Electric Life

by Albert Robida

  It was a very cheerful little room, filled with flowers, suspended like a glazed cage from a corner of the house, with views over the grounds and the immense vista of the roofs and monuments of the great city.

  “I have so much confidence in you, my dear Estelle,” said Madame Lorris, “that I’m going to tell you everything; it seems to me that you’re not too much of an engineer to understand.”

  “Alas Madame, to my great regret and in spite of all my efforts, I’m not much of one. Monsieur Philox Lorris is always reproaching me...”

  “So much the better! So much the better! I can reveal my great secret to you. I shut myself in here in order to...”

  “I know, Madame—to meditate and wrote your great philosophical work, of which Monsieur Lorris gave news to a few members of the Institut the other day, in my presence...”

  “Really! He talked about it?”

  “Yes, Madame. It appears that your work is making progress—at least, that’s what Monsieur Lorris said...”

  “This is my great philosophical work!” said Madame Lorris, laughing—and she showed the amazed Estelle a little tapestry in progress, and various items of embroidery scattered among fashion magazines on an elegant work-table. “Yes, I shut myself in here to work on these little trivia; I hide myself carefully from my friends stuffed with science: female engineers, doctors and politicians. It’s my frivolity, obstinate in struggling and protesting against our scientific and polytechnical society, against my tyrannical husband and his tyrannical theories. We can do it together, if you’d like to.”

  “If I’d like to?” said Estelle, joyfully, “I should think so! I’ll abandon the laboratory and stay with you.”

  Hardly ever seeing Estelle any longer, Philox Lorris eventually forgot all about her. Georges Loris was able to see that one day when Monsieur Lorris, between a morning manipulating miasmas in his laboratory and an afternoon claimed by the committee organization the new Offensive Medical Corps, thought that he could devote a few moments to his fatherly duties.

  “By the way,” he said to Georges, “How do things stand with regard to your marriage? I can no longer remember what we decided. Where are we?”

  “We’ve reached the natural conclusion,” Georges replied. “You have only to fix the day.”

  “Very good! Let’s see…I’m so busy…pass me my notebook... Good—next Wednesday…no, it requires a week for the banns…Saturday, then! I’ll have a hour to spare around noon; shout that date into my bedside phono-calendar for me: Saturday the twenty-seventh; Georges’ marriage concluded…which of the two, by the way?”

  “What! Two?”

  “Yes, Doctress Bardoz or Senatress Coupard, of the Sarthe. I must confess, my dear boy, that I’ve been a little distracted of late. I’m getting old, my friend, getting old…I see the ladies often in our committees. One day, I asked for the hand of Doctress Bardoz, and to days later, in consequence of an inexplicable forgetfulness, I also asked for that of the Senatress. I’m quite embarrassed and annoyed. It’s up to you to decide. I had an immediate acceptance, you know—those ladies don’t like to waste their time, or that of others.... Come on, which?”

  “Neither of them!” Georges exclaimed, trying hard not to laugh. “Your distraction has been greater than you suspect; you’ve forgotten that I’m engaged to a third person, and it’s her that I’m marrying.”

  “Oh! Who, then?”

  “Mademoiselle Lacombe.”

  “Aah! The young demoiselle still imbued with the frivolities of another age…I didn’t give that any thought; I thought you were cured. Ah! We’ll talk about it another time…we’ll see…I must run.”

  On Saturday the twenty-seventh, Philox Lorris’ telephono-agenda reminded him that the day fixed for Georges’ marriage had arrived. What a chore! He had to do a decisive series of experiments for the affair of the miasmas that morning, and then an important committee meeting.

  Philox Lorris got dressed in haste and telephoned his son. “You haven’t told me which one.”

  “Yes I have—Mademoiselle Estelle Lacombe.”

  “It’s decided, then?”

  “Entirely. All the wedding arrangements have been made. Mama is dressing for the ceremony.”

  “I don’t have time to argue. You really are very obstinate about it. So be it! I merely warn you one last time, my lad, that you ought not to expect descendants with much mathematical ability...”

  “I’m resigned to that,”

  “As you wish! But all this leaves me rather embarrassed…having asked for the other two in marriage. You’ve given me so much trouble for some time with the inconceivable levity with which you’re conduct your life and spoiling your future so regrettably, and caused me so much anxiety! I’ll have Doctress Bardoz and Senatress Coupard, of the Sarthe, up in arms now—and all because of you. They’ll surely sue me for breach of promise…and I’ve so many other things on my mind at present. How am I going to get out of it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I’ve got it: a Senatress and a Doctress; they’ll do for Sulfatin.”

  “What, both of them?”

  “No, only one—it doesn’t matter which, he’s a serious man. He doesn’t have a flighty heart, like you, a brain atrophied by futility; he’s become the Sulfatin of old again, before the little hitch. On him, henceforth, sentimental stuff and nonsense will no longer have any purchase. For Sulfatin, I’m sure, Senatress or Doctress, it won’t matter—they’re equal in value.”

  “But there’ll still be one left over...”

  “Damn! You can be sure that your marriage is causing me a cruel embarrassment, at a time when, I repeat, I don’t have time to spare for all this silliness. What are we going to do with the second? My God, what are we going to do?”

  “There’s still Monsieur Adrien La Héronnière, your ex-invalid. But he’s talked about marrying Grettly, who’ll pamper him, in order to be well cared-for...”

  “Given that he’s no longer ill...besides which, he could marry Doctress Bardoz, and Sulfatin, who’s ambitious, can have the hand of the Senatress…it’s absolutely necessary that I arrange those affairs before going to the Mairie for you...”

  VIII

  Finally, all the obstacles having been smoothed over, and everything being almost settled, Georges and Estelle are married.

  The ceremony was impressive. As Philox Lorris was preparing himself, sighing, to steal a quarter of an hour from his occupations to go to the Mairie to provide his indispensable signature, an advocate presented himself, at the same time as a hailstorm of stamped papers and phonograms from witnesses, bailiffs and other ministerial officials descended upon him. They were from Mademoiselle Doctress Sophie Bardoz and Senatress Hubertine Coupard, of the Sarthe, who were both suing him for breach of matrimonial negotiations, requests for marriage implying promise, and each demanding six million in damages and compensation.

  Philox Lorris, who does not like to let things drag on and tries to get rid of all preoccupations as quickly as possible, sat down at his Tele, in an increasingly bad mood, and undertook an entire series of difficult negotiations to try to persuade Mademoiselles Bardoz and Coupard to renounce the lawsuits, which would produce such an explosive scandal, to recall the bailiffs launched in a fit of anger and finally, instead of that young scatterbrain Georges Lorris, who could not cut himself in two—and was, in any case, scarcely worthy of them—to accept instead the illustrious Dr, Sulfatin, Philox Lorris’ right arm and designated successor, and the eminent Adrien La Héronnière, engineer and doctor of all sciences, including finance, a great businessman, fully restored and rendered as good as new by the marvelous national medicament, of the profits of which he will have a considerable share, according to contract.

  Let us hasten to say, in praise of the practicality of the two women, that their well-justified anger was swiftly appeased by Philox Lorris’ explanations, and that they consented to discuss their adversary’s proposals personally instead of sending their lawye
rs back.

  In order to save time, Philox Lorris had communicated with both women at the same time; he did not have to repeat himself, his discourse could serve for both of them.

  Finally, after two hours of telephonic discussions, everything was settled; Mademoiselles Bardoz and Coupard. of the Sarthe, were disarmed; the Tele screen reflected serene faces.

  Philox Lorris rang all the bells in the house and summoned Sulfatin and La Héronnière to his office or the Tele, in order to bring them up to date with developments.

  Further delicate negotiations ensued.

  For the sake of convenience, Philox Lorris interrupted communication with the ladies in order that matters could be discussed calmly and seriously, without losing time in polite formulae and vain circumlocutions.

  A quarter of an hour of explanations; a quarter of an hour of reflections. Sum total: half an hour lost! But Philox Lorris had the pleasure of securing the adhesion of Sulfatin and his ex-patient to the plan that would settle the annoying imbroglio and save Philox Lorris from a scandalous lawsuit.

  Sulfatin and La Héronnière consented. Quickly, the illustrious scientist, uttering an oof! of relief, put his finger on the button to reestablish communication with the adversaries.

  Too soon, alas! At the first words, Philox Lorris saw that he had fallen upon a further distraction. In his haste to get it over with, he had neglected to decide one rather important point: which of the two would marry Sulfatin and which would marry La Héronnière? He had given them the choice of either, and each had plumped for the same one: the illustrious engineer-doctor Sulfatin, certain of the most magnificent future and never having had any need for renewal.

  That was perhaps the most difficult part of the negotiations. Fortunately, at the first words, Sulfatin had the delicacy to cut the communication with Adrien La Héronnière, who was still at home and in the process of dressing for the wedding. The ex-patient’s self-respect thus did not have to suffer too cruelly from the debate.

  Another hour of negotiations!

  Philox Lorris was chewing at the bit furiously. How much time he was wasting! It was all the fault of that scatterbrain Georges, who was perfectly tranquil and in the middle of billing and cooing, like anyone else, with his bride, while his father was going to so much trouble and wearing his brain out so ridiculously because of him!

  Finally, this time, everything was concluded and settled. Mademoiselle Senatress Coupard, of the Sarthe, accepted the hand of engineer-doctor Sulfatin, on the condition of the complete associate of the latter with Philox Lorris Inc. and the promise of its eventual cession, and Mademoiselle Doctress Bardoz deigned to accept the hand of Monsieur Adrien La Héronnière. Such a curious case of restoration! A triumph of medical science! It was entirely appropriate to her, as a doctress...

  Finally, they were able to get back in touch with Adrien La Héronnière, to tell him the good news and make the final arrangements.

  Philox Lorris was free! He hastened, after brief congratulations to the two couples, to summon an airship in order to fly to the Mairie and put an end to his demanding fatherly duties.

  He was a little late for the civil ceremony; as he was about to depart like a flash of lightning, the Tele bell, ringing again, stopped him once more. It was the Maire of the fifty-second arrondissement, cutting short the difficulty by proposing to marry the young couple telephonoscopically.

  Delighted by the kindness of the magistrate—who was in a hurry himself—Philox Lorris accepted immediately and telephoned his parental consent without delay.

  In that way, he had the pleasure of saving himself a race, and avoided meeting a few bailiffs launched too swiftly and not yet alerted to the settlement, obtained with such difficulty, who had come on behalf of the Demoiselles Bardoz and Coupard, of the Sarthe, to inform the young spouses of the opening of hostilities, speaking to them personally in the middle of the wedding. Cost: 7,538 fr. 90.

  After the signing of the register, Monsieur le Maire, in order to go more quickly, was kind enough, instead of delivering the speech reserved for major occasions verbally, to give phonograms of the speech to Georges, who put them in his pocket, promising to listen to them respectfully and attentively the very next day, or some time thereafter.

  The wedding party then headed for the church, which was already crammed with all the notabilities of science, politics, industry, commerce, letters and the arts. More than twelve hundred airships and aircabs were swaying above the edifice, and the procession of all those elegant vehicles escorting the newlyweds to Philox Lorris’ house was a charming sight to behold.

  In the afternoon, the newlyweds climbed back into their airship. They fled to the refuge of tranquil nature forbidden to the invasions of modern science, to the National Park of Bretagne, to which they had previously made their Engagement Voyage.

  The little town of Kernoël saw them again. By special authorization, Georges Loris was able to bring an exceedingly comfortable little aerochalet into an inlet of the little bay and install himself there with Estelle, fifty meters above the shore, in the sea-mist and the perfume of the heath, before a splendidly picturesque panorama of wild creeks and rocky points bristling with old bell-towers, forests of oaks encasing old feudal ruins in quivering emerald, or mysterious circles of Celtic stones.

  The weeks passed quickly in that enchanting solitude. A day came, however, when they were invaded. It was the beginning of the holidays. All the diligences, rattletraps and carts in the region were on the move, laden with pale and weary people, whose heads were bobbing with the ruts in the road.

  It was the annual arrival of the lamentable citizens coming in search of rest, and to draw new strength from the calm and tranquility of the heaths: the arrival of the legions of the enervated and the overstressed, running to hurl themselves upon the bosom of benevolent nature, breathless from past strife and glad to escape electric life for a little while.

  It was necessary to see the poor wrecks flocking out of all the vehicles, getting out more or less painfully, at the gates of Kernoël and letting themselves fall on to the first grass they glimpsed, lying down in the hay, face down or on their backs, with sighs and tremors of ease.

  They were coming and arriving from all directions, in lamentable bands.

  Oof! Finally! Pure air, not soiled by all the fumes exhaled by the monstrous factories! Tranquility, the complete relaxation of the brain and the nerves; the supreme joy of feeling reborn and the happiness of living again!

  In the softness of fields, the sweet scent of meadows, the freshness of shores, we can get a grip on ourselves, breathe in and out, recover the strength for future struggles...

  Continue to rotate with the others—those who, alas, cannot grant themselves those few weeks of pleasant vacation—with the unfortunate drudges too firmly gripped in your rude gears, absorbent and terrifying social machine!

  Notes

  1 Included in Chalet in the Sky, Black Coat Press, ISBN 978-1-935558-87-3.

  2 I have anglicized Robida’s improvised term aéroflèches rather than hazard a translation; a flèche is an arrow, a dart or a spire. Robida never says explicitly that any of his imagined aircraft are heavier than air, although his hélicoptères [helicopters] clearly are, and the fact that he continually contrasts aéronefs [airships] with aérocabs [aircabs] is suggestive of some essential difference. The illustration related to this passage depicts an aeroflèche as wingless cylinder, rounded at the front and tapering to a point at the rear, with two men stationed on a dorsal platform; some aircabs also resemble airborne canoes or flying motor-cycles fitted with battering-rams, although others look more like miniature zeppelins.

  3 The heroine of a Medieval legend in which a wife falsely accused of adultery took refuge in a cave, nourished by a roe deer, until her undeceived husband found her and reinstated her. Its familiarity in nineteenth-century France was enhanced by an operetta by Offenbach premiered in Paris in 1859 and frequently revived in an expanded version.

  4 I hav
e translated Robida’s torpilleurs as “torpedists” for want of anything better; it must be remembered that the word torpedo had a much broader meaning in 1892 than it has now, referring to all kinds of what we would now call “guided missiles.”

  5 The reference is to a compact model submarine torpedo-boat invented by Claude Goubet in 1885 and named after him.

  6 Jan van Leiden was a charismatic Anabaptist preacher who became the nominal ruler of Münster in Germany in 1534-36, and was subsequently tortured and executed in a horrible fashion; his name is presumably invoked here partly because his followers instituted an egalitarian communist social system and partly because his enemies subsequently put the (probably false) rumor about that the relevant system included a law prohibiting any unmarried woman from refusing any proposal of marriage, allowing him to accumulate sixteen wives.

  7 The reference is to a natural purgative mineral water originating from Buda in Hungary, no longer in vogue, although the characteristic bottles in which it used to be sold are now reckoned to be collectible antiques.

  8 Purgon is one of the physiians in Molière’s Le Malade Imaginaire.

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