“April 19th. This morning, to my great joy, about nine o’clock, the
surface of the moon being frightfully near, and my apprehensions excited
to the utmost, the pump of my condenser at length gave evident tokens
of an alteration in the atmosphere. By ten, I had reason to believe
its density considerably increased. By eleven, very little labor was
necessary at the apparatus; and at twelve o’clock, with some hesitation,
I ventured to unscrew the tourniquet, when, finding no inconvenience
from having done so, I finally threw open the gum-elastic chamber, and
unrigged it from around the car. As might have been expected, spasms
and violent headache were the immediate consequences of an experiment
so precipitate and full of danger. But these and other difficulties
attending respiration, as they were by no means so great as to put me
in peril of my life, I determined to endure as I best could, in
consideration of my leaving them behind me momently in my approach
to the denser strata near the moon. This approach, however, was still
impetuous in the extreme; and it soon became alarmingly certain that,
although I had probably not been deceived in the expectation of an
atmosphere dense in proportion to the mass of the satellite, still I
had been wrong in supposing this density, even at the surface, at all
adequate to the support of the great weight contained in the car of my
balloon. Yet this should have been the case, and in an equal degree
as at the surface of the earth, the actual gravity of bodies at either
planet supposed in the ratio of the atmospheric condensation. That
it was not the case, however, my precipitous downfall gave testimony
enough; why it was not so, can only be explained by a reference to those
possible geological disturbances to which I have formerly alluded. At
all events I was now close upon the planet, and coming down with the
most terrible impetuosity. I lost not a moment, accordingly, in throwing
overboard first my ballast, then my water-kegs, then my condensing
apparatus and gum-elastic chamber, and finally every article within the
car. But it was all to no purpose. I still fell with horrible rapidity,
and was now not more than half a mile from the surface. As a last
resource, therefore, having got rid of my coat, hat, and boots, I cut
loose from the balloon the car itself, which was of no inconsiderable
weight, and thus, clinging with both hands to the net-work, I had barely
time to observe that the whole country, as far as the eye could reach,
was thickly interspersed with diminutive habitations, ere I tumbled
headlong into the very heart of a fantastical-looking city, and into the
middle of a vast crowd of ugly little people, who none of them uttered
a single syllable, or gave themselves the least trouble to render me
assistance, but stood, like a parcel of idiots, grinning in a ludicrous
manner, and eyeing me and my balloon askant, with their arms set
a-kimbo. I turned from them in contempt, and, gazing upward at the earth
so lately left, and left perhaps for ever, beheld it like a huge, dull,
copper shield, about two degrees in diameter, fixed immovably in the
heavens overhead, and tipped on one of its edges with a crescent
border of the most brilliant gold. No traces of land or water could be
discovered, and the whole was clouded with variable spots, and belted
with tropical and equatorial zones.
“Thus, may it please your Excellencies, after a series of great
anxieties, unheard of dangers, and unparalleled escapes, I had, at
length, on the nineteenth day of my departure from Rotterdam, arrived in
safety at the conclusion of a voyage undoubtedly the most extraordinary,
and the most momentous, ever accomplished, undertaken, or conceived by
any denizen of earth. But my adventures yet remain to be related. And
indeed your Excellencies may well imagine that, after a residence of
five years upon a planet not only deeply interesting in its own peculiar
character, but rendered doubly so by its intimate connection, in
capacity of satellite, with the world inhabited by man, I may have
intelligence for the private ear of the States’ College of Astronomers
of far more importance than the details, however wonderful, of the mere
voyage which so happily concluded. This is, in fact, the case. I
have much--very much which it would give me the greatest pleasure to
communicate. I have much to say of the climate of the planet; of its
wonderful alternations of heat and cold, of unmitigated and burning
sunshine for one fortnight, and more than polar frigidity for the next;
of a constant transfer of moisture, by distillation like that in vacuo,
from the point beneath the sun to the point the farthest from it; of
a variable zone of running water, of the people themselves; of their
manners, customs, and political institutions; of their peculiar physical
construction; of their ugliness; of their want of ears, those useless
appendages in an atmosphere so peculiarly modified; of their consequent
ignorance of the use and properties of speech; of their substitute
for speech in a singular method of inter-communication; of the
incomprehensible connection between each particular individual in
the moon with some particular individual on the earth--a connection
analogous with, and depending upon, that of the orbs of the planet and
the satellites, and by means of which the lives and destinies of the
inhabitants of the one are interwoven with the lives and destinies
of the inhabitants of the other; and above all, if it so please your
Excellencies--above all, of those dark and hideous mysteries which lie
in the outer regions of the moon--regions which, owing to the almost
miraculous accordance of the satellite’s rotation on its own axis with
its sidereal revolution about the earth, have never yet been turned,
and, by God’s mercy, never shall be turned, to the scrutiny of the
telescopes of man. All this, and more--much more--would I most
willingly detail. But, to be brief, I must have my reward. I am pining
for a return to my family and to my home, and as the price of any
farther communication on my part--in consideration of the light which
I have it in my power to throw upon many very important branches of
physical and metaphysical science--I must solicit, through the influence
of your honorable body, a pardon for the crime of which I have been
guilty in the death of the creditors upon my departure from Rotterdam.
This, then, is the object of the present paper. Its bearer, an
inhabitant of the moon, whom I have prevailed upon, and properly
instructed, to be my messenger to the earth, will await your
Excellencies’ pleasure, and return to me with the pardon in question, if
it can, in any manner, be obtained.
“I have the honor to be, etc., your Excellencies’ very humble servant,
“HANS PFAALL.”
Upon finishing the perusal of this very extraordinary document,
Professor Rub-a-dub, it is said, dropped his pipe upon the ground in
the extremity of his surprise, and Mynheer Superbus Von Underduk having
taken off his spectacles, wiped them, and deposited them in his pocket,
so far forgot both himself and his dignity, as to turn round three times
upon his heel in the quintessence of astonishment and admiration. There
was no doubt about the matter--the pardon should be obtained. So at
least swore, with a round oath, Professor Rub-a-dub, and so finally
thought the illustrious Von Underduk, as he took the arm of his brother
in science, and without saying a word, began to make the best of his way
home to deliberate upon the measures to be adopted. Having reached the
door, however, of the burgomaster’s dwelling, the professor ventured to
suggest that as the messenger had thought proper to disappear--no
doubt frightened to death by the savage appearance of the burghers of
Rotterdam--the pardon would be of little use, as no one but a man of
the moon would undertake a voyage to so vast a distance. To the truth of
this observation the burgomaster assented, and the matter was therefore
at an end. Not so, however, rumors and speculations. The letter, having
been published, gave rise to a variety of gossip and opinion. Some of
the over-wise even made themselves ridiculous by decrying the whole
business; as nothing better than a hoax. But hoax, with these sort
of people, is, I believe, a general term for all matters above their
comprehension. For my part, I cannot conceive upon what data they have
founded such an accusation. Let us see what they say:
Imprimus. That certain wags in Rotterdam have certain especial
antipathies to certain burgomasters and astronomers.
Don’t understand at all.
Secondly. That an odd little dwarf and bottle conjurer, both of whose
ears, for some misdemeanor, have been cut off close to his head, has
been missing for several days from the neighboring city of Bruges.
Well--what of that?
Thirdly. That the newspapers which were stuck all over the little
balloon were newspapers of Holland, and therefore could not have been
made in the moon. They were dirty papers--very dirty--and Gluck, the
printer, would take his Bible oath to their having been printed in
Rotterdam.
He was mistaken--undoubtedly--mistaken.
Fourthly, That Hans Pfaall himself, the drunken villain, and the three
very idle gentlemen styled his creditors, were all seen, no longer than
two or three days ago, in a tippling house in the suburbs, having just
returned, with money in their pockets, from a trip beyond the sea.
Don’t believe it--don’t believe a word of it.
Lastly. That it is an opinion very generally received, or which ought
to be generally received, that the College of Astronomers in the city
of Rotterdam, as well as other colleges in all other parts of the
world,--not to mention colleges and astronomers in general,--are, to say
the least of the matter, not a whit better, nor greater, nor wiser than
they ought to be.
--- End of Text ---
Notes to Hans Pfaal
(*1) NOTE--Strictly speaking, there is but little similarity between the
above sketchy trifle and the celebrated “Moon-Story” of Mr. Locke; but
as both have the character of hoaxes (although the one is in a tone of
banter, the other of downright earnest), and as both hoaxes are on the
same subject, the moon--moreover, as both attempt to give plausibility
by scientific detail--the author of “Hans Pfaall” thinks it necessary to
say, in self-defence, that his own jeu d’esprit was published in the
“Southern Literary Messenger” about three weeks before the commencement
of Mr. L’s in the “New York Sun.” Fancying a likeness which, perhaps,
does not exist, some of the New York papers copied “Hans Pfaall,” and
collated it with the “Moon-Hoax,” by way of detecting the writer of the
one in the writer of the other.
As many more persons were actually gulled by the “Moon-Hoax” than would
be willing to acknowledge the fact, it may here afford some little
amusement to show why no one should have been deceived-to point out
those particulars of the story which should have been sufficient to
establish its real character. Indeed, however rich the imagination
displayed in this ingenious fiction, it wanted much of the force which
might have been given it by a more scrupulous attention to facts and
to general analogy. That the public were misled, even for an instant,
merely proves the gross ignorance which is so generally prevalent upon
subjects of an astronomical nature.
The moon’s distance from the earth is, in round numbers, 240,000 miles.
If we desire to ascertain how near, apparently, a lens would bring the
satellite (or any distant object), we, of course, have but to divide the
distance by the magnifying or, more strictly, by the space-penetrating
power of the glass. Mr. L. makes his lens have a power of 42,000 times.
By this divide 240,000 (the moon’s real distance), and we have five
miles and five sevenths, as the apparent distance. No animal at all
could be seen so far; much less the minute points particularized in the
story. Mr. L. speaks about Sir John Herschel’s perceiving flowers (the
Papaver rheas, etc.), and even detecting the color and the shape of the
eyes of small birds. Shortly before, too, he has himself observed that
the lens would not render perceptible objects of less than eighteen
inches in diameter; but even this, as I have said, is giving the glass
by far too great power. It may be observed, in passing, that this
prodigious glass is said to have been molded at the glasshouse of
Messrs. Hartley and Grant, in Dumbarton; but Messrs. H. and G.’s
establishment had ceased operations for many years previous to the
publication of the hoax.
On page 13, pamphlet edition, speaking of “a hairy veil” over the eyes
of a species of bison, the author says: “It immediately occurred to the
acute mind of Dr. Herschel that this was a providential contrivance
to protect the eyes of the animal from the great extremes of light
and darkness to which all the inhabitants of our side of the moon are
periodically subjected.” But this cannot be thought a very “acute”
observation of the Doctor’s. The inhabitants of our side of the moon
have, evidently, no darkness at all, so there can be nothing of the
“extremes” mentioned. In the absence of the sun they have a light from
the earth equal to that of thirteen full unclouded moons.
The topography throughout, even when professing to accord with Blunt’s
Lunar Chart, is entirely at variance with that or any other lunar chart,
and even grossly at variance with itself. The points of the compass,
too, are in inextricable confusion; the writer appearing to be ignorant
that, on a lunar map, these are not in accordance with terrestrial
points; the east being to the left, etc.
Deceived, perhaps, by the vague titles, Mare Nubium, Mare
Tranquillitatis, Mare Faecunditatis, etc., given to the dark spots by
former astronomers, Mr. L. has entered into details regarding oceans
and other large bodies of water in the moon; whereas there is no
astronomical point more positively ascertained than that no such bodies
exist there. In examining the boundary between light and darkness (in
the crescent or gibbous moon) where this boundary crosses any of the
dark places, the line of division is found to be rough and jagged; but,
were these dark places liquid, it would evidently be even.
The description of the wings of the man-bat, on page 21, is but a
literal copy of Peter Wilkins’ account of the wings of his flying
islanders. This simple fact should have induced suspicion, at least, it
might be thought.
On page 23, we have the following: “What a prodigious influence must our
thirteen times larger globe have exercised upon this satellite when an
embryo in the womb of time, the passive subject of chemical affinity!”
This is very fine; but it should be observed that no astronomer would
have made such remark, especially to any journal of Science; for the
earth, in the sense intended, is not only thirteen, but forty-nine times
larger than the moon. A similar objection applies to the whole of the
concluding pages, where, by way of introduction to some discoveries in
Saturn, the philosophical correspondent enters into a minute schoolboy
account of that planet--this to the “Edinburgh journal of Science!”
But there is one point, in particular, which should have betrayed the
fiction. Let us imagine the power actually possessed of seeing animals
upon the moon’s surface--what would first arrest the attention of an
observer from the earth? Certainly neither their shape, size, nor any
other such peculiarity, so soon as their remarkable situation. They
would appear to be walking, with heels up and head down, in the manner
of flies on a ceiling. The real observer would have uttered an instant
ejaculation of surprise (however prepared by previous knowledge) at the
singularity of their position; the fictitious observer has not even
mentioned the subject, but speaks of seeing the entire bodies of such
creatures, when it is demonstrable that he could have seen only the
diameter of their heads!
It might as well be remarked, in conclusion, that the size, and
particularly the powers of the man-bats (for example, their ability to
fly in so rare an atmosphere--if, indeed, the moon have any), with most
of the other fancies in regard to animal and vegetable existence, are at
variance, generally, with all analogical reasoning on these themes; and
that analogy here will often amount to conclusive demonstration. It is,
perhaps, scarcely necessary to add, that all the suggestions attributed
to Brewster and Herschel, in the beginning of the article, about “a
transfusion of artificial light through the focal object of vision,”
etc., etc., belong to that species of figurative writing which comes,
most properly, under the denomination of rigmarole.
There is a real and very definite limit to optical discovery among the
stars--a limit whose nature need only be stated to be understood. If,
indeed, the casting of large lenses were all that is required, man’s
ingenuity would ultimately prove equal to the task, and we might have
them of any size demanded. But, unhappily, in proportion to the increase
of size in the lens, and consequently of space-penetrating power, is the
diminution of light from the object, by diffusion of its rays. And for
this evil there is no remedy within human ability; for an object is seen
by means of that light alone which proceeds from itself, whether direct
or reflected. Thus the only “artificial” light which could avail
Mr. Locke, would be some artificial light which he should be able to
throw-not upon the “focal object of vision,” but upon the real object
to be viewed-to wit: upon the moon. It has been easily calculated that,
when the light proceeding from a star becomes so diffused as to be as
weak as the natural light proceeding from the whole of the stars, in
a clear and moonless night, then the star is no longer visible for any
practical purpose.
The Earl of Ross’s telescope, lately constructed in England, has
a speculum with a reflecting surface of 4,071 square inches; the
Herschel telescope having one of only 1,811. The metal of the Earl of
Ross’s is 6 feet diameter; it is 5 1/2 inches thick at the edges, and 5
at the centre. The weight is 3 tons. The focal length is 50 feet.
I have lately read a singular and somewhat ingenious little book, whose
title-page runs thus: “L’Homme dans la lvne ou le Voyage Chimerique
fait au Monde de la Lvne, nouellement decouvert par Dominique Gonzales,
Aduanturier Espagnol, autrem?t dit le Courier volant. Mis en notre
langve par J. B. D. A. Paris, chez Francois Piot, pres la Fontaine de
Saint Benoist. Et chez J. Goignard, au premier pilier de la grand’salle
du Palais, proche les Consultations, MDCXLVII.” Pp. 76.
The writer professes to have translated his work from the English of one
Mr. D’Avisson (Davidson?) although there is a terrible ambiguity in the
statement. “J’ en ai eu,” says he “l’original de Monsieur D’Avisson,
medecin des mieux versez qui soient aujourd’huy dans la cõnoissance des
Belles Lettres, et sur tout de la Philosophic Naturelle. Je lui ai cette
obligation entre les autres, de m’ auoir non seulement mis en main
cc Livre en anglois, mais encore le Manuscrit du Sieur Thomas D’Anan,
gentilhomme Eccossois, recommandable pour sa vertu, sur la version
duquel j’ advoue que j’ ay tiré le plan de la mienne.”
After some irrelevant adventures, much in the manner of Gil Blas, and
which occupy the first thirty pages, the author relates that, being
ill during a sea voyage, the crew abandoned him, together with a
negro servant, on the island of St. Helena. To increase the chances of
obtaining food, the two separate, and live as far apart as possible.
This brings about a training of birds, to serve the purpose of
carrier-pigeons between them. By and by these are taught to carry
parcels of some weight-and this weight is gradually increased. At length
the idea is entertained of uniting the force of a great number of the
birds, with a view to raising the author himself. A machine is contrived
for the purpose, and we have a minute description of it, which is
materially helped out by a steel engraving. Here we perceive the
Signor Gonzales, with point ruffles and a huge periwig, seated astride
something which resembles very closely a broomstick, and borne aloft by
a multitude of wild swans (ganzas) who had strings reaching from their
tails to the machine.
The main event detailed in the Signor’s narrative depends upon a very
important fact, of which the reader is kept in ignorance until near the
end of the book. The ganzas, with whom he had become so familiar, were
not really denizens of St. Helena, but of the moon. Thence it had been
their custom, time out of mind, to migrate annually to some portion of
the earth. In proper season, of course, they would return home; and
the author, happening, one day, to require their services for a short
voyage, is unexpectedly carried straight tip, and in a very brief period
arrives at the satellite. Here he finds, among other odd things, that
the people enjoy extreme happiness; that they have no law; that they
die without pain; that they are from ten to thirty feet in height;
that they live five thousand years; that they have an emperor called
Irdonozur; and that they can jump sixty feet high, when, being out of
the gravitating influence, they fly about with fans.
I cannot forbear giving a specimen of the general philosophy of the
volume.
“I must not forget here, that the stars appeared only on that side of
the globe turned toward the moon, and that the closer they were to it
the larger they seemed. I have also me and the earth. As to the
stars, since there was no night where I was, they always had the same
appearance; not brilliant, as usual, but pale, and very nearly like the
moon of a morning. But few of them were visible, and these ten times
larger (as well as I could judge) than they seem to the inhabitants
of the earth. The moon, which wanted two days of being full, was of a
terrible bigness.
“I must not forget here, that the stars appeared only on that side
of the globe turned toward the moon, and that the closer they were to it
the larger they seemed. I have also to inform you that, whether it was
calm weather or stormy, I found myself always immediately between the
moon and the earth. I was convinced of this for two reasons-because
my birds always flew in a straight line; and because whenever we
attempted to rest, we were carried insensibly around the globe of the
earth. For I admit the opinion of Copernicus, who maintains that it
never ceases to revolve from the east to the west, not upon the poles
of the Equinoctial, commonly called the poles of the world, but upon
those of the Zodiac, a question of which I propose to speak more at
length here-after, when I shall have leisure to refresh my memory in
regard to the astrology which I learned at Salamanca when young, and
have since forgotten.”
Notwithstanding the blunders italicized, the book is not without
some claim to attention, as affording a naive specimen of the current
astronomical notions of the time. One of these assumed, that the
“gravitating power” extended but a short distance from the earth’s
surface, and, accordingly, we find our voyager “carried insensibly
around the globe,” etc.
There have been other “voyages to the moon,” but none of higher merit
than the one just mentioned. That of Bergerac is utterly meaningless. In
the third volume of the “American Quarterly Review” will be found
quite an elaborate criticism upon a certain “journey” of the kind in
question--a criticism in which it is difficult to say whether the critic
most exposes the stupidity of the book, or his own absurd ignorance of
astronomy. I forget the title of the work; but the means of the voyage
are more deplorably ill conceived than are even the ganzas of our
friend the Signor Gonzales. The adventurer, in digging the earth,
happens to discover a peculiar metal for which the moon has a strong
attraction, and straightway constructs of it a box, which, when cast
loose from its terrestrial fastenings, flies with him, forthwith, to
the satellite. The “Flight of Thomas O’Rourke,” is a jeu d’ esprit not
altogether contemptible, and has been translated into German. Thomas,
the hero, was, in fact, the gamekeeper of an Irish peer, whose
eccentricities gave rise to the tale. The “flight” is made on an eagle’s
back, from Hungry Hill, a lofty mountain at the end of Bantry Bay.
In these various brochures the aim is always satirical; the theme
being a description of Lunarian customs as compared with ours. In none
is there any effort at plausibility in the details of the voyage
itself. The writers seem, in each instance, to be utterly uninformed in
respect to astronomy. In “Hans Pfaall” the design is original, inasmuch
as regards an attempt at verisimilitude, in the application of
scientific principles (so far as the whimsical nature of the subject
would permit), to the actual passage between the earth and the moon.
(*2) The zodiacal light is probably what the ancients called Trabes.
Emicant Trabes quos docos vocant.--Pliny, lib. 2, p. 26.
(*3) Since the original publication of Hans Pfaall, I find that Mr.
Green, of Nassau balloon notoriety, and other late aeronauts, deny
the assertions of Humboldt, in this respect, and speak of a decreasing
inconvenience,--precisely in accordance with the theory here urged in a
mere spirit of banter.
(*4) Havelius writes that he has several times found, in skies
perfectly clear, when even stars of the sixth and seventh magnitude
were conspicuous, that, at the same altitude of the moon, at the
same elongation from the earth, and with one and the same excellent
telescope, the moon and its maculae did not appear equally lucid at all
times. From the circumstances of the observation, it is evident that the
cause of this phenomenon is not either in our air, in the tube, in
the moon, or in the eye of the spectator, but must be looked for in
something (an atmosphere?) existing about the moon.
--------------------------------------------------------
THE GOLD-BUG
What ho! what ho! this fellow is dancing mad!
He hath been bitten by the Tarantula.
--All in the Wrong.
MANY years ago, I contracted an intimacy with a Mr. William Legrand.
He was of an ancient Huguenot family, and had once been wealthy; but
a series of misfortunes had reduced him to want. To avoid the
mortification consequent upon his disasters, he left New Orleans, the
city of his forefathers, and took up his residence at Sullivan’s Island,
near Charleston, South Carolina. This Island is a very singular one.
It consists of little else than the sea sand, and is about three
miles long. Its breadth at no point exceeds a quarter of a mile. It is
separated from the main land by a scarcely perceptible creek, oozing its
way through a wilderness of reeds and slime, a favorite resort of the
marsh hen. The vegetation, as might be supposed, is scant, or at least
dwarfish. No trees of any magnitude are to be seen. Near the western
extremity, where Fort Moultrie stands, and where are some miserable
frame buildings, tenanted, during summer, by the fugitives from
Charleston dust and fever, may be found, indeed, the bristly palmetto;
but the whole island, with the exception of this western point, and
a line of hard, white beach on the seacoast, is covered with a dense
undergrowth of the sweet myrtle, so much prized by the horticulturists
of England. The shrub here often attains the height of fifteen or twenty
feet, and forms an almost impenetrable coppice, burthening the air with
its fragrance.
In the inmost recesses of this coppice, not far from the eastern or more
remote end of the island, Legrand had built himself a small hut, which
he occupied when I first, by mere accident, made his acquaintance.
This soon ripened into friendship--for there was much in the recluse
to excite interest and esteem. I found him well educated, with unusual
powers of mind, but infected with misanthropy, and subject to perverse
moods of alternate enthusiasm and melancholy. He had with him many
books, but rarely employed them. His chief amusements were gunning and
fishing, or sauntering along the beach and through the myrtles, in quest
of shells or entomological specimens;--his collection of the latter
might have been envied by a Swammerdamm. In these excursions he was
usually accompanied by an old negro, called Jupiter, who had been
manumitted before the reverses of the family, but who could be induced,
neither by threats nor by promises, to abandon what he considered his
right of attendance upon the footsteps of his young “Massa Will.” It
is not improbable that the relatives of Legrand, conceiving him to be
somewhat unsettled in intellect, had contrived to instil this obstinacy
into Jupiter, with a view to the supervision and guardianship of the
wanderer.
The winters in the latitude of Sullivan’s Island are seldom very severe,
and in the fall of the year it is a rare event indeed when a fire is
considered necessary. About the middle of October, 18-, there occurred,
however, a day of remarkable chilliness. Just before sunset I scrambled
my way through the evergreens to the hut of my friend, whom I had
not visited for several weeks--my residence being, at that time,
in Charleston, a distance of nine miles from the Island, while the
facilities of passage and re-passage were very far behind those of
the present day. Upon reaching the hut I rapped, as was my custom,
and getting no reply, sought for the key where I knew it was secreted,
unlocked the door and went in. A fine fire was blazing upon the hearth.
It was a novelty, and by no means an ungrateful one. I threw off an
overcoat, took an arm-chair by the crackling logs, and awaited patiently
the arrival of my hosts.
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