While I was struggling with the tubes, I heard the voice of the speaker.
"Fellow citizens of the Second and Third Classes, you are about to witness an extraordinary exhibition. Until three years ago, when that marvelous invention, the Phonoscope, was perfected, it would not have been possible safely to witness what you are now about to see. For the benefit of those still unacquainted with this masterly machine, I would say that if you will arrange the eye- and ear-pieces, and step on the little lever to your left, you will be just in time for the beginning of the performance."
In a few seconds more, I had managed to adjust the earphones and the telescope-like tubes; and, following the speaker's advice, I stepped on a little steel rod reminding me of the brake of an automobile. And instantly there occurred the most remarkable transformation I have ever witnessed.
So sudden was the change that I would have rubbed my eyes like one in a daze, had they not been pressed close to the lenses. At first I imagined I was dreaming; the theatre, the long rows of benches, the tall form of the speaker, had vanished from view; the shuffling, grating noises of people passing down the aisles, the sonorous voice of the long-bearded one in front, had all been obliterated. But new sounds, new sights crowded upon my bewildered senses.
Looking out upon an enormous cavern like the one where Clay and I had witnessed the battle, I saw swarms of warriors, tens of thousands strong, moving in serried ranks across a smooth stone floor, while a crashing as of many spears was in my ears and a booming like distant thunder.
"You now behold a battlefield a hundred miles away," I heard the speaker proclaim, when, in order to relieve my aching ears, I had removed the earphones. "The Phonoscope, you see, is connected by wires with scores of points on the battlefield. Motion picture cameras, at the other end of the line, are constantly photographing the sights, which are conveyed to you by an apparatus like television, except that you may see directly instead of gazing at a screen. At the same time, radio transmitters catch the sounds and bring them to your ears, so that you may see and hear the battle from a safe distance. It is hardly necessary to remind you that before the invention of the Phonoscope, no one except generals and field-marshals could enjoy such a privilege."
I was still observing how the army, with yellow-and-purple banners afloat, was advancing across the field; but I was so interested in the speaker's words that I was reluctant to clap on the earphones again.
"Thanks to the Phonoscope," he went on, "war has become much more interesting than ever before. Previously we had to observe it through the newspapers, which was altogether too tame. Or else we had to go to war ourselves—in which case we were all too likely to be—er—turned over. But now, for the payment of a fee, we can enjoy the spectacle without enduring any of its hardships. You do not know how much more popular this has made the fighting. Besides—" here the speaker paused, and a smile of glowing pleasure overspread his countenance—"Besides, it has at last put war on a business basis. The fees from the Phonoscope Theatre have been most satisfactory—most satisfactory. Last year alone the Government reaped dividends of eleven per cent!"
It was at this point that my attention was distracted from the speaker to the battlefield. Out of little round orifices on the cavern walls, showers of pale phosphorescent silvery orbs suddenly flashed, falling like shooting stars upon the floor where the purple-and-yellow army was maneuvering. And all at once those regular, serried ranks became like a column of ants on whom one has poured hot water. The wildest disorder prevailed; squadrons of men seemed literally to wither away; I saw a myriad forms convulsed on the ground, writhing and gesticulating in mortal anguish, while other myriads fled pell-mell in all directions.