Chapter 16

Both he and his supposed "enemy" were present at a dinner, given by a high official, the chief Knowledge-tester or Examiner. Our dining-tables are semicircular, and the guests are seated on the convex side only. The Monomaniac, being a particular friend, honoured by the host, sat next to him in the centre. The supposed "enemy" happened to be seated at the extreme end of the semicircle, and consequently in a position to be seen from the centre of the table. All went on well till about the middle of the repast, when suddenly the Monomaniac rose, pointed to his supposed enemy, and addressing himself to the guests, said, "Look there! Do you not see the grimaces he is making at me?"

Every one marvelled! The host addressed the Monomaniac in a gentle tone, entreating him to have more control over his temper, Those seated close to the supposed "enemy" declared loudly that he had made no grimaces; but their denial only increased the fury of the accuser. A bird-- considered a great delicacy--had just been placed before the host. It was arranged, as were our dishes generally, to please the eye as well as the palate, being ornamented with olives, sweetmeats, and other ingredients of varied colours. Birds, I may incidentally remark, are cooked without the bones; these are skilfully taken out and serve to enrich the gravy.

The Monomaniac again rose suddenly and, before his arm could be arrested, seized the fowl, larded as it was with accessories and dripping with gravy, and with all his force hurled it whole, with unerring aim, at the face of the supposed enemy. So great was his excitement, and so rapid his movements, that he had seized one of the "knife-spoons," and had he not been arrested, would probably have hurled that, and, indeed, everything within reach against the object of his fury.

At private dinners the number of guests never exceeds twelve, and at the back of each, corresponding to every seat, is a small closet, ordinarily used by each guest for his ablutions. Into one of these the Monomaniac was placed with considerable difficulty, everything with which he could injure himself having been previously removed. By the doctor's order he was treated as a patient and, after some time, the result of the application of the tests, then only recently discovered, showed that he was much affected with brain animalcula, which had been generated by the exhaustion of one part of the brain, in consequence of the incessant occupations of another portion, by one all-engrossing subject, without the relief of sufficient air, recreation, and bodily exercise.

The "supposed enemy" and the Monomaniac had been both occupied on the same subject; the latter was much superior, and had consequently attained greater distinction. Nothwithstanding this, he was fearful that the "enemy" would ultimately excel him.

At the end of a few months the Monomaniac was completely cured. It was not, however, until after a year's travel and change of scene that he was allowed to resume his old studies. He now became more brilliant than ever, and we were indebted to him for some valuable discoveries. He had learned that his supposed enemy was a real friend and true admirer of his great talents. He never suffered again from the affliction, which, had it not been arrested in time, would have ended in confirmed madness. He became more than ever a strong advocate for the observance of my laws in favour of recreation.

XLII.

THEATRES.

ELECTRICAL ENTERTAINMENTS--AMUSEMENTS--INTRODUCTION OF STRANGERS.

"....Even the daisies of the field grow in company...."

Besides theatres of another kind, there are large arenas, where the entertainments principally consist of feats worked out by electricity and produce effects far beyond anything as yet known in your planet. These arenas are open to the sky, for electric effects are not exhibited in roofed buildings, from fear of the explosions which would probably occur were antagonistic electricities brought in contact with each other in a covered space.

The games exhibited are varied; but, in all, electricity has some part. As I have already said, we have electricities, some attractive, some antipathetic to the human frame,--and by the aid of both kinds many interesting feats are performed.

I have seen a man and horse in the arena, who, at a given signal, would rise gradually and gracefully to a distance of more than fifty feet from the earth. When suspended in the air a cloud, like fire, would encircle them, and then after a certain time, sufficient for the spectators to observe and admire them, they would alight on the earth as gradually and gracefully as they had ascended.

THE FLYING CHILDREN.

In one of these arenas is a large sheet of running water, supplied by a cataract in the neighbourhood; and I have seen the most beautiful effects produced by children gliding over and as it were dancing on its surface. The children are selected from the most graceful and beautiful of those, who, not having sufficient intellect to learn, give no signs of making a progress which would fit them for more important occupations.

These children are taught and _willed_ to move in the most graceful forms. Joining hands and forming exceedingly beautiful groups, they will glide over the cascade and over the surface of the agitated lake, walking, dancing, or reposing.

WILL.

In assuming these graceful forms, the children are aided by a person skilled in the use of the Will, who, with the assistance of our "sympathetic-attracting machines," [1] can _will_ the children to take the most varied and graceful positions. The effect is fascinating, elevating, and refining.

[Footnote 1: See p. 265.]

The man who directs the sympathetic machine, _wills_ the figures from his imagination or memory, this being part of the art in which he is skilled.

In your planet, you do not know the extent of the power of the Will; and yet it is the Will--the Will of the Soul--which sets our vital electricity in motion, directs it on particular parts of its own machine--the brain--or on the sentient faculties of others. This same vital electricity can be used with greater force and certainty of direction, when assisted by the instrument which I have called "the sympathetic machine."

THE DEAF AND DUMB CHILD.

I have seen one little girl deaf and dumb--the only instance in my time--in consequence of a fright her mother had experienced. The child was of so nervous a temperament, that she could not be taught anything intellectual. She was lovely, with long hair that fell about her in graceful curls, and in whatever way she sat, moved, or reclined, her poses and movements were angelic.

It was found that the only thing which would awaken her dormant senses was electricity; and that, under its influence, she would be well and happy.

This child was at length taught to remain for some time together in one of her beautiful poses.

The circus in which I saw her is built close to a mountain or steep ascent, which rises almost perpendicularly to a great height. By the power of an attractive electricity, she would be made--whilst in one of her beautiful poses--to rise gradually, and to be borne flying, as it were, in the air. She would then be made to alight on the top of the high rock, where a halo of concentrated light was thrown on her; this clung about her, attracted by a solution with which her dress was sponged. The light was calculated to remain undissipated for half an hour.

After some time, and having taken the most graceful poses, encircled with the lovely halo, the child would glide off the rock and descend slowly and gracefully through the air--with the varied colours of the halo about her--as though she were a being of the celestial stars.

Of all exhibitions, I have never seen any more beautiful than this. It served admirably to raise, refine, and rouse the spectator to enthusiasm.

THE MONKEYS.

On the other hand, some of our electric exhibitions produce mirth. For instance, the effect of electricity on the monkeys in Montalluyah--who are very sagacious, having faces white like a human being, and talking like parrots--is ludicrous in the extreme. When engaged in chewing and eating their favourite nuts, they find themselves, in spite of their cunning, raised to a great height, without seeing the man underneath their pedestal, who impels them upwards with antipathetic electricity.

When they are thus in the air, and, in spite of all efforts, unable to descend, their antics are of the drollest kind. They, in turn, threaten and entreat the audience, but are soon reassured and liberally rewarded for the parts they have played in amusing the public.

Apart from the contemplation of electrical effects, these amusements may appear somewhat puerile. It should therefore be observed that our people generally retain to the last an almost child-like freshness of feeling, which renders them keenly susceptible to the most innocent pleasures. The tragic drama is for us extinct. Towards the middle of my reign, plays based upon crime ceased to be heard with pleasure, as the new generation, trained under the wholesome influence of my laws, could scarcely understand a plot relating to passions entirely foreign to their nature. The writers for our theatres, properly so called, have since that period confined themselves to subjects illustrative of country life in plain and mountain, and to incidents which, though happening at a distance, are known to occur.

No accidents arise. Our professors are very skilful, knowing the exact quantities of electricity required for a given time, and at what rate its power will decrease. Electricity in all its variations is thoroughly understood by our electricians.

Electricity, indeed, now forms part of the studies of youth in general, and its leading features form part of the early knowledge taught to both girls and boys.

There are races and public games of all kinds, and, besides the fêtes and amusements given by private persons, there are balls and social reunions given by the districts.

Even children have their parties and balls, to which they are taken from four years of age and upwards. The labouring people, or poor, have theirs. They go to work more cheerfully when they know that amusements are to follow, and return to their labours with redoubled energy. They are now contented and happy.

Old people, although allowed to attend the soirées of the young, have parties of their own, to which none who have not passed a certain age are admitted.

One day in the week is set apart for amusements of all kinds.

To the reunions given by the districts, all who have passed a certain age are invited, every seven days, until the age of forty; after forty, once in three weeks; after sixty, once in every six weeks. All who have not passed their fortieth year are expected to attend these reunions. Those who have passed forty may attend as often as they please.

INTRODUCTION OF STRANGERS.

Amongst these reunions there are balls and parties given on certain days in every month, for the introduction of strangers coming from other parts, who are received in a separate room by the Master of the Ceremonies, or, as we say, "Introducer of Strangers." Having satisfied himself of the status of the strangers, this officer announces the name of the eldest and conducts him round the great room, where all the company are assembled, which duty performed, he conducts the guest back to the strangers' room, and then, having returned into the assembly-room, asks if any one wished to make objection to the stranger's reception. If none is made, the visitor is escorted back and presented to the whole company, and the most distinguished amongst them are expected to take him by the hand and seat him by their side.

This ceremony over, the stranger is allowed to visit every person present at their residences, where he is received with great hospitality.

When, however, in answer to the Introducer's question, any one says, "I do object to be introduced to that person," he is required to state his reasons, which the "Introducer" writes down, and which the objector is required to read and sign.

The "Introducer" then proceeds to the strangers' room, and says to the proposed guest, "We find it will not be agreeable to terminate the presentation to-night, so we reserve it for another day," which is fixed accordingly.

On the following day, the most effective means are taken to test the validity of the objections, and it has been found that the few cases of objection that have been raised have been almost invariably based on error, or on exaggerated trifles, which would scarcely bear a moment's examination.

As a record of every one's career is faithfully kept, we have ready means of making ourselves acquainted with every one's antecedents and, consequently, of testing the validity of the "objections."

The objections being removed, the stranger is received with a hearty welcome. When conducted into the assembly-room, the person who made the objections having been pointed out to him, he is addressed as follows:--"In all this great assembly, this is the only person who urged anything against you, and we find that all he imagined arose from misconception [or as the case may be]. This we have taken every pains to rectify, and we leave to you to do what may be pleasing to yourself, in order to convince him still more completely of his error; and you have our best wishes that unity, harmony, and peace may exist between you." This done, the newly-received guest is seated between the principal personages, and is treated with, if possible, more kindness and consideration than if no objection had been made. In each class we follow the same custom, which we find works admirably well. It is peculiarly adapted to our system.

THE ATTRACTING-MACHINE.

I have spoken above of our sympathetic attracting-machine, and I may mention here that by means of certain acids acted on by the sun's rays, a person can be compelled to move even from a great distance towards a given point in the way willed by the operator. It is, however, necessary to discover, first; the particular acids that have most affinity with the person to be attracted. To ascertain these with certainty, there is a little instrument with many separate cells, all communicating by means of its tube with one little ball, and each containing a different acid.

Unless some attraction, or power in sympathy with the acids, is applied to the ball, the acids remain quiescent, each in its separate compartment. To discover what acids have most attractive force with a given person, the ball is placed against his breast, whereupon the portions of those acids which have affinity with him rush forth from their respective cells up each tube into the ball, where they immediately commingle, forming one compound liquid of unequal component parts. The scientific man charged with the operation then notes the exact quantities of each of the component acids, and all pertinent particulars.

This is an easy process. Each principal acid is weighed before being placed in its cell, which is open from the top; and before the ball is removed from the chest, what remains of each acid is taken out from its compartment and re-weighed. The difference between the weights, before and after the operation, gives the exact weight of each acid, forming one of the component parts of the amalgamated fluid in the ball.

It is rare that the exact proportions of the same acids are applicable to any two men, though, as in the case of faces, the difference may be so slight as almost to approach identity. In some it is very great; but the same kinds of acids suffice to ascertain the attractive power of every individual.

The particular sympathetic acids and their proportions having been ascertained, the attracting-machine is prepared and charged with a large quantity of the sympathetic compound, sufficiently powerful to attract the person selected, although placed at some distance. To be effective, however, the operation must take place while the sun is shining; and it is also necessary that the person directing the machine should exercise a certain amount of will tending towards the end desired. The power of will is great, and there are a few persons who can make others do certain things without the aid of the instrument, by the power of will alone; but, in such cases, the person "willing" must be near the person acted on.

XLIII.

SHIPS.

"Would ye triumph over the seas in all their fury? Would ye spare the lives of those who toil for you? Let your ships he harder than the rocks, swifter than the message-bird, more buoyant than the swan, and as enduring as the Mestua Mountain."

Our ships are of peculiar form and construction, and of all but exhaustless strength and durability. In ancient times the form of a fish had been taken as a model for their construction, and the same form was continued for centuries. The ships built on this principle, however, often foundered at sea, or were broken to pieces, when driven against the rocks, by the violence of tempests.

Moved by the loss of life and consequent suffering thus occasioned, I sought to construct a vessel that could neither founder nor be broken, at whatever speed it might move.

I reasoned that a fish, formed to live and to act principally under the water, was hardly a fit model for ships intended to float on its surface, and certainly not to sink.

After much consideration on the part of our scientific men, the form of the swan was successfully adopted as best fitted for sea-going ships.

Our "Swan-ships," as I may call them, are constructed of timbers, previously seasoned to prevent insect breeding and to resist all tendency to shrink, and are completely covered with the hide of the hippopotamus, which, it should be observed, is impervious to water, and, when prepared for use, is so tough that no knife or machine, however sharp or powerful, can cut, pierce, or indeed make any impression upon it, until it has passed through a process, in which fire has a great part, and is thus purposely deprived of its impenetrable nature.

In the construction of the ship, the outline of the swan is followed as nearly as possible. The prow rises out of the water, shaped like the bird's neck and head; the keel is rounded like the belly; the stern is an imitation of the tail; the legs are supplied by two large adjuncts in the shape of webbed feet, with the addition, however, of numerous wheels fastened round the swan's belly, which are partially immersed in the water and moved by powerful machinery within the vessel.

On each side of the swan's body is an auxiliary platform, forming, as it were, a wing. These platforms are raised in fine weather, and serve as open-air promenades for the passengers, in addition to another terrace on the swan's back, immediately above.

The ship has no masts, and is thus available throughout for passengers and merchandise. The apertures between the decking, that admit light and air, can be closed up at a moment's notice, and the vessel, being thus rendered water-tight, will ride through the most violent storm. No rocks can break her, and no sea can swamp her.

During hurricanes the seas rise so high and in such large masses, that, in descending, they sometimes submerge her; but she is too buoyant to sink, soon regains the surface, and floats on as buoyant as ever.

The navigation in our world would on your earth be considered very dangerous, if not impracticable. The swan-ship, even when driven by the tempest, must often pass through narrow inlets between dangerous rocks, sometimes _under_ the rocks, through channels scooped out by the sea. The force of the hurricanes and the violence of the seas are tremendous. Your most powerful ships could not live through them, yet no serious accident has ever befallen one of our vessels. On one occasion, when the ship was submerged for a time, the people suffered greatly from want of air, as the sea was too terribly rough to allow of any window being opened. After remaining covered by the waters for a length of time, she righted herself as soon as the violence of the waves had calmed.

On their return to Montalluyah, some of the passengers related to me their acute sufferings from want of air, and as their narrative affected me much, I resolved to discover a remedy.

Telescopic funnels to admit air were suggested by me as a provision for such a contingency as I have described. These are so constructed that in case of need they can be sent up to a great height above the surface of the sea. The principal one is placed in the head of the swan. Several experiments were made with air-pumps in the ship to draw in and diffuse air, and they fully answered this purpose.

Air can still be admitted through the head and neck of the swan, if the body only is submerged; but if this also is covered by the sea, the telescopic funnel is sent up to the required height and a new current of air is obtained. Light and air are, under ordinary circumstances admitted by means of windows made with a transparent composition of great strength.

The swan's head is reserved for the captain's quarters. His rooms are spacious and well suited to his work; his windows are, some plane, some concave, some convex, so that he can see both near and distant objects. As the swan's head is high above the body of the swan, the captain occupies a very commanding position. Outside the head there is a terrace for his use.

Our ships are very large, that each passenger may have the utmost accommodation, for we do not like to imprison our people in a narrow space; and an ordinary vessel holds several hundred passengers, besides merchandise.

To propel our vessels we use electric power, and they move as fast as your quickest railway trains; but nevertheless can be stopped almost instantaneously. The wheels outside the body of the swan, set in motion by internal electric machinery, revolve with extraordinary rapidity. To set the machinery in motion it is necessary to wind up powerful chains, and a strong horse is used for the purpose. One horse is sufficient for the longest voyage, but four are kept on board in case of accidents. The machinery could be so constructed that the horse would not be necessary; but for this arrangement much more space would be required. If even all the horses were disabled--a thing which hitherto has never occurred--the machinery could be kept in motion by manual power and leverage.

Though the propelling power is great, it can be reversed, moderated, or entirely suspended with the greatest ease. As soon as the ship is stopped, the two large "web-feet" attached to the keel fall down and assist in checking her headway.

To steer our vessels we use a winch or rudder, which runs from stem to stern underneath the swan's belly, and is connected with a wheel below the water. This rudder, which is made of metal and covered with hippopotamus hide, is sharp and slightly rounded. The mode in which it is fixed gives the steersman great control over the vessel, the more so as it moves the swan's head as well as the tail by direct action.

TIMBER FOR SHIPS.

Before timber is employed for ships, or indeed for constructions of any kind, it is thoroughly seasoned by being exposed to the sun at particular hours of the day. Timbers that have passed through this process never shrink or warp.

In accordance with my directions, wood cannot be used in shipbuilding until so prepared that no insects will touch it.