是的，在一千年之内，人类将乘着蒸汽的翅膀，在天空中飞行，在海洋上飞行!年轻的美洲人将会成为古老欧洲的游客。他们将会到这儿来看许多古迹和成为废墟的城市，正如我们现在去参拜南亚的那些正在湮灭的奇观一样。
他们在一千年之内就会到来!
泰晤士河，多瑙河，莱茵河仍然在滚滚地流;布朗克山带着它积雪的山峰在屹立着;北极光照耀着北国的土地;但是人类已经一代接着一代地化为尘土，曾经一度当权的人们已经在人们的记忆中消逝，跟那些躺在坟墓里的人没有两样。富有的商人在这些坟地上——因为这片土地是他的田产——放了一个凳子。他坐在那上面欣赏他一片波浪似的麦田。
“到欧洲去!”美洲的年轻人说，“到我们祖先的国度去，到回忆和幻想的美丽的国度去——到欧洲去!”
飞船到来了，里面坐满了客人，因为这种旅行要比海上航行快得多。海底的电线已经把这批空中旅客的人数报告过去了。大家已经可以看见欧洲——爱尔兰的海岸线。但是旅客们仍然在睡觉。当他们到了英国上空的时候，人们才会把他们喊醒。他们所踏上的欧洲的头一片土地是知识分子所谓的莎士比亚的国度——别的人把它称为政治的国度，机器的国度。
他们在这儿停留了一整天——这一群忙碌的人在英格兰和苏格兰只能花这么多的时间。
于是他们通过英吉利海峡的隧道①到法国去——到查理大帝②和拿破仑的国度里去。人们提起了莫里哀这个名字。学者们讲起了远古时代的古典派和浪漫派;大家兴高采烈地谈论着英雄、诗人和科学家;我们还不知道这些人，但他们将会在欧洲的中心——巴黎——产生。
飞船飞到哥伦布所出发的'那个国度③。柯尔特兹④是在这儿出生，加尔得龙⑤在这儿写出他奔放的诗剧。在那些开满了花朵的山谷里，仍然住着黑眼睛的美妇人;在那些古老的歌中，人们可以听到西得和阿朗布拉⑥的名字。
旅客们横越过高空和大海，到了意大利。古老的、永恒的罗马就在这儿。它已经消逝了;加班牙⑦是一片荒凉。圣彼得教堂⑧只剩下一堵孤独的断墙，但是人们还要怀疑它是不是真迹。
接着他们就到了希腊。他们在奥林普斯山顶上的华贵旅馆里过了一夜，表明他们曾经到过这块地方。旅程向波士泼路斯⑨前进，以便到那儿休息几个钟头，同时看看拜占庭的遗址。传说上所讲的那些曾经是土耳其人作为哈伦⑩花园的地方，现在只有穷苦的渔人在那儿撒网。
他们在宽阔的多瑙河两岸的那些大城市的遗迹上飞过。在我们这个时代，我们不认识这些城市。它们是在时间的进程中成长起来的;它们充满了记忆。在这儿旅客们一会儿在这儿落下来，一会儿又从那儿飞走。
下面出现的就是德国。它的土地上密布着铁路和运河。在这国土上，路德讲过话，歌德唱过歌，莫扎特掌握过音乐的领导权。在科学和音乐方面，这儿曾经出现过辉煌的名字——我们所不认识的名字。他们花了一天工夫游览德国，另一天工夫游览北欧——奥尔斯德特和林涅斯⑾的祖国，充满了古代英雄和住着年轻诺曼人的挪威。他们在归途中拜访了冰岛。沸泉⑿已经不再喷水了，赫克拉火山⒀也已经熄灭。不过那座坚固的石岛仍然屹立在波涛汹涌的大海中，作为传奇故事和诗篇⒁的永久纪念碑。
“在欧洲可以看的东西真多!”年轻的美国人说，“我们花一周的工夫就把它看完了，而且这并不困难，像那位伟大的旅行家(于是他举出了他的一个同时代的人的名字)在他的名著《一周游欧记》中所说的一样。”
①这条隧道可以把英国和欧洲大陆连接起来。关于这条隧道的计划，谈论了许多年，于1990年基本完成。
②查理大帝(Charlemagne，742-814)是古代住在法国土地上一个民族法朗克人的国王。
③指西班牙，因为哥伦布是从西班牙出发到美洲去的。
④柯尔特兹(Hernan Cortes，1485-1547)是西班牙第一个征服墨西哥的人。
⑤加尔得龙(Calderon，1809-1845)是西班牙的名诗人和剧作家。
⑥西得(Cid)是西班牙历史中的一个英雄人物，后来成为许多诗剧中的主人公。阿朗布拉(Alhambra)是摩尔人14世纪在西班牙建立的一个宫殿，非常华丽
⑦这是罗马周围的一片大平原，古时罗马帝国游猎之地。
⑧这是罗马最大的一个教堂。
⑨这是黑海上的一条海峡。
⑩哈伦(Harem)是土耳其统治者蓄养妻妾的地方。
⑾奥尔斯德特(H.C.Oersted，1777-1851)是丹麦的名物理学家。林涅斯(Linnes，1707-1788)是瑞典的名博物学家。
⑿这是指冰岛的一个有名的温泉Geysir。
⒀冰岛的一个火山，约有1557米高。
⒁原文是Saga，这是古代冰岛的一种说唱英雄叙事诗。
一千年之内英文版：
In a Thousand Years
YES, in a thousand years people will fly on the wings of steam through the air, over the ocean! The young inhabitants of America will become visitors of old Europe. They will come over to see the monuments and the great cities, which will then be in ruins, just as we in our time make pilgrimages to the tottering splendors of Southern Asia. In a thousand years they will come!
The Thames, the Danube, and the Rhine still roll their course, Mont Blanc stands firm with its snow-capped summit, and the Northern Lights gleam over the land of the North; but generation after generation has become dust, whole rows of the mighty of the moment are forgotten, like those who already slumber under the hill on which the rich trader, whose ground it is, has built a bench, on which he can sit and look out across his waving corn fields.
“To Europe!” cry the young sons of America; “to the land of our ancestors, the glorious land of monuments and fancy—to Europe!”
The ship of the air comes. It is crowded with passengers, for the transit is quicker than by sea. The electro-magnetic wire under the ocean has already telegraphed the number of the aerial caravan. Europe is in sight. It is the coast of Ireland that they see, but the passengers are still asleep; they will not be called till they are exactly over England. There they will first step on European shore, in the land of Shakespeare, as the educated call it; in the land of politics, the land of machines, as it is called by others.
Here they stay a whole day. That is all the time the busy race can devote to the whole of England and Scotland. Then the journey is continued through the tunnel under the English Channel, to France, the land of Charlemagne and Napoleon. Moliere is named, the learned men talk of the classic school of remote antiquity. There is rejoicing and shouting for the names of heroes, poets, and men of science, whom our time does not know, but who will be born after our time in Paris, the centre of Europe, and elsewhere.
The air steamboat flies over the country whence Columbus went forth, where Cortez was born, and where Calderon sang dramas in sounding verse. Beautiful black-eyed women live still in the blooming valleys, and the oldest songs speak of the Cid and the Alhambra.
Then through the air, over the sea, to Italy, where once lay old, everlasting Rome. It has vanished! The Campagna lies desert. A single ruined wall is shown as the remains of St. Peter’s, but there is a doubt if this ruin be genuine.
Next to Greece, to sleep a night in the grand hotel at the top of Mount Olympus, to say that they have been there; and the journey is continued to the Bosphorus, to rest there a few hours, and see the place where Byzantium lay; and where the legend tells that the harem stood in the time of the Turks, poor fishermen are now spreading their nets.
Over the remains of mighty cities on the broad Danube, cities which we in our time know not, the travellers pass; but here and there, on the rich sites of those that time shall bring forth, the caravan sometimes descends, and departs thence again.
Down below lies Germany, that was once covered with a close net of railway and canals, the region where Luther spoke, where Goethe sang, and Mozart once held the sceptre of harmony. Great names shine there, in science and in art, names that are unknown to us. One day devoted to seeing Germany, and one for the North, the country of Oersted and Linnaeus, and for Norway, the land of the old heroes and the young Normans. Iceland is visited on the journey home. The geysers burn no more, Hecla is an extinct volcano, but the rocky island is still fixed in the midst of the foaming sea, a continual monument of legend and poetry.
“There is really a great deal to be seen in Europe,” says the young American, “and we have seen it in a week, according to the directions of the great traveller” (and here he mentions the name of one of his contemporaries) “in his celebrated work, ‘How to See All Europe in a Week.’”