder.โ€

โ€œWho are you going out with to-night?โ€ Lenina asked, returning from the vibro-vac like a pearl illuminated from within, pinkly glowing.

โ€œNobody.โ€

Lenina raised her eyebrows in astonishment.

โ€œIโ€™ve been feeling rather out of sorts lately,โ€ Fanny explained. โ€œDr. Wells advised me to have a Pregnancy Substitute.โ€

โ€œBut, my dear, youโ€™re only nineteen. The first Pregnancy Substitute isnโ€™t compulsory till twenty-one.โ€

โ€œI know, dear. But some people are better if they begin earlier. Dr. Wells told me that brunettes with wide pelvises, like me, ought to have their first Pregnancy Substitute at seventeen. So Iโ€™m really two years late, not two years early.โ€ She opened the door of her locker and pointed to the row of boxes and labelled phials on the upper shelf.

โ€œSYRUP OFย CORPUSย LUTEUM,โ€ Lenina read the names aloud. โ€œOVARIN,

guaranteed fresh: not to be used after August 1st, a.f. 632. Mammary

Gland Extract: to be taken Three Times Daily, Before Meals, with a

Little Water. Placentin: 5cc to be Injected Intravenally every Third

DAYย . . . Ugh!โ€ Lenina shuddered. โ€œHow I loathe intravenals, donโ€™t you?โ€ โ€œYes. But when they do one good . . .โ€ Fanny was a particularly sensible

girl.

Our Fordโ€”or Our Freud, as, for some inscrutable reason, he chose to call himself whenever he spoke of psychological mattersโ€”Our Freud had been the first to reveal the appalling dangers of family life. The world was full of fathersโ€”was therefore full of misery; full of mothersโ€”therefore of every kind of perversion from sadism to chastity; full of brothers, sisters, uncles, auntsโ€”full of madness and suicide.

โ€œAnd yet, among the savages of Samoa, in certain islands off the coast of New Guinea . . .โ€

The tropical sunshine lay like warm honey on the naked bodies of children tumbling promiscuously among the hibiscus blossoms. Home was in any one of twenty palm-thatched houses. In the Trobriands conception was the work of ancestral ghosts; nobody had ever heard of a father.

โ€œExtremes,โ€ said the Controller, โ€œmeet. For the good reason that they were made to meet.โ€

โ€œDr. Wells says that a three monthsโ€™ Pregnancy Substitute now will make all the difference to my health for the next three or four years.โ€

โ€œWell, I hope heโ€™s right,โ€ said Lenina. โ€œBut, Fanny, do you really mean to say that for the next three months youโ€™re not supposed to . . .โ€

โ€œOh no, dear. Only for a week or two, thatโ€™s all. I shall spend the evening at the Club playing Musical Bridge. I suppose youโ€™re going out?โ€

Lenina nodded. โ€œWho with?โ€ โ€œHenry Foster.โ€

โ€œAgain?โ€ Fannyโ€™s kind, rather moon-like face took on an incongruous expression of pained and disapproving astonishment. โ€œDo you mean to tell me youโ€™reย stillย going out with Henry Foster?โ€

Mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters. But there were also husbands, wives, lovers. There were also monogamy and romance.

โ€œThough you probably donโ€™t know what those are,โ€ said Mustapha Mond. They shook their heads.

Family, monogamy, romance. Everywhere exclusiveness, a narrow channelling of impulse and energy.

โ€œBut every one belongs to every one else,โ€ he concluded, citing the hypnopรฆdic proverb.

The students nodded, emphatically agreeing with a statement which upwards of sixty-two thousand repetitions in the dark had made them accept, not merely as true, but as axiomatic, self-evident, utterly indisputable.

โ€œBut after all,โ€ Lenina was protesting, โ€œitโ€™s only about four months now since Iโ€™ve been having Henry.โ€

โ€œOnlyย four months! I like that. And whatโ€™s more,โ€ Fanny went on, pointing an accusing finger, โ€œthereโ€™s been nobody else except Henry all that time. Has there?โ€

Lenina blushed scarlet; but her eyes, the tone of her voice remained defiant. โ€œNo, there hasnโ€™t been any one else,โ€ she answered almost truculently. โ€œAnd I jolly well donโ€™t see why there should have been.โ€

โ€œOh, she jolly well doesnโ€™t see why there should have been,โ€ Fanny repeated, as though to an invisible listener behind Leninaโ€™s left shoulder. Then, with a sudden change of tone, โ€œBut seriously,โ€ she said, โ€œI really do think you ought to be careful. Itโ€™s such horribly bad form to go on and on like this with one man. At forty, or thirty-five, it wouldnโ€™t be so bad. But atย yourย age, Lenina! No, it really wonโ€™t do. And you know how strongly the D.H.C. objects to anything intense or long-drawn. Four months of Henry Foster, without having another manโ€”why, heโ€™d be furious if he knew . . .โ€

โ€œThink of water under pressure in a pipe.โ€ They thought of it. โ€œI pierce it once,โ€ said the Controller. โ€œWhat a jet!โ€

He pierced it twenty times. There were twenty piddling little fountains. โ€œMy baby. My baby . . .!โ€

โ€œMother!โ€ The madness is infectious.

โ€œMy love, my one and only, precious, precious . . .โ€

Mother, monogamy, romance. High spurts the fountain; fierce and foamy the wild jet. The urge has but a single outlet. My love, my baby. No wonder these poor pre-moderns were mad and wicked and miserable. Their world didnโ€™t allow them to take things easily, didnโ€™t allow them to be sane, virtuous,

happy. What with mothers and lovers, what with the prohibitions they were not conditioned to obey, what with the temptations and the lonely remorses, what with all the diseases and the endless isolating pain, what with the uncertainties and the povertyโ€”they were forced to feel strongly. And feeling strongly (and strongly, what was more, in solitude, in hopelessly individual isolation), how could they be stable?

โ€œOf course thereโ€™s no need to give him up. Have somebody else from time to time, thatโ€™s all. He has other girls, doesnโ€™t he?โ€

Lenina admitted it.

โ€œOf course he does. Trust Henry Foster to be the perfect gentlemanโ€” always correct. And then thereโ€™s the Director to think of. You know what a stickler . . .โ€

Nodding, โ€œHe patted me on the behind this afternoon,โ€ said Lenina. โ€œThere, you see!โ€ Fanny was triumphant. โ€œThat shows whatย heย stands for.

The strictest conventionality.โ€

โ€œStability,โ€ said the Controller, โ€œstability. No civilization without social stability. No social stability without individual stability.โ€ His voice was a trumpet. Listening they felt larger, warmer.

The machine turns, turns and must keep on turningโ€”for ever. It is death if it stands still. A thousand millions scrabbled the crust of the earth. The wheels began to turn. In a hundred and fifty years there were two thousand millions. Stop all the wheels. In a hundred and fifty weeks there are once more only a thousand millions; a thousand thousand thousand men and women have starved to death.

Wheels must turn steadily, but cannot turn untended. There must be men to tend them, men as steady as the wheels upon their axles, sane men, obedient men, stable in contentment.

Crying: My baby, my mother, my only, only love; groaning: My sin, my terrible God; screaming with pain, muttering with fever, bemoaning old age and povertyโ€”how can they tend the wheels? And if they cannot tend the wheels . . . The corpses of a thousand thousand thousand men and women would be hard to bury or burn.

โ€œAnd after all,โ€ Fannyโ€™s tone was coaxing, โ€œitโ€™s not as though there were

anything painful or disagreeable about having one or two men besides Henry. And seeing that youย oughtย to be a little more promiscuous . . .โ€

โ€œStability,โ€ insisted the Controller, โ€œstability. The primal and the ultimate need. Stability. Hence all this.โ€

With a wave of his hand he indicated the gardens, the huge building of the Conditioning Centre, the naked children furtive in the undergrowth or running across the lawns.

Lenina shook her head. โ€œSomehow,โ€ she mused, โ€œI hadnโ€™t been feeling very keen on promiscuity lately. There are times when one doesnโ€™t. Havenโ€™t you found that too, Fanny?โ€

Fanny nodded her sympathy and understanding. โ€œBut oneโ€™s got to make the effort,โ€ she said, sententiously, โ€œoneโ€™s got to play the game. After all, every one belongs to every one else.โ€

โ€œYes, every one belongs to every one else,โ€ Lenina repeated slowly and, sighing, was silent for a moment; then, taking Fannyโ€™s hand, gave it a little squeeze. โ€œYouโ€™re quite right, Fanny. As usual. Iโ€™ll make the effort.โ€

Impulse arrested spills over, and the flood is feeling, the flood is passion, the flood is even madness: it depends on the force of the current, the height and strength of the barrier. The unchecked stream flows smoothly down its appointed channels into a calm well-being. The embryo is hungry; day in, day out, the blood-surrogate pump unceasingly turns its eight hundred revolutions a minute. The decanted infant howls; at once a nurse appears with a bottle of external secretion. Feeling lurks in that interval of time between desire and its consummation. Shorten that interval, break down all those old unnecessary barriers.

โ€œFortunate boys!โ€ said the Controller. โ€œNo pains have been spared to make your lives emotionally easyโ€”to preserve you, so far as that is possible, from having emotions at all.โ€

โ€œFordโ€™s in his flivver,โ€ murmured the D.H.C. โ€œAllโ€™s well with the world.โ€

โ€œLenina Crowne?โ€ said Henry Foster, echoing the Assistant Predestinatorโ€™s question as he zipped up his trousers. โ€œOh, sheโ€™s a splendid girl. Wonderfully pneumatic. Iโ€™m surprised you havenโ€™t had her.โ€

โ€œI canโ€™t think how it is I havenโ€™t,โ€ said the Assistant Predestinator. โ€œI certainly will. At the first opportunity.โ€

From his place on the opposite side of the changingroom aisle, Bernard Marx overheard what they were saying and turned pale.

โ€œAnd to tell the truth,โ€ said Lenina, โ€œIโ€™m beginning to get just a tiny bit bored with nothing but Henry every day.โ€ She pulled on her left stocking. โ€œDo you know Bernard Marx?โ€ she asked in a tone whose excessive casualness was evidently forced.

Fanny looked startled. โ€œYou donโ€™t mean to say . . .?โ€

โ€œWhy not? Bernardโ€™s an Alpha Plus. Besides, he asked me to go to one of the Savage Reservations with him. Iโ€™ve always wanted to see a Savage Reservation.โ€

โ€œBut his reputation?โ€

โ€œWhat do I care about his reputation?โ€ โ€œThey say he doesnโ€™t like Obstacle Golf.โ€ โ€œThey say, they say,โ€ mocked Lenina.

โ€œAnd then he spends most of his time by himselfโ€”alone.โ€ There was horror in Fannyโ€™s voice.

โ€œWell, he wonโ€™t be alone when heโ€™s with me. And anyhow, why are people so beastly to him? I think heโ€™s rather sweet.โ€ She smiled to herself; how absurdly shy he had been! Frightened almostโ€”as though she were a World Controller and he a Gamma-Minus machine minder.

โ€œConsider your own lives,โ€ said Mustapha Mond. โ€œHas any of you ever encountered an insurmountable obstacle?โ€

The question was answered by a negative silence.

โ€œHas any of you been compelled to live through a long time-interval between the consciousness of a desire and its fulfilment?โ€

โ€œWell,โ€ began one of the boys, and hesitated.

โ€œSpeak up,โ€ said the D.H.C. โ€œDonโ€™t keep his fordship waiting.โ€

โ€œI once had to wait nearly four weeks before a girl I wanted would let me have her.โ€

โ€œAnd you felt a strong emotion in consequence?โ€ โ€œHorrible!โ€

โ€œHorrible; precisely,โ€ said the Controller. โ€œOur ancestors were so stupid and short-sighted that when the first reformers came along and offered to

deliver them from those horrible emotions, they wouldnโ€™t have anything to do with them.โ€

โ€œTalking about her as though she were a bit of meat.โ€ Bernard ground his teeth. โ€œHave her here, have her there. Like mutton. Degrading her to so much mutton. She said sheโ€™d think it over, she said sheโ€™d give me an answer this week. Oh, Ford, Ford, Ford.โ€ He would have liked to go up to them and hit them in the faceโ€”hard, again and again.

โ€œYes, I really do advise you to try her,โ€ Henry Foster was saying.

โ€œTake Ectogenesis. Pfitzner and Kawaguchi had got the whole technique worked out. But would the Governments look at it? No. There was something called Christianity. Women were forced to go on being viviparous.โ€

โ€œHeโ€™s so ugly!โ€ said Fanny. โ€œBut I rather like his looks.โ€

โ€œAnd then soย small.โ€ Fanny made a grimace; smallness was so horribly and typically low-caste.

โ€œI think thatโ€™s rather sweet,โ€ said Lenina. โ€œOne feels one would like to pet him. You know. Like a cat.โ€

Fanny was shocked. โ€œThey say somebody made a mistake when he was still in the bottleโ€”thought he was a Gamma and put alcohol into his blood- surrogate. Thatโ€™s why heโ€™s so stunted.โ€

โ€œWhat nonsense!โ€ Lenina was indignant.

โ€œSleep teaching was actually prohibited in England. There was something called liberalism. Parliament, if you know what that was, passed a law against it. The records survive. Speeches about liberty of the subject. Liberty to be inefficient and miserable. Freedom to be a round peg in a square hole.โ€

โ€œBut, my dear chap, youโ€™re welcome, I assure you. Youโ€™re welcome.โ€ Henry Foster patted the Assistant Predestinator on the shoulder. โ€œEvery one belongs to every one else, after all.โ€

One hundred repetitions three nights a week for four years, thought Bernard Marx, who was a specialist on hypnopรฆdia. Sixty-two thousand four hundred repetitions make one truth. Idiots!

โ€œOr the Caste System. Constantly proposed, constantly rejected. There was something called democracy. As though men were more than physico- chemically equal.โ€

โ€œWell, all I can say is that Iโ€™m going to accept his invitation.โ€

Bernard hated them, hated them. But they were two, they were large, they were strong.

โ€œThen the Nine Yearsโ€™ War began inย A.F.ย 141.โ€

โ€œNot even if itย wereย true about the alcohol in his blood-surrogate.โ€ โ€œPhosgene, chloropicrin, ethyl iodoacetate, diphenylcyanarsine,

trichlormethyl, chloroformate, dichlorethyl sulphide. Not to mention hydrocyanic acid.โ€

โ€œWhich I simply donโ€™t believe,โ€ Lenina concluded.

โ€œThe noise of fourteen thousand aeroplanes advancing in open order. But in the Kurfurstendamm and the Eighth Arrondissement, the explosion of the anthrax bombs is hardly louder than the popping of a paper bag.โ€

โ€œBecause Iย doย want to see a Savage Reservation.โ€

Ch8C6H2(NO2)8ย + Hg(CNO)2ย = well, what? An enormous hole in the ground, a pile of masonry, some bits of flesh and mucus, a foot, with the boot still on it, flying through the air and landing, flop, in the middle of the geraniumsโ€” the scarlet ones; such a splendid show that summer!

โ€œYouโ€™re hopeless, Lenina, I give you up.โ€

โ€œThe Russian technique for infecting water supplies was particularly ingenious.โ€

Back turned to back, Fanny and Lenina continued their changing in silence.

โ€œThe Nine Yearsโ€™ War, the great Economic Collapse. There was a choice between World Control and destruction. Between stability and . . .โ€

โ€œFanny Crowneโ€™s a nice girl too,โ€ said the Assistant Predestinator.

In the nurseries, the Elementary Class Consciousness lesson was over, the voices were adapting future demand to future industrial supply. โ€œI do love flying,โ€ they whispered, โ€œI do love flying, I do love having new clothes, I do love . . .โ€

โ€œLiberalism, of course, was dead of anthrax, but all the same you couldnโ€™t do things by force.โ€

โ€œNot nearly so pneumatic as Lenina. Oh, not nearly.โ€

โ€œBut old clothes are beastly,โ€ continued the untiring whisper. โ€œWe always throw away old clothes. Ending is better than mending, ending is better than mending, ending is better . . .โ€

โ€œGovernmentโ€™s an affair of sitting, not hitting. You rule with the brains and the buttocks, never with the fists. For example, there was the conscription of consumption.โ€

โ€œThere, Iโ€™m ready,โ€ said Lenina, but Fanny remained speechless and averted. โ€œLetโ€™s make peace, Fanny darling.โ€

โ€œEvery man, woman and child compelled to consume so much a year. In the interests of industry. The sole result . . .โ€

โ€œEnding is better than mending. The more stitches, the less riches; the more stitches . . .โ€

โ€œOne of these days,โ€ said Fanny, with dismal emphasis, โ€œyouโ€™ll get into

trouble.โ€

โ€œConscientious objection on an enormous scale. Anything not to consume. Back to nature.โ€

โ€œI do love flying. I do love flying.โ€

โ€œBack to culture. Yes, actually to culture. You canโ€™t consume much if you sit still and read books.โ€

โ€œDo I look all right?โ€ Lenina asked. Her jacket was made of bottle green acetate cloth with green viscose fur at the cuffs and collar.

โ€œEight hundred Simple Lifers were mowed down by machine guns at Golders Green.โ€

โ€œEnding is better than mending, ending is better than mending.โ€

Green corduroy shorts and white viscose-woollen stockings turned down below the knee.

โ€œThen came the famous British Museum Massacre. Two thousand culture fans gassed with dichlorethyl sulphide.โ€

A green-and-white jockey cap shaded Leninaโ€™s eyes; her shoes were bright green and highly polished.

โ€œIn the end,โ€ said Mustapha Mond, โ€œthe Controllers realized that force was no good. The slower but infinitely surer methods of ectogenesis, neo-Pavlovian conditioning and hypnopรฆdia . . .โ€

And round her waist she wore a silver-mounted green morocco-surrogate cartridge belt, bulging (for Lenina was not a freemartin) with the regulation supply of contraceptives.

โ€œThe discoveries of Pfitzner and Kawaguchi were at last made use of. An intensive propaganda against viviparous reproduction . . .โ€

โ€œPerfect!โ€ cried Fanny enthusiastically. She could never resist Leninaโ€™s charm for long. โ€œAnd what a perfectlyย sweetย Malthusian belt!โ€

โ€œAccompanied by a campaign against the Past; by the closing of museums, the blowing up of historical monuments (luckily most of them had already been destroyed during the Nine Yearsโ€™ War); by the suppression of all books published beforeย A.F.ย 150.โ€

โ€œI simply must get one like it,โ€ said Fanny.

โ€œThere were some things called the pyramids, for example.โ€ โ€œMy old black-patent bandolier . . .โ€

โ€œAnd a man called Shakespeare. Youโ€™ve never heard of them of course.โ€ โ€œItโ€™s an absolute disgraceโ€”that bandolier of mine.โ€

โ€œSuch are the advantages of a really scientific education.โ€

โ€œThe more stitches the less riches; the more stitches the less . . .โ€ โ€œThe introduction of Our Fordโ€™s first T-Model . . .โ€

โ€œIโ€™ve had it nearly three months.โ€

โ€œChosen as the opening date of the new era.โ€ โ€œEnding is better than mending; ending is better . . .โ€

โ€œThere was a thing, as Iโ€™ve said before, called Christianity.โ€

โ€œEnding is better than mending.โ€

โ€œThe ethics and philosophy of under-consumption . . .โ€ โ€œI love new clothes, I love new clothes, I love . . .โ€

โ€œSo essential when there was under-production; but in an age of machines and the fixation of nitrogenโ€”positively a crime against society.โ€

โ€œHenry Foster gave it me.โ€

โ€œAll crosses had their tops cut and became Tโ€™s. There was also a thing called God.โ€

โ€œItโ€™s real morocco-surrogate.โ€

โ€œWe have the World State now. And Fordโ€™s Day celebrations, and Community Sings, and Solidarity Services.โ€

โ€œFord, how I hate them!โ€ Bernard Marx was thinking.

โ€œThere was a thing called Heaven; but all the same they used to drink enormous quantities of alcohol.โ€

โ€œLike meat, like so much meat.โ€

โ€œThere was a thing called the soul and a thing called immortality.โ€ โ€œDo ask Henry where he got it.โ€

โ€œBut they used to take morphia and cocaine.โ€

โ€œAnd what makes it worse, she thinks of herself as meat.โ€

โ€œTwo thousand pharmacologists and bio-chemists were subsidized inย A.F.

178.โ€

โ€œHe does look glum,โ€ said the Assistant Predestinator, pointing at Bernard Marx.

โ€œSix years later it was being produced commercially. The perfect drug.โ€ โ€œLetโ€™s bait him.โ€

โ€œEuphoric, narcotic, pleasantly hallucinant.โ€

โ€œGlum, Marx, glum.โ€ The clap on the shoulder made him start, look up. It was that brute Henry Foster. โ€œWhat you need is a gramme ofย soma.โ€

โ€œAll the advantages of Christianity and alcohol; none of their defects.โ€

โ€œFord, I should like to kill him!โ€ But all he did was to say, โ€œNo, thank you,โ€ and fend off the proffered tube of tablets.

โ€œTake a holiday from reality whenever you like, and come back without so much as a headache or a mythology.โ€

โ€œTake it,โ€ insisted Henry Foster, โ€œtake it.โ€ โ€œStability was practically assured.โ€

โ€œOne cubic centimetre cures ten gloomy sentiments,โ€ said the Assistant Predestinator citing a piece of homely hypnopรฆdic wisdom.

โ€œIt only remained to conquer old age.โ€

โ€œDamn you, damn you!โ€ shouted Bernard Marx. โ€œHoity-toity.โ€

โ€œGonadal hormones, transfusion of young blood, magnesium salts . . .โ€

โ€œAnd do remember that a gramme is better than a damn.โ€ They went out, laughing.

โ€œAll the physiological stigmata of old age have been abolished. And along with them, of course . . .โ€

โ€œDonโ€™t forget to ask him about that Malthusian belt,โ€ said Fanny.

โ€œAlong with them all the old manโ€™s mental peculiarities. Characters remain constant throughout a whole lifetime.โ€

โ€œ. . . two rounds of Obstacle Golf to get through before dark. I must fly.โ€

โ€œWork, playโ€”at sixty our powers and tastes are what they were at seventeen. Old men in the bad old days used to renounce, retire, take to religion, spend their time reading, thinkingโ€”thinking!โ€

โ€œIdiots, swine!โ€ Bernard Marx was saying to himself, as he walked down the corridor to the lift.

โ€œNowโ€”such is progressโ€”the old men work, the old men copulate, the old men have no time, no leisure from pleasure, not a moment to sit down and thinkโ€”or if ever by some unlucky chance such a crevice of time should yawn in the solid substance of their distractions, there is alwaysย soma,ย deliciousย soma,ย half a gramme for a half-holiday, a gramme for a week-end, two grammes for a trip to the gorgeous East, three for a dark eternity on the moon; returning whence they find themselves on the other side of the crevice, safe on the solid ground of daily labour and distraction, scampering from feely to feely, from girl to pneumatic girl, from Electromagnetic Golf course to . . .โ€

โ€œGo away, little girl,โ€ shouted the D.H.C. angrily. โ€œGo away, little boy! Canโ€™t you see that his fordshipโ€™s busy? Go and do your erotic play somewhere else.โ€

โ€œSuffer little children,โ€ said the Controller.

Slowly, majestically, with a faint humming of machinery, the Conveyors moved forward, thirty-three centimetres an hour. In the red darkness glinted innumerable rubies.

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