considered the question from a practical point of view; they would have
asked themselves whither their projectile carriage was carrying them.
Not so with these; they sought for the cause which produced this effect.
"So we have become diverted from our route," said Michel; "but why?"
"I very much fear," answered Nicholl, "that, in spite of all precautions
taken, the Columbiad was not fairly pointed. An error, however small,
would be enough to throw us out of the moon's attraction."
"Then they must have aimed badly?" asked Michel.
"I do not think so," replied Barbicane. "The perpendicularity of the gun
was exact, its direction to the zenith of the spot incontestible; and
the moon passing to the zenith of the spot, we ought to reach it at the
full. There is another reason, but it escapes me."
"Are we not arriving too late?" asked Nicholl.
"Too late?" said Barbicane.
"Yes," continued Nicholl. "The Cambridge Observatory's note says that the
transit ought to be accomplished in ninety-seven hours thirteen minutes
and twenty seconds; which means to say, that -sooner- the moon will -not-
be at the point indicated, and that -later- it will have passed it."
"True," replied Barbicane. "But we started the 1st of December, at
thirteen minutes and twenty-five seconds to eleven at night; and we
ought to arrive on the 5th at midnight, at the exact moment when the moon
would be full; and we are now at the 5th of December. It is now half past
three in the evening; half past eight ought to see us at the end of our
journey. Why do we not arrive?"
"Might it not be an excess of speed?" answered Nicholl; "for we know now
that its initial velocity was greater than they supposed."
"No! a hundred times, No!" replied Barbicane. "An excess of speed, if the
direction of the projectile had been right, would not have prevented us
reaching the moon. No, there has been a deviation. We have been turned
out of our course."
"By whom? by what?" asked Nicholl.
"I cannot say," replied Barbicane.
"Very well, then, Barbicane," said Michel, "do you wish to know my
opinion on the subject of finding out this deviation?"
"Speak."
"I would not give half a dollar to know it. That we have deviated is a
fact. Where we are going to matters little; we shall soon see. Since we
are being borne along in space we shall end by falling into some centre
of attraction or other."
Michel Ardan's indifference did not content Barbicane. Not that he was
uneasy about the future, but he wanted to know at any cost -why- his
projectile had deviated.
But the projectile continued its course sideways to the moon, and with
it the mass of things thrown out. Barbicane could even prove, by the
elevations which served as landmarks upon the moon, which was only 2000
leagues distant, that its speed was becoming uniform--fresh proof that
there was no fall. Its impulsive force still prevailed over the lunar
attraction, but the projectile's course was certainly bringing it nearer
to the moon, and they might hope that at a nearer point the weight,
predominating, would cause a decided fall.
The three friends, having nothing better to do, continued their
observations; but they could not yet determine the topographical position
of the satellite; every relief was levelled under the reflection of the
solar rays.
They watched thus through the side windows until eight o'clock at night.
The moon had then grown so large in their eyes that it filled half of
the firmament. The sun on one side, and the orb of night on the other,
flooded the projectile with light.
At that moment Barbicane thought he could estimate the distance which
separated them from their aim at no more than 700 leagues. The speed of
the projectile seemed to him to be more than 200 yards, or about 170
leagues a second. Under the centripetal force, the base of the projectile
tended towards the moon; but the centrifugal still prevailed; and it was
probable that its rectilineal course would be changed to a curve of some
sort, the nature of which they could not at present determine.
Barbicane was still seeking the solution of his insoluble problem. Hours
passed without any result. The projectile was evidently -nearing- the
moon, but it was also evident that it would never -reach- her. As to the
nearest distance at which it would pass her, that must be the result of
the two forces, attraction and repulsion, affecting its motion.
"I ask but one thing," said Michel; "that we may pass near enough to
penetrate her secrets."
"Cursed be the thing that has caused our projectile to deviate from its
course," cried Nicholl.
And, as if a light had suddenly broken in upon his mind, Barbicane
answered, "Then cursed be the meteor which crossed our path."
"What?" said Michel Ardan.
"What do you mean?" exclaimed Nicholl.
"I mean," said Barbicane in a decided tone, "I mean that our deviation
is owing solely to our meeting with this erring body."
"But it did not even brush us as it passed," said Michel.
"What does that matter? Its mass, compared to that of our projectile,
was enormous, and its attraction was enough to influence our course."
"So little?" cried Nicholl.
"Yes, Nicholl; but however little it might be," replied Barbicane, "in a
distance of 84,000 leagues, it wanted no more to make us miss the moon."
CHAPTER X.
THE OBSERVERS OF THE MOON.
Barbicane had evidently hit upon the only plausible reason of this
deviation. However slight it might have been, it had sufficed to modify
the course of the projectile. It was a fatality. The bold attempt had
miscarried by a fortuitous circumstance; and unless by some exceptional
event, they could now never reach the moon's disc.
Would they pass near enough to be able to solve certain physical and
geological questions until then insoluble? This was the question, and
the only one, which occupied the minds of these bold travellers. As to
the fate in store for themselves, they did not even dream of it.
But what would become of them amid these infinite solitudes, these who
would soon want air? A few more days, and they would fall stifled in
this wandering projectile. But some days to these intrepid fellows was a
century; and they devoted all their time to observe that moon which they
no longer hoped to reach.
The distance which then separated the projectile from the satellite
was estimated at about 200 leagues. Under these conditions, as regards
the visibility of the details of the disc, the travellers were farther
from the moon than are the inhabitants of the earth with their powerful
telescopes.
Illustration: THE TELESCOPE AT PARSONTOWN.
Indeed, we know that the instrument mounted by Lord Rosse at Parsonstown,
which magnifies 6500 times, brings the moon to within an apparent
distance of sixteen leagues. And more than that, with the powerful one
set up at Long's Peak, the orb of night, magnified 48,000 times, is
brought to within less than two leagues, and objects having a diameter
of thirty feet are seen very distinctly. So that, at this distance, the
topographical details of the moon, observed without glasses, could not
be determined with precision. The eye caught the vast outline of those
immense depressions inappropriately called "seas," but they could not
recognize their nature. The prominence of the mountains disappeared
under the splendid irradiation produced by the reflection of the solar
rays. The eye, dazzled as if it was leaning over a bath of molten silver,
turned from it involuntarily; but the oblong form of the orb was quite
clear. It appeared like a gigantic egg, with the small end turned towards
the earth. Indeed the moon, liquid and pliable in the first days of its
formation, was originally a perfect sphere; but being soon drawn within
the attraction of the earth, it became elongated under the influence
of gravitation. In becoming a satellite, she lost her native purity of
form; her centre of gravity was in advance of the centre of her figure;
and from this fact some savants draw the conclusion that the air and
water had taken refuge on the opposite surface of the moon, which is
never seen from the earth. This alteration in the primitive form of the
satellite was only perceptible for a few moments. The distance of the
projectile from the moon diminished very rapidly under its speed, though
that was much less than its initial velocity,--but eight or nine times
greater than that which propels our express trains. The oblique course
of the projectile, from its very obliquity, gave Michel Ardan some hopes
of striking the lunar disc at some point or other. He could not think
that they would never reach it. No! he could not believe it; and this
opinion he often repeated. But Barbicane, who was a better judge, always
answered him with merciless logic.
"No, Michel, no! We can only reach the moon by a fall, and we are not
falling. The centripetal force keeps us under the moon's influence, but
the centrifugal force draws us irresistibly away from it."
This was said in a tone which quenched Michel Ardan's last hope.
The portion of the moon which the projectile was nearing was the northern
hemisphere, that which the Selenographic maps place below; for these
maps are generally drawn after the outline given by the glasses, and we
know that they reverse the objects. Such was the -Mappa Selenographica-
of Bœer and Moedler which Barbicane consulted. This northern hemisphere
presented vast plains, dotted with isolated mountains.
At midnight the moon was full. At that precise moment the travellers
should have alighted upon it, if the mischievous meteor had not diverted
their course. The orb was exactly in the condition determined by the
Cambridge Observatory. It was mathematically at its perigee, and at the
zenith of the twenty-eighth parallel. An observer placed at the bottom
of the enormous Columbiad, pointed perpendicularly to the horizon, would
have framed the moon in the mouth of the gun. A straight line drawn
through the axis of the piece would have passed through the centre of
the orb of night. It is needless to say, that during the night of the
5th--6th of December, the travellers took not an instant's rest. Could
they close their eyes when so near this new world? No! All their feelings
were concentrated in one single thought:--See! Representatives of the
earth, of humanity, past and present, all centred in them! It is through
their eyes that the human race look at these lunar regions, and penetrate
the secrets of their satellite! A strange emotion filled their hearts as
they went from one window to the other.
Their observations, reproduced by Barbicane, were rigidly determined. To
take them, they had glasses; to correct them, maps.
As regards the optical instruments at their disposal, they had excellent
marine glasses specially constructed for this journey.
They possessed magnifying powers of 100. They would thus have brought the
moon to within a distance (apparent) of less than 2000 leagues from the
earth. But then, at a distance which for three hours in the morning did
not exceed sixty-five miles, and in a medium free from all atmospheric
disturbances, these instruments could reduce the lunar surface to within
less than 1500 yards!
CHAPTER XI.
FANCY AND REALITY.
"Have you ever seen the moon?" asked a professor, ironically, of one of
his pupils.
"No, sir!" replied the pupil, still more ironically, "but I must say I
have heard it spoken of."
In one sense, the pupil's witty answer might be given by a large majority
of sublunary beings. How many people have heard speak of the moon who
have never seen it--at least through a glass or a telescope! How many
have never examined the map of their satellite!
In looking at a selenographic map, one peculiarity strikes us. Contrary
to the arrangement followed for that of the Earth and Mars, the continents
occupy more particularly the southern hemisphere of the lunar globe.
These continents do not show such decided, clear, and regular boundary
lines as South America, Africa, and the Indian peninsula. Their angular,
capricious, and deeply indented coasts are rich in gulfs and peninsulas.
They remind one of the confusion in the islands of the Sound, where the
land is excessively indented. If navigation ever existed on the surface
of the moon, it must have been wonderfully difficult and dangerous; and
we may well pity the Selenite sailors and hydrographers; the former,
when they came upon these perilous coasts, the latter when they took the
soundings of its stormy banks.
Illustration: HOW MANY PEOPLE HAVE HEARD SPEAK OF THE MOON.
We may also notice that, on the lunar sphere, the south pole is much more
continental than the north pole. On the latter, there is but one slight
strip of land separated from other continents by vast seas. Towards the
south, continents clothe almost the whole of the hemisphere. It is even
possible that the Selenites have already planted the flag on one of
their poles, whilst Franklin, Ross, Kane, Dumont d'Urville, and Lambert
have never yet been able to attain that unknown point of the terrestrial
globe.
As to islands, they are numerous on the surface of the moon. Nearly
all oblong or circular, and as if traced with the compass, they seem to
form one vast Archipelago, equal to that charming group lying between
Greece and Asia Minor, and which mythology in ancient times adorned with
most graceful legends. Involuntarily the names of Naxos, Tenedos, and
Carpathos, rise before the mind, and we seek vainly for Ulysses' vessel
or the "clipper" of the Argonauts. So at least it was in Michel Ardan's
eyes. To him it was a Grecian Archipelago that he saw on the map. To
the eyes of his matter-of-fact companions, the aspect of these coasts
recalled rather the parcelled-out land of New Brunswick and Nova Scotia;
and where the Frenchman discovered traces of the heroes of fable, these
Americans were marking the most favourable points for the establishment
of stores in the interests of lunar commerce and industry.
After wandering over these vast continents, the eye is attracted by still
greater seas. Not only their formation, but their situation and aspect
remind one of the terrestrial oceans; but again, as on earth, these seas
occupy the greater portion of the globe. But in point of fact, these
are not liquid spaces, but plains, the nature of which the travellers
hoped soon to determine. Astronomers, we must allow, have graced these
pretended seas with at least odd names, which science has respected up to
the present time. Michel Ardan was right when he compared this map to a
"Tendre card," got up by a Scudary or a Cyrano de Bergerac. "Only," said
he, "it is no longer the sentimental card of the seventeenth century, it
is the card of life, very neatly divided into two parts, one feminine,
the other masculine; the right hemisphere for woman, the left for man."
In speaking thus, Michel made his prosaic companions shrug their
shoulders. Barbicane and Nicholl looked upon the lunar map from a very
different point of view to that of their fantastic friend. Nevertheless,
their fantastic friend was a little in the right. Judge for yourselves.
In the left hemisphere stretches the "Sea of Clouds," where human reason
is so often shipwrecked. Not far off lies the "Sea of Rains," fed by all
the fever of existence. Near this is the "Sea of Storms," where man is
ever fighting against his passions, which too often gain the victory.
Then, worn out by deceit, treasons, infidelity, and the whole body of
terrestrial misery, what does he find at the end of his career? that vast
"Sea of Humours," barely softened by some drops of the waters from the
"Gulf of Dew!" Clouds, rain, storms, and humours,--does the life of man
contain aught but these? and is it not summed up in these four words?
The right hemisphere, "dedicated to the ladies," encloses smaller seas,
whose significant names contain every incident of a feminine existence.
There is the "Sea of Serenity," over which the young girl bends; "The
Lake of Dreams," reflecting a joyous future; "the Sea of Nectar," with its
waves of tenderness and breezes of love; "The Sea of Fruitfulness;" "The
Sea of Crises;" then the "Sea of Vapours," whose dimensions are perhaps
a little too confined; and lastly, that vast "Sea of Tranquillity," in
which every false passion, every useless dream, every unsatisfied desire
is at length absorbed, and whose waves emerge peaceably into the "Lake
of Death!"
What a strange succession of names! What a singular division of the moon's
two hemispheres, joined to one another like man and woman, and forming
that sphere of life carried into space! And was not the fantastic Michel
right in thus interpreting the fancies of the ancient astronomers? But
whilst his imagination thus roved over "the seas," his grave companions
were considering things more geographically. They were learning this new
world by heart. They were measuring angles and diameters.
CHAPTER XII.
OROGRAPHIC DETAILS.
The course taken by the projectile, as we have before remarked, was
bearing it towards the moon's northern hemisphere. The travellers were
far from the central point which they would have struck, had their course
not been subject to an irremediable deviation. It was past midnight; and
Barbicane then estimated the distance at 750 miles, which was a little
greater than the length of the lunar radius, and which would diminish
as it advanced nearer to the North Pole. The projectile was then not
at the altitude of the equator; but across the tenth parallel, and from
that latitude, carefully taken on the map to the pole, Barbicane and his
two companions were able to observe the moon under the most favourable
conditions. Indeed, by means of glasses, the above named distance was
reduced to little more than fourteen miles. The telescope of the Rocky
Mountains brought the moon much nearer; but the terrestrial atmosphere
singularly lessened its power. Thus Barbicane, posted in his projectile,
with the glasses to his eyes, could seize upon details which were almost
imperceptible to earthly observers.
"My friends," said the president, in a serious voice, "I do not know
whither we are going; I do not know if we shall ever see the terrestrial
globe again. Nevertheless, let us proceed as if our work would one day
be useful to our fellow-men. Let us keep our minds free from every other
consideration. We are astronomers; and this projectile is a room in the
Cambridge University, carried into space. Let us make our observations!"
This said, work was begun with great exactness; and they faithfully
reproduced the different aspects of the moon, at the different distances
which the projectile reached.
At the time that the projectile was as high as the tenth parallel,
north latitude, it seemed rigidly to follow the twentieth degree, east
longitude. We must here make one important remark with regard to the map
by which they were taking observations. In the selenographical maps where,
on account of the reversing of the objects by the glasses, the south
is above and the north below, it would seem natural that, on account of
that inversion, the east should be to the left hand, and the west to the
right. But it is not so. If the map were turned upside down, showing the
moon as we see her, the east would be to the -left-, and the west to the
-right-, contrary to that which exists on terrestrial maps. The following
is the reason of this anomaly. Observers in the northern hemisphere
(say in Europe) see the moon in the south,-- according to them. When
they take observations, they turn their backs to the north, the reverse
position to that which they occupy when they study a terrestrial map. As
they turn their backs to the north, the east is on their left, and the
west to their right. To observers in the southern hemisphere (Patagonia
for example), the moon's west would be quite to their left, and the east
to their right, as the south is behind them. Such is the reason of the
apparent reversing of these two cardinal points, and we must bear it in
mind in order to be able to follow President Barbicane's
observations.
With the help of Bœer and Moedler's -Mappa Selenographica-, the travellers
were able at once to recognise that portion of the disc enclosed within
the field of their glasses.
"What are we looking at, at this moment?" asked Michel.
"At the northern part of the 'Sea of Clouds,'" answered Barbicane. "We
are too far off to recognize its nature. Are these plains composed of
arid sand, as the first astronomer maintained? Or are they nothing but
immense forests, according to M. Warren de la Rue's opinion, who gives
the moon an atmosphere, though a very low and a very dense one? That we
shall know by and by. We must affirm nothing until we are in a position
to do so."
This "Sea of Clouds" is rather doubtfully marked out upon the maps. It
is supposed that these vast plains are strewn with blocks of lava from
the neighbouring volcanoes on its right, Ptolemy, Purbach, Arzachel.
But the projectile was advancing, and sensibly nearing it. Soon there
appeared the heights which bound this sea at this northern limit. Before
them rose a mountain radiant with beauty, the top of which seemed lost
in an eruption of solar rays.
"That is--?" asked Michel.
"Copernicus," replied Barbicane.
"Let us see Copernicus."
This mount situated in 9° north latitude and 20° east longitude,
rose to a height of 10,600 feet above the surface of the moon. It is
quite visible from the earth; and astronomers can study it with ease,
particularly during the phase between the last quarter and the new
moon, because then the shadows are thrown lengthways from east to west,
allowing them to measure the heights.
This Copernicus forms the most important of the radiating system, situated
in the southern hemisphere, according to Tycho Brahé. It rises isolated
like a gigantic lighthouse on that portion of the Sea of Clouds, which is
bounded by the "Sea of Tempests," thus lighting by its splendid rays two
oceans at a time. It was a sight without an equal, those long luminous
trains, so dazzling in the full moon, and which, passing the boundary
chain on the north, extends to the "Sea of Rains." At one o'clock of the
terrestrial morning, the projectile, like a balloon borne into space,
overlooked the top of this superb mountain. Barbicane could recognize
perfectly its chief features. Copernicus is comprised in the series of
ringed mountains of the first order, in the division of great circles.
Like Kepler and Aristarchus, which overlook the Ocean of Tempests,
sometimes it appeared like a brilliant point through the cloudy light,
and was taken for a volcano in activity. But it is only an extinct
one,--like all on that side of the moon. Its circumference showed a
diameter of about twenty-two leagues. The glasses discovered traces of
stratification produced by successive eruptions, and the neighbourhood
was strewn with volcanic remains which still choked some of the craters.
"There exist," said Barbicane, "several kinds of circles on the surface
of the moon, and it is easy to see that Copernicus belongs to the
radiating class. If we were nearer, we should see the cones bristling on
the inside, which in former times were so many fiery mouths. A curious
arrangement, and one without an exception on the lunar disc, is that
the interior surface of these circles is the reverse of the exterior,
and contrary to the form taken by terrestrial craters. It follows, then,
that the general curve of the bottom of these circles gives a sphere of
a smaller diameter than that of the moon."
"And why this peculiar disposition?" asked Nicholl.
"We do not know," replied Barbicane.
"What splendid radiation!" said Michel. "One could hardly see a finer
spectacle, I think."
"What would you say, then," replied Barbicane, "if chance should bear us
towards the southern hemisphere?"
"Well, I should say that it was still more beautiful," retorted Michel
Ardan.
At this moment the projectile hung perpendicularly over the circle. The
circumference of Copernicus formed almost a perfect circle, and its steep
escarpments were clearly defined. They could even distinguish a second
ringed enclosure. Around spread a greyish plain, of a wild aspect, on
which every relief was marked in yellow. At the bottom of the circle,
as if enclosed in a jewel case, sparkled for one instant two or three
eruptive cones, like enormous dazzling gems. Towards the north the
escarpments were lowered by a depression which would probably have given
access to the interior of the crater.
In passing over the surrounding plains, Barbicane noticed a great number
of less important mountains; and among others a little ringed one called
Guy Lussac, the breadth of which measured twelve miles.
Towards the south, the plain was very flat, without one elevation,
without one projection. Towards the north, on the contrary, till where it
was bounded by the Sea of Storms it resembled a liquid surface agitated
by a storm, of which the hills and hollows formed a succession of waves
suddenly congealed. Over the whole of this, and in all directions, lay
the luminous lines, all converging to the summit of Copernicus.
The travellers discussed the origin of these strange rays; but they could
not determine their nature any more than terrestrial observers.
"But why," said Nicholl, "should not these rays be simply spurs of
mountains which reflect more vividly the light of the sun?"
"No," replied Barbicane; "if it was so, under certain conditions of the
moon, these ridges would cast shadows, and they do not cast any."
And indeed, these rays only appeared when the orb of day was in opposition
to the moon, and disappeared as soon as its rays became oblique.
"But how have they endeavoured to explain these lines of light?" asked
Michel; "for I cannot believe that savants would ever be stranded for
want of an explanation."
"Yes," replied Barbicane; "Herschel has put forward an opinion, but he
did not venture to affirm it."
"Never mind. What was the opinion?"
"He thought that these rays might be streams of cooled lava which shone
when the sun beat straight upon them. It may be so; but nothing can
be less certain. Besides, if we pass nearer to Tycho, we shall be in a
better position to find out the cause of this radiation."
Illustration: "THIS PLAIN WOULD THEN BE NOTHING BUT AN IMMENSE
CEMETERY."
"Do you know, my friends, what that plain, seen from the height we are
at, resembles?" said Michel.
"No," replied Nicholl.
"Very well; with all those pieces of lava lengthened like rockets, it
resembles an immense game of spelikans thrown pell-mell. There wants but
the hook to pull them out one by one."
"Do be serious," said Barbicane.
"Well, let us be serious," replied Michel quietly; "and instead of
spelikans, let us put bones. This plain would then be nothing but an
immense cemetery, on which would repose the mortal remains of thousands
of extinct generations. Do you prefer that high-flown comparison?"
"One is as good as the other," retorted Barbicane.
"My word, you are difficult to please," answered Michel.
"My worthy friend," continued the matter-of-fact Barbicane, "it matters
but little what it -resembles-, when we do not know what it -is-."
"Well answered," exclaimed Michel. "That will teach me to reason with
savants."
But the projectile continued to advance with almost uniform speed around
the lunar disc. The travellers, we may easily imagine, did not dream of
taking a moment's rest. Every minute changed the landscape which fled
from beneath their gaze. About half-past one o'clock in the morning, they
caught a glimpse of the tops of another mountain. Barbicane, consulting
his map, recognized Eratosthenes.
It was a ringed mountain 9000 feet high, and one of those circles so
numerous on this satellite. With regard to this, Barbicane related
Kepler's singular opinion on the formation of circles. According to that
celebrated mathematician, these crater-like cavities had been dug by the
hand of man.
"For what purpose?" asked Nicholl.
"For a very natural one," replied Barbicane. "The Selenites might have
undertaken these immense works and dug these enormous holes for a refuge
and shield from the solar rays which beat upon them during fifteen
consecutive days."
"The Selenites are not fools," said Michel.
"A singular idea," replied Nicholl; "but it is probable that Kepler did
not know the true dimensions of these circles, for the digging of them
would have been the work of giants quite impossible for the Selenites."
"Why? if weight on the moon's surface is six times less than on the
earth?" said Michel.
"But if the Selenites are six times smaller?" retorted Nicholl.
"And if there are no Selenites?" added Barbicane.
This put an end to the discussion.
Soon Eratosthenes disappeared under the horizon without the projectile
being sufficiently near to allow of close observation. This mountain
separated the Apennines from the Carpathians. In the lunar orography they
have discerned some chains of mountains, which are chiefly distributed
over the northern hemisphere. Some, however, occupy certain portions of
the southern hemisphere also.
About two o'clock in the morning Barbicane found that they were above the
twentieth lunar parallel. The distance of the projectile from the moon
was not more than 600 miles. Barbicane, now perceiving that the projectile
was steadily approaching the lunar disc, did not despair, if of reaching
her, at least of discovering the secrets of her configuration.
CHAPTER XIII.
LUNAR LANDSCAPES.
At half-past two in the morning, the projectile was over the thirteenth
lunar parallel and at the effective distance of 500 miles, reduced by
the glasses to five. It still seemed impossible, however, that it could
ever touch any part of the disc. Its motive speed, comparatively so
moderate, was inexplicable to President Barbicane. At that distance from
the moon it must have been considerable, to enable it to bear up against
her attraction. Here was a phenomenon the cause of which escaped them
again. Besides, time failed them to investigate the cause. All lunar
relief was defiling under the eyes of the travellers, and they would not
lose a single detail.
Under the glasses the disc appeared at the distance of five miles. What
would an aeronaut, borne to this distance from the earth, distinguish on
its surface? We cannot say, since the greatest ascension has not been
more than 25,000 feet.
This, however, is an exact description of what Barbicane and his companions
saw at this height. Large patches of different colours appeared on the
disc. Selenographers are not agreed upon the nature of these colours.
There are several, and rather vividly marked. Julius Schmidt pretends
that, if the terrestrial oceans were dried up, a Selenite observer could
not distinguish on the globe a greater diversity of shades between the
oceans and the continental plains than those on the moon present to a
terrestrial observer. According to him, the colour common to the vast
plains known by the name of "seas" is a dark grey mixed with green and
brown. Some of the large craters present the same appearance. Barbicane
knew this opinion of the German selenographer, an opinion shared by Bœer
and Moedler. Observation has proved that right was on their side, and not
on that of some astronomers who admit the existence of only grey on the
moon's surface. In some parts green was very distinct, such as springs,
according to Julius Schmidt, from the seas of Serenity and Humours.
Barbicane also noticed large craters, without any interior cones, which
shed a bluish tint similar to the reflection of a sheet of steel freshly
polished. These colours belonged really to the lunar disc, and did not
result, as some astronomers say, either from the imperfection in the
objective of the glasses or from the interposition of the terrestrial
atmosphere.
Not a doubt existed in Barbicane's mind with regard to it, as he observed
it through space, and so could not commit any optical error. He considered
the establishment of this fact as an acquisition to science. Now, were
these shades of green, belonging to tropical vegetation, kept up by a
low dense atmosphere? He could not yet say.
Farther on, he noticed a reddish tint, quite defined. The same shade had
before been observed at the bottom of an isolated enclosure, known by
the name of Lichtenburg's circle, which is situated near the Hercynian
mountains, on the borders of the moon; but they could not tell the nature
of it.
They were not more fortunate with regard to another peculiarity of the
disc, for they could not decide upon the cause of it.
Michel Ardan was watching near the president, when he noticed long
white lines, vividly lighted up by the direct rays of the sun. It was
a succession of luminous furrows, very different from the radiation of
Copernicus not long before; they ran parallel with each other.
Michel, with his usual readiness, hastened to exclaim,-- "Look there!
cultivated fields!"
Illustration: "WHAT GIANT OXEN."
"Cultivated fields!" replied Nicholl, shrugging his shoulders.
"Ploughed, at all events," retorted Michel Ardan; "but what labourers
those Selenites must be, and what giant oxen they must harness to their
plough to cut such furrows!"
"They are not furrows," said Barbicane; "they are -rifts-."
"Rifts? stuff!" replied Michel mildly; "but what do you mean by 'rifts'
in the scientific world?"
Barbicane immediately enlightened his companion as to what he knew about
lunar rifts. He knew that they were a kind of furrow found on every part
of the disc which was not mountainous; that these furrows, generally
isolated, measured from 400 to 500 leagues in length; that their breadth
varied from 1000 to 1500 yards, and that their borders were strictly
parallel; but he knew nothing more either of their formation or their
nature.
Barbicane, through his glasses, observed these rifts with great attention.
He noticed that their borders were formed of steep declivities; they
were long parallel ramparts, and with some small amount of imagination
he might have admitted the existence of long lines of fortifications,
raised by Selenite engineers. Of these different rifts some were perfectly
straight, as if cut by a line; others were slightly curved, though still
keeping their borders parallel; some crossed each other, some cut through
craters; here they wound through ordinary cavities, such as Posidonius or
Petavius; there they wound through the seas, such as the Sea of Serenity.
These natural accidents naturally excited the imaginations of these
terrestrial astronomers. The first observations had not discovered these
rifts. Neither Hevelius, Cassim, La Hire, nor Herschel seemed to have
known them. It was Schroeter who in 1789 first drew attention to them.
Others followed who studied them, as Pastorff, Gruithuysen, Bœer, and
Moedler. At this time their number amounts to seventy; but, if they
have been counted, their nature has not yet been determined; they are
certainly not fortifications, any more than they are the ancient beds of
dried-up rivers; for, on one side, the waters, so slight on the moon's
surface, could never have worn such drains for themselves; and, on the
other, they often cross craters of great elevation.
We must, however, allow that Michel Ardan had "an idea," and that,
without knowing it, he coincided in that respect with Julius Schmidt.
"Why," said he, "should not these unaccountable appearances be simply
phenomena of vegetation?"
"What do you mean?" asked Barbicane quickly.
"Do not excite yourself, my worthy president," replied Michel; "might it
not be possible that the dark lines forming that bastion were rows of
trees regularly placed?"
"You stick to your vegetation, then?" said Barbicane.
"I like," retorted Michel Ardan, "to explain what you savants cannot
explain; at least my hypothesis has the advantage of indicating why these
rifts disappear, or seem to disappear, at certain seasons."
"And for what reason?"
"For the reason that the trees become invisible when they lose their
leaves, and visible when they regain them."
"Your explanation is ingenious, my dear companion," replied Barbicane,
"but inadmissible."
"Why?"
"Because, so to speak, there are no seasons on the moon's surface, and
that, consequently, the phenomena of vegetation of which you speak cannot
occur."
Indeed, the slight obliquity of the lunar axis keeps the sun at an almost
equal height in every latitude. Above the equatorial regions the radiant
orb almost invariably occupies the zenith, and does not pass the limits
of the horizon in the polar regions; thus, according to each region,
there reigns a perpetual winter, spring, summer, or autumn, as in the
planet Jupiter, whose axis is but little inclined upon its orbit.
Illustration: HE COULD DISTINGUISH NOTHING BUT DESERT BEDS.
What origin do they attribute to these rifts? That is a question difficult
to solve. They are certainly anterior to the formation of craters and
circles, for several have introduced themselves by breaking through their
circular ramparts. Thus it may be that, contemporary with the latter
geological epochs, they are due to the expansion of natural forces.
But the projectile had now attained the 40° of lunar lat., at a distance
not exceeding 400 miles. Through the glasses objects appeared to be only
four miles distant.
At this point, under their feet, rose Mount Helicon, 1520 feet high,
and round about the left rose moderate elevations, enclosing a small
portion of the "Sea of Rains," under the name of the Gulf of Iris. The
terrestrial atmosphere would have to be one hundred and seventy times more
transparent than it is, to allow astronomers to make perfect observations
on the moon's surface; but in the void in which the projectile floated
no fluid interposed itself between the eye of the observer and the
object observed. And more, Barbicane found himself carried to a greater
distance than the most powerful telescopes had ever done before, either
that of Lord Rosse or that of the Rocky Mountains. He was, therefore,
under extremely favourable conditions for solving that great question
of the habitability of the moon; but the solution still escaped him; he
could distinguish nothing but desert beds, immense plains, and towards
the north, arid mountains. Not a work betrayed the hand of man; not a
ruin marked his course; not a group of animals was to be seen indicating
life, even in an inferior degree. In no part was there life, in no part
was there an appearance of vegetation. Of the three kingdoms which share
the terrestrial globe between them, one alone was represented on the
lunar and that the mineral.
"Ah, indeed!" said Michel Ardan, a little out of countenance; "then you
see no one?"
"No," answered Nicholl; "up to this time not a man, not an animal, not
a tree! After all, whether the atmosphere has taken refuge at the bottom
of cavities, in the midst of the circles, or even on the opposite face
of the moon, we cannot decide."
"Besides," added Barbicane, "even to the most piercing eye a man cannot
be distinguished farther than three miles and a half off; so that, if
there are any Selenites, they can see our projectile, but we cannot see
them."
Towards four in the morning, at the height of the fiftieth parallel, the
distance was reduced to 300 miles. To the left ran a line of mountains
capriciously shaped, lying in the full light. To the right, on the
contrary, lay a black hollow resembling a vast well, unfathomable and
gloomy, drilled into the lunar soil.
This hole was the "Black Lake;" it was Pluto, a deep circle which can be
conveniently studied from the earth, between the last quarter and the
new moon, when the shadows fall from west to east.
This black colour is rarely met with on the surface of the satellite. As
yet it has only been recognized in the depths of the circle of Endymion,
to the east of the Cold Sea, in the northern hemisphere, and at the
bottom of Grimaldi's circle, on the equator, towards the eastern border
of the orb.
Pluto is an annular mountain, situated in 51° north latitude, and 9°
east longitude. Its circuit is forty-seven miles long and thirty-two
broad.
Barbicane regretted that they were not passing directly above this vast
opening. There was an abyss to fathom, perhaps some mysterious phenomenon
to surprise; but the projectile's course could not be altered. They must
rigidly submit. They could not guide a balloon, still less a projectile,
when once enclosed within its walls. Towards five in the morning the
northern limits of the Sea of Rains was at length passed. The mounts
of Condamine and Fontenelle remained--one on the right, the other on
the left. That part of the disc beginning with 60° was becoming quite
mountainous. The glasses brought them to within two miles, less than
that separating the summit of Mont Blanc from the level of the sea. The
whole region was bristling with spikes and circles. Towards the 60°
Philolaus stood predominant at a height of 5550 feet with its elliptical
crater, and seen from this distance, the disc showed a very fantastical
appearance. Landscapes were presented to the eye under very different
conditions from those on the earth, and also very inferior to
them.
The moon having no atmosphere, the consequences arising from the absence
of this gaseous envelope have already been shown. No twilight on her
surface; night following day and day following night with the suddenness
of a lamp which is extinguished or lighted amidst profound darkness,--no
transition from cold to heat, the temperature falling in an instant from
boiling point to the cold of space.
Another consequence of this want of air is that absolute darkness
reigns where the sun's rays do not penetrate. That which on earth is
called diffusion of light, that luminous matter which the air holds in
suspension, which creates the twilight and the daybreak, which produces
the -umbræ- and the -penumbræ-, and all the magic of -chiaro-oscuro-,
does not exist on the moon. Hence the harshness of contrasts, which only
admit of two colours, black and white. If a Selenite were to shade his
eyes from the sun's rays, the sky would seem absolutely black, and the
stars would shine to him as on the darkest night. Judge of the impression
produced on Barbicane and his three friends by this strange scene! Their
eyes were confused. They could no longer grasp the respective distances
of the different plains. A lunar landscape without the softening of the
phenomena of -chiaro-oscuro- could not be rendered by an earthly landscape
painter: it would be spots of ink on a white page--nothing
more.
This aspect was not altered even when the projectile, at the height of
80°, was only separated from the moon by a distance of fifty miles; nor
even when, at five in the morning, it passed at less than twenty-five
miles from the mountain of Gioja, a distance reduced by the glasses to
a quarter of a mile. It seemed as if the moon might be touched by the
hand! It seemed impossible that, before long, the projectile would not
strike her, if only at the north pole, the brilliant arch of which was
so distinctly visible on the black sky.
Michel Ardan wanted to open one of the scuttles and throw himself on to
the moon's surface! A very useless attempt; for if the projectile could
not attain any point whatever of the satellite, Michel, carried along by
its motion, could not attain it either.
At that moment, at six o'clock, the lunar pole appeared. The disc only
presented to the travellers' gaze one half brilliantly lit up, whilst
the other disappeared in the darkness. Suddenly the projectile passed
the line of demarcation between intense light and absolute darkness, and
was plunged in profound night!
CHAPTER XIV.
THE NIGHT OF THREE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-FOUR HOURS
AND A HALF.
At the moment when this phenomenon took place so rapidly, the projectile
was skirting the moon's north pole at less than twenty-five miles
distance. Some seconds had sufficed to plunge it into the absolute
darkness of space. The transition was so sudden, without shade, without
gradation of light, without attenuation of the luminous waves, that the
orb seemed to have been extinguished by a powerful blow.
"Melted, disappeared!" Michel Ardan exclaimed, aghast.
Indeed, there was neither reflection nor shadow. Nothing more was to be
seen of that disc, formerly so dazzling. The darkness was complete, and
rendered even more so by the rays from the stars. It was "that blackness"
in which the lunar nights are insteeped, which last three hundred and
four hours and a half at each point of the disc, a long night resulting
from the equality of the translatory and rotary movements of the moon. The
projectile, immerged in the conical shadow of the satellite, experienced
the action of the solar rays no more than any of its invisible points.
In the interior, the obscurity was complete. They could not see each
other. Hence the necessity of dispelling the darkness. However desirous
Barbicane might be to husband the gas, the reserve of which was small,
he was obliged to ask from it a fictitious light, an expensive brilliancy
which the sun then refused.
"Devil take the radiant orb!" exclaimed Michel Ardan, "which forces us
to expend gas, instead of giving us his rays gratuitously."
"Do not let us accuse the sun," said Nicholl, "it is not his fault, but
that of the moon, which has come and placed herself like a screen between
us and it."
"It is the sun!" continued Michel.
"It is the moon!" retorted Nicholl.
An idle dispute, which Barbicane put an end to by saying,--
"My friends, it is neither the fault of the sun nor of the moon; it is
the fault of the -projectile-, which, instead of rigidly following its
course, has awkwardly missed it. To be more just, it is the fault of that
unfortunate meteor which has so deplorably altered our first direction."
"Well," replied Michel Ardan, "as the matter is settled, let us have
breakfast. After a whole night of watching it is fair to build ourselves
up a little."
This proposal meeting with no contradiction, Michel prepared the repast
in a few minutes. But they ate for eating's sake, they drank without
toasts, without hurrahs. The bold travellers being borne away into gloomy
space, without their accustomed cortège of rays, felt a vague uneasiness
at their hearts. The "strange" shadow so dear to Victor Hugo's pen bound
them on all sides. But they talked over the interminable night of three
hundred and fifty-four hours and a half, nearly fifteen days, which the
law of physics has imposed on the inhabitants of the moon.
Barbicane gave his friends some explanation of the causes and the
consequences of this curious phenomenon.
"Curious indeed," said they; "for, if each hemisphere of the moon is
deprived of solar light for fifteen days, that above which we now float
does not even enjoy during its long night any view of the earth so
beautifully lit up. In a word she has no moon (applying this designation
to our globe) but on one side of her disc. Now if this were the case
with the earth,--if, for example, Europe never saw the moon, and she
was only visible at the Antipodes, imagine to yourself the astonishment
of a European on arriving in Australia."
Illustration: "IT IS THE FAULT OF THE MOON."
"They would make the voyage for nothing but to see the moon!" replied
Michel.
"Very well!" continued Barbicane, "that astonishment is reserved for the
Selenites who inhabit the face of the moon opposite to the earth, a face
which is ever invisible to our countrymen of the terrestrial globe."
"And which we should have seen," added Nicholl, "if we had arrived here
when the moon was new, that is to say fifteen days later."
"I will add, to make amends," continued Barbicane, "that the inhabitants
of the visible face are singularly favoured by nature, to the detriment
of their brethren on the invisible face. The latter, as you see, have
dark nights of 354 hours, without one single ray to break the darkness.
The other, on the contrary, when the sun which has given its light for
fifteen days sinks below the horizon, see a splendid orb rise on the
opposite horizon. It is the earth, which is thirteen times greater than
that diminutive moon that we know;--the earth which develops itself
at a diameter of two degrees, and which sheds a light thirteen times
greater than that qualified by atmospheric strata--the earth which only
disappears at the moment when the sun reappears in its turn!"
"Nicely worded!" said Michel, "slightly academical perhaps."
"It follows, then," continued Barbicane, without knitting his brows,
"that the visible face of the disc must be very agreeable to inhabit,
since it always looks on either the sun when the moon is full, or on the
earth when the moon is new."
"But," said Nicholl, "that advantage must be well compensated by the
insupportable heat which the light brings with it."
"The inconvenience, in that respect, is the same for the two faces, for
the earth's light is evidently deprived of heat. But the invisible face
is still more searched by the heat than the visible face. I say that for
-you-, Nicholl, because Michel will probably not understand."
"Thank you," said Michel.
"Indeed," continued Barbicane, "when the invisible face receives at
the same time light and heat from the sun, it is because the moon is
new; that is to say, she is situated between the sun and the earth. It
follows, then, considering the position which she occupies in opposition
when full, that she is nearer to the sun by twice her distance from the
earth; and that distance may be estimated at the two-hundredth part of
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