by Jules Verne
BOOK II.
CHAPTER I. THE ASTRONOMER
By the return of the expedition, conveying its contribution fromFormentera, the known population of Gallia was raised to a total ofthirty-six.
On learning the details of his friends' discoveries, Count Timascheffdid not hesitate in believing that the exhausted individual who waslying before him was the author alike of the two unsigned documentspicked up at sea, and of the third statement so recently brought to handby the carrier-pigeon. Manifestly, he had arrived at some knowledge ofGallia's movements: he had estimated her distance from the sun; he hadcalculated the diminution of her tangential speed; but there was nothingto show that he had arrived at the conclusions which were of the mostparamount interest to them all. Had he ascertained the true character ofher orbit? had he established any data from which it would be possibleto reckon what time must elapse before she would again approach theearth?
The only intelligible words which the astronomer had uttered had been,"My comet!"
To what could the exclamation refer? Was it to be conjectured that afragment of the earth had been chipped off by the collision of a comet?and if so, was it implied that the name of the comet itself was Gallia,and were they mistaken in supposing that such was the name given by the_savant_ to the little world that had been so suddenly launchedinto space? Again and again they discussed these questions; but nosatisfactory answer could be found. The only man who was able to throwany light upon the subject was lying amongst them in an unconscious andhalf-dying condition.
Apart from motives of humanity, motives of self-interest made it amatter of the deepest concern to restore animation to that senselessform. Ben Zoof, after making the encouraging remark that _savants_ haveas many lives as a cat, proceeded, with Negrete's assistance, to givethe body such a vigorous rubbing as would have threatened seriousinjury to any ordinary mortal, whilst they administered cordials andrestoratives from the _Dobryna's_ medical stores powerful enough, onemight think, to rouse the very dead.
Meanwhile the captain was racking his brain in his exertions to recallwhat were the circumstances of his previous acquaintance with theFrenchman upon whose features he was gazing; he only grew more and moreconvinced that he had once been familiar with them. Perhaps it was notaltogether surprising that he had almost forgotten him; he had neverseen him since the days of his youth, that time of life which, with acertain show of justice, has been termed the age of ingratitude; for,in point of fact, the astronomer was none other than Professor PalmyrinRosette, Servadac's old science-master at the Lycee Charlemagne.
After completing his year of elementary studies, Hector Servadac hadentered the school at Saint Cyr, and from that time he and his formertutor had never met, so that naturally they would well-nigh pass fromeach other's recollection. One thing, however, on the other hand, mightconduce to a mutual and permanent impression on their memories; duringthe year at the Lycee, young Servadac, never of a very studious turnof mind, had contrived, as the ringleader of a set of like caliber ashimself, to lead the poor professor a life of perpetual torment. On thediscovery of each delinquency he would fume and rage in a manner thatwas a source of unbounded delight to his audience.
Two years after Servadac left the Lycee, Professor Rosette had thrownup all educational employment in order that he might devote himselfentirely to the study of astronomy. He endeavored to obtain a postat the Observatory, but his ungenial character was so well known inscientific circles that he failed in his application; however, havingsome small private means, he determined on his own account to carry onhis researches without any official salary. He had really considerablegenius for the science that he had adopted; besides discovering three ofthe latest of the telescopic planets, he had worked out the elements ofthe three hundred and twenty-fifth comet in the catalogue; but his chiefdelight was to criticize the publications of other astronomers, andhe was never better pleased than when he detected a flaw in theirreckonings.
When Ben Zoof and Negrete had extricated their patient from the envelopeof furs in which he had been wrapped by Servadac and the lieutenant,they found themselves face to face with a shrivelled little man, aboutfive feet two inches high, with a round bald head, smooth and shiny asan ostrich's egg, no beard unless the unshorn growth of a week couldbe so described, and a long hooked nose that supported a huge pair ofspectacles such as with many near-sighted people seems to have becomea part of their individuality. His nervous system was remarkablydeveloped, and his body might not inaptly be compared to one of theRhumkorff's bobbins of which the thread, several hundred yards inlength, is permeated throughout by electric fluid. But whatever he was,his life, if possible, must be preserved. When he had been partiallydivested of his clothing, his heart was found to be still beating,though very feebly. Asserting that while there was life there was hope,Ben Zoof recommenced his friction with more vigor than ever.
When the rubbing had been continued without a moment's intermission forthe best part of half an hour, the astronomer heaved a faint sigh, whichere long was followed by another and another. He half opened his eyes,closed them again, then opened them completely, but without exhibitingany consciousness whatever of his situation. A few words seemed toescape his lips, but they were quite unintelligible. Presently he raisedhis right hand to his forehead as though instinctively feeling forsomething that was missing; then, all of a sudden, his features becamecontracted, his face flushed with apparent irritation, and he exclaimedfretfully, "My spectacles!--where are my spectacles?"
In order to facilitate his operations, Ben Zoof had removed thespectacles in spite of the tenacity with which they seemed to adhereto the temples of his patient; but he now rapidly brought them backand readjusted them as best he could to what seemed to be their naturalposition on the aquiline nose. The professor heaved a long sigh ofrelief, and once more closed his eyes.
Before long the astronomer roused himself a little more, and glancedinquiringly about him, but soon relapsed into his comatose condition.When next he opened his eyes, Captain Servadac happened to be bendingdown closely over him, examining his features with curious scrutiny.The old man darted an angry look at him through the spectacles, and saidsharply, "Servadac, five hundred lines to-morrow!"
It was an echo of days of old. The words were few, but they were enoughto recall the identity which Servadac was trying to make out.
"Is it possible?" he exclaimed. "Here is my old tutor, Mr. Rosette, invery flesh and blood."
"Can't say much for the flesh," muttered Ben Zoof.
The old man had again fallen back into a torpid slumber. Ben Zoofcontinued, "His sleep is getting more composed. Let him alone; he willcome round yet. Haven't I heard of men more dried up than he is, beingbrought all the way from Egypt in cases covered with pictures?"
"You idiot!--those were mummies; they had been dead for ages."
Ben Zoof did not answer a word. He went on preparing a warm bed, intowhich he managed to remove his patient, who soon fell into a calm andnatural sleep.
Too impatient to await the awakening of the astronomer and to hear whatrepresentations he had to make, Servadac, the count, and the lieutenant,constituting themselves what might be designated "the Academy ofSciences" of the colony, spent the whole of the remainder of the day instarting and discussing the wildest conjectures about their situation.The hypothesis, to which they had now accustomed themselves for solong, that a new asteroid had been formed by a fracture of the earth'ssurface, seemed to fall to the ground when they found that ProfessorPalmyrin Rosette had associated the name of Gallia, not with theirpresent home, but with what he called "my comet"; and that theory beingabandoned, they were driven to make the most improbable speculations toreplace it.
Alluding to Rosette, Servadac took care to inform his companionsthat, although the professor was always eccentric, and at times veryirascible, yet he was really exceedingly good-hearted; his bark wasworse than his bite; and if suffered to take their course withoutobservation, his outbreaks of ill-temper seldom lasted long.
"We will certainly do our best to get on with him," said the count. "Heis no doubt the author of the papers, and we must hope that he will beable to give us some valuable information."
"Beyond a question the documents have originated with him," assentedthe lieutenant. "Gallia was the word written at the top of every one ofthem, and Gallia was the first word uttered by him in our hearing."
The astronomer slept on. Meanwhile, the three together had nohesitation in examining his papers, and scrutinizing the figures on hisextemporized blackboard. The handwriting corresponded with that of thepapers already received; the blackboard was covered with algebraicalsymbols traced in chalk, which they were careful not to obliterate;and the papers, which consisted for the most part of detached scraps,presented a perfect wilderness of geometrical figures, conic sections ofevery variety being repeated in countless profusion.
Lieutenant Procope pointed out that these curves evidently had referenceto the orbits of comets, which are variously parabolic, hyperbolic, orelliptic. If either of the first two, the comet, after once appearingwithin the range of terrestrial vision, would vanish forever in theoutlying regions of space; if the last, it would be sure, sooner orlater, after some periodic interval, to return.
From the _prima facie_ appearance of his papers, then, it seemedprobable that the astronomer, during his sojourn at Formentera, had beendevoting himself to the study of cometary orbits; and as calculations ofthis kind are ordinarily based upon the assumption that the orbit is aparabola, it was not unlikely that he had been endeavoring to trace thepath of some particular comet.
"I wonder whether these calculations were made before or after the 1stof January; it makes all the difference," said Lieutenant Procope.
"We must bide our time and hear," replied the count.
Servadac paced restlessly up and down. "I would give a month of mylife," he cried, impetuously, "for every hour that the old fellow goessleeping on."
"You might be making a bad bargain," said Procope, smiling. "Perhapsafter all the comet has had nothing to do with the convulsion that wehave experienced."
"Nonsense!" exclaimed the captain; "I know better than that, and so doyou. Is it not as clear as daylight that the earth and this comet havebeen in collision, and the result has been that our little world hasbeen split off and sent flying far into space?"
Count Timascheff and the lieutenant looked at each other in silence. "Ido not deny your theory," said Procope after a while. "If it be correct,I suppose we must conclude that the enormous disc we observed on thenight of the catastrophe was the comet itself; and the velocity withwhich it was traveling must have been so great that it was hardlyarrested at all by the attraction of the earth."
"Plausible enough," answered Count Timascheff; "and it is to this cometthat our scientific friend here has given the name of Gallia."
It still remained a puzzle to them all why the astronomer shouldapparently be interested in the comet so much more than in the newlittle world in which their strange lot was cast.
"Can you explain this?" asked the count.
"There is no accounting for the freaks of philosophers, you know," saidServadac; "and have I not told you that this philosopher in particularis one of the most eccentric beings in creation?"
"Besides," added the lieutenant, "it is exceedingly likely that hisobservations had been going on for some considerable period before theconvulsion happened."
Thus, the general conclusion arrived at by the Gallian Academy ofScience was this: That on the night of the 31st of December, a comet,crossing the ecliptic, had come into collision with the earth, and thatthe violence of the shock had separated a huge fragment from theglobe, which fragment from that date had been traversing the remoteinter-planetary regions. Palmyrin Rosette would doubtless confirm theirsolution of the phenomenon.