Reading Help The Time Machine by H. G. Wells
the children seemed to my eyes to be but the miniatures of their `
` parents. I judged, then, that the children of that time were `
` extremely precocious, physically at least, and I found afterwards `
` abundant verification of my opinion. `
` `
` 'Seeing the ease and security in which these people were living, I `
` felt that this close resemblance of the sexes was after all what `
` one would expect; for the strength of a man and the softness of a `
` woman, the institution of the family, and the differentiation of `
` occupations are mere militant necessities of an age of physical `
` force; where population is balanced and abundant, much childbearing `
` becomes an evil rather than a blessing to the State; where `
` violence comes but rarely and off-spring are secure, there is less `
` necessity--indeed there is no necessity--for an efficient family, `
` and the specialization of the sexes with reference to their `
` children's needs disappears. We see some beginnings of this even `
` in our own time, and in this future age it was complete. This, I `
` must remind you, was my speculation at the time. Later, I was to `
` appreciate how far it fell short of the reality. `
` `
` 'While I was musing upon these things, my attention was attracted by `
` a pretty little structure, like a well under a cupola. I thought in `
` a transitory way of the oddness of wells still existing, and then `
` resumed the thread of my speculations. There were no large buildings `
` towards the top of the hill, and as my walking powers were evidently `
` miraculous, I was presently left alone for the first time. With a `
` strange sense of freedom and adventure I pushed on up to the crest. `
` `
` 'There I found a seat of some yellow metal that I did not recognize, `
` corroded in places with a kind of pinkish rust and half smothered `
` in soft moss, the arm-rests cast and filed into the resemblance of `
` griffins' heads. I sat down on it, and I surveyed the broad view of `
` our old world under the sunset of that long day. It was as sweet and `
` fair a view as I have ever seen. The sun had already gone below the `
` horizon and the west was flaming gold, touched with some horizontal `
` bars of purple and crimson. Below was the valley of the Thames, in `
` which the river lay like a band of burnished steel. I have already `
` spoken of the great palaces dotted about among the variegated `
` greenery, some in ruins and some still occupied. Here and there rose `
` a white or silvery figure in the waste garden of the earth, here and `
` there came the sharp vertical line of some cupola or obelisk. There `
` were no hedges, no signs of proprietary rights, no evidences of `
` agriculture; the whole earth had become a garden. `
` `
` 'So watching, I began to put my interpretation upon the things I had `
` seen, and as it shaped itself to me that evening, my interpretation `
` was something in this way. (Afterwards I found I had got only a `
` half-truth--or only a glimpse of one facet of the truth.) `
` `
` 'It seemed to me that I had happened upon humanity upon the wane. `
` The ruddy sunset set me thinking of the sunset of mankind. For the `
` first time I began to realize an odd consequence of the social `
` effort in which we are at present engaged. And yet, come to think, `
` it is a logical consequence enough. Strength is the outcome of need; `
` security sets a premium on feebleness. The work of ameliorating the `
` conditions of life--the true civilizing process that makes life more `
` and more secure--had gone steadily on to a climax. One triumph of a `
` united humanity over Nature had followed another. Things that are `
` now mere dreams had become projects deliberately put in hand and `
` carried forward. And the harvest was what I saw! `
` `
` 'After all, the sanitation and the agriculture of to-day are still `
` in the rudimentary stage. The science of our time has attacked but `
` a little department of the field of human disease, but even so, `
` it spreads its operations very steadily and persistently. Our `
` agriculture and horticulture destroy a weed just here and there and `
` cultivate perhaps a score or so of wholesome plants, leaving the `
` greater number to fight out a balance as they can. We improve our `
` favourite plants and animals--and how few they are--gradually by `
` selective breeding; now a new and better peach, now a seedless `
` grape, now a sweeter and larger flower, now a more convenient breed `
` of cattle. We improve them gradually, because our ideals are vague `
` and tentative, and our knowledge is very limited; because Nature, `
` too, is shy and slow in our clumsy hands. Some day all this will `
` be better organized, and still better. That is the drift of the `
` current in spite of the eddies. The whole world will be intelligent, `
` educated, and co-operating; things will move faster and faster `
` towards the subjugation of Nature. In the end, wisely and carefully `
` we shall readjust the balance of animal and vegetable life to suit `
` our human needs. `
` `
` 'This adjustment, I say, must have been done, and done well; done `
` indeed for all Time, in the space of Time across which my machine `
` had leaped. The air was free from gnats, the earth from weeds or `
` fungi; everywhere were fruits and sweet and delightful flowers; `
` brilliant butterflies flew hither and thither. The ideal of `
` preventive medicine was attained. Diseases had been stamped out. I `
` saw no evidence of any contagious diseases during all my stay. And I `
` shall have to tell you later that even the processes of putrefaction `
` and decay had been profoundly affected by these changes. `
` `
` 'Social triumphs, too, had been effected. I saw mankind housed in `
` splendid shelters, gloriously clothed, and as yet I had found them `
` engaged in no toil. There were no signs of struggle, neither social `
` nor economical struggle. The shop, the advertisement, traffic, all `
` that commerce which constitutes the body of our world, was gone. It `
` was natural on that golden evening that I should jump at the idea of `
` a social paradise. The difficulty of increasing population had been `
` met, I guessed, and population had ceased to increase. `
` `
` 'But with this change in condition comes inevitably adaptations to `
` the change. What, unless biological science is a mass of errors, is `
` the cause of human intelligence and vigour? Hardship and freedom: `
` conditions under which the active, strong, and subtle survive and `
` the weaker go to the wall; conditions that put a premium upon the `
` loyal alliance of capable men, upon self-restraint, patience, and `
` decision. And the institution of the family, and the emotions that `
` arise therein, the fierce jealousy, the tenderness for offspring, `
` parental self-devotion, all found their justification and support in `
` the imminent dangers of the young. _Now_, where are these imminent `
` dangers? There is a sentiment arising, and it will grow, against `
` connubial jealousy, against fierce maternity, against passion `
` of all sorts; unnecessary things now, and things that make us `
` uncomfortable, savage survivals, discords in a refined and pleasant `
` life. `
` `
` '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 had 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 civilized 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! `
` `
` `
` `
` V `
` `
` `
` '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 north-east. 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 `
`
` parents. I judged, then, that the children of that time were `
` extremely precocious, physically at least, and I found afterwards `
` abundant verification of my opinion. `
` `
` 'Seeing the ease and security in which these people were living, I `
` felt that this close resemblance of the sexes was after all what `
` one would expect; for the strength of a man and the softness of a `
` woman, the institution of the family, and the differentiation of `
` occupations are mere militant necessities of an age of physical `
` force; where population is balanced and abundant, much childbearing `
` becomes an evil rather than a blessing to the State; where `
` violence comes but rarely and off-spring are secure, there is less `
` necessity--indeed there is no necessity--for an efficient family, `
` and the specialization of the sexes with reference to their `
` children's needs disappears. We see some beginnings of this even `
` in our own time, and in this future age it was complete. This, I `
` must remind you, was my speculation at the time. Later, I was to `
` appreciate how far it fell short of the reality. `
` `
` 'While I was musing upon these things, my attention was attracted by `
` a pretty little structure, like a well under a cupola. I thought in `
` a transitory way of the oddness of wells still existing, and then `
` resumed the thread of my speculations. There were no large buildings `
` towards the top of the hill, and as my walking powers were evidently `
` miraculous, I was presently left alone for the first time. With a `
` strange sense of freedom and adventure I pushed on up to the crest. `
` `
` 'There I found a seat of some yellow metal that I did not recognize, `
` corroded in places with a kind of pinkish rust and half smothered `
` in soft moss, the arm-rests cast and filed into the resemblance of `
` griffins' heads. I sat down on it, and I surveyed the broad view of `
` our old world under the sunset of that long day. It was as sweet and `
` fair a view as I have ever seen. The sun had already gone below the `
` horizon and the west was flaming gold, touched with some horizontal `
` bars of purple and crimson. Below was the valley of the Thames, in `
` which the river lay like a band of burnished steel. I have already `
` spoken of the great palaces dotted about among the variegated `
` greenery, some in ruins and some still occupied. Here and there rose `
` a white or silvery figure in the waste garden of the earth, here and `
` there came the sharp vertical line of some cupola or obelisk. There `
` were no hedges, no signs of proprietary rights, no evidences of `
` agriculture; the whole earth had become a garden. `
` `
` 'So watching, I began to put my interpretation upon the things I had `
` seen, and as it shaped itself to me that evening, my interpretation `
` was something in this way. (Afterwards I found I had got only a `
` half-truth--or only a glimpse of one facet of the truth.) `
` `
` 'It seemed to me that I had happened upon humanity upon the wane. `
` The ruddy sunset set me thinking of the sunset of mankind. For the `
` first time I began to realize an odd consequence of the social `
` effort in which we are at present engaged. And yet, come to think, `
` it is a logical consequence enough. Strength is the outcome of need; `
` security sets a premium on feebleness. The work of ameliorating the `
` conditions of life--the true civilizing process that makes life more `
` and more secure--had gone steadily on to a climax. One triumph of a `
` united humanity over Nature had followed another. Things that are `
` now mere dreams had become projects deliberately put in hand and `
` carried forward. And the harvest was what I saw! `
` `
` 'After all, the sanitation and the agriculture of to-day are still `
` in the rudimentary stage. The science of our time has attacked but `
` a little department of the field of human disease, but even so, `
` it spreads its operations very steadily and persistently. Our `
` agriculture and horticulture destroy a weed just here and there and `
` cultivate perhaps a score or so of wholesome plants, leaving the `
` greater number to fight out a balance as they can. We improve our `
` favourite plants and animals--and how few they are--gradually by `
` selective breeding; now a new and better peach, now a seedless `
` grape, now a sweeter and larger flower, now a more convenient breed `
` of cattle. We improve them gradually, because our ideals are vague `
` and tentative, and our knowledge is very limited; because Nature, `
` too, is shy and slow in our clumsy hands. Some day all this will `
` be better organized, and still better. That is the drift of the `
` current in spite of the eddies. The whole world will be intelligent, `
` educated, and co-operating; things will move faster and faster `
` towards the subjugation of Nature. In the end, wisely and carefully `
` we shall readjust the balance of animal and vegetable life to suit `
` our human needs. `
` `
` 'This adjustment, I say, must have been done, and done well; done `
` indeed for all Time, in the space of Time across which my machine `
` had leaped. The air was free from gnats, the earth from weeds or `
` fungi; everywhere were fruits and sweet and delightful flowers; `
` brilliant butterflies flew hither and thither. The ideal of `
` preventive medicine was attained. Diseases had been stamped out. I `
` saw no evidence of any contagious diseases during all my stay. And I `
` shall have to tell you later that even the processes of putrefaction `
` and decay had been profoundly affected by these changes. `
` `
` 'Social triumphs, too, had been effected. I saw mankind housed in `
` splendid shelters, gloriously clothed, and as yet I had found them `
` engaged in no toil. There were no signs of struggle, neither social `
` nor economical struggle. The shop, the advertisement, traffic, all `
` that commerce which constitutes the body of our world, was gone. It `
` was natural on that golden evening that I should jump at the idea of `
` a social paradise. The difficulty of increasing population had been `
` met, I guessed, and population had ceased to increase. `
` `
` 'But with this change in condition comes inevitably adaptations to `
` the change. What, unless biological science is a mass of errors, is `
` the cause of human intelligence and vigour? Hardship and freedom: `
` conditions under which the active, strong, and subtle survive and `
` the weaker go to the wall; conditions that put a premium upon the `
` loyal alliance of capable men, upon self-restraint, patience, and `
` decision. And the institution of the family, and the emotions that `
` arise therein, the fierce jealousy, the tenderness for offspring, `
` parental self-devotion, all found their justification and support in `
` the imminent dangers of the young. _Now_, where are these imminent `
` dangers? There is a sentiment arising, and it will grow, against `
` connubial jealousy, against fierce maternity, against passion `
` of all sorts; unnecessary things now, and things that make us `
` uncomfortable, savage survivals, discords in a refined and pleasant `
` life. `
` `
` '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 had 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 civilized 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! `
` `
` `
` `
` V `
` `
` `
` '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 north-east. 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 `
`