hier kun je het boek lezen(in het engels).
The Time Machine, by H. G. Wells [1898]
I
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 three 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 moment. 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.
II
I think that at that time none of us quite
believed in the Time
Machine. The fact is, the Time Traveller was
one of those men who
are too clever to be believed: you never felt
that you saw all round
him; you always suspected some subtle reserve,
some ingenuity in
ambush, behind his lucid frankness. Had Filby
shown the model and
explained the matter in the Time Traveller's
words, we should have
shown _him_ far less scepticism. For we should
have perceived his
motives; a pork butcher could understand Filby.
But the Time
Traveller had more than a touch of whim among
his elements, and we
distrusted him. Things that would have made the
frame of a less
clever man seemed tricks in his hands. It is a
mistake to do things
too easily. The serious people who took him
seriously never felt
quite sure of his deportment; they were somehow
aware that trusting
their reputations for judgment with him was
like furnishing a
nursery with egg-shell china. So I don't think
any of us said very
10-06-2007, 12:47
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