For the last word on the Man of the Future, I
really must bow to the master, G. K. Chesterton, who
actually met the Superman. I leave it to him to relate the
How I Found the Superman
G. K. Chesterton
Daily News 1909
Readers of Mr. Bernard Shaw and other modern
writers may be interested to know that the Superman has been found.
I found him; he lives in South Croydon. My success will be a
great blow to Mr. Shaw, who has been following quite a false scent,
and is now looking for the creature in Blackpool; and as for Mr.
Wells's notion of generating him out of gases in a private laboratory
I always thought it doomed to failure. I assure Mr. Wells that
the Superman at Croydon was born in the ordinary way, though he
himself, of course, is anything but ordinary.
Nor are his parents unworthy of the wonderful being
whom they have given to the world. The name of Lady Hypatia
Smythe-Brown (now Lady Hypatia Hagg) will never be forgotten in the
East End, where she did such splendid social work. Her constant
cry of "Save the children!" referred to the cruel neglect of
children's eyesight involved in allowing them to play with crudely
painted toys. She quoted unanswerable statistics to prove that
children allowed to look at violet and vermillion often suffered from
failing eyesight in their extreme old age; and it was owing to her
ceaseless crusade that the pestilence of the Monkey-on-the-Stick was
almost swept from Hoxton.
The devoted worker would tramp the streets
untiringly, taking away the toys from all the poor children, who were
often moved to tears by her kindness. Her good work was
interrupted, partly by a new interest in the creed of Zoroaster, and
partly by a savage blow from an umbrella. It was inflicted by a
dissolute Irish apple-woman, who, on returning from some orgy to her
ill-kept apartment, found Lady Hypatia in the bedroom taking down some
oleograph, which, to say the least of it, could not really elevate the
At this the ignorant and partly intoxicated Celt
dealt the social reformer a severe blow, adding to it an absurd
accusation of theft. The lady's exquisitely balanced mind
received a shock; and it was during a short mental illness that she
married Dr. Hagg.
Of Dr. Hagg himself I hope there is no need to
speak. Anyone even slightly acquainted with those daring
experiments in Neo-Individualist Eugenics, which are now the one
absorbing interest of the English democracy, must know his name and
often commend it to the personal protection of an impersonal power.
Early in life he brought to bear that ruthless insight into the
history of religions that he gained in boyhood as an electrical
engineer. Later he became one of our greatest geologists; and
achieved that bold and bright outlook upon the future of Socialism
which only geology can give. At first there seems something like
a rift, a faint, but perceptible, fissure, between his views and those
of his aristocratic wife.
For she was in favour (to use her own powerful
epigram) of protecting the poor against themselves; while he declared
pitilessly, in a new and striking metaphor, that the weakest must go
to the wall. Eventually, however, the married pair perceived an
essential union in the unmistakably modern character of both their
views; and in this enlightening and comprehensive expression their
souls found peace. The result is that this union of the two
highest types of our civilisation, the fashionable lady and all but
vulgar medical man, has been blessed by the birth of the Superman,
that being whom all the labourers in Battersea are so eagerly
expecting night and day.
I found the house of Dr. and Lady Hypatia Hagg
without much difficulty; it is situated in one of the last straggling
streets of Croydon, and overlooked by a line of poplars. I
reached the door towards the twilight, and it was natural that I
should fancifully see something dark and monstrous in the dim bulk of
that house which contained the creature who was more marvellous than
the children of men. When I entered the house I was received
with exquisite courtesy by Lady Hypatia and her husband; but I found
much greater difficulty in actually seeing the Superman, who is now
about fifteen years old, and is kept by himself in a quiet room.
Even my conversation with the father and mother did not quite clear up
the character of the mysterious being. Lady Hypatia, who has a
pale and poignant face, and is clad in those impalpable and pathetic
greys and greens with which she has brightened so many homes in Hoxton,
did not appear to talk of her offspring with any of the vulgar vanity
of an ordinary human mother. I took a bold step and asked if the
Superman was nice looking.
"He creates his own standard, you see," she
replied, with a slight sigh. "Upon that plane he is more than
Apollo. Seen from our lower plane, of course. . . " And she
I had a horrible impulse, and said suddenly, "Has
he got any hair?"
There was a long and painful silence, and then Dr.
Hagg said smoothly, "Everything upon that plane is different; what he
has got is not. . . well, not, of course, what we call hair. . . but.
. . "
"Don't you think," said his wife, very softly,
"don't you think that really, for the sake of argument, when talking
to the mere public, one might call it hair?"
"Perhaps you are right," said the doctor after a
few moments' reflection. "In connection with hair like that one
must speak in parables. "
"Well, what on earth is it," I asked in some
irritation, "if it isn't hair? Is it feathers?"
"Not feathers, as we understand feathers," answered
Hagg in an awful voice.
I got up in some irritation. "Can I see him,
at any rate?" I asked. "I am a journalist, and have no earthly
motives except curiosity and personal vanity. I should like to
say that I had shaken hands with the Superman. "
The husband and wife had both got heavily to their
feet, and stood embarrassed.
"Well, of course, you know," said Lady Hypatia,
with the really charming smile of the aristocratic hostess. "You
know he can't exactly shake hands. . . not hands, you know. . . . The
structure, of course. . . "
I broke out of all social bounds, and rushed at the
door of the room which I thought to contain the incredible creature.
I burst it open; the room was pitch dark. But from in front of
me came a small sad yelp, and from behind me a double shriek.
"You have done it, now!" cried Dr. Hagg, burying
his bald brow in his hands. "You have let in a draught on him;
and he is dead. "
As I walked away from Croydon that night I saw men
in black carrying out a coffin that was not of any human shape.
The wind wailed above me, whirling the poplars, so that they drooped
and nodded like the plumes of some cosmic funeral.
"It is, indeed," said Dr. Hagg, "the whole universe
weeping over the frustration of its most magnificent birth."
I thought that there was a hoot of laughter in the high wail of the