CHAPTER III.
Geister’s ambition.
THE Ideas of early youth,” said Geister, “are very properly held to be of little or no value. Nevertheless, it is very certain that with many persons that period of life is the only part of their existence in which there has been aught of poetry. For the stern realities of life to many proclaim fancy a hindrance, an active imagination a curse rather than a blessing. Yet, how happy the man whom a hard fate has not altogether robbed of the gift of his youth!
“So, let me go back to the time when everything came fresh to me—when the greatest truisms in science startled me with their novelty. Were I now to say to you, in all gravity, ‘My friend, that glorious sun, which appears to you no larger than a round table, and at no such very great distance, is really a world, much larger than this, and ninety-five millions of miles distant, you would spit, in your wrath at the esteemed insult. Yet there was a time when the same statement, doubtless, astonished you, and afforded food for cogitation for some time following. So with me, when I first learned that the sun, moon, and stars, are worlds, I was astounded; but when I had made up my mind to believe, I rejoiced in the fact. And learning yet more about these said worlds, as a matter of course it occurred to me that their utter inaccessibility was a thing very much to be regretted, since the ascertaining—if in but one single instance—whether they are inhabited, and otherwise like our own world, or not, would surely interest even the vulgar. From practical minds, even in youth, such hopeless subjects are immediately dismissed; but my juvenile mind being theoretically disposed, and sufficiently imaginative, did not so readily abandon the idea, when once conceived, of a voyage through space to another world. It formed the subject of a good deal of day-dreaming, and thus, perhaps, became more impressed on my mind than on most people’s.
“It was not, however, till I had entered the University we have so recently left, that I first seriously conceived the idea that a voyage from the earth to some other sphere might not be an utter impossibility. One of the principal difficulties—the sustaining life in a vacuum—I at length fancied I had found means to overcome. I submitted my idea indirectly to the opinion of the most scientific men of my acquaintance, and was gratified by finding that their answers did not upset, nor even shake, my theory. I then experimented with small animals in a model, and was delighted to find these experiments only confirm the soundness of my scheme.
“I cannot say that I gave myself all this trouble solely in the hope of being actually able some day to leave this earth in corpore vero, but because I thought that, leaving this idea out of the question, it was still a singular and useful discovery, which it was worth my while to test and perfect. I did think again—as I had thought in childhood—upon the possibility of leaving this world; but I did not resolutely sit down to ponder over it, because it seemed to me (as it seems to every one else when they think of such a thing) a complete impossibility. But, at length, by the most extraordinary of all extraordinary chances—at length, favoured by Fortune, Providence, or Fate, whichever you may call it, that mighty secret is revealed to me which at once converts the before complete impossibility into a comparatively plain and simple practicability. Had I not met with you, I might never have discovered the hidden principle in Nature which this legend reveals. My meeting with you appears to have been the merest chance; but, if the Fatalists are right, it may Lave been so ordered, the time having come for perhaps the grandest discovery ever made by man being rendered available for the execution of an enterprise equally wonderful and important.
“But, before I give you my reasons for believing so implicitly in the truth of this Legend, I will prove to you that, with the exception of the motive power for the propulsion of the vehicle, I had now overcome the chief obstacles likely to present them- selves in such an enterprise as a voyage to the moon!”
“With these words, Geister abruptly quitted the library, but returned in a few minutes with a portfolio in his hand.
During his absence, I gave free vent in acts and exclamations to the illimitable wonder and inextricable confusion which his harangue had produced in my mind. Alternately I was moved to admiration by the daring nature of the scheme, and then the current of feeling would change, and the whole affair seem to be devoid of rationality. Indeed, nothing but the exceeding earnestness of his manner could have persuaded me that he—a most sane man— contemplated anything more in what he had said, than the amusing me with the proposition of a strange theory. But that he was serious was not to be doubted. In striving to think calmly upon the subject, although I tried to divest my mind of all prejudice, still an almost invincible repugnance to the idea was uppermost, and I resolved on his return to state my objections to it at once, lest the probably subtle and scientific accuracy of his plans should partially defeat my intention, and compel me to admire the rationale of the scheme, when I could not approve of its object. Thus, an instinctive distaste to what appeared the monstrosity of the idea was the leading feeling that prompted my opposition. Pursuant to my determination, therefore, on his re-entering the room, I anticipated him.
“Let us suppose,” said I, “ that your scheme is in every detail successful—that you have actually quitted the earth and are on your passage to the moon;—to what, think you, are you going, an inhabited or an uninhabited sphere?”
“Inhabited.”
“And yet the opinion of most astronomers differs from yours?”
“True,” he returned; “but where there is not sufficient scientific data to determine the matter, we must risk a little on possibility. I have no motive for throwing away my life in an insane project which would only entail ridicule upon me; and therefore I am rather astonished that you should think so humbly of me as to imagine that my ambition was not rather in the object than in the means of attaining it. Do you believe that those vast worlds, whose very size and distance from us cause an indescribable feeling, half of solemn awe and half of physical uneasiness, in endeavouring to comprehend—which form part of a system in unison with the earth, can be comparatively purposeless? And allowing that worlds of greater magnitude than the earth may be peopled with some kind of life peculiar to themselves, what objection can you urge to smaller spheres than the earth possessing the same attributes? And what ambition can be nobler than the resolving a great doubt, and perhaps establishing some means of communication between one world and another?”
“Yes,” said I, “ but were I to argue on the same basis as yourself, I might ask to what end were so many worlds created when one would have sufficed. Some of the learned Roman Catholic fathers have hinted, in their works, that these other worlds might be inhabited by beings more or less advanced in a progressive state than we on earth. And would you dare to rush from one state of progress to another, without first experiencing physical death. Your plans might be frustrated, your soul, perhaps, be annihilated, at the very outset.”
“That is a view,” said Geister, “I must confess I have never taken of it, and appears such a bare supposition, that I do not think it worth consideration. I have noticed your reverence for the fathers of your creed, but cannot share it. The best confutation I can give to your suggestion of the illegality of such an undertaking is based upon instinct. I have remarked that whenever we really overstep the mortal boundary in thought, then does reason totter on her throne, and a divergence from that train of thought alone save us from insanity; and never once, when my mind has dwelt upon this theme, has an instinctive dread or fear possessed me, although I have followed imagination to the very margin of horror. Some centuries back the very notion of a voyage in search of another continent—America—was treated with scorn; and mankind has not changed so materially since then that, in the nineteenth century, a scheme equally, if not more speculative, should be received without opposition.”
“Well, then,” I said, “let me see your plans; but I tell you candidly, that I am astonished to find that you are really in earnest. For my own part, my mind seems naturally to recoil from seriously contemplating so extravagant a conception.”
“This I of course expected,” answered Geister; “but you will hear me?”
“Certainly.”
“Then,” said he, “before explaining this diagram. I will, for the sake of clearness, state in order the difficulties to be overcome. First,—It is allowed that the earth’s atmosphere does not reach above fifty miles from its surface, or if it does, it is so excessively rarified as to be imperceptible to the nicest tests. At all events, this every one knows, that aeronauts and ascenders of mountains have invariably found themselves very seriously distressed on attaining a height of from three to five miles above the level of the sea. It seems certain that if (regardless of expense) that excessively rare gas, hydrogen, were to be employed in the inflation of balloons, whereby a balloon with its appendages might be buoyed up to a greater height than five miles—say ten—no aeronaut could avail himself of the capability of rising to that height, because life could not be sustained at such an elevation, on account of the rarity of the atmosphere. It is the attraction of gravitation acting upon an elastic body that causes the air to be denser at the earth’s surface than on the summit of a mountain, and in accordance with this law, it is found to be thinner and thinner in direct ratio with its increasing distance from the earth’s surface. We have therefore to discover a means whereby life may be preserved in the midst of the vacuum which must be traversed in a passage to the moon. This I have done.
“As a matter of course you are aware. that in breathing we expel from our lungs carbonic acid gas in place of the oxygen gas which, in conjunction with nitrogen gas, we inhale. Equally certain it is, that the vegetable kingdom absorbs the carbonic acid produced by mankind and the whole animal kingdom and by the combustion of fire, and separating the carbon from the oxygen—the carbonic acid being the two in combination—retains the carbon to increase its growth, and gives back the oxygen to the atmosphere. Thus, you see, the oxygen, in producing a kind of combustion through the medium of the lungs, takes substance from the animal kingdom and conveys it to the vegetable—which is thus continually fed (during the day) at the expense of the animal kingdom, which, in return, in a different way, feeds upon it. In this way, the balance is sustained, and the atmosphere is the same now as it was ages back, seeing that jars have been exhumed that had been buried in the earth for a long period of time, and the air in them found to be nowise different to that of the present day. From this it is evident, that the vegetable and animal kingdoms are essential to each other’s existence; and it struck me, that it was possible for animal life to be sustained in an enclosed space, cut of from the surrounding atmosphere, for an indefinite length of time, if, in this enclosed space were growing trees, shrubs, plants, etc. in proportion. It is true, at night the action of the vegetable kingdom is reversed, and for a time, but yet not to a very great extent, carbonic acid gas is emitted, the ill effect of which. perhaps, beyond the acknowledged unwholesomeness of night air, is obviated by the immense bulk of the earth’s atmosphere, and by the different winds keeping the whole in constant change and commotion, thus tending to equalize, throughout, the proportions of gases of which it is composed.
“In my model—of which this drawing represents a section, and in which I tried experiments with mice and birds,—I made allowance for this by having the bulk of air much larger than otherwise would have been necessary. Still. I dare say, this air at night contained more carbonic acid than the night air of tho outer world; but the animal system allows some considerable latitude in this respect, seeing that—poisonous as this gas is—people are nevertheless lively and demonstrative, and therefore not seriously distressed, at very crowded meetings in ill-ventilated buildings, where the air is largely impregnated with the carbonic acid gas exhaled by those present, and is of course proportionately deficient in oxygen. Besides this, as the animal kingdom is in the main sleeping during this period of the reversed action of the vegetable kingdom, respiration is consequently but feeble, and therefore much less oxygen is consumed and carbonic acid produced by it. Any way, I found my model answer perfectly; and it therefore seems certain that, if an immensely strong and perfectly air-tight building were erected, sufficiently large to contain a certain bulk of vegetation, a man might exist in this building, in the midst of a vacuum, at all events—making allowance for theory and practice not always exactly agreeing—for a considerable length of time.”
“A splendid idea!” said I, warmly, interrupting him, “I only wonder that it has not been thought of before.”
“If it has not been thought of before,” said Geister, “it is because it was not wanted for practical purposes. However, as I have said, the apparently insuperable difficulty of discovering a motive power applicable to this box-like structure, whereby it might be borne through space, prevented, till this day, my seriously thinking that I should ever be able to work out the grand idea of a voyage to another world, to which the interest I felt in the success of scientific invention was always subordinate. A balloon for the motive power, even if a gas were discovered well-nigh without weight, was altogether out of the question; for, supposing that our atmosphere has no real limits, hut pervades all space, it must still he so excessively rare, that even if the gas in the balloon weighed nothing at all, the weight of an ordinary car would prevent the balloon continuing to ascend beyond a certain height. But this Legend reveals the existence of a NEW PRINCIPLE IN NATURE—that of REPULSION.”
There was silence for a few moments, which I broke.
“Not altogether new, is it?” said I. “There is the Sensitive Plant, that shrinks from touch—from approach even. And is there not repulsion in magnetism as well as attraction, since, if the corresponding poles of two magnetised pieces of iron are presented to one another, they, as soon as liberated, fly apart?”
“True,” said he, “though those facts did not occur to me at the moment. Yet why should there not be repulsion in Nature as broadly, as unmistakably as there is attraction? For every other quality we have an opposite : heat—cold; light—darkness; pleasure—pain; beauty—ugliness; positive—negative; centrifugal—centripetal; and so on throughout: why not, then, attraction— repulsion, materially as well as morally?”
“Certainly,” I replied, struck by the soundness of his reasoning.
“Well then, allowing that a mineral-repellent is obtainable—I will afterwards give you my reasons for believing so implicitly in the truth of the monk’s statement—, I have but to attach this repelling substance to a building such as I have described, to be at once able to leave my native earth and travel to some other world.”
“Ah! but would not the same power that carried you from the earth keep you at a distance from every other body in creation?”
“That, of course, struck me at once; but I as quickly thought of a way whereby that difficulty may be overcome. Thus:—I should only have so much of the repelling substance fixedly attached to the building, or car, as I may as well call it, as would not quite counterbalance its weight—what more was required to carry it away from the earth, I should have attached in such a manner that, by means of simple machinery, it might be detached, and allowed to fly off. In this way, the attraction of gravitation might at any time again be made to preponderate, and the whole would descend, gaining in speed as it fell—which downward speed might be regulated, checked, or stopped altogether, by detaching heavy weights, suspended from the car, one by one, till at length the moon’s surface should be reached in safety. Is not all this practicable?”
“It all appears practicable,” I answered,”nay, even simple and natural, but how awfully hazardous!”
“Not more so,” said Geister, “than many positions in which men are in the constant practice of placing themselves, for an infinitely less reward. It is true that, in this building of mine, any deficiency in its air-tightness would be fatal; unless the place through which the air was escaping. with the screech of death, could instantly be discovered and stopped. But, by having double walls, with the space between filled with a concrete composition, except at the windows, and these walls made in the most compact manner possible, of wood well- seasoned, and the interior lined with sheet iron, the chances of such a fate are reduced to about I in 1000, at a moderate estimate. True, the pressure of the air inside, there being none outside to counterbalance it, would tend to drive the walls out on all sides; but this might easily be prevented, by having iron girders, holding it together with giant grip. The danger, therefore, is not much greater than is incurred by many men for a bare subsistence—instance, miners, whalers, pearl-divers, and, greater still, the fowlers of the Orkney Isles, who daily, attached to a rope, descend from the summit of a precipice to the nests beneath, and coolly dislodge the birds or abstract the eggs, while suspended over a hideous gulf of rocks or surf. And, if these men are content thus to hazard their lives, simply because circumstances have rendered it a convenient and ready means of obtaining a livelihood, how much more milling should I be to incur no greater risk for so much more noble an object. Let me not be egotistical, for it is disagreeable. I will only say, that the man who should leave this earth, and visit another world, and return with an account of that world and its inhabitants, would certainly be regarded as the most extraordinary man of his time, nay, that the world had ever seen; for, tell me, can the voyage of Columbus in search of America be fairly considered equal in enterprise and grandeur of design to a voyage to another world? It will be long before Columbus is forgotten.— what then shall be the fame of him who opens a communication between one planet and another?”
He paused exhausted, while I was greatly impressed, as much by his earnestness as by the apparent feasibility of his design.
“It would be a noble enterprise,” I said; “ the man who should accomplish it might consider himself favoured by Destiny, because chosen before other men.”
“Ah, you begin to share my enthusiasm,” he said; “I rejoice that you do, and I infer therefrom that you do not see any insuperable obstacles standing in the way?”
“Not,” I answered, “at present. Indeed, I am only surprised at being forced to acknowledge that the working part of your plan— so far, at least, as anticipation goes—seems much less complex than many undertakings that have been carried through by single individuals. But it would require great self-denial, unwavering resolution, and a complete devotion of mind, soul, and body to the one great end in view.”
“It would,” said he, gravely.
“And—well, certainly, you seem sufficiently resolved at present; but, neither an ordinary man, nor a more dreamer, could carry out such an enterprise as this; for the one would be deficient in needful foresight and ingenuity, while the other would be too wandering in mind and too indolent in body.”
“Yes,” said he, musingly, “I have been a dreamer—and, thank God, I am a dreamer still. Yet, I think I can with the dreamer unite the man of action. I have a strong will, can control my moods, and govern my imagination—and that is a great deal to be able to say with truth; for your men of iron will, though otherwise ungifted, get to be as much respected as men of talent but of feeble will—the slaves of their moods, the puppets of circumstance—because in the end they accomplish more.
“And now will you excuse my leaving you, and keeping to my chamber for one day—to-morrow? for I am eager to develop a plan, to elaborate and test those first crude ideas with regard to the motive power which I have communicated to you; and I feel that this can best be done by shutting out the world from my gaze and my thoughts, and its tumult from my hearing.”