The Floating Island (7 page)

“These are splendid workers in
iron,” he said, “they make their footways of sheet iron.”

And he stepped up to Calistus
Munbar to hear what he had to say.

“Gentlemen,” said Munbar, “look
at that mansion.”

And he pointed to a vast
construction of monumental aspect, the courtyard of which had along its front a
railing of aluminium.

“This mansion
—
I might say this
palace
—
is
inhabited by the family of one of the principal notables of the town, that is
Jem Tankerdon, the owner of inexhaustible mines of petroleum in Illinois, the
richest, perhaps, and consequently the most honourable and most honoured of our
citizens.”

“Millions?” asked Zorn.

“Phew!” said Calistus Munbar. “The
million is for us but the current dollar, and here we count them by hundreds!
Only the richest men are in this city. That explains why the shopkeepers make
fortunes in a few years. I mean retail shopkeepers, for wholesale traders there
are none in this unique microcosm of the world.”

“And manufacturers?” asked
Pinchinat.

“There are no manufacturers.”

“And shipowners?” asked
Frascolin.

“There are none.”

“People living on their
investments?” asked Zorn.

“Only those and merchants on the
way to be like them.”

“What about the workmen?”
observed Yvernès.

“When we want workmen we get them
from somewhere else, and when their work is over we return them
—
with a good sum in
wages.”

“Look here, Mr. Munbar,” said
Frascolin, “you have a few poor in the town, just to keep the race from
becoming extinct?”

“Poor! Mr. Second Violin! We have
not got a single poor man in the town.”

“Then mendicity is forbidden?”

“There is no necessity to forbid
it, as the town is not accessible to beggars. That is all very well for the
cities of the Union, with their depots, their asylums, their workhouses, and
the houses of correction.”

“Do you mean to say you have no
prisons?”

“No more than we have prisoners.”

“But criminals?”

“They remain in the old and new
Continent, where they can exercise their vocation under more advantageous
conditions.”

“Really, Mr. Munbar,” said
Sebastien Zorn; “one would think to listen to you that we were no longer in
America.”

“You were yesterday,” replied
this astonishing cicerone.

“Yesterday!”  exclaimed
Frascolin? wondering what could be the meaning of this strange expression.

“Doubtless. To-day you are in an
independent city, over which the Union has no claim, which belongs only to
itself.”

“And its name?” asked Sebastien
Zorn, whose natural irritability began to peep out.

“Its name?” replied Calistus
Munbar. “Allow me to be silent a little longer.”

“And when shall we know?”

“When you have finished the visit
by which it is so much honoured.”

This reserve was at least
peculiar. But it was of no consequence. Before noon the Quartette would have
finished their curious walk, and to learn the city’s name as they were leaving
it would be quite enough. The only puzzle about it was this: How could so
considerable a city occupy one of the points on the Californian coast without
belonging to the United States, and how was it that the driver of the carriage
had never mentioned it? The main thing after all was that in twenty-four hours
the Quartette would be at San Diego, where they would learn the word of this
enigma if Calistus Munbar decided not to reveal it to them.

This strange personage had again
given himself over to the indulgence of his descriptive faculty, not without
letting it be seen that he did not wish to explain himself more categorically.

“Gentlemen,” said he, “we are at
the beginning of Thirty-Seventh Avenue. Behold the admirable perspective. In
this quarter there are no shops, no bazaars, none of that movement in the streets
which denotes a business existence. Nothing but hotels and private houses, but
the fortunes are inferior to those of Nineteenth Avenue. Incomes of from ten to
twelve millions.”

“Mere beggars!”  observed
Pinchinat, with a significant grimace.

“Eh, Mr. Alto!”  replied Calistus
Munbar, “it is always possible to be a beggar in comparison with someone else!
A millionaire is rich in comparison with a man who possesses only a hundred
thousand, but not in comparison with him who has a hundred millions.”

Many times already our artistes
had noticed that of all the words used by their cicerone it was “million” which
recurred most frequently. And a fascinating word it was, pronounced as he
pronounced it with metallic sonorousness.

The quartette continued their
walk through the extraordinary town, the name of which was unknown to them. The
people in the streets were all comfortably dressed; nowhere could the rags of a
beggar be seen. Everywhere were trams, drays, trucks, moved by electricity. A
few of the larger streets were provided with moving pavements, worked by an
endless chain, and on which people walked as if on a travelling train sharing
in its own motion. Electric carriages rolled along the roads with the
smoothness of a ball on a billiard-table. Equipages in the true sense of the
word, that is to say, vehicles drawn by horses, were only met with in the
wealthy quarters.

“Ah! there is a church,” said
Frascolin, and he pointed to an edifice of heavy design, without architectural
style, rising from the green lawns of a square.

“That is the Protestant temple,”
said Calistus Munbar, stopping in front of the building.

“Are there any Catholic churches
in your town?” asked Yvernès.

“Yes, sir, and I would like you
to observe that although there are about a thousand different religions on our
globe, we here confine ourselves to Catholicism and Protestantism. It is not
here as in the United States disunited by religion, if not by politics, in
which there are as many sects as families
—
Methodists,
Anglicans, Presbyterians, Baptists, Wesleyans, &c. Here there are only
Protestants faithful to the Calvinistic doctrine or Roman Catholics.”

“And what language do they speak?”

“English and French are both
used.”

“We congratulate you,” said
Pinchinat.

“The town,” continued Calistus
Munbar, “is divided into two sections, which are almost equal. Here we are in
the section
—
”

“West, I think?” said Frascolin,
looking up at the sun. “West, if you like.”

“What, if I like?replied the
Second Violin, much surprised at the reply. “Do the cardinal points of this
city vary as somebody pleases?”

“Yes and no,” said Calistus
Munbar, “I will explain that later on. Let us return to this section, west if
you please, which is only inhabited by Protestants; it is here that the
practical people live, while the Catholics, who are more intellectual and
refined, occupy the east section. That tells you that this temple is the
Protestant temple.”

“It looks like it,” observed Yvernès.
“With its heavy architecture, prayer would not be an elevating towards the sky,
but a crushing towards the ground.”

“Well expressed!” said Pinchinat.
“Mr. Munbar, in a town so up-to-date in its inventions I suppose you listen to
the sermon or the mass by telephone?”

“Quite so.”

“And confession?”

“Just as you can get married by telautograph;
you must admit that it is practicable enough
—
”

“Not to be believed,” replied
Pinchinat, “not to be believed.”

At
eleven o’clock, after so long a walk, it was permissible to be hungry. And our
artistes took advantage of this permission; and they agreed that at any price
they must have some luncheon. This was also the opinion of Calistus Munbar.

Should they return to the
Excelsior Hotel? Yes, for there did not seem to be many restaurants in this
town, where the people probably preferred to have their meals at home, and
tourists were apparently rather rare.

In a few minutes a tramcar took
the hungry men to their hotel, where they took their places before a well-served
table. It afforded a striking contrast with the ordinary American style, in
which the multiplicity of the dishes is not at all in proportion to the
quantity they contain. Excellent was the beef and mutton; tender and tasty was
the poultry; of tempting freshness was the fish. And instead of the iced water
of the restaurants of the Union, there were several kinds of beer and wines
which the sun of France had distilled ten years before on the hill sides of
Medoc and Burgundy.

Pinchinat and Frascolin did
honour to this repast, as did also Zorn and Yvernès. Calistus Munbar had
invited them, and it would have been bad taste not to have accepted his
hospitality.

Besides, this Yankee, whose
conversational powers were inexhaustible, displayed quite a charming humour. He
told them all about the town except the one thing his guests wished to know,
namely, what was this independent city, the name of which he hesitated to
reveal?”A little patience,” he would say; “wait till the exploration is
finished.” Was his idea to make the quartette tipsy, with the object of letting
them miss the train to San Diego? No, but they drank well after having eaten
well, and the dessert was being finished with tea, coffee and liqueurs, when an
explosion shook the glasses in the hotel.

“What is that?” asked Yvernès,
with a start.

“Do not be uneasy, gentlemen,”
replied Calistus Munbar, “that is the gun at the observatory.”

“If it only means noon,” said
Frascolin, looking at his watch, “I beg to state that it is late.”

“No, Mr. Alto, no! The sun is no
later here than elsewhere.”

A singular smile played on the
American’s lips, his eyes sparkled behind his spectacles, and he rubbed his
hands. He seemed to be congratulating himself on having perpetrated some
excellent joke.

Frascolin, less excited than the
others by the good cheer, looked at him suspiciously without knowing what to
make of it.

“Come, my friends,” added the
American, in his most amiable manner, “allow me to remind you that there is the
second part of the town for us to visit, and I shall die of despair if a single
detail escapes you. We have no time to lose.”

“At what time does the train
start for San Diego?” asked Zorn, always anxious not to fail in his engagements
by arriving late.

“Yes, at what time?” repeated
Frascolin.

“Oh, in the evening,” replied
Calistus Munbar, with a wink of his left eye. “Come, my guests, come. You will
not repent of having had me as a guide.”

How could they disobey such an
obliging personage? The four artistes left the Excelsior Hotel and strolled
along the road. It really seemed as though they had drunk rather freely of the
wine, for a kind of thrill seemed to run through their legs, although they had
not taken their places on one of the moving footways.

“Eh! eh! Support us, Chatillon!”
exclaimed “his highness.”

“I think we have had a little to
drink,” said Yvernès, wiping his forehead.

“All right,” observed the
American, “once is not always! We had to water your welcome.”

“And we have emptied the
watering-pot,” replied Pinchinat, who had never felt in a better humour.

Calistus Munbar took them down
one of the roads leading to the second half of the town. In this district there
was more animation than in the other. It was as though they had been suddenly
transported from the northern to the southern States of the Union; from Chicago
to New Orleans, from Illinois to Louisiana. The shops were better filled, the
houses of more elegant architecture, the family mansions more comfortable, the
hotels as magnificent as those in the Protestant section but of more cheerful
aspect. The people were different in bearing and character. The city was
apparently double, like certain stars, only the sections did not revolve round
one another.

When they had nearly reached the
centre of the district, the group stopped about the middle of Fifteenth Avenue,
and Yvernès exclaimed,
—

“Upon my word, that is a palace!”

“The palace of the Coverley
family,” replied Calistus Munbar, “Nat Coverley, the equal of Jem Tankerdon.”

“Richer than he is?” asked
Pinchinat.

“Quite as rich,” said the
American. “An ex-banker of New Orleans, who has more hundreds of millions than
he has fingers on both hands.”

“A nice pair of gloves, Mr.
Munbar!”

“Just so.”

“And these two notables, Jem
Tankerdon and Nat Coverley, are enemies, naturally?”

“Rivals, at least! each striving
for preponderance in the city’s affairs, jealous of one another.”

“Will they end by eating one
another?” asked Zorn.

“Perhaps, and if one devours the
other
—
” “What
an attack of indigestion will follow!” And Calistus Munbar absolutely shook
with laughter, so much was he amused at the reply.

The Catholic church rises in a
vast open space so as to give a good view of its fine proportions. It is in the
Gothic style, the style that can be admired close to, for the vertical lines
which constitute its beauty lose their character when seen from a distance. St.
Mary’s Church merits admiration for the slenderness of its pinnacles, the
delicacy of its rose work, the elegance of its flamboyant pointed arches, the
gracefulness of its windows.

“A fine specimen of Anglo-Saxon
Gothic,” said Yvernès, who was a good judge of architecture. “You are right,
Mr. Munbar, the two sections of your town have no more resemblance between them
than the temple of the one and the cathedral of the other!”

“And yet, Monsieur Yvernès, these
two sections are born of the same mother
—
”