“The most remarkable event in the realm of matter that ever occurred in connection with this planet, of which we have a record, was its collision with a comet. This was many ages ago and it made an epoch in our history, so that we say such a thing occurred so many years before or after the collision. Although the records are rather meager we know enough of the details to have a fair understanding of the wonderful event.
“The comet had no established period, as so many others have, but seemed to be an entirely new-comer, and from its first appearance showed plainly that it was making straight for our planet. The astronomers predicted at once what the inevitable result would be, and you can imagine the consternation of the world as this monstrous, fiery object bore down upon us, increasing in size and splendor every day, until it filled half the sky and threatened to engulf us in flame and destruction. There seemed to be no possible escape, and, in fact, there was to be no escape from a collision, but almost all the harm that followed was the result of pure fright. For as the comet came rushing upon us the whole hemisphere of Mars was filled with its blazing substance, which appeared, however, to burn itself out in our atmosphere, and to leave, in most cases, nothing to reach the ground.
“Perhaps you have seen a shower of falling stars on the earth, brilliant and threatening in appearance, but causing in reality little damage. So the comet came to us. Its immense, fiery volume, which filled us with such dread, was so diffused that it was nearly all consumed by impact with our atmosphere. But there was a great solid nucleus, which struck the ground with immense force, and remains as our largest meteorite.
“Thus not only was our world spared from destruction, but that which threatened to be such an evil proved to be a great acquisition. For the comet, as it is still called, has revealed to us the most astonishing secrets. For a long time the mass of matter lay untouched, superstition and the lack of scientific curiosity tending to preserve it as it fell. But at length the spirit of inquiry proved to be too strong, and within a comparatively recent period the comet has been broken into and explored with wonderful results.
“You must know, to begin with, that this greatest natural curiosity on the face of our planet is no common meteorite such as you are acquainted with. Indeed, if it had struck the earth as fair a blow as it did us I think the shock would have been felt much more severely by your little race, for it is hundreds of miles in diameter and the velocity with which it was traveling was simply incredible. Fortunately it fell upon an uninhabited plain, partly burying itself in the ground, and for several years the mass was so hot that it could not be approached. This helped to make it an object of awe and almost of veneration, so that many centuries of time passed before any critical examination was made of it. Even then nothing was accomplished toward revealing its marvelous secrets. The surface was found to be hard and metallic, with the familiar burned appearance caused by contact with the atmosphere, and the substance, in its chemical composition, resembled, with some variation, other meteoric specimens. Some attempt was made to penetrate into the interior of the mass, but all that was discovered led to the belief that it was of similar structure throughout.
“This was the extent of the knowledge obtained of the interesting object until the beginning of the present age of advanced civilization.
“When we had learned by our successful experiments that some of our sister planets were inhabited, and when our powerful telescopes had revealed what we believed to be planets of other systems, there was intense interest in the search for any evidence of life in these more distant worlds. They were so very far away that we doubted if we could ever know enough about them to tell whether they were habitable, and it seemed as if we could only judge of their condition from analogy with our own solar system. These views prevailed until the brilliant suggestion was made, and it is not known by whom it was first advanced, that perhaps we had, right here with us, the means of discovering what we so much desired to know. It had always been assumed that our comet was of uniform structure, but why let such a matter rest in uncertainty? It is one of the strange things in our history that this question was not seriously asked long before that time. But now that the idea was broached the work was entered into with great earnestness.
“This was the position: Here was this huge mass that had come to us from some unknown region of the sky, almost certainly from beyond the bounds of our solar system, and we were to pry into it to see if it had any story to tell us of its former condition. The advancement of science had given us the means of easily penetrating into the interior of the comet, and it was determined to make thorough work of it. And this feeling was found to be necessary, for the enterprise proved to be discouraging for many years. An immense tunnel was made through the entire mass, and nothing was found to repay the trouble. Many were now in favor of abandoning the work, but after a period of rest another trial was decided upon and a second tunnel begun. Never did perseverance have a more perfect reward; for, before the new excavations had proceeded far, discoveries were made which suddenly changed our comet, in regard to which most people had lost all interest, into the most wonderful object in all the world.
“In short, we now know that we have here a fragment of a former planet. How the planet was dismembered and how this piece happened to come flying to us, we do not know. But could it have come about more fortunately for us if it had all been designed by an over-ruling power? When we had learned all that our expanding but limited intelligence could teach us of the other parts of the universe, and when our minds were ripe for more knowledge, we found this magnificent object lesson, which had been waiting for us all these years. Beneath the uninviting surface of that familiar comet were revealed wonders which, if they had been discovered when the mass first came, would not have been half-appreciated, but which now told us, in answer to our eager inquiries, more than we ever thought to know about the far-distant works of our God.”
The doctor and I were amazed beyond measure by this recital, and were quite ready to admit that a superior intelligence had directed the wonderful event. But we were exceedingly anxious to know some of the details of the discovery, and when the doctor had expressed this wish Thorwald proceeded:
“I could talk on this subject,” he said, “till night-fall if you desire, but it will be better for you to restrain your curiosity till you can be taken in person to the scene. Let me tell you in general terms what you will find. The comet fell, as I have said, in an uninhabited plain, but it is now at the door of the largest city on our planet, which has been built there since the discoveries were made. The excavations have left an immense opening, where galleries and chambers of great extent have been dug out. These have been finished off with untold labor, and new ones are being constantly added. Here is our greatest museum, beside which all other collections of natural objects are as nothing, for all that has been found in the comet remains there; nothing has been allowed to be taken away. You will appreciate something of the wonderful character of these curiosities when I tell you that they give evidence of a world many times larger than Jupiter and of an intellectual and spiritual development as much beyond ours as ours is in advance of that of the earth.
“We have exhumed buried cities in our own planet more than once, where volcano or other convulsion had overwhelmed them, and found the relics of past civilization; but here, in our comet, we look not upon the past but upon the future, as it were, and see what has been done in a world much older than our own. The belief that the comet did not originate in our solar system has been verified, for we find that the globe of which it was once a part revolved around an immense sun which had a retinue of twenty-seven planets of various sizes. Whether this great sun is one of the stars of our firmament we can only conjecture; perhaps in some future state of existence we shall know.
“You have wondered if the earth will ever advance to the condition in which you find us, and we are asking the same question in regard to ourselves and the still higher development exhibited in our comet. My opinion is that these very discoveries are to be in a measure the means of our advancement. We are only beginning to make out their wonderful character. As we learn more of them we hope to find out more closely how that people lived, and to be directed in our upward path by their example. In the pursuit of this knowledge we are hampered by our ignorance of their language. All that we know of them and their planet has been gained by their very suggestive pictures and illustrations, for of their written records, which exist in great abundance, we can as yet make nothing. In our former studies of the different languages of our own world we found something common to them all, upon which we could work; but in this case an entirely new principle seems to obtain, and the problem so far baffles all our skill. So you see here is something for us to do, and when we have accomplished the task, as I have no doubt that result will come, we shall then be able to study in detail that remarkable civilization the knowledge of which is wisely kept from us until we can understand and appreciate it.
“You come here from your young planet, representing a race that is still struggling with the lower forms of materialism, and find us so much in advance of your condition that perhaps you imagine we are perfect. We ourselves know we are far from that state, especially since we have been able to compare our development with the higher civilization of the people who once lived on our comet.”
Thorwald paused a moment, and the doctor, who showed by every indication that he was engrossed in the subject, took occasion to remark:
“We certainly have harbored the thought you attribute to us, Thorwald. After all you have told us of your freedom from trouble, of the dethronement of selfishness and the reign of love, of your great achievements in every art, and of your ideal life in general, we shall always look upon you as a perfect race. How is it possible to rise to a higher plain? Can you express in terms suited to our comprehension your idea of that advanced state of existence of which you find indications on your comet? What is the character of that development?”
“You will perhaps understand something of its character,” answered Thorwald, “if I say it is almost entirely spiritual. While we have made some progress in that direction, our superiority over the earth-dwellers is chiefly in physical and intellectual attainments. In the realm of the spirit we have yet far to go, and as long as we can see imperfections in our nature we feel that there is something ahead for us to strive after. With that example before us of a much more exalted life, we shall not be satisfied until we have learned its secrets and attained to its perfections. In this upward march we shall be sustained and helped by the same divine Power that has thus far led us.”
We were much impressed by Thorwald’s earnest words and manner, and we began to realize that the civilization of Mars was above our most exalted conception. I had been so carried away by the topics which I had feared were going to be uninteresting that I had lost some of the restlessness of the morning, but as our sitting broke up and I noticed it was drawing near noon my anxious thoughts returned. Finding Fronda and learning from her from what direction Avis might be expected to come, I determined to go out alone and see if I could meet her. I managed to get away without the fact being noticed, as far as I could discover, and started down the walk at a brisk pace. The houses were a good distance apart and were all attractive enough to draw out both wonder and admiration, had my mind been in a condition to appreciate their beauty. Occasionally an electric carriage would pass me, but the first pedestrian I met was a woman of noble bearing and about the age of Fronda, I should judge. After all I had heard of the physical and mental perfections of the inhabitants of Mars, I did not expect to see any but good-looking people. In this we were never disappointed, though still there were gradations of beauty even there. This woman whom I had met must have been at one time strikingly handsome, and if time had robbed her of any of that quality it had made it up by giving her a rare sweetness that fully atoned for the loss. As I was about to pass her she looked at me with such a pleasant and agreeable curiosity that I stopped and said:
“Pardon me, but may I ask you a question?”
“Certainly,” she answered in a charming voice, “and I shall be very glad to help you in any way. I recognize that you are one of the earth-dwellers, and I have met your companion the doctor.”
“Is it possible? I wonder he has not told me of such good fortune. But this is the question I wanted to ask you. As you came along this path did you see a young girl named Avis?”
“I did not, I am sure. I have met no young girl, and I could not see any one by the name of Avis.”
“Why so?”
“Because there is no such girl.”
“Excuse me,” I said, “but probably you do not know her. I have just come from one of the houses yonder, where she is expected about noon, and I came out to try and meet her.”
“Do you know her?” she asked.
“No—or, rather, I hope so; I cannot tell till I see her.”
“That’s curious. Have you ever met her?”
“I am not sure. I hope I have. I cannot explain it to you just now, but the minute I put my eyes on Avis I shall be able to answer all your questions.”
“But her name cannot be Avis.”
“Oh, yes, it is. It is quite plain that you do not know her.”
“I beg your pardon,” she returned, “there is but one person in all this country by the name of Avis.”
“Then that is the very person I am trying to find.”
“You have found her.”
“Where?”
“Right here. I am she.”
I laughed outright and said:
“Oh, no, you must be mistaken. I do not mean to be disrespectful, but the Avis I am looking for is young, younger than I am—evidently another person of your name, whom you have never met.”
“How do you know she is young?”
“Why,” I answered, “of course she is young.”
And then, when I thought of it a moment, I remembered that no one had told me her age, but I added:
“I know she is young, because I have heard her sing.”
It was now my companion’s turn to laugh, but although her merriment was at my expense its expression, like all her actions, was exceedingly pleasing. The thought occurred to me that even the most cultured of the earth’s inhabitants have still much to learn in the realm of manners.
“Oh, do you imagine,” she asked, in the midst of her laughing, “that you can tell one’s age in Mars from the quality of the voice? Does this Avis of yours sing well?”
“Excellently well. Until I heard her I had supposed there was but one singer anywhere, in earth, sun, moon, or star, possessed of such a sweet and thrilling voice.”
“And where, if I may ask, did you find that one?”
“Oh, the doctor and I discovered her in our travels. I will tell you all about her when I have more time. Now will you excuse me while I continue my search for Avis?”
“You have forgotten,” she answered, “what I told you. I am Avis.”
“Not my Avis, the singer.”
“Yes, the very same, and I can prove it.”
“How?”
She answered by turning half around, lifting her head, and sending out on the air one full, rich note. It poorly describes my emotions to say I was astonished. If I had been blind and dependent only on what I heard at that moment, I should have thrown myself at her feet and called her Mona. It brought back to me not only every expression of Mona’s marvelous voice, but also every feature and every grace which had formerly so bewitched me. If I had loved her passionately when we were together in the body, it would be difficult to characterize my feelings now that she was present only in memory. These sensations swept over me rapidly, but before I could utter a word my companion spoke again:
“I see you hesitate. Let me complete my proof by saying that you are visiting, with Zenith and Thorwald, at the house of Fronda, and have heard me sing two nights in succession.”
“Then,” I exclaimed, with sorrow and despair in my voice, “I have indeed found Avis, but, alas! I have once more lost Mona.”
“How so?”
“Why, don’t you see? I expected to find Mona and lose Avis. I thought Avis was Mona, a thought born partly of hope, I suppose, but it did not seem possible that there could be two such singers. So you are really Avis. I must try and remember that, and not express any more sorrow at not losing you. If Avis could not be Mona it is certainly a great consolation to find her in you. Let me return with you to Proctor’s; and now, will you not sing for me as we walk?”
“Are you so fond of singing, or is it because you like to be reminded of Mona?”
“Both, I assure you.”
“Does my voice sound like hers in conversation?”
“Oh, no, Mona never talked as we do. Everything she wanted to say she sang.”
“You surprise me,” said Avis. “I should think she would soon become tiresome to her friends.”
“If you had ever known her you would not make such a remark as that.”
“I beg your pardon,” she quickly returned. “I presume you are right. And now, to atone for wounding your feelings, I will sing till we come in sight of Fronda’s house.”
“I thank you very much, and I promise you I shall walk as slowly as possible.”
She sang some sweet little things for me as we sauntered along, attracting me powerfully and making it easier for me to conceal my great disappointment.
When we reached the house Avis explained, in a few pleasant words, the fact of our acquaintance, and as soon as family and guests were all gathered for the noonday lunch I told them about my peculiar forgetfulness of what had occurred on the moon and then about the manner in which the events had been brought back to my mind. They showed more interest in the latter part of my relation than in the former, and when I was through the doctor said:
“I must confess to you now, my friend, that I told these good people something about your aberration. It was entirely for your own sake, for I wanted their help in bringing about your recovery, and now that we have been successful I hope you will forgive me.”
“You know there is nothing to forgive,” I replied. Then Zenith said:
“The doctor implies that we have all helped in the happy result, but I can tell you that it is entirely due to himself and Avis. He happened to meet Avis and heard her sing. He was struck at once with the likeness between her voice and Mona’s, about whom he had told us, and he conceived the idea that if you could hear it when you were alone, say in the night, and not know who the singer was, it might be the means of bringing the forgotten circumstances all back to you. From what the doctor has told us we have, every one of us, fallen in love with Mona, and I presume when we get your estimate we shall think none the less of her. If I am correctly informed you found her especially attractive.”
“In answer to your kind expressions of interest in me, Zenith, I will say that, in spite of my appreciation of what you are all doing for us, I shall never see another really happy moment until Mona is found.”
“Then,” quickly responded Thorwald, “we must redouble our efforts to find her. I must tell you that ever since the doctor first acquainted us with the loss of Mona we have had parties searching for her in all that part of the ocean.”
“How thoughtful you are,” I exclaimed. “But why do we not hurry home? Perhaps she is found.”
“I regret to add to your sorrow,” said Thorwald, “but we should learn of it here as quickly as at home, for I am in constant communication with my friends who are conducting the search. Still, we have been staying here for you and can now bring our visit to a close at any time.”
So after lunch we bade adieu to Proctor and his household, and started for home, the same way we went out—that is, by going west again. As we made a leisurely journey and enjoyed a good night’s rest on the way, it was just before noon when we arrived at Thorwald’s house. Here we found Antonia, who had been advised of our coming by telephone, and had prepared a nice lunch for us. Just as we were all about to sit down to enjoy it, a young man entered unannounced and, without formal invitation, joined us in gathering about the board. This was not an instance of undue familiarity, as we soon discovered, but illustrated again the free and hearty hospitality of these generous people.
“Foedric,” said Thorwald, as soon as the guest had been greeted, “let me present you to these two friends from the earth. You doubtless have heard of their arrival.”
“I have,” answered Foedric, “and I am exceedingly pleased to make their acquaintance.” And then turning to the doctor, he said:
“We shall not let Thorwald and Zenith have the monopoly of your company while you are visiting our world. Many others are anxious to see you and to learn something of our sister planet.”
“There is not much to learn,” said the doctor, “from such an unripe race as we represent, and I must say your people have not exhibited any unpleasant curiosity.”
“I am glad you have not been annoyed. We understand too well what is due you as our guests to crowd our attentions upon you, but you will allow me to say that already the main facts in your case are known all over our world, and our scientists are discussing the earth and its inhabitants in the great light of the knowledge which you have brought.”
Foedric spoke with ease, and yet with entire absence of youthful pedantry. The doctor and I could but admire his fine face and robust form, as well as his manly courtesy and friendliness. And before the meal was over we discovered that one other person at the table admired him, probably for the same and many other qualities. It seemed to us accidental when Foedric had dropped in upon us and chosen a seat next to Antonia, but it soon became evident that we had not witnessed even that kind of an accident.
What was exhibited to us there, among that highly developed people, was a genuine, old-fashioned, new-fashioned love affair. We rejoiced in our hearts to find that their advanced civilization left abundant room for the development of the tender passion, and that it also seemed not to discourage a plain and sensible exhibition of it. For these two young people made no effort to conceal their happiness. Not the company of their chosen friends nor the presence of strangers from a distant world caused them the slightest embarrassment, as they spoke from time to time their words of love, simple words to other listeners, but full of meaning to themselves.
“Say that again, Antonia,” spoke Foedric.
“Why do you ask me to repeat it so often? I have said it so many times and with so little variety of expression that I fear the monotony will tire you. You can tell how strong my devotion is by my every look and action.”
“Very well,” Foedric responded, “then I, too, will be silent.”
“Oh, no; I retract what I have said if it is to have that effect. It is only my own expressions that seem tiresome. I could not be happy without your voice in my ears, though you repeat from morn till eve the old, familiar words.”
“Then you must believe the same of me,” said Foedric.
As we all happened to be listening to these two at that moment, Foedric looked up to our host and said:
“Thorwald, do you think Antonia and I had better try to reform the customs of the world, and do away with all verbal expression of our attachment, on the ground that it is unnecessary and only a waste of breath?”
“If some cruel master should force such a prohibition upon you, Foedric, what would be your feeling? The heart craves such expression as naturally as the body craves food. Suppose a couple were to start off by saying once for all that they loved each other, and then agree to live the rest of their lives on that one expression. They would argue that all such sentiment was folly, and interfered with the serious business of life, and so, denying a healthy appetite, their hearts would shrivel up and the fair blossom of their love would soon wither and die.”
As we smiled at Thorwald’s words, Zenith showed her interest by saying:
“The subject reminds me of that epoch in our history of which we read, when all the world went without eating for a time.”
“Without eating?” asked the doctor.
“Yes, I will tell you about it. Once science reached that condition where it thought it could make the world over and improve on the first creation in a great many ways. Men began to say that the time spent in cooking and eating was all wasted, that time, being the most valuable thing they had, should be employed in some more useful way than in indulging a mere sensual passion. The appetite came to be looked upon as something too gross for intelligent beings and suited only to the natures of the lower animals. Under the influence of this growing sentiment, science soon discovered a process for condensing our food to wonderfully small proportions. All extraneous matter was rejected, and only those particles retained which were absolutely essential to our nourishment, chemical knowledge having reached a high state. The result was that it finally became possible to subsist a whole day on a single swallow. One pill, taken every morning, contained all the food required, both for the growth and maintenance of the body Science prided itself on such an advanced step, and men looked forward and wondered what further marvels the future would bring forth.”
The doctor did not try to hide his interest in this recital, and as soon as Zenith paused he said:
“My friend and myself are most truly thankful that that custom did not continue to the present day. But did it remain long?”
“No,” replied Zenith, “of course it could not. At first people thought it an immense gain. Just think of the time and expense it saved in every household, doing away with dining-room and kitchen, with all their furniture and utensils, and reducing the cares of housekeeping much more than half. But it proved to be a costly experiment, and nature soon exerted itself, as it always will in time. Science, not satisfied with what had been accomplished, kept striving after what it called more perfect results, and just as it had made a pellet of such powerful ingredients that it would sustain life for a week, men began to die rapidly of the treatment. This called a halt, but the damage done was serious enough to give the world a good fright, turn it back to the old fashioned habit of eating, and confirm us forever in that indulgence. Since then we have believed that such appetites are given us for a wise purpose and that, rightly enjoyed, they are a means of growth toward a more and more perfect state.”
“This lesson from our experience then,” said Foedric to Antonia, “is to teach us the plain duty of lavishing upon each other, without measure, our affectionate words, because it is a legitimate, healthy longing of our nature, and I sincerely hope you will take it to heart. Do not undertake to make me exist a week or a day on a single morsel.”
As for myself, I was not so much engrossed in this talk as to forget my own condition, which seemed all the more forlorn by contrast with the unalloyed happiness of these joyous beings. I wondered if such affairs always went smoothly in Mars. Was early love always mutual, or did one sometimes refuse to be wooed and prefer another? And did it ever happen that the loved one was lost, as Mona was lost to me, perhaps never to be found?
But in the company of such happy people I felt that my anxious spirit was out of place, and I tried to cast off my forebodings and to seize from the image of Mona present in my memory a portion of her own cheer and hope. That I was not entirely successful my looks must have shown, for as we rose from the table Zenith said to me, with a look of sympathy:
“You are sad—I think I will send for Avis to come over and cheer you up.”
This was spoken as if Avis were just across the street and could run over in a minute. But as I did not discourage the idea the invitation was sent, and before night Avis was with us, filling the house with melody. She delighted in her song and was as youthful in spirit as a girl, and this was a quality always noticeable in the Martians. And, moreover, under the influence of Avis the members of our own household found their voices, so that the doctor and I learned that they need not send to the antipodes for singers. Zenith and Foedric were exceptionally good, but no one except Avis possessed the peculiar charm of Mona.
There was no way by which we could learn so much and so rapidly about that wonderful world as by conversation, so at every opportunity we tried to get Thorwald and the others to give us portions of their history. From time to time my companion and myself compared our impressions, and expressed to each other the pleasure we anticipated in relating all the amazing things we had seen and heard to our friends on the earth. The exceedingly doubtful problem of our ever getting back to our home again did not trouble us then.
We said to each other that the most startling things had probably all been told us, and that we could not be much surprised by anything that they could tell us further. And yet there was that to follow which, if we could fully enter into its significance, would make us forget much of what we had already heard, or at least care but little to recall it. In truth, the new revelation which we were about to receive from the lips of our friend was of so much value, and so different in character from the other subjects Thorwald had spoken of, that we afterward came to look upon all that had gone before as an introduction, perhaps intended to prepare our minds for a much grander truth. Yet it was brought out by a question from me, a question of whose importance I had little conception.
When Thorwald was ready to talk one day I said to him:
“We have heard you several times speak reverently of a God. Will you tell us definitely what your religion is?”
“With pleasure,” he replied. “We worship one God, the maker of all things, and his Son, Jesus Christ, who gave his life for us.”
“Why, how did you hear of his death, Thorwald?”
“I might better ask how you heard of it. Many centuries ago God saw fit to reveal himself more fully to us by sending his only Son, who came in the likeness of our flesh, dwelt among us, and by cruel hands was slain. He gave himself a sacrifice for our sins, but rose again from the dead, as we, too, shall rise. He ascended into heaven and through him we now have access unto the Father.”
“But Jesus died on the earth too, and you but describe his relations to us.”
“I rejoice greatly to hear it,” answered Thorwald, “and I know now why you were sent to us. This information is of inestimable value to us, for we have spent much thought on the question of the moral government of other worlds that we knew were inhabited. In God’s dealings with Mars, lifting up our souls and preparing us for his service and glory, we believed he was working in the very best way. There can be but one best way; and so, considering that there might be many other races of sinful beings needing a saviour, we wondered how God’s mercy was revealed to them. This bright news which you bring is worth more to us at the present time than all other possible information about the earth or its people. The fact that the earth is inhabited was no great surprise to us after what we had learned of our larger neighbors, but this—this is news indeed.
“As an example of what our interest in this subject has prompted us to do, let me tell you that in our extremely laborious and limited intercourse with Saturn and Uranus we made the form of the cross. We all feared our work might be in vain and many doubted seriously the wisdom of proceeding with the undertaking, which occupied many years, when it was so probable that those distant people would not know what the sign meant. But we labored on, and before the form was fairly finished it was with the keenest pleasure that we saw the answer growing on the rounded surface of each planet. They worked, they stopped, and then we realized that both had replied to our question with the short straight line which, in our communications, has come to be the affirmative sign, or the ‘yes’ in the new universal language.
“We interpreted this answer to mean that the great redemption signified by the cross was known to the highly intelligent races that peopled these rolling worlds. But how did that knowledge reach them? To that question we never hoped to get an answer. Did a troop of bright angels issue forth from the gates of heaven and wing their way from one planet to another, as each race was ready for the joyful tidings, and make this glad announcement?—‘Peace from heaven to this world! On Mars, your sister planet, a child was born, the Son of God, the Saviour of the universe. He lived a perfect life for your example, he died on the cross for your salvation. Believe in him, love him, follow him!’
“We thought much on this point, wondering reverently how God had wrought. And now you have come to explain all the mystery, to answer all questions. One simple sentence tells it all: ‘Jesus died on the earth too.’
“I see it perfectly now. Christ, the Lord of heaven, came to us in the fullness of time, took upon him the likeness of our flesh, lived nobly, was slain, rose again from the dead, and ascended into heaven to prepare blessed mansions for all his followers. So, too, in the fullness of your time, when the earth was ready for the great sacrifice, Christ offered himself again. He appeared in human form and lived among men as he had lived with us, pointing your race, also, to a home of peace and joy above.
“Better than any announcement of angels of what had taken place in some other world was his actual life among you, going about doing good, shedding around him the spirit of love and self-denial, showing you the way to live, the way to die.
“Among the vast multitude of peopled worlds which God has made, there is doubtless great variety in nature and condition. But if there are any others whose inhabitants were ever in our lost condition, let us hope and believe that the same great act of mercy has been shown to them which has so greatly blessed the planets of our own system.”
Here, at Thorwald’s request, I told him briefly of the Saviour’s advent on the earth in the fulfillment of prophecy, of his beautiful life, and then of the marvelous improvement his religion had brought about as it spread in the world.
Thorwald appeared intensely interested, and exclaimed: “Oh! how this truth you have told us does make brothers of us all, and how it will enhance the pleasure of our intercourse. Now in our future conversation we shall be in full sympathy, knowing that, though born so far apart, we are all followers of the same dear Master.
“Zenith,” said Thorwald to his wife, who was sitting with us, “this is a happy day for us all. These earth-dwellers, these men who have come to visit our world, are not strangers; they are Christians. Think of it.”
At this juncture I could not help studying the doctor’s face, for I knew this was the first time he had ever been called a Christian. In spite of the seriousness of the situation, I was obliged to indulge in a quiet smile to think he had to go all the way to Mars to be recognized in his true character. For although he would not acknowledge the divine source of it, he had imbibed a great deal of the real Christian spirit. But he had spent his life in seeking for scientific knowledge in various directions and was content, as he often said, to leave the unknowable without investigation. I wondered whether, in these novel circumstances, he would care to give voice to his agnosticism. But the doctor was honest or he was nothing, and he could not endure that Thorwald should rest under the false impression implied by his closing words. So with some effort, as I could see, he said:
“I dislike exceedingly, Thorwald, to destroy the least particle of the effect of your eloquence, but I feel compelled to say that, as for me, I have never called myself a Christian.”
“Not a Christian!” said Thorwald. “I do not understand you. But perhaps you use some other name. You surely do not mean that you turn aside from that divine being who came to the earth to save you.”
“I do not know that such a being did come to the earth.”
“What!” exclaimed Thorwald, “is there any doubt of it? Has your companion here been deceived? Must we give up our new-found joy?”
“Oh, no, no,” answered the doctor hurriedly. “I suppose it is true that a good man named Jesus once lived on the earth and taught, and died a shameful death.”
“A good man! Nothing more?”
“I don’t know,” answered the doctor.
“What do you believe?”
“I do not allow myself to have any belief.”
“Well, now, Doctor, you are a thinking being. Considering all you know about Jesus—his noble life, his character and the character of his teachings, and then the claims he made for himself—what do you think of him?”
“Before such mysteries, and in answer to all questions relating to what is called the supernatural, I always say, ‘I do not know.’”
“Well,” continued Thorwald, “do you think the life and death of a good man could set in motion forces that would so transform the world and give it such a start toward a higher and more perfect state?”
To this the doctor replied:
“In the early part of this conversation my companion told you he thought the condition of man on the earth was improving, or, in other words, that the earth was growing better. In that opinion he has many supporters, but it is only fair that you should know that some of us hold just the opposite view. We see so much evil in the world, evil that is unrebuked and growing stronger from year to year, so many forces at work dragging men downward and such fearful clouds ahead, that it seems to us that the good is overmatched, and that there is but little hope of a happy future for our race. I will also say, in order to be perfectly frank, that even if we should admit that our civilization was advancing, we should not attribute it to the influence of the Jewish reformer.”
“Then,” said Thorwald, “if I understand your feeling, you have no love, no thanks even, for him who gave his life for you, and no sense of gratitude for the loving Father who sent his Son to die for your sins.”
“I think you are hardly just,” replied the doctor, “for I am not conscious of living a life of ingratitude. Your words imply a great deal that I know nothing about. I am not aware that anyone was ever sent from heaven to die for me, and I do not even know there is a heaven and a God.”
“Did it ever occur to you, Doctor, that your attitude does not alter the facts? In spite of your unbelief, or indifference if you will, there is a God whose steps are heard throughout the universe, whose hand upholds all worlds, and who looks with loving eyes upon all created beings, even upon those who have the intelligence but not the heart to acknowledge him. Oh! it is amazing to me that there can be one such being in all God’s dominions.”
“Why, are there not any in Mars?”
“In Mars? Not one. Let me tell you, Doctor, that here you will be unique, if that is any consolation to you. When this talk is made public and the facts in your case are spread abroad everybody will want a share in bringing you to your right mind, and we shall see what the result will be with a world full of missionaries to one heathen.”
“Please do not use that word, Thorwald. I was born in Boston—you must know where Boston is—of good old Puritan stock, and I am not a heathen because I don’t know about some matters that I cannot, in the nature of things, know anything about. You found a while ago that I wanted imagination, and you now see that I am deficient also in faith, which it seems to me is a product of the imagination.”
“No,” broke in Thorwald, “faith might rather be called the product of reason and of the conscience, enlightened by every revelation which God has made. But with us faith is an instinct. We believe in God as naturally as we trust our parents. Our souls reach after divine things to satisfy their longings, just as our bodies seek the food that shall nourish them. In all this world there is not a heart devoid of love to God, not one that does not own a personal and joyful allegiance to the divine Saviour.
“But I forget that the earth is still young, and that, very long ago, when Mars was in your condition, representatives of our race actually walked the surface of this planet with no more thought of its Maker than you exhibit. Forgive me if, in this talk, I have seemed too positive of things which you claim cannot be known. But here there is no uncertainty in these matters. There is now no open question in regard to the existence of God and his loving care of us.”
“But, Thorwald,” asked the doctor, “how can you be sure? Help me to see these things as you do. In the matter of the habitability of other worlds you brought me over to your opinion by producing evidence which took away all uncertainty and left me no room to doubt. Is it so in this case?”
“No, my friend,” answered Thorwald, “it is not so. The evidence in this case is of an entirely different character. Your companion has told me how God has dealt with men, by what means he has made known his will, and how he has revealed his love and mercy to your race. So has it been with us, only here we have had more time to acquaint ourselves with these blessed truths. If you ask for proofs, I can only say they are the same which have no doubt been reiterated many times in your ears. The voices that come to us from the invisible world are not tuned to the coarse fiber of our physical nature, but are addressed to our spirits, our very selves, and he who does not heed those voices would not be persuaded even though one should rise from the dead.
“Let me induce you, Doctor, to cultivate the spiritual part of your being, evidently undeveloped as yet, for only then will you begin to realize that the evidence in support of these divine truths is more convincing than any possible proofs that could be presented to our outward senses.”
“Under your instruction,” said the doctor, “and with the example of a world full of spirits of your faith and practice, I will do my best to follow your advice, and try to catch some faint strain from those heavenly voices. If I cannot believe, it shall no longer be because I will not. But now, Thorwald, you have given too much time to me and have been drawn away from your purpose of enlightening us in regard to your wonderful planet.”
“Yes, Thorwald,” said I, “we must hear more of your interesting history, and I think an account of what the religion of Jesus has done for Mars will help to win the doctor to right views.”
“I shall take much pleasure in doing the best I can whenever you are good enough to listen,” Thorwald answered. “But we shall now be still more anxious to hear further about the earth.”