In the southwestern district of the city, on an eminence which had preserved
its ancient name of Fort Saint-Michel, there stretched a square where some old
trees still spread their exhausted arms above the greensward. Landscape
gardeners had constructed a cascade, grottos, a torrent, a lake, and an
island, on its northern slope. From this side one could see the whole town
with its streets, its boulevards, its squares, the multitude of its roofs and
domes, its air-passages, and its crowds of men, covered with a veil of
silence, and seemingly enchanted by the distance. This square was the
healthiest place in the capital; here no smoke obscured the sky, and children
were brought here to play. In summer some employees from the neighbouring
offices and laboratories used to resort to it for a moment after their
luncheons, but they did not disturb its solitude and peace.
It was owing to this custom that, one day in June, about mid-day, a telegraph
clerk, Caroline Meslier, came and sat down on a bench at the end of a terrace.
In order to refresh her eyes by the sight of a little green, she turned her
back to the town. Dark, with brown eyes, robust and placid, Caroline appeared
to be from twenty-five to twenty-eight years of age. Almost immediately, a
clerk in the Electricity Trust, George Clair, took his place beside her. Fair,
thin, and supple, he had features of a feminine delicacy; he was scarcely
older than she, and looked still younger. As they met almost every day in this
place, a comradeship had sprung up between them, and they enjoyed chatting
together. But their conversation had never been tender, affectionate, or even
intimate. Caroline, although it had happened to her in the past to repent of
her confidence, might perhaps have been less reserved had not George Clair
always shown himself extremely restrained in his expressions and behaviour. He
always gave a purely intellectual character to the conversation, keeping it
within the realm of general ideas, and, moreover, expressing himself on all
subjects with the greatest freedom. He spoke frequently of the organization of
society, and the conditions of labour.
"Wealth," said he, "is one of the means of living happily; but people have
made it the sole end of existence."
And this state of things seemed monstrous to both of them.
They returned continually to various scientific subjects with which they were
both familiar.
On that day they discussed the evolution of chemistry.
"From the moment," said Clair, "that radium was seen to be transformed into
helium, people ceased to affirm the immutability of simple bodies; in this way
all those old laws about simple relations and about the indestructibility of
matter were abolished."
"However," said she, "chemical laws exist."
For, being a woman, she had need of belief.
He resumed carelessly:
"Now that we can procure radium in sufficient quantities, science possesses
incomparable means of analysis; even at present we get glimpses, within what
are called simple bodies, of extremely diversified complex ones, and we
discover energies in matter which seem to increase even by reason of its
tenuity."
As they talked, they threw bits of bread to the birds, and some children
played around them.
Passing from one subject to another:
"This hill, in the quaternary epoch," said Clair, "was inhabited by wild
horses. Last year, as they were tunnelling for the water mains, they found a
layer of the bones of primeval horses."
She was anxious to know whether, at that distant epoch, man had yet appeared.
He told her that man used to hunt the primeval horse long before he tried to
domesticate him.
"Man," he added, "was at first a hunter, then he became a shepherd, a
cultivator, a manufacturer . . . and these diverse civilizations succeeded
each other at intervals of time that the mind cannot conceive."
He took out his watch.
Caroline asked if it was already time to go back to the office.
He said it was not, that it was scarcely half-past twelve.
A little girl was making mud pies at the foot of their bench; a little boy of
seven or eight years was playing in front of them. Whilst his mother was
sewing on an adjoining bench, he played all alone at being a run-away horse,
and with that power of illusion, of which children are capable, he imagined
that he was at the same time the horse, and those who ran after him, and those
who fled in terror before him. He kept struggling with himself and shouting:
"Stop him, Hi! Hi! This is an awful horse, he has got the bit between his
teeth."
Caroline asked the question:
"Do you think that men were happy formerly?"
Her companion answered:
"They suffered less when they were younger. They acted like that little boy:
they played; they played at arts, at virtues, at vices, at heroism, at
beliefs, at pleasures; they had illusions which entertained them; they made a
noise; they amused themselves. But now. . . ."
He interrupted himself, and looked again at his watch.
The child, who was running, struck his foot against the little girl's pail,
and fell his full length on the gravel. He remained a moment stretched out
motionless, then raised himself up on the palms of his hands. His forehead
puckered, his mouth opened, and he burst into tears. His mother ran up, but
Caroline had lifted him from the ground and was wiping his eyes and mouth with
her handkerchief.
The child kept on sobbing and Clair took him in his arms.
"Come, don't cry, my little man! I am going to tell you a story.
"A fisherman once threw his net into the sea and drew out a little, sealed,
copper pot, which he opened with his knife. Smoke came out of it, and as it
mounted up to the clouds the smoke grew thicker and thicker and became a giant
who gave such a terrible yawn that the whole world was blown to dust.
Clair stopped himself, gave a dry laugh, and handed the child back to his
mother. Then he took out his watch again, and kneeling on the bench with his
elbows resting on its back he gazed at the town. As far as the eye could
reach, the multitude of houses stood out in their tiny immensity.
Caroline turned her eyes in the same direction.
"What splendid weather it is!" said she. "The sun's rays change the smoke on
the horizon into gold. The worst thing about civilization is that it deprives
one of the light of day."
We did not answer; his looks remained fixed on a place in the town.
After some seconds of silence they saw about half a mile away, in the richer
district on the other side of the river, a sort of tragic fog rearing itself
upwards. A moment afterwards an explosion was heard even where they were
sitting, and an immense tree of smoke mounted towards the pure sky. Little by
little the air was filled with an imperceptible murmur caused by the shouts of
thousands of men. Cries burst forth quite close to the square.
"What has been blown up?"
The bewilderment was great, for although accidents were common, such a violent
explosion as this one had never been seen, and everybody perceived that
something terribly strange had happened.
Attempts were made to locate the place of the accident; districts, streets,
different buildings, clubs, theatres, and shops were mentioned. Information
gradually became more precise and at last the truth was known.
"The Steel Trust has just been blown up."
Clair put his watch back into his pocket.
Caroline looked at him closely and her eyes filled with astonishment.
At last she whispered in his ear:
"Did you know it? Were you expecting it? Was it you . . .?"
He answered very calmly:
"That town ought to be destroyed."
She replied in a gentle and thoughtful tone:
"I think so too."
And both of them returned quietly to their work.
Read next: BOOK VIII - FUTURE TIMES#CHAPTER S3
Read previous: BOOK VIII - FUTURE TIMES#CHAPTER S1
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