Down there, behind the blast furnaces, the tall chimneys and the domes of electric power-stations of the great industrial museum of the Tuileries, in the center of the cradle of Lutèce, floating between the two arms of the Seine—old Lutèce grown up and transformed, elongated, widened, inflated and hypertrophied—stand the towers of Notre-Dame, the old cathedral, surmounted by a transparent iron edifice, a simple aerial carcass in the ogival style, like the church, bearing a second platform eight meters above the platform of the towers, with the central aerial omnibus office, a police station, a restaurant and a concert hall for religious music. The Tour Saint-Jacques is visible not far away, similarly surmounted at a height of fifty meters by an immense electric clock and a second platform, around which there is a vertically-organized aircab rank.
Numerous aerial edifices protrude above the hundred thousand landing-stages of the houses, above roofs on which are displayed, from one summit to the next, gigantic advertisements for a thousand various products. One can make out, first of all, the landing-stages of the major airship omnibus lines, the transatlantic airship wharfs—constructions of every form and style, monumental but very light, borne on transparent iron frameworks—and the great central platform of the Tubes, more massive, projecting Tubes in every direction, sometimes carried on long iron viaducts or traversing hills laden with houses through tunnels. Then there are many other various more or less tower-like edifices, district beacons, police stations and aerial posts for atmospheric surveillance—so difficult by night in spite of the beams of electric light projected by the beacons—the landing-stages of great establishments or stores.
A few quarters appear to be veiled by a tight and tangled lattice-work of electric wires, which seem to envelop them in gigantic spider-webs. Too many wires! These networks running in every direction are, in some places, an obstacle to aerial traffic; many accidents have been caused by them during the hours of night, in spite of the glare of the beacons and roof-lighting, and on many occasions passengers in aircabs have been electrocuted in passage, or wounded and almost decapitated by encountering an unperceived wire.
Close to the Lorris house is one of the most ancient of the light edifices climbing into the clouds, constructed long ago by an engineer who anticipated the great aerial traffic of our time, the ancient and very venerable Eiffel Tower, built in the last century, a trifle rusty and tilted. In the course of a very necessary complete restoration, the tower has recently received considerable augmentation. Its two lower stages are encased in magnificent and decorative platforms with an area of several hectares, organized as winter gardens, supported by two rings or iron arches in a grand style. As a counterpart, rising up into the air on the other side of the river, are the domes, terraces and spires of the Cloud Palace, the great international hotel with strange architecture, constructed on top of the old Arc de Triomphe by a finance company, which ruined two sets of shareholders with all its splendors, but which has superimposed veritable marvels on the Arc de Triomphe, sold by the State during a period of financial embarrassment after the twelfth revolution.
Further away, above the Bois de Boulogne, divided into small squares, rises Carton-Ville, a quarter thus baptized because of its vast and elegant investment properties, entirely constructed in agglomerated paper pulp, rendered more solid than steel and more resistant than stone to intemperate weather, with lesser thickness—which saves on space. That is the future; little use is made in modern construction of the heavy materials of old. Stone is almost disdained; pyrogranite has taken its place in monumental constructions, disposed in molded cubes much more resistant than stone and amenable to a thousand fashions of façade decoration. Only in certain instances is there any longer any recourse to iron when solid supports are required, in the form of columns or colonnettes, and cardboard-pulp is now employed everywhere, concurrently with plates of glass, forming transparent walls that allow the show-rooms of houses to be penetrated with light.
Large stores and certain other establishments, such as banks, are now constructed entirely in plate glass; industry has even succeeded in producing cubes ten meters square in a single piece, interior walls for offices, and belvederes too.
Philox Lorris wants to make his small house, so admirably located, a model of interior design. The head of his engineer-construction section is on the job. Georges Lorris provides his ideas and plans—which are, to some extent, Estelle’s ideas and plans, and hence Madame Lacombe’s—but his father imperturbably sets them aside or modifies them so completely that Georges no longer recognizes them. No matter—all will be well.
The landing-stage, twelve meters above the roof, is entirely fabricated in glass, supported by graceful and artistic iron arches. A cupola, surmounted by an electric beacon, shelters four elevators serving Monsieur and Madame’s private apartments, the reception rooms and the wing containing the laboratories and work-rooms. On one side of the landing-platform the large service-elevator opens, next to the airship garage, a tall rectangular tower at a corner of the house, which has space for ten superimposed vehicles, with openings for the ten floors on one side.
The reception rooms are utterly sumptuous; the previous owner had made them into a photo-painting gallery. Philox Lorris has replaced the departed pictures with four large decorative panels depicting Water, Air, Fire and Electricity: animated panels—alive, so to speak—rather than cold paintings. In each of these vast decorations, by means of an entirely new method, around the allegorical statue of the element represented, the element itself plays a role.
On the panel dedicated to the humid element, water streams and veritably cascades over a bed of rocks and shells, animated by specimens of the most remarkable inhabitants of the sea, real or artificial fish—real for the smaller species and, in the distance, miniature representations, with carefully-regulated automatic movements, of more formidable species.
The panel consecrated to Fire is the natural counterpart of Water. Fire is allegorically represented by a figure with the upper body of a woman on a salamander’s body with a long coiled tail; around the figure are veritable flames, but devoid of heat, designing sparkling spirals, and, in the background, a an erupting volcano emits rivers of flamboyant lava, the colors of which can be varied at will.
One can imagine the magnificent themes with which the two other elements, Air and Electricity have furnished the artistic decorator.
In the Air panel, in the midst of magnificent cloud effects produced, with the inexhaustible variety of Nature herself, by a special method, the inhabitants of the atmosphere pass: charming small-scale airships with contours attenuated by the vapors, absolutely as in nature. The entire panel is admirably regulated; the aspects changing at will, one has ravishing sunrises and sunsets, and even superb effects of veritable nights constellated with stars, a reduction of our nocturnal skies to azured roads powdered with golden sand, as the poets put it.
As for Electricity, the technological artist has obtained a fine decorative effect from the curious apparatus of production and transmission, and Philox Lorris has placed a large Tele screen as the central motif above the allegorical figure.
We therefore truly see in this the art of the future. After the painting of old, the timid artistic essays of Raphael, Titian, Rubens, David, Delacroix, Carolus Duran and other primitives, we have had photo-painting, which already represented an immense progress; the photo-painters of today will be surpassed by the phono-picto-technologists of tomorrow. Thus, art is always progressing.
Is there any need to say that Monsieur’s and Madame’s study-laboratories, fitted out by the cares of Philox Lorris—who did not hesitate to sacrifice a whole half hour to drawing up the detailed plans by hand—are provided with all the instruments and improved apparatus indispensable for serious studies?
Madame Lacombe, who followed the work of installation with understandable interest, while her daughter was working in Philox Lorris’ main laboratory, did not spare her admiration when she believed it to be legitimately merited
, nor her criticisms when there was reason, but it was not very easy to impart her observations to the father of her future son-in-law. Philox Lorris, horribly miserly with his time, had given a simple phonograph responsibility for receiving her observations, to which the same phonograph only replied the following day, when it deigned to reply at all.
My first impression of the eccentric Philox Lorris was correct! Madame Lacombe said to her herself, while being careful not to think aloud. Philox Lorris is a boor! At the end of the day, it’s not him we’re marrying. His poor wife is a martyr. Fortunately, Georges is gentle and charming; my daughter will be happy!
One thing worried Madame Lacombe: she could not see a kitchen in that house, so well-appointed. One day, she took the chance of expressing her astonishment to the scientist’s phono.
The reply came the following day.
“A kitchen!” exclaimed the phono. “Do you really think so, my dear Madame? That’s for the refractory retrogrades and tardigrades of progress! Twenty years from now, there will only be houses with kitchens in miserable hamlets lost in the depths of the country! Social economy, properly understood, proscribes little private kitchens, where the elaboration of petty dishes is necessarily and in every way more expensive than large-scale production of the same dishes in a central kitchen. There will be no kitchen in my son’s home any more than in my own. We’re subscribers to a big Alimentation Company and meals arrive already prepared via a series of special tubes and dispensers. One doesn’t have to do anything. It saves time, which is precious, and a lot of money too!”
“Thank you!” said Madame Lacombe. “You can call me a tardigrade if you wish, but I prefer our little household kitchen, where I can cook mice little treats whenever I please. Your great Alimentation Company is nothing but mass-production.”
“I can assure you,” said the phono, which seemed to have anticipated objections, “that the cuisine is succulent and the menus very varied. It’s not vulgar scullions. Madame, or ignorant cordon bleu chefs, who prepare our meals, but educated, fully-qualified culinary engineers, who have taken their studies a long way. They’re under the direction of a committee of the most distinguished hygienists, who know how to organize our meals according to the principles of good hygiene and furnish us with a rational alimentation. Instead of dishes put together by chefs devoid of medical responsibility, at the hazard of inspiration, any which way, the Company furnishes the nourishment appropriate to the season and the circumstances, refreshing or fortifying, abundant in strong meat or vegetables when it is judged good for general health…and there has been seen, among the subscribers, a considerable improvement in gouts, gastralgias, dyspepsias and so on.”
The phono paused, seemingly waiting for Madame Lacombe’s objections, which, being suspicious, she refrained from formulating. After a few moments, the phono continued, with a hint of irony in its voice,
“In any case, it’s shameful for people of our epoch to be overly preoccupied with satisfactions of the stomach. That insignificant organ ought not to rake precedence over and oppress the brain, the sovereign organ, Madame. Besides which, these questions are unimportant; you know full well that people no longer have an appetite nowadays.”
Madame Lacombe sighed. “Right! He’s a miser; I suspected as much.”
It was also Philox Loris who took charge of hiring the necessary staff. Madame Lacombe was terribly surprised when she found out that the staff in question would consist simply of a concierge, a qualified mechanic and an assistant mechanic—no chambermaid or valet, as well as no cook.
Fortunately, my daughter has Grettly! She thought.
Philox Lorris had charged his phono with interviewing the candidates for the jobs. There was a veritable queue for several days. The apparatus recorded the applications and photographed the candidates. That way, Philox Lorris could make his choice without idle chitchat and without wasting time. He rejected numerous candidates unable to demonstrate completion of their studies, only good for serving the petty bourgeoisie, who were less demanding of qualifications; it was also necessary to reject graduates whose careers had been hindered by circumstance.
“What degrees do you have?” the phonograph asked the candidates. “Speak, and please display your certificates.”
The concierge and his wife had, in addition to the finest references, baccalaureates in science; as for the mechanics, they had graduated high in the lists of the École Centrale. One could safely entrust the electrical energies of the home to their care.
It was thus that the house destined for the young couple was organized. In spite of Madame Lacombe’s loud protests, Philox Lorris stood his ground and implemented his program accepted without any modification. He was able to furnish the house with all the improvements that contemporary technology has brought to everyday life—improvements that permit one to dispense with the maids, domestic servants and the numerous personnel that our ancestors had to maintain.
II
Philox Lorris did not like unoccupied women. It was, moreover, a generally adopted principle. To a woman who is the equal of a man, having received the same education, and having had the same political rights as a man, as a voter and candidate for election, for more than thirty years, all careers once closed are open. It is an immense progress, although certain women reactionary in spirit, including Madame Philox Lorris, claim that they have lost by it. Alas, all the liberal careers that were overcrowded even when they were only open to men, are much more so now that women can be notaries, advocates, doctors, engineers, etc. Thanks to vigorous campaigns undertaken by the leaders of the Feminist Party, we now have female mayors, and even a few female sub-prefects, and we shall soon see a female cabinet minister! Evidently, one of the most beautiful and most profitable of careers, that which nourished its man the best, as people used to say, also nourishes its woman; the political industry, great and small, on the governmental side or that of the opposition, already counts numerous female notables.
Women thus work alongside men, like men, doing as much as men, in offices, shops, factories and the Bourse! In this era of industrialism and electrism, when life has become so deplorably costly, everyone is feverishly busy, men and women alike. The woman who is not able to find employment for her faculties in her husband’s industry must create another alongside it; she opens a shop, founds a periodical or a bank, strives hard and to excess, as he does, in the great battle of interests, in the midst of overexcited competition.
What becomes of home life and children in this whirlwind? Household chores have been lightened considerably by the alimentation companies that nourish families on subscription; for the rest, there are hired women, less well-educated or less ambitious, who take charge of it. As for children, who are a considerable embarrassment to such busy people, the schools take them in at the most tender age, and then the colleges, and one only has the trimesterly fees to pay—which is already quite enough.
Madame Philox Lorris was an exception to this rule. She remained a complete stranger to her husband’s enterprises, had never put in an appearance at his laboratories or his offices and had not launched any enterprise of her own. She had even disdained politics, where her husband’s position would have provided her with an initial stepping-stone. She did not go out much. The rumor went around that she was occupied with the philosophical sciences, and that she meditated metaphysical problems in the depths of her study, harnessed to a great work of esoteric philosophy. That was how people liked to imagine the wife of the most illustrious representative of modern science: plunged into research in the midst of books, launched into the pathways of the unknown, in the forest of hypotheses, through the tangled undergrowth of errors, in search of elevated moral truths, as her husband was in the pursuit of great physical laws.
Philox Lorris had assigned Estelle Lacombe a place in the great laboratory, in the research section—the most important, the engineers of the research section forming, so to speak, the scientist’s general staff and working with him under his supe
rvision. They are, for the most part, glories of science, scientists grown old in laboratories, famous for a long time, and still paling with joy among books and instruments, or young people whose nascent genius Philox Lorris has detected and whom the illustrious master launches, full of ardor, on the unexplored side-tracks of all the highways that might lead to the discovery of the secrets of nature.
What was poor Estelle, with her mediocre scientific baggage, to do in the midst of those scientific luminaries? The questions that are the order of the day in the laboratory, the subjects of study, are much more arduous, complicated and difficult than the questions and subjects that were the most challenging in the days when she was working toward her examinations for the qualification of engineer! In the course of the discussions she heard, whenever she tried to reach an understanding, even superficially, the problems raised, it seemed to her that her head might explode.
To begin with, Estelle had been adjoined to the few ladies attached to the research section—scientists no less eminent in their various specialisms than their bearded colleagues. One of those ladies, who had graduated the head of her class in the female section of the École Polytechnique, had initially seemed to take an interest in the young woman, whom she assumed, by reason of her entry to the great laboratory, to have transcendent faculties—but the depth of Estelle’s scientific knowledge had quickly become apparent to her, and then, with a scornful grimace, she had turned her back on the representative of antique and dolorous feminine futility.
Estelle therefore became the secretary of Philox Lorris’ own engineer-secretary, Sulfatin, the illustrious scientist’s right arm. That was more to her liking, firstly because Sulfatin, who showed her a certain condescension, no longer intimidated her, but most of all because it brought her closer to Georges Lorris. She spent her time thereafter in the great hall of the secretariat, ready to take notes, to transmit a few occasional orders, or to receive instructions from Philox Lorris by phonograph, destined to be communicated, as the orders of the day, to his innumerable section heads. Philox Lorris always made use of the phonograph; in that fashion, always and everywhere, even in the most distant factories, the voice of the big chief made itself heard and maintained the ardor of his collaborators.
Electric Life Page 11
