Johannesburg, 12th January.
"Ts it true Port Arthur has fallen?" asked the man with the prominent nose—his English smacked a little of Israel.
Yes, it's official," I answered.
He paused for a moment and seemed to
Far East, aah the effect this proof of the thinking upon what the news meant to the ponder. I was silent. No doubt he a
power of the Yellow races might have upon the future, perhaps, of the world. he magnitude of the problem which the next half century must solve overpowered him.
Then he ape "T wonder how"tt well affect the Market?' he asked anxiously. sth In a sentence he had unwittingly ex-presse.. the main thought underlying the life of the Rand. The Market—you must spell it with a very big capital in Johannesburg—always the Market. Empires may fall and dynasties pass away, wars rage and great upheavals of nature lay waste the earth. But here the first thought is always " Will it affect the Market?'? whis is all that matters; this is the only consideration of importance. God made the world that there might ba a Market.
Man as a maas is always inclined to be parochial. The affairs of his own little corner affect him more than the tragedies of another hemisphere. But the parol chialism of the Rand stands alone. Indeed it is really something more than parol chialiam. It is a curious warping of the intellect, a mental distortion, which induces the sufferer to take a peculiar view of the world. The Rand is not deaf to the ululations of the nations. Indeed its hearing is remarkably acute. But everything is dulled and confused by the noise of the Market. It is not concerned with a world tendency by reason of its historical or social importance, but simply because may have some financial bearing.
The tyranny of the Market is reflected in the everyday life of the aty. There is no room, no time, for anything else. The Market is be-all and end-all of existence. It is the only thing which is serious; the only thing worth studying.
Go into half a dozen book shops in Johannesburg and study the stock. It will not take you long. y of. newspapers (they report the Market)—a fair supply of ular illustrated magazines—a considerable selection of novels. This is the mental lum of the chief city of South Africa, the town which claims to have more brains to the square mile than any other city m the world. Ask for an up-to-date volume or for any of Lord Curzon's works, and you will be regarded with astonishment. The Market has no use for these things. The Market has no time for art, or music, or religion, or anything else save an occasional bet. Everywhere the Market. In. the tea-rooms, in the public bars, in the theatres, on the race-course, In the streets, nothing but the eternal jargon of ophions, shares, assays, cores; nothing but the conversation of the Stock Exchange.
Away fin the quiet suburbs at might there may be men whose thoughts do not centre on to-morrow's prices, who do not dream of the opening of the Market. suf they do not count om the Rand. No one counts if he is not connected with the Market; no one is worth listening to if he is not associated with some financial corporation. The Market—with the Mines, for the two are one—rules the newspapers, rules the Town Council, rules politics. he Market rules the Rand. Johannesburg is without a soul; the Market takes its place.
And to this Market and Mammon worship must be attributed the humiliating position the Transvaal] holds in the world. Of all the Colonies of the Empire she is the last to arrest attention or to carry weight. With all ther boasted wealth, with all her talk of "more brains to the square mile,"' etc., her influence in the politics of the world is infinitesimal. The world knows that her voice is simply the cry of some Interest, the ululation of some group of cosmopolitan capitalists in mortal fear jest a few shillings should be cut off their profits, and the Market be thereby affected. The Rand has not one man worthy of being called a statesman, not one man capable of making a speech which will carry weight, not one man whom the common people can accept as absolutely free from the influence of some financial house. Most of the politicians of the Rand have some axe to grid; and those who have not,
bliss. nin in the hope of attaining that state of One does not hear much of the Church in the Rand newspapers; but a sum of £25,000 passed through the totalisator on the race-course in one afternoon. You rarely find a good literary article in the Rand Press; but the Market is reported at great length. You seldom hear an intelligent discussion of a public question; but everyone is prepared to explain why Moses' A's went down threepence in the course of half an hour. In after-dinner oratory they sometimes talk largely about the Empire; but their Imperialism stops short at paying off the war debt.
There is probably no town im the world where there is more crime in proportion. to the population. Bamk robbers detectives exchange revolver shots in one of the main streets at three o'clock in the afternoon: almost every week a safe is carried off and robbed; the convicts in the prisons attack the warders at regular intervals, and vary these fights by escaping most men who have to walk home late at night carry loaded pistols as a protection against robbers: the illicit enor traffic has attained enormous proportions. But Johannesburg takes these things quietly. After all they do not matter very much. They de not affect the Market.
The sanitary service is on the bucket system; the suburban roads are full of huge holes; many of the maim streets are in absolute darkness at night. But all is well. Epstein's Deeps were up fourpence to-day; the Market is firmer.
"TI see there are 200,000 people on the verge of starvation in London," remarks one "Qh!" says the other, "and the worst of & is these bad are bound to keep money out of the Market. Why even the record December output did not harden prices."
A city without a soul.
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.