The Supreme Progress

by Brian Stableford

  The young man, endowed with a vivid, almost undisciplined, imagination, had no taste for astronomical studies, and did not want to do anything but paint and compose verses. He has, in fact, left behind poems highly rated by specialists, although they have a characteristic strangeness scarcely tolerable to those who, like me, only like the normal and uncontestable masterpieces of the 25th century. Let us return to our story.

  Studies of the Venusian flora were carried out by exchange, in accordance with normal practice—which is to say that it was necessary to transmit as many specimens of terrestrial flora as were received from Venus. Use was made to this effect of the great battery of 3000 50-centimeter objectives and the adjoining reflectors. It is common knowledge that this battery, which resembles an immense insectile eye, and which cost the constructors 29 years of work and the government 95 millions, is still one of the finest batteries on Earth. Images are reproduced at 1/400th of their diameter by the distance between Earth and Venus, with the consequence that it suffices for Venusian astronomers to magnify the images 400 times on the transmission surface to enable us to receive them at their actual size.

  An exchange of Venusian and terrestrial botanical specimens was therefore under way, and the battery was constantly aimed at a Venusian peak, which it is unnecessary to identify. The director, absorbed by the powerful interest of his research, had the idea—more unfortunate than culpable—of making use of his son’s help in the fixation and classification of the photographs transmitted to him. Later, he went so far as to confide the direct observation-post at the ocular to the young man. This can only be explained by a sort of senile folly, for, in order to explain such a grave neglect of metaplanetary convention during the inquiry, the unfortunate director simply alleged that he had been suffering eyestrain at the time. But let us continue.

  The great botanical research project occupied half of the transmission time; the other half was dedicated to current correspondence. The young man was therefore acquainted with the entire procedural operation of that correspondence, without any preparatory studies, regulation, grade or taking any oath!

  The subordinate astronomers, perhaps more concerned with protecting their salaries than looking out for the interests of society, or perhaps because of their otherwise-praiseworthy habit of absolute obedience and respect with regard to their director, let things be. At any rate, as they told the enquiry, the correspondence service was conducted, in these irregular conditions, in a very active and fecund manner.

  Simply for the sake of the story’s convenience, I shall call the young man by the banal and commonplace name of Glaux. Glaux, therefore, seemed suddenly to have taken his ocular functions very much to heart, He asked everyone about possible improvements relating to the transmission process. He even became the first person to put into practice many means previously neglected as purely theoretical and inapplicable. Indeed, it is only since these events that we have been able to transmit and receive sonorous phenomena. The utility of that has been denied; it is argued that we do not have much understanding of Venusian music, and that, with respect to spoken languages, we can only have them pronounced by mechanical articulators. Speaking them ourselves, it is added, would be a waste of time, except in the evidently absurd supposition of an interplanetary voyage. This is, in my opinion, an excessively hasty and ill-tempered conclusion—but I shall move on.

  Whence came this sudden astronomical zeal? Its cause would have been easy to anticipate, if the old routine did not bring the majority of men to consider the most natural things in the world as strange or impossible. In truth, science has progressed more rapidly than reason and common sense.

  This is what had happened.

  Glaux, having concluded the current transmissions one day, was about to quit his post when he saw a creature advancing across the terrace of the Venusian observatory that he did not recognize as belonging to its personnel.

  Positing in advance that I am taking account of the distinctions and restrictions of science, I shall say, in order to speak briefly, that it was a woman.

  Here my task as a narrator becomes difficult. It would be impossible if ordinance CXVII itself had not exactly defined the offences of expression. I shall therefore keep strictly within legal limits and I shall be very sparing with details.

  It was, therefore, a woman. Glaux, piqued by curiosity, observed her movements. She went idly back and forth, I cannot say anything about her extraterrestrial beauty, or of her attire, of which our most sumptuous flowers give only a dull and monotonous idea. Only sworn astronomers of the 11th grade can be precisely informed in these matters, and that by other means than a description formulated in words.

  But here She is, arriving at the terrestrial correspondence apparatus, and pausing there. Glaux then makes the greeting customary at the beginning of correspondence. She replies very pertinently, repressing what might be called, by virtue of a legitimate analogy, a burst of laughter. These details come from a journal in prose and verse that Glaux left behind.

  By means of a few exchanged signs, Glaux sees with surprise that She is familiar—perhaps more so than him—with the interplanetary language, and the dialogue continues. But Earth and Venus rotate; atmospheric refractions blue the images and soon permit no more than the several-times-repeated signs: Until tomorrow! It is from that day onwards that Glaux is seen to put so much zeal and ingenious activity into his job of correspondent.

  Did he imagine for himself those marvelous methods, which one no longer thinks of admiring, now that their usage is continual, or were they communicated to him? Perhaps they were the indiscretions, very advantageous to us, of the young Venusian woman, careless—as women generally are—of keeping the scientific secrets of her planet.

  You have guessed, of course, that the two young people were smitten with one another. What folly! What a deplorable consequence of a failure to observe the rules!

  They thought they could vanquish the distance that separated them by exchanging the most complete accounts of themselves. They sent one another their photographs in series sufficient for the reproduction of three-dimensionality and movements.33 In the hours when observation had finished, Glaux shut himself up in a room and reproduced the moving image of his beloved in smoke or dust: an impalpable image made of light alone. He also realized her motionless form in plastic substances.

  It is then that they thought of sending the sound of their voices, their words, their songs. All of that was recorded in curves and reproduced by an electrical tuning-fork apparatus.34 I cannot say anything about the words and songs (?) that came from so far away.

  Everything that I have just stated so briefly—for good reason—lasted three years.

  The third year was terrible, a mixture of ecstasy and despair. Would it have been possible to save the two lunatics at that point, by forceful measures? It is doubtful. The harm was done, irreparable. One evening, when our dusk corresponded with dusk in the Venusian country in question, and all the preparations had been made on both sides. Glaux and the young woman exchanged one last kiss across implacable space and killed themselves.

  This catastrophe nearly compromised the good relationship between two planets, for the young Venusian woman was the daughter of one of the most powerful astronomers of that world. Everything was settled by precise metaplanetary conventions, which were then put in place. Ordinance CXVII has implemented these conventions of Earth. The unfortunate consequences that were momentarily dreaded will thus be avoided.

  All Glaux’s papers, photographs, photosculptures and phonographs are filed in the central archives. It is necessary, as I have said, to have reached the 11th grade to have access to them.

  Despite what I have just recounted, by superior authorization, I would not be surprised to see the Satirists continue to deny the expediency of ordinance CXVII.

  THE END

  Charles Cros: The Science of Love

  (1874)

  While still very young, I had a fine fortune and a taste for science—b
ut not the airy, pretentious science that believes it can create a world entire and leaps into the blue atmosphere of the imagination. I have always thought, in accord with the tightly-organized cohort of modern scientists, that man is merely a recorder of brute facts, a secretary of palpable nature; that the truth, conceived not in a few vain generalizations, but in an immense and confused volume, is only partially accessible by scrapers, clippers, ferreters, porters and warehousers of actual, observable and undeniable facts—in a word, that it is necessary to be an ant, a mite, a rotifer, a bacterium or anything at all to transport one’s atom into the infinity of atoms that comprise the majestic pyramid of scientific truths. To observe and observe, and, above all, never to think, dream or imagine: that is the splendor of present-day method.

  It was with these sound doctrines that I entered into life, and as soon as I had taken my first steps, a marvelous project, a genuine scientific windfall, came to mind.

  When I learned physics, I said to myself: people have studied gravity, heat, electricity, magnetism and light; the mechanical equivalent of these forces has been or will be determined incontestably in a rigorous fashion—but all those who are working on the expression of these elements of future knowledge are only playing a paltry role in society. There are other forces that sagacious and patient observation ought to submit scientific intelligence. I shall not offer a general classification, because I consider them harmful to study and I have no such intention. In brief, I was led—how or why I do not know—to undertake a scientific study of love.

  I do not have an absolutely disagreeable physique—I am neither too tall nor too short, and no one has ever affirmed that I am dark or fair—except that I have eyes that are a little small, but rather shiny, which give me an appearance of stupidity useful in scientific societies but harmful in the world at large. Of that world, moreover, in spite of methodical efforts, I do not have a very clear knowledge, and it is a veritable masterpiece of self-composure that has enabled me to pursue my austere goal there without attracting attention.

  I said to myself: I wish to study love, not in the fashion of Don Juans, who amuse themselves without writing, not that of literary men, whose sentimentalize vaguely, but that of serious scientists. To establish the effect of heat on zinc, one takes a bar of zinc, heats it in water to a temperature rigorously determined by means of the best possible thermometer; one measures precisely the bar’s length, its tensile strength, its sonority and its calorific capacity, and one does the same at another temperature no less rigorously determined. It was by procedures as exact that I proposed to study love: a remarkable project for one of such a tender age—scarcely 25 years—and a difficult enterprise.

  Generally, by virtue of some inconvenient and perhaps culpable repugnance, people in love obstinately refrain from any scientific examination, particularly in those moments when examination would be most fruitful. Given that, my plan quickly ran into trouble. In order to study love, I told myself, it is necessary to take advantage of the best observation-post. The most intimate confidant is sent away during the characteristic interval. Only furniture, and sometimes a dog or a cat, witnesses the mysteries that an inexplicable fatality has so far concealed from analysis. I had, therefore, only one resource, which was to play the role of the amorous individual myself.

  Having little in the way of charm, in that the little accorded to me by nature had been etiolated by the shade of libraries and laboratory odors, I had recourse to my profound knowledge to render me worthy of feminine dreams.

  Oh, what cosmetic marvels I invented in that era: an insoluble puerile rouge; the blue-black of sleepless eyes; oils to render the skin diaphanous; galvanizations to give my legs a certain dash! But I was not naïve enough to count solely on the appearance of my physiognomy and the allure of my figure. It was necessary to acquire a thorough knowledge of the charming trivia that seduce young women, those ridiculous futilities to which the fair sex submits us.

  I went to find Chopin and said to him: “You’ve played the piano a great deal in society. What is the music that pleases women most?”

  He replied, without hesitation: “Rosellen’s Rêverie.”

  “40,000 francs, if you will teach me to play that reverie perfectly.”

  Chopin, ridiculously impractical, excused himself and recommended one of his pupils, Monsieur K***, as better than himself (which was, in fact true). Monsieur K*** accepted the 40,000 francs, and, as an honest man, taught me to play Rosellen’s Rêverie, and that alone.

  I was equipped in that respect.

  I went to find Musset and asked him: “What is the poetry that pleases women most?”

  Musset placed his index-finger on his eyebrow and said: “Acrostics.”

  “Here’s 50,000 francs; teach me acrostics.”

  Musset, an incorrigible Bohemian, did not understand that I was his Providence and sent me to Monsieur W***—I don’t want to reveal his name—a pupil I found to me much better than his master.35

  W*** took the 50,000 francs and made me and exquisite collection of acrostics, in all the names of feminine martyrology. Each name had three versions: blonde, brunette and chestnut. There was, in addition, a written promise of delivery for unexpected cases.

  Thus equipped, I entered resolutely into society.

  After numerous failures—it is so true that only can only learn by experience—which there is no need to relate, I finally found my opportunity. It was in a family living in the Marais, in one of those old parliamentary mansion houses. The whole first floor served as a paper store, and one had to climb the interminable steps of a large, patiently-forged stone staircase to the upper floor, where Monsieur D*** and his family lived. The honest and forgotten appearance of the house pleased me as soon as I set foot in it.

  Monsieur D*** had surrendered the paper store downstairs to the husband of his older daughter. Previously, with his pen stuck in his ear and his eyes on the bales, he had acquired a fortune large enough to assure a reasonable dowry to his younger daughter, while retaining enough to excite the “expectations” of his sons-in-law.

  They entertained every Saturday—small-scale receptions with tea, little cakes and so on. It was to marry off the daughter that they engaged in these simple joys; in addition, on the other days of the week, they paraded the said daughter around all the houses of the same society. I had passed through an immense number of these interiors, leaping about conscientiously to the sound of polkas and quadrilles that complacent mothers oozed from their soft fingers. As they ran into me everywhere, I was able to get myself invited to M. D***’s home. I had determined, in consequence of comparative examinations, that Mademoiselle D***’s complexion was more suitable than that of any other prospective young woman to my project.

  The situation was excellent. I was received in view of a possible marriage; they paid attention to me, they caused me to stand out, cleverly, in a manner calculated not to disgust the perhaps-eccentric character of the young lady. But my plan ran into difficulty. As it has long been notorious that marriage has no connection with love, it was necessary to maneuver to avoid that disastrous conclusion, which had already be offered to me frequently, and which I had fled, not without compromising myself somewhat.

  I therefore began by giving some advice to the mother on the subject of her exaggerated plumpness—all, of course, within the limits of the most exquisite politeness and even the most candid benevolence. This advice caused her to adopt a bittersweet tone and to provoke a profession of political faith, about which I had a few reservations. I hung in there, however, not wishing to hasten matters, and started chatting, in a slightly sad and preoccupied manner, with the young lady. I stopped in the middle of sentences that the Devil cold no more have completed than I could: “There are instances when the soul must rise above complexities…” Or: “The heart is a slave whose chains…” Or even: “The heart is a slave that cannot obey…” And so on.

  Then, after a sigh, I went to sit down at the piano and the irresistible Rêveri
e de Rossellen earned me delightful glances of submission over the shoulder of the young woman as she drank her tea.

  Her name was Virginie and she had chestnut-colored hair. My collection of acrostics included that particular case, in a form which read:

  Vous ne connaissez pas tous nos rêves de fièvre

  Indomptable, où le feu qui brûle notre lèvre

  Rend la vie impossible en ces salons railleurs.

  Grâce pourtant à vos regards (j’en suis comme ivre,

  Ivre d’azur profound), je me reprends à vivre,

  Naïf, aimant les bois. Si nous étions ailleurs,

  Il faudrait oublier famille, honneur, patrie,

  Et pense que je suis tout cela, ma chérie.36

  These lines, compiled for the occasion by my friend the poet W***, lent themselves marvelously to my project of seduction. As soon as I had slipped them adroitly into Virginie’s moist hand, the poor thing was submissive to my power from then on.

  One evening, as I took my cup of tea, I squeezed her little fingers beneath the saucer. Due to emotion, or perhaps intention on my part, the cup fell, broke on the corner of the piano, and the hot sugared tea with its cloud of ilk inundated my superb pearl-grey trousers.

  “Clumsy fool that I am!” I said, going pale by virtue of the scalding effect, insignificant as it was. “I’ve ruined your dress, Mademoiselle.”

  “You never upset anyone else’s, Virginie,” said her mother.

  “Madame, I assure you that it was me, by placing the cup on the edge of the piano….”

  “Anyhow, the maid can serve the tea and syrups.”

  The young woman disappeared. Oh, if I had been able to witness the night she must have had!

  In brief, I balanced my actions and gestures so well that the coldness of the parents increased at exactly the same rate as the daughter’s love. Subsequently, I exchanged words with her in low voices: she was unhappy, her parents detested me, it was necessary to spare their feelings, etc…