2006-03-27T23:19:00.000-08:00

George Herbert Parsons is a twenty –two year old American from the North End of Massachusetts largest city, Boston. As the son of two wealthy parents, George finds himself with a lot of free time as he waits to inherit his father’s fishing company. Contradictory to the many stereotypes regarding the children of wealthy parents, George intends to not be a “leech” on the family savings but rather hopes to use his mind in a way that will someday contribute to that fund. At his age he feels the world is his to tame and his mind races to keep pace with the technology and innovations of the day. Thanks to a generous grant from his family, the extensive Harvard University library has been kind enough to allow George the borrowany materials he desires, ahead of students or sometimes faculty. It is this opportunity along with George’s interest in innovation that has led him to a new publication that just arrived entitled, The Time Machine.

6:45pm April the 14th, 1896

What a cold, rainy afternoon and somewhat flawed way to start a trip aboard such a beautiful railway. Even the coaches, or carriages as they refer to them here, look depressed regarding the weather as the droplets on the windows make them appear to be sobbing. I like to think that the droplets of rainwater are like miniature railways. It is amusing to watch them clump together on the window like a railway train being assembled at a station and then with a jolt, they “depart” and streak from one edge of the windowpane to the other. It is interesting to me that when one thinks of a trip on the “Orient Express,” one never considers these large droplets of water soaking them to the bone. Yet, that was what I encountered earlier this evening as I boarded at Hauptbahnhof station in Munich. But, just as one does not like to start an exciting journey with cold rain, I will not start my writings with what has unpleasantly surprised me thus far. Rather I will start with why I began this journey.
If I had to choose the exact moment that all of this began I would have to say somewhere near the twelfth chapter where Well’s writes, “A gust of air whirled round me as I opened the door, and from within came the sound of broken glass falling on the floor. The Time Traveller was not there. I seemed to see a ghostly, indistinct figure sitting in a whirling mass of black and brass for a moment –a figure so transparent that the bench behind with its sheets of drawings was absolutely distinct; but the phantasm vanished as I rubbed my eyes. The Time Machine had gone. Save for a subsiding stir of dust…” It was after reading this wonderful description that my desire to take this trip was born. I just have to make contact with Wells in his current residence of London and discuss the connections I see between his literature and the technology of our time. I really do believe that there is a connection between the time machines Wells writes about and… oh bother; here comes my compartment-mate, so I shall have to conclude for now.

9:00pm April the 14th, 1896

After a few hours alone with my compartment-mate this evening and for the first time on any of my railway trips, I find myself hoping that our train reaches Paris quickly. Normally I do not mind sharing a compartment and pass on the opportunity to pay extra fare for my own compartment but I sincerely wish I had this time. From the moment Günter Locke hobbled into our tiny compartment I sensed his distance. I think he actually resents me, when he does not even know me, save for my name! I cannot hold a conversation with him thanks to my lack of a world view and his thick German accent and therefore have no way of making my case. After his pudgy body moved slowly, but with a strong sense of direction, into the compartment he removed his hat from his balding head and introduced himself quickly noted my American accent, and presented his business card, which lead me to believe he is a member of German parliament. Then he stowed his luggage and called for the car attendant to change our day couch into the lower sleeping berth in our room. Thus, I was forced to turn-in as well and here I lie, writing in the dim light. The only thought that brings a smile to my face now, is that of Günter being so tired from his “long” walk down the hallway to our room that he just had to have sleep! He reminds me of the “provincial mayor” in Wells’ novel who acts as if he knows what the truth is in any situation but in reality, has no scientific background or intellect to certify his claim. I hate being forced to sleep. I have not had that sensation of someone deciding that now was the time to sleep since I was in primary school. My sleeping berth is not the most spacious area and I am not able to stretch the length of my body but the smooth vibration of the steel wheels caressing the safety and security of the steel rails beneath them brings my mind back to a more peaceful state. I have always felt very peaceful listening to the muffled clickity-clack of the steel through the infrequent creaking of the wooden carriage’s exterior. Pausing from my writing, I look up and around at the tiny compartment that surrounds me. Its wood paneling and intricate inlay relax the mind from the stresses of daily life, or from the stresses of your compartment-mate. It is probably no more than six meters of space yet somehow the manufacturers of these carriages managed to fit two berths, one day couch, one small wooden table and a porcelain wash basin. Now that Günter has begun to demonstrate the art of snoring, I wish they would have added a fully stocked bar in place of the lower berth where he resides. It is most likely just the right time for a night cap as I feel the first wave of yawns move in and crash against the heavy eyes and tired muscles of my body.

8:00am April the 15th, 1896

With last night at a close and the current situation of Günter reading the latest edition of the Berliner Morgenpost on the far end of the day couch, I now have time to elaborate on my previously interrupted thought. As I was saying, or rather thinking, my trip aboard the Orient Express will be coming to a close soon. I will arrive in Paris tomorrow and then be ferried up the Seine River to the English port of Dover. From Dover I will ride the Southern Railway’s “Dock train” to London’s Victoria Station and be very near Mr. Wells. What I was beginning to express in my earlier thought is that upon arrival at his home I shall be able to express to him that I see a distinct connection between his time machine apparatus in his novel and the steam locomotives of today. Some of my friends, who I have lent the book to in the year since its publication, have come to different conclusion however. They believe that the time machine is based a new contraption, the bicycle. They tell me that cycling is becoming very popular now and supposedly they have heard that Wells is a keen cyclist himself. I acknowledge their opinion but disagree completely and the evidence lies in the passage previously presented. In the quotation, a figure is described as “sitting in a whirling mass of black and brass.” I believe this description is based on that of a steam locomotive. The majority of steam locomotives are painted black or if not painted black, become dirty from the black oil and soot of coal smoke. These locomotives, unlike bicycles, have many brass parts including but not limited to the whistle, bell, the handles on the many valves and the faces for the gauges. The figure who sits in the time machine is the Time Traveller, or the man who operates themachine. An engineer has the same prominent position as he literally sits “in a whirling mass of black and brass” when inside the steam filled locomotive cab. Appearance, though, is not the only similarity the two machines possess. Anyone who has read the novel will understand that in order to move within the fourth dimension of time and permanently reside in the future or the past, a machine would have to travel at a speed faster even then a bullet firing from a gun. No, a steam locomotive cannot travel at such a speed due to the technological constraints of our time, but is it possible? A little less than three years ago a steam locomotive owned by the New York Central & Hudson River Railroad achieved an astounding speed of 112.5mph, with four heavyweight coaches in tow! A railroad engineer explained to me once that the larger the diameter of the steam locomotives “drivers” or wheels, the greater distance is covered in one revolution. When traveling at speed, the locomotive does not need to produce as much steam to keep it moving and therefore the same amount of steam that would normally power a smaller wheeled locomotive, is able to move an engine with larger drivers a farther distance with the same amount of energy. I beg to ask if the steam locomotive manufacturers could still increase the size of the wheels to attain a greater speed. It may be possible, someday, and if it is not, I recommend that the railroad trying timing a run with just the engine and tender!

1:15pm April the 16th, 1896

My trip is quickly nearing its end as the Orient Express steams closer to her final stop, Paris. I have become more excited and congruently more nervous as the mileposts outside my window flutter by like the tiny hummingbird on her quest for sweet nectar. I do not know how Mr. Wells will react to my visit since I have never been in this position before; I decided to ease any tension that might arise with a gift from Berlin. With Berlin being the epicenter for toy trains, I paid a visit to the Marklin Corporation and purchased one of their electric engines for Wells. Hopefully it will be something for Wells to remember my visit by.
I do enjoy the French countryside and the beautiful weather shall bring a happy end to my trip aboard the Orient. As I look outside my window I cannot help but be amazed at the lushness of such a country. I find myself focusing on the horizon that separates the large white clouds of the sky from the green hills. I watch it dip and then rise suddenly as if the earth’s crust was floating on a sea of waves. My mind leaves my body and floats above like a balloon tied to my finger. I cannot hear the birds, nor wind as they rush past my compartment window but I do not feel cheated. I still have the steady rhythm of the steel wheels on steel rails and I like to try to predict the next clack in the journey. As the warm sun begins to break through the clouds it warms my cramped hand as it writes. I look up from the filled page to notice a dirt road enter into my window and I become aware of its similarity to a painting I saw in Berlin before I left. The piece is titled “Nydalen.” The painting depicts a town nestled in the countryside and a dirt road that leads the viewer’s eye from the right side of the painting to the left. The artist, I believe, was an odd mannered man by the name of Edvard Munch. I heard, before attending the exhibition that his previous showings had caused quite a stir in the community and I decided I must see them for myself. Many of his paintings were a little strange in composition or color choice but his early paintings had a sincere feeling of simplicity. This is why “Nydalen” has stuck in my mind. The upper portion of the painting is nothing more than sky. I really appreciate the art of a man who can find the value in filling his canvas with a simple, plain sky. I do not care much for the artists who believe their art should be “busy” because art is an escape for me, something that allows my mind to become a balloon floating above my head. I wonder if that is what Munch feels when he paints. Does his mind go to another place? I hear he was heading to Paris not long after the exhibition for a change in the scenery. What if he was on the same train, this Orient Express, with me? Right now he might be in another compartment! If only he had traded tickets with Heir Günter, then I would be truly blessed to meet a painter in addition to Mr. Wells. He is a different artist and I have heard that he has a fear of open spaces and therefore would hate the grand stations that the Orient uses. And speaking of stations, I believe that jolt I just felt is the braking system on the train and I should be packing my journal for my arrival in Paris. I sincerely hope Mr. Wells is ready.

Works Cited

“140 Years of Marklin.” Marklin Trains. 30 Jan. 2006. http://www.marklin.com/about/

Boyd, Jim. The Steam Locomotive: A Century of North American Classics. China. Andover Junction Publications, 2000.

“Compartments.” Life on Board. 10 Feb. 2005. Orient Express. 26 Mar. 2006.

<http://www.orient-express.com/web/eoe/eoe_c3b_compartments.jsp>

Carlson, Pierce. Toy Trains: A History. Harper & Row Publishers. New York, 1986.

“Franz Kafka in Lübeck.” Die Lübecker Altstadt in historischen Fotos – Übersicht. 26

Mar.2006.<http://www.luebeckimbild.de/Willkommen/Ubersicht.html>

Geduld, Harry M. The Definitive Time Machine: A Critical Edition of H.G. Wells’s Scientific Romance. Bloomington, IN. Indiana University Press, 1987.

Lake, David. Darwin and Doom: H.G. Wells and the Time Machine. New Lambton, Australia. Nimrod Publications, 1997.

“New York Central & Hudson River 4-4-0 No. 999.” Fastest Steam Locomotives. 9 May 2005. German Steam Locomotive Performance. 19 March 2006. http://www.germansteam.info/tonup.html#NYC999.

“Nydalen.” Information Missing. 17 Mar. 2006. Edvard Munch – Catalogue Raisonné. 27 Mar. 2006. <http://www.munch-raisonne.com/pic04.htm>

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