Paris in the Year 2000

by Tony Moilin

  In addition to the great Decadi balls, there is a multitude of small gatherings in the city every evening, supported by the State even though they take place in the homes of individuals. This is how.

  Whenever a lady declares that she is willing to host a salon, and if she seems capable of doing it well, the Administration will allow her a certain sum toward the expenses of the occasion. With that money, the ladies in question can obtain more spacious accommodation, procure refreshments and receive their friends and acquaintances.

  Nothing could be more various than these kinds of soirées. In some people are serious, talking earnestly about politics and literature and playing whist; in others, women work around a lamp, talking about fabrics and trifles, and playing some social game; in others, people dance, make music, recite verses, enact skits, sing songs or play charades, etc.; finally, in some people smoke, drink punch, laugh or converse noisily, and play games of chance. Everyone chooses the salons to attend that suit their taste and mood, and meet up there with people who share their inclinations.

  The Government has a very simple means of ensuring that its funds are well-employed and entrusted to good hands: that is by finding out whether particular salons are well-attended. When one of them is found to be deserted, and respiring ennui, the allocation is withdrawn from the host and given to someone else. To avoid that insult, the hostesses go to any lengths, doing anything they can imagine to attract and retain visitors, and there is an ardent competition between all those charmers—a competition from which the public profits, and which procures citizens agreeable and varied ways to spend their evenings.

  6. The Calendar, Holidays and National Festivals

  The French of the year 2000 have renounced the Catholic calendar and have replaced it with another, known as the Republican calendar, which is much more scientific and convenient.

  In this calendar, the year begins at the autumnal equinox. It is divided into twelve equal months of thirty days, the names of which are in accord with the seasons. They are:

  Three autumn months: Vendémiaire, the month of vintages; Brumaire, the month of fogs; and Frimaire, the month of frosts;

  Three winter months: Nivôse, the month of snows; Pluviose, the month of rains; and Ventôse, the month of winds;

  Three spring months: Germinal, the month of germination; Floréal, the month of flowers; and Prairial, the month of grass;

  Finally, three summer months: Messidor, the month of crops; Thermidor, the month of heat; and Fructidor, the month of fruits.

  At the end of Fructidor there are five so-called “complementary” intercalary days, which are not part of any months and serve to complete the 365 days of the solar year.

  Each month is divided into three decades of ten days, and each day bears a name in accord with its numerical order. Thus, the first is called Primidi, the second Duodi, the third Tridi, the fourth Quartidi, the fifth Quintidi, the sixth Sextidi, the seventh Septidi, the eighth Octidi, the ninth Nonidi and the tenth Decadi.

  Every day begins at midnight and is divided into two sets of ten hours, one starting at midnight and the other at noon. Every hour is divided into a hundred minutes, or fifty double-minutes, and every minute into a hundred seconds. All the clocks and watches in the country indicate the time according to the new system, which had already been adopted long before for astronomical calculations.

  Naturally, the days of the Republican year are no longer dedicated to the saints of the Catholic Church, but to Benefactors of Humankind. The birthdates of all the people who, in one way or another, have rendered service to human kind have been identified, and their names have been inscribed on that same day in the new calendar. As for great men whose birthdate is unknown, they are distributed throughout the year in such a way that every day is dedicated to a near-equal number of individuals. When Socialists baptize their children, they usually give them one of the names inscribed on the day of the birth, so that all citizens bear the name of some benefactor of humankind and have an excellent model for imitation in their patron.

  Decadi is the day officially devoted to rest. On that day, the Government gives leave to all its employees and workers, and self-employed individuals, following that example, also rest—but there is no obligation on them to do so, and people who want to work on Decadi are perfectly free to do so.

  In certain administrations, where the service cannot be interrupted, such as railways, public transport, the mail, etc., there is no general leave granted on Decadi, but a number of the employees are rested on each day of the decad, and their posts are taken by a brigade of supernumeraries.

  A different procedure is followed in retail establishments where the public needs to buy gods on a daily basis; such shops only close for every second Decadi and alternate in remaining open on the other.

  Finally, certain establishments, such as theaters, cafes and restaurants, obtain their best receipts on Decadi. Naturally, they do not close on that day, and when their employees take their leave they are replaced by supernumeraries.

  Every Quintidi the Government accords a half-holiday to its employees and closes those public administrations whose services are not indispensable at noon. Individuals similarly chose that day to take some rest, with the result that the city the takes on a holiday appearance as pronounced as on Decadi.

  This is how the Socialists employ their days of leave.

  If the weather is poor, they take a turn around the salon-streets or visit some kind of exhibition, and women take advantage of the circumstance to put on their best clothes and compete in elegance.

  In that regard, let us say a few words about the costumes of the Republicans of the year 2000.

  Men are uniformly clad in dark colors and equally fine fabrics, so it is impossible to deduce the social situation of strollers from their clothing. However, as many employees are quite determined to let other people know what they are, they put on a regulation cap indicating the administration to which they belong and the rank they occupy therein. Such caps are not obligatory, however, and those who wear them do so by choice.

  Moreover, there is no official costume or uniform anywhere in the Republic; the most senior magistrates, the ministers and judges dress like everyone else and seek to impose respect by their personal merit and not by their accoutrements.

  Women are much less free than men and are subject to a despotic law that regulates the smallest details of the cut, color and fabric of their garments, the form of their hats and the disposition of their hair, including its color. That tyrannical law, which no woman dares infringe, however independent she might be, is “fashion.”

  It is difficult to define fashion, but let us try.

  Suppose that for some garment, a model has been found combining all the conditions of comfort, cheapness and good taste at the same time. Any other people would conserve it preciously and make use of it all the time—but Parisiennes do not think like that, and as soon as they have perceived that a model in every respect they immediately change it and replace it with another, which is ugly, uncomfortable and expensive. People tire of that new invention very rapidly, and create another, which is no better, and then another, which is even worse, and so on, indefinitely, the thirst for novelty being such that it is necessary to find it at any price, however abominable it might be.

  It is that furious rate of change that constitutes fashion. It reigns despotically over the women of Paris, who are its humble and obedient slaves. Thus, it is easy to describe in a single word the costume of the Parisiennes of the ear 2000. They are always rigorously clad in the latest fashion.

  But let us get back to the employment citizens make of their holidays.

  When the weather is good, they stroll in the boulevards, the Champs-Élysées, the Bois de Boulogne, or even, in the summer, go into the countryside. The Parisians adore the countryside, not as a place to live but as a place to spend a few hours and see something different from the city. Every Decadi, when the weather permits, the population hastens to t
he railway stations and goes to spend the day in the surrounding fields and forests.

  For those who have a few days’ holiday there are more distant excursions, pleasure trains to go to the seaside, spa towns, Switzerland, and Alps, the Pyrenees, etc. These pleasure trains operate at reduced prices, and the Government, which owns the hotels where the travelers stay, does not exploit them by charging more for rooms than anywhere else.

  Parisians are very fond of these long-distance excursions, and many save up during the year in order that they might undertake brief voyages within France or abroad during their holidays. The desire to see everything and to know everything is the dominant passion of Parisians, and although they know perfectly well that their beloved capital is the nicest place in the world, they leave it gladly, only to find it all the more beautiful when they return.

  In addition to the Decadi leave, there are several national festivals in the Republic of the year 2000, on which the Government sets its employees at liberty and the entire population stops work.

  Firstly, there is the anniversary of the foundation of the Social Republic, an anniversary that is celebrated with patriotic hymns, appropriate spectacles, regattas, velocipede races,9 illuminations, fireworks, etc.

  Then there is another solemnity, of an entirely different character: the Day of the Dead. On that day, an assembled crowd goes to the cemeteries, carrying flowers and pious souvenirs to those who are no more.

  The Republic’s greatest national festival, however, is that of the five complementary days. Throughout their duration, all work that is not indispensable is abandoned, and people think about nothing but enjoying themselves. It is the epoch that Parisians have chosen for their carnival, and although it is only five days long, as many follies are committed there as if it lasted for a whole year.

  While young people amuse themselves by donning disguises, however, the Government is occupied with more serious matters. In solemn sessions it takes stock of the Republic’s affairs during the year that has just elapsed, reading reports on the internal external situation, the actions of the Administration, the progress of Industry and Agriculture, the works of artists and writers, etc.

  The last of the complementary days is devoted to the distribution of national rewards. It is the biggest festival of the year, and is celebrated with public rejoicing of unparalleled magnificence, to which the citizens’ masquerade communicates an extraordinary animation. All the young and cheerful individuals put on their costumes; all the promenades are packed with floats crowded with masks, splendid corteges or burlesques emblematically representing the work of various industries, or parodying the events of the year, amusing the crowds with their clowning.

  In the evening, the Government hosts a great masked ball in the salons of the International Palace; at the same time, in all the theaters, all the dance-halls and even the public squares, other costumed balls are organized, which are not official but are no less merry, and where the masquerades of the corteges come to continue the day’s amusements.

  At midnight, a salvo of cannon-fire announces the end of the year; the dancers pause in their capers momentarily, and shout: “Long live the Social Republic;” bands strike up the Marseillaise, the assembled crowds sing the national hymn—and then the new year is enthusiastically introduced by dancing, and indulging in a thousand follies, until dawn.

  Notes

  1 Included in the Black Coat Press collection Investigations of the Future, ISBN 978-1-61227-106-4.

  2 Included in the Black Coat Press collection Investigations of the Future, ISBN 978-1-61227-106-4.

  3 Included in the Black Coat Press collection The Tower of Destony, ISBN 978-1-61227-101-9.

  4 Included in the Black Coat Press collection The Tower of Destiny, ISBN 978-1-61227-101-9.

  5 Included in the Black Coat Press collection Nemoville, ISBN 978-1-61227-070-8.

  6 Available from Black Coat Press, ISBN 978-1-61227-100-2.

  7 The author inserts a footnote: “The definition of property given by the Civil Code.”

  8 Although potassium picrate had first been prepared in the 17th century it only began commercial manufacture and routine use in 1869 and must have been the “latest thing” when Moilin wrote this novella; he was therefore not in a position to know that, although it is indeed a powerful explosive, potassium picrate would prove impractical for military use and would instead be virtually confined in its applications to fireworks. The world would have to wait some time for the development of fusées [rockets]—or, more exactly, guided missiles—capable of having the effect that Moilin describes here. He was neither the first nor the last writer of futuristic fiction to take it for granted that warfare would have to be abandoned once sufficiently powerful weapons were developed, and could not know what a horrible error that was.

  9 Although velocipedes (i.e, bicycles) were not really new in 1869, there is a sense in which they were the “latest thing,” the innovative addition of pedals to the front wheel of the mass-produced Michaux velocipede provoking a veritable craze on the boulevards of Paris from late 1867 to the outbreak of the Franco-Prussian War.

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