“Well, Turbille,” said the form-master, emerging from his reverie. “What about that invention? That discovery?”
“Failed!” Gustave replied, thinking about the phono-whisperer.
“This would have been the ideal time to succeed, though! Heaps of assignments to correct—one doesn’t even have the time to shape a quarter of a sonnet!”
“Oh yes! The machine for correcting assignments. I wasn’t thinking about that any longer. Excuse me, Monsieur, but with all these exams to prepare for, I’d forgotten the commission. Alas, alas, I’ve made no more progress in that matter; I believed that has failed too. Failed! Failed!”
Monsieur Virgile Radoux seemed so put out that Gustave ran away, promising to continue searching.
In the grounds, the examined pupils were circulating in little groups; those who had succeeded were hurrying off to play football, the others wandering around in a melancholy fashion.
Gustave was given a rather cold welcome by the latter. Some were old comrades to whom, as a good fellow devoid of egotism, he had communicated the secret of the phono-whisperer, who had been as badly served as him.
“Inventor of shoddy gods! A machine to manufacture zeros!”
Gustave flinched under the bitter reproaches with which they overwhelmed the vanquished warrior.
“I see it now! I understand everything! They were your stupidities that annoyed the examiner, and it’s rebounded on me!”
XX. Gustave Turbille decides to hand over his career
as an inventor after misfortunes and catastrophe.
“Discouraged, me?” said Gustave to his friend Koufra, who was lavishing consolations upon him. “Get away! I’m never discouraged! All is not lost—I still have the sports and I’ll try to catch up.”
“I’m glad to see you so valiant in adversity.”
“There, I’m certain to be marked very good, without any trouble! Then, with, very good, very good and better than good in all the branches of athleticism, I’ll still have a chance, which is that Papa will be very busy. I hope that he’ll have some big deal in progress on the day that the report from the school arrives, which will put him in a difficult position. What luck that would be! You can see it from here—he runs over my report with a distracted eye, thinking about his big business deal, perceives the very good, very good, etc, and skips the rest!”
“I hope so, for your sake, my poor Gustave”
“And then, after all, if you’ve got excellent marks, it by meekly falling in with the old routine, without seeking something better. Me, I’m one of those who isn’t content with the old routine; I wanted to innovate; I found an ingenious and truly modern method…unfortunately, I didn’t have time to perfect it…and it rained zeros. So be it, I’m an unfortunate inventor—there’ve been many others before me, and I may justly say: all is lost save honor!”24
Alfred Koufra could only bow down in admiration.
In fact, Gustave did distinguish himself in the grand sporting competitions, and obtained all the very goods he desired.
The school year concluded gently. All trace of fatigue had to disappear; there was no overwork as Chambourcy. The program of work in the final days was designed to restore the spirits of even the most depressed students after the fastidious exit exams: literary lectures by phonograph loudspeaker, to which they listened while lying in the shade on the grass in the arbors, Gustave swaying in his hammock, alongside several others that had recently been authorized. In that too he had been an innovator, a precursor; the introduction of the hammock to scholarly furniture was due to him.
The cinema repeated the entire courses in history and geography: antiquity; modern times; the mores and customs of all peoples, ancient and modern; great spectacles of nature; literary history, the heroes and heroines of books and the theater; world commercial news and images of industrial life, etc. Very agreeable and marvelously restful, those last days at the school before the great departure. It was necessary to ease the transition between the intensive work of the weeks of exams and the good weather of the vacation.
In the evening, an hour or two of concert or theater by telephonoscope. Not classics; the time for serious studies had passed; relaxation now, a little fantasy, laughter and tears; vaudeville, operettas and melodramas—all carefully selected, of course.
The distribution of prizes took place very calmly, on the vast central lawn in the shade of the large trees: an entirely familial ceremony, brightened by a orchestra of phonos operating in a distant clump of bushes. The traditional speeches—which is to say, a short allocution by the Minister of Public Education, by phonograph, then the Headmaster’s speech, not spoken aloud but put into the hands of each student on a phonographic disk, to be savored at leisure on the return to the family, and even resavored from time to time, if one were in the mood: an excellent fashion of getting the sage advice of experience to penetrate those young intelligences.
Immediately after the speeches, with the distribution of palms illustrated with photographs—a souvenir that each student received in an elegant parcel—the prizes: superb volumes or phonographic editions of good authors.
Then there was the great departure! The school dirigibles, whose hum, more joyous than ever, seemed to manifest a hint of impatience, floating majestically in the air, surrounded by a cloud of small aircraft. Handshakes, appeals, clamors, recommendations, warm congratulations. Embarkation and take-off.
Chambourcy School will remain silent for two months.
Before leaving, Gustave Turbille and Koufra wish Monsieur Virgile Radoux a happy holiday.
“You know, Turbille,” the form-master says, “you’re going study the little machine that I mentioned to you…that’s understood, isn’t it? It’s a vacation assignment, as in days of old, that will release you from stagnant idleness!”
The aeroclette carrying Turbille and Koufra away was saluted by cheers from their friends in 3A. Koufra had inherited Gustave’s celebrity, which had fallen somewhat into decline since his last scientific failure. The son of an African king of the most central Africa, already so remarkable in Classics!
The rumor had got around, however, that Koufra’s father was merely a notary in the brand new and very modern little city of Villeneuve-sur-Oubangui. A sixth-former had heard it from an uncle who was a sub-prefect in the Congo. Koufra, put in the dock and interrogated, had admitted it, but no one believed either the sixth-former or Koufra, who was thought to be dissimulating for political reasons. It would be certain when they came back, since Turbille was still talking about his holiday in the Congo and big game hunting in Koufra’s kingdom.
“Good luck in the African bush!” cried the comrades. “Bring me back a pair of elephant tusks! A living gorilla for me! A lion-pelt to put on in winter for me!”
Koufra, whose parents were awaiting him impatiently out there, was due to take the next Bordeaux Tube, and then the Great Central African. Would Gustave be accompanying him? Alas, nothing was less certain.
“That depends on Papa’s business,” Gustave repeated to his friend. “If he turns out to have a few exceedingly complicated deals in progress, all will be well. I’ll find out in the offices—we’ll see to that right way.”
Gustave saw to it immediately. In the offices, he was told that all was calm; no preoccupations, all business progressing routinely.
“Damn! Damn! No, I mean: Perfect! Perfect!”
On leaving the offices, Gustave, unusually anxious and melancholy, found Colette and cousin Valérie already returned from Villennes with palms and a respectable collection of large volumes that the men on the Villennes dirigible were having some difficulty unloading.
The pitiless tele had already summoned Valérie, and voices more numerous than usual could be heard in the next room, yes uncles succeeding one another more rapidly.
“What’s up?” asked Gustave, glad to be able to hide his preoccupation.
“Oh, they’re all on the tele today,” said Colette. “Uncle Pierre, Uncle Georges, U
ncle Florentin and Uncle Lucien, to congratulate Valérie…”
“Congratulate? You don’t say—it doesn’t sound like it!”
“Yes, one could say that the four uncles aren’t very happy…”
Despite all their discretion, Gustave and Koufra were obliged to overhear and to follow the conversation, which was a little more animated than usual.
“But Valérie, you told me that our greatest desire was to go to the bar, that you wanted to be an advocate, didn’t you?”
“No, my dear chap—she’s always sworn to me that she felt impelled by an irresistible vocation toward medicine!”
“Pardon me, not medicine—let’s see, Valérie, you’ve been dreaming of practical sciences, an industrial career, absolutely determined to go to the Centrale?”
“You’re wrong! Valerie has always talked to me about the École des Chartes…that must be understood. Well, Valérie!”
The yes uncles were more widely-spaced, and scarcely audible. Valérie sighed, and sighed again, surely about to burst into tears.
“I’ll tell you…hold on…yes, uncle…I don’t know…I’d like…”
“We shall know everything,” said Gustave. “She’s about to declare her true vocation!”
“She won’t get out of it,” said Colette. “I’m going in myself!”
Colette had closed the door, but she could be heard explaining to the uncles.
“Hang on, cousin, look: first prize, the gentle arts, Mademoiselle Valérie Mérindol; embroidery and lacework, first prize, Valérie Mérindol…here, look at these samples of her school-work: Venetian stitch; English embroidery; Bruges; Richelieu lace…that’s not for the École Centrale, all that, nor for the École de Médecine… So?”
The uncles uttered stupefied exclamations. Gustave could not hear any more.
“It’s not going well for Valérie,” he said. “My turn now!” And he headed for his father’s study with the expression of a condemned man marching to the scaffold.
The next day, in Koufra’s room, as the lucky fellow was buckling his suitcase, the mournful Gustave related his troubles to his friend.
“Papa had time; his eye wasn’t distracted; he read the entire report…of my defeats! He’s annoyed, seriously annoyed! I shan’t be going to the Oubangui—no hunting in the bush. You can tell your rhinoceroses, your hippopotamuses and your lions that they can still sleep easy during this vacation. Do you know what I’ll be doing, old chap? Do you know? I’ll be spending my vacation here, in Paris, with the Universal Phono-Repeater, and working! Well, I’ll work! That’s a promise!”
Koufra squeezed his friend’s hand sympathetically.
“I renounce inventions, for the moment,” Gustave went on. “I’ve thought about it; I really can’t launch myself into large-scale industry to exploit the ideas that I might have, nor enter the Académie des Sciences for a number of years yet, so there’s no urgency; I have all the time I need for a little learning. I’m returning to old-fashioned work—it’s decided! And I’m handing over my career as an inventor to you. You can already look after yourself a little; you’ll do very well out of it. Think about it under the baobabs of the Oubangui.
“To begin with, here’s a rather extensive program of scientific research; it’s a matter of finding, if not by the start of next term, then as soon as possible, firstly the machine for correcting assignments that will give so much pleasure to Monsieur Radoux, then an automatic machine for rich rhymes, a machine for shortening winter, a machine for extending vacation time, etc., etc.
“Go on, my dear Koufra—happy holidays, and see you again next term!”
CHALET IN THE SKY
I. The Great Resurfacing of the World.
Seated between his nephews Andoche and Moderan on the balcony of the villa that he had just bought, with a view to a fairly long stay, the well-known scholar Monsieur Cabrol seemed thoughtful, his brows slightly furrowed.
“Aren’t you pleased with the arrangements, Uncle?” asked Moderan.
“Yes, yes, they’ll do,” said Monsieur Cabrol. “The first floor is quite well organized: four rooms…one for you, two for me, and we still have one for guests—that’s enough. That will do very well. What worries me a little is…but no, no…it will do. I was thinking about my work, my dear Moderan—I don’t want it to suffer from our move. No, no, it won’t suffer…on the contrary, with the tranquility, the calm, the silence…nor will our studies, my lads, for you’ll be working too!”
“Oh, certainly, Uncle!” exclaimed Andoche and Moderan, with one voice.
At that moment, the balcony shifted abruptly. Andoche almost slid off the divan. Behind them, the villa oscillated.
“Come on—one last look at the furniture,” said Monsieur Cabrol, pushing the French windows. “My bedroom is fine, my bedstead, my desk and filing-cabinet. There are only 40 drawers and pigeon-holes for my 42 works in progress—it’s inconvenient, but, well, I need order; it’s a matter of not confusing my archives! 42, my lads! I know that many don’t yet have any more than a title written down, but they’ll make progress!”
“Look down there, Uncle,” said Andoche, going back on to the balcony.
“Oh yes—the swirls of dust and smoke above the elevators and winches of the Great Northern Works, which became active a fortnight ago. We should have left already.”
Monsieur Cabrol turned his back on the Great Northern Works, muttering: “The world is becoming uninhabitable, alas. Our planet is being sabotaged. No solidity anywhere, in Europe and America, or in the scarcely-tranquil hidden corners of Central Africa. The perforated, worn-out soil, creviced in all directions by quakes, subsidence, shocks and slippages, former mines collapsed or invaded by subterranean seas, forests destroyed… I’m not making recriminations; doubtless the imprudence of our ancestors is to blame, but our globe is getting old as well, and it’s aging terribly badly.”
“Oh yes!” said Moderan.
“Then again, it must be admitted that the work of the first great consolidation undertaken in the 22nd century, rather meanly, with the simple resources that the state of Science could furnish in that distant era, didn’t do a lot of good. It’s necessary now to resume work on a vast coordinated plan.”
“And here’s the first part getting started!” said Moderan, pointing northwards at new vortices of vapor and smoke, which accompanied a frightful racket of rattlings, whistlings and explosions.”
“Yes, there it is, as it has to be! The pyramids sank further three months ago, you know. The former summit of the great pyramid is no more than 72 centimeters above ground now; the others have completely disappeared! It’s time to decide on a general reconstruction of our planet. But how long will this vast resurfacing that has become so very necessary take? How vexatious it’s going to be, before a brand new and perfectly solid globe is restored! Far-sighted men, friends of tranquility, have already gone, flown away hastily, to go and live in remote spots preserved by chance or in sectors that won’t be disturbed straight away…”
“Let’s go, Uncle, let’s go!”
“Personally, I’d rather see the commencement of the upheaval, to give more savor to our tranquility elsewhere. The egotism of a sybarite—it’s very naughty, and I’ve already been punished for it, since I’m told that all of these fortunate and rather rare Elsewheres are already full—overfull—of fugitives like us.”
“But what about the sixth continent, Uncle?”
“The sixth continent? But your sixth continent is already old, my boy, since it was constructed at the end of the 20th century.”
“Yes, that’s true, you showed me an old atlas from 1975 in which it wasn’t yet depicted.”
“Don’t worry, though—I hope I can still find a few nice little corners for us near the South American pleasure-cities, in the Chilean Switzerland or the Patagonian Riviera, or the islands constructed in the Pacific—they’re said to be very successful.”
In spite of his uncle’s explanations, however, Andoche’s lips visib
ly formed a sort of moue.
“Well, what now?” said Monsieur Cabrol.
“Why not another world?” Andoche objected, eventually.
“Oh!” said Moderan.
“You’d prefer another word, imprudent youth”
“Not me!” said Moderan.
“Yes, you’re more reasonable; I’ve always said that you resemble me, physically and intellectually, and I was paying you a compliment! Personally, I detest adventures, as you do—that’s very good, but this Andoche is a risk-taker. When you were little, by virtue of crazy imprudence, he was always setting off over the ground or into the air with his aeroclettes, getting into dangerous situations from which you, his junior, had to extract him. I wouldn’t have taken responsibility for him if you weren’t with him to put a brake on his high spirits.”
“I’ll put the brake on, Uncle!”
Bursting into laughter Moderan and Andoche exchanged a few friendly punches.
“Calm down, calm down!” said Cabrol. “Both of you put the brakes on.”
“There are some other worlds that are very nice!” Andoche protested, again. “I’ve read about interesting communications by the Geographical Society.”
“I’ve read them too. I’ll even say that it’s been reported that the conditions of life there are truly delightful for our Earth-dwellers…and that acclimatization is easy, even in the worlds newly arrived in our skies, diverted from their routes by ZZZ rays and imprudently captured by distant planets.”
“Oh!” said Andoche.
“Come on, young fellow! You must know very well that the voyage presents a few difficulties, all the same. You find those great difficulties tempting, with your daredevil mentality, but you’ll see….”
“No trouble,” said Moderan.
“Firstly, you need a special apparatus, very carefully constructed, of guaranteed solidity, almost invulnerable, with internal equipment—and it’s extremely delicate, the internal equipment of such apparatus. Then one sets off, launching into the blue—that’s all well and good, but does one ever know what one will find out there? Listen—as I’ve told you many a time, I to, in my youth, was adventurous, like Andoche, and I didn’t have a younger brother to put a brake on me. I allowed myself to be tempted by the travel agencies’ advertisements. I made a great voyage to the Moon. It was expensive: 80,000 francs all-included: hotels, meals, excursions, guides, etc. Except that I didn’t see anything! We arrived in the middle of a flu epidemic and fell victim to it as soon as we tried to put our noses outside! We followed the entire program, of course, but from one quarantine to the next, all the travelers in bed…”
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