VI The Sunset of Mankind chapter 6 paragraph 14 among 19 paragraphs
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“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.
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“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.
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“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.
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“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.
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“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!
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“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!
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VII A Sudden Shock
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“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.
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“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.’
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“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!
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“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.
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“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.
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“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, for 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 anyone 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?
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“I think I must have had a kind of frenzy. I remember running
violently in and out among the moonlit bushes all round the sphinx, and
startling some white animal that, in the dim light, I took for a small
deer. I remember, too, late that night, beating the bushes with my clenched
fist until my knuckles were gashed and bleeding from the broken twigs.
Then, sobbing and raving in my anguish of mind, I went down to the great
building of stone. The big hall was dark, silent, and deserted. I slipped
on the uneven floor, and fell over one of the malachite tables, almost
breaking my shin. I lit a match and went on past the dusty curtains, of
which I have told you.
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“There I found a second great hall covered with cushions, upon
which, perhaps, a score or so of the little people were sleeping. I have no
doubt they found my second appearance strange enough, coming suddenly out
of the quiet darkness with inarticulate noises and the splutter and flare
of a match. For they had forgotten about matches. ‘Where is my Time
Machine?’ I began, bawling like an angry child, laying hands upon them and
shaking them up together. It must have been very queer to them. Some
laughed, most of them looked sorely frightened. When I saw them standing
round me, it came into my head that I was doing as foolish a thing as it
was possible for me to do under the circumstances, in trying to revive the
sensation of fear. For, reasoning from their daylight behaviour, I thought
that fear must be forgotten.
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“Abruptly, I dashed down the match, and knocking one of the people
over in my course, went blundering across the big dining-hall again, out
under the moonlight. I heard cries of terror and their little feet running
and stumbling this way and that. I do not remember all I did as the moon
crept up the sky. I suppose it was the unexpected nature of my loss that
maddened me. I felt hopelessly cut off from my own kind—a strange
animal in an unknown world. I must have raved to and fro, screaming and
crying upon God and Fate. I have a memory of horrible fatigue, as the long
night of despair wore away; of looking in this impossible place and that;
of groping among moonlit ruins and touching strange creatures in the black
shadows; at last, of lying on the ground near the sphinx and weeping with
absolute wretchedness, even anger at the folly of leaving the machine
having leaked away with my strength. I had nothing left but misery. Then I
slept, and when I woke again it was full day, and a couple of sparrows were
hopping round me on the turf within reach of my arm.
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“I sat up in the freshness of the morning, trying to remember how I
had got there, and why I had such a profound sense of desertion and
despair. Then things came clear in my mind. With the plain, reasonable
daylight, I could look my circumstances fairly in the face. I saw the wild
folly of my frenzy overnight, and I could reason with myself.
‘Suppose the worst?’ I said. ‘Suppose the machine
altogether lost—perhaps destroyed? It behoves me to be calm and
patient, to learn the way of the people, to get a clear idea of the method
of my loss, and the means of getting materials and tools; so that in the
end, perhaps, I may make another.’ That would be my only hope, a poor
hope, perhaps, but better than despair. And, after all, it was a beautiful
and curious world.
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“But probably the machine had only been taken away. Still, I must
be calm and patient, find its hiding-place, and recover it by force or
cunning. And with that I scrambled to my feet and looked about me,
wondering where I could bathe. I felt weary, stiff, and travel-soiled. The
freshness of the morning made me desire an equal freshness. I had exhausted
my emotion. Indeed, as I went about my business, I found myself wondering
at my intense excitement overnight. I made a careful examination of the
ground about the little lawn. I wasted some time in futile questionings,
conveyed, as well as I was able, to such of the little people as came by.
They all failed to understand my gestures; some were simply stolid, some
thought it was a jest and laughed at me. I had the hardest task in the
world to keep my hands off their pretty laughing faces. It was a foolish
impulse, but the devil begotten of fear and blind anger was ill curbed and
still eager to take advantage of my perplexity. The turf gave better
counsel. I found a groove ripped in it, about midway between the pedestal
of the sphinx and the marks of my feet where, on arrival, I had struggled
with the overturned machine. There were other signs of removal about, with
queer narrow footprints like those I could imagine made by a sloth. This
directed my closer attention to the pedestal. It was, as I think I have
said, of bronze. It was not a mere block, but highly decorated with deep
framed panels on either side. I went and rapped at these. The pedestal was
hollow. Examining the panels with care I found them discontinuous with the
frames. There were no handles or keyholes, but possibly the panels, if they
were doors, as I supposed, opened from within. One thing was clear enough
to my mind. It took no very great mental effort to infer that my Time
Machine was inside that pedestal. But how it got there was a different
problem.
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“I saw the heads of two orange-clad people coming through the
bushes and under some blossom-covered apple-trees towards me. I turned
smiling to them, and beckoned them to me. They came, and then, pointing to
the bronze pedestal, I tried to intimate my wish to open it. But at my
first gesture towards this they behaved very oddly. I don’t know how
to convey their expression to you. Suppose you were to use a grossly
improper gesture to a delicate-minded woman—it is how she would look.
They went off as if they had received the last possible insult. I tried a
sweet-looking little chap in white next, with exactly the same result.
Somehow, his manner made me feel ashamed of myself. But, as you know, I
wanted the Time Machine, and I tried him once more. As he turned off, like
the others, my temper got the better of me. In three strides I was after
him, had him by the loose part of his robe round the neck, and began
dragging him towards the sphinx. Then I saw the horror and repugnance of
his face, and all of a sudden I let him go.
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“But I was not beaten yet. I banged with my fist at the bronze
panels. I thought I heard something stir inside—to be explicit, I
thought I heard a sound like a chuckle—but I must have been mistaken.
Then I got a big pebble from the river, and came and hammered till I had
flattened a coil in the decorations, and the verdigris came off in powdery
flakes. The delicate little people must have heard me hammering in gusty
outbreaks a mile away on either hand, but nothing came of it. I saw a crowd
of them upon the slopes, looking furtively at me. At last, hot and tired, I
sat down to watch the place. But I was too restless to watch long; I am too
Occidental for a long vigil. I could work at a problem for years, but to
wait inactive for twenty-four hours—that is another matter.
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“I got up after a time, and began walking aimlessly through the
bushes towards the hill again. ‘Patience,’ said I to myself.
‘If you want your machine again you must leave that sphinx alone. If
they mean to take your machine away, it’s little good your wrecking
their bronze panels, and if they don’t, you will get it back as soon
as you can ask for it. To sit among all those unknown things before a
puzzle like that is hopeless. That way lies monomania. Face this world.
Learn its ways, watch it, be careful of too hasty guesses at its meaning.
In the end you will find clues to it all.’ Then suddenly the humour
of the situation came into my mind: the thought of the years I had spent in
study and toil to get into the future age, and now my passion of anxiety to
get out of it. I had made myself the most complicated and the most hopeless
trap that ever a man devised. Although it was at my own expense, I could
not help myself. I laughed aloud.
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“Going through the big palace, it seemed to me that the little
people avoided me. It may have been my fancy, or it may have had something
to do with my hammering at the gates of bronze. Yet I felt tolerably sure
of the avoidance. I was careful, however, to show no concern and to abstain
from any pursuit of them, and in the course of a day or two things got back
to the old footing. I made what progress I could in the language, and in
addition I pushed my explorations here and there. Either I missed some
subtle point or their language was excessively simple—almost
exclusively composed of concrete substantives and verbs. There seemed to be
few, if any, abstract terms, or little use of figurative language. Their
sentences were usually simple and of two words, and I failed to convey or
understand any but the simplest propositions. I determined to put the
thought of my Time Machine and the mystery of the bronze doors under the
sphinx, as much as possible in a corner of memory, until my growing
knowledge would lead me back to them in a natural way. Yet a certain
feeling, you may understand, tethered me in a circle of a few miles round
the point of my arrival.
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