Here Thorwald paused and said he should be obliged to leave us a short time to attend to some duty in the management of the vessel. When he returned I remarked that neither he nor his companions seemed to have to work very hard.
“That,” he answered, “is just the thought I want to speak of next, as the doctor has said many earthly troubles arise from severe labor. Here there is no hard work for us. It is all done by some kind of mechanism. Look at the handling of this ship, in which, as you say, no one is burdened. The hard and disagreeable parts of the work are taken out of our hands and are put into the hand of machinery, which in its perfection is almost intelligent. It is so in all departments of work. Inventions looking toward the saving of labor have closely followed each other for so many years that their object is about accomplished, and all the pain and sorrow accompanying daily toil are things of the dead past. Even our animals are relieved from distressing labor and share with us the blessings of an advanced civilization, every heavy weight being raised and every burdensome load being drawn by an arm of steel or aluminum, which neither tires nor feels. We do not need to pity a machine. Why should flesh and blood, whether of dumb beasts or of more intelligent beings, suffer the agony of labor when the work can be better done by mechanical means?
“While speaking of the lower animals I may as well say here that we have no wild beasts. All have been tamed; not merely brought into subjection, but made the friends and companions in a sense of our higher race. Every animal, large and small, has lost its power and will to harm us. The wasp has lost its sting, the serpent its poison, and the tiger its desire to tear. And not only is their enmity to us all gone, but they no longer prey upon each other. Perfect peace reigns in this realm also.”
“What has brought about this highly interesting condition?” I asked. “Was there a natural tendency toward perfection on the part of the beasts?”
“No,” replied Thorwald, “I think not. The change has been accomplished by us. Nothing that has life could help being uplifted by contact with our ever-expanding civilization. We believe the chief factor in working this great betterment in the animal creation has been our success in entirely eliminating flesh as an article of food. We early came to see it was not necessary for ourselves and that without it we were much better prepared to assume the higher duties belonging to our advanced life. We then began to experiment with the animals nearest us. It was a slow and discouraging task at first, but finally we obtained results that gave us hope of success. We found in the course of many years that the digestive organs of the animals on which we were experimenting were gradually becoming accustomed to a vegetable diet. We continued the work, extending it to one class of animals after another, until in time all carnivorous instincts disappeared.”
This interested the doctor exceedingly, and he remarked that he should think there would have been some kinds of animals that would resist all efforts to work such a change in them; but Thorwald answered:
“I have never read of such cases, but if there were any the species must have become extinct, for now, in all this world, no conscious life is taken to support another life. No blood is let for our refreshment and no minutest creature is pursued and slain to appease the appetite of its stronger neighbor.”
“Does this condition extend even to the fish of the sea?” inquired the doctor.
“Even to the fish of the sea,” answered the Martian.
“Now that you discover,” he continued, “what improvement has been wrought in the lower animals, you can understand that their comfort is an object of our solicitude, and that we take great pleasure in knowing that they are relieved from all hard labor.”
“But you haven’t told us,” said I, “what is the source of the power that does all your work.”
“Let me ask,” replied Thorwald, “if you have begun to use electricity yet?”
“Yes,” I answered, “we are trying to harness it, but it is still far from obedient to us.”
“I perceive,” said our friend, “from this and other things you have told me, that your development is going on in about the order which has prevailed on Mars. Do not be discouraged in your efforts to bring that mysterious and wonderful agent, electricity, into complete subjection. You will find it your most useful servant, and in connection with aluminum it will enable you to solve numerous problems and remove many difficulties from your path of progress.
“Here we have made full use of both of these valuable helps. Electricity enters into every department of life.
“It runs our errands, takes us from place to place, builds our houses, cooks our food, and even is applied to the growth of our food when we are in haste for any article. Its laws are so well understood that there is no fear of personal injury from its use, and I will show you how familiar an aid it is to us. Here,” he continued, taking from his pocket a brightly polished case of metal, “is a compact storage battery, containing, not electricity itself, of course, but elements so prepared that a simple touch will start into motion a powerful current, able to perform almost any task I may ask of it. This case, you see, is so small and light that it is no burden, and yet it contains power enough to serve me for many days. Of course, all our work of a fixed character has appliances with the power permanently attached, and these portable reservoirs are carried about with us only for detached and unexpected tasks.”
To my experienced eye the doctor’s face looked a little skeptical at this last remark, and he said:
“But how can the power be applied in these emergencies? Suppose, for example, it were necessary for you to go from here to the other end of this vessel in half a second, how would the electricity in your box help you do it?”
“If I really thought, Doctor, you wanted to be rid of me I would be tempted to try it; but, as I told your companion just now, you had better learn all you can of our history before you begin to see what we can do.
“I haven’t told you half of the wonders performed by this marvelous power. It has long been our chief reliance for rapid traveling. You find us in this ship; but, although navigation is a perfected science, this mode of traveling is tedious, and ships are used only for pleasure and such out-of-the-way trips as this. Journeys from place to place over established routes are made in large tubes, in which the cars are propelled by electricity. These tubes run both on land and water, being suspended in the latter a little way below the surface. Both tubes and cars are air-tight, and the adjustment is so perfect that the cars slide along with the greatest ease. Riding in an air-tight chamber would not be pleasant if much time were to be occupied in that way, but the cars are propelled so swiftly that the time from one station to another is hardly appreciable. At every stop the cars are opened and apparatus set in motion which changes the air completely almost in a moment. Where the tubes run under water shafts for air are put in at the stations. There is always a double line, one tube for each direction. No chance is left for accidents.
“Of course we navigate the air, swiftly and safely. If not in too much haste we always take the aerial passage, and often on a pleasant day the sky over a great city will be as full of air ships, or balloons as we still sometimes call them, as its harbor is of pleasure boats. In this department inventors had a fruitful field, the use of aluminum offering abundant opportunity for the greatest variety of devices, and the development of the flying machine was one of the most interesting features in the march toward our present high civilization. Perhaps the presence of so many electrical machines in the air and the utilization of so much electricity on land and water have, after thousands of years, done much toward freeing us from the thunderstorm, with its deadly lightning. We have fairly robbed the clouds of their electricity and taught it to do our work.
“Swift and economical as our modern electric cars are, there is one mode of traveling sometimes adopted which is more rapid still, and the cheapest and in some respects the easiest way of getting over the surface of the globe ever dreamed of. It was discovered by accident, just before accidents entirely ceased, in the following manner:
“A couple of scientific enthusiasts, of the kind we call cranks—I don’t know what you call them on the earth—conceived the idea that they could find something better to take the place of the highly purified and buoyant gases which we used in our flying machines. They observed, in the lofty flights they were accustomed to make into the air, that as they ascended the atmosphere grew lighter, and this led them to think they might go far into the upper regions, collect large quantities of rarefied air, bring it down, and use it for floating flying machines. Of course, they understood that any vessel this thin air was put into must be strong enough to prevent being collapsed by the weight of the denser atmosphere on the surface. But they thought small spherical vessels of very thin metal could be made that would withstand this pressure and still hold enough to float and carry some weight besides. They had a large number of these hollow balls made and started on a trial trip, expecting to bring down only a small quantity each time. But, in their endeavor to obtain the very best quality of lifting material possible, they went much higher than they intended, although this did not cause them as much inconvenience as might have been expected, since they were provided with the latest improved breathing apparatus. The result of their adventure, however, was a discovery of such magnitude that it drove from their minds all thought of their real errand and we never again heard of that project. After remaining at an extreme height a few hours, the surface of the planet being hidden by clouds, they began to descend, and when they were near enough to see the features of the country below them, everything looked strange and unknown. They could not account for this, but continued their fall, fully persuaded that it must be their own world and not some other which they were approaching. But even if they had not been correct in that, they could hardly have been more surprised than they were to find, on landing, that they were almost exactly on the opposite side of the globe from the place where they made the ascent. They seemed to have traveled half way around the world in that incredibly short space of time, when in reality they had remained stationary and the world had traveled around them. The fact is, they had risen above all the denser portion of the planet’s atmosphere, and had reached a stratum of extremely rarefied air, which, it seems, does not accompany the globe in its revolution. Of course, the facts were at once heralded to the four quarters of the world, and the two aerial travelers found themselves famous. But they did not wish to let such an astounding discovery rest upon the results of a single experiment, and so they proved themselves worthy of their new fame by going home the way they came. That is, they mounted their flying machine, rose again to the same lofty height, remained there about the same time as before, descended, and were near their home.”
Here the doctor asked:
“And has this singular mode of traveling become popular, Thorwald?”
“For long distances east and west it is often resorted to. But I presume you are asking yourself whether you could introduce it on the earth. When you return and begin to think it over you will probably see so many practical difficulties in the way that you will not attempt it. You must have patience. All these things will come to your race in time.”
“I fear,” continued Thorwald, “that I am wearying you with this long talk.”
We assured him we were enjoying it too much to think of being tired, and hoped he would not stop. But he said he had some duties to attend to, and would take us to his room and leave us by ourselves for a while.
As soon as we were alone the doctor looked at me with a smile and said:
“Why did you act so queerly when I spoke of Mona?”
“Why did you speak so?” I asked in reply. “And how could you tell Thorwald we found one inhabitant on the moon?”
“Did you want to have me tell him a falsehood?”
“Of course not. I tried to catch your eye and keep you from saying any thing on the subject till we could consult in regard to it. If we are going to color our narrative in order to make it more marvelous we must at least make our stories agree.”
“My friend,” said the doctor, “I am now confirmed in my suspicion that your brain was affected by your fall from the moon.”
I saw by this time that I need not hesitate further to tell the doctor the truth. I disliked the task, but I saw it would not be safe to leave him any longer in ignorance of his condition. There as no telling what other preposterous tales he might invent. So I said to him gently:
“Doctor, your last remark makes it easier for me to tell you that the first words you said to me on this vessel showed me that you were not right. I kept it from our new friends here, and I thought I had better tell you how you are, so you can be a little cautious. You talk all right on most subjects, but you will do well to avoid the moon as a topic of conversation. If the others ask any more questions about the moon, you can just let me answer them.”
I said all this seriously enough, but the doctor laughed boisterously as he answered:
“Well, if this isn’t a joke. You think I am crazy, and I know you are crazy, and I can prove it. I will just ask you one question, which please answer truthfully. Don’t you remember Mona?”
“Oh, there is Mona again! Don’t you see that only proves your own madness? No, I don’t remember Mona, and you don’t either.”
“I must say,” returned the doctor, “I never expected to see you get over your infatuation so quickly.”
“What direction did my infatuation, as you call it, take?”
“Marriage, I should say.”
“Now you interest me,” I returned, “and you must tell me more. Is this Mona of yours the sole resident of the moon, of whom you spoke to Thorwald?”
“Certainly she is, but you surely must be out of your head to call her my Mona—I want no stronger proof.”
“How so?” I asked.
“Why, because but yesterday you scarce wanted to have me speak to her. You tried to keep your jealousy from me, but there was not room enough in all the moon to hide it.”
“This is very laughable,” I exclaimed.
“You did not think so then. But let me try to bring it all back to you by another question. Don’t you remember her voice?”
“Most truly I do not. Why, what was the matter with her voice? Was it loud and harsh, or was it squeaky? I cannot imagine anything very pleasant in the way of a voice in such a wild and withered home as the moon would make.”
“True,” answered the doctor, “as to the outside, but you forget our visit to the interior.”
“There it is again,” said I. “Now, Doctor, the sooner you get rid of these strange notions the better So tell me your recollections of our stay in the moon, and I will let you know where you are wrong.”
“Very well. You remember, of course, when we found ourselves rushing away from the earth so swiftly.”
“Yes, and then we remained shut up in the car day after day, more dead than alive I think, until, fortunately, we were spilled out upon this more favored globe.”
“You seem to be sincere,” said the doctor, “but if you are, then you forget the most interesting part of our experience. Just as we were about to be overwhelmed with our troubles we heard exquisite music, which we soon found proceeded from a lovely maiden. You fell desperately in love with her at first sight and never recovered till you were plunged in the ocean of Mars. You insisted on following her nod, and she led us at once through a narrow path down into the center of the moon. Here, in her quiet home, we taught her to sing in our language—her only speech was song—and the first words she used were to say she loved me. She did not understand what the words meant, of course, but you looked as if you wished I had been blown away before Mona had discovered us. After that I helped you in your wooing all I could, but although your passion increased every day your suit did not seem to prosper. One day I expressed the wish that I had some of the things we had left in the car, whereupon she led us out to the surface again, where we arrived just in time to be thrown upon this planet. Here we are, you and I, all safe, but where is poor Mona?”
“I am sure it would take a wise man to answer that question,” I replied. “And now let me show you, Doctor, how wrong you are. If you will only try to exercise a little of that good judgment for which you are noted, you will be convinced that this is only a pretty little fairy tale which has somehow taken possession of a corner of your brain. Now that the fairy is gone you must try to forget the rest. Just think how unlikely the whole story is. Think of a delicate girl living in such surroundings as we found there; and then, how could we exist down in the center of the moon?”
“Why, don’t you remember Mona told us the water and atmosphere had all run down there, making it the only habitable part of the decaying globe?”
“Oh, that’s only one of your scientific notions, probably as true as the others that we have disproved. Too much science has turned your head, and I will prove it to you again by showing you how impossible is the part which I play in your romance. I will tell you now, what you doubtless do not know, that I am engaged to be married to the best woman in all the earth, excepting your own good wife, of course.”
“Is that a fact?” asked the doctor. “And do you love her?”
“To be sure I do. I love her very dearly, and if I ever see her again I shall tell her so in a manner to make her understand it.”
“Why, doesn’t she understand it now?”
“Yes, I think so, but she thought I didn’t show heart enough in my wooing.”
“Well, if she could see you with Mona she would learn that you have plenty of heart when the right one appears to make it spring into life.”
“You speak as if you thought I did not love Margaret. You do not know her. Why, I wouldn’t once look at another woman anywhere, not even in Mars, and most certainly not in that puckered-up old world that we have just left, happily for us.”
“Do you know what I think about you?” asked the doctor.
“No.”
“I think you have an exceedingly poor memory. First, you forgot Margaret as soon as the voice of that fair singer fell on your ear, and now you have forgotten the singer again the moment we have lost her. I await with much interest your first introduction to a daughter of Mars.”
“You will be disappointed,” said I, “if you think I shall be more than civil to her.”
“If she be handsome and can turn a tune moderately well, I shall be willing to wager a fair young planet against the moon that you will propose to her in a week.”
“I have done nothing to give you so poor an opinion of me. It is only your own diseased imagination, and I do not seem to be curing it very fast. I suppose, because your mind is naturally so strong, it is the more difficult to destroy such an hallucination as has taken possession of you.”
“I would give it up,” said the doctor. “The story is all true, and not a work of my imagination. Isn’t it more reasonable to believe that you could forget the circumstances I have related than that I could invent such a tale?”
“Oh, I never could forget it if I had been false to Margaret. You do not know me. If your vagaries had taken any other direction I might possibly be brought to think you were right.”
By this time we both began to realize that the conversation was not proving a great success in the way we had hoped, and so, after some pleasant words and a hearty laugh over the situation, we found our way to the deck again. Here there were various things to attract our attention, different members of the crew being eager to show us about. The doctor asked some question in regard to the system of steering the vessel, and when one of the men had taken him back toward the stern to explain the point, I found Thorwald and quietly explained to him the mental condition of my companion.
“The doctor is all right,” I said, “on every subject but one. His head must have been injured a little in his fall, and he imagines and asserts with positiveness that we found a young woman in the moon, the last of her race—a ridiculous idea, is it not?”
“And did you find any inhabitants at all?” asked Thorwald.
“Certainly not. No one could live in such a place. It is indeed marvelous how we existed long enough to get here. The doctor calls this creature of his brain Mona, says she was a great beauty, and plainly intimates that I was rather too attentive to her. You will see what a convincing proof this is of his unsound condition when I tell you I am engaged to the best woman on the earth, and so of course could not show any marked preference for another. I have told you about the doctor so that you may pass over unnoticed any allusion he makes to these subjects.”
Thorwald thanked me and said he would be careful not to embarrass us in the matter. And so I flattered myself that in the future Thorwald and I would sympathize with each other in commiserating the doctor. But I afterward learned that the doctor, about this time, had also sought an interview with Thorwald and had confided the following secret to him:
“My friend,” said he, “is a fine young fellow, but his head must have been injured in his fall. He has entirely forgotten the best of our experience in the moon. Queer, too, for he fell in love with the only and last inhabitant of that globe, a beautiful, sweet-voiced maiden named Mona, who never talked but she sang.”
Thorwald then made the doctor tell him the whole story, and at the close he promised he would not pay much attention to anything I might say on the subject in future conversation.
So it was quite a puzzle to Thorwald to tell which of his visitors from the earth was of unsettled mind and which in his normal condition. He decided to hold the question open and wait for further evidence.
As maybe supposed, the doctor and I were anxious to hear more about Mars, and it was not long before we were all seated together again, when Thorwald resumed his instructive talk.
“What further can I tell you of our condition and achievements? Every science has made mighty progress in bestowing its own benefit upon us. New arts have been discovered in the course of our development, about which you would understand nothing. The aim and result of all science have been to add to our comfort and happiness—our true happiness, which consists in improvement and the constant uplifting of character. The evils that once vexed our world, both those occasioned by natural phenomena and those brought about by our own ignorance and sin, have, as you have heard, almost completely disappeared. Even mental troubles are gone, and no corroding care destroys our peace, for there is nothing for us to dread; no dark future, filled with unknown evils, awaits our unwilling feet, and no superstitious or unnatural fear disturbs the peaceful quiet of our sleep.”
“And are we to understand, Thorwald,” I asked, “that you believe all this rest from trouble and wrongdoing is coming to the earth, too?”
“Before replying directly to your question,” answered Thorwald, “let me ask you if there is any tendency in that direction. Look back to the earliest days of your history and compare the state of things then existing with that of your own times. Has your world made any progress? Is there any less violence? Are men learning to live without fighting? Are the dark corners of the earth coming to the light?”
“In these and many other directions,” I answered, “I think we can see improvement.”
“Then,” continued Thorwald, “it seems to me you must believe with me that your world will one day come to the condition in which you find us. Have not your holy prophets foretold a time of universal peace both for man and beast, a time when a higher law than selfishness shall govern all hearts and the earth be filled with the spirit of love?”
“They have,” I replied, “but most of us are so engrossed in the struggle for existence that we think lightly or not at all of such things. These prophecies have never impressed me as they do now when I see your condition, and reflect that similar words may have been spoken and then fulfilled here.”
“Let me assure you,” Thorwald made haste to say, “that the earth is still young. I can see by all you say that your age is one of unusual vitality and progress. A firm faith that victory will come and that the golden age is before you will be a great help in your struggle with evil. Lay hold of that faith. It is yours. It needs no prophet to tell you that your race will one day reach our blessed state. First will come the spirit of peace, and as I am sure war must be repugnant to such minds as yours, you will readily learn to put it away from you. Then will begin to cease all bitterness between man and man, and you will be started on the road that leads to brotherly kindness. A world of sorrows will fall away with the passing of individual and national strife, not only the horror of the battlefield and the misery that follows it, but also the more secret and world-wide unhappiness that comes from the petty conflicts over the so-called rights of person and property. Selfishness, that monstrous source of evil, must be dethroned, and then the rights of each will be cared for by all. This will usher in for you a new era.
“And now, when the mighty energy that has been expended in learning and practicing the science of war, the skill that has been given to the art of killing, the treasures of money and blood, the time, the brain and the activities that have been employed in carrying out plans of aggression, large and small, of neighbor against neighbor—when these have all been turned toward the betterment of your condition and the salvation of men from degradation and sin, then will the arts of peace flourish and your day begin. Then will nature herself come to your assistance, molding her laws to your convenience and comfort. It will doubtless be a long time before a man can love and consider his neighbor as himself, and before all of God’s creatures on your planet can dwell together in perfect peace, but, believe me, the earth will live to see that time.”
“Thorwald,” spoke the doctor, “your words are so inspiring that I almost wish my life could have waited some thousands of years for that bright day you so confidently promise for the earth, but I cannot help asking myself if it is altogether a misfortune to live in the midst of the conflict, with something ahead to strive for. Will you pardon my presumption if I ask you practically the same question? You have told us of your wonderful history and that you have now reached a condition of peace and quiet. With no sickness or sorrow in your lives, with no evil passions to rise and throw you, with nothing to fear from without or within, yours must be a blissful condition. But still, is there always content? In our imperfect state we are striving and learning. Our happiness largely consists in the pursuit of happiness. If, some day, we should find all difficulties removed, no obstacles left to contend against, no evil in ourselves or others to overcome, not even our bodily wants to provide for, it seems to me life would lose its zest and become a burden hardly worth the carrying. Can you remove this unhandsome doubt?”
“I will try,” answered Thorwald. “I suppose if the people of the earth, with their present capacities and aspirations, should be brought suddenly to such a state of civilization as ours, it would be as you say. As your development continues, your minds and souls will expand and you will be prepared to take up new duties and occupations as they come. I cannot tell you what these are, for at present you would not understand me. You mistake if you think we have ceased to learn. The mind is ever reaching forward to new attainments, and the things which chiefly occupy us now would have been beyond our comprehension in our earlier days. Can you not find an illustration on the earth? Suppose the untutored savage were suddenly required to throw away his spear and arrow and engage in your pursuits, Doctor. Would he be happy? Your mind is full of thoughts that he cannot grasp, your life is made up of experiences and aspirations of which he has no conception. You can see your superiority to the savage. Let me help you to look forward and see your inferiority to the coming man, who, I assure you, will never tire of life while anything that God has made remains to be studied. As the mind expands, new wonders and new beauties in creation will unfold themselves and your race will learn to look back with pity upon your present age, with its mean and trivial occupations.”
“But, Thorwald,” I asked, “can you not tell us something of these higher pursuits?”
“But very little,” he answered. “I might give you one or two hints of some things which I think lie nearest you, if indeed you have not already begun to consider them. I need hardly speak of astronomy, which, from the nature of the case, is the earliest of all sciences wherever there is intelligent life to view the works of creation. You will find great profit in advancing in this study as rapidly as possible. We have not yet ceased to pursue it, and I think it is one branch of knowledge which will never be exhausted, in the present life at least. Our achievements in astronomy have been marvelous.
“Do not neglect to look in the other direction also for evidences of God’s power and wisdom. The microscope will almost keep pace with the telescope in revealing the wonders of creation. It will greatly assist you in many of your higher employments.
“One thing that you will doubtless soon undertake is the study of the speech of animals, which will go hand in hand with the development of their intelligence. Both of these will claim much attention, but very inadequate results will be obtained until after you have tamed and domesticated the various species. You will want to discover how far animals can be educated and whether their intelligence can ever be developed into mind. As you progress in this study you will feel the necessity of understanding their conversation and you will learn what you can of their language. These tasks will seem of more importance to you when the lower animals are all reclaimed and become the companions and friends of man. You will try to discover the particular purpose for which each species was created, and you will even be led to inquire, by a long series of experiments, whether they possess the faintest shadow of moral perceptions.
“Then there is the great subject of plant life. Does the sensitiveness of plants ever amount to sensibility or feeling? If so, is it a feeling you are bound to respect? That is, should a wounded and bleeding tree excite in you even the slightest shade of that sympathy you feel with a distressed animal? These are inquiries which you doubtless think of little moment now, but we have spent many years pursuing them.
“These are only a few faint indications of the multitude of questions which lie before you for study. In every investigation which you follow, whether connected with the mysteries of your own complex being or with the unexplored depths of creation around you, a chief source of interest will be the constant discovery of a perfect adaptation in the works of God. Of course you know something of it already, but you will never cease to wonder at the unfolding of this truth, as you come to realize more and more fully that creation is one, and is moved and ruled by one intelligence.
“Oh, do not imagine that in the ages to come there will be nothing to make life interesting. As your civilization advances and you are released gradually from trouble and care, and from those petty affairs which now so occupy you, your minds and souls will grow, and you will see far more ahead of you worth striving for than you now do. Your happiness can still consist largely in the pursuit of happiness.”
It was now so late in the day that further conversation was postponed, and after a plain but exceedingly enjoyable supper we were shown to luxurious rooms, where we spent our first night in Mars in great comfort.
In the morning Thorwald told us we would reach our port in a few hours, and so we sat down as early as we could after breakfast for a short talk.
The doctor furnished the text by opening the conversation with this remark:
“It is wonderful to think we should find on this planet a race of people so advanced, when so little thought is given, on the earth, to the idea of life in other worlds.”
“What has been the general opinion among you on that subject?” asked Thorwald.
“The subject has not had standing enough to call forth much opinion,” the doctor answered. “There is an almost universal indifference in regard to the matter. I think the common notion is that the earth is about all there is in the universe worth considering.”
“But what are your own views, Doctor?”
“I have been one of those,” he replied, “who believed the notion of life outside the earth to be a beautiful theory without one shred of scientific basis. We knew the earth was inhabited and the moon was not, and there we stopped. We did not know, and thought we never could know, anything that could be called evidence pointing to the existence of life in the other planets or elsewhere, and we held that there was no advantage in speculation. We thought it unwise to spend much time or thought on a subject about which we could know nothing. On coming here and finding you I have learned that Mars is inhabited, but I do not know any more about the other planets or stars.”
“Does not the mere knowledge that there are two life-bearing bodies lead you to believe that there are more, among the vast numbers of worlds which you have not visited?”
“I don’t see why it should. How can we believe anything without evidence? No one has ever come to us from those distant globes, and they are too far away for us to see what is taking place on their surface.”
“It seems strange, Doctor, to hear you reason in that way, but I suppose some of our race were just as narrow, if you will pardon me for using that word, as you are, before our wonderful successes in astronomy. I believe you have not properly considered the subject, for it seems to me you had knowledge enough, before you left the earth, to justify you in holding to a strong probability of life beyond your own globe.
“Let us see what some of that knowledge is. You know, to begin with, that one world is inhabited. Then if you should find other bodies as large as the earth and bearing any resemblance to it, there would be no improbability in the thought that they or some of them were filled with life. The improbability is certainly taken away by the knowledge that one such body, the earth, is inhabited.
“You start, then, without prejudice, on a voyage of discovery, aided by your telescope and your reasoning faculties.
“First you find, within distances that you can easily measure, a small group of dark bodies, which you have called planets, all apparently governed by a common law, in obedience to which they are circling around a large body of quite different character, which gives them light and heat. Of these dark bodies, which shine in the sky only by reflected light, the earth is one, and, you are surprised to find, not the most important one, judging from all you can discover. Some of the others are much larger and are attended by more satellites. In fact, the earth is indistinguishable in this little group. While it is not the largest, neither is it the smallest. It is not the farthest from the sun nor the nearest to it. It is merely one among the number. And how much alike the members of this family are. Your telescopes do not point out any material differences, although each has its individual characteristics. Let us enumerate some of the many points of resemblance. They all turn on themselves as well as revolve around the sun. All see the night follow the day, and in most of them there must occur the regular succession of seasons. To each one the sun is the source of light and heat, many of them have moons, and all can see the stars. Nor does the resemblance stop here. For you have discovered that one has an atmosphere, another is surrounded with clouds, while on the surface of our own globe you see the polar snows increase in winter and melt away in summer. Is it not probable that if you could get nearer to these globes you would find still closer resemblances? And if they are like the earth in so many ways, is it at all unlikely that they may, at some period of their existence, be the abode of intelligent life? For what other purpose were they made, Doctor?”
“They make very pretty objects for us to look at,” replied my companion.
“Yes, those that can be seen,” said Thorwald; “but is that all? Were those great worlds, some of them hundreds of times larger than your own globe, created merely to add a little variety to your sky, and to give you the pleasant task of watching their movements under the pretty title of morning and evening star?”
“Speaking from the knowledge I had when I left the earth,” the doctor answered, “I can say I never heard that they were put to any other use. No one ever came down to us from any of them to tell us they were inhabited.”
“And do you think,” asked Thorwald, “that the myriads of stars were also made simply to delight the eye of man?”
“How do I know that they were not?” the doctor asked in reply.
“Because of the absolute unreasonableness of the thought, if for no other reason,” answered Thorwald. “But now let me recall to your mind more of the knowledge possessed by the inhabitants of the earth. I think I know about what that knowledge is, from my acquaintance with the present state of your development. Astronomy has been our master science, and I can remember fairly well the extent of our knowledge when we had reached your stage. If I should fall into the error of attributing to you more than you have already discovered you can easily correct me.
“If, now, you leave the little group of dark bodies which are so like the earth, and go out still further into space, what do you find? At distances so great that only the speed of light can be used as a measuring line, you discover vast numbers of self-luminous bodies, which you call stars. Your natural eye can tell but a small fraction of their number. For example, look at the constellation you have named the Pleiades and you see six or seven stars. View it through a three-inch telescope and you can count perhaps three hundred. Now attach a photographic plate to the telescope, and with an exposure of four hours the light coming from that small patch of sky falls upon the sensitive film with a cumulative effect until you have a picture of more than two thousand three hundred stars.”
“Yes,” broke in the doctor, “you are gauging correctly the state of our knowledge. Our largest telescopes reveal in the entire sky, it is said, one hundred million stars.”
“Then,” answered Thorwald, “if the glories of the heavens were made merely to delight the eye of man, why was not the eye created of sufficient power to behold them? As it is, only a small proportion of the stars can be seen without the aid of instruments too costly and too delicate for general use.
“But have you the means of establishing any likeness between the earth and those distant bodies? You have discovered that the law of gravitation is universal and that the motions of the stars resemble those of the solar system. Have you made any discoveries tending to prove the existence of other systems like our own?”
“Yes,” replied the doctor, “our recent investigations of the periods of some of the variable stars show irregularities in brightness, period, and proper motion. A close study of these irregularities has convinced some of our astronomers that there are invisible bodies near them, evidently planets circling around a central sun. The theory is that the dark bodies cause slight perturbations in the star, which account for the irregularities in period, motion, etc. So Neptune was discovered by the effect it had upon the observed movements of Uranus. This is the first evidence we have had tending to prove that there are other groups of worlds like ours, and it is considered quite significant.”
“I can readily believe it,” said Thorwald, “and I know how helpful every bit of evidence is, in your search for knowledge. But if I mistake not you have the aid of another instrument, which is destined to play an important part in your future studies. You get much nearer those distant orbs when a spectroscope is placed at the end of the telescope, and the ray of light coming from sun and star is widened out into a band of color, which tells a marvelous story. That light, that has been for years, and perhaps for centuries, on its way to you, now discloses the very nature of the substances which compose those fiery globes. And what are those substances? It must have been a startling truth to the man who first read from the spectrum of the star he was studying, that it contained matter with which he was familiar, materials of which the earth itself is made. By this science you have learned beyond doubt that many of the commonest elements of the earth’s crust exist also in other worlds, and, what is of great significance, that the materials most closely connected with living organisms on the earth, such as hydrogen, sodium, magnesium, and iron, are the very ones which are found most widely diffused among the stars. I think I am not wrong in assuming that you are somewhat acquainted with the spectroscope and have made these discoveries.”
“You are quite right,” said the doctor. “This branch of scientific investigation has already been carried so far with us, and the results of the experiments are so constant and uniform, that when it is asserted, for example, that such and such a metal is present in a state of vapor in the sun’s atmosphere, it is estimated that the chances in favor of the correctness of the assertion are as 300,000,000 to 1.”
“You are helping my argument, Doctor,” resumed Thorwald. “But now let me call your attention to another field of inquiry, in our search for evidence to establish a likeness between the earth and the other parts of the universe. You told me, a while ago, that you have the fall of meteorites on your globe. Have you considered the striking evidence they bring you? Let us imagine we have a meteoric fragment here. Take it in your hand and think of it a moment. You have few things on your earth as interesting as this piece of metallic stone. What a world of questions it starts! What is its composition? Whence comes it? Once it was in existence, but not here. Where, then, was its home? Out, out in the depths of space, where burning suns roll and comets have their dwelling place. The stars have fallen indeed, and here is one of the pieces. Before it came to us as a messenger from the sky did it have an independent existence, or is it a fragment of a shattered world? How long has it been whirling in its unknown orbit, and what story has it for us from its distant birthplace? If we can discover whence meteorites come, and of what they are composed, I think you will agree with me that they furnish valuable testimony in our inquiry. You have no doubt had many theories as to their origin.”
I was just about to make answer to this implied question, when Thorwald rose and eagerly scanned the horizon. After a moment he exclaimed:
“We shall have to break off our conversation for a time, as we are nearing our port. I knew by other means that land must soon appear, and now I can see it.”