Read Philip Van Doren Stern (ed) Online
Authors: Travelers In Time
Philip Van Doren Stern (ed) (21 page)
"I
thought of the physical slightness of the
people, their lack of intelligence, and those big abundant ruins, and it
strengthened my belief in a perfect conquest of Nature. For after the battle
comes Quiet. Humanity has been strong, energetic, and intelligent, and had used
all its abundant vitality to alter the conditions under which it lived. And now
came the reaction of the altered conditions.
"Under
the new conditions of perfect comfort and security that restless energy, that
with us is strength, would become weakness. Even in our own time certain
tendencies and desires, once necessary to survival, are a constant source of
failure. Physical courage and the love of battle, for instance, are no great
help—may even be hindrances— to a civilised man. And in a state of physical
balance and security, power, intellectual as well as physical, would be out of
place. For countless years
I
judged
there had been no danger of war or solitary violence, no danger from wild
beasts, no wasting disease to require strength of constitution, no need of
toil. For such a life, what we should call the weak are as well equipped as the
strong, are indeed no longer weak. Better equipped indeed they are, for the
strong would be fretted by an energy for which there was no outlet. No doubt
the exquisite beauty of the buildings
I
saw
was the outcome of the last surgings of the now purposeless energy of mankind
before it settled down into perfect harmony with the conditions under which it
lived —the flourish of that triumph which began the last great peace. This has
ever been the fate of energy in security; it takes to art and to eroticism, and
then come languor and decay.
"Even this artistic impetus would at
last die away—had almost died in the Time I saw. To adorn themselves with
flowers, to dance, to sing in the sunlight; so much was left of the artistic
spirit, and no more. Even that would fade in the end into a contented inactivity.
We are kept keen on the grindstone of pain and necessity, and, it seemed to me,
that here was that hateful grindstone broken at last!
"As
I stood there in the gathering dark I thought that in this simple explanation I
had mastered the problem of the world—mastered the whole secret of these
delicious people. Possibly the checks they had devised for the increase of
population had succeeded too well, and their numbers had rather diminished than
kept stationary. That would account for the abandoned ruins. Very simple was my
explanation, and plausible enough—as most wrong theories are!
5
"As I stood there musing over this too
perfect triumph of man, the full moon, yellow and gibbous, came up out of an
overflow of silver light in the northeast. The bright little figures ceased to
move about below, a noiseless owl flitted by, and I shivered with the chill of
the night. I determined to descend and find where I could sleep.
"I
looked for the building I knew. Then my eye travelled along to the figure of
the White Sphinx upon the pedestal of bronze, growing distinct as the light of
the rising moon grew brighter. I could see the silver birch against it. There
was the tangle of rhododendron bushes, black in the pale light, and there was
the little lawn. I looked at the lawn again. A queer doubt chilled my
complacency. 'No,' said I stoutly to myself, 'that was not the lawn.'
"But
it was the lawn. For the white leprous face of the sphinx was towards it. Can
you imagine what I felt as this conviction came home to me? But you cannot. The
Time Machine was gone!
"At
once, like a lash across the face, came the possibility of losing my own age,
of being left helpless in this strange new world. The bare thought of it was an
actual physical sensation. I could feel it grip me at the throat and stop my
breathing. In another moment I was in a passion of fear and running with great
leaping strides down the slope. Once I fell headlong and cut my face; I lost no
time in stanching the blood, but jumped up and ran on, with a warm trickle
down
my
cheek
and
chin.
All
the
time
I
ran
I
was
saying
to
myself, "They
have
moved
it
a
little,
pushed
it
under
the
bushes
out
of
the way.'
Nevertheless,
I
ran
with
all
my
might.
All
the
time,
with
the certainty
that
sometimes
comes
with
excessive
dread,
I
knew
that such
assurance
was
folly,
knew
instinctively
that
the
machine
was removed
out
of
my
reach.
My
breath
came
with
pain.
I
suppose
I covered
the
whole
distance
from
the
hill
crest
to
the
little
lawn,
two miles,
perhaps,
in
ten
minutes.
And
I
am
not
a
young
man.
I
cursed aloud,
as
I
ran,
at
my
confident
folly
in
leaving
the
machine,
wasting good
breath
thereby.
I
cried
aloud,
and
none
answered.
Not
a
creature seemed
to
be
stirring
in
that
moonlit
world.
"When
I
reached
the
lawn
my
worst
fears
were
realised.
Not
a trace
of
the
thing
was
to
be
seen.
I
felt
faint
and
cold
when
I
faced the
empty
space
among
the
black
tangle
of
bushes.
I
ran
round
it
furiously,
as
if
the
thing
might
be
hidden
in
a
corner,
and
then
stopped abruptly,
with
my
hands
clutching
my
hair.
Above
me
towered
the sphinx,
upon
the
bronze
pedestal,
white,
shining,
leprous,
in
the
light of
the
rising
moon.
It
seemed
to
smile
in
mockery
of
my
dismay.
"I
might
have
consoled
myself
by
imagining
the
little
people
had put
the
mechanism
in
some
shelter
for
me,
had
I
not
felt
assured
of their
physical
and
intellectual
inadequacy.
That
is
what
dismayed
me: the
sense
of
some
hitherto
unsuspected
power,
through
whose
intervention
my
invention
had
vanished.
Yet,
of
one
thing
I
felt
assured: unless
some
other
age
had
produced
its
exact
duplicate,
the
machine could
not
have
moved
in
time.
The
attachment
of
the
levers—I
will show
you
the
method
later—prevented
any
one
from
tampering
with it
in
that
way
when
they
were
removed.
It
had
moved,
and
was
hid, only
in
space.
But
then,
where
could
it
be?
