CHAPTER II.
This strange figure entered my cabin, and without introduction or sign of salutation seated himself in my easy chair as though he were a member of my household, an apparent rudeness which will be explained as I proceed. I had now the first opportunity to get a good survey of my visitor. He was a person of surpassing loveliness. His face was of that spiritual kind which is seldom seen off the canvas of some of our art masters, and it reflected a kindness of heart that is never realized except by the purest religious fancy. His form was so high and elaborate in its development, that I have only seen an approach to it in the best models. His singular attractiveness I can only compare to that affinity which comes of pure sexual love, captivating the beholder with a presence which drives away all thought but it. His complexion had that ruddy clearness and transparency indicative of perfect health. The hair of his head and beard,—both long and waving over shoulders and breast,—was of a hue that can be best described as the color of the ripe filbert, with the fineness and lustre of unwoven silk. His hands, although scrupulously clean and finely shaped, bore the unmistakable signs of manual toil; and yet he had the superior air and manner of one whose mission it was to instruct. As he sat before me I felt like a child in the presence of a loved and loving parent. My impression of him was entirely correct, since his first word of utterance to me was a term of endearment.
“My brother,” said he, “you have a beautiful world. That moon of yours is magnificent.”
To me this was a happy beginning. Here was, thought I, a man after my own heart, whose soul was above the common things of life. I could compare notes with him touching my study of Mars. Providence had then sent me, at last, what I had so wanted,—some one to share and enjoy with me the triumphs of my labor; so I immediately said to him: “As to the moon, it is certainly very serviceable as a night reflector of the sun’s light; but, since its size is comparatively insignificant, and its surface desolate and uninhabited, it is thus an object of very little importance among heavenly bodies. Speaking of magnificent planets, what do you think of Mars?”
“Mars suits me,” said my visitor.
Thinking my question too general, I inquired: “Do you think Mars inhabited?”
“I am a good proof that it is,” said he. “I left that planet—let me see—by your time, about one hour ago.”
“I either misunderstood you, or you are not serious. It is impossible.”
“Ah, my brother,” said he, “you are very little advanced in a knowledge of the properties of intelligence. I am here by a process as yet unknown to you, and which may be best described in your language as reflection. I am here by reflection. That is to say, my natural body is at my home, on the planet, which you call Mars. Its spiritual counterpart is here. You have already an inkling of this strange faculty of transferring intelligence, in some of the phenomena on which is founded your spiritualistic creed. We, of the planet Mars, have been in the enjoyment of this discovery for centuries; and while you of the Earth are only able by your appliances of science to measure the size of our planet, compute its distance, estimate the shape and extent of its orbit, and indulge in some vague conjectures appertaining to its condition, we have been making a close and interesting study of your social affairs, including, of course, your morals, politics and religion. You have only measured us as a planet. We have measured you as a people, and at least one of us, as you perceive, has mastered your language. Besides, our development is over ten thousand years ahead of yours. We can tell you more of your history than you know yourselves. At a period of yours described by your writers as the stone age, we had converted electricity into a motor and illuminating agent. I know your thoughts. You are surprised at what I have said, and wish me to tell you something of the planet upon which I reside.
“It will interest you to know that about the equatorial regions of Mars is found its highest civilization and densest settlement. Your torrid zone, and the corresponding section of our planet, are widely different. In ours, the climate is delightfully and evenly temperate. The extent of our surface, as you know, is very much less than yours, but the uniform quality of our land for cultivation, and the smaller water surface, compared with yours, supports a population whose numbers would astonish you. You may as well discharge your mind of the many conjectures which ascribe to each planet a quality of matter and intelligence peculiar to itself. The whole universe is a unit, as your spectroscope, and the bodies from space that fall from time to time upon your surface, must have suggested to you. Variable states of density and temperature modify the forms and organs of animal and vegetable life, but matter is everywhere the same.