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Title: The Crystal Button (1891) Author: Chauncey Thomas (1822 - 1898) * A Project Gutenberg of Australia eBook * eBook No.: 0800121h.html Language: English Date first posted: February 2008 Date most recently updated: February 2008 This eBook was produced by: George Snoga Project Gutenberg of Australia eBooks are created from printed editions which are in the public domain in Australia, unless a copyright notice is included. We do NOT keep any eBooks in compliance with a particular paper edition. Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing this file. This eBook is made available at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg of Australia License which may be viewed online at http://gutenberg.net.au/licence.html
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"The assertion that the sole essential quality of God's word is truth brings the Eternal Presence into instant communication with every pure spirit."--Rev. Newton M. Mann in 'A Rational View of the Bible.'
CONTENTS: AUTHOR'S PREFACE EDITOR'S PREFACE PART 1. INTRODUCTION. I. Paul Prognosis meets with an accident II. Paul bids his wife "good-night" PART 2. A DAY'S RAMBLE WITH PROFESSOR PROSPER. III. Paul's remarkable introduction to the city of Tone IV. Paul makes the acquaintance of professor prosper V. The expected advent of a celestial visitor VI. Three thousand years VII. The tower ok peace and good-will VIII. A bird's-eye view of the city IX. The underground railway X. The hospital XI. The pyramids XII. A dinner at the restaurant XIII. The meeting of the school of sciences XIV. A glimpse of country life PART 3. THE CRYSTAL BUTTON. XV. The library XVI. The downfall of old forms XVII. Appearance of John Costor, the apostle of truth XVIII. The order of the crystal button XIX. The new civilization PART 4. A DAY'S RAMBLE WITH MARCO MORTIMER. XX. The standard pendulum XXI. The air-ship XXII. Meridian peak observatory XXIII. The transcontinental railway XXIV. Mount Energy XXV. The Solar Steam-Works XXVI. The palace of the sun PART 5. THE CELESTIAL VISITOR. XXVII. An evening at home XXVIII. The administration of law XXIX. The government of settled forms XXX. Money XXXI. The passage of the comet PART VI. CONCLUSION. XXXII. A ray of moonlight XXXIII. Sunlight, and "Good-morning!" POSTSCRIPT
Years ago, being unduly engrossed by business cares, the writer became aware that some sort of recreation was an immediate necessity. What should it be? It must be something with force enough to lift me out of the ruts of everyday life, and away from its uncompromising facts, its obstacles to be overcome, and its sloughs of anxiety in which I was otherwise liable to flounder. Reading, both heavy and light, had already served a good turn as a sedative, but this proved too mild treatment as a means of diverting a preoccupied mind.
Heroic measures were finally determined upon in the form of close study, designed as a counter-irritant. A congenial subject was chosen: the material and mechanical possibilities of the future. Here was a field of inquiry limitless, and with scarcely a footprint. Here, the inventor could experiment on the largest scale, with no expense for models or patent-rights, and become completely absorbed in his self-imposed task, with no one to criticise his schemes. The plan worked admirably. An ideal world was thus opened, into which the imagination could enter at any time and wander serenely amid the glittering sights of a wonderland ever new, and with ever shifting scenes.
This agreeable labor occupied many leisure hours between the years 1872 and 1878, within which period the substance of the chapters now gathered together in the form of a connected narrative was gradually committed to paper. Why it was not published at the time of its completion in 1878, and why, at last, it is now offered with some hope that it may tempt the appetite of a certain class of readers, even though already surfeited by imaginative literature, are points that will be fully explained in the accompanying letter by the Editor, on whose shoulders rests much of the responsibility for the appearance of the story at this time and in its present form.
Chauncey Thomas. Boston, Mass., March 3, 1890.
OPEN LETTER TO THE PUBLISHERS.
Dear sirs:--For three months past, the undersigned has been engaged in the pleasant task of editing, for a Boston gentleman, the manuscript of a novel entitled "The Crystal Button, or Adventures of Paul Prognosis in the Forty-Ninth Century," which may perhaps commend itself as a fitting companion-piece to Mr. Edward Bellamy's "Looking Backward."
Of course, neither author nor editor has any idea that it will rival that remarkable production; but, in many ways, it helps to supplement with details the same general picture of future possibilities that Mr. Bellamy has so skillfully and attractively painted.
Permit me to state briefly that the present imaginative work, of which the accompanying table of contents will give some idea, was written many years ago by the well-known coach-builder of Boston. The thought was to foreshadow the future possibilities of mechanical and material development; and the work of authorship was entered upon as a means of diversion from the cares of business.
The original manuscript, now before me, shows that it was begun in 1872, and that the author wrote the closing page on February 9, 1878. The slight story, now cut in two and used as "Introduction" and "Conclusion," was written somewhat later, but bears no date.
About the year 1880, the author showed me this manuscript, and asked advice whether it was suitable for publication in book form. I read it with great interest, but reported that, in my humble opinion, it needed and well merited somewhat more finish, and also required to be sustained by some sort of narrative. It is to be feared that this report served to shelve it, for I heard nothing more about it until I read Mr. Bellamy's book in August of last year, when its remarkable similarity in general scheme to that of "The Crystal Button" led me to request an opportunity to re-read the latter. As a result of the correspondence that followed, the author expressed willingness to make it public, providing I would undertake the work of rearranging and editing it, which agreeable task is now approaching a finish.
I believe it to be a good book, in every way helpful and stimulating, decidedly practical in many of its suggestions, and covering a great variety of topics that seem to me to appeal to the interests of large classes of readers.
Its chief defect, if such it may be called, is the fact, already stated, that its general scheme so closely resembles that of Mr. Bellamy's book that it would be difficult to convince the public of its priority,--a task I should shrink from undertaking, although I know it to be a fact. It is unfortunate that its scene should likewise be laid in Boston; but there seems no sufficient justification for an editor's attempting to change the locality, especially in view of the danger of complicating numerous references that might easily be made inexplicable.
On the other hand, the author departs from Mr. Bellamy's track by dealing mainly with mechanical and material development, as the table of contents clearly shows; and just here he naturally possesses originality and strength, being one of the ablest mechanics and inventors that the American coach trade has thus far produced. It is only near the close, in the chapters entitled "Law," "Government," and "Money," that he enters Mr. Bellamy's field, and he does so by cross-paths. To the suggestion that the introduction of certain notes in passing might help to emphasize or supplement some of Mr. Bellamy's views, the author has not only prohibited this, but also requested the removal, so far as possible, of everything in his original manuscript that might suggest parallelism with any ideas presented in "Looking Backward," although, at the same time, he expresses general approval of the ideas therein advanced.
In the judgment of the editor, however, the all-important point of the present book is its theory of the simple but effective means by which the world finally attains the high level of the new civilization, which is described through the teachings of a reformer known as John Costor, whose text is ever "Truth! Truth!" It is Costor's emblem, the crystal button, that very fittingly gives the title to the book. Upon this foundation of truth, exerting its benign influence in wholly peaceful ways through the instrumentality of the individual, the family, social life, the arts, the government, and finally through the grand consolidation of all governments, he erects the pillars of his ideal state. Whatever Socialism and Nationalism may or may not accomplish, this lesson of truth-loving and truth-observing is certainly a kind of seed that can hardly fail to produce good fruit, whatever the soil on which it may chance to alight. In this, as you will observe, consists the moral force of the book.
Please pardon the length of this letter, but I feel desirous to do my duty, as far as I am able, in adequately introducing the work to your attention; and, with your permission, it will give me pleasure to submit the manuscript to you as soon as it is completed.
Very respectfully yours,
George Houghton.
Yonkers, New York, February 10, 1890.
"Mamma, isn't it a nice Christmas present? Don't you think papa will like it?"
"I'm sure he will, dear."
The door-bell gave a sudden sharp alarum that was like a scream. Mrs. Prognosis sprang from her chair. "I suppose," she said, "it's another telegram asking your father to hurry over to the broken drawbridge. But he must be there by this time. I do wish they would give Paul an hour's rest on this day before Christmas." She went to the door, her daughter following.
"Your pardon, ma'am," spoke up a hoarse voice, "but I've bad news for you."
"Bad news? Oh, about the broken draw? I know about that. My husband is at the bridge now, attending to repairs."
"It's another sort of bad news that I'm bringing you, ma'am."
"Another sort? Paul--my husband--what has happened to him? Is he in any trouble?--is he dead? Tell me, man, is Paul Prognosis dead?"
"No, not dead, ma'am; but he's been hurt."
"How?--Where?--At the bridge? I will go with you to him."
"He is coming to you. They are bringing him to you. No, ma'am, you mustn't go." He put up his left hand, in which he held his cap, as if to detain her; then dropped it respectfully, and repeated with a pleading voice, while tears trickled down his pockmarked cheeks: "No, no! ma'am, you mustn't go. Dr. Clarkson is coming, and he sent me to tell you about it."
"Tell me quickly, then, and tell me the truth."
They stood close together on the trellised doorstoop of the contractor's house, on one of the steep hill-streets in the older part of the city-the slight woman with her earnest, troubled face, to whose skirts clung the shivering child, and the coatless workman, dripping wet, and with particles of ice in his beard and long hair. His right hand was concealed in a handkerchief, and a dark stain gradually spread about its folds, until a scarlet drop fell upon the icy coating of the stoop. But Mrs. Prognosis did not notice this, and the man made no allusion to it. The December wind that whistled through the latticework and dead leafage, chasing little whirls of fine snow, was biting cold; but only the child seemed to feel it. "Patty, go indoors, and wait for mamma." The child silently obeyed.
"You see, ma'am, there was an accident at the bridge, where the Boss put in his new patent draw last summer. A schooner, loaded with lumber, got caught by the tide and jammed in, side on, and chocked the draw so that the keeper couldn't work her back, and travel was stopped. They sent for the Boss, and he and I--I'm his foreman, ma'am--were at work down below there, when Jake Cummings,--you know him, perhaps--he's the draw-keeper, an old fellow with rheumatism, and five children, and the old woman dead a twelvemonth,--he slipped on one of the guys, and pitched head-foremost in among the ice."
"Yes, yes--but my husband?"
"Well, the skipper on the schooner threw a rope to the old man as he drifted past, but he missed it, and went downstream with the current. Then the Boss plunged in and followed him, swimming hand over hand in a way that made the crowd cheer. There they both were, in among the ice-cakes and some floating logs and lumber that had got loose from the schooner; and the Boss soon had hold of Jake, but he couldn't seem to make any headway when he turned upstream. When I saw that, in I went too, with Smudge at my heels; and we all brought up in a bunch, with the ice crunching about us, and a small boat from the schooner, that was trying to get at us, shoving the drift against our shoulders. It looked like we had seen our last Christmas, the whole lot of us, dog and all. Well, at last, I--we got him out and aboard the boat."
"Who--who was it you got out?"
"The Boss, ma'am."
"Thank God! and thank you, my friend!"
"And Smudge, too; he ought to be thanked. He stuck to the Boss through it all. As for old Jake, I couldn't get at him."
"And my husband didn't succeed in saving him, after all?"
"That I don't know."
"He must have. Paul always succeeds."
"I hope so, ma'am. Smudge went in again after the old man. As for me, I couldn't see much after I got aboard the schooner, till Dr. Clarkson poured something hot into me. He will tell us. Here they come."
Without another word the woman ran to meet the approaching file of men, bowed by the weight they bore between them on an improvised stretcher. Every hat came off as she drew near. It was growing dusky now, so she could scarcely distinguish the white face that lay there, but she kissed the cold lips, shivered, and gave a piteous look toward Dr. Clarkson, who only said: "Have courage, Mrs. Prognosis. I think a warm bed is all that is needed." She stooped, and clasped in hers one of the cold hands, that gave no response. In that hand, clenched, while all else hung nerveless, she found a little rag of linen, with a buttonhole, in which clung a small glass button. She thrust this in her bosom, again took the chilly palm in hers, and accompanied the procession of silent men as they mounted the stoop and the front staircase to the south chamber, where a few neighbors gave what assistance they could, under the direction of the doctor, and then quietly retired. Beside the bed sat Smudge, the only spectator.
For the next hour, Dr. Clarkson kept the tearless wife busily employed in doing whatever small tasks he could think of, whether helpful or not, and especially such as related to her child. He saw that she was calm--so calm that a stranger might have misjudged her. But the family physician knew.
Just before midnight, when breathing had been fully restored, he left her, saying: "I find no injury of any kind. He no doubt received a severe blow on the head from the ice or a drifting log, though I do not find even a scalp-wound. What the result will be, I cannot now foretell. But keep up courage, Mrs. Prognosis. I have known your husband many years. He is a strong man, in robust health, with everything in his favor, and I believe he will be spared to you unharmed. Fact is, a man like that we can't very well get along without. Everybody respects him, and the only ones who ever disliked him were a few malcontents who, at one time, imagined they had reason to fear his truth-telling. But some of these very men are now his best friends. There's that Torn Haggerty, for instance,--he followed in after him with Smudge, and I hardly know which proved the better water-dog. Well, he seems to be perfectly comfortable for the present. Tomorrow morning we shall know more about the case. In the mean time I leave him in your care. I can do nothing further to-night, and you can do nothing but watch, wait, and hope. He helped to save old man Cummings like a hero, as he is; and I think he'll be able to receive thanks in person before the holidays are over. I hope so--I believe so. Good-night."
In the stillness of that night before Christmas, Mary Prognosis thus found herself in her chamber alone with her husband--with him, and yet alone, for, up to this time, he had given no sign of life other than his breathing and a low sigh now and then. Yet still not wholly alone, for in the next room she could also hear the breathing of her child--their child. "O God, spare my child's father!" She knelt beside him, and felt relief as a few tears gushed from her eyes. "This will never do!--I must be strong."
She passed downstairs and locked the doors of the house; listened to the buffets of snow against the windows; went into the child's room and put the little hands under the coverlet; and again returned to her husband's bedside, where the dog still kept patient vigil. The bell in the city-hall boomed the first hour. She looked at the watch that had been taken from the drenched clothing. The hands recorded thirteen minutes past three. That stilled minute-hand must have stopped just there when the crash came. She found the key, and was about to wind it--and then, suddenly changing her mind, shut it in a little jewel case. Reopening the case, she put beside it the glass button, and then turned a key on both.
How cold it was! She spread another blanket on the bed. As she did so, the sleeper turned himself wearily, opened his eyes and raised them to hers with a confused look, that gradually calmed into a faint smile; and he made a movement with his hand to take hers. Then, with a voice somewhat strange from weakness, he asked, with a pause after each word: "Is--Jake--all--right?"
"Jake is all right, dear."
"Then all's well. I am very tired. Goodnight, darling."
"Good-night."
From the time of that accident on Christmas Eve, Paul Prognosis never spoke an intelligible word, and never showed a sign of recognition of those about him, for a period of ten years. His life was spared, and his general health continued good, but the current of his thought was broken. Was it broken, or merely diverted? Could a man, having the intelligence and training of Paul Prognosis, lose all power of connected thought while the engine of his heart still performed its functions, and his brain, apparently uninjured, continued to receive its full supply of vitalized fluid? Could concussion of the brain mean death to its tissues, while every other part of his body throbbed with vigorous life?
From boyhood, he had displayed a degree of mechanical knowledge that was closely allied to the intuition of a genius. His friends called him such; if he had foes, they probably thought him a "crank," but no one ever heard that term applied to him. The small competency his father left him, he had devoted to gaining instruction in his chosen pursuit. He had next worked in the car-shops, and been gradually promoted until he became master-mechanic, and then mechanical engineer. In every position he occupied, he soon became master of it. The more abstruse the problem presented to him, the greater the pleasure he found in solving it. His inventions were numbered by scores, and many of these were patented; but he seldom took much further interest in a question he had once answered to his own satisfaction. He would hand the patent-papers to his wife, saying: "Well, Molly, you're a better hand than I am at keeping things safe and snug. Put this where you can find it, and it may perhaps come handy some rainy day."
Later, he began to be called on by corporations all over the country to act as an expert in matters requiring mechanical keenness, and he finally left the car-shops, to become a contractor on his own account. Thus far, he had not realized the profits he deserved. But his fame was worth a fortune, and he was just beginning to understand how it might be coined. And now, to be struck down in his thirty-fifth year, with the best part of his life before him and everything to live for,--and from no fault of his own, but the reverse,--all who knew him agreed that it was one of those dispensations of Providence that are unintelligible to those who have confidence in divine justice and compassion.
For a time his friends showed active sympathy for him and for the woman who was well-nigh a widow, and also for the daughter who might as well have been fatherless. But the months became years, and calls for sympathy in other directions were many and pressing, and people gradually ceased to remember the Boss's misfortune--all but Dr. Clarkson. Oh! old Jake, he never forgot; but he was too old and too poor to do more than look and speak his sympathy.
And the wife? She hoped against hope until it died in her heart, and then set herself to work to eke out the small quarterly income she received from his annuity, and to give her daughter such training as she knew he would have approved.
So the years slowly wore on, bringing many another Christmas eve and morn, but the man who had been a master among men now looked upon the faces of his nearest and dearest, and knew them not; looked upon the electrical engine which his own hands had made, and which at last began to find work wherever there was work to do, and saw not that it was an engine; gazed from undulled eyes, and with a contented smile upon his lips, but gave no sign of recognition to anything around him. He spoke--spoke often and connectedly, but seldom responsively. "Thank you," he would say to Dr. Clarkson; "your conversation, Professor, interests me exceedingly. I do not think I fully follow you in your description, but the mechanical progress you indicate suggests wonderful development since the plodding steps of inquiry pursued in my day." The Doctor often sought to lead him further when he spoke in this manner; but he would branch off into some irrelevant remark, such as: "Wonderful, indeed! but it precisely fills a need that we felt in the nineteenth century. I see that it means economy of energy as well as of time."
When, in the later years, the Doctor's son Will became a frequent visitor at the house, he always addressed him as Marco, and often appealed to the young man for information in regard to the workings of anything he happened to hold in his hand, seeming to regard it as some mechanical wonder. To his imagination, a waste-basket became a colossal tower; a toy wagon, a railway train; his wife's jewel-box, a mammoth tenement house; or so it seemed to those around him, judging from his fragmentary comments. All faces, all things, were changed to him, but apparently in no way unpleasantly. He took untiring interest in every new object to which his attention was called, and the same object always retained the new guise in which he first viewed it. The same waste-basket was always the same colossal tower. The only living thing that seemed to maintain quite the same relations in his inner as in his outer world, and that he always called correctly by name, was his dog Smudge. Smudge was his constant companion, both in the street and in the house; and the intelligent devotion of the dog was such that Dr. Clarkson was wont to remark that "Smudge evidently lives in dreamland as well as his master. And," he would add, "it must be a pleasant sort of place to live in, for a happier couple of friends you won't find in all Boston."
It was quite clear that the windows of Paul's mental dwelling-place were closely shuttered. But inside those darkened shutters--what was going on there? There was life still there. And why not? If nothing material can be utterly destroyed--not even the delicate fabric of this rice-paper, which burns and leaves no ash--how much less should we expect to see the immaterial blotted out of existence. Was the precious knowledge, so laboriously stored beneath the white dome of Paul's rugged forehead, thus instantaneously annihilated? Might not the swift current of his mental activity, accidentally diverted from its normal confines, have made for itself an underground course, where no eye, however sympathetic, could follow its secret windings? Might not his former projects in the realm of mechanics, and his prophecies that others had considered wild fancies,--might not these, when no longer fettered by limitations of matter and mechanical means, have finally materialized? Might not his could be of yesterday have become the now is? Might not all possibilities he formerly dreamed have thrown aside their shadowy veils and become realized, in the domain he now occupied, where thought could be continued uninterruptedly and unhindered? Might not the occasional mutterings of his lips, although unintelligible to his hearers, be vague hints from a world unseen and unknown to those around him, yet none the less real to him? So Dr. Clarkson sometimes thought, and so he once told the weeping wife when she confessed to him that all hope had left her. Was it not within reason to consider that last greeting: "Good-night, darling!" a token that life still flickered in the paralyzed brain after the injury, and a prophecy that, under favorable conditions, it might some time flash again and disclose the guest of the darkened chamber once more himself--once more Paul Prognosis, the mechanical expert--with a "Good-morning!" on his lips?
"Well, as my name's Paul Prognosis, this is a pretty predicament for a respectable citizen of Boston to find himself in, tramping about the streets at day-dawn, and with nothing but a nightgown on. And cold-it is cold! I must get into one of these houses by some means. I wonder where my house is! And where am I?--that's a still more important question."
He looked about him in search of a doorway that might serve as a haven. To his surprise, he found himself standing in a public square, that was wholly unfamiliar to him, surrounded by buildings vast and magnificent. Everywhere novelty, everywhere order, everywhere beauty! Great structures on every side, aglow with the morning sunshine, appalled him by their majestic proportions; while unbroken vistas of wide avenues, opening up on every side, revealed the extent and grandeur of the city. With eyes of wonder he gazed upon colonnades, triumphal arches, monuments, towers, facades alive with sculptured decorations, and domes like cumulus clouds that wall the horizon. And in the centre of the square rose a white column that pierced the very zenith.
Such harmony and richness of color on every side--was mortal ever before permitted to gaze upon them! such elegance of form, yet apparently so substantial--such graceful and dreamlike proportions throughout all these vast architectural piles!
"This is all very well, but I must find a place where I can dress and warm myself."
Something warm touched his hand. He gave a spring to escape, but the warmth continued--it was the warmth of breath. He looked down, and gave a joyful cry. "Why, Smudge, old fellow! You are indeed a friend in need. You'll lead me home, won't you?"
But Smudge merely gazed up into his face, and made no movement to lead anywhere.
"I believe, Smudge, that you are lost too. We are both lost. Where have we been, and where have we now come to? Did I lead you, or did you lead me? In any case we're in trouble now together; and, whatever further happens, we must stand by one another. But this is certainly the most beautiful architectural display I ever saw. If this is Boston, then I'm no Bostonian. But where, then, can we have got to?"
He involuntarily glanced down to see if the street was paved with gold.
"No, this is not the new Jerusalem."
At this moment his attention was attracted by multitudes of oddly dressed people, who thronged the sidewalks, even brushing against him. Strangely enough, he had not before noticed them; and, still more strangely, his previous obliviousness to their presence did not excite his surprise. It was enough that they were there, and that some one would now be able to afford him shelter.
"But are they men and boys, or men, women, and boys? And if the latter, which are the boys and which the women? They all seem to be dressed very much alike. And how handsome they all are! This one must be a girl. Dear me, what a pretty face! But who ever saw such queer clothes? Yet they are as simple and becoming as they are queer."
These observations renewed the unpleasant remembrance that he himself was in undress uniform, and he gathered his gown about him, crouched within it, and withdrew to an archway.
"I wouldn't mind exchanging this costume for one just like theirs. What must these people think of me? I shall certainly be arrested if I don't succeed soon in finding my house, or somebody's house."
And he continued to creep along stealthily, vainly trying to hide himself in corners and doorways, while the blaze of day grew steadily brighter, and the populace passed to and fro in increasing numbers. Very strangely, however, no one gave the slightest attention to him. Indeed, they did not seem to notice him any more than if he were an impalpable spirit. But he knew they would, and a terror began to possess him that he would be stoned and beaten. Standing about in this way would never do. He began to run--to run wildly, Smudge bounding beside him, up and down unending streets and avenues, until the breath was well-nigh out of his body,--until a brazen gateway suddenly opened before him without effort on his part, and he darted through it, then up a broad winding staircase, through another open doorway, and found himself, with Smudge at his side, in the midst of a snug library, where the warmth of an open fire cheered his eyes, and where, face to face with him, sat an elderly man at a table littered with papers, occupied with inspecting what appeared to be a small coffee-mill.
The gentleman whom he thus unceremoniously confronted did not notice him at first, and he tried to attract attention by speaking, but not a word could he utter. At length, he laid his hand on the gentleman's shoulder, and with great effort managed to find his voice, though it startled him by its harsh and far-away sound; his words seemed to him to have that strained formality that one hears from a prisoner at the bar, addressing the judge.
"I beg pardon, sir, for this intrusion, which must appear to you wholly unwarrantable, but I have lost my clothes, and do not know where I am. Can you please direct me, sir?"
The old gentleman looked up without any visible surprise--certainly without any appearance of annoyance. He made no reply, but seemed as if waiting to have the question repeated. Paul again made an apology for his appearance, and again humbly asked for assistance in finding his way.
"Why, this is odd," said the gentleman at last, using a strange accent and a language that was not quite familiar to Paul, although he found that he could understand it readily enough,--"you are talking in Old English, and you speak as though you were well acquainted with it. I thought I was the only living man who could do that." Then he added, reflectively: "Poor fellow, he must have escaped from some madhouse. But he speaks Old English remarkably well--better, I admit it--much better than I can."
There suddenly occurred to Paul the similar thought, that he must have entered a retreat of some kind, and that he was now in the presence of one of the patients. But any apprehensions he might otherwise have felt on this account were relieved when the gentleman calmly continued:--"Yes, I will gladly help you all I can. You say you are lost. Tell me where your home is."
"Where my home is? That's it," said Paul, brightening,--"where my home is? Yes, yes." He felt his mind wandering a little, as every man's mind is apt to do when he is suddenly relieved from some great anxiety, and then confronted by the simplest possible question of every-day life. "I live on Cedar Avenue, number 201. And if you will be good enough to send for a hack, I can go home at once without troubling you further."
"Strange, very strange!" repeated the old gentleman--"such perfect command both of Old English words and also, of old phrase-forms! But, my dear sir, where is Cedar Avenue?"
"Why, don't you know? It's not far from the Common, and is nearly as old as the city."
"I never heard of it, or of the Common you mention; and it can't be in this city, for all our avenues are named systematically, and Cedar is a name that doesn't belong to the system."
This was somewhat bewildering. Remembrance of the great city through which he had recently prowled flashed across Paul's mind. It had not seemed like his native city. "Is this not Boston, sir?"
The gentleman again looked at him sharply, without replying; and Paul, who once more began to waver between doubts as to whether he had been transported or whether his questioner was demented, could only find words to add, in a hopeless sort of way: "If I am not in Boston, please tell me where I am, and how I came here, and how I can get away."
"Why, my dear sir, do you not know that you are in the good city of Tone? Such is the fact. You say you live in Boston. Is it possible that you do not realize that the ancient city of Boston, like the ancient language you speak, is merely an historical fact of the remote past? One would think you were a relic strayed from a former age. But allow me to ask you a few questions, and see how far we can understand one another."
"I will try to answer them, sir."
"What year is this?"
"Why, eighteen hundred and seventy-two," answered Paul quickly, glad to be thus led off with an easy one. "You see I have not altogether lost my wits."
"And who is the chief officer of state?"
"Ulysses S. Grant."
"Mention, if you please, some notable persons now living in other parts of the world."
"Well, in England there is Queen Victoria; Emperor William in Germany, Alexander in Russia, and Victor Immanuel in Italy. In France--I have forgotten who is at the head of affairs in France just now, or in Spain either, for they turn so many political somersaults that it is difficult to keep track of affairs in those countries."
"And you say that you live in Boston?"
"Yes," answered Paul, more at ease, and no longer annoyed at his questioner's reiteration, although now convinced that the other was hopelessly beside himself.
"And Boston is where?"
"In the good old Bay State, Massachusetts," said Paul, smiling for the first time.
"Marco!" called out the old gentleman,--"Marco, I wish you would come here for a few moments."
Through the curtains from an adjoining room soon advanced a handsome young fellow, about twenty years old, and an athlete in build, whose fine figure showed to advantage in his simple flowing garments. "This is my young friend Marco. And this is a stranger whose conversation interests me more than I can tell. I wish, Marco, you would look up a few facts for me. Please examine the chronological tables of Blackmole's Ancient History, and see in what year of the Christian Era there was a President of the ancient Republic of Washington, named Grant,--was it not Grant you mentioned?"
"Yes, Ulysses S. Grant."
"This stranger, Marco, who is no doubt a recent inmate of some asylum, but who appears quite harmless and is evidently a person of rare erudition, particularly interests me because he speaks with wonderful fluency and correctness the old English language, on which, as you know, I pride myself. It is of course possible that a demented person, and especially one versed in ancient history, might fancy himself transported to the field of his former researches, and living in the days of Grant and Queen Victoria; but what I now want to do is to see how far he is consistent in his imaginings."
While the old gentleman was thus speaking, Paul watched the young man as he swiftly ran over the pages of the book before him. He also glanced at them; but, to his astonishment, he was unable to decipher a word. They were evidently printed in some kind of shorthand, and the speed with which the searcher pursued his task seemed to indicate that the volume was either perfectly familiar to him, or he was able to catch its contents with lightning glances.
"Well, Professor," said the young man, "there was a President named Grant, who was elected soon after the close of the First Civil War,--the war that resulted in the extinction of negro slavery. He was previously chief in command of the Government forces. That was in Anno Domini 1868. The same Grant was reflected to the presidency in 1872."
"That must have been about the time when electricity was first introduced as an illuminator."
"I see no mention of electric lighting until a few pages later."
"And how about the enfranchisement of women?"
"That followed not many years afterward; but it is well along in the next century that I find a woman President named."
"Let us see, a moment," commented the Professor. "The present year being Anno Pacis 1372, and adding this to Anno Domini 3500, the Year of Peace, we are now, according to the old style, in the year 4872. Stranger, your friend Grant was President just three thousand years ago. You've had a good long nap, if you've been asleep ever since then."
Paul was now so thoroughly confused that he did not try to make any response, beyond a piteous sigh: "What am I to do?"
"Simply make yourself perfectly comfortable, and consider my home yours until further notice. I will see that you are supplied with everything you need."
"Thank you, sir--thank you with all my heart! And my companion here--my dog--can he also remain?"
"Certainly. Well, the most evident need you now have is clothing. Marco, take the necessary measures as to height, girth, and length of leg, and telephone to the East Central warehouse for full costumes--day and evening, and for both house and street."
This having been done, the old gentleman continued: "By the way, I do not yet know your name."
"Paul Prognosis."
"And mine is Prosper, Fellow of the Academy of Sciences--people generally call me 'Professor' for short; and my young friend's name is Marco Mortimer--a rather musical name, isn't it? My daughter likes it so well that she is preparing to link hers to it. Madam Prosper-Mortimer--isn't that a name to be remembered? Marco, you have no need to simulate nervous haste. Your blushes speak your modesty. But there's the signal from the parcel-delivery tube. Will you please attend to it, Marco? There's nothing like present duty as a cure for confusion."
In response to this request, the young man opened a circular bronze door in one of the alcoves, and into his arms swiftly dropped a number of compact parcels.
"There," continued the Professor, "I think you'll find the outfit complete; and Marco will now conduct you to our spare chamber, and afterwards see that you have breakfast. Try and eat a good hearty one, for I propose to give you a walk that will require your best energies. While you are employed upstairs, I will finish my correspondence."
After an absence of an hour, Paul returned to the library, attired in his new costume and closely followed by Smudge. The latter had a look of surprised wonder, but his master was now quite calm.
"Mr. Prognosis," said the Professor, "as you are our guest, it is only proper for you to know that you may find my mind a little preoccupied by reason of the preparations it is my duty to make in view of the near approach of the great event."
"You refer to your daughter's marriage, I presume."
"Not at all. Why, is it possible? Aren't you aware that we now stand on the threshold with expectant eyes, awaiting the advent of the greatest spectacle in recorded history?"
"I was not aware of it, sir."
"It is to occur just three days from now. You very likely noticed, before you came in, that the streets were crowded with people, although the sun had only just risen. The whole world will be out-of-doors for the next three days, awaiting and discussing the expected event. As for myself, I have already completed nearly all my preparations for the observations I am to make. But, again, you know nothing of this; you do not even know that I am an astronomer, and have direction of the telescopic and photographic work at this station. I have a few errands still to attend to, but you can accompany me, and we can talk as we go along."
"Thank you, sir. Nothing could give me greater pleasure than the walk you propose. But the great event you allude to, may I ask what that is?"
"Just think of it, Marco,--a fellow mortal who apparently has no knowledge of the fact that the Year of Peace 1372 marks an epoch above all epochs in scientific interest! But no doubt, Mr. Prognosis, I shall find you all the more interesting as a companion for this very reason. You will prove an audience such as I probably could not find elsewhere on this globe. You can't help being interested in this most remarkable occurrence, and especially so if your mind has any scientific bent. How is that?"
"I am proud to say that I have made science the special study of my life--that is, the science of mechanics mainly; but no one can search deeply and under standingly into mechanics or any one branch of that study, without acquiring some general knowledge of science and a taste for science generally."
"Very true. And in what branch of mechanics were you mainly interested?"
"In engineering and motive forces. I was among the first to foresee the future possibilities of electricity, and I have received several patents for inventions in that line, which I hope may some time prove valuable to the world as well as to me."
"Indeed, that is interesting. But patents, I must tell you, are among those many things of the remote past that found no place in the world's economy after the Experimental Age was gone. However, we will talk of that some other time. To-day, let us forget that there ever was a yesterday. We will simply look at things as they present themselves to our eyes. We will calmly accept the world as we find it,--I think you will be quite willing to,--and calmly prepare our minds for the great coming."
"But this great coming; what is it?"
"It is a brief call that will be paid our planet by the huge comet Veda,--she never appeared in your Christian Era,--which will pass in review before our very doors."
"Is the end of the world indeed so near at hand?" cried Paul.
"There is no need of anxiety on that score. For centuries past our astronomers have been engaged in their calculations, which are now completed, and with an accuracy that is beyond all question. There can be no collision, there can be no disastrous results. The world has not been slowly builded to its present degree of perfection to be suddenly demolished. Next Sunday morning, shortly before sunrise, the comet will cross our heavens, and the only fear is that she will approach so near that we shall be unable to gaze upon her."
"But the world's tides! The proximity of such vast masses of matter cannot but result in causing another Noah's deluge!"
"Our best scientists think it was this same comet Veda that caused the deluge of which you speak; but the world must then have been enveloped in the tail, which is now deflected from the direct line of its approach; and, in the slight disturbance of all the usual conditions of the solar system, the power of attraction will be exactly compensated, and our tides will scarcely record the event. Moreover, the passage will be brief, and effects of light and heat will be largely neutralized by our enveloping atmosphere. I can assure you, Mr. Prognosis, that you need not fear danger of any kind."
"Of course it would be useless to do so. If the world were to be blotted out of existence in the twinkling of an eye "--"But I have assured you that it isn't going to be! Neighbor Mars and ourselves agree on this point."
For some reason the astounding intelligence that had just been communicated to Paul did not affect him as strongly as might have been expected. He had already observed and heard so many strange things during the hour just passed, that he was becoming quite prepared and even expectant to hear more; and he had now fully recovered from his preconception that the Professor was insane. By some means, which his mind could not yet compass, and he no longer made any attempt to do so, he found himself amid scenes and circumstances that were wholly new to him; but his training and experience fitted him to appreciate their supreme interest, and he lent himself unreservedly to the pleasant task of observing everything about him. In response to the Professor's last remark, he merely asked: "You speak of 'neighbor Mars'--is it positively known that Mars is inhabited by human beings?"
"Inhabited? Why, certainly. We have had communication with its people for centuries past, and we already know all that can be communicated by signals. We know their customs, and several discoveries of great value were communicated to us by their scientists. We know their history, which dates back much further than our own so far as we possess records. They are much more advanced than we are, and have greater wisdom. They are our teachers in many things. It was partly by means of the lessons they taught us that we were able to reorganize our world on better principles, and make it what it now is--a pleasure-house instead of the workhouse it was in the dark days of which you have been speaking. Why, my dear friend, you have only to look at my scientific journals here, or this, my morning newspaper, to see how invaluable we find our acquaintance with that elder and more comfortable planet, where men grow larger, and live longer, and have a firmer grasp of ideas than we have. Just read this paragraph, for instance."
"But I cannot read this kind of print."
"What? Oh! of course not. That's founded on a system wholly unknown in your time, but now developed to a degree of perfection that cannot but command your admiration. There are no letters, you will observe, as in the clumsy method by which your Old English was written, but we employ these simple symbols, every one of which flashes a well-rounded idea, so that we are now able to present one of the largest histories of your day in a few-score pages."
"But isn't it difficult to learn? Can your children learn it?"
"Certainly. They are more skillfully taught than in your day, but they study no harder, and they are able to read at about the same age. And when they are once masters of the art, they are able to absorb the complete library of the world's knowledge, which century by century has increased in volume, instead of painfully grasping a small department of knowledge, as even your most highly cultivated men were content to do. How many professors of your acquaintance, who were wise in history or the languages, were also acquainted with the primary chapters of mechanics?"
"Very few, I must confess."
"Well, now, when all men are educated, they are also sufficiently acquainted with the several leading branches of human knowledge, so that the interests of our people are identical and mutual. And please bear in mind also, that we are no longer compelled to waste time in learning what you knew as foreign languages. The language you now hear me speak is the common language that all men speak--that is, all men on this planet. The Martian language is different, and thus far only a few of our professors have learned it. I do not know it myself. That is the only foreign language we come in contact with nowadays. But let me warn you that many people whom we shall meet to-day will set down your speech as foreign. I think they will understand you, but of course not as readily as I do, for I have specially studied your ancient tongue. Whoever you may be, and whatever your other accomplishments may prove, you will be a valuable as well as welcome guest by reason of the many hints you can no doubt give me in my studies in that line."
"I am gladly at your service, Professor."
"Thank you. And now, if you are ready, we will go and do our errands, and meanwhile view the city."
"Three thousand years!" said Professor Prosper absently, as they passed along the street.
"Three thousand years!" echoed Paul; "and yet, by some strange fortune,--whether good or evil I hardly yet know,--I find myself permitted still to live and breathe and to gaze at the pleasant face of the earth. Three thousand years! and yet the sun still shines the same, and the fleecy cloud-ships overhead sail just as calmly, and the wind gives me the same brusque greeting as in the Decembers of old."
"Yes," responded the Professor; "and, as you will learn later, happy childhood plays just the same in mimicry of maturer life; there still reigns the golden age of love-making, accompanied by buoyant hope and castle-building; still there come the soberer joys and responsibilities of middle life; and still each man and woman is followed step by step by the shadow of old age and death. So rolls the world forever through its contrasting seasons. But life's road now is unquestionably much smoother and more comfortable for all of us than it was in your turbulent age of experiment and unrest."
"That is what lam particularly interested to know about. In what respects are you now more at ease? And does this ease extend to all classes? And are all classes happier in consequence?"
"I can answer Yes to your last two questions. Details you must see for yourself. In a general way, however, you will no doubt find the following points suggestive of some of the conditions you may expect to find. Money-getting is no longer the chief goal of effort, and hence many unworthy ambitions have been stifled. Places of power and trust are now filled by strong and trustworthy men; the path to all high places is such that none others can attain them. We no longer have taskmasters, for the simple reason that we no longer have slaves. There is abundance in the way of the world's goods for all, and not so much for any one class as to make them uncomfortable. We have abolished classes. We have less failures and disappointments in our ambitions because the youthful period of experimenting and scheming is past, and we now understand the forces and materials that are at our disposal, and can thus work toward any given end with reasonable assurance of success. History clearly teaches that, in your time, many of your most intelligent and earnest workers failed utterly so far as visible results were concerned. Some of the men of your time whose names are now famous were scarcely known to you, except perhaps as vague theorizers and idealists. From our present point of view we are able to judge the value of their theories, as worked out by later specialists, and justly award them a place among the great ones of the earth who have opened up new avenues of material or intellectual value."
"I can see how that might be so. We did the same by generations that preceded us."
"Yes, but in a less degree, because you lived before the era of truth, justice, and peace, while society was in a ferment, while law was by no means synonymous with justice; while worldly advantage, largely based on a money valuation, was the gauge of success if not of merit; and while the bread-and-butter question overtopped all others."
"Have you no bread-and-butter question now in the world?"
"None of which any private citizen is bound to take any thought. The world produces ample supplies so long as waste, war, idleness, ignorance, and miserliness are not allowed to put their greedy hands in the meal-sack. Under our reign of truth, justice, and peace those buzzards of famine no longer breed. You see, Mr. Prognosis, science, which merely means knowing, has now taken the place of experimenting, which means trying to know, and consequently implies ignorance. You lived in the Experimental Age, whereby the world was taught many valuable lessons; but it was a world of hardships--how hard you did not then realize, or universal anarchy would have put to the test the great question of all, which you did little to settle. Can you now guess what that question was?"
"Human rights?"
"Exactly. You claimed to be Christians, and your nations claimed to be Christian nations, but-excuse me-your customs and your laws wrought more injustice between man and man than any heathen nations that had preceded you, simply because your power was vastly greater. You ruled by force: to-day the world is ruled by truth; and, under the sway of this benign judge, all things have blossomed and fruited in a manner you never dreamed of. All things human have now lost their sting, only excepting sickness and death; and sickness has been very largely reduced, while death has been deferred unto the day when most men, being feeble and weary, have loosened most of the ties that make life a boon."
For a few minutes the two men walked on without speaking. Paul first broke the silence. "Tell me, sir, do you perceive any evidences that nature itself is growing old? Has the sun perceptibly lost volume and power by radiation?"
"That, Mr. Prognosis, is a question you can better decide, because you have means of comparison. What say you? Do you detect any paling of its beneficent fires?"
"I do not find it apparent to the senses. It seems to me as bright as ever, and its rays seem as warm on my cheek."
"Of course," added the Professor, "we know that, within three thousand years past, there must have been some decrease of light and heat by reason of radiation, some decrease of volume from concentration, some increase of mass from meteoric accretions, and consequently some shortening of all the planetary distances. But these changes are so slight that only our most delicate instruments record them. There has also been a slight lengthening of our days and nights, so that we can now calculate the time when the twenty-ninth day of February will no longer be needed to piece out the uneven years. These few changes have occurred, as your scientists were able to predict, and the same movements will forever continue until the sun finally loses its light altogether and nature dies. There have been measurable changes in the last three thousand years; but, as you have said, none of them are perceptible to the senses."
"I can hardly restrain myself, sir, from asking you many more questions regarding physical science, but this is not the time or place for that. Some other time, if you will allow me, I shall not fail to tax your patience to the utmost."
"You need not fear of wearying me by so doing. Like you, I am an enthusiast on such subjects."
"What a magnificent square!" said Paul, as they now entered the same one he remembered crossing in the morning, and he again looked up the eight radiating avenues, between which and fronting upon the square stood various buildings of surprising magnitude and architectural beauty, far surpassing anything he had ever dreamed of. In the centre of the square was a monumental column, and in response to his questioning look, as he viewed its vast proportions and exquisite variety and harmony of decoration, his companion said: "Yes, this is now counted as one of the wonders of the world, and it is unsurpassed in beauty by any similar structure. It is called the Tower of Peace and Goodwill, and was built to commemorate the accomplishment of universal peace among the nations. Its design, as you will perceive upon studying it, is singularly appropriate in every detail to the symbolism which the great artist-architect had in mind. The base is a grand triumphal arch, which, even without the lofty column that surmounts it, would be an imposing object. Grouped around this base are bronze figures of horsemen confronting each other in deadly strife, while between them, and forcibly parting them, stand armed giants. This is intended to symbolize the power of the new civilization to control the spirits of hatred, that would otherwise inspire dissension, strife, warfare."
"I understand."
"On the lower portion of the outer wall, above the plinth, you will observe a series of bronze tablets in bas-relief. These include historical representations of all modes of warfare practiced by the ancients, and clearly show its savage character and terrible destructiveness. Above those is a contrasting series of tablets illustrating the conquests and glories of peace; and over the grand arch is the rising sun, typifying the dawn of peace. Rejoicing in its rays, on either side, are great armies who no longer display implements of bloodshed, but banners bearing emblems and mottoes of good-will. And see! over all, and in letters that can be read by all--by even you, for they are the letters in which your Old English was written, is inscribed the glorious phrase:--'On Earth Peace: Good-Will towards Men.'
"In your day you often repeated that same phrase, but it then had no meaning. Your choirs sang it, but the words were drowned by the trample of armies that then made the world an armed camp. Was it not so?"
"I confess it."
"The inscriptions you see on panels let into the upper portion of the wall are words of wisdom spoken by men of all the ages who were in any way instrumental in ushering in the reign of peace, and whose names follow the texts. Among them you will recognize that of Washington, who helped give a death-blow to kingly usurpation, and Lincoln, who aimed a similar blow at one of the primitive forms of human slavery. Those of the great social reformers, that then follow, are of course not known to you. And now, if you please, we will ascend the shaft."
Thus speaking, they passed through the main arch, and entered an inner door leading to a broad, winding passage, having no steps, by which they easily passed to the top of the grand Arch of Triumph and stood among the art-wonders of the level summit.
"Now," said the Professor, "let us take things in order, and we shall soon obtain a general impression of this masterpiece, although a score of visits may be made without exhausting interest in its countless details. Here, at the four corners, you see bronze groups of domestic animals, some standing and some reclining in peaceful attitudes under graceful foliage; and directly over the four arches are colossal statues of four noted men,--I presume you would have called them social reformers,--who would be but names to you if I should mention them now, but you will know and honor them later."
"The labor question--is it yet settled?"
"Oh, centuries ago. There could be no thought of peace until that problem was solved."
"And was it peacefully solved?"
"Yes and no. It was the momentous question in your day. You must remember the continual strife that grew out of it. Like all great issues, it finally forced itself to the front, challenged attention, and compelled action from the best minds, and then gradually wrought out its own salvation as society became organized on a wiser and truer basis. Honesty and justice were the only elements lacking in your day for its peaceful solution. As soon as these forces took the field, the field was won."
"Above us still rises the tower."
"Yes, and all other parts of the structure are but accessories to this. You will see that the shaft of the column is surrounded by a spiral gallery, which winds about it from base to summit. This gallery is supported by a continuous colonnade; and this, together with a beautiful balustrade below, a series of arches springing from the columns, and a belt of exquisite tracery above, forms a shell to the central shaft and gives the outline of the tower as seen from a distance. Within this ascending gallery, on the side next the shaft, is the passageway; and on the outside, next the colonnade, is a grand procession of marble figures, all carrying offerings to lay at the feet of Peace, who sits enthroned on the summit. Here are herdsmen with cattle, shepherds with flocks, ploughmen with teams, wagons loaded with the products of the field, the locomotive driver, fishermen with their nets, and sailors with the tiller in hand. Here are artisans with emblems of their calling, scientists with their inventions, authors with their books, orators, actors, painters, sculptors, architects, musicians,--every phase of effort is represented that in any way contributes to the necessities, comforts, or pleasures of life. Each figure in this vast collection is the work of some noted artist, and it has been an object of the highest ambition on the part of our sculptors to secure a place for their works in this collection. If you like, you can easily glance at all by entering this slowly moving elevator; or are you likely to be fatigued by the trip?"
"Even if I were, I should not know it, for my entire attention is absorbed in wonder and admiration for these marvelous works about me."
Stepping upon the moving platform, they then leisurely surveyed the vast procession that seemed moving with them to the summit, where, at a windy elevation that was at first somewhat trying to his nerves, Paul grasped the railing that surrounded the throne of Peace, and looked down upon the outspread city.
"Well, here we are," said the Professor, again assuming the office of guide. "Here Peace reigns triumphant, upheld, as you see, on a hemisphere representing the earth, with her right hand supporting a staff topped by a crystal globe, the emblem of Truth, and her left hand resting upon a disc-like ring, signifying Unity, around whose edges are inscribed the names of all the nations that subscribed to the Act of Universal Peace. Around her stand figures representing Justice, Order, Industry, and Plenty; and, emerging from the winding gallery and surrounding the throne, are figures of children, bearing their offerings of flowers and fruit, who form the advance guard of the long procession we have followed from below."
"Professor, the display of beautiful objects gracing this monument fills me with wonder that I will not try to express. Why, they are scattered with a lavishness that one expects to find only in dreamland. I have a half-feeling as if I might now be treading the summit of an air-castle, and as if a sudden stream of moonlight might awaken me to the dim realities of night. But if that be so, then let me dream on forever, for the world in which I have been accustomed to live boasts no such spectacles as this."
"Mr. Prognosis, before descending to the earth, where you will find we are quite as practical in most matters, if not as prosaic, as the most matter-of-fact mind of the nineteenth century could desire, I hope you will try and take in a general view of the grand panorama of the city and its suburbs that now lies spread before you. Your eyes will soon become accustomed to the distances."
"But I feel too giddy to look down."
"Let us then look afar at first. There to the east glitters the bay; and here you can follow the windings of the rivers that pour into it, each dotted with sailless craft and crossed by a network of bridges, especially the great river to the west. The most famous of the bridges, known as 'The Old Bridge,' is very clearly visible directly to the north. It belongs to the same period as this Peace Tower; and, like it, contains a display of statuary that is certain to give you pleasurable surprise. Just across it you see our two far-famed Pyramids--please don't question about them now, for you shall examine them later. To the northwest the most prominent object is Mount Energy, with its accompaniment of the Solar Steam-Works; and to the north you can see the chief scene of my labors, Meridian Observatory. I know that you bristle with questions, but please be a little patient, and you shall have an opportunity to inspect all these wonder works in detail. In the valley below us, which blazes as if by the reflection of a lake in noon sunshine, is our far-famed Sun Palace--"
"Excuse me, but I must interrupt with just one question! These cloud shadows that now and then pass us, are they clouds, or huge birds, or balloons of some kind?"
"They are air-ships. You shall inspect them too, and make an experimental voyage in one, if you like. But let us first complete our bird's-eye view. I think now that you will be able to look below without discomfort, and perhaps you will prefer to study the nearer aspect of the city without comments from me."
Paul gazed down, and gradually absorbed the more prominent features of the animated picture at his feet. He saw that the eight avenues radiating from the Peace Square were all extremely wide; and he now noticed that, extending along the centre of each, were open archways revealing a subway, in which he could see lines of moving railway cars. At the crossings, the underground streets were covered by the bridge-like structure which evidently composed the surface avenue through its entire length. Each avenue was two-storied.
"What," asked Paul, "is the purpose of the tall masts that I see scattered so thickly through the city? It cannot be that you permit telegraph and other wires to be strung overhead?"
"Certainly not! The subway gives ample and safe accommodation for all wires and pipes. These masts are simply supports for electric suns by which we convert darkness into day, so that midnight and noon are scarcely to be distinguished in Tone. I believe, in your time, that you were just beginning to discover the usefulness of electricity as an illuminator and motive force."
"Yes, but we found it expensive to produce, impossible to store, and, at times, as unmanageable as a young lion."
"We have now domesticated it. It took many centuries to gain a complete knowledge of its laws, but we now look upon these as simple enough, and we handle it with perfect safety. As to expense, we catch it direct from the sun's rays and from the winds and waves. You will easily comprehend the details when you visit Mount Energy, that monster pile to the northwest with a cap of white, like a snow-covered hill."
"Your buildings--how few, yet how vast they are!"
"Yes; each covers an entire square or block."
"And, viewed from this point, each seems to taper like a pyramid."
"That is the form of construction we have adopted as most convenient."
"But it would seem to be wasteful of space."
"Not when you consider that the centre areas are now entirely covered, excepting the necessary air and light shafts. We simply transfer the space you practically wasted as areas, to the facades to our buildings, thereby affording a much larger surface for the play of air and direct sunlight, although the structures themselves are two, three, and four times as high as you thought it safe to pile them. At the same time, the streets are likewise left open to sunshine and air. You will readily understand that, with vertical buildings of such height as these, our streets would otherwise be converted into sunless alleyways. Convenience and safety of entrance are also secured by this method of construction; and, by allowing a little strip of garden along the successive terraces, we convert each building in summer time into a green and blossoming hill. But this is one of the subjects that you will better understand when you come to examine the two great prototypes of this class of buildings, which I pointed out to you as the 'Pyramids.' They were the happy thought of a master-architect who lived many centuries ago, and who designed them with special reference to the needs of mechanics and others having small incomes. Land in the cities had become so valuable that small houses were no longer practicable, even for the comparatively wealthy; and tenement houses became dangerously tall, and unhealthily sunless and ill-ventilated. The change in construction he advocated was so radical that it met with much ridicule, until submitted to practical test on a grand scale in the 'Pyramids'; but the result of that test was strikingly successful in every respect, and proved conclusively that the designer's claim of maximum comfort and health combined with minimum expense for rent and maintenance was as firmly founded as his broad-based structures. Although each one, in its accommodations, represented a good-sized city, both were speedily filled with occupants, and leases have been greatly valued ever since."
"The expense of building must have been vast."
"Yes, the first expense was; but when you remember that they have now stood for many centuries, and are still in perfectly good condition to serve for as many centuries more, you will understand that this investment by the municipality has proved highly advantageous. We learned by your experience that it doesn't pay to build, merely to tear down and build again. The spirit of iconoclasm has been well-nigh rooted out. We build to stand--our legal, as well as our stone-and-mortar structures."
"In spite of this desirable solidity of which you speak, I find a suggestion of singular lightness and cheerfulness in your architecture."
"Yes; and you will find that this is largely produced by the extensive use of glass and of gilded and silvered ornaments. We seek the free distribution of sunlight in every possible manner, and whatever can admit or reflect sunshine is gladly introduced in our buildings. The vines and shrubbery and bay-windows on the terraces also help to break the long cornice lines, and give lightness in effect as well as variety."
"I shall now," said Paul, "be particularly interested in examining your underground world and the construction of those two-story streets; for I was formerly employed by a railway company, and the question of safe passage through thickly populated districts was always a perplexing one."
"Let us then return to the lower world. You see, here we have another moving platform that will speedily transfer us to the street without any exertion on our part. See, the long procession of statues seems to clamber behind us as we make our circling descent; and here we are again, safely deposited in the public square."
"As you see," continued Professor Prosper, "we now stand upon the upper street, or what we call the 'highway,' which is reserved for pedestrians and pleasure vehicles."
"But I see no horses."
"Oh no, we do not allow the use of horses in our cities. With the continued increase of traffic, it was found that they were a leading source of dust, filth, and unpleasant odors, and they also impeded pedestrian travel unnecessarily. At the same time our needs gave rise to a great variety of wheeled vehicles propelled by electricity or compressed air. You have evidently not noticed that, beyond the next row of elms, is a roadway filled with electric vehicles, continually passing. These make no dust, no sound, are easily guided, and, under favorable conditions, their speed far exceeds that of the fleetest horse. In all our cities, horses have been relegated to the training-school and the arena."
"But of course they are still used in the country."
"For pleasure purposes, yes; but not for mere motive power, for they would be too expensive. Electricity and compressed air do all our drudgery."
"You continue to amaze me."
"I understand that, yet you must prepare to be amazed in many other particulars far more important than this. But, as I began to say, this 'highway' is, in fact, a scaffolding, built sometimes of stone, but more often, during late years, of a peculiar preparation of aluminum, which is now the commonest of all metals, and particularly adapted for purposes of construction, owing to its lightness, strength, and freedom from injury by oxidation. It is also beautiful; do you not think so?"
"The iron that we used must certainly give it the palm on that score."
"We of course use aluminum for all our common household utensils."
"But how do yon obtain it?"
"From clay, by the simplest possible mode of reduction. It is one of the mysteries why you failed to discover it."
"It was not because we didn't strain every faculty."
"No; you strained too much. You looked too far. You held the secret in the hand, and forgot to open the hand."
"Very likely," sighed Paul. "The microscope has no doubt given the world more useful hints than the telescope."
"Well, on this 'highway,' as you will notice, are the main entrances to dwellings, hotels, and commercial warehouses, while below are other entrances where all merchandise and bulky articles are received direct from the City Service freight-cars. In the middle of the subway are the transit lines for passengers, separated by broad passages from the freight tracks, and with power elevators that give easy access to the 'highway.' But let us take a trial trip, and you will then see for yourself."
Paul took one parting glance about him before they descended, fascinated by the bright faces of the great throngs of people who passed him.
"You apparently have no beggars in your streets," he said, half questioningly.
"I should hope not. Oh no, beggary is one of the many things of the remote past. It was merely a result of certain unhealthy conditions, including waste, extravagance, avariciousness, crime, and disease, which flourished in your time, and fruited and dropped their natural seed."
"But you cannot have abolished crime by legal enactments."
"No; but we have so reduced, where we have not entirely removed, the chief inducements to crime, including poverty, excess of wealth, injustice, and ambition for undeserved power, inevitably leading to tyranny, that it is now infrequent. While I was recently engaged in consulting newspaper files dating from the nineteenth century, I was painfully struck by the fact that nearly all the news most prominently heralded related to crimes, accidents, and wars or rumors of war. Although the world is now much more densely populated, and the means of communication nearly instantaneous, our daily newspapers seldom make mention of crimes or accidents--simply because they seldom occur; and of course we no longer have our nerves excited, pleasurably or otherwise, by news of war or rebellion, as those are conditions quite impossible under the present regime. In brief, Mr. Prognosis, the news in your day was mainly detective news, while ours nearly all relates to social life, science, art and amusements."
While thus speaking, they had descended the elevator to a broad stone platform skirting the main track. There were four pairs of rails in the central portion of the subway; and on the track next the platform where Paul was standing, he noticed a car at rest, into which persons were entering by side doors and taking seats.
Just at this moment a long train, drawn by some invisible force, flew rapidly by him, on one of the inner tracks, and to its side was attached a small car like that which stood before him, which was speeding forward on the same near track. He watched attentively, expecting to see the two small cars collide. But, just in the nick of time, the small moving car was cast off and came to a standstill, while the other small car was caught up by the train, which never slackened its tremendous speed, and whirled out of sight.
"Beautiful!" cried Paul. "I don't at all understand how it is done so easily, but I see that it is done, and I see that you have settled the question of rapid transit without reference to the number of intermediate stations."
"Exactly so! The small car, as you have observed, acts as a tender, allowing passengers to join the main train and then take their seats in calmness and comfort while it is still running at full speed."
"It is of course dropped in the same manner."
"Yes, it works both ways. Each tender is carried to the next station on the line, and then successively all along the circuit."
"But there must be cross-lines--how are collisions prevented?"
"Easily enough! All the lines in the city are run under one general management, and all precisely on time. In fact, the several trains act like several parts of one vast machine, and the movements of all are as accurately timed as the beats of a clock, which is perfectly practicable under this system."
"But how is it that the people can safely change places while the cars are in such rapid motion, and especially the aged and infirm?"
"There is little motion, as you will soon see, for the road-beds as well as the cars are perfectly constructed. There is no difficulty about that. But see for yourself. Here is a tender awaiting us. And here comes the train--and here we are aboard the train--and the tender dropped, and another at our side! Did you ever see anything easier than that?"
"Never! And now--if you please, Professor, I would like to know something about this new motive force of which you have spoken. I presume it is used on these trains, is it not?"
"Yes. Well, it is based on a very simple but peculiar application of compressed air. I should need diagrams to fully explain it. But I can now say that this compressed air is conveyed to all parts of the city by pipes, the source of supply being a short distance out of town. To-morrow, if you like, with Marco as a guide, you can visit the central works; and, if I am not mistaken, you will see something worth your while."
"I have no doubt of it. The only fear I have is, that you may show me so many wonders that I shall lose my wits. You see, a nineteenth century brain has to expand itself considerably to house the realities of your present."
"True enough. Yet you will find that we do all things in such an orderly manner that we also do them easily as well as rapidly; and you will soon learn to do the same. Life is much easier now than with you. You, as I understand it, were always in a driving hurry, and rather proud of the fact than otherwise. When any one nowadays is seen in a hurry, we know that he is either correcting an error, or that he lacks order and system in his plans. You wasted time, just as you wasted everything else. We value time as our first of all boons--it is our life--and we count every day another opportunity freighted with duties that we take pleasure in performing."
"But doesn't this make life a rather dull treadmill?"
"Not at all, because we include all possible pleasures that are not harmful in any way, as part of the duties of life. Dull treadmill, indeed! And that phrase in the mouth of a nineteenth century man! You must excuse me for smiling, please. Why, life nowadays is one round of pleasures."
"But how about your work? Does anybody find work a pleasure?"
"Of course. Why not? The difference between work and play is slighter than you think. Action is the source of all enjoyment. Work is forced action, excessive action, or action to which one's powers are not adapted. Play is willing action in ways that are best adapted to one's powers. We choose our workers and set them to work on this principle. Whatever a man can really do well, he can usually do easily, and he usually likes to do it. If he doesn't, then we hold out attractions in the way of higher ambitions, that stimulate him by the drawing process more effectually than any whiplash of want or fear could possibly push him."
"Well, I certainly approve the theory and the principle, but I shouldn't think it would work in practical life."
"I can only say that, under proper guidance and training through many generations, it has come to work very satisfactorily. If founded on truth, it must work, Mr. Prognosis, just as soon as we give it a full opportunity to work. A correct theory is merely an unrealized truth. Isn't that so?"
"I suppose so; but really, Professor, your remarks suggest to my mind so many problems, and from such a novel point of view, that I don't feel fully competent to pass verdict on all of them. I simply accept your statement that work can be converted into play without the happy victim knowing or caring whether it's one or the other. The statement interests me, and therefore pleases me."
"And you thereby illustrate the very point of my argument. You thereby convert the hard work of investigation into a recreation. To use an expression from your own day, you therefore 'change your stage-coach into a gentleman's four-in-hand.'"
"I gladly plead guilty."
"And I, as gladly, suspend sentence."
"May it please the judge to listen to another inquiry?"
"Certainly."
"Do you use reciprocating engines for your condensed air?"
"No. The air-wheel is by far preferable. I am aware of the efforts of inventors in your day to produce a useful steam-engine on the rotary plan, and their lack of success; but with compressed air there is much less difficulty. We have no heat to contend with; and soft leather packing, so arranged that it is made tight by pressure, reduces the friction to a minimum. The present engine is exceedingly simple. I will show you plans that I have at home."
"But are these tender-cars started by the same plan?"
"Not exactly. In that case a simple cylinder and piston are placed in an upright position, and at the proper moment the piston is forced up. This rotates the toothed wheel which you see here. Watch the tender we are now approaching, and you will see more than I can explain."
Paul watched as directed. He saw one tender cast off just in time to come to rest at the right point, with its forward end just over a great wheel. Under the tender in waiting a similar propulsion wheel began to revolve, slowly at first, but gradually increasing its revolutions until the departing tender left it at full speed, ranged itself alongside the train, and was promptly hooked on.
"Excuse me, Professor, but I did not see you pay our fares as we entered. Do we do that upon leaving the station?"
"Fares? Oh, there are no fares. All is perfectly free."
"But how are the companies compensated?"
"There are no companies. The Government runs and operates all lines of transportation for either passengers or freight, as well as all other means of communication, by road, wire, or tube, including mail carriage, telegraphs, telephones, and pneumatic-tube service. And all are free--perfectly free. In your time you had started in this direction by making many of your highways and bridges free to the public, and mail-matter nearly so. As the people supply the labor that supports all the public conveniences I have mentioned, they are certainly entitled to their use. Please understand that the people and the Government are one--they are synonymous terms."
When, after a few minutes of rapid flight in the railway, they alighted at the riverside, the Professor explained that he had stopped at this point in order to give his visitor an opportunity to see one of the several hospitals scattered about the suburbs of the city.
"You seemed interested by references I made to beggary and crime, and it occurred to me that you would like this opportunity to glance at one of our hospitals, which will indicate certain provisions now made for the maintenance of health, and having an important influence on those questions."
"You are very kind. You will find me an interested spectator and listener. But first, please let me ask a few questions. You alluded to disease as one of the exciting causes of poverty, and hence of crime, in my day. You surely cannot have banished disease!"
"Not entirely, yet very largely. Death still awaits us all, and, throughout life, we still suffer those ills to which flesh seems naturally and inevitably heir. But the records show that most of the diseases that brought distress to the ancients were unnecessary; they were mainly such as were directly attributable to poor or inappropriate food, poor drainage, lack of sunshine and fresh air, lack of exercise or too much of it, vice of many kinds, and ignorance of even the simplest laws of physical well-being. By removing those prolific sources of disease, the world first cured the majority of its patients, then prevented further accessions to the ranks, and gradually reduced the liability of recurrence of the same weaknesses in offspring. Indeed, large classes of disorders which you looked upon as incurable are now practically unknown, excepting as sporadic examples that are rather welcomed than otherwise by our physicians."
"What one, for instance?"
"Well, most notably what you used to call 'tubercular consumption.' A case of that kind is now a curiosity; and the patient is promptly removed where there may be no possibility of his distributing the microbes that produce it. I also recall what you knew as 'cholera,' 'smallpox,' 'yellow fever' and 'leprosy.' Let me tell you that we deal with disease as a deadly enemy that deserves no quarter. We first adopt every possible means of prevention. For instance, we respect certain marriage rules that you would no doubt consider arbitrary and harsh, but which have resulted in so improving the world's health that all people now recognize their justness and propriety. No diseased or deformed person who is liable to communicate serious imperfection of any kind to offspring is ever allowed to marry."
"But how can you prevent marriages?"
"By the same means that we effect them--by law; and our laws mean more than mere written statutes. They are founded on justice and right. The public recognizes this fact, and every person feels it for his own interest, as well as for the public good, to see that they are enforced. You were not so blind but that you found it right to prevent a lunatic or a leper from marrying--and you even banished the latter forever as a hopeless outcast. But you nourished in your homes diseases that were even more readily communicable, and quite as dangerous to life and health and moral stamina."
"True--too true!"
"But now let us take a distant view of the hospital, which, as you see, consists of a number of small buildings arranged in a semicircle on the little island before us. There are eighteen buildings in the line, and you will notice that they are divided by walls into three distinct groups. Those to the left are devoted to patients suffering from ailments affecting the mind, including imbeciles and the insane; the centre group to those who are physically ill or injured; while the three to the right are occupied by those who are morally deranged."
"Morally deranged?"
"Yes, I believe you used to apply the term 'prison' to the institution used for the confinement of moral patients."
"They are convicts, then? But why are these associated with your hospitals?"
"Why not? They constitute a part, though happily a small part, of the patients that come under the same management and treatment."
"You astound me!"
"We simply treat them as persons who are morally deformed or ailing."
"But how do you punish them?"
"We know no such thing as punishment in their case. We confine them, partly for their own good, to prevent their doing further injury to themselves, and partly with reference to public safety; but the idea of 'punishment,' in the sense in which it was known to your system of criminal jurisprudence, has no part in ours. Vice and crime are sufficient punishment in themselves."
"Not where conscience is lacking."
"But that is seldom, and especially in the early history of crime, where our laws mainly apply. In the case of impaired or undeveloped conscience, responsibility would be reduced, and your so-called 'punishment' was liable to be needlessly harsh. It is clear that a person utterly without conscience, or knowledge of right or wrong, would deserve merely the treatment of a beast--confinement."
"Under such conditions, your places of confinement must be of vast number and extent."
"No; I think there are only eight other hospitals in Tone, and they are merely receiving stations. All our permanent patients are in the buildings now before you."
"Why, Boston of my time required buildings of twenty times the number and size for its hospitals, asylums, and houses of correction; and the present city must be many times as populous."
"About twenty times, I believe."
"Professor, I do not yet understand the secret of this wonderful decrease in sickness and crime."
"There are many causes, but none are mysterious or in any way surprising to us now, although some of them may appear so to you. I have already explained to you several of the means by which we have gradually decreased the spread of communicable diseases, until they are now well-nigh stamped out. There was one means that was adopted many centuries ago, which I did not mention, but which has proved of supreme service in the work of purifying the blood of successive generations. It applies to all persons, whether mental, physical, or moral patients, who are ever committed to this institution, and it goes into effect as soon as the Council of Judges has pronounced judgment that the taint--mental, physical, or moral--is incurable and liable to be communicated to offspring. By an instantaneous and painless operation, the patient is rendered forever sterile."
"It seems barbarously cruel."
"Excuse me, but that is because you view the subject from a nineteenth century standpoint, which had no horizon, but was wholly occupied with evils of the hour. Without this wise provision, we should be obliged to keep our patients in confinement throughout their natural lives, for it is contrary to every rule of justice that physical and moral disease afflicting the present generation should be allowed to cast its curse upon a helpless and innocent generation yet unborn. We recognize that we owe something to future generations as well as to those that have preceded us; and we try to do our duty by them in this respect. By this simple precaution, continued through centuries, a thousand taints of mind, body, and morals, that rendered reform in your day difficult to the very verge of impossibility, have steadily been eradicated, until the question of inherited disease, including that of vice, is now one of the minor ones, over which we have almost perfect control."
"But the enactment of such a law must, at first, have aroused bitter opposition on the part of the public. Its very suggestion in my day would have called down universal condemnation."
"My dear Mr. Prognosis, please try and understand that, since the inauguration of the reign of general peace, the people have really been the law-makers as well as the governors. For us to find fault with our laws would be to convict ourselves of error in enacting them. You may be sure that a law of this importance was not adopted until public sentiment had accepted it as right and proper. It first had to meet the test of the White Button standard of truth and justice. That question settled, a public sentiment that has gradually been educated to the acceptance of every dictate of justice simply demanded it. Results have fully proved the wisdom of its adoption."
"And it is still in operation?"
"Yes, though seldom enforced in these days. Its function was mainly performed in centuries now long passed, when the power of the criminal classes often blocked the wheels of progress."
"You spoke of the great size of Tone. Is it the largest of your cities?"
"By no means. There are scores that are its equal and several that are much larger. The most populous of all in the Americas is located on the isthmus connecting the two continents, which stands at the crossroads where converge all the chief lines of travel, north and south, east and west, by land and by sea. That great cosmopolis of Carrefour has a population of over fifty millions."
"I never heard of it."
"It had no reason to be, when, in your day, South America had hardly given a sign of its magnificent future, and when the entire navies of your globe scarcely equaled those that now daily pass through our inter-continental canals. The city of Carrefour grew naturally from a little port into a mammoth metropolis, by reason of the steady development of all countries south of the equator, which was just beginning in your day and has continued with rapid strides ever since. The formation of new governments founded on the principles of modern civilization, symbolized by this white button I wear, gave opportunities for testing the Costorian theory with a freedom that was impossible under the older governments. The result was a complete vindication of Costor's teachings."
"Costor? Who was Costor? And what was his theory of government?"
"To know that is to know the foundation of modern civilization. To-morrow evening, if time will allow, I will try and tell you about it. This hospital you have just seen is a type of one of the many modern institutions that have been developed in their present form from the clear, straightforward teachings of that master man. You shall know about him later, and then you will understand many things underlying our present ideas and customs that might otherwise appear inexplicable."
Leaving the hospital, they walked along the paved embankment about half a mile, until, upon rounding a hill, they found themselves at the approach to the "Old Bridge," one of many crossing the mighty salt stream, but the noblest of them. There it loomed before them, and Paul's practiced eye studied the magnificent sweep of its arches. The solid wall above the arches was almost wholly covered by elaborate and beautiful designs, deeply cut in the solid stone; and at the crown of each arch was a projecting keystone, which formed the base of a pilaster-like column, thus dividing the sculptured belt into panels. Surmounting the wall, directly over these pilasters, were huge blocks of stone on which rested bronze figures of all known animals, singly or in groups, the larger at the ends of the structure and the smaller at the centre, in regular gradation. They were all of exquisite workmanship, resembling those on the Peace Monument.
"This," said the Professor, "is one of the chief landmarks of our city, if I may so call it. You would hardly think it a thousand years old, yet such is the fact; the cement that binds the stones is as enduring as the solid granite itself, and the entire structure as indestructible as though carved from the everlasting hills."
"It is grand--grand beyond the power of words!" said Paul, who found himself running short of original modes of expressing his oft-excited admiration.
"Well, let us now follow the upper roadway to the centre arch. Here, at this end, as you will notice, is the 'Arch of the Elephants,' as it is called, which is mated at the other end by the 'Arch of the Mastodons.' Next to these, on either side, are the camels and the behemoths. After leaving the riverbanks come the hippopotami and crocodiles; and, over the centre of the stream, are all kinds of fishes. See! we are now among the fishes. And here, from the top of this central arch, we have our best view of the Pyramids, to which I called your attention from the Peace Monument. Please understand that we have not wasted our time and substance in reproducing those old Egyptian tombs, which are as famous in our day as in yours. Ours are quite as large, but they are for the living. You shall see for yourself."
As they mounted the avenue that led from the "Old Bridge," Paul continued to gaze with increasing wonder on the two massive piles cutting the horizon before him, that had every appearance of two pointed mountains firmly planted on the plateau. They were located about half a mile from the river, one on either side of the avenue, and surrounded by groves of trees. They stood in sombre majesty, their form suggesting strength and permanence in the highest degree. As the wondering spectator approached nearer, he could see that their sides were covered as with a fresco of many tints, broken by spots of color and reflected light; and their vast proportions became more and more overwhelming.
"Can it be possible," asked Paul, "that those are the windows of human dwellings which I see in sparkling lines along those stairlike terraces?"
"Windows? yes; and dwellings? yes--more than four thousand dwellings in each pyramid, and very good ones too, supplied with every convenience as well as every household necessity of this most comfortable age. The South Pyramid alone has a present population of about twenty-two thousand persons."
"They strike me as more like ant-hills magnified into mountains than human habitations."
"Well," said the Professor smiling, "that is just what they are sometimes called. But the people who live in them are mostly artisans, who are both industrious and proud of their industry, and therefore not averse to being likened to that intelligent little six-legged worker. But you will see--you will see! We will inspect this southern ant-hill."
Paul spoke scarcely a word during the remainder of the walk, but kept his eyes fixed on the pyramid they were now rapidly approaching, which seemed to expand in height and bulk with every step he took.
"On each of the four sides," explained the Professor, "there are several converging lines of inclined railways, all entrance being by the exterior; and here we now are at Station No. 29. Step into this car and we will go immediately to the summit. I often come here to enjoy the charming view from the upper terraces, and also to breathe the invigorating air, for the breezes love to visit here even when they desert us in the lower city."
"But I should think it would be extremely hot on a breathless summer afternoon."
"Oh no! for it is then a bower of vines and shade trees. Do you not see that every entrance has its little strip of soil, planted with trees and shrubs? In summer these gardens are more beautiful than I can describe."
"And in winter, is it not frightfully bleak and windy?"
"No more so than in any place where air and sunshine have free entrance. The dwellings are so constructed that they can be made perfectly snug and comfortable in the coldest weather, with abundance of hot air that can be turned on at any moment; while the railways afford the easiest possible communication with the rest of the world."
Seating themselves in the car that awaited them, they started on their upward climb, proceeding rather slowly, while the conductor continued crying out "Fourth!" "Fifth!" and so on up to the forty-fourth terrace, when they were as near the top as the Professor cared to go.
"Ah!" said Paul, as he sniffed the pure and invigorating air, "this is indeed better than the rookeries we called 'tenements,' built in vertical blocks in narrow, sunless streets, where the working-people in our cities were huddled in their so-called homes."
As they walked along, the Professor explained that each terrace was fifteen feet in height and depth, and that each dwelling had a frontage upon it of twenty feet. The flooring of each was four feet above the terrace, so that the door was reached by a few steps; and under the main windows of each were low broad windows serving to light and ventilate the lower or basement rooms. He further stated that, in most cases, a single dwelling consisted of four principal rooms: two in front, besides the hallway, and two at the rear; while still others, without light from the front, were carried further into the interior and formed excellent sleeping apartments, as they were fairly well lighted and perfectly ventilated by central shafts, down which the sun's rays were directed by an ingenious system of reflectors.
"But how is it possible to utilize the central portion of this mountain of stone and iron and glass?"
"At its base it is honeycombed by chambers used as municipal storehouses for surplus food. The lower two tiers consist of a vast number of heavily-arched vaults devoted to cold storage; and on the outer margin of the second tier, between the vaults and the dwelling apartments, is an encircling arched corridor, the floor of which can be flooded and frozen over at any time, even in midsummer, and thus be converted into a skating gallery."
"How is the process of freezing accomplished?"
"By merely releasing compressed air under high pressure from pipes communicating with Mount Energy. This gallery passes entirely around the structure. The remainder of the interior is devoted to innumerable markets, shops, audience chambers, dining-rooms, etc., lighted artificially and ventilated through many flues opening out on the terraces or through vertical air-shafts. Ventilation is further effected by draughts of cold or hot dry air, supplied by elaborate systems of pipes, which also serve to cool or heat the several departments. All the rooms are lighted by electricity, so that they cau be made to glow with midday glory whenever desired. In brief, Mr. Prognosis, everything that heart can wish is obtainable by the dwellers of this Pyramid without ever visiting the outside world. It is simply a fully organized city, piled on end instead of being stretched lengthwise."
"But how about fire? A general conflagration would be a serious matter in such a building."
"Accidental fire is something we no longer dread. With you, I am aware that it was a continual menace, and it not only meant millions of waste every year, but also cost the lives of many persons. Now we use only fireproof materials for building; and, if the contents of any suite of rooms become ignited, fireproof doors are barred upon them, and a volume of steam introduced that quickly subdues the most threatening blaze. But we depend less on the fireproof qualities of materials than on preventives of fire and constant care and watchfulness. No expense was spared in the construction of this building, and the investment was a profitable one, for it is just as serviceable to-day as when the masons rang their trowels on its walls a thousand years ago. In like manner, no expense is now spared in adopting every possible preventive of fire; and this has also proved profitable, for no serious conflagration has ever occurred, and no life has ever been sacrificed. Immunity from accident in the past is not allowed to cause any relaxation in the present service of the fire-patrol; but a single alarm would immediately summon a corps of trained men, furnished with every modern means of fighting the destructive element. The records clearly show that our largest dwelling houses are by far the safest in this respect."
"These exterior terraces certainly afford a convenient means of exit in case of danger. There is no longer any possibility of people being roasted alive while clinging to lofty window-sills within sight of all the world, but utterly beyond the reach of human aid."
"That is true, and that is one of the arguments used by the architect who designed the Pyramids. As populations were massed more and more in the great cities and the vertical buildings rose loftier and loftier, the danger from this source steadily increased, for smoke proved a more deadly enemy than fire. Both smoke and fire can now be speedily escaped by occupants, and help can be promptly afforded from without. But the record speaks for itself: a thousand years--and not a dweller in the Pyramids has ever lost his life from fire."
As they slowly descended, Paul glanced into numberless dwellings, schoolrooms, stores, markets, and places of amusement; and he readily admitted that he had never before seen anything so neat, cheerful, and comfortable. He especially noted the peaceful and happy look of all the people whom he passed. They had no resemblance to the careworn and discouraged faces that he had learned to think inseparable from those who worked with their hands in the humbler callings of life, or depended upon those who so worked. Their cheeks glowed with health and their eyes with happiness.
Paul spoke to a little girl who stood at one of the doorways. She responded politely, but evidently did not understand him. As he rejoined the Professor, the latter said: "She is telling her mother that you are a 'sailor man.'"
A little later, a young man greeted the Professor, and they gladly accepted an invitation to enter his home. The Professor explained to Paul that this was an employee at the observatory, who had a minimum income, so that his quarters would well represent what could be done with small means in the way of housekeeping.
"Thomas, do you think your wife would object to our looking into all your rooms?"
"She shall speak for herself, sir, if you please." And he introduced a healthy young woman, neatly dressed, of whom he was evidently not a little proud, and she seemed well worthy of his regard.
From the combined sitting-room and parlor they passed to the dining-room opposite, both of these rooms looking out upon the trellised terrace; and then to the bedrooms, in one of which lay a sleeping child, and below to the kitchen, laundry, etc. There was not only perfect neatness everywhere, but evidences of taste abounded in the way of pictures, books, wall decorations, and musical instruments, that the visitor had little expected.
"Excuse me," said Paul, "but I do not see how you manage with your washing, in the absence of an area. Our back yards were mainly devoted to the duty of clothes-drying."
The wife opened a large closet, and explained that this was her drying-room, where she had but to hang the wet clothes and admit a powerful current of hot air. The ventilation of all the rooms was evidently perfect, and they were all lighted and cheerful. Paul was free to confess that his own house was not one whit more comfortable as a home.
After leaving the apartment, he said: "Professor, one of the points I still fail to understand is this. You seem to have developed a new race of dwellers as well as a new species of dwellings. I fear, if the tenement class of my day were given the freedom of this place, they would soon reduce it to their own level of disorder, filth, and degradation. Of what account would be tiled floors, and porcelain walls, and all accommodations offered by running water, ventilators, hot-air currents, and electric lights, in the hands of ignorant and shiftless persons having no appreciation of their value, and no knowledge how to intelligently care for them?"
"Precisely. But the preliminary work of educating the working classes in the art of home-making had been in process many centuries before these Pyramids were raised. The women are mainly responsible as the home-makers. One reason why your mechanics had such poor homes is perfectly clear; the women of their class, whom they naturally took as wives, received little home training and no public instruction in the serious duties of life which they ignorantly undertook. They did not know what housekeeping meant. They did not know what home really meant. They consequently lacked a requisite to home-making that even wealth and trained servants could not fully supply. Ignorance such as this, of the first principles of life, is now impossible. The compulsory education of these days means something, and it means quite as much to women as to men. It means the emancipation and the happiness that go hand in hand with knowledge and ability. You rightly surmise that the slatterns of your tenement-houses would soon make a slatternly tenement-house of this palace. But let me tell you that a corps of women such as Thomas's young wife, who tells me that she is a graduate of the Home-makers' Institute, would find or make a way to convert even a tenement apartment-house into an abode of beauty and comfort, whose attractions would make a home-lover out of any husband worthy of the name."
"Then you are disposed to look upon your Pyramids as a result rather than a cause?"
"Partly, but not altogether. Such things are always reciprocal to a greater or less extent. A neat and well-appointed house of course helps to arouse the pride and ambition of the young housekeeper; but it is a diamond in the rough, and opaque until she has polished it and taught it to catch the sunshine. These Pyramids and other great dwelling-houses of similar design simply represent one of the many means which have been adopted to help educate our working people to found--each his own castle, each his own shrine, each his own something worthy to work for!"
"Are workmen encouraged to marry and to make homes for themselves?"
"Of course! in every way that seems practicable. We are now a nation of homes. There can be no stable general government unless it rests upon an aggregation of home governments; and it is recognized that whatever makes home-life better and happier contributes directly to the stability of the national life."
"The fact that your population is more homogeneous than in my day helps to make this possible."
"Of course, time is a physician that can help cure many evils, but every individual is to some extent responsible for the tendency of his time. There must be constant education of mind and manners, or time will only make matters worse."
They walked for some moments in silence. "One more glance," added the Professor, "and then we are done for to-day. Here is the grand central hall, which overtops the honeycombed series of storehouses forming the nucleus of this vast pile. This hall, as you see, divided by avenues and streets, is the business centre of this little world. The numerous domes of glass that light it from above are the lower extremities of shafts that pierce the building vertically and act like great arteries through which sunshine and air can circulate."
From a lofty gallery Paul looked down upon the brilliant scene of activity beneath him, and then aloft to the golden ceiling, now sparkling with myriad suns of electricity. The space, the color, the glow, the warm pleasant odor, the throb of distant music, the nameless emotion of a dream that is not known to be a dream, dazed his senses. "Show me no more wonders!" he plead, "for I cannot longer compass them. Please lead the way, that we may move and keep moving until heaven once more encircles us with its restful curve of blue!"
The Professor understood. They passed to the open air, saw the winter sun just kissing its hand from the western hills, took the cars again, and in another half hour were seated once more in the subdued light of the Professor's study.
After bathing, Paul seated himself on the sofa in the study, with his dog Smudge at his side, and before he knew it, fell sound asleep. When he awoke and looked dreamily about him, he found the Professor still busy at his table. Smudge aroused simultaneously, and thrust a paw into his hand.
"Well, Mr. Prognosis, that hour's nap will do you a world of good. That you might not be interrupted, my family are already taking dinner, and it has been arranged that you and I shall now go and have ours at one of the summer-garden restaurants, conducted under municipal supervision, at the Palace of the Sun, that forms an interesting feature of winter life in Tone, in which I feel sure you will be interested. The fact is, Mr. Prognosis, we give a great deal of attention nowadays to the question of health; and, both as cause and effect, we have become a nation of gormands,--gormands in a good sense,--people who make a science of eating, who know the best, and are consequently satisfied with no other. I want the pleasure of introducing you to one of the most famous of these restaurants. It is only a short walk from here."
The walk, which proved only too short, was soon taken; and they then approached a public square which Paul had not before seen, surrounding what seemed an immense conservatory of glass, its lines of light diminishing in distances that clearly showed this to be by far the greatest building he had ever gazed upon.
"This," said the Professor, "is the Palace of the Sun; but please ask no questions about it, for you shall have an opportunity to inspect it later. I have purposely approached the rear entrance of the restaurant, so that the Palace itself may retain its novel attractions until some occasion when you have ample time to do it justice."
They now passed through a triple gateway into a garden, and entered a handsome building resembling a club-house, where they left their outer clothing in the cloak-room, and then ascended the grand staircase to a hall of great dimensions, and surpassing in beauty of detail anything of the kind that Paul had ever seen or dreamt. A suffused and mellow light from some unseen source made artificial day; and bowers of roses, and orange-trees, and trellised grapes, and splashing fountains, made a tropical garden of the room itself, which seemed reflected in the scene without the windows; while through the warm and perfumed atmosphere laughed a merry breeze of orchestral music. All the windows were open, and birds fluttered in and out. The new-comers soon made themselves comfortable in a secluded nook, where a waiter immediately attended, as if flashed from the rugs beneath their feet.
"I have to confess," said the Professor, "that I never once thought of inviting you to lunch to-day, being engrossed by the interest you showed in all things. That was unhealthy, and consequently very wrong, and I beg your pardon."
But Paul made confession to the fact that he had been so tired before the nap that he was then in no condition to eat.
"I hope that you are quite rested now."
"Perfectly, and ready to see anything and everything in the way of new wonders that you may be pleased to summon with your witch's wand."
"I am glad of that, for, after dinner, I have a literary or scientific treat in store for you. Well, now, what would you particularly like to have? Whatsoever the world produces is now to be had for the asking."
"Anything you will kindly set before me will be acceptable--always excepting cabbage and cauliflower."
The Professor laughed, and remarked that he was rather fond of cauliflower, and had seriously contemplated ordering some; but, out of consideration for his guest, he would of course omit it.
"On no account! Please yourself, and I promise to be pleased. Some of your dishes will no doubt be strange to me, but I am sure they will be good; and, with the exception of the two vegetables named, I can eat anything I ever saw served."
The Professor readily assumed the command thus conferred upon him, and soon had the opening course of a savory repast upon the table. Just where it came from was not apparent to Paul, but there it stood smoking before him: first, a golden-colored soup, with an odd name but a delicate flavor; then, some wonder of a fish, quite free from bones, and with a highly appetizing sauce; and next, a small roast fowl, with numerous side dishes of vegetable preparations, most of which were new to him. After the dessert followed a variety of fruits, wholly unfamiliar but peculiarly delicious; and finally, a welcome old friend in the form of a cup of fragrant coffee.
As they sipped this, the Professor asked: "Tell me, Mr. Prognosis, now that you have had an opportunity to recover from your first feeling of wonder, how did our Pyramids strike you?"
"Well, sir, I can only repeat that they are certainly abodes of the blest as compared with the city tenements of my time, which I suppose were their prototypes. You could not imagine, sir, if you were to try, what those tenements really were--shadowed in narrow courts and alleyways, dark, mildewed, squalid, filthy! And, without seeing them, you could not imagine the wretched condition of the creatures who lived, or rather who drooped and died, in them. You could not imagine the horror of the rumshops and other dens of vice that always encircled them,--vile haunts of crime which, like fungous growths, fattened on what they destroyed, and exhaled their miasma to increase if possible the loathsome odors of the street. You could not imagine the degradation of the children born and bred amid such surroundings,--unhealthy, ignorant, void of all good or desire for good; spawned like reptiles, and then thrust forth to beg, starve, pilfer, murder, and further spread the contagion of disease and sin. Oh! sir, it is too pitiful to even think of. Let us not speak of it further."
"But were there no true men, no strong men, no willing men and women to undertake the task of reform, however hard it might be? Was nothing done to rouse public sentiment to an appreciation of the wretched condition of fellow human beings? I should think that the pleasure of life, even for the fortunate, would have been destroyed by the contemplation of such misery, or by the mere knowledge of it even if they turned their eyes away."
"Oh! we had prophets among us, and reformers, and noble men and women who were willing to lay down martyr lives to better the condition of their degraded brothers and sisters. But it was a well-nigh hopeless task. Many of their most heroic efforts seemed only to result in intensifying the evils they sought to remedy. They seemed perfectly powerless, and the candle of Christianity that had kept the world in hope for many centuries seemed about to die out. You see, the evils of the day had their roots too deep down in the customs of the past; they were the outgrowths of numberless generations of moral and social servitude, unwholesome traditions, evil thoughts and habits, and gross instincts, that allied their victims to a condition worse than that of brute beasts. They had no hopes, no good ambitions that could be aroused, no consciences that could be appealed to."
"Excuse me, but do not be too sure of that. They were certainly sunken in the lowest depths of misery, but consciences,--most of them still had consciences, and they still had possibilities of ambitions mightier than the mightiest of temptations. Vice no doubt was bred in their very blood; but so also, I must think, was a lingering love of virtue; and, with God's help, it has come to pass that strong men and women, working in his name through generation after generation and century after century, and gradually reinforced by stalwart recruits from the ranks they sought to help, have finally raised the standard of morals, both private and public, to a height you dared not hope. What you have seen to-day is not the result of any one act of any one person or of any million of persons,--though Costor gave direction to concerted action,--but of the combined efforts of all individuals who have thus far lent their influence, by even the simplest word or act, to the cause of truth and justice. That's the only way public sentiment is created, and Public Sentiment rules this world as God rules heaven! To-day, Public Sentiment says all men have equal rights, if not equal capacities,--and it means and enforces what it says. To-day, Public Sentiment pronounces vice degrading, and ignorance the mother of vice, and says that neither shall be tolerated. To-day, Public Sentiment pronounces labor ennobling, and it ennobles the laborer. That's all there is about it."
The Professor was evidently getting excited, and Paul was not unwilling to follow him into the brisk outdoor air. He was also glad to know that they had in prospect a walk of a mile before reaching the next scene of surprise.
For a time neither spoke; and Paul had a full opportunity to examine the faces that passed him. He looked in vain for any that suggested vice, hunger, poverty, or even care. The streets were crowded, but no one was in a hurry, though all seemed bound on some pleasurable quest.
After a time, he ventured to inquire whether it was not found difficult to supply the various needs of the present increased population of the world.
The Professor at first answered a little sharply: "No, sir! We save what you wasted! We work, while you played at work! We give Nature and her vast forces an opportunity to work for us! And we know how to wisely use what we have!"
Later on, he explained that the art of preserving all kinds of perishable food had been brought to great perfection, and that vast reserves of food were continually stored in all corners of the world, as well as in such reservoirs as the Pyramids in Tone and other chief centres, in order to guard against short crops resulting from drought or other unavoidable cause. "With the population the world now has, this is a prime necessity. We waste nothing, but preserve and store all that we have no present need for; and the oceans and continents are fairly alive with fleet messengers that herald the first sign of lack, and haste to distribute wholesome food wherever it is most needed."
The coffee was evidently beginning to exert its benignant influence on the Professor's nerves, by allaying his irritation at the inexcusable ignorance of the nineteenth century people. "I will say this," he remarked confidingly: "the progress you scored during the latter half of your century of strife, in mechanical science and also in the enfranchisement of your working classes, was never equaled in any like period of the world's history."
By the time they arrived at the lecture hall, both men were quite refreshed. It was located in a stately granite building whose dome glittered far above them, which the Professor explained was exclusively devoted to the uses of the Learned Fellows of the High School of Sciences. During the few minute