Selenite Natural History

The messages of Cavor from the sixth up to the sixteenth are for the most part so much broken, and they abound so in repetitions, that they scarcely form a consecutive narrative. They will be given in full, of course, in the scientific report, but here it will be far more convenient to continue simply to abstract and quote as in the former chapter. We have subjected every word to a keen critical scrutiny, and my own brief memories and impressions of lunar things have been of inestimable help in interpreting what would otherwise have been impenetrably dark. And, naturally, as living beings, our interest centres far more upon the strange community of lunar insects in which he was living, it would seem, as an honoured guest than upon the mere physical condition of their world.

Cavor’s sixth through sixteenth messages are mostly so fragmented and repetitive that they hardly form a continuous story. Of course, they will appear in full in the scientific report. But here it will be much more convenient to continue summarizing and quoting them, as in the previous chapter. We have carefully examined every word. My own brief memories and impressions of the Moon have been invaluable in interpreting what would otherwise have been completely obscure. And naturally, as living beings, we are far more interested in the strange community of lunar insects than in the physical conditions of their world. Cavor was living among the insects, it seems, as an honored guest.

I have already made it clear, I think, that the Selenites I saw resembled man in maintaining the erect attitude, and in having four limbs, and I have compared the general appearance of their heads and the jointing of their limbs to that of insects. I have mentioned, too, the peculiar consequence of the smaller gravitation of the moon on their fragile slightness. Cavor confirms me upon all these points. He calls them “animals,” though of course they fall under no division of the classification of earthly creatures, and he points out “the insect type of anatomy had, fortunately for men, never exceeded a relatively very small size on earth.” The largest terrestrial insects, living or extinct, do not, as a matter of fact, measure six inches in length; “but here, against the lesser gravitation of the moon, a creature certainly as much an insect as vertebrate seems to have been able to attain to human and ultra-human dimensions.”

I think I have already made it clear that the Selenites I saw resembled humans in standing upright and having four limbs. I have also compared their heads and jointed limbs to those of insects. I mentioned, too, how the moon’s weaker gravity had made them unusually delicate and slender. Cavor confirms all these points. He calls them “animals,” though of course they do not fit into any category used to classify earthly creatures. He points out that “the insect body type had, fortunately for humans, never grown beyond a relatively small size on Earth.” In fact, the largest earthly insects, living or extinct, do not measure six inches in length. “But here, in the moon’s weaker gravity, a creature certainly as much an insect as a vertebrate seems to have been able to reach human and even greater sizes.”

He does not mention the ant, but throughout his allusions the ant is continually being brought before my mind, in its sleepless activity, in its intelligence and social organisation, in its structure, and more particularly in the fact that it displays, in addition to the two forms, the male and the female form, that almost all other animals possess, a number of other sexless creatures, workers, soldiers, and the like, differing from one another in structure, character, power, and use, and yet all members of the same species. For these Selenites, also, have a great variety of forms. Of course, they are not only colossally greater in size than ants, but also, in Cavor’s opinion at least, in intelligence, morality, and social wisdom are they colossally greater than men. And instead of the four or five different forms of ant that are found, there are almost innumerably different forms of Selenite. I had endeavoured to indicate the very considerable difference observable in such Selenites of the outer crust as I happened to encounter; the differences in size and proportions were certainly as wide as the differences between the most widely separated races of men. But such differences as I saw fade absolutely to nothing in comparison with the huge distinctions of which Cavor tells. It would seem the exterior Selenites I saw were, indeed, mostly engaged in kindred occupations—mooncalf herds, butchers, fleshers, and the like. But within the moon, practically unsuspected by me, there are, it seems, a number of other sorts of Selenite, differing in size, differing in the relative size of part to part, differing in power and appearance, and yet not different species of creatures, but only different forms of one species, and retaining through all their variations a certain common likeness that marks their specific unity. The moon is, indeed, a sort of vast ant-hill, only, instead of there being only four or five sorts of ant, there are many hundred different sorts of Selenite, and almost every gradation between one sort and another.

He does not mention the ant, but his references constantly bring it to mind. I think of its sleepless activity, its intelligence, its social organization, and its structure. Above all, I think of the many sexless creatures ants produce alongside males and females. Almost all other animals have those two forms. But ants also have workers, soldiers, and the like. These differ from one another in structure, character, abilities, and purpose, yet all belong to the same species. The Selenites, too, have a great variety of forms. Of course, they are vastly larger than ants. And, at least in Cavor’s opinion, they are vastly superior to men in intelligence, morality, and social wisdom. There are four or five different forms of ant, but almost countless forms of Selenite. I have tried to describe the considerable differences among the Selenites I happened to meet on the outer crust. Their sizes and proportions certainly varied as widely as those of the most widely separated races of men. But the differences I saw are nothing compared with the enormous distinctions Cavor describes. It seems that the Selenites I saw on the surface mostly had related occupations. They were mooncalf herds, butchers, fleshers, and the like. But inside the moon, almost entirely unknown to me, there are apparently many other kinds of Selenite. They differ in size, in the proportions of their body parts, and in their abilities and appearance. Yet they are not different species of creatures, but different forms of one species. Through all their variations, they retain a certain family resemblance that marks them as one species. The moon is, in fact, a kind of vast ant-hill. But instead of only four or five kinds of ant, there are many hundreds of kinds of Selenite. There is also almost every gradual variation between one kind and another.

It would seem the discovery came upon Cavor very speedily. I infer rather than learn from his narrative that he was captured by the mooncalf herds under the direction of these other Selenites who “have larger brain cases (heads?) and very much shorter legs.” Finding he would not walk even under the goad, they carried him into darkness, crossed a narrow, plank-like bridge that may have been the identical bridge I had refused, and put him down in something that must have seemed at first to be some sort of lift. This was the balloon—it had certainly been absolutely invisible to us in the darkness—and what had seemed to me a mere plank-walking into the void was really, no doubt, the passage of the gangway. In this he descended towards constantly more luminous caverns of the moon. At first they descended in silence—save for the twitterings of the Selenites—and then into a stir of windy movement. In a little while the profound blackness had made his eyes so sensitive that he began to see more and more of the things about him, and at last the vague took shape.

It seems Cavor made the discovery very quickly. His account does not say so directly, but I gather he was captured by the mooncalf herds. They were acting under the direction of these other Selenites, who “have larger brain cases (heads?) and very much shorter legs.” Cavor would not walk, even when they prodded him. So they carried him into the darkness and across a narrow, plank-like bridge. It may have been the very bridge I had refused to cross. They put him down in something that must have seemed at first like a kind of lift. This was the balloon. It had certainly been completely invisible to us in the darkness. What had looked to me like walking a plank into the void was really, no doubt, the crossing of the gangway. In the balloon, Cavor descended toward increasingly bright caverns in the moon. At first, they descended in silence, apart from the twittering of the Selenites. Then they passed into a rush of wind. Before long, the deep darkness had made Cavor’s eyes so sensitive that he began to see more of his surroundings. At last, the vague shapes became clear.

“Conceive an enormous cylindrical space,” says Cavor, in his seventh message, “a quarter of a mile across, perhaps; very dimly lit at first and then brighter, with big platforms twisting down its sides in a spiral that vanishes at last below in a blue profundity; and lit even more brightly—one could not tell how or why. Think of the well of the very largest spiral staircase or lift-shaft that you have ever looked down, and magnify that by a hundred. Imagine it at twilight seen through blue glass. Imagine yourself looking down that; only imagine also that you feel extraordinarily light, and have got rid of any giddy feeling you might have on earth, and you will have the first conditions of my impression. Round this enormous shaft imagine a broad gallery running in a much steeper spiral than would be credible on earth, and forming a steep road protected from the gulf only by a little parapet that vanishes at last in perspective a couple of miles below.

“Imagine an enormous cylindrical space,” says Cavor in his seventh message, “perhaps a quarter of a mile across. At first it is very dimly lit, then brighter. Large platforms spiral down its sides, finally disappearing into blue depths. Farther down, it is lit even more brightly, though you cannot tell how or why. Think of the largest spiral staircase or elevator shaft you have ever looked down. Imagine its central opening a hundred times larger, seen at twilight through blue glass. Imagine yourself looking down it, feeling extraordinarily light and free of any dizziness you might feel on Earth. That will give you the first sense of my impression. Around this enormous shaft, imagine a broad gallery spiraling down much more steeply than would be possible on Earth. It forms a steep road, with only a low wall between it and the gulf. The road finally disappears from sight a couple of miles below.

“Looking up, I saw the very fellow of the downward vision; it had, of course, the effect of looking into a very steep cone. A wind was blowing down the shaft, and far above I fancy I heard, growing fainter and fainter, the bellowing of the mooncalves that were being driven down again from their evening pasturage on the exterior. And up and down the spiral galleries were scattered numerous moon people, pallid, faintly luminous beings, regarding our appearance or busied on unknown errands.

“Looking up, I saw the same view as below. Of course, it was like looking into a very steep cone. Wind was blowing down the shaft. Far above, I thought I heard the mooncalves bellowing, more and more faintly. They were being driven down again from their evening grazing on the surface. Numerous moon people were scattered up and down the spiral galleries. These pale, faintly glowing beings were watching us or busy on unknown errands.

“Either I fancied it or a flake of snow came drifting down on the icy breeze. And then, falling like a snowflake, a little figure, a little man-insect, clinging to a parachute, drove down very swiftly towards the central places of the moon.

“Either I imagined it, or a snowflake drifted down on the icy breeze. Then a small figure fell like a snowflake. It was a little man-insect, clinging to a parachute as it descended swiftly toward the central regions of the moon.

“The big-headed Selenite sitting beside me, seeing me move my head with the gesture of one who saw, pointed with his trunk-like ‘hand’ and indicated a sort of jetty coming into sight very far below: a little landing-stage, as it were, hanging into the void. As it swept up towards us our pace diminished very rapidly, and in a few moments, as it seemed, we were abreast of it, and at rest. A mooring-rope was flung and grasped, and I found myself pulled down to a level with a great crowd of Selenites, who jostled to see me.

“The big-headed Selenite sitting beside me saw me move my head as if I understood. He pointed with his trunk-like ‘hand’ at a sort of jetty coming into view far below. It was like a little landing platform hanging out over the void. As the platform swept up toward us, we slowed down very quickly. Within what seemed like a few moments, we were alongside it and at rest. A mooring rope was thrown and caught, and I was pulled down to the level of a large crowd of Selenites. They jostled one another to see me.

“It was an incredible crowd. Suddenly and violently there was forced upon my attention the vast amount of difference there is amongst these beings of the moon.

“It was an incredible crowd. I was suddenly and forcefully struck by how much these beings of the moon differed from one another.

“Indeed, there seemed not two alike in all that jostling multitude. They differed in shape, they differed in size, they rang all the horrible changes on the theme of Selenite form! Some bulged and overhung, some ran about among the feet of their fellows. All of them had a grotesque and disquieting suggestion of an insect that has somehow contrived to mock humanity; but all seemed to present an incredible exaggeration of some particular feature: one had a vast right fore-limb, an enormous antennal arm, as it were; one seemed all leg, poised, as it were, on stilts; another protruded the edge of his face mask into a nose-like organ that made him startlingly human until one saw his expressionless gaping mouth. The strange and (except for the want of mandibles and palps) most insect-like head of the mooncalf-minders underwent, indeed, the most incredible transformations: here it was broad and low, here high and narrow; here its leathery brow was drawn out into horns and strange features; here it was whiskered and divided, and there with a grotesquely human profile. One distortion was particularly conspicuous. There were several brain cases distended like bladders to a huge size, with the face mask reduced to quite small proportions. There were several amazing forms, with heads reduced to microscopic proportions and blobby bodies; and fantastic, flimsy things that existed, it would seem, only as a basis for vast, trumpet-like protrusions of the lower part of the mask. And oddest of all, as it seemed to me for the moment, two or three of these weird inhabitants of a subterranean world, a world sheltered by innumerable miles of rock from sun or rain, carried umbrellas in their tentaculate hands—real terrestrial looking umbrellas! And then I thought of the parachutist I had watched descend.

“Indeed, no two seemed alike in that jostling crowd. They differed in shape and size, displaying every horrible variation of the Selenite form! Some bulged and hung over, while others ran about among their fellows’ feet. All of them grotesquely and disturbingly suggested insects that had somehow managed to mimic humans. But each seemed to exaggerate some particular feature beyond belief. One had a huge right forelimb, an enormous arm like an antenna. One seemed to be all legs, balanced as if on stilts. Another had a nose-like organ projecting from the edge of his face mask. It made him look startlingly human until one saw his expressionless, gaping mouth. The strange heads of the mooncalf-minders underwent the most incredible transformations. They looked very much like insect heads, except that they lacked mandibles and palps. Here a head was broad and low, there high and narrow. One leathery brow was drawn out into horns and strange features. Another head was whiskered and divided, while another had a grotesquely human profile. One distortion was especially noticeable. Several braincases were swollen to a huge size, like bladders, while their face masks were quite small. Several amazing creatures had heads reduced to microscopic size and blobby bodies. There were also fantastic, flimsy things that seemed to exist only to support huge, trumpet-like projections from their lower face masks. And for the moment, this seemed to me the oddest thing of all. Two or three of these weird inhabitants of an underground world carried umbrellas in their tentacled hands, real umbrellas that looked like those on Earth! Yet their world was sheltered from sun and rain by countless miles of rock. And then I thought of the parachutist I had watched descend.”

“These moon people behaved exactly as a human crowd might have done in similar circumstances: they jostled and thrust one another, they shoved one another aside, they even clambered upon one another to get a glimpse of me. Every moment they increased in numbers, and pressed more urgently upon the discs of my ushers”—Cavor does not explain what he means by this—“every moment fresh shapes emerged from the shadows and forced themselves upon my astounded attention. And presently I was signed and helped into a sort of litter, and lifted up on the shoulders of strong-armed bearers, and so borne through the twilight over this seething multitude towards the apartments that were provided for me in the moon. All about me were eyes, faces, masks, a leathery noise like the rustling of beetle wings, and a great bleating and cricket-like twittering of Selenite voices.”

“These moon people behaved exactly as a human crowd might have in similar circumstances. They jostled and pushed one another aside. They even climbed on one another to get a glimpse of me. Their numbers grew every moment, and they pressed more urgently against the discs of my ushers.” Cavor does not explain what he means by this. “Every moment, new shapes emerged from the shadows and forced themselves upon my astonished attention. Soon I was signaled and helped into a kind of litter. Strong-armed bearers lifted it onto their shoulders and carried me through the twilight, above the seething crowd. They took me toward the rooms provided for me on the moon. All around me were eyes, faces, and masks. There was a leathery sound like the rustling of beetle wings, and a great bleating and cricket-like twittering of Selenite voices.”

We gather he was taken to a “hexagonal apartment,” and there for a space he was confined. Afterwards he was given a much more considerable liberty; indeed, almost as much freedom as one has in a civilised town on earth. And it would appear that the mysterious being who is the ruler and master of the moon appointed two Selenites “with large heads” to guard and study him, and to establish whatever mental communications were possible with him. And, amazing and incredible as it may seem, these two creatures, these fantastic men insects, these beings of other world, were presently communicating with Cavor by means of terrestrial speech.

We understand that he was taken to a “hexagonal apartment” and kept there for a while. Afterward, he was given much more liberty. In fact, he had almost as much freedom as a person in a civilized town on earth. It seems that the mysterious ruler and master of the moon appointed two Selenites “with large heads” to guard and study him. They were also to establish whatever mental communication they could with him. And, amazing and incredible as it may seem, these two creatures soon began communicating with Cavor in earthly language. They were fantastic insect men, beings from another world.

Cavor speaks of them as Phi-oo and Tsi-puff. Phi-oo, he says, was about 5 feet high; he had small slender legs about 18 inches long, and slight feet of the common lunar pattern. On these balanced a little body, throbbing with the pulsations of his heart. He had long, soft, many-jointed arms ending in a tentacled grip, and his neck was many-jointed in the usual way, but exceptionally short and thick. His head, says Cavor—apparently alluding to some previous description that has gone astray in space—“is of the common lunar type, but strangely modified. The mouth has the usual expressionless gape, but it is unusually small and pointing downward, and the mask is reduced to the size of a large flat nose-flap. On either side are the little eyes.

Cavor calls them Phi-oo and Tsi-puff. He says Phi-oo was about 5 feet tall. He had small, slender legs about 18 inches long, and delicate feet of the usual lunar type. A small body balanced on these legs, throbbing with his heartbeat. His arms were long, soft, and many-jointed, ending in tentacles for gripping. His neck was many-jointed in the usual way, but unusually short and thick. Cavor apparently refers to an earlier description of Phi-oo’s head that was lost in space. He says the head “is of the usual lunar type, but strangely modified. The mouth has the usual expressionless gape, but it is unusually small and points downward. The mask is reduced to the size of a large, flat nose flap. On either side are the little eyes.

“The rest of the head is distended into a huge globe and the chitinous leathery cuticle of the mooncalf herds thins out to a mere membrane, through which the pulsating brain movements are distinctly visible. He is a creature, indeed, with a tremendously hypertrophied brain, and with the rest of his organism both relatively and absolutely dwarfed.”

“The rest of his head swells into a huge globe. The mooncalf herds have a tough, leathery outer covering, but on his head it thins to a mere membrane. Through it, the pulsing movements of his brain are clearly visible. He is a creature with an enormously enlarged brain. The rest of his body is tiny, both in proportion to his brain and in actual size.”

In another passage Cavor compares the back view of him to Atlas supporting the world. Tsi-puff it seems was a very similar insect, but his “face” was drawn out to a considerable length, and the brain hypertrophy being in different regions, his head was not round but pear-shaped, with the stalk downward. There were also litter-carriers, lopsided beings, with enormous shoulders, very spidery ushers, and a squat foot attendant in Cavor’s retinue.

In another passage, Cavor compares his appearance from behind to Atlas supporting the world. Tsi-puff seems to have been a very similar insect, but his “face” was stretched out quite a long way. Different parts of his brain were enlarged, so his head was pear-shaped rather than round, with the stalk pointing downward. Cavor’s retinue also included litter-carriers, lopsided beings with enormous shoulders, very spidery ushers, and a short, stocky foot attendant.

The manner in which Phi-oo and Tsi-puff attacked the problem of speech was fairly obvious. They came into this “hexagonal cell” in which Cavor was confined, and began imitating every sound he made, beginning with a cough. He seems to have grasped their intention with great quickness, and to have begun repeating words to them and pointing to indicate the application. The procedure was probably always the same. Phi-oo would attend to Cavor for a space, then point also and say the word he had heard.

It was fairly obvious how Phi-oo and Tsi-puff tackled the problem of speech. They entered the “hexagonal cell” where Cavor was confined and began imitating every sound he made, starting with a cough. He seems to have understood their intention very quickly. He began repeating words to them and pointing to show what the words meant. The process was probably always the same. Phi-oo would listen to Cavor for a while, then point too and say the word he had heard.

The first word he mastered was “man,” and the second “Mooney”—which Cavor on the spur of the moment seems to have used instead of “Selenite” for the moon race. As soon as Phi-oo was assured of the meaning of a word he repeated it to Tsi-puff, who remembered it infallibly. They mastered over one hundred English nouns at their first session.

The first word he learned was “man,” and the second was “Mooney.” Cavor seems to have used “Mooney” on the spur of the moment instead of “Selenite” for the moon race. As soon as Phi-oo was sure of a word’s meaning, he repeated it to Tsi-puff, who remembered it perfectly. They learned more than one hundred English nouns in their first session.

Subsequently it seems they brought an artist with them to assist the work of explanation with sketches and diagrams—Cavor’s drawings being rather crude. “He was,” says Cavor, “a being with an active arm and an arresting eye,” and he seemed to draw with incredible swiftness.

Later, it seems they brought an artist to help explain things with sketches and diagrams. Cavor’s drawings were rather crude. “He was,” says Cavor, “a being with a quick arm and a striking eye,” and he seemed to draw incredibly fast.

The eleventh message is undoubtedly only a fragment of a longer communication. After some broken sentences, the record of which is unintelligible, it goes on:—

The eleventh message is undoubtedly just a fragment of a longer communication. The record begins with some broken sentences that are impossible to understand. It then continues:

“But it will interest only linguists, and delay me too long, to give the details of the series of intent parleys of which these were the beginning, and, indeed, I very much doubt if I could give in anything like the proper order all the twistings and turnings that we made in our pursuit of mutual comprehension. Verbs were soon plain sailing—at least, such active verbs as I could express by drawings; some adjectives were easy, but when it came to abstract nouns, to prepositions, and the sort of hackneyed figures of speech, by means of which so much is expressed on earth, it was like diving in cork-jackets. Indeed, these difficulties were insurmountable until to the sixth lesson came a fourth assistant, a being with a huge football-shaped head, whose forte was clearly the pursuit of intricate analogy. He entered in a preoccupied manner, stumbling against a stool, and the difficulties that arose had to be presented to him with a certain amount of clamour and hitting and pricking before they reached his apprehension. But once he was involved his penetration was amazing. Whenever there came a need of thinking beyond Phi-oo’s by no means limited scope, this prolate-headed person was in request, but he invariably told the conclusion to Tsi-puff, in order that it might be remembered; Tsi-puff was ever the arsenal for facts. And so we advanced again.

“But the details of the series of concentrated discussions that began with these exchanges would interest only linguists. They would also delay me too long. Indeed, I very much doubt I could put all the twists and turns of our pursuit of mutual understanding in anything like the right order. Verbs soon became easy, at least active verbs I could express in drawings. Some adjectives were easy, too. But abstract nouns, prepositions, and the sort of worn-out figures of speech used so much on earth were another matter. Trying to explain them was like diving in cork jackets. “Indeed, these difficulties were impossible to overcome until a fourth assistant came to the sixth lesson. This being had a huge, football-shaped head, and his strength was clearly working out intricate analogies. He came in looking distracted and stumbled against a stool. We had to make quite a noise, and hit and prick him, before he grasped the difficulties we presented. But once he became involved, his insight was amazing. Whenever we needed to think beyond Phi-oo’s by no means limited abilities, we called on this long-headed person. But he always told his conclusion to Tsi-puff, so that it would be remembered. Tsi-puff was always the storehouse for facts. And so we made progress again.”

“It seemed long and yet brief—a matter of days—before I was positively talking with these insects of the moon. Of course, at first it was an intercourse infinitely tedious and exasperating, but imperceptibly it has grown to comprehension. And my patience has grown to meet its limitations, Phi-oo it is who does all the talking. He does it with a vast amount of meditative provisional ‘M’m—M’m’ and has caught up one or two phrases, If I may say,’ ‘If you understand,’ and beads all his speech with them.

“It seemed both long and short, a matter of days, before I was actually talking with these insects of the moon. Of course, at first, communicating was incredibly tedious and frustrating. But little by little, we have come to understand each other. And my patience has grown to meet the limits of our communication. Phi-oo does all the talking. He pauses often to think, saying ‘M’m, M’m’ as he works out what to say. He has picked up one or two phrases, ‘If I may say,’ ‘If you understand,’ and sprinkles them throughout his speech.

“Thus he would discourse. Imagine him explaining his artist.

“This is how he would talk. Imagine him explaining his artist.

“‘M’m—M’m—he—if I may say—draw. Eat little—drink little—draw. Love draw. No other thing. Hate all who not draw like him. Angry. Hate all who draw like him better. Hate most people. Hate all who not think all world for to draw. Angry. M’m. All things mean nothing to him—only draw. He like you ... if you understand.... New thing to draw. Ugly—striking. Eh?

“‘M’m. M’m. He, if I may say, draws. Eats little, drinks little, draws. Loves drawing. Nothing else. Hates everyone who does not draw like him. Angry. Hates everyone who draws like him better. Hates most people. Hates everyone who does not think the whole world exists for drawing. Angry. M’m. Nothing means anything to him, only drawing. He likes you ... if you understand.... Something new to draw. Ugly, striking. Eh?

“‘He’—turning to Tsi-puff—‘love remember words. Remember wonderful more than any. Think no, draw no—remember. Say’—here he referred to his gifted assistant for a word—‘histories—all things. He hear once—say ever.’

“‘He’ (turning to Tsi-puff) ‘love remember words. Remember wonderful more than any. Think no, draw no. Remember. Say’ (here he asked his gifted assistant for a word) ‘histories, all things. He hear once, say ever.’”

“It is more wonderful to me than I dreamt that anything ever could be again, to hear, in this perpetual obscurity, these extraordinary creatures—for even familiarity fails to weaken the inhuman effect of their appearance—continually piping a nearer approach to coherent earthly speech—asking questions, giving answers. I feel that I am casting back to the fable-hearing period of childhood again, when the ant and the grasshopper talked together and the bee judged between them...”

“It is more wonderful than I ever dreamed anything could be again. Here in this constant darkness, I hear these extraordinary creatures piping sounds that come ever closer to coherent human speech. They ask questions and give answers. Even familiarity cannot make their appearance seem any less inhuman. I feel as though I am returning to the time in childhood when I heard fables, when the ant and the grasshopper talked together and the bee judged between them...”

And while these linguistic exercises were going on Cavor seems to have experienced a considerable relaxation of his confinement. “The first dread and distrust our unfortunate conflict aroused is being,” he said, “continually effaced by the deliberate rationality of all I do.... I am now able to come and go as I please, or I am restricted only for my own good. So it is I have been able to get at this apparatus, and, assisted by a happy find among the material that is littered in this enormous store-cave, I have contrived to despatch these messages. So far not the slightest attempt has been made to interfere with me in this, though I have made it quite clear to Phi-oo that I am signalling to the earth.

While these language exercises were going on, Cavor seems to have gained much more freedom. “The initial fear and distrust caused by our unfortunate conflict,” he said, “are steadily fading because everything I do is deliberately rational.... I can now come and go as I please. Any restrictions on me are only for my own good. This is how I was able to reach this apparatus. A lucky find among the materials scattered around this enormous storage cave also helped me send these messages. So far, no one has made the slightest attempt to stop me. Yet I have made it quite clear to Phi-oo that I am signalling to the earth.

“‘You talk to other?’ he asked, watching me.

“‘You talk to other?’ he asked, watching me.

“‘Others,’ said I.

“‘Others,’ I said.

“‘Others,’ he said. ‘Oh yes, Men?’

“‘Others,’ he said. ‘Oh yes, Men?’

“And I went on transmitting.”

“And I kept transmitting.”

Cavor was continually making corrections in his previous accounts of the Selenites as fresh facts flowed upon him to modify his conclusions, and accordingly one gives the quotations that follow with a certain amount of reservation. They are quoted from the ninth, thirteenth, and sixteenth messages, and, altogether vague and fragmentary as they are, they probably give as complete a picture of the social life of this strange community as mankind can now hope to have for many generations.

Cavor kept correcting his earlier accounts of the Selenites as new facts led him to revise his conclusions. So the quotations that follow should be read with some caution. They come from the ninth, thirteenth, and sixteenth messages. Though they are vague and fragmentary, they probably give as complete a picture of this strange community’s social life as mankind can hope to have for many generations.

“In the moon,” says Cavor, “every citizen knows his place. He is born to that place, and the elaborate discipline of training and education and surgery he undergoes fits him at last so completely to it that he has neither ideas nor organs for any purpose beyond it. ‘Why should he?’ Phi-oo would ask. If, for example, a Selenite is destined to be a mathematician, his teachers and trainers set out at once to that end. They check any incipient disposition to other pursuits, they encourage his mathematical bias with a perfect psychological skill. His brain grows, or at least the mathematical faculties of his brain grow, and the rest of him only so much as is necessary to sustain this essential part of him. At last, save for rest and food, his one delight lies in the exercise and display of his faculty, his one interest in its application, his sole society with other specialists in his own line. His brain grows continually larger, at least so far as the portions engaging in mathematics are concerned; they bulge ever larger and seem to suck all life and vigour from the rest of his frame. His limbs shrivel, his heart and digestive organs diminish, his insect face is hidden under its bulging contours. His voice becomes a mere stridulation for the stating of formulæ; he seems deaf to all but properly enunciated problems. The faculty of laughter, save for the sudden discovery of some paradox, is lost to him; his deepest emotion is the evolution of a novel computation. And so he attains his end.

“On the moon,” says Cavor, “every citizen knows his place. He is born to that place. He undergoes an elaborate course of training, education, and surgery. In the end, it fits him so completely to his place that he has neither ideas nor organs for any other purpose. ‘Why should he?’ Phi-oo would ask. “For example, if a Selenite is destined to be a mathematician, his teachers and trainers begin working toward that goal at once. They check any early inclination toward other pursuits. They encourage his mathematical bent with perfect psychological skill. His brain grows, or at least its mathematical faculties grow. The rest of him grows only as much as needed to support this essential part of him. Eventually, apart from rest and food, his only pleasure is exercising and displaying his skill. His only interest is applying it. His only companions are other specialists in his own field. “His brain keeps growing larger, at least in the parts concerned with mathematics. They bulge ever more and seem to suck all the life and energy from the rest of his body. His limbs shrivel, his heart and digestive organs shrink, and his insect face disappears beneath the bulging shape of his brain. His voice becomes a mere chirping sound for stating formulas. He seems deaf to everything but clearly stated problems. He loses the ability to laugh, except when he suddenly discovers a paradox. His deepest emotion comes from working out a new calculation. And so he achieves his purpose.”

“Or, again, a Selenite appointed to be a minder of mooncalves is from his earliest years induced to think and live mooncalf, to find his pleasure in mooncalf lore, his exercise in their tending and pursuit. He is trained to become wiry and active, his eye is indurated to the tight wrappings, the angular contours that constitute a ‘smart mooncalfishness.’ He takes at last no interest in the deeper part of the moon; he regards all Selenites not equally versed in mooncalves with indifference, derision, or hostility. His thoughts are of mooncalf pastures, and his dialect an accomplished mooncalf technique. So also he loves his work, and discharges in perfect happiness the duty that justifies his being. And so it is with all sorts and conditions of Selenites—each is a perfect unit in a world machine....

“Or consider a Selenite appointed to look after mooncalves. From his earliest years, he is encouraged to think and live for mooncalves. He finds pleasure in mooncalf lore and gets his exercise tending and chasing them. He is trained to become wiry and active. His eye grows accustomed to the tight wrappings and angular outlines that make for a ‘smart mooncalfishness.’ Eventually, he takes no interest in the deeper parts of the moon. He regards all Selenites who know less than he does about mooncalves with indifference, mockery, or hostility. His thoughts are on mooncalf pastures, and he speaks in a highly developed dialect of mooncalf terminology. He too loves his work and carries out the duty that justifies his existence in perfect happiness. So it is with Selenites of every kind and condition. Each is a perfect unit in a world machine....

“These beings with big heads, on whom the intellectual labours fall, form a sort of aristocracy in this strange society, and at the head of them, quintessential of the moon, is that marvellous gigantic ganglion the Grand Lunar, into whose presence I am finally to come. The unlimited development of the minds of the intellectual class is rendered possible by the absence of any bony skull in the lunar anatomy, that strange box of bone that clamps about the developing brain of man, imperiously insisting ‘thus far and no farther’ to all his possibilities. They fall into three main classes differing greatly in influence and respect. There are administrators, of whom Phi-oo is one, Selenites of considerable initiative and versatility, responsible each for a certain cubic content of the moon’s bulk; the experts like the football-headed thinker, who are trained to perform certain special operations; and the erudite, who are the repositories of all knowledge. To the latter class belongs Tsi-puff, the first lunar professor of terrestrial languages. With regard to these latter, it is a curious little thing to note that the unlimited growth of the lunar brain has rendered unnecessary the invention of all those mechanical aids to brain work which have distinguished the career of man. There are no books, no records of any sort, no libraries or inscriptions. All knowledge is stored in distended brains much as the honey-ants of Texas store honey in their distended abdomens. The lunar Somerset House and the lunar British Museum Library are collections of living brains...

“These big-headed beings do the intellectual work and form a kind of aristocracy in this strange society. At their head is the Grand Lunar, a marvelous, gigantic ganglion who embodies the very essence of the moon. I am finally to come into his presence. The minds of the intellectual class can develop without limit because lunar beings have no bony skull. In humans, that strange box of bone clamps around the developing brain. It commands all human possibilities: ‘Thus far and no farther.’ The intellectual class falls into three main groups, which differ greatly in influence and respect. First, there are administrators, of whom Phi-oo is one. These Selenites have considerable initiative and versatility. Each is responsible for a certain volume of the moon’s bulk. Then there are experts like the football-headed thinker, who are trained to perform particular tasks. Finally, there are the learned, who hold all knowledge. Tsi-puff, the first lunar professor of terrestrial languages, belongs to this last class. There is a curious thing to note about the learned. Because lunar brains can grow without limit, the Selenites have never needed to invent the mechanical aids to mental work that have marked human history. There are no books, no records of any kind, no libraries or inscriptions. All knowledge is stored in swollen brains, much as the honey-ants of Texas store honey in their swollen abdomens. The lunar Somerset House and the lunar British Museum Library are collections of living brains...

“The less specialised administrators, I note, do for the most part take a very lively interest in me whenever they encounter me. They will come out of the way and stare at me and ask questions to which Phi-oo will reply. I see them going hither and thither with a retinue of bearers, attendants, shouters, parachute-carriers, and so forth—queer groups to see. The experts for the most part ignore me completely, even as they ignore each other, or notice me only to begin a clamorous exhibition of their distinctive skill. The erudite for the most part are rapt in an impervious and apoplectic complacency, from which only a denial of their erudition can rouse them. Usually they are led about by little watchers and attendants, and often there are small and active-looking creatures, small females usually, that I am inclined to think are a sort of wife to them; but some of the profounder scholars are altogether too great for locomotion, and are carried from place to place in a sort of sedan tub, wabbling jellies of knowledge that enlist my respectful astonishment. I have just passed one in coming to this place where I am permitted to amuse myself with these electrical toys, a vast, shaven, shaky head, bald and thin-skinned, carried on his grotesque stretcher. In front and behind came his bearers, and curious, almost trumpet-faced, news disseminators shrieked his fame.

“The less specialized administrators, I notice, mostly take a lively interest in me whenever they meet me. They go out of their way to stare at me and ask questions, which Phi-oo answers. I see them going here and there with groups of bearers, attendants, shouters, parachute-carriers, and others. They make strange groups to look at. The experts mostly ignore me completely, just as they ignore one another. If they notice me at all, it is only to begin a noisy display of their particular skill. The learned ones are mostly absorbed in a smugness so complete that nothing can disturb it. Only a denial of their learning can rouse them from it, and then they become furious. Usually, little watchers and attendants lead them about. Often, small, active-looking creatures accompany them, usually females. I am inclined to think these are a kind of wife to them. But some of the deepest scholars are far too large to move around. They are carried from place to place in a kind of sedan tub. These wobbling jellies of knowledge fill me with respectful astonishment. I have just passed one on my way to this place, where I am allowed to amuse myself with these electrical toys. He was a vast, shaven, shaky head, bald and thin-skinned, carried on his grotesque stretcher. His bearers came in front and behind, and strange news disseminators with almost trumpet-shaped faces shrieked his fame.

“I have already mentioned the retinues that accompany most of the intellectuals: ushers, bearers, valets, extraneous tentacles and muscles, as it were, to replace the abortive physical powers of these hypertrophied minds. Porters almost invariably accompany them. There are also extremely swift messengers with spider-like legs and ‘hands’ for grasping parachutes, and attendants with vocal organs that could well nigh wake the dead. Apart from their controlling intelligence these subordinates are as inert and helpless as umbrellas in a stand. They exist only in relation to the orders they have to obey, the duties they have to perform.

“I have already mentioned the groups of attendants who accompany most of the intellectuals: ushers, bearers, and valets. They are, so to speak, extra tentacles and muscles, replacing the underdeveloped physical powers of these overgrown minds. Porters almost always accompany them. There are also extremely fast messengers with spider-like legs and ‘hands’ for grasping parachutes. Other attendants have voices loud enough to wake the dead. Without the intelligence that controls them, these subordinates are as motionless and helpless as umbrellas in a stand. They exist only to obey orders and carry out duties.

“The bulk of these insects, however, who go to and fro upon the spiral ways, who fill the ascending balloons and drop past me clinging to flimsy parachutes are, I gather, of the operative class. ‘Machine hands,’ indeed, some of these are in actual nature—it is no figure of speech, the single tentacle of the mooncalf herd is profoundly modified for clawing, lifting, guiding, the rest of them no more than necessary subordinate appendages to these important parts. Some, who I suppose deal with bell-striking mechanisms, have enormously developed auditory organs; some whose work lies in delicate chemical operations project a vast olfactory organ; others again have flat feet for treadles with anchylosed joints; and others—who I have been told are glassblowers—seem mere lung-bellows. But every one of these common Selenites I have seen at work is exquisitely adapted to the social need it meets. Fine work is done by fined-down workers, amazingly dwarfed and neat. Some I could hold on the palm of my hand. There is even a sort of turnspit Selenite, very common, whose duty and only delight it is to apply the motive power for various small appliances. And to rule over these things and order any erring tendency there might be in some aberrant natures are the most muscular beings I have seen in the moon, a sort of lunar police, who must have been trained from their earliest years to give a perfect respect and obedience to the swollen heads.

“Most of these insects, however, seem to belong to the working class. They move back and forth along the spiral paths, fill the rising balloons, and drop past me clinging to flimsy parachutes. Some are literally ‘machine hands’. That is no figure of speech. The mooncalf herd’s single tentacle is specially adapted for clawing, lifting, and guiding. The rest of its body is no more than the support these important parts need. Some have enormously developed hearing organs, and I suppose they work with bell-striking mechanisms. Some whose work involves delicate chemical operations have a vast protruding organ of smell. Others have flat feet with fused joints for working treadles. Still others, who I have been told are glassblowers, seem to be nothing but lung bellows. But every one of these common Selenites I have seen at work is exquisitely adapted to the social need it meets. Fine work is done by finely built workers, amazingly small and neat. Some I could hold on the palm of my hand. There is even a very common sort of turnspit Selenite. Its duty and only delight is to provide power for various small appliances. The most muscular beings I have seen on the moon rule over these things and correct any wayward tendencies in unusual natures. They are a sort of lunar police. They must have been trained from their earliest years to show perfect respect and obedience to the swollen heads.

“The making of these various sorts of operative must be a very curious and interesting process. I am very much in the dark about it, but quite recently I came upon a number of young Selenites confined in jars from which only the fore-limbs protruded, who were being compressed to become machine-minders of a special sort. The extended ‘hand’ in this highly developed system of technical education is stimulated by irritants and nourished by injection, while the rest of the body is starved. Phi-oo, unless I misunderstood him, explained that in the earlier stages these queer little creatures are apt to display signs of suffering in their various cramped situations, but they easily become indurated to their lot; and he took me on to where a number of flexible-minded messengers were being drawn out and broken in. It is quite unreasonable, I know, but such glimpses of the educational methods of these beings affect me disagreeably. I hope, however, that may pass off, and I may be able to see more of this aspect of their wonderful social order. That wretched-looking hand-tentacle sticking out of its jar seemed to have a sort of limp appeal for lost possibilities; it haunts me still, although, of course it is really in the end a far more humane proceeding than our earthly method of leaving children to grow into human beings, and then making machines of them.

“The making of these different kinds of workers must be a very curious and interesting process. I know very little about it. But recently I came upon a number of young Selenites confined in jars, with only their forelimbs sticking out. They were being compressed to become a special kind of machine minder. In this highly developed system of technical education, irritants stimulate the extended ‘hand’, and injections nourish it. The rest of the body is starved. Unless I misunderstood him, Phi-oo explained that these strange little creatures tend to show signs of suffering at first. They suffer in their various cramped positions, but they soon grow hardened to their fate. He then took me to where a number of flexible-minded messengers were being stretched out and trained. I know it is quite unreasonable, but glimpses of these beings’ educational methods make me uneasy. I hope, however, that the feeling will pass and I can see more of this aspect of their wonderful social order. That miserable-looking hand-tentacle sticking out of its jar seemed to make a feeble appeal for lost possibilities. It haunts me still, although, of course, the process is really far more humane in the end than our earthly method. We let children grow into human beings, and then make machines of them.

“Quite recently, too—I think it was on the eleventh or twelfth visit I made to this apparatus—I had a curious light upon the lives of these operatives. I was being guided through a short cut hither, instead of going down the spiral, and by the quays to the Central Sea. From the devious windings of a long, dark gallery, we emerged into a vast, low cavern, pervaded by an earthy smell, and as things go in this darkness, rather brightly lit. The light came from a tumultuous growth of livid fungoid shapes—some indeed singularly like our terrestrial mushrooms, but standing as high or higher than a man.

“Quite recently, I gained a curious insight into the lives of these workers. I think it was on my eleventh or twelfth visit to this apparatus. I was being guided here by a shortcut, instead of going down the spiral and along the quays to the Central Sea. We wound through a long, dark gallery and emerged into a vast, low cavern. It smelled of earth and, for this dark place, was rather brightly lit. The light came from a dense, chaotic growth of pale, fungus-like shapes. Some looked remarkably like mushrooms on Earth, but stood as tall as a man or taller.

“‘Mooneys eat these?’ said I to Phi-oo.

“‘Do Mooneys eat these?’ I asked Phi-oo.

“‘Yes, food.’

“‘Yes, food.’

“‘Goodness me!’ I cried; ‘what’s that?’

“‘Oh my!’ I cried. ‘What’s that?’

“My eye had just caught the figure of an exceptionally big and ungainly Selenite lying motionless among the stems, face downward. We stopped.

“I had just spotted an exceptionally large, awkward Selenite lying face down and motionless among the stems. We stopped.

“‘Dead?’ I asked. (For as yet I have seen no dead in the moon, and I have grown curious.)

“‘Dead?’ I asked. (I had not yet seen any dead on the moon, and I had grown curious.)

“‘No!’ exclaimed Phi-oo. ‘Him—worker—no work to do. Get little drink then—make sleep—till we him want. What good him wake, eh? No want him walking about.’

“‘No!’ exclaimed Phi-oo. ‘Him, worker, no work to do. Get little drink, then make sleep till we him want. What good him awake, eh? No want him walking about.’

“‘There’s another!’ cried I.

“‘There’s another!’ I cried.

“And indeed all that huge extent of mushroom ground was, I found, peppered with these prostrate figures sleeping under an opiate until the moon had need of them. There were scores of them of all sorts, and we were able to turn over some of them, and examine them more precisely than I had been able to do previously. They breathed noisily at my doing so, but did not wake. One, I remember very distinctly: he left a strong impression, I think, because some trick of the light and of his attitude was strongly suggestive of a drawn-up human figure. His fore-limbs were long, delicate tentacles—he was some kind of refined manipulator—and the pose of his slumber suggested a submissive suffering. No doubt it was a mistake for me to interpret his expression in that way, but I did. And as Phi-oo rolled him over into the darkness among the livid fleshiness again I felt a distinctly unpleasant sensation, although as he rolled the insect in him was confessed.

“And indeed, I found that the whole vast mushroom ground was dotted with these figures lying under an opiate’s influence. They slept until the moon needed them. There were dozens of them, of all kinds. We were able to turn some over and examine them more closely than I had before. They breathed noisily as I turned them over, but did not wake. I remember one very clearly. I think he made a strong impression because the light and his posture somehow suggested a human figure curled up. His forelimbs were long, delicate tentacles. He was some kind of skilled manipulator, and his sleeping posture suggested submissive suffering. No doubt I was wrong to interpret his expression that way, but I did. Phi-oo rolled him back into the darkness among the pale, fleshy growths. As he did, I felt distinctly uncomfortable, although the creature’s insect nature became clear as he rolled.”

“It simply illustrates the unthinking way in which one acquires habits of feeling. To drug the worker one does not want and toss him aside is surely far better than to expel him from his factory to wander starving in the streets. In every complicated social community there is necessarily a certain intermittency of employment for all specialised labour, and in this way the trouble of an ‘unemployed’ problem is altogether anticipated. And yet, so unreasonable are even scientifically trained minds, I still do not like the memory of those prostrate forms amidst those quiet, luminous arcades of fleshy growth, and I avoid that short cut in spite of the inconveniences of the longer, more noisy, and more crowded alternative.

“This simply shows how thoughtlessly we develop habits of feeling. Surely it is far better to drug an unwanted worker and toss him aside than to expel him from his factory and leave him to wander the streets starving. In every complex society, employment for all specialized workers must sometimes be interrupted. This way, the trouble of an ‘unemployment’ problem is avoided altogether. And yet, even scientifically trained minds are so unreasonable. I still dislike the memory of those motionless forms among the quiet, glowing arcades of fleshy growth. I avoid that shortcut, despite the inconvenience of the longer, noisier, and more crowded alternative.

“My alternative route takes me round by a huge, shadowy cavern, very crowded and clamorous, and here it is I see peering out of the hexagonal openings of a sort of honeycomb wall, or parading a large open space behind, or selecting the toys and amulets made to please them by the dainty-tentacled jewellers who work in kennels below, the mothers of the moon world—the queen bees, as it were, of the hive. They are noble-looking beings, fantastically and sometimes quite beautifully adorned, with a proud carriage, and, save for their mouths, almost microscopic heads.

“My other route takes me past a huge, shadowy cavern, crowded and noisy. Here I see the mothers of the moon world, the queen bees of the hive, so to speak. They peer from the hexagonal openings in a kind of honeycomb wall or parade in a large open space behind it. They also select toys and amulets made to please them by delicate-tentacled jewelers who work in kennels below. The mothers are noble-looking beings, fancifully and sometimes quite beautifully decorated. They carry themselves proudly, and their heads are almost microscopic, except for their mouths.

“Of the condition of the moon sexes, marrying and giving in marriage, and of birth and so forth among the Selenites, I have as yet been able to learn very little. With the steady progress of Phi-oo in English, however, my ignorance will no doubt as steadily disappear. I am of opinion that, as with the ants and bees, there is a large majority of the members in this community of the neuter sex. Of course on earth in our cities there are now many who never live that life of parentage which is the natural life of man. Here, as with the ants, this thing has become a normal condition of the race, and the whole of such replacement as is necessary falls upon this special and by no means numerous class of matrons, the mothers of the moon-world, large and stately beings beautifully fitted to bear the larval Selenite. Unless I misunderstand an explanation of Phi-oo’s, they are absolutely incapable of cherishing the young they bring into the moon; periods of foolish indulgence alternate with moods of aggressive violence, and as soon as possible the little creatures, who are quite soft and flabby and pale coloured, are transferred to the charge of celibate females, women ‘workers’ as it were, who in some cases possess brains of almost masculine dimensions.”

“I have learned very little so far about sex, marriage, birth, and related matters among the Selenites. But as Phi-oo steadily improves in English, my ignorance will no doubt steadily disappear. I believe that, as with ants and bees, most members of this community are of the neuter sex. Of course, many people in our cities on earth never become parents, though parenthood is natural to humans. Here, as with the ants, that has become normal for the species. All the births needed to replace the population fall to a special class of matrons. These mothers of the moon-world are not very numerous. They are large, stately beings, beautifully suited to bearing larval Selenites. “Unless I misunderstand Phi-oo’s explanation, these matrons are completely incapable of caring for the young they bring into the moon. They alternate between periods of foolish indulgence and moods of aggressive violence. So the little creatures are transferred as soon as possible to the care of celibate females. The young are quite soft, flabby, and pale colored. Their caretakers are women ‘workers,’ as it were. Some have brains almost as large as those of males.”

Just at this point, unhappily, this message broke off. Fragmentary and tantalising as the matter constituting this chapter is, it does nevertheless give a vague, broad impression of an altogether strange and wonderful world—a world with which our own may have to reckon we know not how speedily. This intermittent trickle of messages, this whispering of a record needle in the stillness of the mountain slopes, is the first warning of such a change in human conditions as mankind has scarcely imagined heretofore. In that satellite of ours there are new elements, new appliances, traditions, an overwhelming avalanche of new ideas, a strange race with whom we must inevitably struggle for mastery—gold as common as iron or wood...

Unfortunately, the message broke off at this point. The material in this chapter is fragmentary and tantalizing. Still, it gives a vague, broad impression of a strange and wonderful world. Our own world may have to reckon with it, and we do not know how soon. These messages come in an intermittent trickle, as a recording needle whispers in the stillness of the mountain slopes. They are the first warning of a change in human conditions that mankind has scarcely imagined until now. On our satellite there are new elements, new devices, traditions, and an overwhelming avalanche of new ideas. There is also a strange race with whom we must inevitably struggle for mastery. And there is gold as common as iron or wood...