by Jules Vernes
On a sign from Van Tricasse – for the worthy man could not have articulated a syllable – the bar was pushed back and the door opened.
Commissary Passauf flung himself into the antechamber. One would have thought there was a hurricane.
‘What’s the matter, Monsieur the commissary?’ asked Lotchè, a brave woman, who did not lose her head under the most trying circumstances.
‘What’s the matter!’ replied Passauf, whose big round eyes expressed a genuine agitation. ‘The matter is that I have just come from Doctor Ox’s, who has been holding a reception, and that there -
‘There?’
‘There I have witnessed such an altercation as – Monsieur the burgomaster, they have been talking politics!’
‘Politics!’ repeated Van Tricasse, running his fingers through his wig.
‘Politics!’ resumed Commissary Passauf, ‘which has not been done for perhaps a hundred years at Quiquendone. Then the discussion got warm, and the advocate, André Schut, and the doctor, Dominique Custos, became so violent that it may be they will call each other out.’
‘Call each other out!’ cried the counsellor. ‘A duel! A duel at Quiquendone! And what did Advocate Schut and Doctor Custos say?’
‘Just this: "Monsieur advocate," said the doctor to his adversary, "you go too far, it seems to me, and you do not take sufficient care to control your words!’"
The Burgomaster Van Tricasse clasped his hands – the counsellor turned pale and let his lantern fall – the commissary shook his head. That a phrase so evidently irritating should be pronounced by two of the principal men in the country!
‘This Doctor Custos,’ muttered Van Tricasse, ‘is decidedly a dangerous man – a hare-brained fellow! Come, gentlemen!’
On this, Counsellor Niklausse and the commissary accompanied the burgomaster into the parlour.
4
In which Doctor Ox reveals himself as a physiologist of the first rank, and as an audacious experimentalist
Who, then, was this personage, known by the singular name of Doctor Ox?
An original character for certain, but at the same time a bold savant, a physiologist, whose works were known and highly estimated throughout learned Europe, a happy rival of the Davys, the Daltons, the Bostocks, the Menzies. the Godwins, the Vierordts – of all those noble minds who have placed physiology among the highest of modern sciences.
Doctor Ox was a man of medium size and height, aged – :but we cannot state his age, any more than his nationality. Besides, it matters little; let it suffice that he was a strange personage, impetuous and hot-blooded, a regular oddity out of one of Hoffmann’s volumes, and one who contrasted amusingly enough with the good people of Quiquendone. He had an imperturbable confidence both in himself and in his doctrines. Always smiling, walking with head erect and shoulders thrown back in a free and unconstrained manner, with a steady gaze, large open nostrils, a vast mouth which inhaled the air in liberal draughts, his appearance was far from unpleasing. He was full of animation, well proportioned in all parts of his bodily mechanism, with quicksilver in his veins, and a most elastic step. He could never stop still in one place, and relieved himself with impetuous words and a superabundance of gesticulations.
Was Doctor Ox rich, then, that he should undertake to light a whole town at his expense? Probably, as he permitted himself to indulge in such extravagance, – and this is the only answer we can give to this indiscreet question.
Doctor Ox had arrived at Quiquendone five months before, accompanied by his assistant, who answered to the name of Gédéon Ygène; a tall, dried-up, thin man, haughty, but not less vivacious than his master.
And next, why had Doctor Ox made the proposition to light the town at his own expense? Why had he, of all the Flemings, selected the peaceable Quiquendonians, to endow their town with the benefits of an unheard-of system of lighting? Did he not, under this pretext, design to make some great physiological experiment by operating in animâ vili? In short, what was this original personage about to attempt? We know not, as Doctor Ox had no confidant except his assistant Ygène, who, moreover, obeyed him blindly.
In appearance, at least, Doctor Ox had agreed to light the town, which had much need of it, ‘especially at night’, as Commissary Passauf wittily said. Works for producing a lighting gas had accordingly been established; the gasometers were ready for use, and the main pipes, running beneath the street pavements, would soon appear in the form of burners in the public edifices and the private houses of certain friends of progress. Van Tricasse and Niklausse, in their official capacity, and some other worthies, thought they ought to allow this modern light to be introduced into their dwellings.
If the reader has not forgotten, it was said, during the long conversation of the counsellor and the burgomaster, that the lighting of the town was to be achieved, not by the combustion of common carburetted hydrogen, produced by distilling coal, but by the use of a more modern and twenty-fold more brilliant gas, oxyhydric gas, produced by mixing hydrogen and oxygen.
The doctor, who was an able chemist as well as an ingenious physiologist, knew how to obtain this gas in great quantity and of good quality, not by using manganate of soda, according to the method of M. Tessié du Motay, but by the direct decomposition of slightly acidulated water, by means of a battery made of new elements, invented by himself. Thus there were no costly materials, no platinum, no retorts, no combustibles, no delicate machinery to produce the two gases separately. An electric current was sent through large basins full of water, and the liquid was decomposed into its two constituent parts, oxygen and hydrogen. The oxygen passed off at one end: the hydrogen, of double the volume of its late associate, at the other. As a necessary precaution, they were collected in separate reservoirs, for their mixture would have produced a frightful explosion if it had become ignited. Thence the pipes were to convey them separately to the various burners, which would be so placed as to prevent all chance of explosion. Thus a remarkably brilliant flame would be obtained, whose light would rival the electric light, which, as everybody knows, is, according to Cassellmann’s experiments, equal to that of 1,171 wax candles, – not one more, nor one less.
It was certain that the town of Quiquendone would, by this liberal contrivance, gain a splendid lighting; but Doctor Ox and his assistant took little account of this, as will be seen in the sequel.
The day after that on which Commissary Passauf had made his noisy entrance into the burgomaster’s parlour, Gédéon Ygène and Doctor Ox were talking in the laboratory which both occupied in common, on the ground floor of the principal building of the gas-works.
‘Well, Ygène, well,’ cried the doctor, rubbing his hands. ‘You saw, at my reception yesterday, the cool-bloodedness of these worthy Quiquendonians. For animation they are midway between sponges and coral! You saw them disputing and irritating each other by voice and gesture? They are already metamorphosed, morally and physically! And this is only the beginning. Wait till we treat them to a big dose!’
‘Indeed, master,’ replied Ygène, scratching his sharp nose with the end of his forefinger, ‘the experiment begins well, and if I had not prudently closed the supply-tap, I know not what would have happened.’
‘You heard Schut, the advocate, and Custos, the doctor?’ resumed Doctor Ox. ‘The phrase was by no means ill-natured in itself, but, in the mouth of a Quiquendonian, it is worth all the insults which the Homeric heroes hurled at each other before drawing their swords. Ah, these Flemings! You’ll see what we shall do some day!’
‘We shall make them ungrateful,’ replied Ygène, in the tone of a man who esteems the human race at its just worth.
‘Bah!’ said the doctor; ‘what matters it whether they think well or ill of us, so long as our experiment succeeds?’
‘Besides,’ returned the assistant, smiling with a malicious expression, ‘is it not to be feared that, in producing such an excitement in their respiratory organs, we shall somewhat injure the lungs of these good people of Quiqu
endone?’
‘So much the worse for them! It is in the interests of science. What would you say if the dogs or frogs refused to lend themselves to the experiments of vivisection?’
It is probable that if the frogs and dogs were consulted, they would offer some objection; but Doctor Ox imagined that he had stated an unanswerable argument, for he heaved a great sigh of satisfaction.
‘After all, master, you are right,’ replied Ygène, as if quite convinced. ‘We could not have hit upon better subjects than these people of Quiquendone for our experiment.’
‘We – could – not,’ said the doctor, slowly articulating each word.
‘Have you felt the pulse of any of them?’
‘Some hundreds.’
‘And what is the average pulsation you found?’
‘Not fifty per minute. See – this is a town where there has not been the shadow of a discussion for a century, where the carmen don’t swear, where the coachmen don’t insult each other, where horses don’t run away, where the dogs don’t bite, where the cats don’t scratch, – a town where the police-court has nothing to do from one year’s end to another; – a town where people do not grow enthusiastic about anything, either about art or business, – a town where the gendarmes are a sort of myth, and in which an indictment has not been drawn up for a hundred years, – a town, in short, where for three centuries nobody has struck a blow with his fist or so much as exchanged a slap in the face! You see, Ygène, that this cannot last, and that we must change it all.’
‘Perfectly! perfectly!’ cried the enthusiastic assistant; ‘and have you analysed the air of this town, master?’
‘I have not failed to do so. Seventy-nine parts of azote and twenty-one of oxygen, carbonic acid and steam in a variable quantity. These are the ordinary proportions.’
‘Good, doctor, good!’ replied Ygène. ‘The experiment will be made on a large scale, and will be decisive.’
‘And if it is decisive,’ added Doctor Ox triumphantly, ‘we shall reform the world!’
5
In which the burgomaster and the counsellor pay a visit to Doctor Ox, and what follows
The Counsellor Niklausse and the Burgomaster Van Tricasse at last knew what it was to have an agitated night. The grave event which had taken place at Doctor Ox’s house actually kept them awake. What consequences was this affair destined to bring about? They could not imagine. Would it be necessary for them to come to a decision? Would the municipal authority, whom they represented, be compelled to interfere? Would they be obliged to order arrests to be made, that so great a scandal should not be repeated? All these doubts could not but trouble these soft natures; and on that evening, before separating, the two notables had ‘decided’ to see each other the next day.
On the next morning, then, before dinner, the Burgomaster Van Tricasse proceeded in person to the Counsellor Niklausse’s house. He found his friend more calm. He himself had recovered his equanimity.
‘Nothing new?’ asked Van Tricasse.
‘Nothing new since yesterday,’ replied Niklausse.
‘And the doctor, Dominique Custos?’
‘I have not heard anything, either of him or of the advocate, André Schut.’
After an hour’s conversation, which consisted of three remarks which it is needless to repeat, the counsellor and the burgomaster had resolved to pay a visit to Doctor Ox, so as to draw from him, without seeming to do so, some details of the affair.
Contrary to all their habits, after coming to this decision the two notables set about putting it into execution forthwith. They left the house and directed their steps towards Doctor Ox’s laboratory, which was situated outside the town, near the Oudenarde gate – the gate whose tower threatened to fall in ruins.
They did not take each other’s arms, but walked side by side, with a slow and solemn step, which took them forward but thirteen inches per second. This was, indeed, the ordinary gait of the Quiquendonians, who had never, within the memory of man, seen anyone run across the streets of their town.
From time to time the two notables would stop at some calm and tranquil crossway, or at the end of a quiet street, to salute the passers-by.
‘Good morning, Monsieur the burgomaster,’ said one.
‘Good morning, my friend,’ responded Van Tricasse.
‘Anything new, Monsieur the counsellor?’ asked another.
‘Nothing new,’ answered Niklausse.
But by certain agitated motions and questioning looks, it was evident that the altercation of the evening before was known throughout the town. Observing the direction taken by Van Tricasse, the most obtuse Quiquendonians guessed that the burgomaster was on his way to take some important step. The Custos and Schut affair was talked of everywhere, but the people had not yet come to the point of taking the part of one or the other. The Advocate Schut, having never had occasion to plead in a town where attorneys and bailiffs only existed in tradition, had, consequently, never lost a suit. As for the Doctor Custos, he was an honourable practitioner, who, after the example of his fellow-doctors, cured all the illnesses of his patients, except those of which they died – a habit unhappily acquired by all the members of all the faculties in whatever country they may practise.
On reaching the Oudenarde gate, the counsellor and the burgomaster prudently made a short detour, so as not to pass within reach of the tower, in case it should fall; then they turned and looked at it attentively.
‘I think that it will fall,’ said Van Tricasse.
‘I think so too,’ replied Niklausse.
‘Unless it is propped up,’ added Van Tricasse. ‘But must it be propped up? That is the question.’
"That is – in fact – the question.’
Some moments after, they reached the door of the gasworks.
‘Can we see Doctor Ox?’ they asked.
Doctor Ox could always be seen by the first authorities of the town, and they were at once introduced into the celebrated physiologist’s study.
Perhaps the two notables waited for the doctor at least an hour: at least it is reasonable to suppose so, as the burgomaster – a thing that had never before happened in his life – betrayed a certain amount of impatience, from which his companion was not exempt.
Doctor Ox came in at last, and began to excuse himself for having kept them waiting: but he had to approve a plan for the gasometer, rectify some of the machinery – But everything was going on well! The pipes intended for the oxygen were already laid. In a few months the town would be splendidly lighted. The two notables might even now see the orifices of the pipes which were laid on in the laboratory.
Then the doctor begged to know to what he was indebted for the honour of this visit.
‘Only to see you, doctor; to see you,’ replied Van Tricasse. ‘It is long since we have had the pleasure. We go abroad but little in our good town of Quiquendone. We count our steps and measure our walks. We are happy when nothing disturbs the uniformity of our habits.’
Niklausse looked at his friend. His friend had never said so much at once – at least, without taking time, and giving long intervals between his sentences. It seemed to him that Van Tricasse expressed himself with a certain volubility, which was by no means common with him. Niklausse himself experienced a kind of irresistible desire to talk.
As for Doctor Ox. he looked at the burgomaster with sly attention.
Van Tricasse, who never argued until he had snugly ensconced himself in a spacious armchair, had risen to his feet. I know not what nervous excitement, quite foreign to his temperament, had taken possession of him. He did not gesticulate as yet, but this could not be far off. As for the counsellor, he rubbed his legs, and breathed with slow and long gasps. His look became animated little by little, and he had ‘decided’ to support at all hazards, if need be, his trusty friend the burgomaster.
Van Tricasse got up and took several steps; then he came back, and stood facing the doctor.
‘And in how many months,’ he asked in
a somewhat emphatic tome, ‘do you say that your work will be finished?’
‘In three or four months, Monsieur the burgomaster,’ replied Doctor Ox.
‘Three or four months, – it’s a very long time!’ said Van Tricasse.
‘Altogether too long!’ added Niklausse, who, not being able to keep his seat, rose also.
‘This lapse of time is necessary to complete our work,’ returned Doctor Ox. ‘The workmen, whom we have had to choose in Quiquendone, are not very expeditious.’
‘How not expeditious?’ cried the burgomaster, who seemed to take the remark as personally offensive.
‘No, Monsieur Van Tricasse,’ replied Doctor Ox obstinately. ‘A French workman would do in a day what it takes ten of your workmen to do; you know, they are regular Flemings!’
‘Flemings!’ cried the counsellor, whose fingers closed together. ‘In what sense, sir, do you use that word?’
‘Why, in the amiable sense in which everybody uses it,’ replied Doctor Ox, smiling.
‘Ah, but doctor,’ said the burgomaster, pacing up and down the room, ‘I don’t like these insinuations. The workmen of Quiquendone are as efficient as those of any other town in the world, you must know; and we shall go neither to Paris nor London for our models! As for your project, I beg you to hasten its execution. Our streets have been unpaved for the putting down of your conduit-pipes, and it is a hindrance to traffic. Our trade will begin to suffer, and I, being the responsible authority, do not propose to incur reproaches which will be but too just.’
Worthy burgomaster! He spoke of trade, of traffic, and the wonder was that those words, to which he was quite unaccustomed, did not scorch his lips. What could be passing in his mind?
‘Besides,’ added Niklausse, ‘the town cannot be deprived of light much longer.’
‘But,’ urged Doctor Ox, ‘a town which has been unlighted for 800 or 900 years -’