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H.G. Wells: The Time Machine (1895)
Chapter 1
The Time Traveller (for so it will be convenient to speak of him)
was expounding a recondite matter to us. His grey eyes shone and twinkled, and
his usually pale face was flushed and animated. The fire burned brightly, and
the soft radiance of the incandescent lights in the lilies of silver caught the
bubbles that flashed and passed in our glasses. Our chairs, being his patents,
embraced and caressed us rather than submitted to be sat upon, and there was
that luxurious after-dinner atmosphere when thought roams gracefully free of
the trammels of precision. And he put it to us in this way - marking the points
with a lean forefinger-as we sat and lazily admired his earnestness over this
new paradox (as we thought it) and his fecundity.
"You must follow me
carefully. I shall have to controvert one or two ideas that are almost
universally accepted. The geometry, for instance, they taught you at school is
founded on a misconception."
"Is not that rather a large thing to expect us to begin upon?" said Filby,
an argumentative person with red hair.
"I do not mean to ask you to accept anything without reasonable ground for
it. You will soon admit as much as I need from you.
You know of course that a mathematical line, a line of thickness NIL, has
no real existence. They taught you that? Neither has a mathematical plane.
These things are mere abstractions."
"That is all right," said the Psychologist.
"Nor, having only length, breadth, and thickness, can a cube have a real
existence."
"There I object," said Filby. "Of course a solid body may exist. All real
things-"
"So most people think. But wait a moment. Can an INSTANTANEOUS cube exist?"
"Don"t follow you," said Filby.
"Can a cube that does not last for any time at all, have a real existence?"
Filby became pensive. "Clearly," the Time Traveller proceeded, "any real
body must have extension in FOUR directions: it must have Length, Breadth,
Thickness, and-Duration. But through a natural infirmity of the flesh, which I
will explain to you in a moment, we incline to overlook this fact. There are
really four dimensions, three which we call the three planes of Space, and a
fourth, Time. There is, however, a tendency to draw an unreal distinction
between the former three dimensions and the latter, because it happens that our
consciousness moves intermittently in one direction along the latter from the
beginning to the end of our lives."
"That," said a very young man, making spasmodic efforts to relight his
cigar over the lamp; "that . . . very clear indeed."
"Now, it is very remarkable that this is so extensively overlooked,"
continued the Time Traveller, with a slight accession of cheerfulness. "Really
this is what is meant by the Fourth Dimension, though some people who talk
about the Fourth Dimension do not know they mean it. It is only another way of
looking at Time. THERE IS NO DIFFERENCE BETWEEN TIME AND ANY OF THE THREE
DIMENSIONS OF SPACE EXCEPT THAT OUR CONSCIOUSNESS MOVES ALONG IT. But some
foolish people have got hold of the wrong side of that idea. You have all heard
what they have to say about this Fourth Dimension?"
"_I_ have not," said the Provincial Mayor.
"It is simply this. That Space, as our mathematicians have it, is spoken of
as having three dimensions, which one may call Length, Breadth, and Thickness,
and is always definable by reference to three planes, each at right angles to
the others.
But some philosophical people have been asking why THREE dimensions
particularly-why not another direction at right angles to the other three?-and
have even tried to construct a Four-Dimension geometry. Professor Simon Newcomb
was expounding this to the New York Mathematical Society only a month or so
ago.
You know how on a flat surface, which has only two dimensions, we can
represent a figure of a three-dimensional solid, and similarly they think that
by models of thee dimensions they could represent one of four-if they could
master the perspective of the thing. See?"
"I think so," murmured the Provincial Mayor; and, knitting his brows, he
lapsed into an introspective state, his lips moving as one who repeats mystic
words. "Yes, I think I see it now," he said after some time, brightening in a
quite transitory manner.
"Well, I do not mind telling you I have been at work upon this geometry of
Four Dimensions for some time. Some of my results are curious. For instance,
here is a portrait of a man at eight years old, another at fifteen, another at
seventeen, another at twenty-three, and so on. All these are evidently
sections, as it were, Three-Dimensional representations of his Four-Dimensioned
being, which is a fixed and unalterable thing.
"Scientific people," proceeded the Time Traveller, after the pause required
for the proper assimilation of this, "know very well that Time is only a kind
of Space. Here is a popular scientific diagram, a weather record. This line I
trace with my finger shows the movement of the barometer. Yesterday it was so
high, yesterday night it fell, then this morning it rose again, and so gently
upward to here. Surely the mercury did not trace this line in any of the
dimensions of Space generally recognized?
But certainly it traced such a line, and that line, therefore, we must
conclude was along the Time-Dimension."
"But," said the Medical Man, staring hard at a coal in the fire, "if Time
is really only a fourth dimension of Space, why is it, and why has it always
been, regarded as something different?
And why cannot we move in Time as we move about in the other dimensions of
Space?"
The Time Traveller smiled. "Are you sure we can move freely in Space? Right
and left we can go, backward and forward freely enough, and men always have
done so. I admit we move freely in two dimensions. But how about up and down?
Gravitation limits us there."
"Not exactly," said the Medical Man. "There are balloons."
"But before the balloons, save for spasmodic jumping and the inequalities
of the surface, man had no freedom of vertical movement."
"Still they could move a little up and down," said the Medical Man.
"Easier, far easier down than up."
"And you cannot move at all in Time, you cannot get away from the present
moment."
"My dear sir, that is just where you are wrong. That is just where the
whole world has gone wrong. We are always getting away from the present
movement. Our mental existences, which are immaterial and have no dimensions,
are passing along the Time-Dimension with a uniform velocity from the cradle to
the grave. Just as we should travel DOWN if we began our existence fifty miles
above the earth"s surface."
"But the great difficulty is this," interrupted the Psychologist. "You CAN
move about in all directions of Space, but you cannot move about in Time."
"That is the germ of my great discovery. But you are wrong to say that we
cannot move about in Time. For instance, if I am recalling an incident very
vividly I go back to the instant of its occurrence: I become absent-minded, as
you say. I jump back for a moment. Of course we have no means of staying back
for any length of Time, any more than a savage or an animal has of staying six
feet above the ground. But a civilized man is better off than the savage in
this respect. He can go up against gravitation in a balloon, and why should he
not hope that ultimately he may be able to stop or accelerate his drift along
the Time-Dimension, or even turn about and travel the other way?"
"Oh, THIS," began Filby, "is all-"
"Why not?" said the Time Traveller.
"It"s against reason," said Filby.
"What reason?" said the Time Traveller.
"You can show black is white by argument," said Filby, "but you will never
convince me."
"Possibly not," said the Time Traveller. "But now you begin to see the
object of my investigations into the geometry of Four Dimensions. Long ago I
had a vague inkling of a machine-"
"To travel through Time!" exclaimed the Very Young Man.
"That shall travel indifferently in any direction of Space and Time, as the
driver determines."
Filby contented himself with laughter.
"But I have experimental verification," said the Time Traveller.
"It would be remarkably convenient for the historian," the Psychologist
suggested. "One might travel back and verify the accepted account of the Battle
of Hastings, for instance!"
"Don"t you think you would attract attention?" said the Medical Man. "Our
ancestors had no great tolerance for anachronisms."
"One might get one"s Greek from the very lips of Homer and Plato," the Very
Young Man thought.
"In which case they would certainly plough you for the Little-go. The
German scholars have improved Greek so much."
"Then there is the future," said the Very Young Man. "Just think! One might
invest all one"s money, leave it to accumulate at interest, and hurry on
ahead!"
"To discover a society," said I, "erected on a strictly communistic basis."
"Of all the wild extravagant theories!" began the Psychologist.
"Yes, so it seemed to me, and so I never talked of it until-"
"Experimental verification!" cried I. "You are going to verify THAT?"
"The experiment!" cried Filby, who was getting brain-weary.
"Let"s see your experiment anyhow," said the Psychologist, "though it"s all
humbug, you know."
The Time Traveller smiled round at us. Then, still smiling faintly, and
with his hands deep in his trousers pockets, he walked slowly out of the room,
and we heard his slippers shuffling down the long passage to his laboratory.
The Psychologist looked at us. "I wonder what he"s got?"
"Some sleight-of-hand trick or other," said the Medical Man, and Filby
tried to tell us about a conjurer he had seen at Burslem; but before he had
finished his preface the Time Traveller came back, and Filby"s anecdote
collapsed.
The thing the Time Traveller held in his hand was a glittering metallic
framework, scarcely larger than a small clock, and very delicately made. There
was ivory in it, and some transparent crystalline substance. And now I must be
explicit, for this that follows-unless his explanation is to be accepted-is an
absolutely unaccountable thing. He took one of the small octagonal tables that
were scattered about the room, and set it in front of the fire, with two legs
on the hearthrug. On this table he placed the mechanism. Then he drew up a
chair, and sat down. The only other object on the table was a small shaded
lamp, the bright light of which fell upon the model. There were also perhaps a
dozen candles about, two in brass candlesticks upon the mantel and several in
sconces, so that the room was brilliantly illuminated. I sat in a low arm-chair
nearest the fire, and I drew this forward so as to be almost between the Time
Traveller and the fireplace. Filby sat behind him, looking over his shoulder.
The Medical Man and the Provincial Mayor watched him in profile from the right,
the Psychologist from the left.
The Very Young Man stood behind the Psychologist. We were all on the alert.
It appears incredible to me that any kind of trick, however subtly conceived
and however adroitly done, could have been played upon us under these
conditions.
The Time Traveller looked at us, and then at the mechanism.
"Well?" said the Psychologist.
"This little affair," said the Time Traveller, resting his elbows upon the
table and pressing his hands together above the apparatus, "is only a model. It
is my plan for a machine to travel through time. You will notice that it looks
singularly askew, and that there is an odd twinkling appearance about this bar,
as though it was in some way unreal." He pointed to the part with his finger.
"Also, here is one little white lever, and here is another."
The Medical Man got up out of his chair and peered into the thing. "It"s
beautifully made," he said.
"It took two years to make," retorted the Time Traveller.
Then, when we had all imitated the action of the Medical Man, he said: "Now
I want you clearly to understand that this lever, being pressed over, sends the
machine gliding into the future, and this other reverses the motion. This
saddle represents the seat of a time traveller. Presently I am going to press
the lever, and off the machine will go. It will vanish, pass into future Time,
and disappear. Have a good look at the thing. Look at the table too, and
satisfy yourselves there is no trickery. I don"t want to waste this model, and
then be told I"m a quack."
There was a minute"s pause perhaps. The Psychologist seemed about to speak
to me, but changed his mind. Then the Time Traveller put forth his finger
towards the lever. "No," he said suddenly. "Lend me your hand." And turning to
the Psychologist, he took that individual"s hand in his own and told him to put
out his forefinger. So that it was the Psychologist himself who sent forth the
model Time Machine on its interminable voyage. We all saw the lever turn. I am
absolutely certain there was no trickery. There was a breath of wind, and the
lamp flame jumped.
One of the candles on the mantel was blown out, and the little machine
suddenly swung round, became indistinct, was seen as a ghost for a second
perhaps, as an eddy of faintly glittering brass and ivory; and it was
gone-vanished! Save for the lamp the table was bare.
Everyone was silent for a minute. Then Filby said he was damned.
The Psychologist recovered from his stupor, and suddenly looked under the
table. At that the Time Traveller laughed cheerfully.
"Well?" he said, with a reminiscence of the Psychologist. Then, getting up,
he went to the tobacco jar on the mantel, and with his back to us began to fill
his pipe.
We stared at each other. "Look here," said the Medical Man, "are you in
earnest about this? Do you seriously believe that that machine has travelled
into time?"
"Certainly," said the Time Traveller, stooping to light a spill at the
fire. Then he turned, lighting his pipe, to look at the Psychologist"s face.
(The Psychologist, to show that he was not unhinged, helped himself to a cigar
and tried to light it uncut.) "What is more, I have a big machine nearly
finished in there"-he indicated the laboratory-"and when that is put together I
mean to have a journey on my own account."
"You mean to say that that machine has travelled into the future?" said
Filby.
"Into the future or the past-I don"t, for certain, know which."
After an interval the Psychologist had an inspiration. "It must have gone
into the past if it has gone anywhere," he said.
"Why?" said the Time Traveller.
"Because I presume that it has not moved in space, and if it travelled into
the future it would still be here all this time, since it must have travelled
through this time."
"But," I said, "If it travelled into the past it would have been visible
when we came first into this room; and last Thursday when we were here; and the
Thursday before that; and so forth!"
"Serious objections," remarked the Provincial Mayor, with an air of
impartiality, turning towards the Time Traveller.
"Not a bit," said the Time Traveller, and, to the Psychologist: "You think.
You can explain that. It"s presentation below the threshold, you know, diluted
presentation."
"Of course," said the Psychologist, and reassured us. "That"s a simple
point of psychology. I should have thought of it. It"s plain enough, and helps
the paradox delightfully. We cannot see it, nor can we appreciate this machine,
any more than we can the spoke of a wheel spinning, or a bullet flying through
the air.
If it is travelling through time fifty times or a hundred times faster than
we are, if it gets through a minute while we get through a second, the
impression it creates will of course be only one-fiftieth or one-hundredth of
what it would make if it were not travelling in time. That"s plain enough." He
passed his hand through the space in which the machine had been. "You see?" he
said, laughing.
We sat and stared at the vacant table for a minute or so. Then the Time
Traveller asked us what we thought of it all.
"It sounds plausible enough to-night," said the Medical Man; "but wait
until to-morrow. Wait for the common sense of the morning."
"Would you like to see the Time Machine itself?" asked the Time Traveller.
And therewith, taking the lamp in his hand, he led the way down the long,
draughty corridor to his laboratory. I remember vividly the flickering light,
his queer, broad head in silhouette, the dance of the shadows, how we all
followed him, puzzled but incredulous, and how there in the laboratory we
beheld a larger edition of the little mechanism which we had seen vanish from
before our eyes. Parts were of nickel, parts of ivory, parts had certainly been
filed or sawn out of rock crystal. The thing was generally complete, but the
twisted crystalline bars lay unfinished upon the bench beside some sheets of
drawings, and I took one up for a better look at it. Quartz it seemed to be.
"Look here," said the Medical Man, "are you perfectly serious?
Or is this a trick-like that ghost you showed us last Christmas?"
"Upon that machine," said the Time Traveller, holding the lamp aloft, "I
intend to explore time. Is that plain? I was never more serious in my life."
None of us quite knew how to take it.
I caught Filby"s eye over the shoulder of the Medical Man, and he winked at
me solemnly.
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