Fantasy fiction; Utopian fiction; Utopias -- Fiction
"Yes," and Cobb laughed at the horrified expressions upon their faces.
"Yes, I do most certainly intend this very thing. I have nothing
to lose; I have everything to gain. My theories will be tested, my
suppositions proved. I have invested all my wealth except a sufficient
amount to carry out my programme, in such a manner that in a hundred
years it must, or my calculations are very much out of the way,
increase in a way to make me a rich man. If I can hold my rank in the
army, I will be a colonel, probably. With wealth and rank, I can again
enter the world in a position to gratify my ambitions and desires. If
I succeed, all will be well; if I fail, why, that is the end of it.
Without chick or soul in this world dependent upon me, why should I
hesitate to advance the sciences by undergoing the ordeal of that which
I have advocated? No one but I ought to be called upon to prove the
theory I have originated. If I fail, what is the consequence? I simply
die! On this earth, a human being dies every second; does it interfere
with the steady and slow movement of the machinery of life? No, not
at all! Though 32,000,000 die every year, they are not missed! Do we
know what the future is? Do we know it to be worse than the present?
No! Then, why care if we die to-day or to-morrow? I am resolved to
take this opportunity of demonstrating that man can live longer than
the allotted time accorded him. I have always longed to know what this
world would be like in a hundred years: it certainly will be a strange
world! Most men think that we have reached a state of perfection
already, and that it is almost impossible for man to improve upon the
present condition of life, surrounded, as we are, by so many and great
inventions. I, for one, do not think that way. I believe we are but
in our infancy to what we will be in a hundred years. You have each
given me your sacred promise that you will assist me in my undertaking.
I hold you to it. I am, in reality, going to die, as regards all my
friends, all my associations, and as regards the very present itself.
I think I can almost understand the feelings of the condemned criminal
on the scaffold, who is about to leave behind him all that is dear, all
that is sacred to him. Yet I am buoyed up by other feelings that that
poor wretch has not; I will live again. I do not believe that either
of you can quite understand my feelings in this matter. It is too new
to you both. There are many cases on record where men have given up
life for various reasons--given it up cheerfully and without a murmur;
and those men never expected to live again--at least, in the flesh.
Why should I falter? I, who go but to come again; to again enjoy the
pleasures of life; to walk, see, speak, and associate with mankind!"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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