Zarlah the Martian

by R. Norman Grisewood

And now Sarraccus had given the flowers a voice to sing of their beauty. In the mind of this great genius was conceived the idea that inasmuch as there is ineffable beauty to the eye in the soft colors and shades of a flower—beauty too rare for the hand of man to reproduce—there must also be a corresponding sweetness of sound or vibration, if it were possible to transform its beauty into sound. Light-waves, he reasoned, varying according to the color and shade of the object, might be changed into sound-waves, if an instrument were made sensitive enough to vibrate in response to these extremely delicate undulations of light. The vibrations would then vary in accordance with the light-waves, and a harmony of sound, corresponding in sweetness to the beauty of the flower, would result.

After many unsuccessful trials, Sarraccus found a material that, in the form of a fine wire, twenty or thirty feet in length, vibrated in response to light of a certain color, as a wire in a piano or harp will often be attuned sympathetically to a certain note in the human voice, and will vibrate whenever that note is reached. The vibrations of this wire in response to light, however, were almost imperceptible, and it was only upon testing with a highly sensitive instrument that they were discovered. Several wires were then made of different thickness, and each was found to have a sympathetic vibration to a light of a certain color. The quantity of wires was then increased to represent every possible shade of color, and when these were stretched between two large drums, a faint sound was detected. The drums were then enclosed in chambers that led into large horns, and thus the sounds caused by the delicate vibrations of the wires, though as soft as the sighing of the wind, were diffused and augmented so as to reach into every corner of the large building. Enclosed in a dark room, the wires occupied the position of a plate in a camera, a large lens being adjusted in the wall opposite them.

The image of a flower, illuminated by the sun's light, was now thrown upon the wires, and a marvelous melody of sound resulted. Each delicate shade of color in the flower found a sympathetic wire which vibrated in response to it, and the harmony produced by all in chorus was the ineffably sweet song of Nature. As Nature expressed its dreams of beauty in flowers, which in their simplicity and radiance defy the hand of man to equal, so did the melody of these flowers far surpass anything that the ear of man had ever before heard. Did not the lilies of the field receive the tribute of Christ? What wonderfully effective yet simple truth would not He have heard in this surpassing melody? As different flowers were placed before the instrument, so would the music change; often sad and appealing as a whispered prayer, it would change again to a joyous triumphal chorus, full of the gladness of life and beauty.

For a moment I stood spellbound, then by some irresistible, mystic power I was drawn to it; and eagerly seeking the paths that led in the direction of the sound, I became aware that as I gradually understood and sympathized with this compelling cry of Nature, so the melody seemed to become my every hope. Ambition, love, aspiration, and passion surged through that grand symphony. It was heard and understood by the soul, as other music ministers to the ear, and as I eagerly listened I was sensible of a yearning for a love—a love that was soon forgotten, and I knew it to be mine. In the wonders of this new world I had forgotten the love that, while on Earth, I had been ready to risk my life for, and now it was the eleventh hour, and who could say whether I should ever return to this paradise?

Seeing a little rustic arbor, and being overcome with the excess of emotion and beauty, I turned my steps thither to rest and think. Situated in a shaded corner of the building, the interior of the arbor was almost in darkness, and I felt that here I would be alone and unobserved. Every instant I grew more sad at heart over the time which I now felt had been wasted, and as the melody died away, my head sank on my arms, as I rested them upon the table before me. My Earth-tuned soul seemed still to linger under the spell of the enchanted music.

I had remained thus but a few moments when I became conscious of a hand softly laid upon my shoulder, and a voice, as sweet and gentle as the melody that had just died away, murmured, "Almos, poor Almos!"

The touch had a healing in it and was as gentle as the fall of snow. Raising my head I started up, giving utterance to the name that instinctively came to my lips—"Zarlah!" It was as if another man had spoken the name while I stood entranced with the small soft hand held a prisoner in both mine, gazing down upon the beautiful being whose image I had so often seen pictured in my mind. It was Zarlah!

I knew, now, that this beauteous image had not been an hallucination, and by what miracle it had all happened I cared not. Enough that this beautiful, radiant woman actually existed, and in one quick bound of the heart, I realized my all-consuming, deathless love for her.

What I might have indiscreetly said in the great emotions of those first moments, I know not, but before I could give utterance to further words, Almos' calm demeanor had asserted itself, and in a voice that gave no evidence of how I was torn within, I said:

"How is it, Zarlah, that you find time from your studies to linger here?"