It was late when the conversation closed, and Proctor said we were to spend the night with him of course, and in the morning he would take pleasure in introducing to us the other members of his household.
The residence buildings, beautiful and commodious structures, adjoined the observatory, and to each of us was given a separate apartment. After Proctor had left us, Thorwald came into my room a moment and I said to him:
“Proctor is a friend of yours, is he not?”
“Certainly,” answered Thorwald, “what could he be but a friend? But then I never saw him before today.”
“Is it possible? Are strangers always treated so hospitably?”
“I see nothing unusual in his treatment of us. We are always at perfect liberty to stay where ever night overtakes us, and it makes no difference with the quality of the hospitality whether the guests are acquaintances or not.”
The memory of that night will remain with me many years. Before falling asleep I let my mind dwell on the singular circumstances in which we were placed and the strange manner of our leaving the earth. I had never experienced anything that seemed more real, and yet I could not make it appear quite reasonable that we were in truth living on the planet Mars. All I could say was that it was an instance where the facts were against the theory, and I knew that in such cases it was always safest to believe in the facts. I could distinctly remember each step of our journey, and there could be no mistake about our present understanding. What settled the question more firmly than ever was this thought: If we were not on Mars, where were we? We must be somewhere.
By the time I had disposed of all my doubts I was becoming drowsy, and then I began to think of the doctor and his unfortunate condition of mind. This malady would doubtless increase and I should have to look out for him, and at the same time fill the arduous position of the only sound representative of our race in Mars. I resolved to try once more to make my companion see how ridiculous his strange fancy was and realize the danger of clinging to it.
With this thought my brain lost coherence, and I passed over the invisible boundary into dreamland. It was a beautiful evening in summer. I was at home among my friends and we were sitting in the open air. The doctor was there, taking his turn with me in telling the story of our adventures. This went on till our listeners were tired out, and then one of the company gave a little variety to the occasion by singing a capital song.
Here the scene changed to the country. It was morning in the woods. The trees wore their spring foliage, bright flowers spread their beauty and fragrance around us, and the air was filled with the music of birds. The sweet notes of these songsters were by far the most vivid part of the dream. Now loud, now soft, the unbroken melody absorbed our attention and made it difficult for us to understand how our situation again gradually changed, until the air became piercingly cold, the cruel wind beat upon us furiously, and the violent elements seemed bent upon our destruction.
The doctor and I were alone, and the surroundings bore a strange resemblance to the inhospitable surface of the moon. But what are those sweet sounds still ringing in our ears? Sure no birds could live in such a wild place. No, it is not a bird’s song. It is more like a human voice. I thought I had never before heard music so pure and rich. But wait—had I not heard something like it once before? There was a mystery about it that enhanced its sweetness. Now I was really thinking, for before I knew how it happened I found myself wide awake. The dream was over, but, oh! wonderful dream, the best of it remained. My sense of hearing, always acute, had waked long before and left my other faculties to slumber on and dream out the unreal accompaniments of a real voice. For now, with my eyes open and my mind released from sleep, I still heard that marvelous, half-familiar song.
Could I be deceived? I determined to know beyond a doubt that I was awake. I rose and, throwing on a dressing gown, turned up the light and walked about the room. I looked in the mirror to see if my eyes were open, and then ate a little fruit from a tempting dish that stood on the table. In one corner of the room was an elegant writing desk. I opened it, found its appointments complete, drew up a comfortable chair, and, choosing pen and paper, determined to record my impressions for future perusal, if by any means my memory should fail me. This is what I wrote:
“I, the undersigned, am in my private room in the house of Proctor, the astronomer, province of ——, planet Mars. It is about the middle of the night, precise date unknown. I am wide awake, in my usual health, appetite good, heart a little fluttering but temperature and pulse normal. I have been awakened from sleep by strains of distant music, which mingled with my dreams but refused to be silenced when the rest of the dreams melted away. Now, while I am writing, the delicious melody fills my ears. I never before heard so sweet a voice, unless, indeed, I have heard the same voice before. In regard to this I can form no present opinion. I must take another time to consider it. Now I cannot think, I am so engrossed in listening to the singer’s entrancing notes. The song is so full of light and cheer and sends such beautiful thoughts trooping through my brain that I wish it may go on forever.”
I signed my name to this with a firm hand, and then, as I leaned back in my chair to close my eyes and drink in more deeply still this rare enjoyment, darkness seemed to fall suddenly upon my spirit. The voice ceased, and in a moment the last sweet echoes had died away.
I crept into bed as speedily as possible, to try to forget my sadness in sleep. But oblivion would not be forced, and so I took what comfort I could in thinking of that interrupted song, and in trying to feel over again in memory that pleasure which my fleshly ears no longer gave me. I could still recognize a distinct tinge of familiarity in the notes, but when I came to the question of locating the singer I was utterly without a clew. I knew well enough that there was no earthly voice which could enter into the comparison, and so I need waste no time in going over that part of my life. But I had heard no singing of any kind in Mars before this night. How was it possible that I could have experienced that delightful sensation before and not be able to fix the place or time? It was a puzzling question, but I refused to give it up I knew the song, and the memory of it warmed my heart with each recurring flash, but the singer I did not know.
At length I fell asleep, and woke to find the sun of Mars shining pleasantly upon my bed. I recalled at once the experience of the night and confirmed my memory by finding on the desk the paper I had written, and still there was enough suspicion in my mind of the reality of the whole thing to make me anxious to know if the doctor had heard what had so impressed me. But on going to find him I discovered that he had left his room, and so it happened that we did not meet till the family came together in the morning reception room, in preparation for breakfast. Here Proctor presented us to his wife, Fronda, and his daughters, two stately girls, whom he did not name. Thorwald and Zenith kindly helped the doctor and me to answer the many questions which these new friends were so eager to ask, so that, as breakfast proceeded, all became engaged in the conversation. My own mind, however, was somewhat preoccupied. I thought perhaps Thorwald might be in haste to depart for home, and I was determined not to let the company separate till I had made an attempt to discover who my midnight singer was. So, when there came a convenient lull in the talk, I made bold to say:
“Can anyone present tell me who it was that woke me in the night ‘with concord of sweet sounds’?”
A general smile passed around the table at this question, while Fronda looked at me and said pleasantly,
“It must have been Avis. She is very fond of singing and considers all hours her own. I hope it did not disturb your slumbers.”
“It was no disturbance, I assure you. But is Avis present? I should like to thank her for the great pleasure she gave me.”
“No,” replied Fronda, “she took an early breakfast and started out for a long walk.”
“Then I may as well tell you all about it,” I said.
And I related my dream and then read to them all the paper I had written. Everyone listened with the greatest eagerness and showed more interest, I thought, than the circumstances as I had related them called for, but I afterwards learned that they had excellent reasons for it.
When breakfast was over I was glad to find that Thorwald seemed to be in no haste to go home. I began to feel an intense longing to see Avis, and I had planned, if Thorwald should insist on leaving too soon, to propose to Proctor that I would stay a few days and assist him in the observatory.
The doctor and I soon found an opportunity to speak together privately, and he began:
“So the voice of Avis was a little familiar to you?”
“Yes,” I replied, “but I am not able to tell from what niche in memory’s hall it comes.”
“Does it recall anything you heard or saw on the moon?”
“That dreadful place? No, indeed,” I replied. “Are you going to bring up Mona again?”
“You asked me never to mention that name again, and now you have spoken it.”
“Well,” I asked, “will you forgive me for that foolish request if I will let you talk to me about her now?”
“I am not anxious to talk about her,” the doctor answered, “especially as I know the topic is not a pleasant one to you.”
Without noticing this last remark, I asked abruptly:
“Was Mona a good singer?”
“Fair.”
“As good as Avis?”
“I think so, though I am not a critic.”
“Did I understand you to say she was handsome?”
“Beautiful.”
“And I fell in love with her?”
“You had all the symptoms. But why do you insist on talking on such a disagreeable subject? Come, let’s go and find Proctor.”
“Wait. One question more. Have you seen Avis?”
“Yes.”
“Who is she?”
“I believe she is a friend of the family merely.”
“Does she live here?”
“She is staying here for the present.”
“Is she beautiful, too?”
“I shall leave you to be your own judge of that when you see her. Now, not another question.”
“Well,” I said, as we started to find some of the others, “if the Mona of your imagination gives you as much pleasure as Avis has given me before I have seen her, I do not wonder that you cherish her memory.”
This conversation left me still more anxious to see Avis, and I looked for her return every moment, but the morning passed and finally the day wore to its close without bringing us together. I did not like to make my strong desire known by asking after her, and, besides, I began to have a slight suspicion that there was some design in keeping us from meeting.
When it was time to retire that night I took the doctor to my room, and I think it was a surprise to both of us when we fell to talking about Mona again. At my request the doctor related at considerable length our experience on the moon, as he remembered it, and set Mona out in most attractive style. I let him go on, without laughing at him as I had formerly done, and the longer he talked the more serious and thoughtful I became. As he told the details of our daily life, recalling many of Mona’s words and actions, a new thought flashed through my mind—the thought that possibly the doctor was right after all. At that instant, when my interest was most intense, once more the distant echoes of that happy song fell upon my ear.
That was the magic influence needed for my restoration. At once, and all at once, down fell the walls that had so unhappily obscured my mental vision, and left my memory clear as day. I jumped from my seat, seized the doctor’s hand, and exclaimed:
“I see it all now, old fellow. You were right and I was the crazy one.”
“Good, I rejoice with you.”
With that voice coming nearer and pouring its melody upon us, we could not say more at the time. I threw myself into a chair, let my head fall back, and closed my eyes to enjoy it. The doctor, feeling it to be better to let me think it out by myself, stole away and left me alone.
Alone, but not lonesome, for was not Mona with me? I could see her every look and motion, and experienced with a great throb of the heart that my love had only strengthened with my period of forgetfulness. I remembered her last words, that very likely we would never see her again. But why should not she be saved as easily as we were? What if she were even now afloat in the ocean? But perhaps some one had rescued her. Could she be in Mars and singing for other ears than mine? Singing! Why, who is singing now, right here in this very house? Can it be possible? How stupid I have been. Perhaps I can see her now.
I jumped up and rushed from the room, but was no sooner outside my door than the voice began to die again, and in a moment the last notes had floated away. I could not determine from which direction the song had come and had no clew to guide me toward the singer. It was very late and all the house was quiet. Unable to pursue my quest, I reentered my room, but it was hours before I could compose my mind sufficiently to sleep. The possible joy that awaited me in the morning, the dreadful fear that I should be disappointed, the violent beating of my heart at every thought of Mona, and my anxiety lest she might even now be exposed to danger somewhere, all combined to keep me excited and restless the whole night long. As I lay tossing and thinking, my most serious doubt was occasioned by the reflection that people of such exalted morals would not deceive me by declaring that this singer’s name was Avis if it were not true. But then I thought further that the doctor had given Mona the name by which we knew her, and that Fronda would have just as much right to give her a new name. Perhaps her real name after all was Avis.
When the welcome morning came I found the doctor and gave him a hearty grasp to show him that there had been no lapse in my mental condition, but I asked him to say nothing to Thorwald just at present about my recovery. Then we hurried down to the reception room and, early as it was, found most of the household already there. After looking eagerly around and seeing only those whom I had previously met, I inquired, with as little apparent concern as possible:
“Hasn’t Avis appeared? I thought she was an early riser.”
To which Fronda quickly replied:
“Oh, Avis was up half an hour ago, and asked me to excuse her to the company, saying she was going to spend the morning with a friend she met yesterday.”
This was a hard blow for me, and it was with difficulty that I restrained my impatience, but I was a little consoled with the idea that the morning only was to be consumed by this visit, and that we might look for a return by noon.
After breakfast, when Proctor had gone to the observatory and Fronda and her daughters were showing Zenith about the house, the doctor begged Thorwald to resume the talk begun on board the ship, which had been interrupted by the discovery of land. As Thorwald expressed a willingness to comply, the doctor continued:
“You were trying to convince me of the probability of life in other worlds besides the earth and Mars, and in your attempt to show a likeness between the earth and other parts of the universe, you were speaking on the interesting subject of meteorites.”
“I remember,” answered Thorwald, “I was just asking you what theory you of the earth hold on that important topic.”
“If the doctor,” I said, “will pardon me, I will say, in relation to the origin of meteorites, that our scientific men have held from time to time many different theories. Some have believed that they are aggregations of metallic vapors which, meeting in the atmosphere, solidify there and fall, just as watery vapors solidify and come down in the form of hailstones. Others have held that they are thrown out from the center of the earth by volcanic action; and others still that they all came from the moon when her volcanoes were active. These latter theories imply that the meteorites in immense quantities are revolving around the earth, and that occasionally they become entangled in her atmosphere and fall to the surface.
“And now, Thorwald, I am tempted to repay all your great kindness to us with an act of ingratitude, nothing less than the relation of a story.”
This rather foolhardy speech of mine made the doctor wince, and I am not sure but he began to fear that my mind was weakening in a new direction. But I had my own excuse for my action, which I felt that I could explain to him at some future time. The fact is, I was so disturbed in my mind about Mona and was anticipating so much from meeting the so called Avis, that I thought I could never sit still all the morning and listen to a dry scientific discussion. It seemed to me that I could stand it better if I could do part of the talking myself, and so I took advantage of the subject before us to propose relating an extravagant tale that I once had heard.
In contrast with the doctor’s frowns, Thorwald showed a lively appreciation and insisted that I should be heard.
“Not another word from me,” he said, “till we have had the story.”
With such encouragement, it was easy for me to proceed.
“I fear you will be disappointed,” I said, “for what I have rashly called a story is only a fancy founded on the idea that the meteorites were at some time shot out of the volcanoes of the moon. I had it from a friend of mine, whose mind is evidently more open to the notion of life in other worlds than is that of my companion here. As the story was written long before the moon came down to visit the people of the earth in their own home, the writer did not have the advantage of the discoveries made by the doctor and myself, and it is well for me that the doctor’s friend, Mona, is not here to disprove any of my statements.
“On account of the smaller volume of the moon, the attraction of gravitation on its surface is only one-quarter that of the earth, and it is estimated that, if a projectile were hurled from the moon with two or three times the velocity of a cannon ball, it would pass entirely beyond her attraction and be drawn to the earth, reaching it at the rate of some seven miles a second.
“Now we all know—this is the way the story runs—that the moon was once inhabited by a highly intelligent race. They tell us it is a cold, dead world now, not at all fit for inhabitants. But that is because its day is passed. Being so much smaller than the earth it cooled off quicker, and its life-bearing period long since found its end. Men have often speculated on the idea that our race will one day fail and the time come when the last generation shall pass away and leave the earth a bare and ugly thing, to continue yet longer its lonely, weary journey around a failing sun. That day the moon has seen. That direful fate the race of moon men have experienced. Some poor being, the last of his kind, was left sole monarch of a dying world, and with the moon all before him where to choose, chose rather to die with the rest and leave his world to cold and darkness.
“From our own experience we do not know how high a state of civilization can be reached by giving a race all the time that is needed. But we know that before the inhabitants of the moon passed off the stage they had attained to the highest possible degree of intelligence. They began existence at a very low plane, developed gradually through long periods of time—there has never been any haste in these matters—and when they had reached their maturity as a race of intellectual and moral beings, primitive man was just beginning on the vast undertaking of subduing the earth, a task not yet accomplished.
“The incident I propose to relate occurred in antediluvian times, when there were giants in the earth who lived a thousand years. Then matter reigned, not mind. It was the age of brawn. Everything material existed on a gigantic scale, and man’s architectural works, rude in design but well adapted for shelter and protection, were proportioned to his own stature and rivaled the everlasting hills in size and solidity. And they needed something substantial for protection, for war was their business and their pass time. They lived for nothing but to fight. It was brother against brother, neighbor against neighbor, tribe against tribe; and the man who could not fight, and fight hard, had no excuse for living. War was not an art, but a natural outburst of brutal instincts. A giant glories in his strength and cultivates it as naturally as a bird its song. But it is pleasant to consider the fact that as man’s mental and moral qualities have developed his body has become smaller. As the necessity for that immense physical strength gradually passed away, nature, abhorring such unnecessary waste of material, applied to us her inexorable laws whereby a thing or a state of things no longer useful slowly fades away, and our bodies accommodated themselves to new conditions.
“But in those early times men needed great physical strength and long life to bring the world into subjection, and until that was done they could give little attention to the cultivation of the finer qualities of their incipient manhood. They were handicapped by the fact that the lower animals had had the earth to themselves a few million years, more or less, and no puny race could ever have driven them to the wall.
“At length, when the conflict was well nigh over, with victory in sight, men had abandoned the struggle and were using all their fierce strength in fighting each other. This had been going on so long and with such deadly results that it seemed as if the race must be exterminated unless some superior power could step in from the outside and prevent it.
“We can easily understand that there was no such thing as science then. Men considered the sun, for example, only as a very useful thing which brought them light with which they could see their foe, and the moon as a mysterious object sent to make the night a little less dark. Sun and moon and shining stars were all set in the sky for them, and went through their wonderful and complicated movements solely for their amusement.
“But what was the real condition of things on the moon at that time? Why, there was a race of people there of such intelligence and scientific attainments that they were seeing plainly enough everything that was taking place on the earth. This will not appear very strange when we consider our remarkable success in scanning the surface of the moon at the present day, and remember that the inhabitants of the moon were then nearing the close of their history, and so at the height of their civilization.
“Yes, they had watched the coming of man upon the stage with the deepest interest—with a neighborly interest, in fact—seeing in him the promise of a companion race and one worthy of the magnificent globe which they could see was so much larger than their own. Their powerful instruments enabled them to see objects on the earth as distinctly as we now see through our telescopes the features of a landscape a few miles distant.
“Keeping thus so close an acquaintance with man and all his works, they rejoiced at every success he achieved over the lower forms of life, and grieved at all his failures. Especially were they pained when he tired of the conflict with his natural foe, and began to battle with his own kind. As this inhuman strife continued, the folly and wickedness of it roused to the fullest extent the interest and sympathy of the moon-dwellers, and they began to ask each other what they could do to put a stop to it. They themselves had long since given up war and had even outgrown all individual quarrels, and they could not endure with patience what was then taking place right under their eyes. But they found it easier to declaim against the evil than to suggest any practical method of stopping it. Although so near them in one sense, to the other senses the field of conflict was some two hundred and forty thousand miles away.
“However, of what value is a high state of civilization if it cannot help a neighboring world in such an emergency as this? If they could only communicate in some way with men they could soon make them understand that it would be better for them to cease their fighting and finish their legitimate work of subduing the lower forms of creation. But how to open communication! The problem long remained unsolved, the condition of things on the earth in the meantime growing worse and worse. At last it was suggested that a shot might be fired which would reach the earth. This was a bold suggestion, but it was well known that they had explosives powerful enough to carry a projectile beyond the moon’s attraction, and no one could give any good reason why such a projectile, being entirely free of the moon, should not reach the earth under the power of gravitation. It was determined to try the experiment, and after due preparation, which was comparatively easy with their facilities, an enormous shot was hurled forth. It was large enough to be seen by the aid of their powerful telescopes as it sped on its way, and it was with intense interest that they saw it enter the earth’s attraction and finally strike the surface of that globe. Now that so much had been accomplished, they saw immense possibilities before them. What they now wanted to do was to use their discovery to make men give up their fighting and turn to the arts of peace.
“How could they do this? Some proposed that they should make hollow shot, fill them with Bibles and other books, and bombard the earth with good precepts till men should learn and be tamed. But from their close observation of mankind the moon-dwellers knew they were too uncivilized to get any good from books, and that they certainly could not learn without a teacher. Hence arose the suggestion that missionaries be sent in place of books. As soon as this idea was broached thousands of volunteers offered themselves, and the plan would certainly have been attempted if there had been the slightest possibility that one could live to reach the earth.
“The next proposal came from the medical profession. Long before this time, when the inhabitants of the moon were sometimes governed by their passions and before the day of peace and good will had fully arrived, it had been discovered that what was known as the pugnacious instinct was only a disease, bad blood in fact as well as in name, and a remedy had been found for it. This was nothing less than the bi-chloride of comet. Small comets, such as we call meteorites, were picked up on the surface of the moon and put to this practical use. This medicine, administered as an hypodermic injection, produced wonderful effects, the patient, although afflicted with the most quarrelsome disposition, becoming as mild and harmless as a lamb. However warlike one might be, a few days’ treatment would take the fighting spirit out of him so completely that the mere doubling up his fists and placing them in front of his face would make him feel ill. Peace societies got hold of the remedy and tried it on the soldiers of the standing armies with such success that war had to be abandoned because the men would not fight.
“And now the old recipe was brought out, a large quantity of the medicine manufactured, and bombs made and filled with it, each one containing full directions for its use written in Volapiik. These were fired to the earth, and, strange to say, the simple language was soon learned, and the moon-dwellers had the satisfaction of seeing men rapidly metamorphosed into a peaceable, friendly race. Thus the moon directly influenced and governed affairs on the earth. Looked at from that distance it seems to have been the most remarkable case of the tail wagging the dog that the earth had ever seen.
“But we may as well relate the sequel. The effect of the treatment lasted only a few hundred years, and as it was the moon’s policy never to repeat a cure, men in time became as bad as ever again, and so at last the flood had to come and wipe them off the face of the earth.”
As I finished the doctor looked somewhat bored, but Thorwald was kind enough to thank me, and then, at our earnest solicitation, he resumed his argument.
“You have told me,” he said, “of some of your earlier beliefs about the origin of meteorites. Have you any more modern views?”
To this the doctor replied: “If my friend here has really finished talking for a while I will say, Thorwald, that the theories already spoken of seem to be disproved by the discovery that these stones enter the earth’s atmosphere with a planetary velocity. A body falling from an infinite distance—that is, impelled only by the attraction of gravitation—would strike the earth with a velocity of only six or seven miles a second, while the meteorites come at the rate of twenty to thirty miles a second, the earth’s rate of revolution being nineteen miles in the same time. It is found that a necessary consequence of these velocities is that the meteors move about the sun, and not the earth, as the controlling body. Our latest study points to the conclusion that they are of cometary origin, and, as comets have been known to divide, some scientists believe the meteorites are fragments of exploded comets. At any rate, they are found in the company of these mysterious bodies, and appear to have similarly eccentric orbits.”
“Your studies are leading you in the right direction,” said Thorwald. “The meteorites do indeed come from the regions of space, and if they have any story to tell it is a story of those distant parts of the universe about which any testimony is valuable. Let us look again at the fragment we are supposed to hold in our hand. Can we tell of what it is composed, or is its substance something entirely new? I am sure you must have analyzed it down to its minutest particle, and if so you have found it contains nothing foreign to the earth. There is not a single element in the meteorite that does not exist also in the crust of the earth. Tell me, Doctor, how many elements have you discovered in them?”
“Nearly thirty,” answered the doctor. “And one interesting fact is, that the three elements most common in the earth—iron, silicon, and oxygen—are also found most widely distributed among the meteorites.”
“That is an exceedingly significant fact,” said Thorwald; “and now do you not see how strongly the meteorites confirm the story of the spectrum, and how everything tells us the universe is one in its physical structure? By these two widely different sources of information you find that beyond doubt other heavenly bodies are made of like materials with the earth. Is it not time now to give your imagination just a moment’s play and look upon some of those distant orbs as the probable abode of life?”
“There I cannot follow you,” responded the doctor. “I am wanting in imagination; probably born so, as some people are born without an ear for music. Let us stick to facts. Among the recent discoveries in the field of which we have been talking was the finding of some small diamonds in a meteoric mass. Upon this some enthusiastic writer, whose imaginative soul would be your delight, Thorwald, built this argument: ‘Diamonds being pure carbon, their existence necessitates a previous vegetable growth. Hence vegetable life in other worlds is proven, and if vegetable life, it is fair to presume the existence of animal life also. Of course, then, there must be intelligent life, and therefore the stars, or the planets that revolve around the stars, are all filled with men.’ This I call not reasoning, but guessing.”
“And still,” quickly responded Thorwald, “the discovery of diamonds in meteorites was a valuable link in the chain of evidence which you are putting together. Keep on with your investigations. Some time positive knowledge will come to you as it has come to us. But let me appeal once more to your reason. At an earlier stage of development your race no doubt believed the earth was the center of the universe, around which all the heavenly bodies swept in magnificent circles. You have learned that the earth itself, which was formerly thought to be so important an object, is only one of those heavenly bodies flying through space. You find the earth resembles its nearest companions in being subject to the same laws of motion which govern them, but you have yet to learn that they resemble the earth in the main purpose of their creation. You go into the forest and see thousands of trees. You can find no two alike, and yet all are alike in every material respect. Even the myriads of leaves are all different, and yet all alike. So why may not the millions of stars that fill the sky be like our own sun and like each other, differing in such immaterial things as size and brilliancy, color and constitution, but alike in the chief object of their being, the giving of light and heat, as vivifying forces to dark bodies surrounding them? And why may not these planets resemble the earth in being, at some stage of their existence, the theater of God’s great designs?
“Let me try to excite your imagination in another way, Doctor. Suppose you should by and by awake and find this visit to Mars only a dream, and then suppose it should be revealed to you in some superhuman way that man was indeed the only race of intelligent beings in the whole universe; that the other planets and all the stars were of no real use; that not one world from that vast region of the milky way and far distant nebulae would ever send forth a note of praise to its Creator, and that the tiny earth was, after all, the center and sum of the universe—tell me, would you not feel lonesome?”
“When you put it in that way, Thorwald,” replied the doctor, “I begin to see how unreasonable my position must appear to you. But, however pleasant the idea, I do not see how I can believe that other worlds are inhabited without more evidence than we now possess. This is speaking, of course, without the knowledge we have gained since coming here. But I do not mind saying that your talk has made me wish I could believe it.”
I was glad for several reasons that the doctor acknowledged as much as this. First, for Thorwald’s sake; for I had been thinking the doctor’s obduracy was proving a poor reward for our friend’s great kindness to us. I rejoiced, too, that my companion was beginning to show our new acquaintance that, although he had little imagination, he was possessed of a good heart. And, finally, I was myself so much in sympathy with Thorwald’s views that I was glad to see his arguments begin to make some impression on the doctor’s mind.
But now it seemed to me that Thorwald had much to tell us from his own experience. He had talked so far on this subject from the standpoint of our earthly knowledge, but had hinted more than once that the inhabitants of Mars had more positive evidence than we had ever dreamed could be possible. So I said:
“Your arguments have been very acceptable to me, Thorwald, but can you not strengthen even my faith by speaking now from the results of your own more advanced studies? We must base our belief in the existence of life outside the earth on mere probabilities, which, however strong, lead only to theory and leave us still in doubt. Have you any certain knowledge on the subject, or, I might say, had you any before we came to see you?”
“Oh, yes,” replied Thorwald, “we have long had evidence almost as positive as your presence here, fresh from one of our sister planets. It will give me great pleasure to tell you of some of our marvelous achievements in astronomy. The doctor says he would like to believe in the habitability of other worlds; he must believe in it before I am through if he has any faith in me.
“I would like to say, to begin with, that whatever we have accomplished in this science you on the earth can accomplish. I know enough by comparing your development with our own to feel sure that our present condition foreshadows yours, and that all the knowledge we possess in various directions will come in time to you. Let nothing discourage you in your quest for knowledge. If you seem to have arrived at the limit of possibilities in the telescope, for example, have patience. Difficulties which you think insurmountable, time will remove, and you will be able to penetrate more and more into the mysteries of the universe.
“Our telescopes have gradually increased in power until we have been able to accomplish things that you will no doubt think truly marvelous. But, before you call any achievement in this science impossible, just look back and compare the ignorance of the early inhabitants of the earth with your present knowledge; and do not be so proud of the wisdom already attained that you cannot also look forward to an enlarged comprehension of things you now call mysteries, and to a much closer acquaintance with the works of God.
“To our increasing vision the heavens have continued to unfold their wonders. We have penetrated far into the depths of space only to marvel, at each new revelation, at the power and wisdom of the Creator. The number of stars discovered to our view would be incredible to you, and yet it will be interesting to you to learn that we can still place no bounds to creation. We have, it is true, found the limits of what we call our universe and have mapped out all its boundaries. When this had been done we tried to pierce the surrounding darkness, but for a long time, in spite of our belief that we could not yet see the end, all beyond seemed a void. Recently, however, our faith has been rewarded, for we can now see other universes, buried in far space but revealed dimly to the higher powers of our telescopes.
“But you are doubtless eager to hear of some more definite knowledge gained from this wide domain. Well, we have determined the distances, size, and motions of many of the stars, resolved star clusters and nebulae, solved the mystery of the double and variable stars, and, what is of more consequence than all these things, we have in many instances discovered the secondary bodies themselves, revolving around a central sun. We now know, what we so long suspected, that the rolling stars are suns like our own, giving light and heat to attending worlds. With this knowledge, can you wonder, Doctor, that we acquired the belief that these worlds, resembling so much the planets of our own system, are fit homes for intelligent beings?”
“I cannot see,” replied the doctor, “that such a belief necessarily follows your discovery, which, I must own, was an exceedingly valuable one. I can readily believe that each star that shines in our sky is a sun surrounded by dependent bodies so dark as to be invisible through our terrestrial telescopes, but still I presume even your instruments are not powerful enough to find any inhabitants on those distant worlds?”
“No,” replied Thorwald, “but for what other conceivable purpose were these bodies created?”
“I frankly acknowledge that I am not able to answer that question,” said the doctor. “If you have many more wonderful discoveries to relate I shall soon have to own myself convinced.”
“I am trying to convince your reason,” resumed Thorwald, “without the aid of positive evidence, but I may as well proceed now to show you what further knowledge we have gained.
“The nearer planets of our own solar system have been naturally the objects of our close scrutiny. As our telescopes increased in power we diligently studied the surface of these globes, searching for signs of life. We mapped out their features, noted the various phenomena of season and climate, and discovered many ways in which they seemed to be like our world. But for a long time we found no direct evidence that they were inhabited.
“At length, however, one ardent philosopher, full of hope, as we all were, that we had neighbors on some of these globes, brought out the idea that if these neighbors were as far advanced in astronomical science as we were, there ought to be some means of communication between one world and another. The thought took at once, and occasioned the most lively interest. We had no doubt, from what we had learned of these planets, that they were fitted to be, at some time, the home of intelligent beings. Our question was whether the inhabitable period of either of them coincided with that of Mars, and, if so, whether the race was sufficiently developed to be able to see us as well as we could see them.
“The first means suggested to attract the attention of such a race of beings was fire. You can imagine that we could get together material enough to make a pretty big blaze, and we did. We lighted immense fires in various places and kept them burning a long time, but without accomplishing anything. We scanned minutely the surface of each planet, but saw no sign anywhere that our effort at communication was recognized.
“Disappointed, but not discouraged, we determined next to try a system of simple hieroglyphics by throwing up huge mounds on one of our plains. We thought, if other eyes were studying Mars as closely as we were searching the surface of our sister planets for signs of life, that they would notice any unusual change in our appearance. Then if they did notice it we hoped some means would be found to let us know it.
“It was decided to try first the figure of the circle, because we knew that the form of all heavenly bodies must be the most familiar to intelligent life wherever it existed. It took years of labor to construct the mound, for it was thought best to have it large enough to give the experiment a thorough trial. And now you may believe we considered ourselves well repaid for all our toil and expense when, soon after the circle was completed, our telescopes showed us a similar form actually growing upon the surface of both Saturn and Uranus. We immediately replied by beginning the construction of a square, and before this was finished both planets began to answer, one with the triangle and the other with the crescent. The latter was made by Uranus, and as soon as it was finished the triangle began to appear beside it, showing to us that Uranus was reading from Saturn also.
“Other signs followed, although, of course, the work was very slow, and the experiments are still in progress. Some slight beginning has been made toward the interchange of ideas. The time and labor required will alone prevent extended communication, which would make it possible to form, in the course of ages, a mutual language. As we were the first to start it we propose to try to control the conversation, but if Saturn and Uranus choose to steal our idea and gossip between themselves, we know of no way to stop them.”
As Thorwald proceeded with this marvelous recital, it was interesting to watch the doctor’s face. It was so apparent to me that he was fast losing his skepticism that I was not surprised to hear him say:
“Thorwald, one fact is worth more to me than a world of theory, and if you had begun by relating this wonderful experience you would not have found me so incredulous. Who could refuse to believe with such testimony before him? What news this will be to take back to the earth! But you have, doubtless, other discoveries to relate to us. Excuse me,” the doctor continued, turning to me, “for interrupting, even for a moment, our friend’s most interesting discourse.”
“Let me say,” resumed Thorwald, “that your interruption has been helpful to me, for now I know you have lost your doubts and believe with us in this matter.”
“These efforts at communication have occupied us for generations, and the close study which we have been obliged to give to the surface of the other planets has made us well acquainted with their characteristics. We have found many likenesses to our own world, as well as various points of difference. The succession of the seasons has been an interesting phenomenon. We have watched with delight the ever-changing rings of our neighbor, Saturn, and can show you pictures of them as they were thousands of years ago.”
“We have taken great pleasure in observing the round of seasons on the surface of the earth, not dreaming that we should ever have the privilege of talking face to face with its inhabitants.”
“Well, now that we are here, Thorwald,” said the doctor, “we want to get all the information possible. So please go on and tell us more of your discoveries. How about those bodies that you have found circling like planets around other suns? Have you any evidence in regard to their inhabitants? Your telescopes cannot surely bring any such bodies near enough to enable you to communicate with them.”
“True,” replied Thorwald, “but this is another instance where nature has lent us her assistance. If you have been surprised at some things that I have already said, you will probably find what I am about to relate equally outside of your experience.”