Chapter IV: Part 4

I understand, replied the Marchioness, that the different degrees of weight are sufficient to keep them in their proper ranks. I wish with all my heart there was some such regulating power among us, that would serve to fix people in the situation most suitable to them! You have quite removed my uneasiness with regard to Jupiter. I am very glad he will let us remain quietly with our little vortex, and single moon. I feel very well contented with one attendant, and do not envy him his four.

You would do wrong if you did, said I; he has no more than are necessary. He is five times farther from the sun than we, that is, a hundred and sixty-five[40] millions of leagues distant from it, consequently his moons receive, and reflect, but a feeble light: the number therefore compensates for the little effect produced by each: were they not separately so inefficient, four moons would appear unnecessary, as Jupiter turns on his axis in ten hours, and of course the nights are very short. The satellite which is the nearest to Jupiter, performs its circle round him in two-and-forty hours; the next in three days and a half; the third, in seven; the fourth, in seventeen; and by the inequality of their progress, they form a most pleasing spectacle for this planet. At one time they rise all four together; then, almost immediately separate; sometimes they are all at the full, placed in a line, one above another; afterwards they are seen at equal distances in the sky; then when two are rising the other two will set. Above all I should like to see the perpetual variety of eclipses among them, for there is not a day passes in which they do not eclipse each other, or the sun.[41] Surely as eclipses are so familiar to the inhabitants of that world, they must be considered a subject of amusement, rather than terror, as they are here.

[Footnote 40: Calculating with more exactness, 179.]

[Footnote 41: Or; we may add, in which they are not eclipsed by the shadow of Jupiter, which happens the most frequently.]

You will not fail, I suppose, said the Marchioness, to people these four moons, though they are only little subaltern planets, intended merely to give light to another during the night. Undoubtedly not, I replied. These little planets are not unworthy of inhabitants because they are unfortunate enough to be subjected to a larger planet.

I think, then, answered she, these satellites ought to be like colonies to Jupiter; that their inhabitants should, if possible, receive from him their laws and customs, and in return, render him some degree of homage, and always consider the great planet with respect. Would it not be needful, said I, for the moons occasionally to send deputies to Jupiter, who should take an oath of fidelity to him? I must own the little superiority we possess over the people in our moon makes me doubt whether Jupiter has much influence over the inhabitants of his satellites, and I think the only superiority he can aspire to is that of impressing them with awe. For of what a terrific size he must appear! To the planets nearest to him he looks sixteen hundred times larger than our moon appears to us.[42] Truly if the Gauls in ancient times were afraid the heavens would fall and crush them to death, the inhabitants of this moon may with greater propriety apprehend the fall of Jupiter. Perhaps, she replied, that is the subject of alarm to them instead of the eclipses, which you assure me they see without fear;[43] for as they are exempt from one folly, they must be subject to some other. Undoubtedly, answered I. The inventor of a third system, which I mentioned the other day, the celebrated Tycho Brahe, one of the greatest astronomers that ever lived, felt none of the vulgar terror at an eclipse; he was too much accustomed to study the nature of such a phenomenon; but what do you think he was afraid of instead?--If when he first went out of doors the first person he saw was an old woman; or if a hare crossed the path he had taken, Tycho Brahe thought the day would be unfortunate, and returning in haste to his apartment, he shut himself up without venturing to engage in any occupation whatever.

[Footnote 42: Thirty-six times larger than we see the moon: and they receive from him one thousand two hundred and ninety times more light.]

[Footnote 43: Their solar eclipses are of much longer duration than ours.]

It would be unjust, said she, if such a man as he could not with impunity overcome the fear of an eclipse, for the inhabitants of the satellite we were speaking of, to be exempted from it on easier terms. We will not spare them: they shall submit to the general doom; and if they escape one error they shall be liable to another.

A difficulty has just occurred to me, continued she, you must remove it if you can: if the earth is so small in comparison of Jupiter, are we visible to the inhabitants of that planet? I am afraid we are unknown to them.

Really I think so, answered I; the earth is certainly too small to be distinguished by them.[44]

[Footnote 44: The earth at that distance must appear only three seconds and a half in diameter, as the planet Herschel does to us; but our nearness to the sun necessarily prevents them from seeing us at all.]

We can only hope that in Jupiter there may be some astronomers who, after taking great pains to compose very excellent telescopes, and availing themselves of the finest nights for making their observations, may at length discover a very little planet which they had never seen before. At first the learned give an account of it in their journal; the rest of the people either hear nothing about it, or laugh at it when they do; the philosophers are discouraged and resolve not to mention it again, and but a few of the inhabitants who are more reasonable than the others will admit the idea. By and by they examine again; they see the little planet a second time; they are then assured of its reality, and even begin to think it has a motion round the sun. After observing it a thousand times, they find out that this revolution is performed in a year: and at last, when the learned have been at great pains to investigate the subject, the inhabitants of Jupiter know that our world is in the universe. The curious eagerly look through their telescopes, and with all their looking, can scarcely discern it.

Were it not disagreeable, said she, to know that from Jupiter we can only be seen through telescopes, I should amuse myself with the idea of all the glasses being pointed towards the earth as ours are towards him, and the mutual curiosity with which the two planets examine each other, and enquire, _What world is that? What sort of people inhabit it?_

Your imagination is too rapid, I replied; when the astronomers of Jupiter become acquainted with our earth, they do not become acquainted with us: they will not suspect the possibility of its being inhabited; if any one should venture to express such an idea, how they would laugh at him! Perhaps they would even persecute any philosopher who should maintain the opinion. After all I think the inhabitants of Jupiter are too much occupied in making discoveries on their own globe, to concern themselves about us. Jupiter is of such extent, that if they are adepts in navigation their Christopher Columbus must be fully employed. The inhabitants cannot know, even by reputation, a hundredth part of the other inhabitants. In Mercury, on the contrary, they are all neighbours, living familiarly together, and hardly considering the tour of their world more than a pleasant walk. If we are not visible to Jupiter, much less can Venus be so, who is at a still greater distance;[45] and Mercury must be most out of its reach of all, being the smallest, and the most distant. However, the inhabitants can see Mars, their own four satellites, and Saturn with all his moons. Surely then they have planets enough to perplex their astronomers; nature, in kindness, has hid from them the rest.

[Footnote 45: Venus is not farther from Jupiter, but more concealed by the rays of the sun.]

What! cried the Marchioness; do you consider it a kindness? Without doubt, answered I. This great vortex contains sixteen planets; nature to spare us the trouble of studying the motions of so many, let us see but seven: is not that a favour? But not feeling the value of this mark of consideration, we have, with great pains, discovered the other nine, which had been concealed from us: our curiosity brings its own punishment in the laborious study which astronomy now requires.

I see, she replied, by the number of planets you mention, that Saturn must have five moons.[46] You are right, said I; and it is but just that he should have so many, as he is thirty years in going round the sun; and in some parts the nights last fifteen years, for the same reason that on our globe, which turns in a year, there are nights, beneath the poles of six months' duration. But Saturn, being at twice the distance that Jupiter is from the sun, consequently ten times farther than the earth; his five moons, faintly as they are illumined, would not give sufficient light during his nights, he has therefore a wonderful resource, the only one of the kind we have discovered in the universe: 'tis a large circle or ring[47] which environs the planet, and which, being sufficiently elevated to escape almost entirely the shadow of Saturn, reflects the sun's light on the darkened parts, and reflects it more strongly than all the five moons, because it is not so high as the lowest of them.

[Footnote 46: He has seven, and Herschel six. In all there are twenty-five planets, without reckoning ninety-one comets known in 1800.]

[Footnote 47: Its exterior diameter is sixty seven thousand seven hundred leagues.]

Really, said the Marchioness, with an air of deep reflection and astonishment, all this is managed with wonderful order; nature had certainly in these instances a view to the wants of living beings; this admirable disposition of light was not the effect of chance. Only the planets which are distant from the sun have been provided with moons--the Earth, Jupiter, and Saturn; for Venus did not require any; nor Mercury who already has too much light; whose nights are extremely short, and probably considered a greater blessing than even the days. But stop--I think Mars, who is farther from the sun than we, is without a moon. We cannot conceal the fact, I replied; he has none; but he doubtless has resources for the night which we are ignorant of. You have seen phosphorus; matters of that kind, whether liquid or dry, receive and imbibe the light from the sun, which they emit with some force when in the dark. Mars perhaps has high rocks of phosphorus that absorb, in the day-time, light enough to irradiate the night. You must own it would be an agreeable sight for the rocks to light up as soon as the sun was set, and without art, produce the most magnificent illuminations, that with all their radiance, would not have the inconvenience of casting any heat. In America, you know, there are birds which in the dark will afford light enough to read by: how can we tell whether Mars has not a great number of such birds, who, as soon as the night is come, disperse themselves on every side, and give an artificial day?

I am not satisfied, answered she, either with your rocks or birds. They would be pretty enough to be sure; but as nature has bestowed so many moons on Saturn and Jupiter, it shews that moons are necessary. I should have been very much pleased to find that all the worlds at a great distance from the sun had some, if Mars had not formed a disagreeable exception. Ah! replied I, if you were more deeply versed in philosophy you must accustom yourself to see exceptions to the best systems. We clearly see that some things are adapted in the most perfect manner to their end; others we accommodate as well as we can, or perhaps are obliged to content ourselves with knowing nothing about them. Let us do so with respect to Mars, since our researches are fruitless, and resolve to say no more about him.

We should be very much surprised, were we on Saturn, to see during the night a great ring, extending over our heads in a semi-circular form from one end of the horizon to the other; and by reflecting the light of the sun, would have the effect of a moon at every part of the circle. And are we not to have inhabitants in this great ring? said she, laughing. Though I am disposed to place them wherever I can, answered I, I confess I dare not tell you there are any there; this ring appears too irregular a dwelling. As for the five moons, we can't dispense with inhabitants for them. If the ring, however, were what some suppose, only a circle of moons, following each other very closely, with an equal motion, and the satellites, five of these moons escaped out of the ring, what numbers of worlds would the vortex of Saturn contain! Be that as it may, the people in Saturn are uncomfortable enough, even with the help of their ring. It gives then light, it is true; but what sort of light, at that immense distance from the sun? The sun himself, which appears to them a hundred times smaller[48] than to us, seems but a little pale star, emitting but a feeble light or heat. And could they be transported to our coldest countries, such as Greenland and Lapland, you would see them ready to expire with the heat. If water were conveyed to their planet it would no longer be water, but a polished stone, and spirits of wine which never freeze here, would become hard as diamond.

[Footnote 48: Ten times less in diameter.]

Your description of Saturn petrifies me, said the Marchioness; though just now you almost threw me into a fever in talking of Mercury. Two worlds, answered I, which are at the different extremities of an immense vortex, must be totally unlike.

Then, replied she, the people are very wise in Saturn, for you told me they were all mad in Mercury. If they are not very wise, answered I, they are at least, I suppose, very phlegmatic. Their features could not accommodate themselves to a smile; they require a day's consideration before they answer any question, and they would think Cato of Atica unmanly and frivolous.

I am thinking, said she, that all the inhabitants of Saturn are slow; all those of Mercury are quick; amongst us some belong to the former class, some to the latter; may not that be in consequence of the earth's being placed just in the middle situation and participating of both extremes? The men of our world have no determined character; some are like the inhabitants of Mercury; others resemble those of Saturn, in short we are a compound of all the other planets. That's a good idea, replied I; we form such a ludicrous assemblage that it might easily be imagined we had been brought together from a variety of worlds. We are therefore very well situated for studying character, for this is an abstract of all the planets.

At any rate, rejoined the Marchioness, the situation of our world has one great convenience; the heat is not oppressive as at Mercury or Venus, nor the cold so benumbing as at Jupiter or Saturn. And we are in a part of the earth that is not subject to the greatest degrees of heat and cold experienced even on our own globe. If a certain philosopher returned thanks to his Creator for having formed him a man, and not a beast; a Greek and not a Barbarian; I think we ought to be grateful for being born on the most temperate planet in the universe, and in one of the most temperate parts of that planet. You ought likewise, madam, said I, to be thankful for being young, and not old; young and handsome, not young and ugly; a young and handsome French woman, not a young and handsome Italian: there are many things to excite your gratitude besides the temperature of your climate.

Ah! replied she, let us be grateful for every thing, even the vortex in which we are placed. The happiness we enjoy is but little, we must not lose any of it; it is well to cultivate an interest in the most common things. If we are only alive to strong emotions our pleasures will be few, seldom attainable, and dearly purchased. Promise me then, said I, that when such animated pleasures are within your reach you will think of the vortices and me, and not neglect us entirely. Very well, said she: but will philosophy always afford me new enjoyments? For to-morrow, at least, answered I: I have the fixed stars in reserve for you, which surpass all that you have yet examined.

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_FIFTH EVENING._

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EVERY FIXED STAR IS A SUN, WHICH DIFFUSES LIGHT TO ITS SURROUNDING
WORLDS.

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The Marchioness was very impatient to know what the fixed stars were. Are they inhabited, like the planets? said she, or are they not peopled? What can we make of them? Perhaps you would find out what they are, answered I, if you were to try. The fixed stars cannot be at less distance from the earth, than twenty-seven thousand, six hundred and sixty times[49] the earth's distance from the sun, which is thirty-three millions of leagues: perhaps some astronomers would tell you they are farther still. The space between the Sun and Saturn, the most distant planet, is only three hundred and thirty millions of leagues; that is but a trifle in comparison of the distance between the sun, or earth, and the fixed stars, in fact, we don't take the trouble to compute it. Their light, as you perceive, is brilliant: if they received it from the sun, it must be very faint after travelling such an immense journey, and by reflecting it to us it would be still more weakened. It would be impossible for light, which had twice gone such a long space, to appear so bright as that of the fixed stars. They are therefore luminous in their nature, or in other words, they are so many suns.

[Footnote 49: Or even two hundred thousand times.]

Do I mistake, cried the Marchioness, or do I see your drift? Are you not going to say "the fixed stars are all suns: our sun is the centre of a vortex which turns around him; why should not each fixed star be also the centre of a vortex, turning round it? Our sun enlightens planets; why should not every fixed star likewise enlighten planets?" I need make no other answer, replied I, than Phœdrus made to Enone: _thou hast named it_.

But, rejoined she, you are making the universe so unbounded that I feel lost in it; I don't know where I am, not what I'm about. What! are they all vortices heaped in confusion on one another? Is every fixed star the centre of a vortex, as large perhaps as ours?[50] The amazing space comprehending our sun and planets is but a little portion of the universe? An equal space, occupied by each of these vortices? The thought is fearful; overwhelming! For my part, said I, I think it very pleasing. Were the sky only a blue arch to which the stars were fixed, the universe would seem narrow and confined; there would not be room to breathe: now that we attribute an infinitely greater extent and depth to this blue firmament, by dividing it into thousands of vortices, I seem to be more at liberty; to live in a freer air; and nature appears with astonishingly encreased magnificence. Creation is boundless in treasures; lavish in endowments. How grand the idea of this immense number of vortices, the middle of each occupied by a sun, encompassed with planets which turn around him! The inhabitants of one of these numberless vortices, on every side behold the suns of surrounding vortices, although the planets belonging to them are invisible, as the light they receive from their suns cannot penetrate beyond their own vortex.

[Footnote 50: That may be the case, but we have no proof that there are planets turning round these stars.]

You are directing my eye, answered she, to an interminable perspective. I see, plainly enough, the inhabitants of the earth; then you enable me to discover, with somewhat less clearness, those of the moon and other planets contained in our vortex. After all that you require me to view the people that dwell in planets belonging to other vortices. I must confess they are so much in the back ground that with all my efforts they are scarcely perceptible to me. In short do they not seem almost annihilated by the very expression you are obliged to make use of in describing them? You must call them the inhabitants of one of the planets, contained in one, out of the infinity of vortices. Surely the very idea of ourselves is as nothing when such a description is applied to us, when we are thus lost amongst millions of worlds. For my part, the earth begins to diminish into such a speck, that in future I shall hardly consider any object worthy of eager pursuit. Surely people, who form unnumbered schemes of aggrandizement, who are wearing themselves out in following up projects of ambition, are ignorant of the vortices. I think my augmentation of knowledge will encrease my idleness, and when I am reproached for being indolent I shall reply, _Ah! if you knew the history of the fixed stars!_ Alexander could not have been acquainted with it, answered I; for a certain author, who believes that the moon is inhabited, tells us very seriously that it was impossible for Aristotle to avoid receiving so rational an opinion, (could Aristotle be ignorant of any truth?) but that he never disclosed it for fear of displeasing Alexander, who would have been miserable to hear of a world that he could not subjugate. There would have been a still greater reason for keeping the vortices of the fixed stars a secret; if any body in those days had known them, they would not have thought of ingratiating themselves with the monarch by talking of them. It is unfortunate that I who am acquainted with the system should not be able to reap any benefit from it. According to your reasoning it will only be an antidote to the disquietudes of ambition; that is not my malady. The weakness I am most addicted to is an excessive admiration of beauty, and I fear the vortices will have no power to assist me in overcoming it. The immense number of worlds destroys the grandeur of this, but it does not lessen the charms of a fine pair of eyes or a beautiful mouth, _they_ retain their power in spite of all the worlds that can be created.

Love is a strange thing, said she, laughing; it escapes every corrective; there is no system that can abate its influence. But answer me seriously; have you sufficient reason for believing this system? To me it appears to rest on an uncertain foundation. A fixed star is of a luminous nature like the sun, therefore you say it must, like the sun, be a centre to a vortex containing planets which travel round the sun. Now, is that a necessary consequence?

Listen, madam, I replied; we are so naturally disposed to mingle the follies of gallantry with our gravest discussions, that mathematical reasoning partakes of the nature of love. Grant ever so little to a lover, and presently you are forced to grant him a great deal more, and so on till you don't know how to stop. In like manner admit any principle a mathematician proposes, he then draws a consequence which you are obliged to admit, and from that consequence another, and thus before you are aware he carries you so far that on a sudden you wonder where you have got to: these two characters always take more than you mean to give them. You must own that when two things are similar in all that I know of them, I may reasonably think them similar in what I am unacquainted with in respect to them. From that principle I draw the conclusion of the moon being inhabited because she resembled the earth; and the other planets, because they resemble the moon. And because the fixed stars bear a resemblance to our sun, I attribute to them all that he possesses. You have already made too many concessions to draw back, you must go on; do it therefore with a good grace. But, said she, in admitting this resemblance between the fixed stars and our sun, we must suppose that the inhabitants of another great vortex see it as a little fixed star, visible only during their nights.

That is indisputable, I replied. Our sun is so near to us in comparison of the suns belonging to other vortices that his light must be incomparably stronger to us than to them. When he is risen we can discern no other heavenly body: so, in another vortex, another sun eclipses ours, and permits it to appear only at night, with all the other suns, then visible. With them, fixed to the blue firmament, our sun forms a part of some imaginary figure. As to the planets that go round him, as they are not seen at so great a distance, they are not so much as thought of. Thus all the suns are daily luminaries to their own vortex, and nightly ones to all the other vortices. Each reigns alone in his own system; elsewhere, is but one of a great number. Nevertheless, do not these worlds differ from each other in a thousand instances, notwithstanding this equality? for a general resemblance does not exclude a vast number of dissimilarities.

Surely, answered I: but the difficulty is to find them out. For ought we know one vortex may have more planets revolving round its sun, another fewer. In one there are subaltern planets, turning round the principal planets; in another they may be all alike. Here they all collect round their sun in a circle, beyond which is an empty space which extends to the neighbouring vortices; in other parts of the universe they may have their orbits at the extremities of their vortex whilst the centre is left empty. And very likely there are some vortices without any planets; others, whose suns, not being in the centre, have a circular revolution, carrying their planets along with them; others, again, whose planets may rise and set with regard to their sun according to the change of that equilibrium which keeps them suspended--What would you have more? Surely here is enough for a person who has never been beyond one vortex.

All that is nothing, she replied, for the number of worlds. What you have been imagining would suffice but for five or six, instead of millions.

If you talk of millions now, said I, how will you count them when I tell you there are many more fixed stars than you discover; that with telescopes an endless number are seen which are invisible to the naked eye; and that in a single constellation, where we might before have counted a dozen or fifteen, there have been found as many as we were accustomed to observe throughout the heavens?[51]

[Footnote 51: I conclude, from a pretty accurate calculation, that we may perceive a hundred millions with a telescope that has an opening of four feet; I have clearly distinguished fifty thousand, and my glass is but two inches and a half in diameter.]

Have pity on me, cried she; I yield; you have overwhelmed me with worlds and vortices. Ah! said I, but I must add something more still; you see that white part of the sky, called the milky-way. Can you guess what it is?--An infinity of little stars, invisible to our eyes on account of their smallness, and placed so close to each other that they seem but a stream of light. I wish I had a telescope here to shew you this cluster of worlds. In some measure, they resemble the Maldivia Isles, those twelve thousand little islands or banks of sand, separated only by narrow canals of the sea which one might almost leap over. The little vortices of the milky-way must be so close, that from one world to another the people might converse or shake hands. The birds, at least, I think, can go from one world to another; and pigeons may be taught to carry letters as they do in our Levant from one town to another. These little worlds must deviate from the general rule by which the sun of any vortex effaces, at its rising, all the other suns. In one of the little vortices contained in the milky-way the sun of that particular vortex can hardly appear closer to its planets, or more brilliant, than a hundred thousand other suns, in the neighbouring vortices. The sky, then, is filled with a countless quantity of fires almost close to each other. When they lose sight of their own sun, they have thousands still remaining; and the night is not less enlightened than the day; at least the difference is so trifling that we may say there is no night. The inhabitants of those worlds, accustomed as they are to perpetual light, would be very much astonished to hear of miserable creatures who spend half their time in profound darkness; and who, even during the light of day, see but one sun. They would think we had fallen under the displeasure of nature, and shudder at our condition.

I don't ask you, said the Marchioness, whether they have any moons in the milky-way; they could be of no use to the principal planets, since they have no nights, and besides that, move in so small a space that they could not be encumbered with subaltern planets. But, continued she, by multiplying worlds so liberally, you give rise to a great difficulty. The vortices, of which we see the suns, touch our vortex: the vortices you say are round; can so many circles touch this single one? I can't understand how it is.

It shews a great deal of sense, answered I, to discover this difficulty, and even to be unable to solve it, for it is in itself well founded, and in the way you conceive it, unanswerable; therefore there would be but little proof of wisdom in finding an answer to what was incapable of any. If our vortex were in the figure of a die, it would have six flat sides, which is very far from a circle; on each of these sides might then be placed a vortex of the same shape. If instead of six, it had twenty, fifty, or a thousand, flat sides, an equal number of vortices might come in contact with it, each resting against one of these sides. You know the greater number of flat sides a body has, the nearer it approaches in form to a circle; so that a diamond cut into a great number of facets, if they were extremely small, would be nearly as round as a pearl of the same size. The vortices are only circular in this manner. They have an amazing number of flat sides, each of which is close to another vortex. These sides are very unequal; some larger, some smaller. The smallest correspond to those of the milky-way. If two vortices leave any space between, which must often be the case, nature, to make the most of the extent, fills up the vacancy by one or two, or perhaps a thousand, little vortices, which without incommoding any of the others, form one, two, or a thousand more systems of worlds; so there may be many more worlds than our vortex has sides; and I dare say, though these little vortices are formed merely to fill up spare corners of the universe that would otherwise have been useless; though they may be overlooked by the neighbouring vortices, yet they are quite satisfied with themselves. It is probably such little vortices whose suns we cannot discover without telescopes, of which there is a prodigious number. In short all these vortices are adjusted in the best order imaginable; and as each of them must turn round its sun without changing place, it is formed to move in the most easy and commodious manner for that purpose. They, as it were, catch hold of each other, like the wheels of a watch, and mutually assist the motion. It is likewise true that in a sense they counteract one another: each vortex if it had no external pressure would extend itself; but when it attempts to swell it is repelled by the surrounding vortices, which forces it to shrink back; then it extends again, and so on:[52] some philosophers think that the fixed stars give such a sparkling, intermittent light in consequence of this alternate expansion and contraction of the vortices.

[Footnote 52: The preservation of the starry system is more satisfactorily explained by attraction; they are all kept in equilibrium by their mutual attraction.]

There is something agreeable, said the Marchioness, in the idea of such a combat among the worlds, and the reciprocal emission of light produced by it, which apparently is the only communication carried on between them.

No, no, I replied, that is not the only one. The neighbouring worlds sometimes send us visitors, who come, in a very magnificent style. These visitors are comets,[53] ornamented with brilliant flowing hair, a venerable beard, or a majestic train.

[Footnote 53: It is indisputably proved that the comets belong to our solar system.]

Ah! what ambassadors? said she, laughing. We could dispense with their company, for they only frighten us. They only frighten children, answered I, because their appearance is extraordinary; but there are many children among us. The comets are merely planets, belonging to another system. Their orbit was towards the extremity of their vortex, which was perhaps differently compressed by those that surrounded it; the lower side, on that account was flatter than the top, and the lower side was next to us. These planets, beginning at the upper part to form their circle, did not foresee that it would extend beyond the limit of their vortex, at the lower part; in order, therefore, to continue their circular journey, they were obliged to enter the extremities of the next vortex, which we will suppose is ours. They always appear to us extremely elevated, moving on the other side of Saturn. Considering the prodigious distance of the fixed stars, there must be between Saturn and the extremities of our vortex a great space void of planets. Our enemies reproach us with the inutility of this space, but we find there is a use for it, as it is devoted to the service of foreign planets that occasionally enter our system.

I understand, said she; we don't allow them to penetrate into the heart of our vortex, and mix with our planets; we receive them as the Grand Signior receives the ambassadors that are sent to him. He does not honour them with a lodging in Constantinople, but assigns them one in the environs. There is another point of resemblance, I replied, between us and the Ottomans: they receive ambassadors without sending any in return; and we receive the comets without sending any of our planets to return their visits.

From all these circumstances, answered she, we seem to be very proud: yet we should not hastily form that conclusion; these strange planets have a very menacing air with their beards and trains; perhaps they are only sent to insult us; ours not having so imposing an appearance would not be so well calculated to inspire those worlds with awe. The tails and beards, I replied, are merely extraneous: the planets themselves do not differ from ours; but in entering our vortex they assume the beard or train from a certain illumination derived from our sun. This, by the bye, has not been very well explained by our astronomers; however, they are sure it is only some sort of illumination, and they must tell us more of it when they can. Then I wish, rejoined she, that our Saturn would take a beard or a tail, and frighten the other vortices; then laying aside his terrific appendages, return to us and perform his ordinary functions. He would do better to stay where is, answered I. You recollect I explained to you the shock produced by the repulsive power of each vortex: I think a poor planet must be violently shaken in such a situation, and the inhabitants cannot feel much the better for passing through it. We think ourselves vastly unfortunate when a comet makes its appearance, whereas we ought to consider the comet most unfortunate. I am not inclined to pity it, said the Marchioness; I dare say all its inhabitants arrive here in good health, and it must be extremely entertaining to them to go into a new vortex. We who always remain in our own have but a dull life. If the people in a comet have the sense to know the time at which they shall pass into our vortex, those who have already been the journey, are just before busily employed in describing to the rest what they will see. Speaking of Saturn, they say: "You will presently see a planet with a great ring round it. Then, you will discover one followed by four small planets." Some of these people, perhaps are set to watch the moment of entering our system: when it is arrived they cry _new sun, new sun_, as our sailors exclaim _land, land_.

I find then, said I, it is useless to attempt raising your compassion for the comets: I hope, however, you will not refuse it to the inhabitants of a vortex whose sun has been extinguished, and who are thus condemned to perpetual darkness. Suns extinguished? cried she. Yes, undoubtedly, I replied. The ancients saw certain fixed stars which are no longer visible.[54] These suns have been deprived of their light: ruin must have ensued throughout the vortex; a general mortality on all the planets; for how could existence be maintained without the sun? The thought is too dreadful, said she; is it not possible to evade it? I'll tell you, answered I, what some very intelligent people have imagined. They think that the fixed stars that have disappeared are not extinct, but partly darkened; that is to say, that they have one side obscure; the other luminous: that as they turn on themselves, they first present the light part to us, and then the dark, when that is the case we cease to see them. Apparently the fifth moon belonging to Saturn is in this condition, for during one part of its revolution we entirely lose sight of it; at which time it is not most remote from the earth; on the contrary, it is then sometimes nearer than when visible. Though this moon is a planet, and therefore cannot exactly guide our opinion with respect to suns, yet we may suppose that a sun can be partly covered by fixed spots. To spare you the pain of believing the other opinion, we will adopt this, which is more agreeable: but I can only receive it when applied to such fixed stars as have a regular time for appearing and disappearing, as some have lately been observed to do, otherwise we cannot suppose them half suns. What must we say to the stars that disappear, and do not become visible after a time that would certainly have been sufficient for turning on their axis? You are too just to require me to believe that they are half suns: however I will do all in my power to serve you; we will conclude that these stars are not extinguished, but plunged in the unfathomable depth of the sky, and thus become invisible; in this case the vortex would accompany its sun, and all go on as usual. It is true that the greatest part of the fixed stars have not any motion which removes them farther from us, for if they were not always equally distant, they would sometimes appear larger, sometimes smaller; but that is not the case.

[Footnote 54: In 1572 and 1604, some beautiful stars appeared to burst into light, and afterwards become extinct. Astron. Art. 792.]

We will therefore suppose that some of the small vortices, being light and active, slip betwixt the others, and return after they have made their tour, whilst the larger systems remain immoveable. But there is one inevitable misfortune: there are some fixed stars, which for a long time are alternately visible and invisible, and at length totally disappear. Half suns would re-appear at a regular time; others that had retreated to an immense distance would at once disappear, and be concealed for a very long time: exert therefore all your resolution, madam; these stars are certainly suns which grow so dark as to be invisible to us, then resume their brightness, and afterwards are entirely extinguished. How, exclaimed the Marchioness, can a sun, a source of light, become darkened? With the greatest ease, answered I, if Descartes be in the right. He imagines that the spots on our sun, being impurities, or vapours, may grow thick, collect together, form themselves into a mass, and continue to encrust the sun till it is quite hid. If, the sun is a fire connected with a solid matter, serving as its aliment, we are not in a better condition; the solid matter may be consumed. 'Tis said we have already had a fortunate escape: the sun during several years, (the year, for instance, after the death of Cæsar;) appeared very pale; owing to the encrustation which was beginning to form. The sun had sufficient force to break and disperse it; had it continued, we should have been lost. You make me tremble, said the Marchioness. Now I know the consequences of paleness in the sun, instead of going to my glass every morning to see if _I_ am pale, I think I shall go and look whether _the sun_ is so. Take courage, madam, I replied, it requires a good deal of time to ruin a system of worlds. But, answered she, it seems as if time would inevitably effect it. I cannot take upon me to deny it, said I. The immense mass of matter which composes the universe is in continual motion, even the smallest particles of it, and since there is this motion we are in danger, for changes must happen, either slowly or rapidly, but always in a time proportioned to the effect. The ancients were so vastly wise as to imagine the heavenly bodies were of such a nature as never to alter, because they had not observed any alteration in them. Had they leisure to assure themselves of this by experience? Compared with us the ancients were young: if flowers that last but a day were to transmit their histories to each other, the first would draw the resemblance of their gardener in a certain way; after fifteen thousand ages of these flowers had elapsed, others would still describe him in the same manner. They would say; "We have always had the same gardener, the memoirs composed by our ancestors prove this to be the case; all their representations exactly apply to him; surely he is not mortal like us; no change will ever take place in him." Would the reasoning of these flowers be conclusive?--it would have a better foundation than that of the ancients respecting the celestial bodies; and had there never to this day been observed any change in the heavens, though they should appear likely to remain much longer without alteration, I would not yet decide on them; I should think more experience necessary. Should the term of our existence, which is but a moment, be the measure for other durations? Ought we to assert that what has lasted a hundred thousand times longer than we, must last for ever? No, ages on ages of our duration would scarcely be any indication of immortality. Truly, said the Marchioness, I think these worlds can have no pretensions to it. I shall not do them the honour to compare them with the gardener who outlives so many transient flowers; they are but as those flowers themselves, springing up and fading away, one after another: for I suppose, if old stars disappear, new ones become visible; the species cannot otherwise be continued. Yes, answered I, we need not fear the extinction of the species. Some will tell you these new stars are only suns which re-approach us after having been for a long time at a distant part of the heavens. Others think they are suns that have broken through the crust that began to cover them. I easily conceive the possibility of all this; but I think it equally possible for new suns to be created. Why should not the matter that is fit to compose a sun, after having been dispersed in various places, be at length gathered together in one spot and then become the foundation of a new system of worlds? I am the more inclined to this opinion because it answers better to the grand idea I entertain of the works of nature. Has she no way of producing and destroying plants and animals but by a continual revolution? I am persuaded, and I doubt not that by this time you are so too, that she exerts the same power with respect to the worlds. But on such subjects we can only form conjectures. The fact is that for nearly a century past, in which, by the help of telescopes, almost a new heaven has been discovered, unknown to the ancients, there have been few of the constellations in which some sensible alteration has not taken place;[55] the greatest number of changes is observed in the milky-way, as if more motion and bustle existed among this heap of worlds. Really, said the Marchioness, I find the worlds, in short all the heavenly bodies, so liable to change that I have quite overcome the horror I felt at the idea of the suns being extinguished. Well, replied I, to prevent you from relapsing, we will say no more about them, we are arrived at the uppermost part of the heavens, and to inform you whether there are any stars beyond that, exceeds my skill. You may place more worlds or not; just as you are disposed. These invisible countries should, in propriety, be left to the philosophers: they may imagine them to exist, or not exist, or to exist in any way they chuse. I shall content myself with having directed your mind to all that is discernible by your sight.

[Footnote 55: This is not proved.]

Ah! she exclaimed, then I am acquainted with the whole system of the universe! how learned I am! Yes, said I, you are learned enough in all reason, and your knowledge is attended with this convenience,--you may extract your belief of all I have told you whenever you think proper. I only ask as a reward for my trouble, that whenever you see the sun, the sky, and the stars, you will think on me.[56]

[Footnote 56: As I have given these conversations to the public, I think it would not be right to conceal any thing which passed on the subject I shall publish another dialogue of the same kind that we had a long while after these. It shall be entitled the "Sixth Evening," as the rest were evening scenes.]

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_SIXTH EVENING._

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ADDITIONAL THOUGHTS IN CONFIRMATION OF THOSE IN
THE PRECEDING CONVERSATIONS.--DISCOVERIES THAT
HAVE BEEN LATELY MADE IN THE HEAVENS.

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For a long time the Marchioness and I said nothing about the plurality of worlds, we had apparently forgotten that we had ever talked on the subject. I went one day to her house, and just as I entered, two men of some talents and celebrity were going out. You see, said she, what visitors I have had; I assure you they are gone away with a suspicion that you have turned my brain. I should be very proud of such an achievement answered I; it would shew my power, for I think one could not devise a more difficult undertaking. Well, replied she, I am afraid you have accomplished it. I don't know how it happened, but whilst my two friends, whom you met at the door, were here, the conversation turned on the plurality of worlds; perhaps they had an invidious design in directing it to that subject. I immediately told them all the planets were inhabited. One of them said he was certain I could not be of that opinion: in the most unaffected manner, I maintained my sincerity; he continued to think I was only feigning, and I believe he had too great a regard for me to admit the possibility of my having really adopted so extravagant an opinion. The other, from esteeming me less, did not doubt my veracity. Why have you made me obstinately adhere to sentiments which people who have the greatest friendship for me will not suffer themselves to believe me possessed with? But, madam, answered I, why did you maintain these opinions seriously, when talking with persons that I am sure would not gravely argue on any subject? Should we thus trifle with the inhabitants of the planets? Let us, who believe their existence, be content to remain a little select band, and not disclose our mysteries to the vulgar. Vulgar! exclaimed she; do you reckon those two men among the vulgar? They have good understandings, said I; but they never reason. Grave reasoners, who are austere people, would not hesitate to place them in that class. They however take their revenge by ridiculing the reasoners. We should if possible accommodate ourselves to persons of both characters; it would have been better to speak jestingly of the planetary inhabitants to such men as your two friends, since they are accustomed to pleasantry, than to enter on an argument, for which they have no talents. You would have retained their good opinion without depriving the planets of a single inhabitant. Would you have meanly sacrificed the truth? answered she. Where is your conscience? I must own, I replied, I have not much zeal for truths of this nature; I would readily forbear to maintain them if it suited my convenience.

The cause which prevents people from believing the planets to be inhabited is, that they appear to them only bodies placed in the heavens to give light, instead of globes consisting of meadows and fruitful countries. We readily believe that meadows and fields are inhabited, but it is thought ridiculous to assert that mere luminous bodies are. 'Tis in vain that reason informs us of fields in the planets; reason comes too late, the first coup-d'œil has impressed our minds before-hand, and this impression is not willingly parted with. The planets, 'tis said, are only luminous bodies; what sort of inhabitants then can they have? Our imaginations do not enable us to distinguish their figures, therefore it is the shortest way to deny their existence. Would you require me, for the sake of establishing the idea of these inhabitants, whose interest cannot be very dear to me, to attack all the powers of the senses and the imagination? Such an enterprize would demand a vast deal of courage. Men are not easily persuaded to see through their reason, rather than their eyes. Some few persons are rational enough to believe, after a thousand proofs have been given them, that the planets are worlds like ours, but they do not believe it in the same way they would do, if they had not seen them apparently so different; they always recur to the first idea they had formed, and can never wholly divest themselves of it. These people seem to _condescend_ to our opinion, and only patronize it from a love of singularity.