The doctor and I looked in the direction indicated and speedily realized that the superiority of the dwellers on Mars extended to the sense of sight, for we could see nothing. But we were sailing so swiftly that the shore we were approaching was before very long brought within our vision also, and among the alert crew, who were now preparing to bring the vessel into its harbor, there could be none so interested in what was to come as the doctor and myself. We were to see what had been accomplished by a race of whose perfections we had been hearing so much.
As we effected a landing and walked up the streets of the city, we were not nearly so much impressed with the size and beauty of the buildings and the appearance of the people as we were by the spirit of absolute peace and quiet which prevailed. With perfect skill, and without noise or bustle, the ship was brought to its dock and the crew went ashore. The screams and calls, the rattle of vehicles and the babel of sounds we had been accustomed to on such occasions, were all missing. The silence and order were almost oppressive because they were so strange. But there was no lack of activity among the immense creatures who thronged around us. Everyone was busy, knowing apparently just what to do without direction from others, and just the best way to do it. Beings with lungs powerful enough to wake the mountain echoes went about with mild and tuneful voices, and, though each one seemed possessed of a giant’s strength, no severe labor was required of any.
The streets and walks were paved with a soft material, yielding slightly to pressure, but so firm and tough that it showed no sign of wear, an ideal pavement, over which the wheels rolled as noiselessly as they would over a velvet carpet. It was, moreover, laid in beautiful patterns of the most varied colors. The vehicles, of which there were many kinds for different uses, were so faultlessly made that they moved with the utmost quiet and apparent ease, the power that propelled them being invisible. There were no tracks or wires, but all were guided in any direction and with any speed at the pleasure of the riders.
Thorwald led me from the vessel, and another stalwart son of Mars took charge of the doctor. After walking a few steps up the street we all stepped into an empty carriage without saying as much as “by your leave,” Thorwald touched a button, and we were off.
“This,” said Thorwald, “is one of the best illustrations of the manner in which we are applying electricity. You saw them also unloading the heavy freight from the boat by the same power. So all our work is done. No fleshly limb is strained, no conscious life is burdened, by any of the labor of our complex society. This subtle force is so well controlled and its laws are so thoroughly understood that it is equal to every demand.”
“I am entranced, Thorwald,” said the doctor, “with everything I see. But I would like to ask if you own this comfortable carriage and had it sent to the wharf to meet you.”
“I own it,” our friend replied, “just as I own the street we are riding over or the house I live in. I own this or any other vehicle whenever I desire to use it. You saw a great number of carriages near the wharf, and there are several over on that corner. Anyone is at perfect liberty to appropriate one to his own use at any time, and when he is through he merely leaves it at a convenient place by the roadside for some one else to take.”
“I should think they would be stolen,” said I. Thorwald laughed at my ignorance and answered: “Why, who is there to steal when everybody, either friend or stranger, can use them as often and as long as he likes?”
The talk promised to grow more interesting still, but now our attention was turned to the delightful scene through which we were passing. It will be utterly impossible to describe the beauty of the landscape, where nature and art seemed to be striving to outdo each other. Before reaching land I had imagined that the houses, if they were to be proportioned to the inhabitants, must pierce the sky. But we were surprised to find that they were all comparatively low, of not more than two or three stories. And all, even those near the wharf, were surrounded with ample grounds. Some of the houses were larger than others, some more ornate than their neighbors, and the architecture varied as much as the size and arrangement of the grounds. But all were beautiful beyond description. One thing that appeared very strange to us was that the prevailing color of the vegetation was red, although that shade did not predominate as much as green does on the earth. For instance, after we had admired a stretch of lawn brilliant as a crimson sky, we would come to another which would surprise and please us with a lovely shade of blue. Still another was green, and then one glowed with a variety of colors, whose combination showed a most refined taste. As with the grass, so it was with the foliage of the trees. The richest tints of our autumnal forests were here present in permanence, but with a much greater wealth of coloring. Flowers, too, of every hue and form were to be seen on all sides, and their appearance was so perfectly natural that if they had been set with design then the art itself had concealed the art of their arrangement.
With all this mass of color there were no unpleasant contrasts, no discordant tones. As, amid the bustle of the landing place, our ears had not been shocked with rude noises, so now we received through our eyes only a delightful sense of quiet beauty.
Riding, now slowly and now more rapidly, through such a scene, we could think of nothing better to question our friend about, so the doctor found his voice and said:
“This far surpasses our anticipations, Thorwald, and I am sure this place must be exceptional, even on Mars. I suppose it is a resort where some of your wealthy people have built themselves homes in which to enjoy their leisure months.”
“Nothing of the kind,” replied Thorwald. “These people live here all the year, they are not wealthy, and there is nothing to distinguish this city above others.”
“Why, this seems more like a private park than a city. Where are your crowded streets and houses for the poor?”
“After all I have told you of our high civilization, Doctor, do you not understand that we have long since abolished poverty?”
“Yes,” answered the doctor, “I understand that in a general way; but I did not suppose everybody was rich, as it is certain everybody must be to own such palaces as these.”
“You are still wrong,” said Thorwald. “We have no such distinctions as rich and poor. All our cities are of this character, only there is great variety in the residences and in the way in which the streets and lots are laid out. These places that we are passing are inferior to many, but no houses are built that are at all mean or uncomfortable. Indeed, I think we have to-day passed some of the poorest that I know of. As to the word city, we use it only as a convenient expression. It really means nothing more than a certain locality, for, as I told you at the beginning of our conversation, we have no need of government of any kind. In some sections one city runs into another, so that the whole country is filled with the beauty and delight of the landscape which you see about you.”
“But,” asked the doctor, “with the population spread out in this marvelous way, is there room for everybody?”
“Oh, yes,” answered Thorwald. “All the surface of our planet is brought into use; the waste places are reclaimed, and there is abundant room for all. And now, as this pleasant air and easy motion seem to be agreeable to you, we may as well ride slowly for a while longer.
“In your intercourse with us you will find it is never necessary for us to hurry when, for any good reason, we choose to loiter, and, therefore, if you care to hear me talk, I will take the time to correct another wrong impression you seem to have.
“You spoke, Doctor, about the people owning these houses. No one owns them.”
“Do they belong to the state?” asked the doctor.
“There is no state.”
“Well, this is a curious condition of affairs,” resumed the doctor. “Here is valuable property belonging to no one and no government to claim it. I should think anyone that happened along could take possession.”
“Now you are right,” said Thorwald. “That is just the state of the case. It is with houses and all other property as I told you it was with this carriage. All the right one has to any object is the right to use it. Everything that has been produced by art and skill is just as free as the bounties of nature, such as air and water and land, which of course no one would ever dream of subjecting to private ownership.”
The doctor winced as he heard Thorwald include land among these free bounties of nature, and the expression of his face did not escape the quick eye of the Martian, who exclaimed:
“So you earth-dwellers are still in the habit of buying and selling land, are you?”
“That was the practice when we left home,” replied the doctor. “And I cannot understand how we can do differently. Your views of property are so strange to us that I am sure my companion will join me in asking you to explain them more fully.”
“I certainly do,” I said.
“Property,” began Thorwald, “we do not have, but we have many of the rights of proprietorship in the things we use from time to time. And what other benefit than the free use of what we need could be derived from the possession of things? Suppose I, for example, owned a thousand acres of land and a hundred fine mansions. I could cultivate but a small part of the land and occupy but one house at a time, and of what value would the remainder be?”
“Would not such palaces as these on this beautiful street bring a good rent?” I inquired.
“Don’t be stupid,” replied Thorwald good-naturedly. “You must know by this time that we are not a race of self-seekers, each one taking advantage of the necessity of his neighbor. But I suppose it is difficult for you to appreciate a state of society in which each individual considers the feelings and needs of others as much as his own. With us this principle is not preached any more, but it is actually practiced in all our affairs.”
“I will try to keep that in mind,” I said, “although it is a fact I can hardly realize. But about this matter of houses I want to make another inquiry. After you have become established in a beautiful home to which you have no more right than anyone else, what is to prevent some other man (I use the word for convenience) coming forward and asking you to give it up to him?”
“Nothing,” answered Thorwald. “In such a case I should immediately move out and let him have it, knowing he must be entirely unselfish in the matter and that there must be some sufficient reason for the request.”
“But would you go to all the trouble of moving without even knowing his reason?”
“Yes, I would do it to accommodate him, but then the trouble would be nothing. We would merely have to go out and take another house.”
“But would you not have to move all the furniture?”
“Oh, no. We could take anything we pleased, of course, but it is not usual to make radical changes. Another house would contain all that was desirable. As a matter of fact, however, such removals are by no means frequent. We usually remain in one place and acquire all the tender associations of home which could be possible under any system. But if a family should increase so that it would be better for them to take a larger house, they could easily find one, or if not they would ask those who are fond of that work to build one to their taste. The moment a thing is made or produced it belongs to the general store, to be used by any and all who need it.”
“Under such conditions,” said I, “what we call the eighth commandment would be superfluous.”
“If that refers to theft,” answered Thorwald, “you are certainly right, for it is impossible to steal where everything is free.
“It will be well for you to understand how happily we have solved this question of property, but of course we could not have found such a solution until we had first reached a high spiritual plane and learned the lesson of true brotherhood. From your words I know just about the point in our development which corresponds with the present state of your race, and therefore I know something of the nature of the struggle through which the earth is now passing. I warn you that the unrestricted right of private ownership is a menace to your civilization, all the greater because its evil is probably not clearly seen. We are assured by our historians, who try to point out the causes for all the great convulsions in our career, that excessive individualism in property rights, with its selfish disregard of others, was a potent factor in the downfall of many of the enlightened nations of our antiquity. We have noticed that even our animals have the instinct of possession, and it is certain that the love of ownership and accumulation has been one of the hardest evils to eradicate from our naturally selfish nature. If you should ever return to the earth, do not neglect to signal for this danger.”
“But what is the remedy?” asked the doctor. “The system of which you have been speaking might be called the mainspring of our society. I can hardly imagine what we should be without it. With our note of warning, what message of help will you send?”
“Doctor,” answered Thorwald, “it pleases me to hear you ask that question, and I am rejoiced also that I have so good an answer for you. The remedy is to be found in the law of love. Follow that law as closely as possible. The way will be hard, the progress slow, but every step taken will be a solid advance. It is the only safe road, and you will find that every other will lead to disappointment and disaster.”
Whenever Thorwald struck these high spiritual themes he spoke with such enthusiasm and positiveness that our respect for him increased rapidly.
All this time we had been riding leisurely along, enraptured with the delightful country, while the way itself and the estates on either hand offered such variety of landscape that the view never became tiresome nor uninteresting.
But as the day was waning, our friends quickened the pace and showed us a burst of speed. This was most exhilarating, and soon brought us to the station where Thorwald told us we were to take an express train for home, which was about two hundred miles distant.
When we alighted we left our carriage by the roadside among many others, and entered an immense building. Both inside and out there were plenty of people moving around, but without noise or unpleasant bustle. With no delay, and also with no haste, we entered what appeared to be a smaller apartment opening out of the general waiting-room. It had the appearance of an elegant drawing-room, the rich but comfortable-looking furniture being disposed in a careless manner, which helped to make us feel at home, if anything could bring us that sensation. There was a door at each end of the room, and soon these were closed and we felt an almost imperceptible jar. The doctor glanced hastily at Thorwald and said:
“Can it be possible that we are to travel in this apartment?”
“Yes,” answered Thorwald, “this is our modern traveling coach, and we are already on our way to the city in which my friend here and I reside.”
This latter fact surprised us, for we could not perceive by our senses that we were in motion. But as we sat wondering and trying to imagine ourselves flying through space, the doors opened, a pleasant breeze fanned our cheeks, and the doors closed again, we felt that slight jar repeated, and then we were quiet once more. This occurred every two or three minutes, and, remembering what Thorwald had previously told us, we realized that we were riding in a perfectly tight car in a vacuum tube and that these short but frequent stops were to keep us supplied with fresh air.
Thorwald explained this to us again, and told us that the coaches were of different sizes to accommodate large or small parties, and that one could ride alone if he chose to. The cars started so frequently that it was seldom necessary to wait more than a few minutes. The doctor thought there must be great liability to accident, but Thorwald said:
“No, we do not consider the risk worth taking into account. Let me illustrate with a familiar example. Suppose you had just seen a cable tested with a ton’s weight without a strain. Should you fear to take hold of the cable and lift yourself from the ground lest it might break and you should fall? The mechanism of this road is just as sure as that. The force that is driving us forward is no longer mysterious. The laws of electricity are well defined, and its mighty power is under perfect control. Nothing is left to chance, and the result is that there have been no accidents for many, many years, and practically speaking there cannot be any.”
When we first entered the coach we noticed that there were no windows, and as the doors had no glass we wondered why it was not dark. The light was good broad daylight, exactly like that which fills a room when there are good windows, but where the direct rays of the sun do not enter; and, as we could see no lamps nor fixtures, we could not understand how the illumination could be artificial. But such it was. We carried an electric battery with us, and the lamps were out of sight, and so arranged that they gave us only reflected light. The system was so perfect that the imitation sunlight was just as good as the real, as far as we could discover.
“This is the way we light all our interiors,” said Thorwald, “and of course the apparatus is so governed that we can have any amount of illumination we please, little or much.”
The doctor was about to ask some question in relation to this practical improvement, when he was stopped by hearing a little silver-toned bell ring. In an instant the doors opened, and Thorwald rose and announced that we had reached the end of our journey. We could not have been in the car more than fifteen minutes, and the doctor and I supposed our ride of two hundred miles had just begun.
“Well, if you travel at this rate,” said the doctor, “I do not wonder you have obliterated all national boundaries, for the ends of the world are right at your doors. And now, Thorwald, I would like to see the great tube through which we have been carried so swiftly.”
Thorwald smiled a little and led the way through another superb waiting-room out into the open air. Here the doctor looked in all directions, but could see nothing of the object for which he was searching.
“You have seen all any of us can see,” said Thorwald.
“We merely step into the comfortable car, sit a few minutes, step out again, and go home. In the meantime we have been carried under ground and under water, across valleys and through hills, but the way itself, the tube through which the car flies, is entirely hidden from sight. Where it is above ground, trees and shrubbery screen it from view, so that it does not mar the landscape. We think much of this, and should regret exceedingly if it became necessary for any such utilitarian object to interfere with our aesthetic enjoyment of nature.”
Thorwald’s friend now took leave of us, expressing the hope that he would soon see us again. He had taken some little part in our conversation, but had left the burden of it to Thorwald, who was older, and who was, moreover, our first acquaintance.
It seemed singular to the doctor and me that we had attracted so little attention among the people whom we had encountered since leaving the ship. To give the reason for this, which we afterwards discovered, is to reveal one of the pleasantest peculiarities of the Martian character—that is, the entire absence of a disagreeable curiosity. Our dress and appearance and the rather novel circumstances connected with our arrival on the planet, which must quickly have become known, were certainly calculated to excite their interest, and in a similar situation on the earth there is no telling what might have happened to us from a curious mob. But here all was order and quiet. Everybody went about his own business and treated our party with additional respect, it seemed, because some of us were strangers. We found out later how anxious all these people were to learn everything about us, but they were content to wait till the knowledge should come to them in a proper way.
Thorwald now selected a light, pretty carriage, and after a brisk ride through another charming avenue and up a steep hill, we alighted at the door of a noble mansion whose majestic proportions were in harmony with the wide, open plateau upon which it stood alone. Upon entering, Thorwald was at once affectionately greeted by his wife, and while he was introducing us as natives of another world his son and daughter came bounding toward him from an adjacent room.
These were quite small children, but in a few moments Thorwald brought in from another part of the house a young woman of about my age, apparently, and introduced her as a neighbor. It needed but a glance to tell us that she was beautiful as a dream, and she moved about with that exquisite grace which comes only from the highest culture. She spoke to us with such ease and naturalness that we were at once relieved from whatever embarrassment the circumstances might easily occasion.
“Antonia is our very dear friend,” said Thorwald, “and, although she hides her curiosity so well, you will find her an exceedingly interested listener to your history and adventures.”
“Yes,” said the charming voice of Antonia, “Thorwald has told me just enough about you to make me want to know more. Your moon, which is so much larger than our little satellites, caused a great sensation when it was seen coming toward us so rapidly. The situation was well calculated to cause us anxiety, if we had been subject to such a feeling, but, as usual with us at the present day, it has turned out to our advantage; for it has given us two such worthy representatives of a neighboring race.”
“I am sure,” I answered, “that the advantage is greatly on our side.”
I could not say more, for I was conscious that the doctor was watching closely to see how I was affected by the presence of this royal girl. When he saw I was inclined to be somewhat quiet he felt impelled to say something, and offered the following compromising remark:
“If we had only brought Mona safely off the moon with us, you would have had something more worthy of your interest than we are, and my friend here also would now be in better spirits.”
Antonia had a question in her eyes but her perfect breeding kept her from putting it into words, after the final expression of the doctor’s speech. Of course, I could not ignore the allusion, and said:
“Mona is a friend of the doctor’s whom I have not the pleasure of knowing. I suppose he thinks her cheerful disposition, of which I have heard before, would make our present situation even more enjoyable than it is. Speaking for myself, however, I think that would be impossible.”
With that she rose, and, with a pleasant word of adieu to us, told Thorwald she would come in another day after we were well rested.
It was now approaching night-fall and dinner was to be speedily announced. The doctor and I were shown to a suite of dressing-rooms, and as soon as we were alone he said:
“Do you think Antonia is as handsome as Mona?”
“If you will show me Mona I shall then be able to judge. But how did I carry myself on my first introduction to a daughter of Mars? Do you think I am in any danger of putting her in Margaret’s place in my heart?”
“Perhaps not,” replied the doctor. “You kept command of yourself pretty well; but I think the secret of that is that you have not quite forgotten Mona.”
“Excuse my frankness, Doctor, but I must tell you I am getting a little tired of Mona. I wish I might never hear her name again. If I can resist the charms of such an exquisite bundle of perfections as Antonia is, do you think I am likely to be overcome by a mocking-bird of your imagination?”
“If you could only hear the voice of that bird once more,” replied the doctor, “you would soon begin to sing another tune. But let us go down if you are ready, and not keep them waiting.”
We had looked forward with much interest to our first meal in one of these sumptuous houses, and, moreover, being quite hungry, we were glad to find that we were just in time to sit down. If we had felt any fear lest the absence of meat would make a meager bill of fare, the experience of the next hour relieved us. The dishes were all strange, but highly palatable, and the fact that there was nothing that appeared to be in the least unwholesome did not detract from the delicious savor which every viand possessed. The rich variety of courses and the elegance of the service made it a dinner long to be remembered, and gave a new zest to our life on Mars.
It had been a long day to us, and we were allowed to retire at an early hour, being conducted to adjacent and communicating rooms. But, though our fatigue was great, it is not strange that we lay awake awhile, talking of the wonderful things we had seen and heard. Speaking of the Martian method of rapid transit the doctor said:
“Besides its expedition, there is another feature to recommend their way of traveling.”
“What is that?”
“Why, there is no danger of getting a seat just behind a window fiend.”
“There is something in that,” I answered, “but I am thinking just now of our dinner. We must certainly learn how to cook eggs and vegetables before we return to the earth.”
The character of our conversation, judged from these scraps, shows that we had no excuse for remaining awake any longer.
Next morning we arose early, but found the family already up. Thorwald seemed disposed to lose no time in showing and telling us everything interesting, and so invited us at once to the top of the house, to take a view of the country. The sun was just rising, and its pleasant rays lighted up a scene of surpassing beauty. We seemed to be set in the middle of a vast park, whose boundaries extended in all directions as far as we could see. The landscape presented the most varied character, wood and water, hill and plain, and every feature needed to make a most delightful picture. Not the least of its charms, and perhaps the greatest, was the profusion of color, which filled the vision and satisfied the sense of beauty with its contrasts and its harmonies. Some of the hills might justly be called mountains, and yet on the rugged sides as well as on the summit of each were grand mansions surrounded by cultivated fields.
The doctor made some remark about this latter fact, and Thorwald said:
“These situations, which would be almost inaccessible without the aid of electricity, are now the favorite sites for building. This wonderful power levels all hills in the ease with which it does its work. No task is too hard for it and it asks no sympathy, so we may as well ride and carry our freight up hill, if we prefer it, and build our houses on the mountain tops. One characteristic of our nature has not changed, and there is still a great variety of taste, so that plenty of people choose the lower land to build upon. I see by your faces that you both admire this panorama and think we were wise to place our house on such high ground. We like to have our friends take this view in the morning, when the world has been freshened by the night’s rain.”
“Is it not just as beautiful at sunset after a shower?” I asked.
“Oh,” answered Thorwald, “I haven’t told you that it never rains in the day-time, have I?”
“No, indeed, that’s another surprise for us. But how is it managed?”
“You will remember I told you,” said Thorwald in reply, “that it was found that rain enough fell for all parts of the world if it could only be rightly distributed. Then when we had discovered by a long series of experiments how to make the clouds shed their water at our pleasure, we set about devising a means whereby we could give each section the right quantity of rain at just the right time.
“We established a central bureau in each country and let the people in every city or district vote and send in their request for a shower or a long rain ten days in advance. At first it required only a majority vote, but this occasioned no end of trouble, as half the community would often believe they were suffering for want of rain when the other half wanted fair weather. Then the rule was changed so as to make a three-quarters vote necessary, which did not help matters much, for very often the crops would be seriously damaged before so large a proportion of the people could be brought to see the desirability of a rainy day.
“At length the happy thought was conceived of letting it rain over each part of the country every night, and giving the right to vote only on the quantity desired. This keeps everything fresh and has been found of immense benefit to vegetation. Besides, it inconveniences no one, in the present state of our society, however it might have been when the plan was first adopted.”
“What of those people,” I asked, “whose occupation or pleasure calls them out in the night?”
“We have no such class,” replied Thorwald. “We have found by long experience that it is best to follow the indication of nature, and take the day for labor and the night for rest. This practice and the attention devoted to our diet have been chief factors in lengthening the span of our lives. If this line of action is best for one it is best for all, and, as everybody is doing the best he can, it follows that there are literally no people out at night.”
“I suppose you would call me stupid again,” said I, “if I should ask if you have any such old-time personages as guardians of the peace.”
“Indeed I should,” answered our friend, “for you ought to know us better. If you will excuse a poor witticism, the peace is old enough on our planet to go without a guardian.”
As we smiled at this the doctor was encouraged to try his hand, but, not feeling equal to addressing a pleasantry to the usually august Martian, he turned to me and remarked:
“This would be a pretty poor place for an umbrella trust, wouldn’t it?”
As we left our place of outlook and made our way down stairs, Thorwald resumed:
“As I have said before, we have reached our present happy condition through many bitter experiences. We read that at one time people had so much work to do and were so thoughtless as to what was good for their physical welfare that they began to rob themselves of their proper rest. Others found it convenient to follow occupations which obliged them to work all night and get what sleep they could in the day-time. Night was considered about the only time that could be utilized, also, for the activities of social life.
“This condition lasted a long time, with the tendency continually toward the practice of encroaching more and more upon the hours of rest appointed by nature. It was then the period of making many laws, and large and influential legislative bodies began to set a bad example to the rest of the world by holding their sessions mainly in the night. Newspapers thought it necessary to appear full-fledged at the break of day, and the railroads made but little distinction between darkness and daylight in the matter of carrying people hither and thither. The change was slow, but it was in the wrong direction. Darkness was driven out by more improved methods of lighting, and houses and streets were brilliant the whole night long; and it finally became the fashion in both society and business circles literally to turn night into day. For a time that remained the universal custom, strange as it seems to us now, but the practice of sleeping in the day-time never became natural. This means that the whole world was living on from year to year without the amount of rest required to keep the race alive. There could be but one result. A brood of nervous troubles fell upon us; life began to shorten, and we became aware that a serious crisis was before us. As soon as we were convinced that we were bringing all this evil upon ourselves by our disregard of the laws of nature, there was a change; and it is well for us that there was still virility enough left in the race to make a change possible. A gradual reform was instituted which, overcoming many difficulties and delays but with no serious set-backs, brought us, after long years, to our present happy way. Of course, our improvement in every other direction, moral as well as physical, assisted us all along in this reform. Now, looking back on our course, and comparing our present with our former state, we are perfectly sure what is best for us, and he would be a rash man who should intimate that we are not doing right in using the night for rest.
“But this is getting to be quite a long talk for so early in the morning. Let us see if breakfast is not ready.”
This meal proved to be as appetizing as the first, although the dishes were entirely different; being made up, apparently, of fruit and cereals.
The doctor and I had been exceedingly interested in the way the dinner of the evening before had been served. We did not understand it, and now we were equally puzzled to see the breakfast courses come and go. No one came in to make any change in the table, and our hostess seemed to have as little to do with it as the rest of us. She presided with great dignity, and, as I watched the changes going on with such perfect ease and quiet, I could not refrain from saying:
“If it is proper for me to ask, will you tell us how this is done, Mrs. ——”
“We do not use those titles now,” she interrupted. “Call me Zenith, the name by which I was introduced to you. I suppose Thorwald has told you that electricity does nearly all our work. I arrange things in order before the meal begins, and then by merely touching a button under the table the apparatus is set in motion which brings and takes away everything in the manner you see.”
“It is wonderful,” I exclaimed. “And if we are to believe all that Thorwald has told us, I suppose you have no servants for any department of work.”
“You are not entirely right,” she returned. “We have excellent servants. This obedient power, that does our work so willingly, is our servant, and so is the mechanism with which our houses are filled, and through which this silent force is exerted. Many of our animals are domesticated and trained to do light services, but as for servants of our own flesh and blood, no such class exists. We all share whatever work there is, and no labor is menial. Whatever I ask others to do I am glad to do for them when occasion offers. Do not suppose we are idle. There is work for us, but with our abundant strength and continual good health it is never a burden. Then there are the duties connected with our higher life and education, for we are ever seeking to fit ourselves for a still better existence than this.”
We had now finished breakfast and were walking through the house. Zenith was a beautiful woman, although, from our point of view, of such generous proportions. She possessed the perfect form and the vigor and health of all the Martians. She was, moreover, graceful, modest, and winning. But Thorwald and the other men that we had seen possessed these latter qualities also, and Zenith exhibited the same strength of mind and the same devotion to lofty aims as her husband. In their equipment for the duties of life and in the ability to do valiant service for their kind they seemed equal. Evidently neither had a monopoly of any class of advantages, either of mind, body, or estate.
We discovered at once that the Mars dwellers understand what genuine hospitality is, for we found ourselves at perfect liberty to do what best pleased us without restraint from our hosts. With so much to tell us of their own high civilization and with so many questions still to ask about the earth, there was no haste nor undue curiosity. Much less was there any attempt yet by Thorwald to resume the argument about the habitability of other worlds.
But at the same time we were aware that our friends were at our service, and early in the afternoon Thorwald asked us if we could think of anything we should like to see.
“Yes,” I answered, “I should like to see the earth.”
“No doubt, my friend, but I don’t see exactly how I am going to take you there.”
“I did not expect that,” said I; “but, after all you have hinted about your advance in astronomical science, I thought you might give us a pretty good view of the earth without going any nearer to it than we are now.”
“Oh, that’s what you mean, is it? Excuse me for being so dull. Is it not singular that I should wait to be asked to show you the wonders of our telescopes? Zenith, let us all go with them to see their home, about which we have so often speculated.
“We have many good observatories,” continued Thorwald, speaking to the doctor and me, “some of which are noted for one line of study and some for another. The one that has given the most attention to observing the earth and that has the best instruments for that work is situated on the other side of our planet.”
“Then, of course,” said I, “we will choose one nearer home for our visit.”
“Why so?” asked Thorwald. “It is always wise to get the best when you can.”
“Yes, but we do not want you to take the time and trouble to make a journey half around your world just because I said I would like to see the earth.”
“Oh, our time is yours, and we will not make trouble of it; we will call it a pleasure trip. We may as well take the children, Zenith; they will enjoy it. How soon can you all be ready?”
“In five minutes,” answered Zenith.
“Then we had better get off at once,” said Thorwald.
And without further words this remarkable family scattered to different parts of the house and in five minutes were ready to begin a journey of five or six thousand miles, and the only reason they did not start at once was that the doctor and I were not quite so expeditious. We were soon on our way, however, having locked no doors behind us and leaving everything just as if we were to return in an hour.
We took an electric carriage to the station, and from there went by the tubular road to the metropolis. This was a great city whence there was direct communication to all the principal centers of population on the planet. As we had not been in any haste in making the changes necessary to reach this stage of our journey, it was now late in the day, and I began to wonder how we were to continue the trip without being out in the night. When I mentioned my thought to Thorwald, he removed the difficulty in a moment by saying:
“We simply travel west and leave the night behind us. You know the surface of Mars, even at the equator, goes east at the rate of only five hundred miles an hour, and as our modern cars take us much faster than that, it is easy for us to keep ahead of the night by going in the right direction. So in making long trips we try to travel west.”
“But suppose you want to go east?”
“Then we go west to get east, and we arrange the speed so as to get to our destination in the day-time.”
We left our car and found another just ready to start for the distant city in which our observatory was situated. It was a small car comparatively, and we had it all to ourselves. There were all sorts of conveniences in it, and we composed ourselves for a good rest. After a ride of several hours we reached our destination. It was now about noon, so that we had actually made nearly half a day, besides the time spent in sleep while riding. I know some of my friends on the earth, who say the day is too short for them, would appreciate such an improvement as that if they could have it.
We passed part of the afternoon in riding about the city. The same language was spoken here as was used on Thorwald’s side of the globe; but, although communication was so easy, we found enough difference in the architecture and in the general appearance of the people to make travel interesting.
Toward night we all alighted at the door of the observatory, and the doctor and I had the pleasure of making the acquaintance of a man of Mars who had spent many years in studying the surface of the earth. It may be imagined that he was glad to meet us and to get our answers to many questions which had long perplexed him, some of which he had never hoped to have solved.
Proctor, for this was the name by which he was introduced, was one of the oldest men we had seen, and impressed us as one possessed of great wisdom. His manner was so dignified, also, that it seemed quite as inappropriate to address him without a title as it was to call our hostess plain Zenith. But when I asked Thorwald aside what I should call him, he said:
“Call him by his name, just as you do the rest of us. We have but one name each.”
“I should think that would be confusing,” said I. “For example, how are you to be distinguished from any other Thorwald?”
“There is no other that I ever heard of. There are names enough to go all around.”
As night came on we were brought face to face with the great instrument whose work of observing the earth was known far and wide.
Proctor was occupied a short time in adjusting it, and then asked us if we could recognize what was in the field. I motioned to the doctor, but as he insisted that I should take the first view I put my eye to the glass with much trepidation. Instead of the magnified disk of the earth, which I expected to behold, I saw but a small portion of the surface, and that a familiar stretch of coast line. I never knew whether Proctor thought by our accent or by the cut of our clothes that we were New Englanders, but he had so pointed the telescope that our first sight of the earth showed us dear old Massachusetts Bay, with its islands and boundaries. I did not speak till the doctor had looked, and then we told the others of our pleasant surprise.
Proctor made another adjustment, saying he would bring the globe still nearer to us, and we looked and saw a patch of beautiful green country. It appeared to be but a few miles away, and we thought we ought to distinguish large objects. But the appearance was deceptive in this respect, and Proctor told us they had not been able to determine definitely whether the earth was inhabited. They could see important changes going on from time to time; they believed they could tell cultivated from wild land; certain peculiar spots they called large cities; and there were many such indications of inhabitants. But they had not yet beheld man nor his unquestioned footsteps. As to their belief on the subject, they had the strongest faith that the earth was peopled by an intelligent race, and Proctor added that he rejoiced to see that faith so happily justified by our presence. To which the doctor pleasantly replied that he should be sorry to have him judge of the intelligence of the race at large from two such inferior specimens.
One question which Proctor asked was, whether we had ever made any attempt to communicate with the other planets. We told him we had not, but that if we should ever try such a thing it would probably be with Mars; but that it would be useless to think of it with our present astronomical attainments, for if we should succeed in attracting the attention of another world we would not know it, because we could not see the answer.
Proctor said they had sometimes seen moving masses which were not clouds, but which they took for smoke and were not sure but they might be intended for signals. We replied that if it were smoke that they saw it was probably caused by forest fires, but if we ever reached the earth again we would organize a company and try to make some electric signals which they could see.