by Emile Calvet
That part of the edifice was illuminated by an immense rose-window set in delicately-worked stone, the multicolored panes of which flooded the interior of the monument with a slightly pink-tinged light. When they had reached the upper floor, the curator opened the battens of the central door, which opened on to the landing, and went in with his companions.
They moved from one marvel to the next. The grandeur of the room initially struck them with amazement. Throughout its extent, which occupied the total length of the museum, and from floor to ceiling, the gaze embraced an immense array of books of every size, bound with as much taste as sumptuousness.
“Our library is methodically arranged,” said Monsieur Ravan. “The right hand side includes all the literary, philosophical, historical and geographical masterpieces of all epochs. To the left, we have grouped, according to their nature, the best scientific works written since remote antiquity. You will find there the astronomical systems of the Hindus, the observations of the Egyptian priests, the geometry of Euclid and a host of rare works.”
“It seems to me, my dear Master,” said Gédéon, who had never gone into a library in his life, “that, even assisted by the methodical divisions that you have adopted, a visitor searching for a book in this room would have white hair before he found it.”
“Nothing is easier and simpler,” the curator replied. “To each scientific or literary group, the name of which is printed in capital letters on the corresponding section of the ceiling, is attached a large volume containing the names of all the authors in alphabetical order and, with regard to each name, the title and date of his works.”
Antius’ eyes lit up. “I’d be very glad,” he whispered to Terrier, “to know whether I survived my century.”
“Me too,” replied the professor, tranquilly.
“While we carry out some brief bibliographical research,” Antius said to his nephew, “you can keep our excellent Master company, if that’s all right with him.”
Monsieur Ravan smiled. “The old man and the young man are already friends,” he replied.
The doctor and the physicist marched off, looking upwards, until they encountered, almost simultaneously, the words PHYSIOLOGY and PHYSICS.
On a long table covered in a green velvet cloth were the indicative volumes relative to each science.
Antius feverishly opened the volume concerning his profession, riffled through as far as the syllable ANT and scanned the lines rapidly.
He got as far as the name of DR. ANTROEM without having yet seen his own. He was gripped by a shiver of anxiety. He began again reading from top to bottom with a kind of repressed anger. Suddenly, his muscles relaxed and a smile of satisfaction illuminated his face. His eyes were riveted to two lines: ANTIUS, ANDRÉ-JÉROME, member of the Académie de medicine. Researches on the Functions of the Brain, Masson, 1867. Note. This work stimulated lively controversy on its first appearance.
“I should think so!” exclaimed the author, proudly, thinking of the battles he had fought so intrepidly.
For his part, the physicist, who had observed his friend’s gestures, contented himself with reading aloud: “TERRIER, JEAN-BAPTISTE. The Mechanical Theory of Heat, Gauthier-Villars, Paris 1869.” The physicist modestly left out the postscript: Note: This work is one of the important scientific landmarks of the 19th century.
“Well, Terrier, it appears that we’re not entirely dead,” said Antius, with a smile that was not exempt from vanity.
“Not in any fashion, fortunately,” the professor replied. “I must add, however, that our scientific longevity surprises me as much as our corporeality.”
“Why, if you please?” asked the doctor, stiffly.
“Because it’s rare for a purely speculative theory on a particular point of experimental science to conserve its authority for more than half a century, and it’s generally buried with the memory of its author.”
“It’s necessary to conclude that ours have been consecrated by the future,” replied Antius—who, in matters of self-esteem, always fought every step of the way. Swiftly, however, he added, looking at his interlocutor: “My satisfaction is not yet complete, however. It’s necessary for me to assure myself that one of my most solid and cherished convictions is correct.”
He took the volume and riffled through it rapidly.
“I thought as much: Poulard has not survived,” he said, after having ascertained that the name of his most intimate enemy was missing from the catalogue. “All his nonsense doubtless served only to aliment the manufacture of contemporary paper trumpets.” And he took his companion by the arm, leading him back to their departure-point.
The travelers went back down to the courtyard.
“I’ll tell you something that will astonish you,” Antius said to his nephew.
“Nothing can astonish me now,” the latter replied.
“Just now,” the doctor went on, “Terrier and I discovered our scientific works, duly catalogued.”
“If you think that astonishes me, you must think I’m a fool.”
XVI. A Lawsuit in 2880
At that moment, Herber came down the steps of the peristyle in front of his private abode and came toward them.
The travelers went to meet him and shook had effusively.
After having inquired as to whether his guests had slept well, the schoolmaster led them to the dining room. Each guest took the place that he had occupied the previous day.
While doing the honors of the table with her habitual grace, Madame Herber congratulated her guests for their remarkable work they had done on the history of the capital and expressed her pleasure in advance at being able to host a very interesting soirée, to which she had already invited a few of her young female friends, whom she would welcome to her home.
“The program will be printed in an hour and posted throughout the quarter,” said the schoolmaster. “I think that the hall will be full to overflowing for the session. You have doubtless determined the topics on which each of you will speak, Messieurs?”
“I don’t believe, my dear colleague, that it will be necessary to hold a long discussion on that subject,” replied the physicist. “The doctor, who has occupied himself successfully with economic science, will doubtless deal with social life in the 19th century, as well as the state of natural and medical science in the same period.” Antius approved with a nod of the head. “As for me, I shall talk about the state of the sciences in general, and will strive to merit a certain attention.”
“Very good!” said Herber, with satisfaction. “And our young scholar?”
“Me!” exclaimed Gédéon, throwing himself backwards.
“Of course.”
“I believe, my dear Master, that you would be prudent to accept the excuses of my young nephew, who is not accustomed to public speaking,” the doctor declared. “He might well stand there open-mouthed before the audience, and might even embarrass us all in the most ridiculous manner.”
“Although it pains me to admit it, I think we have just heard the language of wisdom,” said Gédéon, frankly.
“I don’t share your opinion, Messieurs,” said Madame Herber, smiling, “And I formally request our young archeologist to take his turn. I’m convinced that he would interest everyone by specifying the customs and habits of our ancestors, and that he would obtain a great success by offering a picturesque description of the old city.”
The strangers seemed very embarrassed in confrontation with such a formal request by the person whose providential intervention has extracted them from distress and despair.
“Messieurs,” declared Herber, laughing, “All resistance has become impossible. In any case, our public is essentially benevolent, and will not fail to encourage our young orator.”
After a few objections formulated by the three travelers in turn and rejected one by one by Herber and his wife, it was agreed that Gédéon would say a few words at the end of the soirée, after having begged the indulgence of the audience.
Du
ring this amicable debate, the meal pursued its course.
The presence of several exotic dishes, for which progressive culture had developed the succulent taste, astonished the travelers. Herber gave an account of each one, as a consummate botanist, and also identified a large number of precious substances whose alimentations had been enriched by science. Some, whose toxic elements had been eliminated, furnished highly-spiced condiments.
When the coffee served by the gracious hostess had crowned a repast as sumptuous as that of the day before, Antius declared that he and his companions planned to take a long walk through the city that afternoon.
The schoolmaster gave them very precise and extensive topographical indications for that purpose. “Now, Messieurs,” he added, “you can’t set forth without money. I have, therefore, set aside some cash for that purpose, which will suffice for any expenses you might incur.” And he handed the doctor an elegant leather wallet with golden fittings.
The schoolmaster seemed surprised by the warm thanks, and especially by the unanimous refusal, that his guests opposed to his generous offer. “Messieurs,” he said, “in treating you thus, I’m accomplishing a sacred duty, and you have no more right to prevent its accomplishment than those who attempt to refuse your help in similar circumstances. It’s a simple transmission that I’m confiding to you, for, when the time comes, it will pass from your hands to those of your fellows whom you find in need of it.”
All opposition became impossible before that noble and elevated speech. Antius silently put the wallet into his pocket.
Twenty minutes later, the strangers set off along the wide thoroughfare that led to the river. Shortly after that, they set foot on the monumental bridge that prolonged the avenue.
The broad river was flowing placidly between two rows of palaces and monuments, the most distant of which were confused with the plane of the horizon. The two nearest bridges were displayed in all their magnificence.
To the right, eight hundred meters away, the old basilica sadly raised up its two towers, ravaged by the centuries.
“How many monuments that were once the pride of the Cité have disappeared!” said Antius, gravely. After a momentary pause to sponge his brow, he added: “If the Pont des Arts had been as long as this one, mind, I know a great many academicians who would often have missed the Institut’s sessions.”
The travelers reached the right bank. Suddenly, their gazes were attracted by a considerable crowd that was agitating under the centuries-old trees on the quay, facing a monument whose gigantic proportions overshadowed all the neighboring edifices.
“Let’s go that way—we’ll learn something new,” said Gédéon, who had once conscientiously added a precious continent to any assembly of idlers he had encountered in his path.
They veered to the left and advanced to the edge of the crowd. Having penetrated to the middle of the circle, their attention was particularly provoked by a compact group at the center of which three or four people were speaking in turn, animatedly.
The young man elbowed his way through the ranks and, followed by his companions, penetrated the densest part of the crowd. As it seemed to him to be difficult to grasp the object of the discussion, he bowed to the orator who was standing beside him and said: “I beg your pardon, Monsieur, but we are foreigners, and we would be very interested to know what has caused so many honorable citizens to gather here.”
Several people raised their hats. “Monsieur, it concerns the famous case of the Mines of Kantara, which is being heard today at the Palais de Justice,” replied the person interrogated, pointing at the nearby monument.
“Would you be so kind as to tell us the nature of the case?”
“Gladly, Monsieur,” the citizen said. “A joint-stock company was set up for the exploitation of that country’s gold mines. After a few years, the results obtained being derisory, the business was abandoned. Twenty years later, a new association of capitalists resumed the project, and, in consequence of works skillfully executed, and even more so of very favorable circumstances, obtained a formidable return of auriferous mineral. When it came to sharing out the dividends, the original shareholders claimed their part, but the later ones argued that, by virtue of the law of the land, the original company had effectively ceased to exist because of the dispersal of the society’s funds and the abandonment of the work. The affair is further complicated by virtue of the concession of the territory of the deposits to a rapid railway company employing the electromotive system, made in the interval between the two exploitations by the country’s government, which wants to impose taxes on all three groups of shareholders. Hence, there is one suit between the companies and one between the companies and the government. There has been no agreement regarding the choice of arbitrators. The case has been brought before the Tribunal of Paris, which is to settle the question definitively.
“In what country are these mines situated?” asked Terrier.
“In the Mountains of the Moon, Monsieur.”
“In the Mountains of the Moon!” exclaimed Gédéon, bursting into laughter. “I thought that heavenly body, excessively perforated by the financiers of all ages, offered nothing but holes.”
“The Mountains of the Moon,” said the physicist, “are in Africa, on the sixth degree of north latitude.”
“The case,” the obliging interlocutor continued, “is as extraordinary for its duration as its complication. The definitive judgment will not be pronounced until this evening, and the affair has been before the Tribunal for ten days!”
“Ten days to judge that affair!” exclaimed the former legal clerk. “It seems to me that the case in proceeding with marvelous rapidity. If such a case had been brought before a 19th century court, for example, all the interested parties, even those in swaddling-clothes, would have been dead before the question had been definitively settled.” As the number of interested spectators continued to increase, he added: “But what is the ingenious mechanism that permits you to deal with judiciary matters so swiftly?”
“It’s quite simple,” a neighbor replied. “Those who are contesting the case accumulate in their respective submissions all the arguments that are in their favor. The documents are handed to the judges, chosen from among the most honorable and illustrious citizens, who, after a profound examination, pronounce a definitive verdict.”
“Which is clear, rapid and sensible—and gets rid of all the advocates, attorneys and bailiffs.”
“What do those words signify?” asked several individuals.
“Messieurs,” said Gédéon, solemnly, “if the important tasks that have brought us to this city left us the leisure, I would make it my duty to explain to you the sorry picture of a civil lawsuit in the 19th century—a historical matter of which I have made a special study. Furthermore, I would sketch portraits in turn of each of the members of that trilogy of individuals with whom you have the honor of being unacquainted—but the two scientists who are accompanying me will not permit that lecture at the moment; it would take us out of our way, to the great prejudice of the archeological world, which is feverishly awaiting the results of our investigations.”
For some time, in fact, the doctor had been tugging the sleeve of the turbulent orator, who gravely saluted his audience and left the scene, followed by his two companions.
“You’d do better to conserve your loquacity for this evening,” Antius said, “and to set aside your old habits as an open-air orator for the time being.”
“I don’t know that will happen this evening,” Gédéon replied, “but just now, I was in full flow, and all those curiosity-seekers are missing out on some fine details of the world of the ancient Palais.”
XVII. Two Antiquaries
The walkers stopped, indecisively.
“It’s only two o’clock,” said Terrier, “and we have plenty of time. I think it would be good to go back and follow the great boulevard level with the bridge we’ve just crossed.”
This proposal was adopted. The three me
n retraced their steps and turned into the broad avenue that extended on their left. The promenade was more animated. Numerous groups, reduced to immobility by the ardent heat of the sun, were standing in the shade. Others, more intrepid, were walking slowly beneath the vault of large trees. Nothing could be heard but the murmur of fountains and the joyful cries of children playing around the flower-beds.
After walking for a quarter of an hour, the travelers took another thoroughfare that made an obtuse angle with the first and, so far as they could tell, ought to lead them into the area occupied by the great boulevards. Five hundred meters further on, they perceived a large uncultivated space to their left, behind which a number of large buildings were under construction.
Attached to the walls of buildings at various heights, lightweight machines appeared to be functioning under the action of powerful electric currents, lifting up, disposing and sealing carved stones, red bricks and malleable cast iron with a silvery gleam in layers of cement. The components were arranged with an admirable rapidity and regularity. The houses seemed to be growing visibly.
Several stacks of polychrome marble colonnettes, sculpted with marvelous artistry, had been arranged on the roadside. The physicist approached one and started examining it with profound attention.
“What do you think this substance is?” he asked the doctor, suddenly.
“I would willingly believe,” the latter replied, after a long enough examination, “That we’re in the presence of calcium carbonate, which has been transformed by an exceedingly high temperature into magnificent marble—and I can now explain the profusion and richness of the ornamentation of edifices.”
Gédéon looked at his uncle with an astonished expression that lent itself to several different interpretations.
“That opinion appears to surprise you,” said the physicist.