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The Time Machine
H. G. Wells
I
The Time Traveller (for so it will be convenient to
speak of him) was expounding a recondite matter to us.
His grey eyes shone and twinkled, and his usually pale face
was flushed and animated. The fire burned brightly, and
the soft radiance of the incandescent lights in the lilies of
silver caught the bubbles that flashed and passed in our
glasses. Our chairs, being his patents, embraced and
caressed us rather than submitted to be sat upon, and there
was that luxurious after-dinner atmosphere when thought
roams gracefully free of the trammels of precision. And he
put it to us in this way—marking the points with a lean
forefinger—as we sat and lazily admired his earnestness
over this new paradox (as we thought it:) and his
fecundity.
‘You must follow me carefully. I shall have to
controvert one or two ideas that are almost universally
accepted. The geometry, for instance, they taught you at
school is founded on a misconception.’
‘Is not that rather a large thing to expect us to begin
upon?’ said Filby, an argumentative person with red hair.
‘I do not mean to ask you to accept anything without
reasonable ground for it. You will soon admit as much as I The Time Machine
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need from you. You know of course that a mathematical
line, a line of thickness NIL, has no real existence. They
taught you that? Neither has a mathematical plane. These
things are mere abstractions.’
‘That is all right,’ said the Psychologist.
‘Nor, having only length, breadth, and thickness, can a
cube have a real existence.’
‘There I object,’ said Filby. ‘Of course a solid body
may exist. All real things—’
‘So most people think. But wait a moment. Can an
INSTANTANEOUS cube exist?’
‘Don’t follow you,’ said Filby.
‘Can a cube that does not last for any time at all, have a
real existence?’
Filby became pensive. ‘Clearly,’ the Time Traveller
proceeded, ‘any real body must have extension in FOUR
directions: it must have Length, Breadth, Thickness,
and—Duration. But through a natural infirmity of the
flesh, which I will explain to you in a moment, we incline
to overlook this fact. There are really four dimensions,
three which we call the three planes of Space, and a
fourth, Time. There is, however, a tendency to draw an
unreal distinction between the former three dimensions
and the latter, because it happens that our consciousness The Time Machine
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moves intermittently in one direction along the latter from
the beginning to the end of our lives.’
‘That,’ said a very young man, making spasmodic
efforts to relight his cigar over the lamp; ‘that … very clear
indeed.’
‘Now, it is very remarkable that this is so extensively
overlooked,’ continued the Time Traveller, with a slight
accession of cheerfulness. ‘Really this is what is meant by
the Fourth Dimension, though some people who talk
about the Fourth Dimension do not know they mean it. It
is only another way of looking at Time. THERE IS NO
DIFFERENCE BETWEEN TIME AND ANY OF THE
THREE DIMENSIONS OF SPACE EXCEPT THAT
OUR CONSCIOUSNESS MOVES ALONG IT. But
some foolish people have got hold of the wrong side of
that idea. You have all heard what they have to say about
this Fourth Dimension?’
‘I have not,’ said the Provincial Mayor.
‘It is simply this. That Space, as our mathematicians
have it, is spoken of as having three dimensions, which
one may call Length, Breadth, and Thickness, and is
always definable by reference to three planes, each at right
angles to the others. But some philosophical people have
been asking why THREE dimensions particularly—why The Time Machine
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not another direction at right angles to the other three?—
and have even tried to construct a Four-Dimension
geometry. Professor Simon Newcomb was expounding
this to the New York Mathematical Society only a month
or so ago. You know how on a flat surface, which has
only two dimensions, we can represent a figure of a three-
dimensional solid, and similarly they think that by models
of thee dimensions they could represent one of four—if
they could master the perspective of the thing. See?’
‘I think so,’ murmured the Provincial Mayor; and,
knitting his brows, he lapsed into an introspective state, his
lips moving as one who repeats mystic words. ‘Yes, I think
I see it now,’ he said after some time, brightening in a
quite transitory manner.
‘Well, I do not mind telling you I have been at work
upon this geometry of Four Dimensions for some time.
Some of my results are curious. For instance, here is a
portrait of a man at eight years old, another at fifteen,
another at seventeen, another at twenty-three, and so on.
All these are evidently sections, as it were, Three-
Dimensional representations of his Four-Dimensioned
being, which is a fixed and unalterable thing.
‘Scientific people,’ proceeded the Time Traveller, after
the pause required for the proper assimilation of this, The Time Machine
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‘know very well that Time is only a kind of Space. Here is
a popular scientific diagram, a weather record. This line I
trace with my finger shows the movement of the
barometer. Yesterday it was so high, yesterday night it fell,
then this morning it rose again, and so gently upward to
here. Surely the mercury did not trace this line in any of
the dimensions of Space generally recognized? But
certainly it traced such a line, and that line, therefore, we
must conclude was along the Time-Dimension.’
‘But,’ said the Medical Man, staring hard at a coal in
the fire, ‘if Time is really only a fourth dimension of
Space, why is it, and why has it always been, regarded as
something different? And why cannot we move in Time
as we move about in the other dimensions of Space?’
The Time Traveller smiled. ‘Are you sure we can
move freely in Space? Right and left we can go, backward
and forward freely enough, and men always have done so.
I admit we move freely in two dimensions. But how
about up and down? Gravitation limits us there.’
‘Not exactly,’ said the Medical Man. ‘There are
balloons.’
‘But before the balloons, save for spasmodic jumping
and the inequalities of the surface, man had no freedom of The Time Machine
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vertical movement.’ ‘Still they could move a little up and
down,’ said the Medical Man.
‘Easier, far easier down than up.’
‘And you cannot move at all in Time, you cannot get
away from the present moment.’
‘My dear sir, that is just where you are wrong. That is
just where the whole world has gone wrong. We are
always getting away from the present movement. Our
mental existences, which are immaterial and have no
dimensions, are passing along the Time-Dimension with a
uniform velocity from the cradle to the grave. Just as we
should travel DOWN if we began our existence fifty miles
above the earth’s surface.’
‘But the great difficulty is this,’ interrupted the
Psychologist. ‘You CAN move about in all directions of
Space, but you cannot move about in Time.’
‘That is the germ of my great discovery. But you are
wrong to say that we cannot move about in Time. For
instance, if I am recalling an incident very vividly I go
back to the instant of its occurrence: I become absent-
minded, as you say. I jump back for a moment. Of course
we have no means of staying back for any length of Time,
any more than a savage or an animal has of staying six feet
above the ground. But a civilized man is better off than The Time Machine
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the savage in this respect. He can go up against gravitation
in a balloon, and why should he not hope that ultimately
he may be able to stop or accelerate his drift along the
Time-Dimension, or even turn about and travel the other
way?’
‘Oh, THIS,’ began Filby, ‘is all—’
‘Why not?’ said the Time Traveller.
‘It’s against reason,’ said Filby.
‘What reason?’ said the Time Traveller.
‘You can show black is white by argument,’ said Filby,
‘but you will never convince me.’
‘Possibly not,’ said the Time Traveller. ‘But now you
begin to see the object of my investigations into the
geometry of Four Dimensions. Long ago I had a vague
inkling of a machine—’
‘To travel through Time!’ exclaimed the Very Young
Man.
‘That shall travel indifferently in any direction of Space
and Time, as the driver determines.’
Filby contented himself with laughter.
‘But I have experimental verification,’ said the Time
Traveller.
‘It would be remarkably convenient for the historian,’
the Psychologist suggested. ‘One might travel back and The Time Machine
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verify the accepted account of the Battle of Hastings, for
instance!’
‘Don’t you think you would attract attention?’ said the
Medical Man. ‘Our ancestors had no great tolerance for
anachronisms.’
‘One might get one’s Greek from the very lips of
Homer and Plato,’ the Very Young Man thought.
‘In which case they would certainly plough you for the
Little-go. The German scholars have improved Greek so
much.’
‘Then there is the future,’ said the Very Young Man.
‘Just think! One might invest all one’s money, leave it to
accumulate at interest, and hurry on ahead!’
‘To discover a society,’ said I, ‘erected on a strictly
communistic basis.’
‘Of all the wild extravagant theories!’ began the
Psychologist.
‘Yes, so it seemed to me, and so I never talked of it
until—’
‘Experimental verification!’ cried I. ‘You are going to
verify THAT?’
‘The experiment!’ cried Filby, who was getting brain-
weary. The Time Machine
10 of 148
‘Let’s see your experiment anyhow,’ said the
Psychologist, ‘though it’s all humbug, you know.’
The Time Traveller smiled round at us. Then, still
smiling faintly, and with his hands deep in his trousers
pockets, he walked slowly out of the room, and we heard
his slippers shuffling down the long passage to his
laboratory.
The Psychologist looked at us. ‘I wonder what he’s
got?’
‘Some sleight-of-hand trick or other,’ said the Medical
Man, and Filby tried to tell us about a conjurer he had
seen at Burslem; but before he had finished his preface the
Time Traveller came back, and Filby’s anecdote collapsed.
The thing the Time Traveller held in his hand was a
glittering metallic framework, scarcely larger than a small
clock, and very delicately made. There was ivory in it, and
some transparent crystalline substance. And now I must be
explicit, for this that follows—unless his explanation is to
be accepted—is an absolutely unaccountable thing. He
took one of the small octagonal tables that were scattered
about the room, and set it in front of the fire, with two
legs on the hearthrug. On this table he placed the
mechanism. Then he drew up a chair, and sat down. The
only other object on the table was a small shaded lamp, The Time Machine
11 of 148
the bright light of which fell upon the model. There were
also perhaps a dozen candles about, two in brass
candlesticks upon the mantel and several in sconces, so
that the room was brilliantly illuminated. I sat in a low
arm-chair nearest the fire, and I drew this forward so as to
be almost between the Time Traveller and the fireplace.
Filby sat behind him, looking over his shoulder. The
Medical Man and the Provincial Mayor watched him in
profile from the right, the Psychologist from the left. The
Very Young Man stood behind the Psychologist. We were
all on the alert. It appears incredible to me that any kind of
trick, however subtly conceived and however adroitly
done, could have been played upon us under these
conditions.
The Time Traveller looked at us, and then at the
mechanism. ‘Well?’ said the Psychologist.
‘This little affair,’ said the Time Traveller, resting his
elbows upon the table and pressing his hands together
above the apparatus, ‘is only a model. It is my plan for a
machine to travel through time. You will notice that it
looks singularly askew, and that there is an odd twinkling
appearance about this bar, as though it was in some way
unreal.’ He pointed to the part with his finger. ‘Also, here
is one little white lever, and here is another.’ The Time Machine
12 of 148
The Medical Man got up out of his chair and peered
into the thing. ‘It’s beautifully made,’ he said.
‘It took two years to make,’ retorted the Time
Traveller. Then, when we had all imitated the action of
the Medical Man, he said: ‘Now I want you clearly to
understand that this lever, being pressed over, sends the
machine gliding into the future, and this other reverses the
motion. This saddle represents the seat of a time traveller.
Presently I am going to press the lever, and off the
machine will go. It will vanish, pass into future Time, and
disappear. Have a good look at the thing. Look at the table
too, and satisfy yourselves there is no trickery. I don’t
want to waste this model, and then be told I’m a quack.’
There was a minute’s pause perhaps. The Psychologist
seemed about to speak to me, but changed his mind. Then
the Time Traveller put forth his finger towards the lever.
‘No,’ he said suddenly. ‘Lend me your hand.’ And turning
to the Psychologist, he took that individual’s hand in his
own and told him to put out his forefinger. So that it was
the Psychologist himself who sent forth the model Time
Machine on its interminable voyage. We all saw the lever
turn. I am absolutely certain there was no trickery. There
was a breath of wind, and the lamp flame jumped. One of
the candles on the mantel was blown out, and the little The Time Machine
13 of 148
machine suddenly swung round, became indistinct, was
