I have only mentioned this anecdote, however, for the sake of a curious observation which was made at the time. It was found that when she was in this transformed condition she was absolutely without atmosphere. To explain: ordinarily, apart from anything she said or did, there was a kind of influence proceeding from her which made her presence agreeable to Vir. When she was turned over she lost this. Now the explanation of this is obvious. To these people light is the agitation of the surface of the bubble; transparent objects are those which do not hinder this agitation in its course. But most bodies and the physical frame of the inhabitants amongst them were not transparent, but stopped and reflected these agitations of the film, thus sending off from their outer edge those vibrations which excited sight in their fellows. But besides these vibrations of light there were finer ones still which were not damped or deflected by the outer edge of the body, but came through the greater part of their frame as if it was transparent. In the interior, however, of their organizations there were certain regions which did arrest these subtler vibrations, and which had (as the eye of light) the power of appreciating them. In connection with these regions there were certain structures, extremely minute, which had the converse power of agitating the film, and so sending forth through the periphery of the body these same minute vibrations. These organs were not of any use, but they formed a sort of means of sympathetic communication between the inhabitants, acting in no very defined way, but certainly producing a sensation of a vague kind. Now when Mulier was turned in the way described, the relation of her frame to the film of the bubble was disarranged, and it was no wonder that this “atmosphere” disappeared.
In many respects the inhabitants of this world are far more advanced than we are, having a simpler problem—how to deal with matter in one plane—they have advanced more nearly to a complete knowledge of its properties. Yet great as their knowledge is, their performance is small. If you but reflect on one single fact, you will see how limited all their efforts must be. They cannot fix the centre of a wheel, so that it rotates round an axis. For consider a wheel—a small disk lying on their plane. The centre on every part of it touches the surface of the bubble on which all things slide freely. To fix this point they would have to drive down into the film—a thing which they cannot do, and which they are far from even imagining.
If they make an opening in the disk they can arrive at the centre of it. But then the rod of matter which they put in will prevent the disk from revolving.
Diagram VIII.—The nearest approach to a wheel.
The nearest approach to a wheel with a fixed centre which they can attain is shown in Diagram VIII., a portion of a circular disk which oscillates about the smooth end of a rod built into the substance of the cut-away disk.
Diagram IX.—A cart.
Their carts are shown in the accompanying figure. They are simply rods placed on rollers: as the rod is pulled along, the rollers turn, and the rod slides along—just as a boat does on the rollers whereby sailors help themselves in hauling it up the beach. As soon as these rollers roll from under the rod, as it goes on in its forward motion, they have to be secured, and then lifted over the cart and put down in front. Thus there are to each cart a set of little disks or rollers, and, as the cart goes on, these rollers have to be lifted over the cart from the back to the front.
There is no means by which this can be made a continuous action. Each roller has to be waited for, lifted separately, and carried over separately. And to put it down in front, the rope by which the cart is dragged along has to be unfastened and fastened up again.