In A Thousand Years

by Emile Calvet

  “It’s packed to the rafters,” he said, “and the higher you go, the more remote the epochs become.” Slowly, he added: “I’ve found urns from the 20th century.” He waited to see what effect his discovery had on the two scientists.

  “That doesn’t interest us directly,” said Antius, simply.

  “Yes, but it interests me—or might,” Gédéon replied.

  “Do you believe that your own ashes are up there, under the roof?” asked Terrier.

  “Why not? We’ve seen stranger things. I’ll come back.”

  “If the ashes of generations that immediately followed ours are enclosed on vases of precious metal,” the doctor observed, “it’s probable that they were put there subsequently, for gold was surely still very rare in the 20th century.”

  “The uniformity of the models,” the physicist added, “is sufficient indication that expenses of that nature are met by the State.”

  “We can go downstairs if you want,” Antius proposed. “We can have a look around the lower floor.”

  “I wouldn’t be sorry to see the combustion apparatus,” the physicist declared.

  “For my part, I don’t want much to,” said Gédéon. “It would make my blood run cold.”

  The visitors went down to the ground floor. The interior courtyard was still as noisy as before.

  In the vestibule, a man sitting on a marble bench was reading his newspaper attentively, savoring and enormous cigar. At the sight of the strangers, the smoker got up and headed toward them.

  “I’m one of the wardens of the building, Monsieur,” he said. “I greatly regret being absent when you arrived. I would have had the honor of accompanying you and giving you any directions that might have been useful to you.”

  “We thank you, Monsieur,” Antius replied to the obliging individual. “We’ve gone around the whole first floor, and we’re quite satisfied with our visit—but we’d be very grateful if you would tell us what the lower floors of the building contain.”

  “Messieurs,” said the warden, “the left wing of the monument is divided into three large rooms intended for the urns of the present century. The first two are full and the third is ready to receive its guests. To the right is the library and the archive hall; the latter is specifically designed for historical research. Facing us is the hall of records of the inhabitants of Paris, including genealogies drawn up with great care. A few go back to the beginning of the 20th century.”

  “The incineration apparatus isn’t here, then?” asked the physicist.

  “No, Monsieur, the crematoria are ten leagues from the city. Bodies are transported there by balloon, and as soon as they have been reduced to ashes they are put in urns that are immediately sealed. We receive them once a week, and they’re definitively placed and catalogued. I hope, Messieurs, that you will do me the honor of casting an eye over the records hall, which is my special responsibility.”

  “We accept with gratitude, Monsieur,” said the doctor.

  The warden advanced to the door that was facing them and opened its two battens, standing aside to let his guests through.

  The travelers went into a richly ornamented room whose sides were hidden by four walls of richly-bound folio volumes. Every shelf bore an indicative letter that facilitated research. A vast table covered with a thick green velvet cloth and surrounded by armchairs was at the disposal of those who wanted to consult the precious documents.

  The doctor could not help congratulating the warden on the admirable order that reigned in the splendid room. The functionary received the compliments with a modesty mingled with satisfaction.

  The travelers made a tour of the room.

  A few moments later, they thanked their cicerone and left the Necropolis, marveling at what they had seen.

  XXVI. Insurance Tax

  At six o’clock precisely, the strangers entered the school’s main courtyard. Herber was waiting for them, sitting in the shade with a pamphlet in his hand. As usual, the schoolmaster asked about his guests’ promenade.

  The two scientists recounted all the details of the strange visit they had just made, and each expressed his admiration for the pious care that the living rendered to the dead.

  “Incineration, Messieurs, as practiced today,” said the schoolmaster, “connects all the links of the chain of the ages intimately. By its grace, no individual is forgotten absolutely; it creates a kind of historical immortality for the humblest as well as the most illustrious. Everyone can draw inspiration from the virtues or merits of his ancestors, however obscure they might have been.

  “In spite of the evident superiority of the system—or, to be more respectful, the institution—it only became general in the 22nd century. Today it is adopted exclusively by all peoples and has entered so intimately into mores that those who are not familiar with history refused to admit that even in the distant past people could have consented to abandoning bodies to corruption by burying them in the soil.

  “Respect for the dead in our epoch is such that there is no city in the entire world where the dwelling of those who are no more is not more magnificent than those of the living.”

  The parlor bell rang, and the four men headed for the dining room, where Madame Herber welcomed them with her charming smile.

  During the meal, the sky became gradually cloudier, and as the diners were about to leave the table, a few precipitate flashes of lightning were illuminating the horizon. Soon, large drops of water began to fall on the terrace.

  “Here’s the rain at last,” said Herber, with evident satisfaction, “and doubtless a cooler temperature.”

  “Is this atmospheric perturbation the result of disturbances determined last night in the upper atmosphere?” asked Antius.

  “Undoubtedly,” the schoolmaster replied, “and it rarely takes as long for the result to be produced.”

  The sky was becoming darker by the minute. Suddenly, the rain began to fall violently.

  “This abrupt change in the weather, in the absence of any appreciable atmospheric current and any lowering of pressure must indeed by effected by local causes,” declared the physicist.

  The dry weather that has persisted for two months in our regions had worried the cultivators greatly,” said Herber, and the decision was made by the Académie des Sciences’ Meteorological Committee was not unconnected with those apprehensions.”

  “The government ought never to lose sight of such questions,” remarked Antius, “for when the harvest is bad, tax returns inevitably fall.”

  “Tax returns?” said Herber.

  “Of course. Doesn’t everyone contribute to the expenses of State?”

  “You mean insurance?”

  “I don’t know what you mean by that.”

  “Insurance covers all expenses of a general order,” the schoolmaster replied. “It’s obvious that the public Treasury, which flows out incessantly through two main arteries—education and public works—has to be alimented by the mass of citizens. That universal outflow is made up by means of variable premiums, paid regularly. In return, the State guarantees everyone not only efficacious protection and the rigorous maintenance of his rights, but also, in case of disaster occasioned by causes independent of his will, indemnifies the insured individual against any losses he might make and damages he might sustain.

  “Each citizen’s capital is therefore immovable—and by capital in this instance I mean all the forces of production. A scientist, for example, holds in his brain a capital as important as that of the millionaire, so his insurance premium is rather high. If old age, illness or some accident interrupts his work, the State immediately ensures his wealth. By means of that system, the artisan is sheltered from poverty, the capitalist from ruin.

  “When he reaches old age, the worker no longer sees the phantom of poverty looming up ahead of him, for, from the day when the instrument of his labor becomes to heavy for him to bear, his insurance premium guarantees him an abundant existence of ease, honored until the end of his
days.

  “I beg you to observe how superior our economic system is to those which preceded it. It is honorable, because it constitutes an essential contract with society—a contract that begins with life and only concludes with death. It is equitable, for it is proportional to the interests engaged. Finally, it is based on a simple and true principle, for it is universally approved.”

  While concluding this speech Herber had advanced to the window and had darted a glance at the sky, the diluvian aspect of which was still becoming darker, in spite of the torrents of water that were falling relentlessly.

  “Messieurs,” he said, “We shall have rain until tomorrow. For this evening, to my great regret, we shall be forced to renounce those long twilight conversations that I find so pleasant and interesting.”

  A few minutes later the strangers, after having shaken hands with their host, went back to their apartment. They met in the doctor’s room and discussed the following day’s program.

  At eleven o’clock Antius gave his companions to understand that the time had arrived to go to bed, giving the signal for retreat by picking up his majestic head-dress from his pillow. Considering this gesture as an injunction, Terrier and Gédéon immediately retired.

  XXVII. A Model School

  The next morning, the physicist, on opening his eyes, was surprised by the brightness of the sunlight playing upon his curtains.

  “Bad weather doesn’t last long here,” he said, with satisfaction “Although the need for water makes itself keenly felt, my colleagues have sagely measured the dose. One is sometimes pleased to see rain arrive, but one always sees it disappear without regret.”

  With that aphorism, he got up without difficulty and immediately preceded with his toilette. As soon as he was ready he went to the doctor’s room. He was about to knock lightly when the clock struck eight.

  “If I’m not mistaken,” he observed, my friend will just be getting up. Let’s give him time to ply his razor.” And he began a circular stroll around the vestibule.

  At quarter past eight, he set a straight course for Antius’ door and knocked.

  The doctor came to open it, still sponging his face. “Bonjour, Terrier,” he said. “I’m sure the same thoughts have been agitating us since we woke up.”

  “If you mean the two important events—the session of the Académie and our introduction to the Central African nabob—you’re right,” the professor replied.

  “That’s exactly what I was thinking about,” declared Antus. “In the former case, we shall be playing the roles, you of the alchemist Basilius Valentinus36 and me of Paracelsus, witnessing an academic session at the end of the 19th century.”

  “Undoubtedly,” the physicist replied, “but we’ve already seen so many astonishing things that we can now hear anything without peril.

  “As for the second question, it’s necessary to recognize that it’s very grave, for, in spite of—or, rather, because of—the splendor of the hospitality we’re receiving, we can’t stay here for much longer.”

  Terrier nodded approvingly.

  “But there’s one considerable obstacle to success.”

  “What?”

  “The impoverished personality of my nephew,” said the doctor, gripping his interlocutor’s arm. “What can be done with him?”

  “Don’t worry so much about me, if you please,” answered a clear voice from the corridor—and the young man came in.

  “We were just talking about you,” said Antius.

  “I know—but when you want to award me a qualification in your fashion, put a little more mystery into it. It’s not necessary, in such cases, to let the entire neighborhood into your confidence.”

  “In any case, there’ll be time to think about it if and when difficulties arise,” Terrier remarked, whose character as a peacemaker was always manifest in such circumstances.

  The travelers went downstairs.

  As they set foot in the courtyard Herber, emerging from the opposite wing, came toward them at a rapid pace.

  “Messieurs,” said the schoolmaster, extending his hands toward the strangers, “I’ve just received our tickets for the solemn session of the Académie des Sciences.”

  The travelers thanked their host warmly.

  “If I weren’t retained by a few tasks that can’t be put off,” the schoolmaster continued, “I’d gladly accompany you in the stroll that you habitually take before breakfast, but we’ll meet up again at table.”

  “I believe that the best use we could make of the two hours we have before us,” Antius proposed, “is to devote them to a visit to the school buildings—if that wouldn’t cause you any inconvenience, my dear Master.”

  “You’re completely at home,” said Herber. “I’ll give you a guide.”

  “We thank you sincerely for the offer, but it’s unnecessary. With your permission, we’ll conduct the inspection alone, which will have all the charm of the unexpected.”

  “You’re right, Doctor,” Herber replied, smiling, and drew away.

  The travelers headed for the central block, and went through it. Having gone up a short staircase they went through a large gallery and found themselves in the interior courtyard.

  Shielded from the ardent rays of the sun by the ancient trees, they advanced toward the main building, whose grandiose architecture unfurled progressively before their eyes.

  A profound silence reigned in the school.

  “The Necropolis is far more animated,” Gédéon murmured.

  The arched bays of the gymnastics hall caught the young man’s gaze, and he drew his companions toward the entrance door.

  They went into an immense hall, in which the most varied and most ingenious items of apparatus were disposed in perfect order. At the back was the entrance to a hydrotherapy room.

  When they left the gymnasium the travelers went into the central building, the ground floor of which was occupied by laboratories of physics, chemistry and the natural sciences, presently deserted. The abundance and quality of the instruments struck the physicist with admiration.

  The travelers went up to the first floor and into a long gallery reserved for scientific collections. A few young people, occupied in drawing up catalogues or arranging display-cases, surprised by the arrival of the strangers, stopped work, bowed respectfully and maintained a perfect immobility while the visitors passed through.

  When they left the edifice, Antius drew his companions toward the school library, a large room with a hemispherical vault, walled from top to bottom with technical works and cluttered with elliptical tables laden with atlases, relief maps and terrestrial and celestial globes of colossal dimensions.

  Gédéon was attracted by an apparatus operated by a clockwork mechanism, which reproduced with the greatest accuracy the general movement of the planetary system, and stood their absorbed in its contemplation. In the meantime, the two scientists went around the room, inspecting the shelves.

  Suddenly, the physicist reached out for a treatise on optics, and started reading it feverishly.

  The doctor had discovered a dictionary of physiology, and, carried away by emotion, read the most interesting passages aloud.

  The clock in the room, chiming half past ten, tore the young man away from his examination of the satellites of Jupiter. He hastened to warn his companions, who seemed to be equally absorbed in their research.

  Regretfully, the two scientists left the room, where they could have reconstituted the chain of scientific progress, so abruptly broken off, year by year.

  Five minutes later, they were back in the main building. As they set foot in the main courtyard they found themselves face to face with Herber, who was coming to meet them. While expressing their admiration for the size, the magnificence and the richness of the establishment they had just visited, the school’s guests headed for the dining room with their host.

  XXVII. The Académie des Sciences

  At one o’clock in the afternoon, the travelers, accompanied by the school
master, took their leave from the mistress of the house for the remainder of the day.

  The schoolmaster, invited along with his friends by Guillaume Dryon, to whose home they would go on leaving the session of the Académie des Sciences, had warned Madame Herbert that they would not be returning to the school before midnight.

  Charged with the most sympathetic good wishes, the four men went down to the Museum plaza and headed for the avenue that led to the Seine.

  The torrid heat of the preceding days had diminished under the previous night’s torrential rain and he air, mild and lukewarm, was embalmed by the emanations of flowers that had recovered all their freshness and brightness.

  After walking for a quarter of an hour, the school’s guests reached the bank of the river, whose waters were sparkling in the sunlight.

  An electric carriage of colossal proportions came rapidly along the quay toward the travelers. It stopped abruptly at the end of the bridge and let off a few passengers. Before the driver had started the machine moving again, Herber and his companions had climbed the stairway to the upper deck and installed themselves comfortably there.

  The vehicle pursuit its rapid course beneath the dense vault of the chestnut trees.

  At times, the waters of the river glistened through gaps in the foliage.

  An unusual crowd was moving downriver, and the name of the scientist Ho-wey-hu reached the ears of the travelers several times.

  Gédéon, lulled by the gentle and flexible movement of the vehicle and gradually invaded by the penetrating perfume of the flowers, became drowsy.

  “Today’s session,” said Herber, “will attract half of Paris into the vicinity of the session hall, for, in addition to the interest provoked in the public by scientific matters, there has been discussion for a month of the discovery of the president of the Honolulu Academy of Sciences. The curious, although they know that they will be unable to get into the building, will be enthusiastic to collect the results first hand.”