by Emile Calvet
“Like the entire decimal metric system,” the schoolmaster replied. “No one raised any objections in that regard, for France had the initial honor of that admirable system, decreed by the constitutional Assembly of 1790, and whose elements repose of geodesic measurements incapable of offending any national susceptibility.”
VIII. The Telephone and the Phonograph
The meal was nearing its end. Madame Herber put light pressure on an ivory lever set on the table within arm’s reach. One of the young women immediately appeared, carrying a massive gold tray surmounted by two vertical stalks supporting an elegant ewer capable of moving backwards and forward on its props. Beneath the curved neck of the vessel was a cylinder with two tightly-sealed compartments. Two slightly-tilted metal capsules were fitted to the lower part of the uprights.
Herber gently detached the edges of a little cloth covering the center of the table and gently moved two almost-invisible switches to the right and the left. Two rods wrapped in green silk thread, which surrounded them throughout their length, then inclined toward the concavity of the capsules, where they found a point of connection at their tips.
A slight crepitation was heard inside the vessel and was soon followed by the shrill characteristic hiss that the first molecules of vapor produced at the bottom of a heated vessel produce as they escape.
The two scientists followed the experiment with interest, almost able to take account of the phenomena.
Gédéon concentrated his gaze on the accessory pieces of the tray, searching in vain for the mysterious source of the hest that was warming the ewer so energetically.
During these investigations, a few threads of vapor were escaping, agitating the metal lid; then the liquid suddenly began to boil violently.
“That particular employment of the electric current is very ingenious,” said Antius.
“Yes,” said the physicist. “It’s probable that it heats up a thin platinum disk soldered to the bottom of the vessel. At that contact, the water heats up rapidly.”
The schoolmaster approved this exact explanation of the phenomenon with a nod of the head.
“The theoreticians of past centuries, while admitting the possibility of the industrial application of electrical heat,” Terrier continued, “did not in general direct their studies toward that important objective. One can explain that abstention by the necessity of other more immediate research imposed by the resource of the electric current. Others thought that the discovery of the telegraph constituted an ultimate achievement compared with which other applications would be unimportant.”
“And telegraphy, which was rightly able to cause our 19th century ancestors to marvel,” said Herber, “now occupies a very secondary rank in communications.”
“It must, however, have been difficult to replace advantageously an agent capable of traveling a hundred thousand leagues a second,” Antius objected.
“The telephone, doctor, functioning, as you know, by electromagnetic action, possesses the same speed, but it employment is much more advantageous, for speech is twenty times as rapid as writing.”
“The instrument in question is very widespread, then?” asked the professor.
“Very widespread,” the schoolmaster replied. “The schools, in particular, are very generously equipped in that respect by the State. We’re in permanent telephonic communication with the five Academies and the Astronomical Circle, the Societies of Mathematics, Physics and Chemistry, the Mineralogical Society and the Association of Prehistoric and Anthropological Studies. All their deliberations are collected on the phonographic printer, and we thus possess the most complete and most authentic archives.
“From the general point of view one can say that every house possesses at least one telephone and one phonograph. When one wants to speak directly to a distant correspondent, it is sufficient to call up the central office of the section, which immediately establishes a connection with the station nearest to the point of arrival. The latter informs the intended recipient, who makes the necessary dispositions at his end. In return for a fee, one can converse for a determined time.
“This system of communications, which has replaced electric telegraphy properly speaking almost everywhere, is even employed by deliberative bodies. The Académie des Sciences, which holds official and public sessions on Thursdays, is in direct communication by means of its apparatus with a large number of scientific bodies, which meet on the same day at the same time. One can say, rigorously, that all those illustrious assemblies for a single whole.”
“In spite of the marvelous character of these conversations at an indefinite distance,” the physicist objected, “it seems to me that it must give rise to problems when the correspondent is not at home.”
“In that case,” the Schoolmaster went on, “the arrival station collects the speech, which is silently engraved in a phonograph, the mechanism of which is put in contact with the intended recipient’s wire. As soon as is presence is signaled, the post unrolls the drum, and the flying telegram is borne to his ear.
“The phonograph is also much in use in dwellings. It frequently happens that a visitor arrives at the door of a house, pronounced what he has to say into the orifice of an instrument he finds within easy reach and goes away, having accomplished his mission. His speech is collected either immediately, or in the course of the day.
“The telephone plays an even more important role in our interiors. There isn’t a single family in the entire city who is not in communication with several theaters every evening. Thus, from that point of view, the instrument is dear to stay-at-home people, who, from their armchair or their bed, can hear everything that is said or sung on the stage as clearly as if they were in the auditorium close to the stage.”
“Doesn’t any confusion result from all those auditions?” asked Gédéon, whose scientific conceptions were rather obscure.
“Not in the least. Among the thousands of wires that run through the subterranean tubes of the public highway, there is one for every theater, and for a modestly-priced subscription, one can take as many branches as one desires.”
“I had an idea just now whose application would be a great success,” said the young man.
The doctor and the physicist began to tremble.
“What is it, my young friend?” asked Herber.
“That of extending the wires to the provinces.”
“It’s a good idea, but it’s not new, for the provinces furnish a million subscribers to every stage.”
“Are the auditoria absolutely deserted, then?”
“On the contrary, the theaters are very busy, for the splendors of the settings, which procure an absolute illusion, attract many spectators.”
“That’s very fortunate; I feared that the invention might only leave the pantomime theaters undamaged—if they still exist.”
“That kind of spectacle is much in favor,” replied the schoolmaster, “especially comic pantomime, which, among our ancestors perverted by the banal trivialities of the operetta and the music hall, only had charms for delicate minds. I hasten to add that comedy, vaudeville and musical drama do not suffer at all from that preference, for the theater, whether it presents depictions of real life or whether it raises us into the serene regions of the ideal, is profoundly integrated into our habits.”
While these digressions ran their course, Madame Herber had uncovered the upper part of the two-part cylinder, whose orifice was dotted with holes. Tilting the ewer, she slowly poured out the boiling water. An exquisite aroma of mocha was suddenly manifest, invading the entire dining-room. The cups were filled. The coffee was delicious, and the three strangers, fully restored by an Olympian repast, lavished the most flattering eulogies upon it.
A tray of old liqueurs constituted the apotheosis of the feast.
IX. Paris in 2880
“Messieurs,” said Herber, “we shall, if you wish, go into the courtyard and sit down in the shade. We’ll smoke a few cigars.”
All the guest
s got up. Lydia was the first to take flight. Madame Herbert remained in the dining room to give instructions, and the three travelers, conducted by the schoolmaster, went into the interior courtyard, an immense park, with grass covering its entire extent, shaded from the sun’s rays by enormous trees.
They took their places on seats disposed beneath an elm several hundred years old, and one of the young women soon appeared, holding a tray of cigars of the most magnificent appearance in one hand, and a platinum heater containing ardent coals in the other, from which each of the guests lit his panatellas in turn.
“Master,” said the doctor, after a moment, launching a blue spiral toward the sky, “everything in your city is veritably marvelous, but of all the elements constituting its magnificence, the one that has struck us most is certainly its extent. Our gazes are surprised by the majestic proportions of our parks, your gardens and your avenues.”
“What is also strange,” said Gédéon, “is that we have only found in our path wide causeways full of trees, flowers, fountains and statues. We have not yet seen any streets, properly speaking. On the other hand, the gaze is struck by an infinity of strangely-shaped gas-outlets. That last observation, which has escaped these messieurs, constantly at grips with questions of transcendent philosophy, is my own, for, even though I’m not a scientist, I’m rather observant, although I say it myself.”
“Gas-outlets, you say, my young friend?” Herber replied. “I don’t know what you mean by that.”
“I’m referring to public lighting, for I can’t believe that a city as brilliant by day is illuminated by candlelight at night.
“We’re illuminated by electric light. As for streets, you haven’t seen them because they’re behind the dwellings, and you haven’t been able to go along them because no one walks along them.”
“Although your gravity puts you above suspicion, my dear host, I could believe that, in saying that a street is a place that no one sees and where no one walks, you were making a rather original joke.”
“The explanation is simple,” said Herber. “Throughout the city, the facades of houses overlook thoroughfares as broad and ornate as those you have already walked along. Everyone, in fact, from the richest to the least fortunate, has a magnificent plaza outside his door. At the rear of the gardens—for every house possesses a grassy garden at the rear, planted with trees and similar to the promenades—are the streets, incessantly traveled by rapid trains, which ensure all communications in the most comfortable manner. The track is usually open to the sky; however, by reason of the great extent of certain monuments, they sometimes go underground. An example is not far away. A hundred paces from here, we would find ourselves over a tunnel that passes under the courtyard of the school.”
“I did, in fact, hear a kind of subterranean rumble a few moments ago, the nature of which indicates that the track lies at a rather considerable depth,” said the physicist.
“The vault, however, is less than three meters below ground—the absence of noise inherent in the rolling of a large mass is due to the perfect construction of the vehicles and the motors.”
“Every house being a palace, and every avenue being a veritable park, the city must cover an immense extent,” Antius concluded.
“The city, Antius replied, “is limited to the south, the north and the east by old rampart walls, rather well-conserved, which have no other value than their antiquity. To the west, it extends over the hills of Issy, Meudon, Bellevue, Sèvres, Saint-Cloud and Ville-d’Avray. That part is inhabited by the wealthy, because of the lake.”
“It exists, then!” exclaimed Gédéon.
“We can even take it as the objective of a walk, on emerging from the clothing warehouse, which is scarcely five hundred meters away. As for the population of the city, it does not exceed fifteen hundred thousand souls.”
“It seems to me,” Antius observed, “that in a distant epoch, Paris counted as many as two million inhabitants.”
“It even counted three and a half million five centuries ago,” the schoolmaster replied, “but that monstrous agglomeration of individuals in a restricted area gave rise to all the inconveniences—one might even say, all the disasters—that inevitably result from a concentration so contrary to the simplest principles of social economy. Property rents attained prices so scandalous that all producers—artisans, technologists, writers, artists and scientists—were, in effect, only working to cover the enormous expense of the indispensable element of their lodgings. The most urgent needs could barely receive sufficient satisfaction.
“In spite of everything, Paris continued to be the magnetic pole of all dreams and all ambitions. For two centuries, that abnormal state of affairs, with its procession of miseries, ruinations and calamities, conserved a maximum of intensity of which history furnishes no other example. Finally, that frightful and inextricable situation, which had previously resisted the efforts of all statesmen and all the economists’ alarm calls, was abruptly resolved by the sudden development of a force with which science had long enriched humankind and to which industry suddenly gave a formidable impetus.
“Aerial travel, which, by reason of the high cost of transportation, had only so far been used for scientific research and luxury voyages, received a considerable boost in a short time. Powerful companies, supported provisionally and temporarily by the State, and organized with immense capital, created regular daily services throughout the world. The cost of transport was brought within the range of the most indigent.
“On the other hand, supported by the studies and works of engineers, geographers and scientific bodies, publicists showed the proletarian masses the immense deserted regions of Asia, Africa and Central America, where a generous virgin soil was simply waiting for the ploughshare or the miner’s pickaxe to yield its riches.
“Emigration then commenced with the intensity common to all reactions. It was not only concentrated in Paris. All the capitals that were choking under the accumulation of population were relieved in a matter of months by those powerful means of release. Armed with improved instruments, able to exploit first-rate mechanical applications based on the expansion of gases suddenly raised to high temperatures, guided by practical, audacious and indefatigable minds, emigrants founded colonies, which, within half a century, arrived at a level of wealth and development such that it was possible to believe that the centers of civilization and industry were going to be displaced. Four centuries of oscillatory movement resulted, whose conclusion marked the definition industrial decadence of the old world.
“In spite of everything, we still conserve the uncontested empire of all the elements that ornament life: letters, sciences and arts. In addition—and the opinion finds no contradiction—Paris is now the most splendid city in the entire world. All circumstances have, moreover, concurred in the most fortunate manner in the development of its magnificence.
“At the time when it had three and a half million inhabitants, the city was a formidable center of production and consumption. In spite of their multiplicity, railways had become insufficient for its alimentation and the distribution of its products. Under the pressure of events, and driven by public opinion, the State concentrated all its means of action in order to make a concept that had previously been considered utopian into a reality.
“The broad and profound canalization of the Seine between Paris and Rouen, and the creation of a vast harbor west of the city, which was best suited to that gigantic project, were decreed simultaneously. Capital flowed from all directions, and, thanks to the already-powerful machines of contemporary industry, that prodigious task was carried out in less than thirty years.
“For a century, Paris Seaport,11 which had periodically animated the verve of satirical journalists in ancient times, became a reality, and was the foremost port in the world. When aerial navigation developed with such sudden an extraordinary intensity, however, it concentrated all means of transportation in a few years, and instead of hundreds of ships incessantly furrowing it
, the harbor ended up presenting a bleak and tranquil surface.
“On the other hand, the colossal emigration that had encouraged—or, rather, determined—the abundance, rapidity and low cost of aerial communication had reduced the population of the city to one and a half million inhabitants. It has scarcely varied since.
“That mass desertion, in a city whose new buildings had been driven back as far as the ramparts, was a thunderbolt for those who had been exploiting the ground so mercilessly for several centuries. Half the houses were empty, and people that had previously had to pay through the nose to be lodged in a cramped, sordid, unhealthy and uncomfortable hovel could henceforth obtain for the same price an entire house with its outbuildings. Grass grew thickly and abundantly in streets where circulation had once been difficult and dangerous, and several quarters once reputed as noisy centers of activity presented a spectacle of the most profound calm and the most complete tranquility.”
“Will you please tell us, my dear colleague, by virtue of what transformations the city attained this marvelous combination of wealth, grandeur and magnificence?” the professor asked.
“That transformation has lasted three centuries. There is no need to tell you that the human appetite for luxury and wellbeing inevitably increases in the wake of the progress that produces them. The consequences of that incontestable principle imposed themselves with a remarkable intensity in the era when it was necessary to transform a few quarters of the city that had fallen into dilapidation. The authorities, obedient to public opinion, who wanted Paris to gain in splendor what it had lost in population, submitted plans for new constructions and thoroughfares to various competitions, giving free rein to the imagination.
“According to their various competences, artists, architects, engineers and hygienists took part therein, and the sum of their endeavors resulted in the general conception of the design, as it exists today, but which, in the beginning, could only be applied to two or three quarters of the city. As it answered all needs and all satisfactions, it was adopted for the whole city and found few objectors, even in the timid and reactionary circles riveted to tradition.