But our whole sidereal universe itself is moving with its hundred million stars through the immensity of infinite space. The movements which we measure are relative and not absolute.
Our sun and its companions are driven through space by some initial force and by the combined attraction of the innumerable stars of our visible universe. Whether this force of attraction is a property inherent in every atom of matter, whether these theoretical atoms by which we explain the appearance of matter in order to account for observed phenomena are centres of force, mathematical points of concentration, or nodes and crossings of ethereal vibrations and undulations, the fact which dominates our analytical contemplation of the universe is that the innumerable worlds which people space are not isolated from each other, but are united by a perpetual and indestructible link.
Here we have a new and important conception of the unity of nature. And what is equally worthy of attention is that this sort of communication between the worlds cannot be defined better than by the word “attraction.”
Attraction is therefore the supreme law among the worlds, among atoms, and among beings. The stars which gravitate in the depth of space, the Earth which revolves in the solar rays, the Moon which raises the tides on the surface of the ocean, the molecules of stone or iron which cling together by molecular attraction, the plant which pushes its roots into the nourishing soil or raises its stem in response to light, the flower which turns towards the Sun, the bird which flies from branch to branch seeking a place for its nest, the nightingale which with incomparable song charms the sweet mistress of the night, the man whose heart is troubled at the appearance of a beloved being, the sound of a beloved voice, or a fond memory—all these beings, all these things obey the same law, that of universal attraction which in diverse forms governs all nature and guides it—whither? Towards yet another attraction, to the attraction of the unknown!
Amid the ignorance of the Absolute which surrounds us in spite of the manifold, courageous, and persevering efforts of science, the fact of the existence of such a force uniting all worlds together must be appreciated at its proper value. It would be impossible to exaggerate its importance. Let us then not forget it: the worlds are in mutual communication by means of attraction.
(6) AT SIXTY THOUSAND BILLION MILES
Continuing my celestial voyage, I left the system of Alpha Centauri to penetrate into the starry depths of the Southern Cross. I traversed sunny shores and deserts of night, passing from sun to sun, from system to system, flying past stars which blinded me one moment and then were engulfed by the infinite night. The normal state of the universe is night and silence. There is no light except round the suns and planets; there is no sound but in their immediate neighbourhood, in their atmosphere. In skirting stellar groups, I noticed enormous globes rolling in a strange light, and I often seemed to feel electric shocks, magnetic disturbances, certain indefinable sensations which warned me, by a sort of malaise, that such spheres are unsuitable for our mode of existence, and that they are inhabited by beings whose perceptions, feelings, and thoughts differ from ours. I remember particularly having seen in the course of my flight a group of many-hued worlds illuminated by three suns, one a ruby red, one an emerald green, and a third a sapphire blue, and so singularly illuminated by this false light—false to us, but natural to them—that I asked myself whether I was not the victim of an illusion and whether such creations really exist, though, indeed, having observed those well-known associations of coloured suns hundred of times in the telescope, I ought not to have been in doubt for an instant. I stopped and approached one of those worlds and saw that it was inhabited by beings who seemed to be woven out of light. To their eyes, certainly, the inhabitants of our planet would appear so sombre, heavy, and coarse that they might legitimately ask whether we were alive and whether we felt ourselves to be alive.
Those are worlds peopled by aerial organisms whose brightness surpasses the tint of the freshest roses and purest lilies. These beings live on the very atmosphere which they breathe, without being condemned, like the inhabitants of our planet, to be constantly killing innumerable animals with which to fill their bodies.
Their beauty, delicacy, and brightness reminded me by contrast of the conditions imposed by terrestrial life. I remembered that brute force reigns supreme here, that millions of beings are killed every day to assure the existence of the rest, that war is a natural law amongst animals, and that humanity is so little freed from animal barbarism that nearly all people continue to accept, as in primitive times, slavery and servitude. Being so far from the Earth, I judged of the colossal stupidity of the inhabitants of our planet. But if, down to our own times, the nations have made their greatest glory consist of international butcheries, that state is transitory. Every tree bears fruit after its kind. Tortoises and bears cannot aspire to the wings of the swallow or the song of the thrush. The military glories of Alexander, Cæsar, Charlemagne, Napoleon, or Bismarck, being of the order of carnivorous animal instincts, last no longer than the brutal repast itself, and a few centuries suffice to efface them from the history of the planet.
Endeavouring to estimate the real importance of this history and of our planet itself, I searched space, not only for the Earth which had become invisible long ago, but even the Sun; but I could neither find the Sun nor any of its brightest neighbours such as Alpha Centauri or Sirius, nor any of the stars which one sees from the Earth. The whole region of space where our floating island gravitates had disappeared long ago as an insignificant point in the depths of space. Austerlitz, Waterloo, Sevastopol, Magenta, Sadowa, Keichshofen, Sedan, were but microscopic agitations in a Lilliputian ant-heap, amusement of infants delighting in muscular exercises involving blood and smoke. Why blame them? Why pity them? They do what pleases them and nobody forces them to do it. Why should astronomy use a magnifying-glass to study the microbes on a planet T The system of many-coloured suns, the blinding organic wealth of which had inspired me to return to the earthly twilight, revolves at a distance of 60,000 billion miles. Light takes more than ten years to traverse this distance. Yet this is nothing extraordinary in the way of astronomical distance.