CHAPTER V.
THE OCEAN CAPITAL.
At length we came to a mountain-side, up which the electric engine crept, amidst rocks and cliffs and ruddy woodlands. On a sudden, by a turn of the road, a strange scene opened before my eyes, such as I shall strive, though ill able to describe it in earthly words, to depict. A vast plain lay before us, stretching towards the green sea of what you call the Delarue Ocean. Its surface was not all ruddy, but speckled with great white spots of shining metal, which glistened in the sun, and tall spires and towers varying the expanse. Over it there were extended various ramifications, like a spider's web, of hanging railroads in long lines, crossing and intersecting each other, resting on huge pillars and massive towers. It stretched for twenty miles away, or more, sinking into the horizon on one side, but, on the others, bounded by mountains and the green sea.
"Is that your Ocean capital of which you spoke?" I asked.
"It is," he replied. "Here is the capital of the seas; but we have several other cities great as this, and even still more beautiful. The capital of Learning you shall see in the great northern continent. The four capitals of the four continents are each as great as this."
"The greatest city I have yet seen," I said, "is on the earth. It also is an ocean capital in some sense; the centre of the earth's trade. It has four millions of people in it. What is the population of this? "
"Five millions and more."
"But they extend over a vast extent, far vaster than that great city on the earth."
"Perhaps so; but you see we do not crowd our people. Each one of the twenty wards of this great city has its public park and gardens for the health and enjoyment of the citizens, to give them the contact of Nature even in the city, which is the right of every living creature. Every dwelling is isolated from the others, to avoid fire, and to give free ventilation. Every street is planted with trees. So the city extends over a huge extent, as you perceive. But, see! we are passing its borders, the ancient fortifications reared in the days of war."
We came to a mighty wall, almost a little mountain ridge of rock, carved in quaint style, and flanked with triangular towers, on which still were placed curious engines of war, which appeared worn out by age and falling to pieces.
"They have left these as a memory of past times. We destroy nothing of the works of ancient days; but they are mere curiosities now, useful to remind us of the errors of our ancestors, and to warn us to keep in better paths. How many thousands have been launched into eternity upon and before these walls! But all is over now. War never can return."
We dashed over the ridge, and then along the hanging road, passed over the city on, as it were, a thread of rail. Clusters of towers and thousands of glittering metal roofs, mostly dome-shaped, and curious gardens full of trees of every form, were beneath our feet. Some of the gardens were on the roofs or on the fronts of houses, full of flowers, while between not a few of the towers were massive chains from which hung, here and there, baskets of creeping plants of every hue, which sent their perfume up to us. It was a beautiful scene of many colours and forms, where art used nature for her purposes; and nature, in that world, is as lovely as it is on earth, or even almost as with us, though so very different. The colours were richer and more glowing, and less delicate. But still they were splendid—deep crimsons, rich browns, dark purples, massive-looking greens. The air seemed full of hanging gardens of flowers and plants, beneath which, as through a net, one saw the many-shaped roofs of houses, and towers and spires of public buildings of every kind.
"It is something like a city of earth," I said to my companion, "but far more splendid. Paris, men think their finest city, but Paris is nothing to this."
We stopped at one of the towers, and then descended from our car. We went down the stairs into the city. The street was wide, but shaded from the sunlight by long avenues of red-leaved trees—or rather plants, for they were not trees like earth's trees, though vegetable products; their huge leaves spread over the road, and the sunlight glowed through them in blood-red tints. It was a scene such as would almost madden some human beings to dwell in that intense lurid glow, and yet it was glorious in its gorgeousness.
In the roadway, made partly of shining metal, partly of rocks laid out in mosaics of varied designs, and polished, there were many Martians going to and fro, some in cars, some on foot. Their cars were electric, for they use the master-force of nature very extensively, and employ it to cause the lesser and inferior forces, as heat, motion, magnetism, at will. The electric cars darted hither and thither on the metallic rails, with their violet sparks flashing from their electro-condensers, varying the scene of glowing splendour with their rapid motions. All around was glow, and motion, and sound; almost as great a contrast to the soft, sweet calm of our cities, as to the busy, but sad and gloomy tone of yours. And yet there was a something glorious about it; and I can easily fancy how those accustomed to such a world, and fitted for it, might immensely enjoy existence in such a cheering scene.
We entered through a massive arched doorway into a fine vestibule lighted by coloured windows. Thence we passed into a room where there reclined on a carpet a huge and majestic Martian of apparently venerable age, wrapt in a vast cloak. I noticed that these Martians showed their lion nature in reclining on the ground—crouching, as it were. Man sits, for man is linked to the scansorial mammals, or the apes; but the Martians, in rest, lie down, or crouch as lions on the floor. I was presented to my strange host, who was told in a few words my secret. He expressed surprise at a being from our bright world having crossed the vast chasm of space. When I showed him really who I was, and cast off my disguise, he asked me many questions, prefacing that I need only answer him on points which were lawful to be spoken of. He enquired much about the earth also, and entertained me some hours in conversation. Then he gave me his blessing and wished me all success, but bade me most earnestly not to reveal myself, nor to let my secret be detected.
Evening was drawing in, and we went forth again into the busy city streets. The electric lights were shining on every side, and blazing on the rich red foliage and the domes of the houses. At length we came to the water-side. On the green waves there were floating many thousands of large vessels, of graceful shape. My conductor led me to a little ship close by the shore. We alone embarked on it. In a few minutes an electric signal blazed from the prow and we plunged forth on the Delarue Ocean. Soon the lights of the ocean city grew fainter in the distance and only the sea was around us, heaving with waves much like earth's ocean. Overhead there were the same stars as you know, but both the moons were shining together that night on the waters. We two were alone on the deep in our little electric ship.
We were not long out of sight of land. Lights, as of cities and towns, were on either side of us. We were passing up what you call Dawes Sea, between the two great Galileo and Huyghens' continents. The scene was such as I can scarcely describe. There is nothing on earth like it. Around us were the green waves, varied by forests of algæ of many colours, which tinted the waters into the semblance of a vast and glorious garden, while beyond, on either side of the long and narrow inlet were the ruddy shores of the two continents, with their crimson forests covering hill and dale, varied here and there by distant ranges of snow-capped mountains, soon lightened by the sun.
At length we came to an island rising out of the waters, with many vessels lying around it. It seemed quite built over. Thousands of towers and spires and domes of all glittering metals rose from the ruddy gardens—strange and majestic edifices with richly ornamented façades, as different to anything in our world as to the scenes of earth.
"That is the sacred city," said my guide, "the great centre of our religion, where the Holy One once dwelt when with us, and which we honour for His name. As you also are a servant of the One Eternal God, as you are a brother in the same Eternal Church that He has formed, I have brought you here to adore Him in our holy place, to pray in your own way, and in the way of your bright world, for God's blessing."
"It is well," I said. "I have prayed at Jerusalem, on earth; I now shall pray at the holy city of another world."
To prevent detection, we did not land till night had set in, and then we went from our little ship through strange scenes and processional avenues of mystic import to the great temple in the centre of the city. It was a magnificent edifice, but quite impossible for me to describe; huge in massive grandeur, richly ornate with singular designs of colossal size. It was partly of rock, partly of metal, and most of its ornaments were imitations of natural objects, for the Martians hold that the highest conception of beauty is in the works of God, and the best they can do is to imitate them.
It was a wonderful scene that opened to my eyes as I passed that portal. I had known for ages the soft and peaceful worship of God in our blissful world. I had joined in the adoration of all the temples of our great cities. I had mingled my voice in the hymns of all the nations of our world. The grand ideal of our adoration is peace and beauty and joy and repose—the soul lost in an ecstasy of peace and thankfulness. I had also, as you know, joined with men in their worship—imperfect, like all things on earth are imperfect by man's sin—and yet, in spite of all defects, having the shadow of higher things. I have adored in most of your greatest fanes. I have been at S. Peter's when the silver trumpets have sounded and the grandest music on earth has welcomed the presence of the Pontiff. I have seen Cologne and Rheims. I have mingled with the adoring hosts in S. Isaac's at S. Petersburg and the Cathedral of Kazan. I have seen the worship of the Armenian church of the Copts and Abyssinians. I have joined also with the simpler worship of your English Church, more like ours than the others on earth in being so congregational, but unlike ours in being so imperfect. I have been at S. Paul's and Canterbury, and York, and Ely, and your best churches. I have seen the worship of nearly all the Protestant sects—still more imperfect in beauty, still more didactic, but further still from ours in want of reverence and love, and beauty. I have even seen the most defective and darkened of the heathen rites—some of mingled causes, evidently of the earth most earthy; the temples of India, the mosques of Stamboul and Mecca.
But all these were unlike this new spectacle of the adoration of the creature to the Creator. It was as splendid as ours, but its splendour was gorgeousness, not repose; its spirit was passion, not peace; its aim was enthusiasm, not simple reverent love. Let me try to describe it, though I feel how defective earthly words are in describing any except earthly thoughts.
The Temple was vast and magnificent. A hundred thousand of the Martians were there in state robes of worship (for they specially vest for religious worship), the males on one side, the females on the other—two vast armies. The immense domes, to which your S. Paul's, and S. Peter's at Home, were mere molehills, rose in exalted elevations over the heads of the hosts. All the walls, the pillars, the domes were encrusted with crystals of many colours, but all dimly visible in a dull light, which seemed to leave everything obscure.
The service began with a procession in gorgeous robes, and as they approached the central dome, the whole building shone in a blaze of electric lights; then from a hundred thousand voices burst the loud roar of song (too crushing to be melodious), and the blare of many trumpets made it seem as if the vast edifice could crush us. Then down on the ground the vast host fell adoring, and all died away, and there was silence. Then came soft, sweet melodies, and the light grew softened by degrees till we were again almost in darkness. Then again the host were silent, and one voice—a mighty voice, as speaking to us in silence and in darkness, was heard. I think I caught his words:—
"Adore Him, creatures! Adore Him by Whom is all, in Whom is all. Whose ye are! Adore Him for His love! Soften and still the evil voice of passion in your souls, that all may be hushed before His presence! "
We did not stay long at the Holy City. My conductor seemed to doubt whether he ought to declare to me the mysteries of their religion, and I feared to enquire, for it is our belief that each of the worlds has its special dispensation designed by the great Creator of all, and that to enquire into the dispensation of God's will in other worlds would be mere curiosity, and harmful if not sinful. The same thought seemed to be in my conductor's mind. So I neither asked nor did he explain the strange mysterious sights we saw, and we merely passed through the city and saw its myriad worshippers crowding its vast streets, and the huge temples with their sacred symbols, some of which I could understand and some I could not. It was very grand and glorious altogether, though as different from the religion of our world as from yours. And yet truth is one as God is one, only the truth is reflected from different standpoints by divers minds. If, as you see, there is such a diversity of religions upon earth, you need not wonder at the variety of the reflections of truth in finite minds in other worlds. And yet amid the higher developments of being, the higher forms of mind, I have found more unity in the conception of things relating to God, i.e., between ourselves and the Martians and the wisest and best of Christians, than I have found among men on the same earth; some of whom by stupidity misconceive the things relating to religion, and others by their sinfulness are obscured in their perception of it. So as in the material fabric of the worlds of our solar system there is an essential unity amid an infinite diversity, so in the conception of religion, there is an essential unity among the noble and good of all the worlds, though their modes of expression of their ideal may differ.