VIII. Explanation

von H. G. Wells

As far as I could tell, the world around me was as vibrant and rich as the Thames valley. From every hill I climbed, I was greeted by a stunning array of buildings, each one unique in its materials and design. Clusters of evergreen trees surrounded me, while blossoms adorned the trees and ferns. Here and there, water sparkled like silver, and in the distance, the land rolled into soft blue hills that faded into the calm sky.

One striking feature that caught my attention was the presence of several circular wells, some of which appeared to be quite deep. One of these wells was located along the path I had taken during my first walk. Like the others, it was bordered with intricately designed bronze and topped with a small dome to shield it from the rain. Sitting beside these wells and peering into their dark depths, I couldn’t see any water, nor could I catch a reflection with a lit match. Yet, from each well, I heard a rhythmic thud—thud—thud, reminiscent of a massive engine at work. The flickering light of my matches revealed a steady current of air flowing down the shafts. When I tossed a scrap of paper into one, it was quickly sucked out of sight instead of drifting slowly down.

Eventually, I began to connect these wells with the tall towers that dotted the slopes. Above them, I often noticed a shimmering in the air, similar to what you see on a hot day above a sun-baked beach. Putting the pieces together, I formed a strong impression of an extensive system of underground ventilation, though its true purpose remained elusive. Initially, I thought it might be linked to the sanitation systems of these people. It seemed like a logical conclusion, but I soon realized it was completely off the mark.

I must admit, during my time in this future world, I learned very little about drains, bells, or modes of transportation. In many of the Utopian visions I had read, there was a wealth of detail about buildings and social structures. But while such details are easy to conjure in one’s imagination, they were nearly impossible to grasp as a traveler amidst the realities I encountered. Imagine the story a man from Central Africa would take back to his tribe after visiting London! What could he possibly convey about railway companies, social movements, telephone and telegraph wires, or postal services? Yet, we would be more than willing to explain these concepts to him! And even of what he did understand, how much could he make his untraveled friends comprehend or believe? Now, consider the slight gap between a man of color and a white man in our time, and then think about the vast chasm between myself and the people of this Golden Age. I sensed many things that were invisible yet contributed to my comfort, but aside from a general impression of an automatic system, I fear I can share very little of the differences with you.

Take burial practices, for example. I saw no signs of cremation facilities or anything resembling tombs. It occurred to me that there might be cemeteries or crematoria located beyond the areas I had explored. This was a question I pondered, but my curiosity was initially met with frustration. It puzzled me further to note that there seemed to be no elderly or infirm among these people.

I must confess that my initial satisfaction with my theories of an automatic civilization and a declining humanity didn’t last long. Yet, I couldn’t come up with any other explanations. Let me share my confusion. The grand palaces I had explored were merely living spaces, with vast dining halls and sleeping quarters. I found no machinery or tools of any kind. Yet, these people wore lovely fabrics that must have needed replacing at some point, and their simple sandals were surprisingly intricate pieces of metalwork. Clearly, these items had to be produced somehow. However, the people around me showed no signs of creativity. There were no shops, no workshops, and no indication of imports. They spent their days playing gently, bathing in the river, engaging in playful romance, eating fruit, and sleeping. I couldn’t figure out how anything was maintained.

I had a strange feeling about the Time Machine. It was hidden away inside the hollow pedestal of the White Sphinx, and I couldn’t figure out why. The wells were dry, and the flickering pillars only added to my confusion. It was like stumbling upon an inscription where some words were clear and others were completely foreign to me. That’s how the world of the year 802,701 felt to me on the third day of my visit.

That day, I also made a friend—of sorts. While I was watching some of the small people playing in a shallow stream, one of them suddenly went into a cramp and began to drift downstream. The current was swift but manageable for a decent swimmer. It was shocking to see that none of the others made any effort to help the poor child who was crying out for assistance. Realizing this, I quickly took off my clothes, waded into the water, and managed to grab the little one, bringing her safely to shore. After rubbing her limbs to help her recover, I was relieved to see she was okay before I left her. I had come to think so little of her kind that I didn’t expect any gratitude, but I was wrong.

That morning’s event was just the beginning. In the afternoon, as I was heading back from an exploration, I ran into the little girl again. She greeted me with joyful cries and presented me with a beautiful garland of flowers, clearly made just for me. It touched my heart, especially since I had been feeling quite lonely. I did my best to show my appreciation for her gift. We found a small stone arbor to sit in, and our conversation was mostly filled with smiles. Her warmth reminded me of a child’s affection. We exchanged flowers and kissed each other’s hands. When I tried to talk, I learned her name was Weena. I didn’t know what it meant, but it felt fitting. This marked the start of a peculiar friendship that lasted a week, and I’ll tell you how it ended.

Weena was like a child in many ways. She wanted to be by my side all the time and tried to follow me everywhere. It tugged at my heart to see her tire herself out, calling after me in a plaintive voice as I left her behind. But I reminded myself that I hadn’t come to the future to indulge in a little romance. Still, her distress when I left was palpable, and her pleas sometimes bordered on frantic. I found her devotion to be both a comfort and a burden. I thought it was just childish affection that made her cling to me, but I didn’t realize the impact of my departures until it was too late. By simply showing her that I cared, Weena made my returns to the area around the White Sphinx feel almost like coming home. I would eagerly look for her tiny figure of white and gold as I crested the hill.

From Weena, I also learned that fear still existed in this world. She was brave in the daylight and had an odd trust in me. Once, I playfully made threatening faces at her, and she just laughed. But when darkness fell, she was terrified—of shadows, of dark things. For her, darkness was the ultimate fear. This intense emotion made me think and observe more closely. I noticed that these little people gathered in their homes after dark, sleeping in groups. To enter their space without a light sent them into a panic. I never saw one outside or alone inside after nightfall. Yet, despite Weena’s fear, I was foolish enough to ignore the lesson and insisted on sleeping away from the safety of those slumbering masses.

It troubled her deeply, but in the end, her unusual affection for me won out. For five nights during our time together, including the last night, she rested her head on my arm as she slept. But as I talk about her, my thoughts drift away from the story. It must have been the night before her rescue when I was jolted awake just before dawn. I had been restless, plagued by a disturbing dream in which I was drowning, and sea anemones were brushing against my face with their soft tentacles. I woke suddenly, with a strange feeling that some gray creature had just darted out of the room.

I tried to fall back asleep, but I felt uneasy and restless. It was that dim, gray hour when the world is just beginning to emerge from darkness—everything is colorless and sharply defined, yet somehow unreal. I got up and made my way down to the grand hall, stepping out onto the flagstones in front of the palace. I thought I might as well make the most of it and watch the sunrise.

The moon was setting, and the fading moonlight mixed with the first light of dawn created a ghostly half-light. The bushes were pitch black, the ground a dull gray, and the sky was colorless and bleak. As I looked up the hill, I thought I saw ghosts. Three times, as I scanned the slope, I caught sight of white figures. Twice, I thought I saw a solitary, white, ape-like creature moving quickly up the hill, and once, near the ruins, I saw a group of them carrying something dark. They moved quickly, and I lost sight of them as they disappeared into the bushes. The dawn was still vague, and I was gripped by that chilly, uncertain feeling you might recognize from early mornings. I doubted my own eyes.

As the eastern sky brightened and daylight returned, bringing vivid colors back to the world, I scrutinized the view closely. But there was no sign of the white figures. They had been mere illusions of the half-light. “They must have been ghosts,” I mused, wondering where they had come from. A quirky thought from Grant Allen popped into my mind and amused me. He argued that if each generation leaves behind ghosts, eventually the world would become overcrowded with them. By that logic, there would be countless spirits in eight hundred thousand years, so it wasn’t surprising to see four at once. But the joke felt unsatisfying, and I spent the morning thinking about those figures until Weena’s rescue pushed them from my mind. I vaguely associated them with the white creature I had startled during my frantic search for the Time Machine. But Weena was a welcome distraction. Still, those figures were destined to haunt my thoughts far more dangerously.

I think I’ve mentioned how much hotter it was in this Golden Age than in our own time. I can’t explain it. Perhaps the sun was hotter, or the earth was closer to it. It’s commonly assumed that the sun will continue to cool over time. But people who aren’t familiar with theories like those of the younger Darwin forget that the planets will eventually fall back into the sun one by one. As these events occur, the sun will blaze with renewed energy; maybe some inner planet had already experienced this fate. Whatever the cause, the truth is that the sun was significantly hotter than we know it today.

One very hot morning—my fourth, I think—while seeking refuge from the heat and glare in a massive ruin near the grand house where I slept and ate, something strange happened. As I climbed among the piles of stone, I discovered a narrow gallery, its end and side windows blocked by fallen debris. Compared to the brilliance outside, it felt impenetrably dark. I entered, feeling my way, as the sudden shift from light to darkness made spots of color dance before my eyes. Suddenly, I froze, spellbound. A pair of eyes, glowing with reflected light from outside, was watching me from the shadows.

An instinctive fear of wild animals surged through me. I clenched my fists and stared into those glaring eyes, too afraid to turn away. Then I remembered how secure humanity seemed to be in this world. I recalled that strange fear of the dark. Pushing through my fear, I took a step forward and spoke, my voice harsh and shaky. I reached out and touched something soft. Instantly, the eyes darted to the side, and something white dashed past me. My heart raced as I turned to see a peculiar little ape-like figure, its head held down in an odd way, scurrying across the sunlit space behind me. It bumped into a granite block, staggered, and in a moment, it vanished into the shadow beneath another pile of crumbling stone.

My impression of what I saw was far from perfect, but I clearly remember it was a dull white creature with large, strange greyish-red eyes. It had flaxen hair on its head and down its back. But it moved too quickly for me to see it clearly. I couldn’t even tell if it ran on all fours or if it just kept its forearms low to the ground. After a brief moment of hesitation, I followed it into the second pile of ruins.

At first, I couldn’t find it. But after a while, in the deep darkness, I stumbled upon one of those round, well-like openings I had mentioned before, half-covered by a fallen pillar. A sudden thought struck me: could this thing have slipped down the shaft? I lit a match and peered down, only to see a small, white creature with large, bright eyes staring back at me as it retreated. It sent a shiver down my spine. It looked so much like a human spider! It was climbing down the wall, and for the first time, I noticed a series of metal foot and handholds forming a sort of ladder down the shaft. Just then, the match burned my fingers and fell from my hand, extinguishing itself as it dropped. When I lit another match, the little creature had vanished.

I don’t know how long I sat there, staring down that well. It took me a while to convince myself that what I had seen was human. Gradually, the truth began to dawn on me: humanity hadn’t remained a single species; it had split into two distinct forms. The graceful beings of the Upper World were not the only descendants of our kind. That pale, grotesque, nocturnal creature I had glimpsed was also an heir to all the ages.

I thought about the flickering pillars and my theory of underground ventilation. I started to suspect their true significance. What was this creature doing in my vision of a perfectly balanced society? How did it relate to the lazy serenity of the beautiful Overworlders? And what lay hidden down there, at the bottom of that shaft? I perched on the edge of the well, telling myself that there was nothing to fear and that I needed to descend to find answers. Yet, I was paralyzed with fear.

As I hesitated, two of the lovely upperworld people dashed across the sunlight, engaged in their playful courtship. The male chased the female, tossing flowers at her as he ran.

They seemed troubled to find me there, my arm resting against the toppled pillar, peering down the well. Apparently, it was considered poor etiquette to acknowledge these openings. When I pointed to the well and attempted to ask a question in their language, their distress grew, and they turned away. However, they were intrigued by my matches, so I struck a few to entertain them. I tried again to ask about the well, but once more, I failed. Eventually, I left them, intending to return to Weena and see what I could learn from her. But my mind was already in turmoil; my thoughts and impressions were shifting and rearranging into a new understanding.

I now had a clue about the significance of these wells, the ventilation towers, the mystery of the ghosts, not to mention a hint at the meaning of the bronze gates and the fate of the Time Machine! Vaguely, I sensed I was getting closer to solving the economic puzzle that had baffled me.

Here was a new perspective. Clearly, this second species of humanity lived underground. Three particular details made me think that their rare appearances above ground were the result of a long-established underground lifestyle. First, there was the pale appearance common in many creatures that dwell in darkness—like the white fish found in Kentucky caves. Then, those large eyes, capable of reflecting light, are typical of nocturnal animals—think of owls and cats. Lastly, their evident confusion in sunlight, their hurried yet clumsy flight toward shadows, and the peculiar way they held their heads while exposed to light all supported the idea of an extreme sensitivity of their eyes.

So beneath my feet, the earth must be extensively tunnelled, and these tunnels were the home of this New Race. The presence of ventilation shafts and wells along the hillsides—everywhere, in fact, except along the river valley—indicated how widespread their network was. What could be more natural than to assume that it was in this artificial Underworld that the work necessary for the comfort of the daylight race was carried out? The notion was so plausible that I accepted it immediately, moving on to speculate about how the human species had split in the first place. I’m sure you can guess the shape of my theory; yet, even I soon felt it fell far short of the truth.

At first, looking at the issues of our time, it became clear to me that the growing divide between the wealthy and the working class was central to understanding our society. It might sound absurd or unbelievable, but even now, there are signs pointing in that direction. We’re starting to see more underground spaces being used for less glamorous aspects of civilization. Take the London Underground, for example, along with new electric railways, subways, and underground cafes and offices—they’re popping up everywhere. It seemed to me that this trend had grown to the point where industry had lost its rightful place above ground. It was sinking deeper into vast underground factories, spending more and more time below the surface, until eventually—! Even now, doesn’t a worker in the East End live in conditions that practically cut him off from the natural world?

Moreover, the wealthier classes, perhaps due to their increasingly refined education and the growing distance from the harsh realities faced by the poor, are already closing off significant portions of the land for their own benefit. Around London, for instance, a good chunk of the beautiful countryside is off-limits to the public. This widening gap—which stems from the length and cost of higher education and the growing temptations of a more refined lifestyle for the rich—will likely make interactions between classes, including marriages that could bridge the divide, increasingly rare. In the end, you’ll have the privileged living above ground, chasing pleasure, comfort, and beauty, while the less fortunate, the workers, adapt to their harsh underground existence. Once they were down there, they would have to pay rent for the ventilation of their caverns; if they didn’t, they’d either starve or suffocate from the lack of air. Those who were unhappy and rebellious would perish, and eventually, the survivors would adapt to their underground life, becoming as content in their own way as the people above ground were in theirs. To me, it seemed that the delicate beauty and pale faces of the upper class followed naturally from this separation.

The grand vision of humanity I once dreamed of took on a different form in my mind. It wasn’t the triumph of moral progress and cooperation I had imagined. Instead, I envisioned a true aristocracy, equipped with advanced science and pushing the industrial system of today to its logical extremes. Their victory wasn’t just over nature; it was a victory over both nature and humanity itself. I must caution you, this was just my theory at the time. I had no guide from the utopian books to help me. My explanation might be completely wrong, but I still believe it’s the most plausible one. Even if that were true, the balanced civilization they had achieved must have long since peaked and was now in decline. The Overworlders’ excessive security had led them to a slow degeneration, a general decline in size, strength, and intelligence. I could see that clearly. What had happened to the Undergrounders was still a mystery to me, but from what I had observed of the Morlocks—yes, that was the name for those creatures—I could imagine that the changes in the human race were even more significant than those among the Eloi, the beautiful beings I had already encountered.

Then doubts began to nag at me. Why had the Morlocks taken my Time Machine? I was sure it was them. And if the Eloi were in charge, why couldn’t they return it to me? Why were they so terrified of the dark? I tried to ask Weena about this Underworld, but once again, I was met with disappointment. At first, she didn’t understand my questions, and then she simply refused to answer. She shivered as if the subject was too painful to discuss. When I pressed her, perhaps a bit too harshly, she broke down in tears. Those were the only tears I ever saw in that Golden Age, aside from my own. Seeing her cry made me forget my worries about the Morlocks; all I wanted was to wipe away the signs of her human heritage from Weena’s eyes. Before long, she was smiling and clapping her hands as I solemnly lit a match.