with dichlorethyl sulphide.”
A green-and-white jockey cap; bright-green, highly polished shoes.
“In the end,” said Mustapha Mond, “the Controllers realized that force was no good. The slower methods of ectogenesis, neo-Pavlovian conditioning and hypnopaedia…”
And round her waist she wore a green morocco-surrogate cartridge belt, bulging with the regulation supply of contraceptives.
“The discoveries of Pfitzner and Kawaguchi were at last made use of. An intensive propaganda against viviparous reproduction…”
“Perfect!” cried Fanny enthusiastically. She could never resist Lenina’s charm for long. “And what a perfectly sweet Malthusian belt!”
“Accompanied by a campaign against the Past; by the closing of museums, the blowing up of historical monuments; by the suppression of all books published before A.F. 150.”
“I simply must get one like it,” said Fanny.
“There were some things called the pyramids, for example.”
“My old black-patent bandolier…”
“And a man called Shakespeare. You’ve never heard of them of course.”
“It’s an absolute disgrace—that bandolier of mine.”
“Such are the advantages of a really scientific education.”
“The more stitches the less riches; the more stitches the less…”
“The introduction of Our Ford’s first T-Model…”
“I’ve had it nearly three months.”
“Chosen as the opening date of the new era.”
“Ending is better than mending; ending is better…”
“There was a thing, as I’ve said before, called Christianity.”
“Ending is better than mending.”
“The ethics and philosophy of under-consumption…”
“I love new clothes, I love new clothes, I love…”
“So essential when there was under-production; but in an age of machines—positively a crime against society.”
“Henry Foster gave it to me.”
“All crosses had their tops cut and became T’s. There was also a thing called God.”
“It’s real morocco-surrogate.”
“We have the World State now. And Ford’s Day celebrations, and Community Sings, and Solidarity Services.”
“Ford, how I hate them!” Bernard Marx was thinking.
“There was a thing called Heaven; but all the same they used to drink enormous quantities of alcohol.”
“Like meat, like so much meat.”
“There was a thing called the soul and a thing called immortality.”
“Do ask Henry where he got it.”
“But they used to take morphia and cocaine.”
“And what makes it worse, she thinks of herself as meat.”
“Two thousand pharmacologists and bio-chemists were subsidized in A. P. 178.”
“He does look glum,” said the Assistant Predestinator, pointing at Bernard Marx.
“Six years later it was being produced commercially. The perfect drug.”
“Let’s bait him.”
“Euphoric, narcotic, pleasantly hallucinant.”
“Glum, Marx, glum.” The clap on the shoulder made him start, look up. It was that brute Henry Foster. “What you need is a gramme of soma.”
“All the advantages of Christianity and alcohol; none of their defects.”
“Ford, I should like to kill him!” But all he did was to say, “No, thank you,” and fend off the tube of tablets.
“Take a holiday from reality whenever you like, and come back without so much as a headache or a mythology.”
“Take it,” insisted Henry Foster, “take it.”
“Stability was practically assured.”
“One cubic centimetre cures ten gloomy sentiments,” said the Assistant Predestinator.
“It only remained to conquer old age.”
“Damn you, damn you!” shouted Bernard Marx.
“Hoity-toity.”
“Gonadal hormones, transfusion of young blood, magnesium salts…”
“And do remember that a gramme is better than a damn.” They went out, laughing.
“All the physiological stigmata of old age have been abolished. And along with them, of course…”
“Don’t forget to ask him about that Malthusian belt,” said Fanny.
“Along with them all the old man’s mental peculiarities. Characters remain constant throughout a whole lifetime.”
“… two rounds of Obstacle Golf to get through before dark. I must fly.”
“Work, play—at sixty our powers and tastes are what they were at seventeen.”
“Idiots, swine!” Bernard Marx was saying to himself, as he walked down the corridor to the lift.
“Now—such is progress—the old men work, the old men copulate—and there is always soma, delicious soma, 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…”
Slowly, majestically, with a faint humming of machinery, the Conveyors moved forward, thirty-three centimeters an hour. In the red darkness glinted innumerable rubies.
Chapter Four
1
