 In the year 2889 this is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. This recording by James Christopher, JXChristopher at Yahoo.com. In the year 2889 by Jules Verne. Little though they seem to think of it, the people of this 29th century live continually in Fairyland. Surfeted as they are with marvels, they are indifferent in presence of each new marvel. To them all seems natural. Could they but duly appreciate the refinements of civilization in our day? Could they but compare the present with the past, and so much better comprehend the advance we have made? How much fairer they would find our modern towns, with populations amounting sometimes to ten million souls? Their streets three hundred feet wide, their houses one thousand feet in height, with a temperature the same in all seasons. With their lines at aerial locomotion crossing the sky in every direction. If they would but picture to themselves the state of things that once existed, when through muddy streets rumbling boxes on wheels, drawn by horses, yes, by horses, were the only means of conveyance. Think of the railroads of olden time, and you would be able to appreciate the pneumatic tubes through which today one travels at a rate of one thousand miles an hour. Would not our contemporaries prize the telephone and telephone more highly if they had not forgotten the telegraph? Singularly enough, all these transformations rest upon principles which were perfectly familiar to our remote ancestors, but which they disregarded. Heat, for instance, is as ancient as man himself. Electricity was known three thousand years ago, and steam eleven hundred years ago. Nay, so early as ten centuries ago, it was known that the difference between the several chemical and physical forces depend upon the mode of vibration of the etheric particles, which is for each specifically different. When at last the kinship of all these forces was discovered, it is simply astonishing that five hundred years should still have to elapse before man can analyze and describe the several modes of vibration that constitute these differences. Above all, it is singular that the mode of reproducing these forces directly from one another, and of reproducing one without the others, should have remained undiscovered until less than a hundred years ago. Nevertheless, such was the course of events, for it was not till the year twenty-seven ninety-two that the famous Oswald Nier made this great discovery. Truly he was a great benefactor of the human race. His admirable discovery led to many another. Hence his sprung a pleate of inventors, its brightest star being our great Joseph Jackson. To Jackson we are indebted for those wonderful instruments, the new accumulators. Some of these absorb and condense the living force contained in the sun's rays, others the electricity stored in our globe, others again the energy coming from whatever source, as a waterfall, a stream, the winds, etc. He too it was that invented the transformer, a more wonderful contrivance still which takes the living force from the accumulator and on the simple pressure of a button gives it back to space in whatever form may be desired, whether as heat, light, electricity, or mechanical force, after having first obtained it from the work required. From the day when these two instruments were contrived is to be dated the air of true progress. They have put into the hands of man a power that is almost infinite. As for their applications, they are numberless. Mitigating the rigors of winter by giving back to the atmosphere the surplus heat stored up during the summer, they have revolutionized agriculture. By supplying mode of power for aerial navigation, they have given to commerce a mighty impetus. To them we are indebted for the continuous production of electricity without batteries or dynamos, of light without combustion or incandescence, and for an unfailing supply of mechanical energy for all the needs of industry. Yes, all these wonders have been wrought by the accumulator and the transformer. And can we not to them also trace indirectly, this latest wonder of all, the Great Earth Chronicle building in 253rd Avenue which was dedicated the other day. If George Washington Smith, the founder of the Manhattan Chronicle should come back to life today, what would he think were he to be told that this place of marbling gold belongs to his remote descendant, Fritz Napoleon Smith, who, after 30 generations have come and gone, is owner of the same newspaper which his ancestor established. For George Washington Smith's newspaper has lived generation after generation, now passing out of the family, a non coming back to it. When, 200 years ago, the political center of the United States was transferred from Washington to Centropolis, the newspaper followed the government and assumed the name of Earth Chronicle. Unfortunately, it was unable to maintain itself at the high level of its name. Pressed on all sides by rival journals of a more modern type, it was continually in danger of collapse. 20 years ago, its subscription list contained but a few hundred thousand names. And then Mr. Fritz Napoleon Smith bought it for a mere trifle and originated telephonic journalism. Everyone is familiar with Fritz Napoleon Smith's system, a system made possible by the enormous development of telephony during the last hundred years. Instead of being printed, the Earth Chronicle is every morning spoken to subscribers who, in interesting conversations with reporters, statements and scientists, learn the news of the day. Furthermore, each subscriber owns a phonograph and to this instrument he leaves the task of gathering the news whenever he happens not to be in the mood to listen directly himself. As for purchasers of single copies, they can at a very trifling cost learn all that is in the paper of the day at any of the innumerable phonographs set up nearly everywhere. Fritz Napoleon Smith's innovation galvanized the old newspaper. In the course of a few years, a number of subscribers grew to be 80 million, and Smith's wealth went on growing, till now it reaches the almost unimaginable figure of $10 billion. This lucky hit has enabled him to erect his new building, a vast edifice with four facades, each 3,250 feet in length, over which proudly floats the hundred-starred flag of the Union. Thanks to the same lucky hit, he is today king of Newspaperdom. Indeed, he would be king of all the Americans, too, if Americans could ever accept a king. You do not believe it? Well, then look at the plenty potentiaries of all nations and our own ministers themselves crowding about his door, and treating his councils, begging for his approbation, imploring the aid of his all-powerful organ. Reckon up the number of scientists and artists that he supports, of inventors that he has under his pay. Yes, a king is he, and in truth his is a royalty full of burdens. His labors are incessant, and there is no doubt at all that in earlier times any man would have succumbed under the overpowering stress of the toil which Mr. Smith has to perform. Very fortunately for him, thanks to the progress of hygiene, which, abating all the old sources of unhealthiness, has lifted the mean of human life from 37 up to 52 years. Men have stronger constitutions now than here to for. The discovery of nutritive air is still in the future, but in the meantime meant today consume food that is composed and prepared according to scientific principles, and they breathe an atmosphere free from the microorganisms that formerly used to swarm it. Hence they live longer than their forefathers, and know nothing of the innumerable diseases of olden times. Nevertheless, and notwithstanding these considerations, Fritz Napoleon Smith's mode of life may well astonish one. His iron constitution is taxed to the utmost by the heavy strain that is put upon it. Vain in the attempt to estimate the amount of labor he undergoes, an example alone can give an idea of it. Let us go about with him for one day as he attends to his multifarious concerns. What day? That matters a little. It is the same every day. Let us then take a random September 25th of this present year, 2889. This morning, Mr. Fritz Napoleon Smith awoke in a very bad humor. His wife, having left for France eight days ago, he was feeling disconsolate. Incredible though it seems, in all the ten years since their marriage, this is the first time that Mrs. Edith Smith, the professional beauty, has been so long absent from her home. Two or three days usually suffice for her frequent trips to Europe. The first thing that Mr. Smith does is to connect his phono-telephone, the wires of which communicate with his Paris mansion. The telephone. Here is another of the great triumphs of science in our time. The transmission of speech is an old story. The transmission of images by means of sensitive mirrors connected by wires is a thing but of yesterday. A valuable invention indeed, and Mr. Smith this morning was not a negative blessing for the inventor. When by its aid he was able distinctly to see his wife notwithstanding the distance that separated him from her. Mrs. Smith, weary after the ball or the visit to the theatre the preceding night, is still a bed, though it is near noontide at Paris. She is asleep. Her head sunk in the lace-covered pillows. What? She stirs. Her lips move. She is dreaming perhaps. Yes, dreaming. She is talking. Pronouncing a name. His name. Fritz. The delightful vision gave a happier turn to Mr. Smith's thoughts. And now at the call of imperative duty, light-hearted he springs from his bed and enters his mechanical dresser. Two minutes later the machine deposited him all dressed at the threshold of his office. The round of journalistic work has now begun. First he enters the hall of novel writers, a vast department crowned with an enormous transparent cupola. In one corner is a telephone through which a hundred earth chronicle literatures in turn recount to the public in daily installments a hundred novels. Addressing one of these authors who was waiting his turn. Capital. Capital, my dear fellow, said he. The scene where the village maid discusses interesting philosophical problems with her lover shows your very acute power of observation. Never have the ways of country folk been better portrayed. Keep on, my dear Archibald. Keep on. Since yesterday, thanks to you, there is again a five thousand subscribers. Mr. John Last, he began again, turning to a new rival. I am not so well pleased with your work. Your story is not a picture of life. It lacks the elements of truth. And why? Simply because you run straight on to the end. Because you do not analyze. Your heroes do this thing or that from this or that motive, which you assign without ever a thought of dissecting their mental and moral natures. Our feelings, you must remember, are far more complex than all that. In real life, every act is a resultant of a hundred thoughts that come and go. And these you must study, each by itself, if you would create a living character. But, you will say, in order to note these fleeting thoughts, one must know them, must be able to follow them in their capricious meanderings. Why, any child can do that as you know. You have simply to make use of hypnotism, electrical or human, which gives one a twofold being. Setting free the witness personality so that it may see, understand and remember the reasons which determine the personality that acts. Just study yourself as you live from day to day, my dear Last. Imitate your associate whom I was complimenting a moment ago. Let yourself be hypnotized. What's that, you've tried it already? Not sufficiently then, not sufficiently. Mr. Smith continues his round and enters the reporter's hall. Here, fifteen hundred reporters in their respective places, facing an equal number of telephones, are communicating to the subscribers of the news of the world, as gathered during the night. The organization of this matchless service has often been described. Besides his telephone, each reporter, as the reader is aware, has in front of him a set of communicators, which enable him to communicate with any desired telephotic line. Thus, the subscribers not only hear the news, but see the occurrences. When an incident is described that has already passed, photographs of its main features are transmitted with the narrative. And there is no confusion with all. The reporter's items, just like the different stories and all the other components of the journal, are classified automatically according to an ingenious system, and reach the hearer-induced succession. Furthermore, the hearers are free to listen only to what specially concerns them. They may at pleasure give attention to one editor and refuse it to another. Mr. Smith next addresses one of the ten reporters in the astronomical department, a department still in the embryonic stage, but which will yet play an important part in journalism. Well, Cash, what is the news? We have photo telegrams from Mercury, Venus, and Mars. Are those from Mars of any interest? Yes, indeed. There is a revolution in the central empire. And what of Jupiter? asked Mr. Smith. Nothing is yet. We cannot quite understand their signals. Perhaps hours did not reach them. That's bad, exclaimed Mr. Smith, as he hurried away, not in the best of humor, toward the hall of the scientific editors. With their heads bent down over their electric computers, thirty scientific men were absorbed in transcendental calculations. The coming of Mr. Smith was like the falling of a bomb among them. Well, gentlemen, what is this I hear? No answer from Jupiter? Is it always to be thus? Come, Cooley, you have been at work now twenty years on this problem, and yet... True enough, replied the man addressed, our science of optics is still very defective, and through our mile-and-three-quarter telescopes. Listen to that, Pierre, broken Mr. Smith, turning to a second scientist. Optical science defective. Optical science is your specialty. But, he continued, again addressing William Cooley, failing with Jupiter, are we getting any results from the Moon? The case is no better there. This time you do not lay blame on the science of optics. The Moon is immeasurably less distant than Mars. Yet with Mars our communication is fully established. I presume you will not say that you lack telescopes. Telescopes? Oh, no. The trouble here is about the inhabitants. That's it, added Pierre. So then, the Moon is positively uninhabited, asked Mr. Smith. At least, answered Cooley, on the face which she presents to us. As for the opposite side, who knows? Ah, the opposite side, you think, then, remarked Mr. Smith musingly. That if one could but... could what? Why, turn the Moon about face. Ah, there is something in that, cried the two minutes once. And indeed, so confident was of their air, they seemed to have no doubt as to the possibility of success in such an undertaking. Meanwhile, asked Mr. Smith after a moment's silence, have you no news of interest today? Indeed we have, answered Cooley. The elements of Olympus are definitely settled. That great planet gravitates beyond Neptune at the mean distance of 11,400,799,642 miles from the Sun. And to traverse its vast orbit, takes 1,311 years, 294 days, 12 hours, 43 minutes, 9 seconds. Why didn't you tell me that sooner? cried Mr. Smith. Now inform the reporters of this straight away. You know how eager is the curiosity of the public with regard to these astronomical questions. That news must go into today's issue. Then, the two men bowing to him, Mr. Smith passed into the next hall, an enormous gallery upward of 3,200 feet in length, devoted to atmospheric advertising. Everyone has noticed these enormous advertisements reflected from the clouds. So large that they may be seen by populations of whole cities or even of entire countries. This too is what of Mr. Fritz Napoleon Smith's ideas. And in the Earth Chronicle building, a thousand projectors are constantly engaged in displaying upon the clouds these mammoth advertisements. When Mr. Smith today entered the Sky Advertising Department, he found the operators sitting with folded arms on their emotionless projectors and inquired as to the cause of their inaction. In response, the man addressed simply pointed to the sky, which was of a pure blue. Yes, mother Mr. Smith, a cloudless sky, that's too bad. But what's to be done? Shall we produce rain? That might do, but is it of any use? What we need is clouds, not rain. Go, said he, addressing the head engineer, go see Mr. Samuel Mark of the Meteorological Division of the Scientific Department and tell him for me to go to work in earnest on the question of artificial clouds. It will never do for us to be always thus at the mercy of the cloudless skies. Mr. Smith's daily tour through the several departments of his newspaper is now finished. Next from the advertisement hall he passes to the reception chamber, where the ambassadors accredited to the American government are awaiting him, desirous of having a word of counsel or advice from the all-powerful editor. A discussion was going on when he entered. Your Excellency would pardon me, the French ambassador was saying to the Russian, but I see nothing in the map of Europe that requires change. The north for the Slavs? Why yes, of course, but the south for the Metins. Our common frontier, the Rhine, it seems to me, serves very well. Besides, my government, as you must know, will firmly oppose every movement. Not only against Paris, our capital, or our two greatest perfectories, Rome and Madrid, but also against the Kingdom of Jerusalem, the Dominion of St. Peter, of which France means to be the trustee defender. Well said, exclaimed Mr. Smith, how is it, he asked, turning to the Russian ambassador, that you Russians are not content with your vast empire, the most extensive in the world, stretching from the banks of the Rhine to the celestial mountains of the Karakorum, whose shores are washed by the frozen ocean, the Atlantic, the Mediterranean, and the Indian Ocean. Then what is the use of threats? Is war possible in view of modern inventions? Is fixiating shells capable of being projected a distance of sixty miles, an electric spark of ninety miles, that can in one stroke annihilate a battalion, to say nothing of the plague, the cholera, the yellow fever, that the belligerents might spread among their antagonists mutually, and which would in a few days destroy the greatest armies? True, answered the Russian, but can we do all that we wish? As for the Russians, pressed on their eastern front by the Chinese, we must at any cost put forth our strength for an effort toward the West. Oh, is that all? In that case, said Mr. Smith, the thing can be arranged. I will speak to the Secretary of State about it. The attention of the Chinese government shall be called to the matter. This is not the first time that the Chinese have bothered us. Under these conditions, of course, and the Russian ambassador declared himself satisfied. Ah, Sir John, what can I do for you? asked Mr. Smith, as he turned to the representative of the people of Great Britain, who till now had remained silent. A great deal, was the reply, if the Earth Chronicle would but open a campaign on our behalf. And for what object? Simply for the annulment of the act of Congress annexing to the United States the British Islands. Though by a just turnabout of things here below, Great Britain has become a colony of the United States, the English are not reconciled to the situation. At regular intervals they are ever addressing to the American government vain complaints. A campaign against the annexation that has been an accomplished fact for 150 years, exclaimed Mr. Smith, how can your people suppose that I would do anything so unpatriotic? We at home think your people must now be sated. The Monroe Doctrine is fully applied. The whole of America belongs to the Americans. What more do you want? Besides, we will pay for what we ask. Indeed, answered Mr. Smith, without manifesting the slightest irritation. Well, you English will ever be the same. No, no, Sir John, do not count on me for help. Give up our fairest province, Britain? Why not ask French generously to renounce possession of Africa? That magnificent colony, the complete conquest of which cost her the labor of 800 years. You will be well received. You decline. All is over then, remembered the British agent sadly. The United Kingdom falls to the share of the Americans. The indies to that of the Russians, said Mr. Smith, completing the sentence. Australia has an independent government. Then nothing at all remains for us, cites Sir John Downcast. Nothing, asked Mr. Smith, laughing. Well, now there's Gibraltar. With this sally, the audience ended. The clock was striking twelve the hour of breakfast. Mr. Smith returns to his chamber. Where the bed stood in the morning, a table all spread comes up through the floor. For Mr. Smith, being above all a practical man, has reduced the problem of existence to its simplest terms. For him, instead of the endless suites of apartments of olden time, one room fitted with ingenious mechanical contrivances is enough. Here he sleeps, takes his meals, and, short, lives. He seats himself. In the mirror of the fauna telefote is seen the same chamber at Paris which appeared in it this morning. A table furnished forth is likewise in readiness here. For notwithstanding the difference of hours, Mr. Smith and his wife have arranged to take their meals simultaneously. It is delightful thus to take breakfast, tay-de-tay, with one who is three thousand miles or so away. Just now, Mrs. Smith's chamber has no occupant. She is late. Women's punctuality, progress everywhere except there, muttered Mr. Smith as he turned the tap for the first dish. For, like all wealthy folk in our day, Mr. Smith has done away with a domestic kitchen and is a subscriber to the Grand Alimentation Company. Which sends through a great network of tubes to subscribers' residences all sorts of dishes, as a varied assortment is always in readiness. A subscription costs money to be sure, but the cuisine is of the best, and the system has this advantage that it does away with the pestering race of the cordon blues. Mr. Smith received in eight, all alone, the hors d'oeuvres, entrees, rotis, and legumes that constituted the repast. He was just finishing the dessert when Mrs. Smith appeared in the mirror of the telefote. "'Where have you been?' asked Mr. Smith through the telephone. "'What? You are already at the dessert?' "'Then I am late,' she exclaimed with a wintsome naivete. "'Where have I been?' you asked. "'Why at my dress-makers? The hats are just lovely this season. I suppose I forgot the note to time, and so I am a little late.' "'Yes, a little,' growled Mr. Smith, "'so little that I have already quite finished breakfast. Excuse me if I leave you now, but I must be going.' "'Oh, certainly, my dear. Goodbye till evening.' Smith stepped into his air-coach, which was waiting for him at the window. "'Where do you wish to go, sir?' inquired the coachman. "'Let me see. I have three hours,' Mr. Smith mused. "'Jack, take me to my accumulator works at Niagara.' For Mr. Smith has obtained a lease of the Great Falls of Niagara. For ages the energy developed by the falls went unutilized. Smith, applying Jackson's invention, now collects this energy and lets her sells it. His visit to the works took more time than he had anticipated. It was just four o'clock when he returned home, just in time for the daily audience which he grants to callers. One readily understands how a man situated as Smith is must be beset with a request of all kinds. Now it is the inventor needing capital. Again it is some visionary who comes to advocate a brilliant scheme which must surely yield millions of profit. A choice has to be made between these projects, rejecting the worthless, examining the questionable ones, accepting the meritorious. To this work Mr. Smith devotes every day two full hours. The callers were fewer today than usual, only twelve of them. Of these, eight had only impracticable schemes to propose. In fact, one of them wanted to revive painting and art fallen into destitute, owning to the progress made in color photography. Another, a physician, boasted that he had discovered a cure for nasal catara. These impracticals were dismissed in short order. Of the four projects favorably received, the first was that of a young man whose broad forehead be tokened his intellectual power. Sir, I am a chemist, he began, and as such I come to you. Well, once the elementary bodies, said the young chemist, were held to be sixty-two in number. A hundred years ago they were reduced to ten. Now only three remain irresolvable, as you are aware. Yes, yes. Well, sir, these also I will show to be composite. In a few months, a few weeks, I shall have succeeded in solving the problem. Indeed, it may take only a few days. And then? Yes, sir, I shall simply have determined the absolute. All I want is money enough to carry my research to a successful issue. Very well, said Mr. Smith, and what will be the practical outcome of your discovery? The practical outcome? Why, that we shall be able to produce easily all bodies whatever. Stone, wood, metal, fibers, and flesh and blood, query Mr. Smith interrupting him. Do you pretend that you expect to manufacture a human being out and out? Why not? Mr. Smith advanced $100,000 to the young chemist and engaged in services for the Earth Chronicle Laboratory. The second of the four successful applicant, starting from experiments made so long ago in the 19th century and again and again repeated, had conceived the idea of removing an entire city all at once from one place to another. His special project had to do with the city of Granton, situated, as everyone knows, some fifteen miles inland. He proposed us to transport the city on rails and change it into a watering place. The profit, of course, would be enormous. Mr. Smith, captivated by the scheme, bought a half interest in it. As you are aware, sir, became applicant number three. By the aid of our solar and terrestrial accumulators and transformers, we are able to make all the seasons the same. I propose to do something better still. Transform into heat a portion of the surplus energy at our disposal. Send this heat to the poles, then the polar regions, relieved of their snow cap, will become a vast territory available for man's use. What thank you of the scheme. Leave your plans with me and come back in a week. I will have them examined in the meantime. Finally, the fourth announced the early solution of a weighty scientific problem. Everyone will remember the bold experiment made a hundred years ago by Dr. Nathaniel Faithburn. The doctor, being a firm believer in human hibernation, in other words, in the possibility of our suspending our vital functions and of calling them into action again after a time, results a subjective theory to a practical test. To this end, having first made out his last will and pointed out the proper method of awakening him, having also directed that his sleep was to continue a hundred years to the day from the date of his apparent death, he unhesitatingly put the theory to the proof in his own person. Reduced to the condition of a mummy, Dr. Faithburn was coffined and laid in a tomb. Time went on. September 25, 2889, being the day set for his resurrection, it was proposed to Mr. Smith that he should permit the second part of the experiment to his residence this evening. Agreed, be here at ten o'clock, answered Mr. Smith, and with that, the day's audience was closed. Left to himself, feeling tired, he lay down on an extension chair. Then, touching a knob, he established communication with the central concert hall. Whence our greatest maestros send out to subscribers their delightful successions of accords determined by reckonedite algebraic formulas. Night was approaching. Entranced by the harmony, forgetful of the hour, Smith did not notice that it was growing dark. It was quite dark when he was aroused by the sound of a door opening. Who is there? he asked, touching a communicator. Suddenly, in consequence of the vibrations produced, the air became luminous. Ah, you doctor! Yes, was the reply. How are you? I'm feeling well. Good, let me see your tongue. All right. Your pulse. Regular. And your appetite? Only passively good. Yes, the stomach. There's the rub. You are overworked. If your stomach is out of repair, it must be mended. That requires study. We must think about it. In the meantime, said Mr. Smith, you will dine with me. As in the morning, the table rose out of the floor. Again, as in the morning, the potage, roti, ragouts, and legumes were supplied through the food pipes. Toward the close of the meal, phono-telephonic communication was made with Paris. Smith saw his wife, seated alone at the dinner table, looking anything but pleased at her loneliness. Pardon me, my dear, for having left you alone, he said through the telephone. I was with Dr. Wilkins. Ah, a good doctor, remarked Mrs. Smith, her countenance lighting up. Yes, but pray, when are you coming home? This evening. Very well. Do you come by tube or by air-train? Oh, by tube. Yes, and what hour will you arrive? About eleven, I suppose. Eleven by centropolis time, you mean? Yes. Goodbye, then, for a little while, said Mr. Smith, as he severed communication with Paris. Dinner over, Dr. Wilkins wished to depart. I shall expect you at ten, said Mr. Smith. Today, it seems, is the day for the return of life to the famous Dr. Faithburn. You did not think of it, I suppose. The awakening used to take place here in my house. You must come and see. I shall depend on your being here. I will come back, answered Dr. Wilkins. Left alone, Mr. Smith busied himself with examining his accounts. A task of vast magnitude. Having to do with transactions which involved the signatures of upwards of eight hundred thousand dollars. Fortunately, indeed, the stupendous progress of mechanic art in modern times makes it comparatively easy. Thanks to the Piano Electro-Reconer, the most complex calculations can be made in a few seconds. In two hours, Mr. Smith completed his task. Just in time. Scarcely had he turned over the last page when Dr. Wilkins arrived. After him came the body of Dr. Faithburn, escorted by a numerous company of men of science. They commenced work at once. The casket being laid down in the middle of the room, the telephone was got in readiness. The outer world, already notified, was anxiously expected, for the whole world could be eyewitness of the performance. A reporter, meanwhile, liked to chorus in the ancient drama, explaining it all, viva voce, through the telephone. They are opening the casket, he explained. Now they are taking Faithburn out of it. A veritable mummy, yellow, hard and dry. Strike the body and it resounds like a block of wood. They are now applying heat. No electricity. No result. These experiments are suspended for a moment while Dr. Wilkins makes an examination of the body. Dr. Wilkins, rising, declares a man to be dead. Dead, exclaims everyone present. Yes, answers Dr. Wilkins dead. And how long has he been dead? Dr. Wilkins makes another examination. A hundred years, he replies. The case stood just as the reporter said. Faithburn was dead. Quite certainly dead. Here's a method that needs improvement, remarked Mr. Smith to Dr. Wilkins, as the scientific committee on hibernation bore the casket out. So much for that experiment. But if poor Faithburn is dead, at least he's sleeping, he continued. I wish I could get some sleep. I'm tired out, doctor. Quite tired out. Do you not think that a bath would refresh me? Certainly. But you must wrap yourself up well before you go out into the hallway. You must not expose yourself to cold. Hallway? Why doctor? As you well know, everything is done by machinery here. It is not for me to go to the bath. The bath will come to me. Just look. And he pressed a button. After a few seconds a faint rumbling was heard, which grew louder and louder. Suddenly the door opened and the tub appeared. Such for this year of Grace 2889 is the history of one day in the life of the editor of the Earth Chronicle. And the history of that one day is the history of 365 days every year, except leap years, and then of 366 days. For as yet, no means has been found in increasing the length of the terrestrial year. End of In the year 2889 by Jules Verne. This recording by James Christopher. JXChristopher at yahoo.com Perhaps the measure of a man is the ability to tell one from the other, and act on it. Alfred Pendray pushed himself along the corridor of the battleship Shane, holding the flashlight in one hand, and using the other hand and his good leg to guide and propel himself by. The beam of the torch reflected clearly from the pastel-green walls of the corridor. Giving him the uneasy sensation that he was swimming underwater, instead of moving through the blasted hulk of a battleship, a thousand light years from home. He came to the turn on the corridor and tried to move to the right. But his momentum was greater than he had thought, and he had to grab the corner of the wall to keep from going on by. That swung him around, and his sprained ankle slammed agonizingly, and he had to move to the right. And his sprained ankle slammed agonizingly against the other side of the passageway. Pendray clenched his teeth and kept going. But as he moved down the side passage, he went more slowly, so that the friction of his palm against the wall could be used as a break. He wasn't used to maneuvering without gravity. He'd been taught it in cadets, of course, but that was years ago, and parsecs away. When the pseudo-grav generators had gone out, he'd retched all over the place, but now his stomach was empty and the nausea had gone. He had automatically oriented himself in the corridors so that the doors of the various compartments were to his left and right, with the ceiling above and the deck below. Otherwise he might have lost his sense of direction completely in the complex maze of the interstellar battleship. Or he corrected himself. What's left of a battleship? And what was left? Just Al Pendray, and less than half of the once mighty Shane. The door to the lifeboat hole loomed ahead in the beam of the flashlight, and Pendray bricked himself to a stop. He just looked at the dogged port for a few seconds. Let there be a boat in there, he thought. Just a boat, that's all I ask for. And air, he added as an afterthought. Then his hand went out to the dog handle, and turned. The door cracked easily. There was air on the other side. Pendray breathed a sigh of relief, braced his good foot against the wall, and pulled the door open. The little lifeboat was there, nestled tightly in her cradle. For the first time since the Shane had been hit, Pendray's face broke into a broad smile. The fear that had been within him faded a little, and the darkness of the crippled ship seemed to be lessened. Then the beam of his torch caught the little red tag on the airlock of the lifeboat. Repair work underway. Do not remove this tag without proper authority. That explained why the lifeboat hadn't been used by the other crewmen. Pendray's mind was numb as he opened the airlock of the small craft. He didn't even attempt to think. All he wanted was to see exactly how the vessel had been disabled by the repair crew. He went inside. The lights were working in the lifeboat. That showed that its power was still functioning. He glanced over the instrument and control panels. No red tags on them, at least. Just to make sure he opened them up one by one and looked inside. Nothing wrong, apparently. Maybe it had been just some minor repair, a broken lighting switch or something. But he didn't dare hope yet. He went through the door in the tiny cabin that led to the engine compartment and he saw what the trouble was. The shielding had been removed from the atomic motors. He just hung there in the air and not moving. His lean, dark face remained expressionless. The tears welled up in his eyes and spilled over, spreading their dampness over his lids. The motors would run all right. The ship could take him to Earth. But the radiation leakage from those motors would kill him long before he made it home. It would take ten days to make it back to base, and twenty-four hours of exposure to the deadly radiation from those engines would be enough to ensure his death from radiation sickness. His eyes were blurring from the film of tears that covered them. Without gravity to move the liquid it just pooled there, distorting his vision. He blinked the tears away, then wiped his face with his free hand. Now what? He was the only man left alive on the Shane, and none of the lifeboats had escaped. The rat cruisers had seen to that. They weren't really rats, those people. Not literally. They looked humanoid enough to enable plastic surgeons to disguise a human being as one of them. Although it meant sacrificing the little fingers and little toes to imitate the four digitized rats. The rats were at a disadvantage there. They couldn't add any fingers. But the rats had other advantages. They bred and fought like, well, rats. Not that human beings couldn't equal them, or even surpass them in ferocity, if necessary. But the rats had nearly a thousand years of progress over Earth. Their industrial revolution had occurred while the Engels and Saxons and the Jutes were pushing the Britons into whales. They had put their first artificial satellites into orbit, while King Alfred the Great was fighting off the Danes. They hadn't developed as rapidly as man had. It took them roughly twice as long to go from one step to the next, so that their actual superiority was only a matter of five hundred years, and man was catching up rapidly. Unfortunately, man hadn't caught up yet. The first meeting of the two races had taken place in interstellar space and had seemed friendly enough. Two ships had come within detector distance of each other and had circled warily. It was almost a perfect example of the Leinster hypothesis. Neither knew where the other's home world was located, and neither could go back home for fear that the other would be able to follow. But the Leinster hypothesis couldn't be followed to the end. Leinster's solution had been to have the parties trade ships and go home. But that only works when the two civilizations are fairly close in technological development. The rats certainly weren't going to trade their ship for the inferior craft of the earthmen. The rats, conscious of their superiority, had a simpler solution. They were certain, after a while, that earth posed no threat to them, so they invited the earthship to follow them home. The earthmen had been taken on a carefully conducted tour of the rat's home planet, and the captain of the earthship, who had gone down in history as Sucker Johnston, was convinced that the rats meant no harm and agreed to lead a rat ship back to earth. If the rats had struck then, there would never have been a rat-human war. It would have been over before it started. But the rats were too proud of their superiority. Earth was too far away to bother them for the moment. It wasn't in their line of conquest just yet. In another fifty years the planet would be ready for picking off. Earth had no idea that the rats were so widespread. They had taken and colonized over thirty planets, completely destroying the indigenous intelligent races that had existed on five of them. It wasn't just pride that made the rats decide to wait before hitting earth. There was a certain amount of prudence too. None of the other races they had met had developed space travel. The earthmen might be a little tougher to beat. Not that there was any doubt of the outcome as far as they were concerned, but why take chances? But while the rats had fooled Sucker Johnston and some of his officers, the majority of the crew knew better. Rat crewmen were a little short of slaves, and the rats made the mistake of assuming that the earth crewmen were the same. They hadn't tried to impress the crewmen as they had the officers. When the interrogation officers on earth questioned the crew of the earthship, they too became suspicious. Johnston's optimistic attitude just didn't jibe with the facts. So, while the rat officers were having the red carpet rolled out for them, earth intelligence went to work. Several presumably awe-stricken men were allowed to take a conducted tour of the ratship. After all, why not? The 20th century Russians probably wouldn't have minded showing their rocket plans to an American of Captain John Smith's time either. But there's a difference. Earth's government knew earth was being threatened, and they knew they had to get as many facts as they could. They were also aware of the fact that if you know a thing can be done, then you will eventually find a way to do it. During the next 50 years, earth learned more than it had during the previous hundred. The race expanded secretly, moving out to other planets in that sector of the galaxy, and they worked to catch up with the rats. They didn't make it, of course. When, after 50 years of presumably peaceful but highly limited contact, the rats hit earth. They found out one thing. That the mass and energy of a planet armed with the proper weapons cannot be outclassed by any conceivable concentration of spaceships. Throwing rocks at an army armed with machine guns may seem futile, but if you hit them with an avalanche they'll go under. The rats lost three-quarters of their fleet to planet-based guns and had to go home to bandage their wounds. The only trouble was that earth couldn't counterattack. Their ships were still outclassed by those of the rats, and the rats, their racial pride badly stung, were determined to wipe out man, to erase the stain on their honor, wherever a man could be found. Somehow, some way, they must destroy earth. And now, Al Pendre thought bitterly, they would do it. The Shane had sneaked in past rat patrols to pick up a spy on one of the outlying rat planets, a man who'd spent five years playing the part of a rat slave, trying to get information on their activities there. And he had had one vital bit of knowledge. He'd found it and held on to it for over three years, until the time came for the rendezvous. The rendezvous had almost come too late. The rats had developed a device that could make a star temporarily unstable, and they were ready to use it on soul. The Shane had managed to get off planet with a spy, and they'd been spotted in spite of the detector nullifiers that earth had developed. They'd been jumped by rat cruisers, and blasted by the superior rat weapons. The lifeboats had been picked out of space, one by one, as the crew tried to get away. In a way, Alfred Pendre was lucky. He'd been in the sick bay with a sprained ankle when the rats hit, sitting in the x-ray room. The shot that had knocked out the port engine had knocked him unconscious, but the shielded walls of the x-ray room had saved him from the blast of radiation that had cut down the crew in the rear of the ship. He'd come too in time to see the rat cruisers cut up the lifeboats before they could get well away from the ship. They'd taken a couple of parting shots at the dead hulk, and then left it to drift in space, and leaving one man alive. In the small section near the rear of the ship, there were still compartments that were airtight. At least, Pendre decided, there was enough air to keep him alive for a while. If only he could get a little power into the ship, he could get the rear air purifiers to working. He left the lifeboat and closed the door behind him. There was no point in worrying about a boat he couldn't use. He made his way back toward the engine room. Maybe there was something salvageable there. Swimming through the corridors was becoming easier with practice. His cadet training was coming back to him. Then he got a shock that almost made him faint. The beam of his light had fallen full on the face of a rat. It took him several seconds to realize that the rat was dead, and several more to realize that it wasn't a rat at all. It was the spy they had been sent to pick up. He had been in the sick bay for treatments of the ulcers on his back gained from five years of frequent lashings as a rat slave. Pendre went closer and looked him over. He was still wearing the clothing he had had on when the chain picked him up. Poor guy. Pendre thought. All that hell for nothing. Then he went around the corpse and continued toward the engine room. The place was still hot, but it was thermal heat, not radioactivity. A dead atomic engine doesn't leave any residual effects. Five out of the six engines were utterly ruined, but the sixth seemed to be in working condition. Even the shielding was intact. Again, hope rose in Alfred Pendre's mind. If only there were tools. A half hour search killed that idea. There were no tools aboard capable of cutting through the hard shielding. He couldn't use it to shield the engine on the lifeboat. And the shielding that had been in the other five engines had melted and run. It was worthless. Then another idea hit him. Would the remaining engine work at all? Could it be fixed? It was the only hope he had left. Apparently the only thing wrong with it was the exciter circuit leads, which had been sheared off by a bit of flying metal. The engine had simply stopped instead of exploding. That ought to be fixable. He could try. It was something to do anyway. It took him the better part of two days according to his watch. There were plenty of smaller tools around for the job, although many of them were scattered and some had been ruined by the explosions. Replacement parts were harder to find, but he managed to pirate some of them from the ruined engines. He ate and slept as he felt the need. There was plenty of food in the sick bay kitchen, and there was no need for a bed under gravity-less conditions. After the engine was repaired, he set about getting the rest of the ship ready to move, if it would move. The hull was still solid, so the infrasprace field should function. The air purifiers had to be reconnected and repaired in a couple of places. The lights did oh. The biggest job was checking all the broken leads to make sure there weren't any short circuits anywhere. The pseudo-gravity circuits were hopeless. He'd have to do without gravity. On the third day, he decided he'd better clean the place up. There were several corpses floating around, and they were beginning to be noticeable. He had to tow them one by one. He went to the rear starboard airlock and sealed them between the inner and outer doors. He couldn't dump them since the outer door was partially melted and welded shut. He took the personal effects from the men. If he ever got back to Earth, their next of kin might want the stuff. On the body of the imitation rat, he found a belt pouch full of microfilm. The report on the rat's new weapon? Possibly. He'd have to look it over later. On the morning of the fourth day, he started the single remaining engine. The infraspace field came on, and the ship began moving at multiples of the speed of light. Pendre grinned. Half gone, will travel, he thought gleefully. If Pendre had had any liquor aboard, he would have gotten mildly drunk. Instead, he sat down and read the spools of microfilm. Using the projector and the sick bay. He was not a scientist in the strict sense of the word. He was a navigator and a fairly good engineer. So it didn't surprise him that he couldn't understand a lot of the report. The mechanics of making a semi-nova out of a normal star were more than a little bit over his head. He'd read a little, then go out and take a look at the stars, checking their movement so that he could make an estimate of his speed. He'd jury-rigged a kind of control on the hull field, so he could aim the hulk easily enough. He'd only have to get within signalling range, anyway. An earthship would pick him up. If there was any earth left by the time he got there. He forced his mind away from thinking about that. It was not until he reached the last spool of microfilm that his situation was forcibly brought to focus in his mind. Thus far, he had thought only about saving himself. But the note at the end of the spool made him realize that there were others to save. The note said, These reports must reach earth before 22 June 2287. After that, it will be too late. June 22nd. That was, let's see. This is the 18th of September, he thought. June of next year is nine months away. Surely I can make it in that time. I've got to. The only question was how fast was the hulk of the chain moving? It took him three days to get the answer accurately. He knew the strength of the field around the ship, and he knew the approximate thrust of the single engine by that time. He had also measured the motions of some of the nearest stars. Thank heaven he was a navigator, and not a mechanic or something. At least he knew the direction and distance to earth, and he knew the distance of the brighter stars from where the ship was. He had two checks to use then. Star motion against engine thrust and field strength. He checked them, and rechecked them, and hated the answer. He would arise in the vicinity of Sol sometime in late July. A full month too late. What could he do? Increase the output of the engine? No, it was doing the best it could now. Even shutting off the lights wouldn't help anything. They were a microscopic drain on that engine. He tried to think, tried to reason out a solution, but nothing would come. He found time to curse the fool who had decided the shielding on the lifeboat would have to be removed and repaired. That little craft, with its lighter mass and more powerful field concentration, could make the trip in ten days. The only problem was that ten days in that radiation hell would be impossible. He'd be a very well preserved corpse in half that time, and there'd be no one aboard to guide her. Maybe he could get one of the other engines going. Sure, he must be able to get one more going somehow. Anything to cut down that time. He went back to the engines again, looking them over carefully. He went over them again. Not a single one could be repaired at all. Then he rechecked his velocity figures, hoping and hoped that he'd made a mistake somewhere, dropped a decimal point or forgotten to divide by two. Anything, anything. But there was nothing. His figures had been accurate the first time. For a while he just gave up. All he could think of was the terrible blaze of heat that would wipe out Earth when the rats set off the sun. Man might survive. There were colonies that the rats didn't know about. But they'd find them eventually. Without Earth, the race would be set back five hundred, maybe five thousand years. The rats would have plenty of time to hunt them out and destroy them. And then he forced his mind away from that train of thought. There had to be a way to get there on time. Something in the back of his mind told him that there was a way. He had to think. Really think. On June 7th, 2287, a signal officer on the Earth destroyer Muldoon picked up a faint signal coming from the general direction of the constellation of Sagittarius. It was the standard emergency signal for distress. The broadcaster only had a very short range. So the source couldn't be too far away. He made his report to the ship's captain. We were within easy range of her, sir, he finished. Shall we pick her up? Might be a rat trick, said the captain. But we'll have to take the chance. Be McCall to Earth and let's go out there dead slow. If the detectors show anything funny, we turn tail and run. We're in no position to fight a rat ship. You think this might be a rat trap, sir? The captain grinned. If you're referring to the Muldoon as a rat trap, Mr. Blake, you're both disrespectful and correct. That's why we're going to run if we see anything funny. This ship is already obsolete by our standards. You can imagine what it is by theirs. He paused. Get that call into Earth. Tell him this ship is using a distress signal that was obsolete six months ago. And tell him we're going out. Yes, sir, said the signal officer. It wasn't a trap. As the Muldoon approached the source of the signal, their detectors picked up the ship itself. It was a standard lifeboat from a battleship of the Shannon class. You don't suppose that's from the Shane, do you? The captain said softly as he looked at the plate. He's the only ship of that class that's missing. But if that's a Shane lifeboat, what took her so long to get here? She's cut her engines, sir, said the observer. She evidently knows we're coming. All right. Pull her in as soon as we're close enough. Put her in number two lifeboat rack. It's empty. When the door of the lifeboat opened, the captain of the Muldoon was waiting outside the lifeboat rack. He didn't know exactly what he had expected to see. He somehow seemed fitting that a lean, bearded man in a badly worn uniform and a haggard look about him should step out. The specter saluted. Lieutenant Alfred Pendry of the Shane, he said, in a voice that had almost no strength. He held up a pouch. Microfilm, he said. Must get to Earth immediately. No delay. Hurry. Catch him, the captain shouted. He's falling, but one of the men nearby had already caught him. In the sick bay, Pendry came to again. The captain's questioning gradually got the story out of Pendry. So I didn't know what to do then, he said. His voice, a breath whisper. I knew I had to get that stuff home, somehow. Go on, said the captain, frowning. Simple matter, said Pendry. Nothing to it. Two equations. Little ship goes thirty times as fast as the big ship. Big Hulk. Had to get here before 22nd June. Had to. Only way out, you understand? Anyway, two equations. Simple. Work them in your head. Big ship takes ten months. Little one takes ten days. Can't stay in a little ship ten days. No shielding. Be dead before you got here, see? I see. Said the captain patiently. But, and here's an important point. If you stay on the big ship for eight and a half months, then you only got to be in the little ship for a day and a half to get here. Man can live that long, even under that radiation. See? And with that he closed his eyes. Do you mean you exposed yourself to the full leakage radiation from a lifeboat engine for thirty-six hours? But there was no answer. Let him sleep, said the ship's doctor. If he wakes up again, I'll let you know. But he might not be very lucid from here on in. Is there anything you can do, the captain asked? No. Not after a radiation dosage like that. He looked down at Pendry. His problem was easy mathematically, but not psychologically. That took real guts to solve. Yeah, said the captain gently. All he had to do was get here alive. The problem said nothing about his staying that way. End of The Measure of a Man by Randall Garrett. This recording is in the public domain. Mike Romegas. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Mike Romegas by Voltaire. Chapter One. A voyage to the planet Saturn by a native of Sirius. In one of the planets that revolve around the star known by the name of Sirius was a certain young gentleman of promising parts whom I had the honour to be acquainted with in his last voyage to this elitl end hill. His name was Mike Romegas, an appellation suited to all great men and his stature amounted to eight leagues in height, that is 24,000 geometrical paces of five feet each. Some of your mathematicians, a set of people always useful to the public, will perhaps instantly seize the pen and calculate that Mr. Mike Romegas, inhabitant of the country of Sirius, being from head to foot four and 20,000 paces in length, making 120,000 royal feet, that we, denizens of this earth, being at a medium little more than five feet high and our globe 9,000 leagues in circumference, these things being premised, they will then conclude that the periphery of the globe which produced him must be exactly one and 20,000,000 times greater than of this, our tiny ball. Nothing in nature is more simple and common. The dominions of some sovereigns of Germany or Italy, which may be compassed in half an hour, when compared with the Ottoman, Russian or Chinese empires, are no more than faint instances of the prodigious difference that nature has made in the scale of beings. The stature of his excellency, being of these extraordinary dimensions, although artists will agree that the measure around his body might amount to 50,000 royal feet, are very agreeable in just proportion. His nose being equal in length to one third of his face and his jolly countenance engrossing one seventh part of his height, it must be owned that the nose of the same Syrian was 6,333 royal feet to a hair, which was to be demonstrated. With regard to his understanding, it is one of the best cultivated I have known. He is perfectly well acquainted with abundance of things, some of which are of his own invention, for when his age did not exceed 250 years, he studied, according to the customer of the country, at the most celebrated university of the whole planet, and by the force of his genius, discovered upwards of 50 propositions of Euclid, having the advantage by more than 18 of Blaise Pascal, who, as we are told by his own sister, demonstrated 2 and 30 for his amusement and then left off, rather to be an indifferent philosopher than a great mathematician. About the 450th year of his age, or latter end of his childhood, he dissected a great number of small insects, not more than 100 feet in diameter, which are not perceivable by ordinary microscopes, on which he composed a very curious treatise, which involved him in some trouble. The mufti of the nation, though very old and very ignorant, made shift to discover in his book certain lemmas that were suspicious, unseemly, rash, heretic and unsound, and prosecuted him with great animosity. For the subject of the author's inquiry was weather in the world of Sirius, there was any difference between the substantial forms of a flea and a snail. Micromegas defended his philosophy with such spirit as made all the female sex as proselytes, and the process lasted 220 years, at the end of which time, in consequence of the mufti's interest, the book was condemned by judges who had never read it, and the author expelled from court for the term of 800 years. Not much affected it as banishment from a court that teemed with nothing but termiles and trifles. He made a very humorous song upon the mufti, who gave himself no trouble about the matter, and set out on his travels from planet to planet in order, as the saying is, to improve his mind and finish his education. Those who never travel but in a post-Chase or Berlin will doubtless be astonished at the equipages used above. For we that strut upon this little molehill are at a loss to conceive anything that surpasses our own custom. But our traveller was a wonderful adept in the laws of gravitation, together with the whole force of attraction and repulsion, and made such seasonable use of his knowledge that sometimes, by the help of a sunbeam, and sometimes by the convenience of a comet, he and his retinue glided from sphere to sphere as the bird hops from one bow to another. He, in a very little time, posted through the milky way, and, I am obliged to own, he saw not a twinkle of those stars supposed to adorn that fair inferior, which the illustrious Dr. Durham brags to have observed through his telescope. Not that I pretend to say the doctor was mistaken, God forbid, but Micromegas was upon the spot an exceeding good observer, and I have no mind to contradict any man. Be that as it may, after many windings and turnings, he arrived at the planet Saturn, and, accustomed as he was to the sight of novelties, he could not for his life repress a supercilious and conceited smile, which often escapes the wisest philosopher when he perceived the smallness of that globe and the diminutive size of its inhabitants. For really, Saturn is but about 900 times larger than this our Earth, and the people of that country mere dwarfs, about a thousand fathoms high. In short, he at first derided those poor pygmies, just as an Indian fiddler laughs at the music of Lully at his first arrival in Paris. But as the Syrian was a person of good sense, he soon perceived that a thinking being may not be altogether ridiculous, even though he is not quite 6,000 feet high, and therefore he became familiar with them after they had ceased to wonder at his extraordinary appearance. In particular, he contracted an intimate friendship with the Secretary of the Academy of Saturn, a man of good understanding who, though in truth he had invented nothing of his own, gave a very good account of the inventions of others and enjoyed in peace the reputation of a little poet and great calculator. And here, for the edification of the reader, I will repeat a very singular conversation that one day passed between Mr. Secretary and Micromegas. Chapter 2 The Conversation Between Micromegas and the Inhabitant of Saturn His Excellency, having laid himself down and the Secretary approached his nose. It must be confessed, said Micromegas, that nature is full of variety. Yes, replied the Saturnian, nature is like a batar whose flowers, sure, cried the other, a truce with your bataras. It is, resumed the Secretary, like an assembly of fair and brown woman whose dresses, what a plague have I to do with your brunettes, said our traveller. Then it is like a gallery of pictures, the strokes of which, not at all, answered Micromegas. I'll tell you once and for all, nature is like nature and comparisons are odious. Well, to please you, said the Secretary, I won't be pleased, replied the Sirian. I want to be instructed, begin therefore without further preamble and tell me how many senses the people of this world enjoy. We have seventy and two, said the academician, but we are daily complaining of the small number, as our imagination transcends our wants. Four, with the seventy-two senses, our five moons and rings, we find ourselves very much restricted and notwithstanding our curiosity and the no small number of those passions that result from these few senses, we still have time enough to be tired of idleness. I sincerely believe what you say, cried Micromegas, for though we Sirians have near a thousand different senses, there still remains a certain vague desire and unaccountable inquiritude incessantly admonishing us of our own unimportance and giving us to understand that there are other beings who have very much our superiors in point of perfection. I have seen mortals both above and below myself in the scale of being, but I have met with none who had not more desire than necessity and more want than gratification. Perhaps I shall one day arrive in some country where naught is wanting, but hitherto I have had no certain information of such a happy land. The Saturnian and his guest exhausted themselves in conjectures upon this subject, and after abundance of argumentation, equally ingenious and uncertain, were feigned to return to matter of fact. To what age do you commonly live? said the Sirian. Lackaday, a mere trifle, replied the little gentleman. It is the very same case with us, resumed the other. The shortness of life is our daily complaint, so that this must be a universal law in nature. Alas, cried the Saturnian, few, very few on this globe outlive five hundred great revolutions done. These, according to a way of reckoning, amount to about fifteen thousand years. So you see, we in a manner begin to die the very moment we are born. Our existence is no more than a point, our duration an instant, and their globe an atom. Scares do we begin to learn a little when death intervenes before we can profit by experience. For my own part I am deterred from laying schemes when I consider myself as a single drop in the midst of an immense ocean. I am particularly ashamed in your presence of the ridiculous figure I make among my fellow creatures. To this declaration, Mike Ramigas replied, if you were not a philosopher, I should be afraid of mortifying your pride by telling you that the term of our lives is seven hundred times longer than the length of your existence. But you are very sensible that when the texture of the body is resolved in order to reanimate nature in another form, which is the consequence of what we call death, when that moment of change arrives there is not the least difference betwixt having lived a whole eternity or a single day. I have been in some countries where the people live a thousand times longer than with us and yet they murmured at the shortness of their time. But one will find everywhere some few persons of good sense who know how to make the best of them and thank the author of Nature for his bounty. There is a profusion of variety scattered through the universe and yet there is an admirable vein of uniformity that runs through the whole. For example, all thinking beings are different among themselves though at bottom they resemble one another in the powers and passions of the soul. Matter, though interminable, have different properties in every sphere. How many principal attributes do you reckon of the author in this world? If you mean those properties, said the Saturnian, without which we believe this our globe could not subsist, we reckon in all 300 such as extent, impenetrability, motion, gravitation, divisibility, etc. That small number, replied the traveller, probably answers the views of the creator on this your narrow sphere. I adore his wisdom in all his works. But everywhere proportion, your globe is small, so are the inhabitants. You have very few sensations because your matter is endued with few properties. These are the works of unerring providence. Of what colour does your son appear when accurately examined? Of a yellowish white, answered the Saturnian, and in separating one of his rays we find it contains seven colours. Our son, said the Syrian, is of a reddish hue and we have no less than 39 original colours. Among all the sons I have seen, there is no sort of resemblance. And in the sphere of yours there is not one face like another. After diverse questions of this nature, he asked how many substances, essentially different, they counted in the world of Saturn and understood that they numbered but 30, such as God, space, matter, beings endowed with sense and extension, beings that have extension, sense and reflection, thinking beings who have no extension. Those that are penetrable, those that are impenetrable and also all others. But this Saturnian philosopher was prejudicially astonished when the Syrian told him they had no less than 300 and that he himself had discovered 3,000 more in the course of his travels. In short, after having communicated to each other what they knew and even what they did not know during a complete revolution of the sun, they resolved to set out together on a small philosophical tour. Chapter 3 The voyage of these inhabitants of other worlds. Our two philosophers were just ready to embark for the atmosphere of Saturn with the large provision of mathematical instruments. When the Saturnian's mistress having got an inkling of their design came all in tears to make her protest. She was a handsome brunette and not above 600 and three-score feathers high but her agreeable attractions made amends for the smallest of her stature. Ah cruel man! cried she, after a courtship of 1500 years when at length I surrendered and became your wife and scarce have passed 200 more in thy embraces to leave me thus before the honeymoon is over and go a-rambling with the giant of another world. Go, go out a mere virtuoso devoid of tenderness and love if thou were to true Saturnian thou wouldst be faithful and invariable. Ah, with the art thou going what is thy design our five moons are not so inconstant nor our ring so changeable as thee. But take this along with thee henceforth I never show love another man. The little gentleman embraced and wept over her notwithstanding his philosophy and the lady after having swooned with great decency went to console herself with more agreeable company. Meanwhile our two virtuosi set out and at one jump leaped upon the ring which they found pretty flat according to the ingenious guest of an illustrious inhabitant of this little earth. From thence they easily slipped from moon to moon and a comet, chanceing to pass they sprang upon it with all their servants and apparatus thus carried about one hundred and fifty millions of leagues they met with the satellites of Jupiter and arrived upon the body of the planet itself where they continued a whole year during which they learned some very curious secrets which would actually be sent to the press were it not for fear of the gentlemen inquisitors who have found among them some collaries very hard of digestion. Nevertheless I have read the manuscript in the library of the illustrious archbishop of Dash who with that generosity and goodness which should ever be commended has granted me permission to peruse his books. Wherefore I promise he shall have a long article in the next edition of Moriery and I shall not forget the young gentleman his sons who gave us such pleasing hopes of seeing perpetuated the race of their illustrious father. But to return to our travellers when they took leave of Jupiter they traversed a space of about one hundred millions of leagues and coasting along the planet Mars which is well known to be five times smaller than our little earth they described two moons subservient to that orb which have escaped the observation of all our astronomers. I know Father Castile will write and that pleasantly enough against the existence of these two moons but I entirely refer myself to those who reason by analogy those worthy philosophers are very sensible that Mars which is at such a distance from the Sun must be in a very uncomfortable situation without the benefit of a couple of moons. Footnote This fancy of Voltaire for it was not a conjecture was realised in 1877 by Professor Assoff Hall's discovery of this planet's two small satellites End of Footnote Be that as it may a gentleman found the planet so small that they were afraid they should not find room to take a little repose so that they pursued their journey like two travellers who despised the paltry accommodation of a village and pushed forward to the next market down but the Syrian and his companion soon repented of their delicacy for they journeyed a long time without finding a resting place till at length they discerned a small speck which was the earth coming from Jupiter not but be moved with compassion at the sight of this miserable spot upon which however they resolved to land lest they should be a second time disappointed they accordingly moved towards the tail of the comet where finding an aurora borealis ready to set sail they embarked and arrived on the northern coast of the Baltic on the fifth day of July new style in the year 1737 Chapter 4 what befell them upon this our globe having taken some repose and being desirous of reconnoitering the narrow field in which they were they traversed it once from north to south every step of the Syrian and his attendants measured about 30,000 royal feet whereas the Dwarf of Saturn whose stature did not exceed a thousand fathoms followed at a distance quite out of breath because for every single stride of his companion he was obliged to make 12 good steps at least the reader may figure to himself if we are allowed to make such comparisons a very little rough spaniel dodging after a captain of the Prussian Grenadiers as those strangers walked at a good pace they can pass the globe in 6 and 30 hours the sun it is true or rather the earth describes the same space in the course of one day but it must be observed that it is much easier to turn upon an axis than to walk a foot behold them then returned to the spot from whence they had set out after having discovered that an almost imperceptible sea which is called the Mediterranean and the other narrow pond that surrounds the small hill under the denomination of the great ocean in wading through which the Dwarf had never wet his mid-leg while the other scarce moistened his heel in going and coming through both hemispheres they did all that lay in their power to discover whether or not the globe was inhabited they stooped, they lay down they groped in every corner but their eyes and hands were not at all proportioned to the small beings that crawl upon this earth and therefore they could not find the smallest reason to suspect that we and our fellow citizens of this globe had the honour to exist the Dwarf who sometimes judged too hastily concluded at once that there were no living creatures upon earth and his chief reason was that he had seen nobody but micro-megas in a polite manner made insensible of the unjust conclusion four said he, with your diminutive eyes you cannot see certain stars of the fiftieth magnitude which I easily perceive and do you take it for granted that no such stars exist but I have groped with great care then your sense of feeling must be bad, said the other but this globe, said the Dwarf is ill-contrived and so irregular in its form as to be quite ridiculous the whole together looks like a chaos, do but observe these little rivulets, not one of them runs in a straight line and these ponds which are neither round, square nor oval nor indeed of any regular figure together with these little sharp pebbles meaning the mountains that roughen the whole surface of the globe and have torn all the skin from my feet besides pray take notice of the shape of the hole how it flattens at the poles and turns round the sun in an awkward oblique manner so that the polar circles cannot possibly be cultivated truly what makes me believe there is no inhabitant on the sphere is a full persuasion that no sensible being would live in such a disagreeable place what then, said micro-megas perhaps the beings that inhabitant come not under that denomination but to all appearance it was not made for nothing everything here seems to you irregular because you fetch all your comparisons from Jupiter or Saturn perhaps this is the very reason of that seeming confusion which you condemn have I not told you that in the course of my travels I have always met with variety the Saturnian reply to all these arguments and perhaps the dispute would have been no end if micro-megas in the heat of the contest had not luckily broken the string of his diamond necklace so that the jewels fell to the ground they consisted of pretty small unequal stones the largest of which weighed 400 pounds and the smallest 50 the dwarf in helping to pick them up perceived as they approached his eye that every single diamond was cut in such a manner as to answer the purpose of an excellent microscope he therefore took up a small one about 160 feet in diameter and applied it to his eye while micro-megas chose another of 2,500 feet though they were of excellent powers the observers could perceive nothing by their assistance so they were altered and adjusted at length the inhabitant of Saturn discerned something almost imperceptible moving between two waves in the Baltic this was no other than a whale which in a dexterous manner he caught with his little finger and placing it on the nail of his thumb showed it to the Syrian who laughed heartily at the excessive smallness peculiar to the inhabitants of this Al Glow the Saturnians by this time convinced that our world was inhabited began to imagine we had no other animals than whales and being a mighty debater he forthwith set about investigating the origin of this small atom curious to know whether it was finished with ideas, judgment and free will micro-megas was very much perplexed upon this subject he examined the animal with the most patient attention and the result of his inquiry was that he could see no reason to believe a soul was lodged in such a body the two travelers were actually inclined to think there was no such thing as mind in this al habitation when by the help of their microscope they perceived something as large as a whale floating upon the surface of the sea it is well known that at this period a flock of philosophers were upon their return from the polar circle where they had been making observations for which nobody has had the two being the wiser the gazettes record that their vessel ran ashore on the coast of Bosnia and that they, with great difficulty saved their lives but in this world one can never dive to the bottom of things for my own part I would ingeniously recount the transaction just as it happened without any addition of my own and this is no small effort in a modern historian chapter 5 the travelers capture a vessel micro-megas stretched out his hand gently towards the place where the object appeared and advanced two fingers which he instantly pulled back for fear of being disappointed then opening softly and shutting them all at once he very dexterously seized the ship that it contained those gentlemen and placed it on his nail avoiding too much pressure which might have crushed the hole in pieces this, said the Satanian dwarf is a creature very different from the former upon which the Syrian placing the supposed animal in the hollow of his hand the passengers and crew who believed themselves thrown by a hurricane upon some rock began to put themselves in motion. The sailors having hoisted out some casks of wine jumped after them into the hand of micro-megas the mathematicians having secured their quadrants sectors and Lapland servants went overboard at a different place and made such a bustle in their descent that the Syrian at length felt his fingers tickled by something that seemed to move an iron bar chance to penetrate about a foot deep into his forefinger and from this brick he concluded that something had issued from the little animal he held in his hand but at first he suspected nothing more for the microscope that scarce rendered a whale and the ship visible had no effect upon an object so imperceptible as a man I do not intend to shock the vanity of any person whatsoever but here I am obliged to request people of importance to consider that supposing the stature of a man to be about five feet we mortals make just such a figure upon the earth as an animal the sixty thousandth part of a foot in height would exhibit upon a bowl ten feet in circumference when you reflect upon a being who could hold this whole earth in the palm of his hand and is provided with organs proportional to those we possess you will easily conceive that there must be a great variety of created substances and pray what must such beings think of the animals by which a conqueror gains a small village to lose it again in the sequel I do not at all doubt but if some captain of Grenadiers should chance to read this work he would add two large feet at least to the caps of his company but I assure him his labour will be in vain for do what he will he and his soldiers will never be other than infinitely diminutive and inconsiderable what a wonderful address must have been inherent to the philosopher that enabled him to perceive these atoms of which we have been speaking when Lewinhoek and Hadsoka observed the first rudiments of which we have formed they did not make such an astonishing discovery what pleasure therefore was the portion of Micromegas in observing the motion of these little machines in examining all their pranks and following them in all their operations with what joy did he put his microscope and with what transport did they both at once exclaim I can see them distinctly don't you see them carrying burdens lying down and rising up again so saying their hands shook with eagerness to see an apprehension to lose such uncommon objects the Satanian making a sudden transition from the most cautious distrust to the most excessive credulity imagined he saw them engaged in their devotions and cried aloud in astonishment nevertheless he was deceived by appearances a case too common whether we do or do not make use of microscopes Chapter 6 what happened in their intercourse with men Micromegas being a much better observer than the dwarf perceived distinctly that those atoms spoke and made the remark to his companion who was so much ashamed of being mistaken in his first suggestion that he would not believe such a puny species could possibly communicate their ideas for though he had the gift of tongues as well as his companion he could not hear those particles speak and therefore supposed they had no language besides how should such imperceptible beings have the organs of speech and what in the name of jove can they say to one another in order to speak they must have something like thought and if they think they must surely have an equivalent to a soul now to attribute anything like a soul to such an insect species appears a mere absurdity but just now reply the Syrian you believe they were engaged in devotional exercises and do you think that this could be done without thinking without using some sort of language or at least some way of making themselves understood or do you suppose it is more difficult to advance an argument than to engage in physical exercise for my own part I look upon all faculties as a like mysterious I will no longer venture to believe or deny answer the dwarf in short I have no opinion at all let us endeavour to examine these insects and we will reason upon them afterward with all my heart said micro-megas who taking out a pair of scissors which he kept for pairing his nails cut off a pairing from his thumb nail of which he immediately formed a large kind of speaking trumpet like a vast tunnel and clapped the pipe to his ear as the circumference of this machine included the ship and all the crew the most feeble voice was conveyed along the circular fibres of the nail so that thanks to his industry the philosopher could distinctly hear the buzzing of our insects that were below in a few hours he distinguished articulate sounds and at last plainly understood the French language the dwarf heard the same though with more difficulty the astonishment of our travellers increased every instant they heard a nest of mites talk in a very sensible strain and that the leucis natura seemed to them inexplicable you need not doubt that the Syrian and his dwarf glowed with impatience to enter into conversation of such atoms micro-megas being afraid that his voice like thunder would deafen and confound without being understood by them saw the necessity of diminishing the sound each therefore put into his mouth a sort of small toothpick the slender end of which reached the vessel the Syrians setting the dwarf upon his knees and the ship and crew upon his nail held down his head and spoke softly in fine having taken these and a great many more precautions he addressed himself to them in these words oh ye invisible insects whom the hand of the Creator hath dain to produce in the abyss of infinite littleness I give praise to his goodness in that he hath been pleased to disclose unto me those secrets which seem to be impenetrable if ever there was such a thing as astonishment it seized upon the people who heard this address and who could not conceive from whence it proceeded the chaplain of the ship repeated exorcisms the sailors swore they disformed the system but notwithstanding all their systems they could not divine who the person was that spoke to them then the dwarf of Saturn whose voice was softer than that of Micromegas gave them briefly to understand what species of beings they had to do with he related the particulars of their voyage from Saturn made them acquainted with the rank and quality of Montior Micromegas and after having pitied their smallness asked if they had always been in that miserable state so near akin to annihilation and what their business was upon that globe which seemed to be the property of Wales he also desired to know if they were happy in their situation if they were inspired with souls and put a hundred questions of the like nature a certain mathematician on board rave than the rest and shocked to hear his soul called in question planted his quadrant and having taken two observations he said you believe then Mr. what's your name that because you measure from head to foot a thousand fathoms a thousand fathoms, cried the dwarf good heavens how should he know the height of my stature a thousand fathoms my very dimensions to a hair what measured by a mite this atom forsooth is a geometrician and he knows exactly how tall I am while I who can scarce perceive him through a microscope of the 16th yes I have taken your measure answer the philosopher and I will now do the same by your tall companion the proposal was embraced his excellency reclined upon his side four had he stood upright his head would have reached too far above the clouds our mathematicians planted a tall tree near him and then by a series of triangles joined together they discovered that the object of their observation was a strapping youth exactly one hundred and twenty thousand in length in consequence of this calculation Micromegas uttered these words I am now more than ever convinced that we ought to judge of nothing by its external magnitude oh god who has bestowed understanding upon such seemingly contemptible substances though cast with equal ease produced that which is infinitely small as that which is incredibly great and if it be possible that among thy works there are being still more diminutive than these they may nevertheless be endured with understanding superior to the intelligence of those stupendous animals I have seen in heaven a single foot of whom is larger than this whole globe on which I have alighted one of the philosophers assured him that there were intelligent beings much smaller than men and recounted not only Virgil's whole fable of the bees but also described all that swammer them have discovered and remia dissected in a word he informed him that there are animals which bear the same proportion to bees that bees bear to man the same as the Syrian himself compared to those vast beings whom he had mentioned and those huge animals are to other substances before whom they would appear like so many particles of dust here the conversation became very interesting and Micromegas proceeded in these words oh ye intelligent atoms in whom the supreme being hath been pleased to manifest his omniscience and power without all doubt your joys on this earth must be pure and exquisite for being unencumbered with matter and to all appearance little lousy than soul you must spend your lives in the delights of pleasure and reflection which are the true enjoyments of a perfect spirit true happiness I have nowhere found but certainly here it dwells at this all the philosophers shook their heads and one among them more candid than his brethren frankly owned that accepting a very small number of inhabitants who were very little esteemed by their fellows all the rest were a parcel of naves fools and miserable wretches we have matter enough said he to do abundance of mischief if mischief comes from matter and too much understanding if evil flows from understanding you must know for example that at this very moment while I am speaking I have heard animals of her own species covered with hats slaying an equal number of their fellow creatures who wear turbans at least they are either slaying or being slaying and this hath usually been the case all over the earth from time immemorial the syrian shattering at this information beg to know the cause of those horrible quarrels among such a puny race and was given to understand that the subject of the dispute was a pitiful mole hill called Palestine no larger than his heel not that any one of those millions who cut one another's throats pretends to have the least claim to the smallest particle of that clot the question is whether it shall belong to a certain person who is known by the name of sultan or to another whom for what reason I know not they dignify with the appellation of pope neither the one nor the other has seen or will ever see the pitiful corner in question are those wretches who so madly destroy each other ever beheld the ruler on whose account they are so mercilessly sacrificed ah miscreants cried the indignant syrian such excess of desperate rage is beyond conception I have a good mind to take two or three steps and trample the whole nest of such ridiculous assassins under my feet don't give yourself the trouble replied the philosopher curious enough in procuring their own destruction at the end of ten years the hundredth part of those wretches will not survive for you must know that though they should not draw a sword in the cause they have espoused famine, fatigue and intemperance would sweep almost all of them from the face of the earth besides the punishment should not be inflicted upon them but upon those sedentary and slothful barbarians who from their palaces were driven off men and then solemnly thank God for their success our traveller was moved with compassion for the entire human race in which he discovered such astonishing contrast since you are of the small number of the wise said he and in all likelihood do not engage yourselves in the trade of murder for hire be so good as to tell me your occupation we anatomize flies replied the philosopher we measure lines, we make calculations we agree upon two or three points which we understand and dispute upon two or three thousand that are beyond our comprehension how far said the syrian do you reckon the distance between the great star of the constellation Gemini and that called canikula to this question all of them answered with one voice thirty two degrees and a half and what is the distance from vents to the moon sixty semi diameters of the earth he then thought to puzzle them by asking the weight of the air but they answered distinctly that common air is about nine hundred times specifically lighter than an equal column of the lightest water and nineteen hundred times lighter than current gold the little dwarf of satan astonished at their answers was now tempted to believe those people's sorceries who by a quarter of an hour before he would not allow were inspired with souls well said micro-migas since you know so well what is without you doubtless you are still more perfectly acquainted with that which is within tell me what is the soul and how do your ideas originate here the philosophers spoke together as before but each was of a different opinion the eldest quoted Aristotle another pronounced the name of Descartes a third mentioned Malibranche a fourth Leibniz and a fifth Locke an old peripatetic lifting up his voice exclaimed with an air of confidence the soul is perfection and reason having power to be such as it is as Aristotle expressly declares page 633 of the Lure edition a quotation in Greek which I cannot read I am not very well versed in Greek said the giant nor I either replied the philosophical might why then do you quote that same Aristotle in Greek resumed the Syrian because it is but reasonable we should quote what we do not comprehend in a language we do not understand here the Cartesian in deposing the soul said he is a pure spirit or intelligence which hath received before birth all the metaphysical ideas but after that event it is obliged to go to school and learn anew the knowledge which it hath lost so it is necessary replied the animal of eight leagues that thy soul should be learned before birth in order to be so ignorant when thou hast got a beard upon thy gin but what dost thou understand by spirit I have no idea of it said the philosopher indeed it is supposed to be immaterial at least they knowest what matter is resumed the Syrian perfectly well answered the other for example that stone is grey is of a certain figure has three dimensions specific weight and visibility I want to know said the giant what that object is which according to thy observation hath a grey colour weight and visibility though seeest a few qualities but dost thou know the very nature of the thing itself not I truly answered the Cartesian upon which the Syrian admitted that he also was ignorant in regard to the subject then addressing himself to another sage who stood upon his thumb and asked what is the soul and what are its functions nothing at all replied this disciple of Mullerbrunch God hath made everything for my convenience in him I see everything by him I act he is the universal agent and I never meddle in his work that is being a non-entity indeed said the Syrian sage and then turning to a follower of Leibniz he exclaimed haki friend what is thy opinion of the soul thy opinion answered this metaphysician the soul is the hand that points at the hour while my body does the office of the clock or if you please the soul is the clock and the body is the pointer or again my soul is the mirror of the universe and my body of the frame all this is clear and uncontrovertible a little partisan of Locke who chance to be present being asked his opinion on the same subject said I do not know by what power I think but well I know that I should never have thought without the assistance of my senses that there are immaterial and intelligent substances I do not at all doubt but that it is impossible for God to communicate the faculty of thinking to matter I doubt very much I revere the eternal power to which it would ill become me to prescribe bounds I affirm nothing and am contented to believe that many more things are possible than I usually thought so the Syrians smiled at this declaration and did not look upon the author as the least adjacent of the company and as for the Dwarf of Saturn he would have embraced this adherent of Locke had it not been for the extreme disproportion in their respective sizes but unluckily there was another animicule in a square cap who taking the word from all of his philosophical brethren affirmed that he knew the whole secret which was contained in the abridgment of Saint Thomas he surveyed the two celestial strangers from top to toe and maintained to their faces that their persons, their fashions their sons and their stars were created solely for the use of man at this wild assertion our two travellers were seized with the fit of uncontrollable laughter which, according to Homer is the portion of the immortal gods their bellies quivered their shoulders rose and fell and during these convulsions they were put into the Saturnian's pocket where these worthy people searched for it a long time with great diligence at length, having found the ship and set everything to rights again the Syrians resumed the discourse with those diminutive mites and promised to compose for them a choice book of philosophy which would demonstrate the very essence of things accordingly before his departure he made them a present of the book which was brought to the Academy of Sciences but when the old secretary came to open it he saw nothing but blank paper upon which A. A. said he this is just what I suspected end of Migra Magus by Voltaire recording by Ross Clement