Chapter Chapter 13 · XIII. The Trap of the White Sphinx

The Trap of the White Sphinx

“About eight or nine in the morning I came to the same seat of yellow

metal from which I had viewed the world upon the evening of my arrival.

I thought of my hasty conclusions upon that evening and could not

refrain from laughing bitterly at my confidence. Here was the same

beautiful scene, the same abundant foliage, the same splendid palaces

and magnificent ruins, the same silver river running between its

fertile banks. The gay robes of the beautiful people moved hither and

thither among the trees. Some were bathing in exactly the place where I

had saved Weena, and that suddenly gave me a keen stab of pain. And

like blots upon the landscape rose the cupolas above the ways to the

Underworld. I understood now what all the beauty of the Overworld

people covered. Very pleasant was their day, as pleasant as the day of

the cattle in the field. Like the cattle, they knew of no enemies and

provided against no needs. And their end was the same.

“I grieved to think how brief the dream of the human intellect had

been. It had committed suicide. It had set itself steadfastly towards

comfort and ease, a balanced society with security and permanency as

its watchword, it had attained its hopes—to come to this at last. Once,

life and property must have reached almost absolute safety. The rich

had been assured of his wealth and comfort, the toiler assured of his

life and work. No doubt in that perfect world there had been no

unemployed problem, no social question left unsolved. And a great quiet

had followed.

“It is a law of nature we overlook, that intellectual versatility is

the compensation for change, danger, and trouble. An animal perfectly

in harmony with its environment is a perfect mechanism. Nature never

appeals to intelligence until habit and instinct are useless. There is

no intelligence where there is no change and no need of change. Only

those animals partake of intelligence that have to meet a huge variety

of needs and dangers.

“So, as I see it, the Upperworld man had drifted towards his feeble

prettiness, and the Underworld to mere mechanical industry. But that

perfect state had lacked one thing even for mechanical

perfection—absolute permanency. Apparently as time went on, the feeding

of an Underworld, however it was effected, had become disjointed.

Mother Necessity, who had been staved off for a few thousand years,

came back again, and she began below. The Underworld being in contact

with machinery, which, however perfect, still needs some little thought

outside habit, had probably retained perforce rather more initiative,

if less of every other human character, than the Upper. And when other

meat failed them, they turned to what old habit had hitherto forbidden.

So I say I saw it in my last view of the world of Eight Hundred and Two

Thousand Seven Hundred and One. It may be as wrong an explanation as

mortal wit could invent. It is how the thing shaped itself to me, and

as that I give it to you.

“After the fatigues, excitements, and terrors of the past days, and in

spite of my grief, this seat and the tranquil view and the warm

sunlight were very pleasant. I was very tired and sleepy, and soon my

theorising passed into dozing. Catching myself at that, I took my own

hint, and spreading myself out upon the turf I had a long and

refreshing sleep.

“I awoke a little before sunsetting. I now felt safe against being

caught napping by the Morlocks, and, stretching myself, I came on down

the hill towards the White Sphinx. I had my crowbar in one hand, and

the other hand played with the matches in my pocket.

“And now came a most unexpected thing. As I approached the pedestal of

the sphinx I found the bronze valves were open. They had slid down into

grooves.

“At that I stopped short before them, hesitating to enter.

“Within was a small apartment, and on a raised place in the corner of

this was the Time Machine. I had the small levers in my pocket. So

here, after all my elaborate preparations for the siege of the White

Sphinx, was a meek surrender. I threw my iron bar away, almost sorry

not to use it.

“A sudden thought came into my head as I stooped towards the portal.

For once, at least, I grasped the mental operations of the Morlocks.

Suppressing a strong inclination to laugh, I stepped through the bronze

frame and up to the Time Machine. I was surprised to find it had been

carefully oiled and cleaned. I have suspected since that the Morlocks

had even partially taken it to pieces while trying in their dim way to

grasp its purpose.

“Now as I stood and examined it, finding a pleasure in the mere touch

of the contrivance, the thing I had expected happened. The bronze

panels suddenly slid up and struck the frame with a clang. I was in the

dark—trapped. So the Morlocks thought. At that I chuckled gleefully.

“I could already hear their murmuring laughter as they came towards me.

Very calmly I tried to strike the match. I had only to fix on the

levers and depart then like a ghost. But I had overlooked one little

thing. The matches were of that abominable kind that light only on the

box.

“You may imagine how all my calm vanished. The little brutes were close

upon me. One touched me. I made a sweeping blow in the dark at them

with the levers, and began to scramble into the saddle of the machine.

Then came one hand upon me and then another. Then I had simply to fight

against their persistent fingers for my levers, and at the same time

feel for the studs over which these fitted. One, indeed, they almost

got away from me. As it slipped from my hand, I had to butt in the dark

with my head—I could hear the Morlock’s skull ring—to recover it. It

was a nearer thing than the fight in the forest, I think, this last

scramble.

“But at last the lever was fixed and pulled over. The clinging hands

slipped from me. The darkness presently fell from my eyes. I found

myself in the same grey light and tumult I have already described.

Chapte