The Floating Island (8 page)

“But not of the same father,
probably?” said Pinchinat. “Yes, of the same father, my excellent friends. Only
they have been built in a different way. They were designed for the convenience
of those in search of an existence, tranquil, happy, free from all care, an
existence offered by no other city of the old or new world.”

“By Apollo, Mr. Munbar,” replied Yvernès,
“take care not to excite our curiosity too much. It is as if you were singing
one of those musical phrases which make you long for the key-note.”

“And the result is that they tire
your ear,” added Zorn. “Has the moment come when you will consent to tell us
the name of this extraordinary town?”

“Not yet, my dear guests,”
replied the American, adjusting his gold eyeglasses on his nasal appendage. “Wait
until we have finished our walk
—
let
us go on now.”

“Before going on,” said
Frascolin, who felt a sort of vague uneasiness mingling with his curiosity, “I
have a proposition to make.”

“And what is that?”

“Why not ascend the spire of St.
Mary’s church? From there we could see
—
”

“Oh, no,” said Munbar, shaking
his bushy head, “not now, later on.”

“And when?” asked the
violoncellist, getting provoked at so many evasions.

“At the end of our excursion,
Monsieur Zorn.”

“Then we shall return to this church?”

“No, my friends, our walk will
end with a visit to the observatory, the tower of which is a third higher than
the spire of St. Mary’s church.”

“But why not take advantage of
this opportunity?” asked Frascolin.

“Because it would spoil the
effect I have in view.”

And there was no means of
extracting any further reply from this enigmatic personage.

The best thing being to submit,
the various avenues of this part of the town were conscientiously explored. A
visit was paid to the commercial quarters, those of the tailors, boot-makers,
hatters, butchers, grocers, bakers, fruiterers, &c. Calistus Munbar,
saluted by most of the people he met, returned the salutes with vainglorious
satisfaction. He talked incessantly, this exhibitor of wonders, and the rattle
of his tongue was like the ringing of a bell on a feast day.

In about two hours the quartette
had arrived at the boundary of the town, which was marked by a superb iron
railing, adorned with flowers and climbing plants. Beyond was the country, the
circular line of which blended with the horizon of the sky.

And here Frascolin noticed
something which he did not think it his duty to communicate to his comrades.
Everything would doubtless be explained from the summit of the observatory
tower. What he noticed was that the sun, instead of being in the south-west at
two o’clock, was in the south-east.

This was something to astonish a
mind as reflective as that of Frascolin, and he had begun to rack his brains
when Calistus Munbar changed the course of his ideas by exclaiming,
—

“Gentlemen, the tram starts in a
few minutes. Let us be off to the harbour.”

“The harbour?” asked Zorn.

“Yes, it is only about a mile
—
and that will
enable you to admire our park?”

The harbour, if it existed, ought
to be a little below or a little above this town on the coast of Lower
California. In truth, where could it be if it were not on some point of the
coast?

The artistes, rather perplexed,
sat down on the seats of an elegant car, in which were several other
passengers, all of whom shook hands with Munbar, who seemed to know everybody,
and then the dynamos of the train began to drive them along. That which Munbar
called a park was the country extending round the city. There were paths
running out of sight, and verdant lawns, and painted barriers, straight and
zigzagged, known as fences, around preserves, and clumps of trees
—
oaks, maples,
ashes, chestnuts, nettle-trees, elms, cedars
—
all
of them young, but the haunts of a world of birds of a thousand species. It was
a regular English garden, with leaping fountains, baskets of flowers then in
all the abundance of spring, masses of shrubs of the most diversified species,
giant geraniums like those of Monte Carlo, orange trees, lemon trees, olive
trees, oleanders, lentisks, aloes, camellias, dahlias, roses of Alexandria with
their white flowers, hortensias, white and pink lotuses, South American
passion-flowers, rich collections of fuchsias, salvias, begonias, hyacinths,
tulips, crocuses, narcissi, anemones, Persian ranunculi, bearded irises,
cyclamens, orchids, calceolarias, tree ferns, and also species characteristic
of the tropics, such as cannas, palms, date trees, fig trees, eucalypti,
mimosas, banana trees, guava trees, calabash trees, cocoanut trees; in a word,
all that a connoisseur could ask for in the richest botanic garden.

With his propensity for evoking
the memories of ancient poetry, Yvernès thought he was transported to the
bucolic landscapes of the romance of Astrea. It is true if sheep were not
wanting in these fresh pastures, if ruddy cows grazed between the fences, if
deer and other elegant quadrupeds of the forest fauna bounded among the trees,
it was the absence of the shepherds of D’Urfé and their charming shepherdesses
which they had to regret. As to the Lignon, it was represented by a serpentine
river, whose vivifying waters followed the valleys of the landscape.

But at the same time it all
seemed artificial.

This provoked the ironical
Pinchinat to exclaim,
—

“Ah! is that all you have in the
shape of a river?”

And Calistus Munbar to reply,
—

“Rivers? What is the good of them?”

“To have water, of course.”

“Water! That is to say, a
substance generally unhealthy, microbian, and typhoic?”

“Yes, but it can be purified.”

“And why give yourself that
trouble when it is easy to make a water pure, hygienic, free from all impurity,
and even gaseous or ferruginous, if. you please.”

“You manufacture this water?”
asked Frascolin.

“Certainly, and we distribute it
hot or cold to the houses as we distribute light, sound, the time, heat, cold,
power, the antiseptic agents, electrization by auto-conduction.”

“Allow me,” said Yvernès, “to
believe that you also make the rain for watering your lawns and flowers.”

“And so we do, sir,” said the
American, making the jewels on his fingers sparkle across the flowing masses of
his hand.

“Do you have your rain on tap?”
exclaimed Sebastien Zorn.

“Yes, my dear friends, rain which
the conduits arranged underground distribute in a way that is regular,
controllable, opportune, and practical. Is not that better than waiting for
nature’s good pleasure, and submitting to the climate’s caprices, better than
complaining against excesses without the power of remedying them, sometimes a
too persistent humidity, sometimes too long a drought?”

“I have you there, Mr. Munbar,”
declared Frascolin. “That you can produce your rain at will may be all very
well, but how do you prevent it falling from the sky?”

“The sky? What has that got to do
with it?”

“The sky, or, if you prefer it,
the clouds which break, the atmospheric currents with their accompaniment of
cyclones, tornadoes, storms, squalls, hurricanes. During the bad season, for
example.”

“The bad season?” repeated
Calistus Munbar.

“Yes; the winter.”

“The winter? What do you mean by
that?”

“We said winter
—
hail, snow, ice!”  exclaimed
Zorn, enraged at the Yankee’s ironical replies.

“We know them not!” was Munbar’s
tranquil reply.

The four Parisians looked at one
another. Were they in the presence of a madman or a mystificator? In the first
case he ought to be shut up; in the second he ought to be taken down.

Meanwhile the tramcar continued
its somewhat leisurely journey through these enchanting gardens. To Zorn and
his companions it seemed as though beyond the limits of this immense park were
pieces of ground, methodically cultivated, displaying their different colours
like the patterns of cloth formerly shown at tailors’ doors. These were, no
doubt, fields of vegetables, potatoes, cabbages, carrots, turnips, leeks, in
fact, everything required for the composition of a perfect
pot-au-feu
.
At the same time, they would have been glad to get out into the open country to
discover what this singular region produced in corn, oats, maize, barley, rye,
buckwheat, and other cereals.

But here a factory appeared, its
iron chimneys rising from its low, rough glass roofs. These chimneys, strengthened
by iron stays, resembled those of a steamer under way, of a
Great Eastern
whose hundred thousand horses were driving her powerful screws, with this
difference, that instead of black smoke they were only emitting mere threads
which in no way injured the atmosphere.

This factory covered about ten
thousand square yards. It was the first industrial establishment the quartette
had seen since they had started on their excursion, under the American’s
guidance.

“And what is that establishment?”
asked Pinchinat.

“It is a factory worked with
petroleum,” replied Munbar, looking as though his eyes would perforate his
glasses.

“And what does this factory
manufacture?”

“Electrical energy, which is
distributed through the town, the park, the country, in producing motive force
and light. At the same time, it keeps going our telegraphs, telautographs,
telephones, telephotes, bells, cooking stoves, machinery, arc lights,
incandescent lights, aluminium moons, and submarine cables.”

“Your submarine cables?” observed
Frascolin, sharply.

“Yes, those that connect the town
with the different points of the American coast.”

“And is it necessary to have a
factory of such size for that purpose?”

“I think so, considering what we
do with our electrical energy, and also our mental energy!” replied Munbar. “Believe
me, gentlemen, it required a pretty strong dose to found this incomparable city
without a rival in the world!”

They could hear the dull rumbling
of the huge factory, the vigorous belchings of the steam, the clanking of the
machines, the thuds on the ground, bearing witness to a mechanical effort
greater than any in modern industry. Who could have imagined that such power
was necessary to move dynamos or charge accumulators?

The tram passed, and a quarter of
a mile further on stopped at the harbour.

The travellers alighted, and
their guide, still profuse in his praises of everything, took them along the
quays by the warehouses and docks. The harbour was oval in form, and large
enough to hold some twenty ships. It was more of a wet dock than a harbour
terminated by jetties; two piers, supported on iron piles, and lighted by two
lamps, facilitating the entry of vessels from the sea.

On that day the wet dock
contained only half a dozen steamers, some destined for the transport of
petroleum, others for the transport of the goods needed for daily consumption,
and a few barques fitted with electrical apparatus employed in sea fishing.

Frascolin noticed that the
entrance of the harbour faced the north, and concluded that it must be on the
north shore of one of those points which jut out from Lower California into the
Pacific. He also noticed that there was a current in the sea running eastward
at an appreciable speed, as it ran against the pierheads like the water along
the side of a ship when under way
—
an
effect due doubtless to the action of the rising tide, although the tide does
not run very strong on the western coast of America.

“Where is the river we crossed
yesterday in the ferry boat?” asked Frascolin.

“That is at the back of us,” the
Yankee was content to reply.

But it would not do to delay if
they wished to return to the town in time to take the evening train to San
Diego.

Zorn mentioned this to Munbar,
who answered,
—

“Never fear, my dear friends. We
have plenty of time. A tram will take us back to the town after we have
followed the shore, a little. You wished to have a bird’s-eye view of the
place, and in less than an hour you will get that from the top of the
observatory.”

“You guarantee that?” said Zorn.

“I guarantee that at sunrise
to-morrow you will no longer be where you are now.”

This enigmatic reply had to be
accepted; although Frascolin’s curiosity, which was much greater than that of
his comrades, was excited to the utmost. He was impatient to find himself at
the summit of this tower, from which the American affirmed that the view
extended to a horizon of at least a hundred miles in circumference. After that,
if he could not fix the geographical position of this extraordinary city, he
would have to give up the problem for ever.

At the head of the dock was a
second tram line running along the coast. There was a train of cars, six in
number, in which a number of passengers had already taken their seats. These
cars were drawn by an electric locomotive, with a capacity of two hundred ampères-ohms,
and their speed was from nine to twelve miles an hour.

Calistus Munbar invited the
quartette to take their places in the tram, and it seemed as though it had only
been waiting for our Parisians. The country appeared to differ very little from
the park which lay between the town and the harbour. The same flat soil, and as
carefully looked after. Green fields and meadows instead of lawns, that was
all, fields of vegetables, not of cereals. At this moment artificial rain,
projected from subterranean conduits, was falling in a beneficent shower on the
long rectangles traced by line and square. The sky could not have distributed
it more mathematically or more opportunely.