Scientific Romance

by Brian Stableford

“ ‘Yes, and don’t the ones who can give themselves airs,’ said another. ‘They make quite a favor of asking you.’

  “ ‘And how stupidly they talk,’ added a third. ‘They always say exactly the same things. “How charming you look tonight.” “Do you often go to Vienna? Oh, you should, it’s delightful.” “What a charming dress you have on.” “What a warm day it has been.” “Do you like Wagner?” I do wish they’d think of something new.’

  “ ‘Oh, I never mind how they talk,’ said a fourth. ‘If a man dances well he may be a fool for all I care.’

  “ ‘He generally is,’ slipped in a thin girl, rather spitefully.

  “ ‘I go to a ball to dance,’ continued the previous speaker, not noticing the interruption. ‘All I ask is that he should hold me firmly, take me round steadily, and not get tired before I do.’

  “ ‘A clockwork figure would do the thing for you,’ said the girl who had interrupted.

  “ ‘Bravo!’ cried one of the others, clapping her hands. ‘What a capital idea!’

  “ ‘What’s a capital idea?’ they asked.

  “ ‘Why, a clockwork dancer, or better still, one that would go by electricity and never run down.’

  “The girls took up the idea with enthusiasm.

  “ ‘Oh, what a lovely partner he would make,’ said one. ‘He would never kick you, or tread on your toes.’

  “ ‘Or tear your dress,’ said another.

  “ ‘Or get out of step.’

  “ ‘Or get giddy and lean on you.’

  “ ‘And he would never want to mop his face with his handkerchief. I do hate to see a man do that after every dance.’

  “ ‘And he wouldn’t want to spend the whole evening in the supper room.’

  “ ‘Why, with a phonograph inside him to grind out all the stock remarks, you wouldn’t be able to tell him from a real man,’ said the girl who had first suggested the idea.

  “ ‘Oh yes you would,’ said the thin girl. ‘He would be so much nicer.’

  “Old Geibel had laid down his paper, and was listening with both his ears. On one of the girls glancing in his direction, however, he hurriedly hid himself again behind it.

  “After the girls were gone, he went into his workshop, where Olga heard him walking up and down, and every now and then chuckling to himself, and that night he talked to her a good deal about dancing and dancing men, asked what dances were most popular, what steps were gone through, with many other questions bearing on the subject.

  “Then for a couple of weeks he kept much to his factory, and was very thoughtful and busy, though prone at unexpected moments to break into a quiet low laugh, as if enjoying a joke that nobody else knew of.

  “A month later another ball took place at Furtwangen. On this occasion it was given by old Wenzel, the wealthy timber merchant, to celebrate his niece’s betrothal, and Geibel and his daughter were again among the invited.

  “When the hour arrived to set out, Olga sought her father. Not finding him in the house, she tapped at the door of his workshop. He appeared in his shirt-sleeves, looking hot but radiant.

  “ ‘Don’t wait for me,’ he said. ‘You go on. I’ll follow you. I’ve got something to finish.’

  “As she turned to obey he called after her: ‘Tell them I’m going to bring a young man with me—such a nice young man, and an excellent dancer. All the girls will like him.’ Then he laughed and closed the door.

  “Her father generally kept his doings secret from everybody, but she had a pretty shrewd suspicion of what he had been planning, and so, to a certain extent, was able to prepare the guests for what was coming. Anticipation ran high, and the arrival of the famous mechanist was eagerly awaited.

  “At length the sound of wheels was heard outside, followed by a great commotion in the passage, and old Wenzel himself, his jolly face red with excitement and suppressed laughter, burst into the room and announced in stentorian tones: ‘Herr Geibel—and a friend.’

  “Herr Geibel and his ‘friend’ entered, greeted with shouts of laughter and applause, and advanced to the center of the room.

  “ ‘Allow me, ladies and gentlemen,’ said Herr Geibel, ‘to introduce you to my friend, Lieutenant Fritz. Fritz, my dear fellow, bow to the ladies and gentlemen.’

  “Geibel placed his hand encouragingly on Fritz’s shoulder, and the Lieutenant bowed low, accompanying the action with a harsh clicking noise in his throat, unpleasantly suggestive of a death-rattle. But that was only a detail.

  “ ‘He walks a little stiffly’—Old Geibel took his arm and walked him forward a few steps; he certainly did walk stiffly—‘but then, walking is not his forte. He is essentially a dancing man. I have only been able to teach him the waltz as yet, but at that he is faultless. Come, which of you ladies may I introduce him to as a partner? He keeps perfect time, he never gets tired, he won’t kick you or tread on your toes; he will hold you as firmly as you like, and go as quickly or slowly as you please; he never gets giddy; and he is full of conversation. Come, speak up for yourself, my boy.’

  “The old gentleman twisted one of the buttons at the back of his coat, and immediately Fritz opened his mouth, and in thin tones that appeared to proceed from the back of his head, remarked suddenly: ‘May I have the pleasure?’ and then shut his mouth again with a snap.

  “That Lieutenant Fritz had made a strong impression on the company was undoubted, yet none of the girls seemed inclined to dance with him. They looked askance at his waxen face, with its staring eyes and fixed smile, and shuddered. At last Old Geibel came to the girl who had conceived the idea.

  “ ‘It is your own suggestion, carried out to the letter,’ said Geibel. ‘An electric dancer. You owe it to the gentleman to give him a trial.’

  “She was a bright saucy little girl, fond of a frolic. Her host added his entreaties, and she consented.

  “Herr Geibel fixed the figure to her. Its right arm was screwed round her waist, and held her firmly; its delicately jointed left hand was made to fasten upon her right. The old toymaker showed her how to regulate its speed, and how to stop it, and release herself.

  “ ‘It will take you round in a complete circle,’ he explained; ‘be careful that no one knocks against you, and alters its course.’

  “The music struck up. Old Geibel put the current in motion, and Annette and her strange partner began to dance.

  “For a while everyone stood watching them. The figure performed its purpose admirably. Keeping perfect time and step, and holding its little partner tight clasped in an unyielding embrace, it revolved steadily, pouring forth at the same time a constant flow of squeaky conversation, broken by brief intervals of grinding silence.

  “ ‘How charming you are looking tonight,’ it remarked in its thin, faraway voice. ‘What a lovely day it has been. Do you like dancing? How well our steps agree. You will give me another, won’t you? Oh, don’t be so cruel. What a charming gown you have on. Isn’t waltzing delightful? I could go on dancing for ever—with you. Have you had supper?’

  “As she grew more familiar with the uncanny creature, the girl’s nervousness wore off, and she entered into the fun of the thing.

  “ ‘Oh, he’s just lovely,’ she cried, laughing. ‘I could go on dancing with him all my life.’

  “Couple after couple now joined them, and soon all the dancers in the room were whirling around behind them. Nicholaus Geibel stood looking on, beaming with childish delight at his success.

  “Old Wenzel approached him, and whispered something in his ear. Geibel laughed and nodded, and the two worked their way quietly toward the door.

  “ ‘This is the young people’s house tonight,’ said Wenzel, as soon as they were outside. ‘You and I will have a quiet pipe and a glass of hock over in the counting-house.’

  “Meanwhile, the dancing grew more fast and furious. Little Annette loosened the screw regulating her partner’s rate of progress, and the figure flew round with her swifter and swifter. Couple after couple dropped out
exhausted, but they only went the faster, till at length they remained dancing alone.

  “Madder and madder became the waltz. The music lagged behind; the musicians, unable to keep pace, ceased, and sat staring. The younger guests applauded, but the older faces began to grow anxious.

  “ ‘Hadn’t you better stop, dear?’ said one of the women. ‘You’ll make yourself so tired.’

  “But Annette did not answer.

  “ ‘I believe she’s fainted,’ cried out a girl who had caught sight of her face as it swept by.

  “One of the men sprang forward and clutched at the figure, but its impetus threw him down on the floor, where its steel-cased feet laid bare his cheek. The thing evidently did not intend to part with its prize so easily.

  “Had anyone retained a cool head, the figure, one cannot help thinking, might easily have been stopped. Two or three men acting in concert might have lifted it bodily off the floor, or have jammed it into a corner. But few human heads are capable of remaining cool under excitement. Those who are not present think how stupid must have been those who were; those who are reflect afterwards how simple it would have been to do this, that, or the other, if only they had thought of it at the time.

  “The women grew hysterical. The men shouted contradictory directions to one another. Two of them made a bungling rush at the figure, which had the result of forcing it out of its orbit at the center of the room and sending it crashing against the walls and furniture. A stream of blood showed itself down the girl’s white frock, and followed her along the floor. The affair was becoming horrible. The women rushed screaming from the room. The men followed them.

  “One sensible suggestion was made: ‘Find Geibel—fetch Geibel!’

  “No one had noticed him leave the room; no one knew where he was. A party went in search of him. The others, too unnerved to go back into the ballroom, crowded outside the door and listened. They could hear the steady whir of the wheels upon the polished floor as the thing spun round and round; the dull thud as every now and again it dashed itself and its burden against some opposing object and ricocheted off in a new direction.

  “And everlastingly it talked on in that ghostly voice, repeating over and over the same formula. ‘How charming you look tonight. What a lovely day it has been. Oh, don’t be so cruel. I could go on dancing for ever—with you. Have you had supper?’

  “Of course they sought Geibel everywhere but where he was. They looked in every room in the house, then they rushed off in a body to his own place, and spent precious minutes waking up his deaf old housekeeper. At last it occurred to one of the party that Wenzel was missing also, and then the idea of the counting-house across the yard presented itself to them, and there they found him.

  “He rose up, very pale, and followed them, and he and old Wenzel forced their way through the crowd of guests gathered outside, and entered the room, and locked the door behind them.

  “From within there came the muffled sound of low voices and quick steps, followed by a confused scuffling noise, then silence, then the low voices again.

  “After a time the door opened, and those near it pressed forward to enter, but old Wenzel’s broad head and shoulders barred the way.

  “ ‘I want you—and you, Bekler,’ he said addressing a couple of elder men. His voice was calm, but his face was deadly white. ‘The rest of you, please go—get the women away as quickly as you can.’

  “From that day on, old Nicholaus Geibel confined himself to the making of mechanical rabbits, and cats that mewed and washed their faces.”

  THE CONQUEROR OF DEATH

  CAMILLE DEBANS

  Camille Debans (1833–1910) was a French journalist and writer of popular fiction who wrote numerous stories about steam locomotives and natural catastrophes that have marginal elements of scientific romance, but ventured more wholeheartedly into the subgenre in the future war story Les Malheurs de John Bull (1884; tr. as The Misfortunes of John Bull). Boissat chimiste (1892; tr. as Boissat the Chemist) is a Berthoudesque study of the scientific mind as well as a crime story.

  “Le Vainqueur de la mort,” published in the popular science magazine La Science Illustré in 1895, was the most extravagant of the several stories that Debans contributed to that magazine’s feuilleton slot, which used “roman scientifique” as a rubric without succeeding in establishing it more widely as a generic term. It reflects the bad press that hypothetical technologies of longevity generally receive in works of fiction.

  In the early days of January 1999 the Chicago Tribune elected to celebrate solemnly the centenary of a discovery that had turned the world upside-down and produced ineradicable benefits, after having nearly brought about the most frightful catastrophes. The article in the American newspaper succinctly recalled the facts. Let us limit ourselves to reproducing the essential details.

  You shall see, by virtue of the events that are recalled therein, and especially by virtue of the surprising conclusion, that it is worth the trouble.

  *

  The entire world, the Tribune said, ought to honor magnificently the man who, having dreamed of substituting himself for God in order to govern at his whim the rain, storms and fine weather, had the glory of finding the formula of his dream and putting it into practice. If statues are raised to the heroes of official massacres, what should be done for a man who endowed humankind with such a fecund prodigy?

  It was on 24 June 1899, at four o’clock in the afternoon, that W. Benjamin Smithson created, in a plain on the Mexican frontier where no drop of rain had ever fallen, veritable cataracts in a serene sky, and became by virtue of that fact the dispenser of the abundance of harvests and the regulator of the Earth’s wealth.

  The enclosure in which the inventor of genius had to operate was in the middle of a plain, at the very place where a considerable city now stands: Smithstown, so named for the glory of Sir Benjamin. In those days, the country was desolate in its aridity. The immense crowd of people that had come to witness the meteorological phenomenon was primarily composed of local inhabitants for whom it represented sudden fortune, and who had never grown any grain at all.

  A cannon shot announced the beginning of the experiment. There were as many mockers as believers, and more. Two balloons with a capacity of about 6,000 cubic meters, one filled with oxygen and the other with hydrogen, rose slowly into the air, retained by powerful cables that only allowed them to rise up to a height of eight hundred meters. Beneath each aerostat there was a large gondola as voluminous as the balloon itself, oblong in shape and containing heaped-up bladders full to bursting, also containing hydrogen and oxygen, collected from the clouds of Illinois.

  The two taffeta globs were linked together by a metallic device forming part of the apparatus, the principal wire of which unwound as the balloons drew away from the ground and maintained them in communication with a powerful electric pile installed in a vast cavern constructed for the purpose.

  Floating with a serene majesty in the placid atmosphere—the sky was an implacable blue—the two aerial monsters rose up slowly. An embryonic sentiment of anxiety gripped bosoms very lightly. Five minutes before, the quips had been raining.

  “That’s all that’ll rain!” said one ferocious joker.

  Now that skepticism had evaporated, the imposing allure of the apparatus was intimidating the majority of the spectators.

  Suddenly, the balloons stopped rising. The quadruple black mass stood out, bizarrely, against the intense azure of the sky. The chronometers marked four eleven and forty-three seconds—that historic detail is indisputable. W. Benjamin Smithson disappeared into the cavern from which the denouement would depart. There, he took hold of a little wheel, which he subjected to a dozen rapid turns, and then ran out to watch the aerostats. Two seconds went by; an enormous spark flashed, zigzagging between the ripping balloons, and a veritable clap of thunder was heard. Smithson maneuvered a little lever, and the nacelles burst in their turn.

  Cruel black vapors formed, in the midst of which
electricity raged. Lightning fell on a group of carriages and killed three people. Too bad! Then the cloud that had just formed by virtue of the condensation of the gas thickened so furiously and extended so rapidly toward all the points of the horizon that a fearful panic took hold of the crowd. People started fleeing in all directions, uttering screams of terror and desperate clamors.

  “That man is the Devil himself!” howled the most terrorized.

  Soon, large raindrops began to moisten the earth. The local inhabitants, ignorant of the use of umbrellas, ran away more rapidly than ever. Only a few fearless Yankees remained, mouths open, looking upwards, marveling at the miracle they were witnessing. And the miracle was completed, for within a few minutes, the rainfall had taken on the proportions of a tropical downpour.

  And while the plain drank those benevolent sheets of water, Benjamin Smithson, opening a trap-door contrived in the vault of his cellar, sent into the air, to vertiginous heights, a series of bladders similar to the ones in the nacelles, propelled by powerful helices, which carried them up to the clouds, where they burst in their turn. The rumble of thunder was heard, and the rain increased in intensity.

  The sensation that Sir Benjamin’s success caused is easily imaginable. In a matter of hours, the entire world had heard the amazing news. Old Europe thought at first that it was a gigantic hoax, but explanatory details and extracts from newspapers were arriving by the minute, and it was necessary to yield to the evidence.

  All these things are, of course, familiar to us today, and appear so simple, that it is as if they always existed. We regulate the weather in accordance with the general interest. The sky has no more caprices, and, in consequence, nor has the earth; its fecundity is regulated. At any rate, America went mad for a week. All the most improbable things one can imagine were done from New York to San Francisco and from the St. Lawrence to the Mississippi in honor of Smithson, but still fell short of what that sublime genius deserved. European governments heaped him with honors. The inventor was celebrated in music, painting, sculpture, verse and prose.