steelyard--my solitary steelyard, so delicate and so correct?”
The orderly wondered how his master could refrain from strangling the
old miser upon the spot; but Servadac, rather amused than otherwise,
determined to try another form of persuasion. “Come, Hakkabut, I see
that you are not disposed either to lend or to sell your steelyard. What
do you say to letting us hire it?”
The Jew’s eyes twinkled with a satisfaction that he was unable to
conceal. “But what security would you give? The instrument is very
valuable;” and he looked more cunning than ever.
“What is it worth? If it is worth twenty francs, I will leave a deposit
of a hundred. Will that satisfy you?”
He shook his head doubtfully. “It is very little; indeed, it is too
little, your Excellency. Consider, it is the only steelyard in all this
new world of ours; it is worth more, much more. If I take your deposit
it must be in gold--all gold. But how much do you agree to give me for
the hire--the hire, one day?”
“You shall have twenty francs,” said Servadac.
“Oh, it is dirt cheap; but never mind, for one day, you shall have it.
Deposit in gold money a hundred francs, and twenty francs for the hire.”
The old man folded his hands in meek resignation.
“The fellow knows how to make a good bargain,” said Servadac, as Isaac,
after casting a distrustful look around, went out of the cabin.
“Detestable old wretch!” replied the count, full of disgust.
Hardly a minute elapsed before the Jew was back again, carrying his
precious steelyard with ostentatious care. It was of an ordinary kind.
A spring balance, fitted with a hook, held the article to be weighed;
a pointer, revolving on a disc, indicated the weight of the article.
Professor Rosette was manifestly right in asserting that such a machine
would register results quite independently of any change in the force
of attraction. On the earth it would have registered a kilogramme as a
kilogramme; here it recorded a different value altogether, as the result
of the altered force of gravity.
Gold coinage to the worth of one hundred and twenty francs was handed
over to the Jew, who clutched at the money with unmistakable eagerness.
The steelyard was committed to the keeping of Ben Zoof, and the visitors
prepared to quit the -Hansa-.
All at once it occurred to the professor that the steelyard would be
absolutely useless to him, unless he had the means for ascertaining the
precise measurement of the unit of the soil of Gallia which he proposed
to weigh. “Something more you must lend me,” he said, addressing the
Jew. “I must have a measure, and I must have a kilogramme.”
“I have neither of them,” answered Isaac. “I have neither. I am sorry; I
am very sorry.” And this time the old Jew spoke the truth. He would have
been really glad to do another stroke or two of business upon terms as
advantageous as the transaction he had just concluded.
Palmyrin Rosette scratched his head in perplexity, glaring round upon
his companions as if they were personally responsible for his annoyance.
He muttered something about finding a way out of his difficulty, and
hastily mounted the cabin-ladder. The rest followed, but they had hardly
reached the deck when the chink of money was heard in the room below.
Hakkabut was locking away the gold in one of the drawers.
Back again, down the ladder, scrambled the little professor, and before
the Jew was aware of his presence he had seized him by the tail of his
slouchy overcoat. “Some of your money! I must have money!” he said.
“Money!” gasped Hakkabut; “I have no money.” He was pale with fright,
and hardly knew what he was saying.
“Falsehood!” roared Rosette. “Do you think I cannot see?” And peering
down into the drawer which the Jew was vainly trying to close, he cried,
“Heaps of money! French money! Five-franc pieces! the very thing I want!
I must have them!”
The captain and his friends, who had returned to the cabin looked on
with mingled amusement and bewilderment.
“They are mine!” shrieked Hakkabut.
“I will have them!” shouted the professor.
“You shall kill me first!” bellowed the Jew.
“No, but I must!” persisted the professor again.
It was manifestly time for Servadac to interfere. “My dear professor,”
he said, smiling, “allow me to settle this little matter for you.”
“Ah! your Excellency,” moaned the agitated Jew, “protect me! I am but a
poor man--”
“None of that, Hakkabut. Hold your tongue.” And, turning to Rosette,
the captain said, “If, sir, I understand right, you require some silver
five-franc pieces for your operation?”
“Forty,” said Rosette, surlily.
“Two hundred francs!” whined Hakkabut.
“Silence!” cried the captain.
“I must have more than that,” the professor continued. “I want ten
two-franc pieces, and twenty half-francs.”
“Let me see,” said Servadac, “how much is that in all? Two hundred and
thirty francs, is it not?”
“I dare say it is,” answered the professor.
“Count, may I ask you,” continued Servadac, “to be security to the Jew
for this loan to the professor?”
“Loan!” cried the Jew, “do you mean only a loan?”
“Silence!” again shouted the captain.
Count Timascheff, expressing his regret that his purse contained only
paper money, begged to place it at Captain Servadac’s disposal.
“No paper, no paper!” exclaimed Isaac. “Paper has no currency in
Gallia.”
“About as much as silver,” coolly retorted the count.
“I am a poor man,” began the Jew.
“Now, Hakkabut, stop these miserable lamentations of yours, once for
all. Hand us over two hundred and thirty francs in silver money, or we
will proceed to help ourselves.”
Isaac began to yell with all his might: “Thieves! thieves!”
In a moment Ben Zoof’s hand was clasped tightly over his mouth. “Stop
that howling, Belshazzar!”
“Let him alone, Ben Zoof. He will soon come to his senses,” said
Servadac, quietly.
When the old Jew had again recovered himself, the captain addressed him.
“Now, tell us, what interest do you expect?”
Nothing could overcome the Jew’s anxiety to make another good bargain.
He began: “Money is scarce, very scarce, you know--”
“No more of this!” shouted Servadac. “What interest, I say, what
interest do you ask?”
Faltering and undecided still, the Jew went on. “Very scarce, you know.
Ten francs a day, I think, would not be unreasonable, considering--”
The count had no patience to allow him to finish what he was about
to say. He flung down notes to the value of several rubles. With a
greediness that could not be concealed, Hakkabut grasped them all.
Paper, indeed, they were; but the cunning Israelite knew that they would
in any case be security far beyond the value of his cash. He was making
some eighteen hundred per cent. interest, and accordingly chuckled
within himself at his unexpected stroke of business.
The professor pocketed his French coins with a satisfaction far more
demonstrative. “Gentlemen,” he said, “with these franc pieces I obtain
the means of determining accurately both a meter and a kilogramme.”
CHAPTER VII. GALLIA WEIGHED
A quarter of an hour later, the visitors to the -Hansa- had reassembled
in the common hall of Nina’s Hive.
“Now, gentlemen, we can proceed,” said the professor. “May I request
that this table may be cleared?”
Ben Zoof removed the various articles that were lying on the table, and
the coins which had just been borrowed from the Jew were placed upon it
in three piles, according to their value.
The professor commenced. “Since none of you gentlemen, at the time
of the shock, took the precaution to save either a meter measure or
a kilogramme weight from the earth, and since both these articles are
necessary for the calculation on which we are engaged, I have been
obliged to devise means of my own to replace them.”
This exordium delivered, he paused and seemed to watch its effect
upon his audience, who, however, were too well acquainted with the
professor’s temper to make any attempt to exonerate themselves from the
rebuke of carelessness, and submitted silently to the implied reproach.
“I have taken pains,” he continued, “to satisfy myself that these
coins are in proper condition for my purpose. I find them unworn and
unchipped; indeed, they are almost new. They have been hoarded instead
of circulated; accordingly, they are fit to be utilized for my purpose
of obtaining the precise length of a terrestrial meter.”
Ben Zoof looked on in perplexity, regarding the lecturer with much the
same curiosity as he would have watched the performances of a traveling
mountebank at a fair in Montmartre; but Servadac and his two friends had
already divined the professor’s meaning. They knew that French coinage
is all decimal, the franc being the standard of which the other coins,
whether gold, silver, or copper, are multiples or measures; they knew,
too, that the caliber or diameter of each piece of money is rigorously
determined by law, and that the diameters of the silver coins
representing five francs, two francs, and fifty centimes measure
thirty-seven, twenty-seven, and eighteen millimeters respectively; and
they accordingly guessed that Professor Rosette had conceived the plan
of placing such a number of these coins in juxtaposition that the
length of their united diameters should measure exactly the thousand
millimeters that make up the terrestrial meter.
The measurement thus obtained was by means of a pair of compasses
divided accurately into ten equal portions, or decimeters, each of
course 3.93 inches long. A lath was then cut of this exact length and
given to the engineer of the -Dobryna-, who was directed to cut out of
the solid rock the cubic decimeter required by the professor.
The next business was to obtain the precise weight of a kilogramme. This
was by no means a difficult matter. Not only the diameters, but also the
weights, of the French coins are rigidly determined by law, and as the
silver five-franc pieces always weigh exactly twenty-five grammes,
the united weight of forty of these coins is known to amount to one
kilogramme.
“Oh!” cried Ben Zoof; “to be able to do all this I see you must be rich
as well as learned.”
With a good-natured laugh at the orderly’s remark, the meeting adjourned
for a few hours. By the appointed time the engineer had finished his
task, and with all due care had prepared a cubic decimeter of the
material of the comet.
“Now, gentlemen,” said Professor Rosette, “we are in a position to
complete our calculation; we can now arrive at Gallia’s attraction,
density, and mass.”
Everyone gave him his complete attention.
“Before I proceed,” he resumed, “I must recall to your minds Newton’s
general law, ‘that the attraction of two bodies is directly proportional
to the product of their masses, and inversely proportional to the square
of their distances.’”
“Yes,” said Servadac; “we remember that.”
“Well, then,” continued the professor, “keep it in mind for a
few minutes now. Look here! In this bag are forty five-franc
pieces--altogether they weigh exactly a kilogramme; by which I mean that
if we were on the earth, and I were to hang the bag on the hook of the
steelyard, the indicator on the dial would register one kilogramme. This
is clear enough, I suppose?”
As he spoke the professor designedly kept his eyes fixed upon Ben Zoof.
He was avowedly following the example of Arago, who was accustomed
always in lecturing to watch the countenance of the least intelligent
of his audience, and when he felt that he had made his meaning clear to
him, he concluded that he must have succeeded with all the rest. In
this case, however, it was technical ignorance, rather than any lack
of intelligence, that justified the selection of the orderly for this
special attention.
Satisfied with his scrutiny of Ben Zoof’s face, the professor went on.
“And now, gentlemen, we have to see what these coins weigh here upon
Gallia.”
He suspended the money bag to the hook; the needle oscillated, and
stopped. “Read it off!” he said.
The weight registered was one hundred and thirty-three grammes.
“There, gentlemen, one hundred and thirty-three grammes! Less than
one-seventh of a kilogramme! You see, consequently, that the force of
gravity here on Gallia is not one-seventh of what it is upon the earth!”
“Interesting!” cried Servadac, “most interesting! But let us go on and
compute the mass.”
“No, captain, the density first,” said Rosette.
“Certainly,” said the lieutenant; “for, as we already know the volume,
we can determine the mass as soon as we have ascertained the density.”
The professor took up the cube of rock. “You know what this is,” he went
on to say. “You know, gentlemen, that this block is a cube hewn from
the substance of which everywhere, all throughout your voyage of
circumnavigation, you found Gallia to be composed--a substance to which
your geological attainments did not suffice to assign a name.”
“Our curiosity will be gratified,” said Servadac, “if you will enlighten
our ignorance.”
But Rosette did not take the slightest notice of the interruption.
“A substance it is which no doubt constitutes the sole material of
the comet, extending from its surface to its innermost depths. The
probability is that it would be so; your experience confirms that
probability: you have found no trace of any other substance. Of this
rock here is a solid decimeter; let us get at its weight, and we shall
have the key which will unlock the problem of the whole weight of
Gallia. We have demonstrated that the force of attraction here is only
one-seventh of what it is upon the earth, and shall consequently have to
multiply the apparent weight of our cube by seven, in order to ascertain
its proper weight. Do you understand me, goggle-eyes?”
This was addressed to Ben Zoof, who was staring hard at him. “No!” said
Ben Zoof.
“I thought not; it is of no use waiting for your puzzle-brains to make
it out. I must talk to those who can understand.”
The professor took the cube, and, on attaching it to the hook of the
steelyard, found that its apparent weight was one kilogramme and four
hundred and thirty grammes.
“Here it is, gentlemen; one kilogramme, four hundred and thirty grammes.
Multiply that by seven; the product is, as nearly as possible, ten
kilogrammes. What, therefore, is our conclusion? Why, that the density
of Gallia is just about double the density of the earth, which we know
is only five kilogrammes to a cubic decimeter. Had it not been for
this greater density, the attraction of Gallia would only have been
one-fifteenth instead of one-seventh of the terrestrial attraction.”
The professor could not refrain from exhibiting his gratification that,
however inferior in volume, in density, at least, his comet had the
advantage over the earth.
Nothing further now remained than to apply the investigations thus
finished to the determining of the mass or weight. This was a matter of
little labor.
“Let me see,” said the captain; “what is the force of gravity upon the
various planets?”
“You can’t mean, Servadac, that you have forgotten that? But you always
were a disappointing pupil.”
The captain could not help himself: he was forced to confess that his
memory had failed him.
“Well, then,” said the professor, “I must remind you. Taking the
attraction on the earth as 1, that on Mercury is 1.15, on Venus it
is 0.92, on Mars 0.5, and on Jupiter 2.45; on the moon the attraction is 0.16,
whilst on the surface of the sun a terrestrial kilogramme would weigh 28
kilogrammes.”
“Therefore, if a man upon the surface of the sun were to fall down, he
would have considerable difficulty in getting up again. A cannon ball,
too, would only fly a few yards,” said Lieutenant Procope.
“A jolly battle-field for cowards!” exclaimed Ben Zoof.
“Not so jolly, Ben Zoof, as you fancy,” said his master; “the cowards
would be too heavy to run away.”
Ben Zoof ventured the remark that, as the smallness of Gallia secured to
its inhabitants such an increase of strength and agility, he was almost
sorry that it had not been a little smaller still.
“Though it could not anyhow have been very much smaller,” he added,
looking slyly at the professor.
“Idiot!” exclaimed Rosette. “Your head is too light already; a puff of
wind would blow it away.”
“I must take care of my head, then, and hold it on,” replied the
irrepressible orderly.
Unable to get the last word, the professor was about to retire, when
Servadac detained him.
“Permit me to ask you one more question,” he said. “Can you tell me what
is the nature of the soil of Gallia?”
“Yes, I can answer that. And in this matter I do not think your
impertinent orderly will venture to put Montmartre into the comparison.
This soil is of a substance not unknown upon the earth.” And speaking
very slowly, the professor said: “It contains 70 per cent. of tellurium,
and 30 per cent. of gold.”
Servadac uttered an exclamation of surprise.
“And the sum of the specific gravities of these two substances is 10,
precisely the number that represents Gallia’s density.”
“A comet of gold!” ejaculated the captain.
“Yes; a realization of what the illustrious Maupertuis has already
deemed probable,” replied the astronomer.
“If Gallia, then, should ever become attached to the earth, might it not
bring about an important revolution in all monetary affairs?” inquired
the count.
“No doubt about it!” said Rosette, with manifest satisfaction. “It would
supply the world with about 246,000 trillions of francs.”
“It would make gold about as cheap as dirt, I suppose,” said Servadac.
The last observation, however, was entirely lost upon the professor, who
had left the hall with an air almost majestic, and was already on his
way to the observatory.
“And what, I wonder, is the use of all these big figures?” said Ben Zoof
to his master, when next day they were alone together.
“That’s just the charm of them, my good fellow,” was the captain’s cool
reply, “that they are of no use whatever.”
CHAPTER VIII. JUPITER SOMEWHAT CLOSE
Except as to the time the comet would take to revolve round the sun,
it must be confessed that all the professor’s calculations had
comparatively little interest for anyone but himself, and he was
consequently left very much to pursue his studies in solitude.
The following day was the 1st of August, or, according to Rosette,
the 63rd of April. In the course of this month Gallia would travel
16,500,000 leagues, attaining at the end a distance of 197,000,000
leagues from the sun. This would leave 81,000,000 leagues more to be
traversed before reaching the aphelion of the 15th of January, after
which it would begin once more to approach the sun.
But meanwhile, a marvelous world, never before so close within the range
of human vision, was revealing itself. No wonder that Palmyrin Rosette
cared so little to quit his observatory; for throughout those calm,
clear Gallian nights, when the book of the firmament lay open before
him, he could revel in a spectacle which no previous astronomer had ever
been permitted to enjoy.
The glorious orb that was becoming so conspicuous an object was none
other than the planet Jupiter, the largest of all the bodies existing
within the influence of solar attraction. During the seven months that
had elapsed since its collision with the earth, the comet had been
continuously approaching the planet, until the distance between them was
scarcely more than 61,000,000 leagues, and this would go on diminishing
until the 15th of October.
Under these circumstances, was it perfectly certain that no danger
could accrue? Was not Gallia, when its pathway led it into such close
proximity to this enormous planet, running a risk of being attracted
within its influence? Might not that influence be altogether disastrous?
The professor, it is true, in his estimate of the duration of his
comet’s revolution, had represented that he had made all proper
allowances for any perturbations that would be caused either by
Jupiter, by Saturn, or by Mars; but what if there were any errors in
his calculations? what if there should be any elements of disturbance on
which he had not reckoned?
Speculations of this kind became more and more frequent, and Lieutenant
Procope pointed out that the danger incurred might be of a fourfold
character: first, that the comet, being irresistibly attracted, might
be drawn on to the very surface of the planet, and there annihilated;
secondly, that as the result of being brought under that attraction, it
might be transformed into a satellite, or even a sub-satellite, of that
mighty world; thirdly, that it might be diverted into a new orbit, which
would never be coincident with the ecliptic; or, lastly, its course
might be so retarded that it would only reach the ecliptic too late to
permit any junction with the earth. The occurrence of any one of these
contingencies would be fatal to their hopes of reunion with the globe,
from which they had been so strangely severed.
To Rosette, who, without family ties which he had never found leisure or
inclination to contract, had no shadow of desire to return to the earth,
it would be only the first of these probabilities that could give him
any concern. Total annihilation might not accord with his views, but he
would be quite content for Gallia to miss its mark with regard to
the earth, indifferent whether it revolved as a new satellite around
Jupiter, or whether it wended its course through the untraversed regions
of the milky way. The rest of the community, however, by no means
sympathized with the professor’s sentiments, and the following month was
a period of considerable doubt and anxiety.
On the 1st of September the distance between Gallia and Jupiter was
precisely the same as the mean distance between the earth and the sun;
on the 16th, the distance was further reduced to 26,000,000 leagues. The
planet began to assume enormous dimensions, and it almost seemed as if
the comet had already been deflected from its elliptical orbit, and was
rushing on in a straight line towards the overwhelming luminary.
The more they contemplated the character of this gigantic planet, the
more they became impressed with the likelihood of a serious perturbation
in their own course. The diameter of Jupiter is 85,390 miles, nearly
eleven times as great as that of the earth; his volume is 1,387 times,
and his mass 300 times greater; and although the mean density is only
about a quarter of that of the earth, and only a third of that of water
(whence it has been supposed that the superficies of Jupiter is liquid),
yet his other proportions were large enough to warrant the apprehension
that important disturbances might result from his proximity.
“I forget my astronomy, lieutenant,” said Servadac. “Tell me all you can
about this formidable neighbor.”
The lieutenant having refreshed his memory by reference to Flammarion’s
-Recits de l’Infini-, of which he had a Russian translation, and some
other books, proceeded to recapitulate that Jupiter accomplishes his
revolution round the sun in 4,332 days 14 hours and 2 minutes; that he
travels at the rate of 467 miles a minute along an orbit measuring 2,976
millions of miles; and that his rotation on his axis occupies only 9
hours and 55 minutes.
“His days, then, are shorter than ours?” interrupted the captain.
“Considerably,” answered the lieutenant, who went on to describe how the
displacement of a point at the equator of Jupiter was twenty-seven times
as rapid as on the earth, causing the polar compression to be about
2,378 miles; how the axis, being nearly perpendicular, caused the
days and nights to be nearly of the same length, and the seasons to be
invariable; and how the amount of light and heat received by the planet
is only a twenty-fifth part of that received by the earth, the average
distance from the sun being 475,693,000 miles.
“And how about these satellites? Sometimes, I suppose, Jupiter has the
benefit of four moons all shining at once?” asked Servadac.
Of the satellites, Lieutenant Procope went on to say that one is rather
smaller than our own moon; that another moves round its primary at an
interval about equal to the moon’s distance from ourselves; but that
they all revolve in considerably less time: the first takes only l day
18 hours 27 minutes; the second takes 3 days 13 hours 14 minutes; the
third, 7 days 3 hours 42 minutes; whilst the largest of all takes but 16
days 16 hours 32 minutes. The most remote revolves round the planet at a
distance of 1,192,820 miles.
“They have been enlisted into the service of science,” said Procope. “It
is by their movements that the velocity of light has been calculated;
and they have been made available for the determination of terrestrial
longitudes.”
“It must be a wonderful sight,” said the captain.
“Yes,” answered Procope. “I often think Jupiter is like a prodigious
clock with four hands.”
“I only hope that we are not destined to make a fifth hand,” answered
Servadac.
Such was the style of the conversation that was day by day reiterated
during the whole month of suspense. Whatever topic might be started, it
seemed soon to settle down upon the huge orb that was looming upon them
with such threatening aspect.
“The more remote that these planets are from the sun,” said Procope,
“the more venerable and advanced in formation are they found to be.
Neptune, situated 2,746,271,000 miles from the sun, issued from the
solar nebulosity, thousands of millions of centuries back. Uranus,
revolving 1,753,851,000 miles from the center of the planetary system,
is of an age amounting to many hundred millions of centuries. Jupiter,
the colossal planet, gravitating at a distance of 475,693,000 miles,
may be reckoned as 70,000,000 centuries old. Mars has existed for
1,000,000,000 years at a distance of 139,212,000 miles. The earth,
91,430,000 miles from the sun, quitted his burning bosom 100,000,000
years ago. Venus, revolving now 66,131,000 miles away, may be assigned
the age of 50,000,000 years at least; and Mercury, nearest of all, and
youngest of all, has been revolving at a distance of 35,393,000 miles
for the space of 10,000,000 years--the same time as the moon has been
evolved from the earth.”
Servadac listened attentively. He was at a loss what to say; and the
only reply he made to the recital of this novel theory was to the effect
that, if it were true, he would prefer being captured by Mercury than
by Jupiter, for Mercury, being so much the younger, would probably prove
the less imperative and self-willed master.
It was on the 1st of September that the comet had crossed the orbit of
Jupiter, and on the 1st of October the two bodies were calculated to
be at their minimum separation. No direct shock, however, could be
apprehended; the demonstration was sufficiently complete that the orbit
of Gallia did not coincide with that of the planet, the orbit of Jupiter
being inclined at an angle of 1 degrees 19 mins to the orbit of the
earth, with which that of Gallia was, no doubt, coincident.
As the month of September verged towards its close, Jupiter began
to wear an aspect that must have excited the admiration of the most
ignorant or the most indifferent observer. Its salient points were
illumined with novel and radiant tints, and the solar rays, reflected
from its disc, glowed with a mingled softness and intensity upon Gallia,
so that Nerina had to pale her beauty.
Who could wonder that Rosette, enthusiast as he was, should be
irremovable from his observatory? Who could expect otherwise than that,
with the prospect before him of viewing the giant among planets, ten
times nearer than any mortal eye had ever done, he should have begrudged
every moment that distracted his attention?
Meanwhile, as Jupiter grew large, the sun grew small.
From its increased remoteness the diameter of the sun’s disc was
diminished to 5 degrees 46 mins.
And what an increased interest began to be associated with the
satellites! They were visible to the naked eye! Was it not a new record
in the annals of science?
Although it is acknowledged that they are not ordinarily visible on
earth without the aid of a somewhat powerful telescope, it has been
asserted that a favored few, endued with extraordinary powers of vision,
have been able to identify them with an unassisted eye; but here,
at least, in Nina’s Hive were many rivals, for everyone could so far
distinguish them one from the other as to describe them by their colors.
The first was of a dull white shade; the second was blue; the third was
white and brilliant; the fourth was orange, at times approaching to
a red. It was further observed that Jupiter itself was almost void of
scintillation.
Rosette, in his absorbing interest for the glowing glories of the
planet, seemed to be beguiled into comparative forgetfulness of the
charms of his comet; but no astronomical enthusiasm of the professor
could quite allay the general apprehension that some serious collision
might be impending.
Time passed on. There was nothing to justify apprehension. The question
was continually being asked, “What does the professor really think?”
“Our friend the professor,” said Servadac, “is not likely to tell us
very much; but we may feel pretty certain of one thing: he wouldn’t keep
us long in the dark, if he thought we were not going back to the earth
again. The greatest satisfaction he could have would be to inform us
that we had parted from the earth for ever.”
“I trust from my very soul,” said the count, “that his prognostications
are correct.”
“The more I see of him, and the more I listen to him,” replied Servadac,
“the more I become convinced that his calculations are based on a solid
foundation, and will prove correct to the minutest particular.”
Ben Zoof here interrupted the conversation. “I have something on my
mind,” he said.
“Something on your mind? Out with it!” said the captain.
“That telescope!” said the orderly; “it strikes me that that telescope
which the old professor keeps pointed up at yonder big sun is bringing
it down straight upon us.”
The captain laughed heartily.
“Laugh, captain, if you like; but I feel disposed to break the old
telescope into atoms.”
“Ben Zoof,” said Servadac, his laughter exchanged for a look of stern
displeasure, “touch that telescope, and you shall swing for it!”
The orderly looked astonished.
“I am governor here,” said Servadac.
Ben Zoof knew what his master meant, and to him his master’s wish was
law.
The interval between the comet and Jupiter was, by the 1st of October,
reduced to 43,000,000 miles. The belts all parallel to Jupiter’s equator
were very distinct in their markings. Those immediately north and
south of the equator were of a dusky hue; those toward the poles were
alternately dark and light; the intervening spaces of the planet’s
superficies, between edge and edge, being intensely bright. The belts
themselves were occasionally broken by spots, which the records of
astronomy describe as varying both in form and in extent.
The physiology of belts and spots alike was beyond the astronomer’s
power to ascertain; and even if he should be destined once again to take
his place in an astronomical congress on the earth, he would be just as
incapable as ever of determining whether or no they owed their existence
to the external accumulation of vapor, or to some internal agency. It
would not be Professor Rosette’s lot to enlighten his brother -savants-
to any great degree as to the mysteries that are associated with this,
which must ever rank as one of the most magnificent amongst the heavenly
orbs.
As the comet approached the critical point of its career it cannot be
denied that there was an unacknowledged consciousness of alarm. Mutually
reserved, though ever courteous, the count and the captain were secretly
drawn together by the prospect of a common danger; and as their return
to the earth appeared to them to become more and more dubious, they
abandoned their views of narrow isolation, and tried to embrace the
wider philosophy that acknowledges the credibility of a habitable
universe.
But no philosophy could be proof against the common instincts of their
humanity; their hearts, their hopes, were set upon their natural home;
no speculation, no science, no experience, could induce them to give up
their fond and sanguine anticipation that once again they were to come
in contact with the earth.
“Only let us escape Jupiter,” said Lieutenant Procope, repeatedly, “and
we are free from anxiety.”
“But would not Saturn lie ahead?” asked Servadac and the count in one
breath.
“No!” said Procope; “the orbit of Saturn is remote, and does not come
athwart our path. Jupiter is our sole hindrance. Of Jupiter we must say,
as William Tell said, ‘Once through the ominous pass and all is well.’”
The 15th of October came, the date of the nearest approximation of the
comet to the planet. They were only 31,000,000 miles apart. What would
now transpire? Would Gallia be diverted from its proper way? or would it
hold the course that the astronomer had predicted?
Early next morning the captain ventured to take the count and the
lieutenant up to the observatory. The professor was in the worst of
tempers.
That was enough. It was enough, without a word, to indicate the course
which events had taken. The comet was pursuing an unaltered way.
The astronomer, correct in his prognostications, ought to have been the
most proud and contented of philosophers; his pride and contentment
were both overshadowed by the certainty that the career of his comet was
destined to be so transient, and that it must inevitably once again come
into collision with the earth.
CHAPTER IX MARKET PRICES IN GALLIA
“All right!” said Servadac, convinced by the professor’s ill humor that
the danger was past; “no doubt we are in for a two years’ excursion, but
fifteen months more will take us back to the earth!”
“And we shall see Montmartre again!” exclaimed Ben Zoof, in excited
tones that betrayed his delight in the anticipation.
To use a nautical expression, they had safely “rounded the point,” and
they had to be congratulated on their successful navigation; for if,
under the influence of Jupiter’s attraction, the comet had been retarded
for a single hour, in that hour the earth would have already traveled
2,300,000 miles from the point where contact would ensue, and many
centuries would elapse before such a coincidence would possibly again
occur.
On the 1st of November Gallia and Jupiter were 40,000,000 miles apart.
It was little more than ten weeks to the 15th of January, when the
comet would begin to re-approach the sun. Though light and heat were now
reduced to a twenty-fifth part of their terrestrial intensity, so that
a perpetual twilight seemed to have settled over Gallia, yet the
population felt cheered even by the little that was left, and buoyed
up by the hope that they should ultimately regain their proper position
with regard to the great luminary, of which the temperature has been
estimated as not less than 5,000,000 degrees.
Of the anxiety endured during the last two months Isaac Hakkabut had
known nothing. Since the day he had done his lucky stroke of business he
had never left the tartan; and after Ben Zoof, on the following day, had
returned the steelyard and the borrowed cash, receiving back the paper
roubles deposited, all communication between the Jew and Nina’s Hive had
ceased. In the course of the few minutes’ conversation which Ben Zoof
had held with him, he had mentioned that he knew that the whole soil of
Gallia was made of gold; but the old man, guessing that the orderly was
only laughing at him as usual, paid no attention to the remark, and only
meditated upon the means he could devise to get every bit of the money
in the new world into his own possession. No one grieved over the
life of solitude which Hakkabut persisted in leading. Ben Zoof giggled
heartily, as he repeatedly observed “it was astonishing how they
reconciled themselves to his absence.”
The time came, however, when various circumstances prompted him to think
he must renew his intercourse with the inhabitants of the Hive. Some of
his goods were beginning to spoil, and he felt the necessity of turning
them into money, if he would not be a loser; he hoped, moreover, that
the scarcity of his commodities would secure very high prices.
It happened, just about this same time, that Ben Zoof had been calling
his master’s attention to the fact that some of their most necessary
provisions would soon be running short, and that their stock of coffee,
sugar, and tobacco would want replenishing. Servadac’s mind, of course,
turned to the cargo on board the -Hansa-, and he resolved, according to
his promise, to apply to the Jew and become a purchaser. Mutual interest
and necessity thus conspired to draw Hakkabut and the captain together.
Often and often had Isaac gloated in his solitude over the prospect of
first selling a portion of his merchandise for all the gold and silver
in the colony. His recent usurious transaction had whetted his appetite.
He would next part with some more of his cargo for all the paper money
they could give him; but still he should have goods left, and they would
want these. Yes, they should have these, too, for promissory notes.
Notes would hold good when they got back again to the earth; bills from
his Excellency the governor would be good bills; anyhow there would
be the sheriff. By the God of Israel! he would get good prices, and he
would get fine interest!
Although he did not know it, he was proposing to follow the practice of
the Gauls of old, who advanced money on bills for payment in a future
life. Hakkabut’s “future life,” however, was not many months in advance
of the present.
Still Hakkabut hesitated to make the first advance, and it was
accordingly with much satisfaction that he hailed Captain Servadac’s
appearance on board the -Hansa-.
“Hakkabut,” said the captain, plunging without further preface into
business, “we want some coffee, some tobacco, and other things. I have
come to-day to order them, to settle the price, and to-morrow Ben Zoof
shall fetch the goods away.”
“Merciful, heavens!” the Jew began to whine; but Servadac cut him short.
“None of that miserable howling! Business! I am come to buy your goods.
I shall pay for them.”
“Ah yes, your Excellency,” whispered the Jew, his voice trembling like
a street beggar. “Don’t impose on me. I am poor; I am nearly ruined
already.”
“Cease your wretched whining!” cried Servadac. “I have told you once, I
shall pay for all I buy.”
“Ready money?” asked Hakkabut.
“Yes, ready money. What makes you ask?” said the captain, curious to
hear what the Jew would say.
“Well, you see--you see, your Excellency,” stammered out the Jew, “to
give credit to one wouldn’t do, unless I gave credit to another. You are
solvent--I mean honorable, and his lordship the count is honorable; but
maybe--maybe--”
“Well?” said Servadac, waiting, but inclined to kick the old rascal out
of his sight.
“I shouldn’t like to give credit,” he repeated.
“I have not asked you for credit. I have told you, you shall have ready
money.”
“Very good, your Excellency. But how will you pay me?”
“Pay you? Why, we shall pay you in gold and silver and copper, while our
money lasts, and when that is gone we shall pay you in bank notes.”
“Oh, no paper, no paper!” groaned out the Jew, relapsing into his
accustomed whine.
“Nonsense, man!” cried Servadac.
“No paper!” reiterated Hakkabut.
“Why not? Surely you can trust the banks of England, France, and
Russia.”
“Ah no! I must have gold. Nothing so safe as gold.”
“Well then,” said the captain, not wanting to lose his temper, “you
shall have it your own way; we have plenty of gold for the present.
We will leave the bank notes for by and by.” The Jew’s countenance
brightened, and Servadac, repeating that he should come again the next
day, was about to quit the vessel.
“One moment, your Excellency,” said Hakkabut, sidling up with a
hypocritical smile; “I suppose I am to fix my own prices.”
“You will, of course, charge ordinary prices--proper market prices;
European prices, I mean.”
“Merciful heavens!” shrieked the old man, “you rob me of my rights; you
defraud me of my privilege. The monopoly of the market belongs to me. It
is the custom; it is my right; it is my privilege to fix my own prices.”
Servadac made him understand that he had no intention of swerving from
his decision.
“Merciful heavens!” again howled the Jew, “it is sheer ruin. The time of
monopoly is the time for profit; it is the time for speculation.”
“The very thing, Hakkabut, that I am anxious to prevent. Just stop now,
and think a minute. You seem to forget -my- rights; you are forgetting
that, if I please, I can confiscate all your cargo for the common
use. You ought to think yourself lucky in getting any price at all. Be
contented with European prices; you will get no more. I am not going
to waste my breath on you. I will come again to-morrow;” and, without
allowing Hakkabut time to renew his lamentations, Servadac went away.
All the rest of the day the Jew was muttering bitter curses against
the thieves of Gentiles in general, and the governor of Gallia in
particular, who were robbing him of his just profits, by binding him
down to a maximum price for his goods, just as if it were a time of
revolution in the state. But he would be even with them yet; he would
have it all out of them: he would make European prices pay, after all.
He had a plan--he knew how; and he chuckled to himself, and grinned
maliciously.
True to his word, the captain next morning arrived at the tartan. He
was accompanied by Ben Zoof and two Russian sailors. “Good-morning, old
Eleazar; we have come to do our little bit of friendly business with
you, you know,” was Ben Zoof’s greeting.
“What do you want to-day?” asked the Jew.
“To-day we want coffee, and we want sugar, and we want tobacco. We must
have ten kilogrammes of each. Take care they are all good; all first
rate. I am commissariat officer, and I am responsible.”
“I thought you were the governor’s aide-de-camp,” said Hakkabut.
“So I am, on state occasions; but to-day, I tell you. I am
superintendent of the commissariat department. Now, look sharp!”
Hakkabut hereupon descended into the hold of the tartan, and soon
returned, carrying ten packets of tobacco, each weighing one kilogramme,
and securely fastened by strips of paper, labeled with the French
government stamp.
“Ten kilogrammes of tobacco at twelve francs a kilogramme: a hundred and
twenty francs,” said the Jew.
Ben Zoof was on the point of laying down the money, when Servadac
stopped him.
“Let us just see whether the weight is correct.”
Hakkabut pointed out that the weight was duly registered on every
packet, and that the packets had never been unfastened. The captain,
however, had his own special object in view, and would not be diverted.
The Jew fetched his steelyard, and a packet of the tobacco was suspended
to it.
“Merciful heavens!” screamed Isaac.
The index registered only 133 grammes!
“You see, Hakkabut, I was right. I was perfectly justified in having
your goods put to the test,” said Servadac, quite seriously.
“But--but, your Excellency--” stammered out the bewildered man.
“You will, of course, make up the deficiency,” the captain continued,
not noticing the interruption.
“Oh, my lord, let me say--” began Isaac again.
“Come, come, old Caiaphas, do you hear? You are to make up the
deficiency,” exclaimed Ben Zoof.
“Ah, yes, yes; but--”
The unfortunate Israelite tried hard to speak, but his agitation
prevented him. He understood well enough the cause of the phenomenon,
but he was overpowered by the conviction that the “cursed Gentiles”
wanted to cheat him. He deeply regretted that he had not a pair of
common scales on board.
“Come, I say, old Jedediah, you are a long while making up what’s
short,” said Ben Zoof, while the Jew was still stammering on.
As soon as he recovered his power of articulation, Isaac began to pour
out a medley of lamentations and petitions for mercy. The captain was
inexorable. “Very sorry, you know, Hakkabut. It is not my fault that the
packet is short weight; but I cannot pay for a kilogramme except I have
a kilogramme.”
Hakkabut pleaded for some consideration.
“A bargain is a bargain,” said Servadac. “You must complete your
contract.”
And, moaning and groaning, the miserable man was driven to make up the
full weight as registered by his own steelyard. He had to repeat the
process with the sugar and coffee: for every kilogramme he had to weigh
seven. Ben Zoof and the Russians jeered him most unmercifully.
“I say, old Mordecai, wouldn’t you rather give your goods away, than
sell them at this rate? I would.”
“I say, old Pilate, a monopoly isn’t always a good thing, is it?”
“I say, old Sepharvaim, what a flourishing trade you’re driving!”
Meanwhile seventy kilogrammes of each of the articles required were
weighed, and the Jew for each seventy had to take the price of ten.
All along Captain Servadac had been acting only in jest. Aware that
old Isaac was an utter hypocrite, he had no compunction in turning a
business transaction with him into an occasion for a bit of fun. But
the joke at an end, he took care that the Jew was properly paid all his
legitimate due.
CHAPTER X. FAR INTO SPACE
A month passed away. Gallia continued its course, bearing its little
population onwards, so far removed from the ordinary influence of human
passions that it might almost be said that its sole ostensible vice was
represented by the greed and avarice of the miserable Jew.
After all, they were but making a voyage--a strange, yet a transient,
excursion through solar regions hitherto untraversed; but if the
professor’s calculations were correct--and why should they be
doubted?--their little vessel was destined, after a two years’ absence,
once more to return “to port.” The landing, indeed, might be a matter
of difficulty; but with the good prospect before them of once again
standing on terrestrial shores, they had nothing to do at present
except to make themselves as comfortable as they could in their present
quarters.
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.
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