“All space is relative. There is no such thing as size. The telescope and the microscope have produced a deadly leveling of great and small, far and near. The only little thing is sin, the only great thing is fear!”
For the hundredth time Professor Queirling repeated his statement, and for the hundredth time we listened in silence, afraid to enter into a controversy with him. It was not the fact that he knew more than we did that kept us quiet, but the haunting fear that filled us when we listened to him or watched him at work.
Working at an unsolved problem, he seemed a soul detached, a spirit separated from its earthly home, a being living only in the realm of thought. His body sat motionless, his eyes catatonic, unwinking stared until his mind, satisfied, deigned to return to bone-bound cell. Then in magnificent condescension he would talk freely in limpid phrases of the things he had considered and the conclusions he had deduced. We, chosen
scientists, university graduates, hailed him as our master and hated him for admitting his mastery.
We hoped some evil might befall him, and yet we admitted that the success of the expedition depended upon his continued leadership. It was vitally necessary for our future: we were struggling young men with all life ahead of us, and if we failed in our first effort there would be no other opportunities for
fame granted us.
In a specially constructed yacht, a veritable floating laboratory, we were south of Borneo, making a detailed study of microscopic sea life. In deep-sea nets we gathered the tiny organisms and then, with microscope, photography, and the cinema we observed them for the future instruction of the human race. There were hundreds of species, thousands of varieties, each to be identified, classified, described, studied, and photographed. We gathered in the morning, studied until midnight and slept restlessly until morning. The only thing in which we were agreed was ambition, our sole united emotion was hatred of the professor.
He knew how we felt and enjoyed taunting us: “I am your leader because I willed it so,” he would say, speaking in a low restrained voice. “With me the will to attain is synonymous with accomplishment. I believe in myself and through this irreducible faith I succeed. There is nothing a strong man cannot do if he wills to do it and believes in his strength. Our ideas of space, size, and time are but the fanciful dreams of
children. I am fifty-nine inches tall and fully clothed, weigh one hundred and ten pounds. If I desired I could make myself a colossus and swallow the earth as a child swallows a pill. If I willed it I could fly through space like a comet or hang suspended in the ether like the morning star. My will is greater than any other physical force, because I believe in it: I have confidence inmy ability to dowhatever Iwish. So far I have conducted myself like an average man because I desire to so behave and not because of any limitations: Man has a soul and that ethereal force is greater than any law of nature that man ever thought of or any God ever created. He is purely and totally supreme—if he so desires.”
It was after such a defiant declaration to us that our chemist,
Bullard, gathered courage to challenge his power. He stated
his opinion sharply and to the point, “I do not believe you.”
“What is that to me?” answered the professor.
“Simply this: You make a statement that you have certain
powers. I say that it is not true: Of what good to boast if you
know we think you a liar? Can you do these things? If you can,
do them for us, and I for one, will hail you as greater than
God. Fail to do them and I will brand you a boasting poseur.”
The professor looked steadily at the chemist. We waited
breathlessly for the blow to fall, but he only laughed.
“You want a sign? A proof ? I have thought of just such a
thing and I would have proposed it myself had one of you not
asked for it. The thing must be visible to all of you, something
that I can demonstrate, a thing unheard of, an act all men consider
impossible and yet I will do it. Listen to me.
“You have all seen the jellyfish called the Bishop’s Miter.
When it is magnified three hundred times under the microscope
it looks like a small balloon with a large opening at one
end. It propels itself through the water by the flagellate movement
of its cilia. The walls are translucent and transparent. At
the top there are two specialized groups of nerve cells which
we believe may serve as eyes. The opening at the bottom serves
as a mouth. Smaller cells enter there and are absorbed. I describe
it to refresh your memory, though you have all seen it. I
will secure one in a hanging drop under the microscope and
then we will attach the camera and cinema to it. We will project
the picture on our screen. You will see the Miter move and
live; you will observe the cilia move.
“While we have the actual specimen under observation I will
look at it through the microscope. Then I will demonstrate to
you that I am not the idle boaster you think me. I will force
myself to pass through the glass eye-piece down into the brass
tube. As I go, I will make myself grow smaller. Finally I will pass
through the objective and jump into the hanging drop. I will
swim in that drop—swim up to the jellyfish and touch it, make
actual observations concerning its structure and functions.
While I am in the drop of water you will be able to observe my
everymotion on the screen: Then I will disappear, pass through
the microscope upwards and finally resume my original size
and position in the room. I presume that if I do this you will
be satisfied.”
We were too astonished to reply. It was evident that the man
had suddenly become insane. He smiled superciliously, as
though we were children.
He waited for an answer, but we had none and then he began
to prepare the apparatus for the experiment. Finally all was to
his satisfaction. After examining several drops of water from
our specimen-jar he was able to imprison a Bishop’s Miter in
the hanging drop under the microscope. He switched on the
electricity and we saw the jellyfish move upon the screen.
The professor carefully adjusted the apparatus until the organism
appeared with more than usual distinctness. We saw
the little animal he had so carefully described to us. We even
saw the little projections which we believed were its rudimentary
visual organs.
Then Professor Queirling told the cinema operator what he
the jelly-fish 585
wanted done. He was to take a picture starting from the time
the professor disappeared down the brass tube of the microscope
and continue until he reappeared. No matter what happened,
he was to go on taking pictures.
“It is all well enough,” said our master, “for you children to
see what is happening and to talk about it later on, but who
would believe you? We know that the camera cannot lie. That
is why it is important to take a consecutive picture of what occurs.
Otherwise you might think that I have been able to hypnotize
you. Now I will look down this tube. At the bottom of
the hanging drop I see a transparent balloon. It is a pretty
sight. Now watch me carefully as I will myself to shrink. I will
go on talking as long as I can and you must listen carefully
because the smaller I am the less audible will be my voice.
“Now I am twelve inches high. I am standing near the microscope.
I grow still smaller and now I am only one inch tall
and am standing on the eye-piece. No doubt you can barely
hear me. Now I am smaller yet and am ready to will myself
through the glass of the eye-piece.”
The room became silent. Shivering, we looked at the microscope.
The professor was gone. The chemist staggered over to
the instrument, looked into it, and silently reeled back to his
seat.
On the screen before us, the living inhabitants of the drop
of water lived and moved and had their being. Largest of all
was the transparent jellyfish, which was moving restlessly as
though seeking a way of escape. The only sound in the room
was the hum of the cinema and the stertorous breathing of the
chemist.
Then on the screen came a new figure we were able to identify
as the professor, swimming among the infusoria. Gaining
his balance, at last he stood upright and waved his hand at us.
It was easy to see his smile, that condescending smug smile that
had so often driven us frantic. There was no doubt from his
expression that he was highly pleased with his performance.
None of us dared look at his fellow; not one of the audience
thought for a second of taking his eyes off the silver screen. We
were stunned, stupefied, and filled with a wild terror all the
more horrible because of the silence.
The professor started to swim again and now approached
the jellyfish. He tapped the crystal walls. Then as though
seized with a sudden impulse, he went to the bottom, jumped
up through the mouth, and entered the translucent ball of protoplasm.
He peered at us through the transparent walls. His
arms made a series of peculiar movements and once again he
smiled at us.
“My God!” exclaimed the artist. “He is wigwagging to us in
army code. He says, ‘I have done it, and now I will return to
your world.’”
As though to keep his promise he started for the mouth of
the jellyfish, and then—the mouth closed.
The professor circled the glasslike ball seeking a way of exit.
Once he waved at us in a peculiar manner and then suddenly
he sought the wall and with arms and feet tried to break
through. On his face was now the look of ghastly despair. The
things on top of the jellyfish began to glow—no doubt nowthat
they were eyes, and bright ones.
Before our eyes the professor slowly disappeared into a
globule of milky protoplasm. The jellyfish not only had made
him a prisoner, but had actually dissolved and digested him.
With a shriek the artist went over to the wall and turned on the
electric lights. Trembling, the chemist looked down the tube
of the microscope and told us that there was nothing in the
hanging drop save the jellyfish.
The next day, after a conference, in which each of us said
only part of what he thought, we decided to destroy the roll of
film—and sent word to the university that the professor had
disappeared from the ship and our only explanation was that
he had been drowned.
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