Chapter 8: Cassandra and Cosmology

The water-jug being empty, Ayrault took it up, and, crossing the ridge of a small hill, descended to a running-brook. He had filled it, and was straightening himself, when the stone on which he stood turned, and he might have fallen, had not the bishop, of whose presence he had been unaware, stretched out his hand and upheld him.

“I thought you might need a little help,” he said with a smile, “and so walked beside you, though you knew it not. Water is heavy, and you may not yet have become accustomed to its Saturnian weight.”

“Many thanks, my master,” replied Ayrault, retaining his hand. “Were it not that I am engaged to the girl I love, and am sometimes haunted by the thought that in my absence she may be forgetting me, I should wish to spend the rest of my natural life here, unless I could persuade you to go with me to the earth.”

“By remaining here,” replied the spirit, with a sad look, “you would be losing the most priceless opportunities of doing good. Neither will I go with you; but, as your distress is real, I will tell you of anything happening on earth that you wish to know.”

“Tell me, then, what the person now in my thoughts is doing.”

“She is standing in a window facing west, watering some forget-me-nots with a small silver sprinkler which has a ruby in the handle.”

“Can you see anything else?”

“Beneath the jewel is an inscription that runs:

‘By those who in warm July are born

A single ruby should be worn;

Then will they be exempt and free

From love’s doubts and anxiety.’”

“Marvellous! Had I any doubts as to your prescience and power, they would be dispelled now. One thing more let me ask, however: Does she still love me?”

“In her mind is but one thought, and in her heart is an image--that of the man before me. She loves you with all her soul.”

“My most eager wish is satisfied, and for the moment my heart is at rest,” replied Ayrault, as they turned their steps towards camp. “Yet, such is my weakness by nature, that, ere twenty-four hours have passed I shall long to have you tell me again.”

“I have been in love myself,” replied the spirit, “and know the feeling; yet to be of the smallest service to you gives me far more happiness than it can give you. The mutual love in paradise exceeds even the lover’s love on earth, for it is only those that loved and can love that are blessed.

“You can hardly realize,” the bishop continued, as they rejoined Bearwarden and Cortlandt, “the joy that a spirit in paradise experiences when, on reopening his eyes after passing death, which is but the portal, he finds himself endowed with sight that enables him to see such distances and with such distinctness. The solar system, with this ringed planet, its swarm of asteroids, and its intra-Mercurial planets--one of which, Vulcan, you have already discovered--is a beautiful sight. The planets nearest the sun receive such burning rays that their surfaces are red-hot, and at the equator at perihelion are molten. These are not seen from the earth, because, rising or setting almost simultaneously with the sun, they are lost in its rays. The great planet beyond Neptune’s orbit is perhaps the most interesting. This we call Cassandra, because it would be a prophet of evil to any visitor from the stars who should judge the solar system by it. This planet is nearly as large as Jupiter, being 80,000 miles in diameter, but has a specific gravity lighter than Saturn. Bode’s law, you know, says, Write down 0, 3, 6, 12, 24, 48, 96. Add 4 to each, and get 4, 7, 10, 16, 28, 52, 100; and this series of numbers represents very nearly the relative distances of the planets from the sun. According to this law, you would expect the planet next beyond Neptune to be about 5,000,000,000 miles from the sun. But it is about 9,500,000,000, so that there is a gap between Neptune and Cassandra, as between Mars and Jupiter, except that in Cassandra’s case there are no asteroids to show where any planet was; we must, then, suppose it is an exception to Bode’s law, or that there was a planet that has completely disappeared. As Cassandra would be within the law if there had been an intermediary planet, we have good prima facie reason for believing that it existed. Cassandra takes, in round numbers, a thousand years to complete its orbit, and from it the sun, though brighter, appears no larger than the earth’s evening or morning star. Cassandra has also three large moons; but these, when full, shine with a pale-grey light, like the old moon in the new moon’s arms, in that terrestrial phenomenon when the earth, by reflecting the crescent’s light, and that of the sun, makes the dark part visible. The temperature at Cassandra’s surface is but little above the cold of space, and no water exists in the liquid state, it being as much a solid as aluminum or glass. There are rivers and lakes, but these consist of liquefied hydrogen and other gases, the heavier liquid collected in deep Places, and the lighter, with less than half the specific gravity of ether, floating upon it without mixing, as oil on water. When the heavier penetrates to a sufficient depth, the interior being still warm, it is converted into gas and driven back to the surface, only to be recondensed on reaching the upper air. Thus it may happen that two rains composed of separate liquids may fall together. There being but little of any other atmosphere, much of it consists of what you might call the vapour of hydrogen, and many of the well-known gases and liquids on earth exist only as liquids and solids; so that, were there mortal inhabitants on Cassandra, they might build their houses of blocks of oxygen or chlorine, as you do of limestone or marble, and use ice that never melts, in place of glass, for transparence. They would also use mercury for bullets in their rifles, just as inhabitants of the intra-Vulcan planets at the other extreme might, if their bodies consisted of asbestos, or were in any other way non-combustibly constituted, bathe in tin, lead, or even zinc, which ordinarily exist in the liquid state, as water and mercury do on the earth.

“Though Cassandra’s atmosphere, such as it is, is mostly clear, for the evaporation from the rivers and icy mediterraneans is slight, the brightness of even the highest noon is less than an earthly twilight, and the stars never cease to shine. The dark base of the rocky cliffs is washed by the frigid tide, but there is scarcely a sound, for the pebbles cannot be moved by the weightless waves, and an occasional murmur is all that is heard. Great rocks of ice reflect the light of the grey moons, and never a leaf falls or a bird sings. With the exception of the mournful ripples, the planet is silent as the grave. The animal and plant kingdoms do not exist; only the mineral and spiritual worlds. I say spiritual, because there are souls upon it; but it is the home of the condemned in hell. Here dwell the transgressors who died unrepentant, and those who were not saved by faith. This is the one instance in which I do not enjoy my developed sight, for I sometimes glance in their direction, and the vision that meets me, as my eyes focus, distresses my soul. Their senses are like an imperfect mirror, magnifying all that is bad in one another, and distorting anything still partially good when that exists. All those things that might at least distract them are hollow, their misery being the inevitable result of the condition of mind to which they became accustomed on earth and which brought them to Cassandra. But let us turn to something brighter.

“Though the solar system may seem complex, the sun is but a star among the millions in the Milky Way, and, compared with the planetary systems of Sirius, the stars of the Southern Cross, and the motions of the nebula, it is simplicity itself. Compared with the splendour of Sirius, with its diameter of twelve million miles, the sun, measuring but eight hundred and forty thousand, becomes insignificant; and this giant’s system includes groups and clusters of planets, many with three times the mass of Jupiter, five and six together, each a different colour, revolving about a common centre, while they swing about their primary. Their numerous moons have satellites encircling them, with orbits in some cases at right angles to the plane of the ecliptic, so that they shine perpendicularly on what correspond to the arctic and antarctic regions, while their axes are so inclined that the satellites turn a complete somersault at each revolution, producing glistening effects of ice and snow at the poles. Some of the moons are at a red or white heat, and so prevent the chill of night on the planets, while they shine with more than reflected light. In addition to the five or six large planets in each group, which, however, are many millions of miles apart, there is in some clusters a small planet that swings backward and forward across the common centre, like a pendulum, but in nearly a straight line; and while this multiplicity of motion goes on, the whole aggregation sweeps majestically around Sirius, its mighty sun. Our little solar system contains, as we know, about one thousand planets, satellites, and asteroids large enough to be dignified by the name of heavenly bodies. Vast numbers of the stars have a hundred and even a thousand times the mass of our sun, and their systems being relatively as complex as ours--in some cases even more so--they contain a hundred thousand or a million individual bodies.

“Over sixty million bright or incandescent stars were visible to the terrestrial telescopes a hundred years ago, the average size of which far exceeds our sun. To the magnificent telescopes of to-day they are literally countless, and the number can be indefinitely extended as your optical resources grow. Yet the number of stars you see is utterly insignificant compared with the cold and dark ones you cannot see, but concerning which you are constantly learning more, by observing their effect on the bright ones, both by perturbing them and by obscuring their rays. Occasionally, as you know, a star of the twelfth or fifteenth magnitude, or one that has been invisible, flares up for several months to the fourth or fifth, through a collision with some dark giant, and then returns to what it was in the beginning, a gaseous, filmy nebula. These innumerable hosts of dark monsters, though dead, are centres of systems, like most of the stars you can see.

“A slight consideration of these figures will show that, notwithstanding the number of souls the Creator has given life on earth, each one might in fact have a system to himself; and that, however long the little globe may remain, as it were, a mint, in which souls are tried by fire and moulded, and receive their final stamp, they will always have room to circulate, and will be prized according to the impress their faces or hearts must show. But Sirius itself is moving many times faster than the swiftest cannon ball, carrying its system with it; and I see you asking, ‘To what does all this motion tend?’ I will show you. Many quadrillions of miles away, so far that your most powerful telescopes have not yet caught a glimmer, rests in its serene grandeur a star that we call Cosmos, because it is the centre of this universe. Its diameter is as great as the diameter of Cassandra’s orbit, and notwithstanding its terrific heat, its specific gravity, on account of the irresistible pressure at and near the centre, is as great as that of the planet Mercury. This holds all that your eyes or mine can see; and the so-called motions of the stars--for we know that Sirius, among others, is receding--is but the difference in the rate at which the different systems and constellations swing around Cosmos, though in doing so they often revolve about other systems or swing round common centres, so that many are satellites of satellites many times repeated. The orbits of some are circular, and of others elliptical, as those of comets, and some revolve about each other, or, as we have seen, about a common point while they perform their celestial journey. A star, therefore, recedes or advances, as Jupiter and Venus with relation to the earth. The planet in the smaller orbit moves faster than that in the larger, so that the intervening distances wax and wane, though all are going in the same general direction. In the case of the members of the solar system, astronomical record can tell when even a most distant known planet has been in opposition or conjunction; but the earth has scarcely been habitable since the sun was last in its present position in its orbit around Cosmos. The curve that our system follows is of such radius that it would require the most precise observations for centuries to show that it was not a straight line.

“We call this the universe because it is all that the clearest eyes or telescopes have been able to see, but it is only a subdivision--in fact, but a system on a vaster scale than that of the sun or of Sirius. Far beyond this visible universe, my intuition tells me, are other systems more gigantic than this, and entirely different in many respects. Even the effects of gravitation are modified by the changed condition; for these systems are spread out flat, like the rings of this planet, and the ether of space is luminous instead of black, as here. These systems are but in a later stage of development than ours; and in the course of evolution our visible universe will be changed in the same way, as I can explain.