Part 1

ANNO DOMINI 2071.

Translated from the Dutch Original,

WITH PREFACE AND ADDITIONAL EXPLANATORY NOTES,

BY

Dr. Alex. V. W. BIKKERS.

LONDON: WILLIAM TEGG, Pancras Lane, Cheapside. 1871.

TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE.

The late Artemus Ward was in the habit of quoting--either from his own or another man's store of wit--"Never prophesy unless you know for certain." There is, however, a particular mode of foretelling which is neither dangerous nor venturesome; that process, namely, by which inferences are being drawn from analogous things that have come to pass, and applied to the contemplation of future events. The little book here presented in an English translation may serve as an illustration in point. It was originally published in the Dutch language, the author hiding himself behind the nom de plume of Dr. Dioscorides. If success goes for anything--and who is prepared to say what it does not go for--we launch it in its new form with more than sufficient confidence. Even within the narrow geographical limits of the Netherlands it has rapidly passed through three editions, and a German scholar has deemed it not unworthy of a translation in his native tongue.

The present publication is more and at the same time less than a translation; more, because it has been prepared for a different class of readers than it was originally intended for; less, because in some instances, and at one point especially, we thought we had some reason to apply the pruning-knife to obnoxious excrescences, as no doubt they would have proved in a new soil. The foot-notes have either been added with a view to ensure a perfect understanding on the part of the reader, or to secure for the little work as wide a circulation as possible. So far with regard to its form, object, and origin. There are the boundaries of our province.

A. V. W. B.

London, 1871.

TABLE OF CONTENTS.

ALEUTIC TIME DISTRIBUTION-OF-WARM-AIR SOCIETY VERRE SANS FIN AGE OF ALUMINIUM HELIOCHROMES ENERGEIATHECS NATIONAL LIBRARY NINETEENTH-CENTURY BOOKS COMPULSORY EDUCATION GENEALOGICAL MUSEUM SOLAR LIGHT THE TELEPHON GENERAL BALLOON COMPANY TRAVELLING DIALECT NO MORE WAR FREE TRADE; UNIVERSAL LOCOMOTION MODERN TELESCOPES CHANNEL BRIDGE NORTH HOLLAND SUBMERGED UNIVERSITY EDUCATION LOSS OF DUTCH COLONIES RAILWAY NETS GEOGRAPHICAL CHANGES IN EUROPE ASTRONOMICAL OBSERVATORIES CALCULATORIA TIN MINES IN THE MOON UNIVERSAL SUFFRAGE ANTI 1-2 LEAGUE WOMAN'S RIGHTS THE NEW ZEALAND OF THE FUTURE

ANNO DOMINI 2071.

When comparing the present condition of society with that of past centuries the question naturally arises, what will the future be?

Will the same progress which, in our own times especially, has been of such vast dimensions, and manifested itself in so many directions, continue to be progressive? And if so--for who could think of reaction, since the art of printing has guarded against any furrow of the human mind being ever effaced--where is to be the ultimate goal of the progress of our successors? Where are we to look for the fruits of those innumerable germs which the present generation is sowing for the benefit of those that will come after them?

These, and similar other questions, occupied my mind when, seated one afternoon in my comfortable arm-chair, I allowed my thoughts freely to wander amid the manes of those that preceded us. I thought of our own Musschenbroek, Gravesande, Huyghens, and Stevin, and of what would be their surprise were they to reappear on this earth, and gaze upon the marvellous works of modern machinery; I passed in review a Newton and Galileo, with so many others, founders of an edifice which they themselves would not now recognise. I thought of steam engines and electric telegraphs, of railways and steamboats, of mountain tunnels and suspension bridges, of photography and gasworks, of the amazing strides lately made by chemistry, of telescopes and microscopes, of diving bells and aëronautics; aye, and of a hundred other things, which, in motley array, wildly crossed my mind, though all corresponding in this that they loudly proclaimed the vast and enormous difference between the present and the past. The line of demarcation between the one and the other revealed itself still more clearly to me as my thoughts carried me further back into the past and the ghost of Roger Bacon seemed to rise before my imagination. This thirteenth-century child was a scholar who surpassed all his contemporaries in sound judgment and knowledge of natural science; alas! his fate was the ordinary one in store for all those whose light shone above that of others in those darkest of ages. He was accused of witchcraft, and cast into a dungeon, there doomed to sigh for ten weary years, after which, as the rumour goes, he died in his prison. The memory of that illustrious man called to my mind some passages of his writings, from which it will be seen how he, as if endowed with the seer's gift, did actually foretell, some six hundred years ago, that which since, and chiefly in our own time, has become an array of realities. For example:

"It is possible," says he, "to construct spying-glasses by which the most distant objects can be drawn near to us, so that we shall be able to read the most minute writing at an almost incredible distance, to see all kinds of diminutive objects, and to make the stars appear wherever we choose."

"We might make waggons that could move along with great velocity, and without being drawn by animals."

"Similar other machines might be had, as, for example, bridges without pillars or supports of any kind."

"There might be contrivances for the purpose of navigation without navigators, so that the greatest vessels would be handled by one single man, and at the same time move onward with greater speed than those with numerous crews." [1]

As I pondered over such remarkable observations as those, I sank into absolute reverie; all surrounding objects seemed gradually to disappear from my sight, until I got into that peculiar condition in which, while everything material about us is at rest and passive, the mind, on the contrary, proves uncommonly active and alert.

I felt myself suddenly in the midst of an immense city; where I did not know, but about me I saw a vast square, and in it a stately edifice with a lofty tower, on which I fancied I read the following inscription:

A.D. 2071.

January 1st.

I could scarcely believe my own eyes, and must have approached the tower with looks highly expressive of curiosity and amazement; for an elderly gentleman, accompanied by a young lady, stepped forward to speak to me. "I see, sir, that you are a stranger in Londinia; if any information could be of service to you----"

These kind words caused me to stop; I looked at the man who stood before me, and was at once struck and impressed by his thoughtful and noble features. Nor was I slow in recognising him. He was the very man with whom I had been for some time past engaged in my thoughts.

"You are Roger Bacon," said I.

"To be sure!" was his reply; "at the same time allow me the pleasure of introducing you to this young lady friend of mine, Miss Phantasia."

I happened to be in that frame of mind to which one might apply the Horatian nil mirari. Nothing of what I saw surprised me, not even the appearance in the flesh of a man like Bacon, who had taken his departure from our planet some five hundred years ago. I therefore simply accepted his obliging offer, and began by asking for an explanation of the figures and words on the tower.

"On yonder tower, over the clock-face?" answered he. "Why, that means simply this, that we have arrived at the first day of the new year 2071."

"But what is the time? I see so many hands and figures on the clock, that I am perfectly bewildered."

"What kind of time is it you want to know?" asked he in reply; "true, mean, or

Aleutic Time?

for each of these has its own set of hands and figures."

"I know full well," said I, "what true time is, also what is understood by mean time, but what on earth is meant by aleutic time?"

"I will soon explain," spoke my obliging guide. "Since the whole globe has been encircled by one large net of telegraph lines, and wire messages, [2] whether east or westward bound, do the whole round of our planet in a single moment, it has been found necessary to adopt a kind of time that would apply to any spot of the earth; for by some such contrivance alone was it possible to avoid a confusion that would have been fatal in many cases, more especially in those of commercial transactions, when the knowledge of the right time is an object of no mean consideration. By mutual agreement the several nations therefore selected the largest of the Aleutic islands, by way of a neutral point or centre. When the sun rises on the east coast of that island, then begins the world-day. Nor has the selection of the neutral point been in any way an arbitrary one; for east and west of the meridian which passes over that island are to be found those very latitudes where the confusion of time was formerly at its height; and for this reason, that according to their discovery having been accomplished either from Europe in easterly direction round Africa, or westward round America, one whole day had been lost or gained. Now the consequence of this was, that in the islands of these latitudes the inhabitants of the eastern coasts and those dwelling in the west differed four-and-twenty hours in their calculations of time, owing to the circumstance that they belonged to, or were descended from, the one or the other ancient colony. The adoption of an Aleutic time has put a stop to any such confusion."

Having thus endeavoured to satisfy my curiosity, my companion went on to say: "Do come along with us; we shall have plenty of opportunity to show you other matters of interest in the city of Londinia."

"Londinia? Is that the same as London?"

"Not quite; ancient London formed but a small portion of the present city of Londinia. The latter occupies a considerable part of the south-east of England, and has a population of something like twelve millions."

As we continued our tour, I chanced to hit upon the trivial remark that we had "very mild weather indeed, considering the time of the year."

"You are mistaken," Bacon said; "on the contrary, it is bitterly cold; only you forget that we are in town. Just feel the heat of the current of air which rises from the sieve-like plate on which you are walking, and you will doubtless agree with me that the

Distribution-of-Warm-Air Society

is by no means unfaithful to its obligations. Then look above you. Had the distribution been insufficient, we should still see the glass roof over our heads covered with this morning's snow."

I looked up, and saw that the street was vaulted over with glass plates of considerable length and width, joined together by thin bars, with here and there an aperture as the means of ventilation.

"I apprehend, then, that we are in a so-called arcade?"

"Well, yes; if you mean to apply that name to the greater part of our city. That which in the nineteenth century was only to be found occasionally in the great towns of Europe, has become a regular institution in the twenty-first, owing to the manufacture of our inexpensive

Verre sans Fin,

or 'Endless Glass,' as our people generally call it."

"I have no doubt that this must be a considerable improvement on your town-life throughout winter; but in summer-time I should say this must be intolerably hot."

"Not at all; the same society which undertakes the supply of warm air in winter also provides for us during the summer months a cooling draught. Nothing can be easier than that. You are doubtless aware of ice having been manufactured in the middle of summer for at least a couple of centuries. During the warm season the air is made to pass over the glass vault above us before it reaches the pavement through the sieve-like plate, and if the warm-air inspectors properly attend to their duties, there is scarcely any difference in our temperature throughout the year."

"Then probably you warm your houses by a similar process, and you never use any stoves or fireplaces now?"

Neither of my companions could help smiling at these words, betraying again, as they did, my very old-fashioned notions. Bacon, however, gave me a kindly nod of assent as he proceeded to explain: "Just as a cold-water bath may be heated at pleasure by opening the hot-water tap, we can warm the air in our apartments by means of a valve, which when opened, not only affords a supply of warm air, but has the additional advantage of producing a most delightful refreshing of the atmosphere without any idea of draught."

"I really cannot understand," Miss Phantasia here remarked, "how the people in those barbarous times managed to live amid the smoke and ashes and dust of their horrible fireplaces."

"And then their chimneys on fire," added Bacon; "thank Fate, we have done with that too. Poor insurance offices, they don't pay half the premium now of what they used to do."

"One more question," said I, "before we leave this subject. What do you call the metal used for those elegant little bars which connect and support the roof of glass above us? Surely they are not of iron, as they would have been in my time?"

"No," answered my guide; "iron, on account of its greater specific weight, would have been less suitable here than aluminium; the latter not only corresponds in weight with the glass which it supports, but it also withstands the effects of the atmosphere far better than iron. You will very soon perceive in how many instances the new metal has superseded the old one, in additional proof of which I would just mention the fact that the modern antiquarians do not exclusively now speak of the ages of stone, bronze, and iron, but that they have formally recognised the

Age of Aluminium.

The latter commenced or dates from the second half of the twentieth century, when it was first discovered how to produce aluminium in large quantities from common clay, old tiles, potsherds, china, and earthenware."

"Ah!" said I, "here, then, we have another striking example to teach us that discoveries simply arrived at by purely scientific processes searched after from the pure motive of increase of knowledge, may often be ultimately productive of the greatest practical use. The same metal which for years after Wöhler's discovery continued to be a curiosity--so much so that a few grains of it were preserved among the collections of chemical preparations--has now become universally beneficial, nay, a perfect godsend to those districts where clay, i.e. aluminium ore, is the only underground wealth."

Following up this idea, at the risk of being ridiculed or, perhaps, reprimanded for my impertinent garrulousness, I continued in the following strain:

"Think of the phosphorus discovered by Brandt and Künckel as early as 1669, yet never getting into common use until the lucifers, fusees, and 'flamers' made their appearance some two hundred years afterwards; and of chloroform, now the greatest alleviation of suffering humanity, although Dumas, when he first compounded it, did but little dream of its application. Then, again, when Sir Humphry Davy's remarkable experiments taught him the refrigerating power of metal gas, did this not ultimately lead to the invention of the safety lamp? and not only has the latter already preserved thousands of human lives, but, more than that, the principle of Davy's invention has actually become the basis upon which all steam-engines are constructed, as well as those by which ice can be made at any time. With regard to the invention of the art of photography, how could it have become a reality, a possibility, without the number of purely scientific discoveries that preceded it; aye, purely scientific discoveries, such as Porta's so-called camera obscura [3] (sixteenth century); Scheele's discovery of the discoloration of chloride of silver by light, at which he did not arrive until two hundred years afterwards; Courtois's finding of the iodine, 1811; or the invention of gun cotton, from which Schönbein learned to make collodion; nor would it be difficult to name several other materials, all found by regular chemical processes, to fix the photographic images, and to make them permanent."

Encouraged by my companion's "line of non-intervention," I ventured to continue to speak my thoughts aloud.

"If any art more than another," said I, "is calculated to illustrate the fact that the most important discoveries--such as have been most universally brought to bear upon the joint social condition of mankind--have simply resulted from the inventions of scientific men who never dreamt of the practical application of their discoveries; if any such thing exists, surely it is the telegraph. Could these magic wires have lurked in the mind of Thales when he found out, now twenty-five centuries ago, that a piece of amber, when rubbed, attracts light bodies, even although it led him to discover the very first of those phenomena, the cause of which must be sought in that mysterious power which now we call electricity? Did Galvani think of the telegraphic art when he noticed how the muscles of his frogs contracted under the influence of electricity? [4] or Volta, when, following up Galvani's experiments, he produced the pile that bears his name? And yet that was, so to speak, the embryo of those modern batteries of ours whence proceeds the marvellous action along the wire. Nor is it in any way presumable that Oerstedt ever thought of the application of his discovery to telegraphy, when he first noticed that the magnetic needle is deflected under the influence of electricity; [5] no more than Arago, who found that iron becomes magnetic when an electric current runs along it through a metal wire.

"No, no!" cried I; "none of those men could ever have foreseen the ultimate beneficial results of these discoveries of natural truths." [6]

"You are perfectly right in your remarks," said Bacon, as I paused. "From my own personal knowledge of what has come to pass in the field of industry during the last two centuries, I could adduce a good many more examples to show that many of your nineteenth-century discoveries, which for a long time afterwards merely bore a purely scientific significance or character, have now become prolific sources of material benefit to society at large. Nor does any one now-a-days doubt the importance of pure science; all governments look upon it as an urgent duty on their part to promote the same wherever they can; nor is it too anxiously asked whether it does bear, in every instance, immediate results to benefit the material condition of society. Moreover, it should not be here forgotten that every man of judgment and discrimination has long since learned to see that the furtherance of material advantages as the aim and end of human endeavours is an idea as narrow in itself as it is unworthy of rational beings. Surely there exists another and infinitely higher mainspring of happiness in the enjoyment of gathering such knowledge as will enable us to perceive the causal connection between the phenomena of nature, or teach us the history of man and all his surroundings. The pursuit of material gratification is essentially a thing which man shares with the brute; but our desire to ennoble that which is spiritual or immaterial in us--that is exclusively human; the gratification of such desire is the genuine 'trade-mark' of real civilization. So much is the bulk of modern society already convinced of these truths, that no government could now-a-days afford to neglect the encouragement of scientific pursuit, although the utmost discretion be left to the men of science themselves with regard to the other question: how and in what direction the extension of knowledge ought to take place."

"Then you hear nothing more now of what was once termed 'official science'?"

"I really do not know," said Bacon, "what you are alluding to; but if you use the word 'official' in its usual acceptation--meaning that which can no longer be doubted, since it emanated from a responsible government--then, my dear sir, you will pardon me the remark that the expression is anything but felicitous, nay, very shallow indeed. A government may protect, support, and promote science, but it can never stamp it with the seal of genuineness. Such seal is held by truth alone!"

Somewhat ashamed of my apparently antiquated notions and childish observations, I walked on in silence until Miss Phantasia all of a sudden exclaimed: "Here we have actually got to the exhibition of

Heliochromes;

oh, do let us go in. I should very much like to know whether they come at all up to those enormous golden placards outside, and whether the highest of the fine arts is here equalled by reality."

There was something spiteful in the remarks of the young lady; and at my question of what was meant by heliochromes, she again sarcastically replied, "Oh! nothing but photographs in the natural colours of the objects as pencilled by the sun himself; so, at least, in her extravagant style, says my friend Realia." [7]

"Ha!" exclaimed I, "the ultimate triumph of the life-long endeavours of that plucky Frenchman, De Saint-Victor! final fruits of the prix Trémont awarded him by the French Academy!"

Bacon looked at me with a smile clearly indicative of his contempt for my helpless ignorance. But all he said was this: "Come inside, please, and you will have something else to see than those rude and perishable experiments of Victor of the nineteenth century."

We entered, and I could not trust my eyes. The walls of the building were covered with innumerable pictures, landscapes, portraits, and genre-pieces, some of the figures life-size; and all these pictures were mere photographs, yet photographs differing as much from those that I was familiar with as an oil painting does from a crayon drawing.

"Unhappy artists! poor arts!" I exclaimed; "what have you come to at last?"

But Miss Phantasia appeared to share my delight no more than my sympathy. "Unhappy artists, indeed," was her reply, "if by such honourable name you designate those knights of the brush whose sole aim and end is the faithful imitation of reality; but do not say poor arts! They have by no means died out, the worthy successors of Raphael and Corregio, of Rubens and Rembrandt, of those whose calling was not to imitate nature, but to idealise it. And that is the vocation of art. Simple imitation is mere handicraft. And although the monuments and statues of living persons are now mechanically taken from photographs, aye, by a common workman who has no notion of art; yet have we sculptors who are genuine artists, creators of the ideal."

I quietly accepted the rebuff, and rejoiced to think that all those treasures of art of which my country is so proud had not then, after all, deteriorated in worth; on the other hand, it was to me a matter of little moment that mediocre talents, incapable of rising above the imitation of reality, had been compelled to exchange the brush for the camera obscura; and I had no doubt that their productions would thereby gain--in faithfulness.