The Diothas, or, A Far Look Ahead/Chapter 8
The early dawn afforded barely sufficient light to render objects distinguishable when I awoke. According to the dial, it was nearly half-past four. That should be about right, was my thought: perhaps the dial had been set right during the night. My eyes, still wandering round the room, next caught sight of Utis standing in the doorway.
"You were sleeping so soundly," said he, after a pleasant greeting, "that I had not the heart to rouse you. I am glad, however, that you are awake, as it is time for your first lesson; that is," he continued with a smile, "if you still desire to keep up the fiction agreed on."
"For me, at least, it is no fiction," said I, by this time fully awake. "My memory of the past is quite the same as yesterday."
"Let us see," said he, seating himself, and making a gesture for me not to rise. What recollection have you of the events of yesterday?"
He listened with absorbed interest, while I gave a succinct account of the sights and impressions of the day before. At intervals he gave a nod of assent, as if to say, "That is quite correct." Once only he raised his hand as if in doubt. But I soon convinced him, by the mention of certain accessory circumstances, that my recollection of the matter was correct.
"Your memory is surprisingly exact," he remarked: "that occurrence had entirely escaped my memory. Naturally, many things might pass unobserved by me that would arrest your attention with all the force of novelty."
He thus indicated his frank acceptance of my theory as the basis of our future intercourse: thenceforth he always spoke in consistence with that view; that is, in our private intercourse. When communicated to him, my impressions of men and things, as they appeared to me, came to excite in him an interest perhaps even more vivid than that experienced by myself. It became our daily custom for me to give him a detailed account of my new discoveries during the day. He was thus enabled, in a degree that otherwise would have been impossible, to follow the current of my ideas, so as to appreciate and solve my difficulties. A peculiar effect of this interchange of thought was gradually produced. Utis not only spoke, but frequently appeared to think also, from my point of view; while I, on the other hand, found myself insensibly acquiescing in the belief, that that former life of mine was but a delusion.
"The first thing in order," said Utis, when I had ended my summary of events, "is to explain our manner of dividing time. The system of division you see on that dial, he went on, is the result of a series of changes. It is so characteristic and so typical of the course of change in many similar matters, that it is worth an explanation in detail.
"When electric wires became the ordinary means of communication over all distances, the differences of local time became an intolerable nuisance. This nuisance was got rid of in a very simple way. By general consent, it was agreed to take the time of some fixed meridian as the standard time throughout the world. For several reasons, that of Greenwich was adopted. Thus, when the sun passes over the meridian of Greenwich, it is twelve o'clock all over the world, and similarly of other hours. The habit of associating certain hours with certain positions of the sun soon wore off. It became rather a subject of astonishment that so absurd an association of ideas could stand so long in the way of the only rational system. A change adopted about the same time was, the division of the dial into twenty-four spaces, instead of twelve, and the numbering of the hours consecutively from one to twenty-four. In the course of time this was, in its turu, superseded by the decimal division of the day and dial. By this system, which remained. unchanged through several thousand years, the day was divided into ten equal parts, each called a meris, and equivalent to about two hours and a half of the old system. The decimal divisions of the meris bore no distinctive names, but were referred to merely as tenths, hundredths, etc.
"About three thousand years ago, twelve was adopted by common consent as the basis of the numerical system. As a matter of course, a corresponding change had to be made in the division of all units of quantity: instead of a decimal we have a duodecimal system. That dial, for example, is divided into twelve spaces; each of these, again, into twelve. Similarly, the day is divided into twelve parts, each, of course, equivalent to two of the ancient hours; and so on, by duodecimal subdivisions, as far as necessary. Thus when, in our present notation, an event is said to happen at 3.86, this corresponds to 7h. 25m. old Greenwich time."
"But," objected I, "how was it found possible to overcome the enormous friction that the introduction of such extensive changes must have encountered? In my time the metric system, in spite of its manifest advantages, was making but slow headway. As for the reform of the absurd spelling of my native tongue, it was a thing greatly desired, but hardly hoped for."
"The friction you mention," said Utis, "being the result of ignorance, naturally diminished in direct proportion with ignorance. Even in the days you allude to, scientists readily adopted improvements in terminology; while astronomers and meteorologists, scattered over the globe, framed and adhered to rules for the apportionment of their special work.
"Another important advantage was, that the progress of science had rendered many of the changes I mentioned comparatively inexpensive. At the present time four great electric clocks—one in each quarter of the globe— govern all the timepieces, each in its own quarter. Our timepieces, indeed, are only dials, like this you see, the hands of which move in unison with those of the great central clock."
"Have you no watches?" I inquired.
"Since every apartment and public edifice shows a dial, we have generally as little occasion to carry a timepiece as to carry a drinking-cup. We keep them, however, for special purposes."
So saying, he entered the next room, and returned, to place in my hands a watch of the period. The case was of ualin of the finest quality. The watch being wound and regulated on the principle of the stem-winder, the case was hermetically sealed; as it did not require to be opened, perhaps, once in a lifetime. The works, though of excellent finish, were of the utmost simplicity, there being only two hands. The smallest portion of time indicated, about five-sixths of our minute, was considered as sufficiently small for all practical purposes.
"After a brief plunge in the bath," said Utis, when I had returned the watch, "put on this working-suit that I have placed on the chair. Do not spend more than ten minutes on the whole operation: our toilet proper is performed after the morning's work is over. When you come down, I will initiate you further."
Within the prescribed time I met my host at the foot of the stair. On entering the dining-room, we found on the side-table a pitcher of milk, tumblers, and a plate of very palatable sandwiches.
"We have three hours of hard work before us," said Utis, as an inducement for me to follow his example.
None of the rest of the household made their appearance while we partook of this simple refreshment, but that some were up and at work was manifest. The sound of a power-loom was heard in the next apartment. Mingled with this could be distinguished the peculiar hum of some other machine; while at intervals the pleasant sound of female voices, and an occasional burst of half-unconscious song, informed me of the personality of the operators.
I had, afterwards, frequent opportunities of seeing the ladies' workroom, the counterparts of which were to be seen in every home. The apartment itself was as diverse from the aspect of the typical factory-room as is the boudoir of a princess from the kennel of a Caffre's female drudge. Beneath the protecting covering of wide sheets of ualin, the walls were adorned with designs exquisite in drawing, and harmonious in color.
One end of the apartment was occupied by glazed wardrobes containing, some, materials; others, finished products. The loom, as well as the other machine, which proved to be a sort of stocking-frame, was finished in the style of the machinery I had seen in the city, and was worked by electric power. The ingenuity of man, exerted through thousands of years, had brought these machines to a degree of perfection that awoke in me ever increasing admiration in proportion as I became more capable of appreciating the genius employed in their construction. They might, indeed, be called "poems in metal;" embodying, as they did, the hopes, the aspirations, the enthusiasms, of a long line of inventors. Anxiety had been shown, not only to insure rapid and delicate work, but also to render less irksome the task of the operator, by admitting several changes of posture. Every thing was maintained in a state of exquisite neatness: not a speck of dust or fluff was to be seen.
In another place will be found an account of the system on which the people of this period arranged their time. It will suffice, for the present, to give an account of my own experiences in the workshop, toward which I followed my host. The place was well lighted, both walls and roof being of ualin. Near the centre was what I correctly surmised to be a forge, or blast-furnace. Close by stood anvils, and various contrivances for working in metal.
First, by the mere turning of a handle, Utis produced a roaring gas-flame,—an oxyhydrogen blast, indeed,—capable of reducing the most refractory metals to a liquid state in an incredibly short time. Under his direction I was soon busily engaged in feeding and controlling the movements of a machine for turning out large screw-bolts of a peculiar pattern. The work itself was done by the machine, yet each bolt required the exertion of a certain amount of muscular and mental effort. The temperature was somewhat above that of the previous day: it was such a day, in fact, as may fairly be expected in the middle of July. I was, accordingly, in a profuse perspiration before I had been half an hour at work. Yet as my costume consisted of only two garments, leaving both arms and lower limbs to a great extent exposed to the air, the supply of which was ample, the sensation of heat was by no means so great as I had frequently experienced under far less exertion.
"You are doing well," said Utis, after observing my work for a while. If you find this work too monotonous, you may learn to manage the lathe."
He then left me, and busied himself in turning out and fitting the nuts for the bolts. For my part, I grew so engrossed with my work, viewing with gratification the gradual diminution of the pile of material near my hand, that it was almost with regret I found the power suddenly shut off, and heard the cheery voice of Utis,—
"Half an hour for bath and toilet, then breakfast."
He pointed to the dial while speaking. The day before, I should have said that the hands pointed to half-past six. A little mental calculation, however, showed me that the time indicated was what, in ancient times, would have been called one o'clock, Greenwich time, or eight o'clock in New York. Throwing on the long upper garments, or dressing-gowns, in which we had descended, we hastened into the house. Utis accompanied me to my room, turned on the water, explained the duodecimal divisions on the thermometer, and said,—
"When the mercury rises to this red mark, the temperature is best for bathing. Do not remain in too long. When you have dried yourself, rub into your skin some of the preparation contained in this flask, especially over muscles that show fatigue. You will find it very refreshing."