The Glass City
For five or six hours we proceeded through the fruit-bearing jungles,
which seemed limitless in extent and yet constantly displayed new and
unexpected features. But the journey was by no means arduous, for
twice we paused for rest and refreshments at little open-air inns that
fronted the roads; at all times our pace was unhurried. And most of the
party seemed still fresh and energetic when, toward the middle of the
afternoon, we emerged suddenly from the thickets and saw a group of
fairy-like towers gleaming straight ahead.
“That is the city of Thalos,” I heard one of the tutors explaining. “It
is there that we stay for the night.”
As we approached, I directed my eyes eagerly upon Thalos, which even
at a distance appeared strikingly different from Archeon. Indeed,
it appeared strikingly different from any city I had ever seen, for
no streets or thoroughfares of any kind were visible, and, as we
drew near, the various buildings seemed to merge in a long unbroken
line dominated by turrets, domes and spires spaced at geometrical
intervals; and all those domes and spires flashed and sparkled with a
multi-colored light, which changed in hue and intensity with every step
we took and was elusive and yet vivid as the glittering of innumerable
gems.
So awe-stricken was I that I scarcely thought of questioning my
companions, but hastened toward this alluring city. And the nearer I
approached the more dazzled I was. By degrees I came to realize that
a high wall surrounded the town; but this wall brought no reminders
of the fortified bulwarks of ancient cities, for its outlines were
graceful and pleasing, its color an agreeable dark blue, and its
evident purpose ornamental. And when I had come within a few hundred
yards of the city, I observed that its blueness was translucent,
indicating that the building material was glass!--and, judging from the
peculiar glistening and glinting of the towers projecting above the
wall, I wondered whether stained glass were not the substance of the
entire town!
This, in fact, I discovered was so. Having passed through the wall
by means of a little arched gateway invisible at a distance, I found
myself in what might have been a city out of the Arabian Nights. I
cannot say with certainty whether I beheld a single building or a
hundred, or whether I stood in an open court or in a street; for before
me spread a wide expanse of glass masonry, of arches and covered
galleries, of steeples and cupolas and winding balconies; and all this
masonry seemed to be joined in a more or less unified whole. There may
have been individual edifices, but there was no edifice not connected
with its neighbors by arching walls or overhead passageways; there may
have been streets winding through this wilderness of glass, but it
struck me that there were only open spaces alternating with twining
glass-roofed corridors. Yet, however bizarre the total impression (and
bizarre it was beyond all imagining), there was also a certain unity
that prevented the city from appearing grotesque; and its various
segments, in their garments of lavender or pale blue or turquoise or
vivid ruby, fitted together as perfectly as the parts of an intricate
and beautiful mosaic.
We had barely entered the city when half a dozen natives emerged from
unseen corridors and greeted us. Like the members of our own party,
they were dressed in exquisite light-tinted gowns; and, like all the
Atlanteans, they were well built, prepossessing of appearance and
handsome; and there was a perfect natural courtesy in their manner when
they assured us how welcome we were and bade us accompany them to our
lodgings.
Still speechless with wonder, I followed my companions through long
crystal galleries, around the base of jewel-like glimmering towers, and
across flowered parks where iridescent fountains splashed and bubbled.
“This is typical of the latest in architecture,” I heard one of the men
saying, as he pointed up at the curving, interlinking stained glass
porticoes and domes. “Thalos in its present form is not more than five
centuries old, and is exclusively a development of Post-Submergence
art.”
Almost before these words were out of the speaker’s mouth, we were
led up a long flight of stairs and through an elliptical doorway into
a chamber which, to my surprise, was walled and roofed not with glass,
but with marble. Here we were treated to a sumptuous repast, consisting
of a sort of vegetable steak, native cakes and bread, honey and fruit,
which already lay spread for us on half a dozen little tables. And,
after we had dined, we were each shown to a room on the roof, which was
equipped with all articles that necessity or convenience could demand,
and where, if we wished, we might well rest from the day’s exertions.
Some of our party may possibly have availed themselves of this
opportunity; but, for my own part, I was so excited merely at being in
Thales, that a rest was out of the question.
* * * * *
As soon as I had washed myself clean of the dust of the journey, I
made my way down from my roof-apartment and out of the building. As
I stepped toward the outer door, I was rejoiced to see a familiar
blue-clad figure preceding me down the stairs. “Aelios!” I cried; and
when she turned to see what was the matter, I joined her with the
breathless suggestion that we take a little stroll together. And--quite
unexpectedly--she obliged me by agreeing.
“Luckily, I’ve been here before, and so know my way about,” she said,
as we started. “If you went alone, you might get lost.”
“I wouldn’t mind--in such a charming place,” I declared, with a smile.
And then, as a means of making conversation, I remarked, “The people
here are exceedingly hospitable, aren’t they?”
“Hospitable?” she echoed, as if not understanding. “What makes you
think that?”
Surprised, I pointed out the self-evident fact that they had lodged and
feasted us so splendidly.
“Oh, it is not they that have lodged and feasted us!” she corrected.
“It is the State!”
It was now my turn to look blank, and hers to explain.
“Our complete itinerary has been arranged in advance,” she continued,
“and all our needs will be provided for by the State, just as the State
provides for us when we’re at home. Obviously, that’s the only possible
way.”
“Then is there no such thing as private property in Atlantis?” I
inquired.
“Private property?” She looked puzzled, as though trying to assimilate
an alien point of view. “What would be the use of private property?”
Then, seeing the dull stare with which I replied, she proceeded, “Of
course, I remember that there used to be private property in the old
days, before the Submergence. But that has all been abolished long ago.”
“Is it possible?” I exclaimed, thinking this the most incredible
statement I had yet heard.
“Well, not quite all abolished,” she amended, thoughtfully. “Our
clothes and books and personal ornaments are still private property, of
course.”
“But does the State supply one with everything else?”
“Yes, with everything, including one’s clothes. You’ll see for yourself
when you return from this trip and set out as a citizen.”
Thereupon she told me a few more facts about the State control of
property, and how things such as inheritance and taxation were unknown.
Then gradually the conversation shifted to less impersonal and more
alluring subjects. She asked me about the world I had come from, and
whether it had any architectural marvels rivalling those of Thalos;
and I replied that it had not, though the skyscrapers of New York were
considered wondrous enough. I was reluctant to talk about my own world,
however; I did not wish to be disturbed by remembrances; I desired
only to be walking with Aelios as I was walking now, and to hear her
speak, and to be permitted to look into those bright and glamorous blue
eyes of hers. And so I listened like one in a trance as she told me
of her life, and how she had been the eldest child of two celebrated
artists and had never lacked anything she really wanted, and how from
her earliest years she had loved music and the dance, but particularly
the dance, and had followed her childhood inclinations in her chosen
work for the State, though in her prescribed work she was a tutor. All
this and much more Aelios told me about herself, while I heard her with
adoration that must have been all too apparent in my fascinated gaze.
But she seemed without self-consciousness and without realization of
the tender sentiments welling up within me; and she rambled eagerly on
and on, speaking with animation and vivacity, as one speaks to an old
and amiable companion.
We must have strolled through the rambling thoroughfares for an hour,
when we seated ourselves on a cushioned marble bench at one corner of a
wide court. “If we stay here until dark,” suggested Aelios, “you will
see one of the most curious exhibitions that you have ever seen.”
It seemed only a few minutes later when, without warning, the golden
orbs above us flickered, grew dim, and flashed into blackness. Then,
while I was wondering whether we were to be left in total gloom,
other lights gleamed from the city’s unseen pinnacles; and their rays
darted in long streamers against a blank glass wall directly across
from us, illuminating it with fantastic and unbelievable designs.
Unlike the searchlights that had amazed me at the Pageant of the Good
Destruction, these lights were not without apparent purpose; they shed
definite patterns, I might almost say pictures, upon the broad glass
screen. First one could make out the form of a man, life-sized and
with pale-colored robes, moving in agile cinematograph fashion; then
a woman or a child would advance across the screen to meet him; then
the two would engage in various significant motions or gesticulations,
to be joined perhaps by others; and in the swaying and blending of
the lights, the weird mingling and intermingling of a myriad shades
and colors, the background of shadows and the foreground of lithe and
active figures, I realized that I was witnessing the representation of
scenes from Atlantean life!
What those scenes were I cannot recall. But I have the impression that
they aimed to present life symbolically rather than literally; that
beauty was their purpose rather than accuracy, and that a pleasing
harmony of color, tone and proportion was deemed more important than a
stringent realism. I fear that I was not sufficiently advanced in the
native art to appreciate them, for they left little more effect upon
my mind than an exhibition of mere technique with the violin or piano
would leave upon one untrained in music.
But, at the time, the spectacle certainly did have its influence.
Although vaguely aware that the seats about me were being silently
occupied, I could scarcely give a thought to my surroundings; and under
the enchantment of the shifting and pictorial lights, I felt as if
Aelios and I were alone together; and I pressed close to her, until
not a fraction of an inch divided us and it seemed that we breathed
not as two persons but as one. Very cautiously, as though it were a
clandestine and forbidden act, I reached out my hand till it touched
hers and the palm closed softly over her fingers. She did not return
the pressure and yet did not withdraw her hand, nor even seem to notice
what I was doing; and, in my confusion, I scarcely knew whether to feel
encouraged or repulsed.
Then, by that wavering and uncertain light, I caught a glimpse of her
eyes. They were bright and shining--and did they merely reflect her
joy at the colored display? Not a word was spoken between us, nor was
I anxious that a word be spoken; I had sudden visions of a tomorrow
fairer than I would once have dared to hope for.