by Jerry
“Pardon the interruption,” said I; “pray where did you obtain your letters of introduction?”
“Forged by my genius,” said my narrator, coolly. “My first care was to take a survey of the Lunar Lions. I was immeasurably astonished at the inconceivable richness and fertility of the soil. Half an acre of land abundantly sufficed to support half a dozen families in affluence. Ten crops per annum were esteemed but a moderate number. Every where might be seen towering trees, producing fruits, daintier far than the pine or the pomegranate; every where there sprung up spontaneously the rarest exotics of most varied hue, and richest perfume. Nor was the amazing fecundity confined to any isolated spot; formerly the whole moon was an Arabia Felix. But, alas! for the uncertainty of all lunary (as well as all sublunary) things; after ages had rolled peacefully by, of a sudden, convulsing earthquakes and vomiting volcanoes, till then smouldering and unsuspected, burst forth in almost every part with dire effect: like the outburst of some hereditary disease, which has lain for years slumbering in the constitution. Nearly the whole surface of the devoted orb was desolated and destroyed, and not more than one in a hundred of her inhabitants escaped the wholesale destruction, and lived to tell the dreadful tale. And now that surface, once so bright and beauteous, and which to us still looks so mild, so calm, and happy, is in reality blotched, and furrowed, and desolated by floods of lava—like some fair soft face, seamed and scarred by the ravages of relentless small-pox.”
“Pity it is,” said I, feelingly, “they cannot discover some mode of vaccination.”
“But there is still,” he continued, “there is still one bright redeeming spot—an oasis, which seems the more beautiful in contrast with the surrounding wreck. Here it was that I sojourned, here still stood the capital, and here lived that little remnant which the volcano and the earthquake had spared. But their existence was one of uncertainty and dread. Alas! even now, my kind friends may be numbered with those who have been.” Here he thrust his little finger into his eye, and attempted, but in vain, to manufacture a tear. “On our earth we have one instance of large cities similarly destroyed, and their fate excites abundant sympathy and curiosity among the learned of every age and country. In the moon a Herculaneum is annually added to the hecatombs which have already fallen. A feeble barrier is indeed opposed to the inroads of the resistless lava, by raising vast embankments.”
“Just as the Hollanders build their mud walls to keep the sea out,” suggested I, aptly.
“But the unequal warfare,” he continued, “cannot last long. The molten flood is but a type of our own deluge. Ere this, doubtless, the last page of lunar history has been recorded; perchance the actual destiny of some lunar inhabitant is even now realizing the imaginary doom of Lionel Verney, the last man!”
“If so,” said I, struck with the happy coincidence which occurred to me, “we may speak with great appropriateness of the man in the moon. But perhaps some Noah, with his family, may have been found worthy of an ark?”
“All of my acquaintance,” he replied, “I can testify were persons of the most amiable disposition and noble character. By-the-bye,” continued he, in a livelier strain, “their humour and hospitality reminded me not a little of the inhabitants of our neighbouring isle,
‘The emerald gem of the western world.’
“A popular rumour, moreover, was prevalent, that ‘once in the flight of ages past,’ the moon was uninhabited, and that a balloon from earth, freighted with aerial voyagers, had, by some unknown fatality, escaped the sphere of terrestrial attraction, and approached within the range of the lunar gravitation. From this tradition, and from other circumstances, especially from meeting with a curious collection of lunar melodies, I was led to the theory that the moon had been colonized by a balloonfull of Milesian progenitors.”
“Doubtless,” said I, “quite sufficient data to furnish so interesting a conclusion.”
“I was anxious,” he resumed, “to project a tour of discovery; with this view I notified my plans to the principal lunar literati, and suggested that we should form a caravan among ourselves, for the purpose of exploring distant regions, and perhaps on our return recording the result of our travels, for the edification of all whom it might concern, in three volumes post octavo.”
“I should think it a very doubtful question,” said I, “whether you ever would return. The boiling mountains spitting around you, like so many roasting apples, must have been rather unfavourable to your picnic party.”
“In truth, we were not blind to the probable dangers of the attempt. Nevertheless, in the glorious cause of science, a small band of enthusiasts were found, willing to undertake the arduous duty, and steel their souls to the perils of the way. Government had guaranteed in the event of our not returning within a prescribed period, to send out a party, headed by one Captain Forward, to search for our bodies, and provide us with a decent burial. Cheered by this assurance we set forth boldly. I will not attempt a detail of the perilous, soul-stirring adventures we met with; suffice it to say, one-fifteenth of our number returned in safety, highly gratified by the wonderful discoveries which had rewarded our toils. I regret I cannot even satisfy your curiosity in particular, and mankind’s in general, regarding the statistical phenomena of the moon, as my period of stay had elapsed before the first edition of our Travels came from the press, otherwise I should certainly have provided myself with a copy.”
“Mankind have indeed sustained a loss,” said I.
“I was very much struck with the extraordinary number and elevation of the lunar mountains. The earth has nothing like their lowest. Compared to the moon, it is a dead flat. Wales, Scotland, Switzerland, are as flat as pancakes.”
“You surely forget Mont Blanc?” said I.
“A molehill!” said he.
“Chimborazo?” said I.
“An anthill!” said he.
“Cotopaxi?” said I.
“A dunghill!” said he. “On the side turned away from us I observed one very lofty and peculiarly-shaped mountain, exactly like a nose, with a sarcastic turn upward. On closer observation, I discovered a remarkable fact. The rising and falling of the surface are there so alternated and proportioned, that when thrown in relief against the sky, it exhibits an exact counterpart of the profile of the ex-chancellor!”
“Indeed!” said I, “then that very probably is the reason why the moon is ashamed to show us that side of her physiognomy. Philosophers have ever wondered why she always takes such especial care to keep the same position of her face eternally grinning upon us, by twirling on her axis in exactly the same period of time as she revolves in her orbit.”
“I did not trouble myself,” replied the traveller, “with speculating upon the cause of the odd coincidence. But now my visit was drawing to a close, and, to tell you the truth, this did not cause me unalloyed regret; for highly as I was delighted with the kindness, and charmed by the affability of my little circle of friends, I could not but feel the insecurity of my position; and my philanthropy did not go quite so far as to reconcile me to the idea of being boiled alive in their company.
“Accordingly I prepared to visit the grand centre of our system—the sun. I must say, my anticipations were raised high indeed. When I considered how gigantic in size, and how unrivalled in splendour the solar orb appears even at the great distance at which we are placed, when I considered that it was the almost immoveable centre of light, and life, and motion, around which numerous and vast planets were borne unerringly in their concentric orbits, I expected to behold a spectacle of magnificence, such as no dream, no imagination had shadowed forth, and which the boldest eye and the stoutest heart could not regard without quailing.”
“Of course,” said I, “you took care to adjust your cap accordingly; or else the heat might chance to prove a damper to your delight?”
“I very naturally thought as you do,” he replied. “I was fully prepared for a degree of heat which would put the virtues of my talismanic head-gear to the severest
test. But, alas! ‘Sad was the hour, and luckless was the day.’ ”
“What in the name of fortune happened to you,” interrupted I; “were you trussed and spitted like a Christmas turkey?”
“Pray,” asked he, abruptly, “do you perceive any thing peculiar in my face—in my features?”
“Why—ahem!” said I, wishing to shirk the delicate query; “really—ahem—perhaps if I were asked my opinion—ahem.”
“I beg you won’t mince the matter,” said he.
“Why then, I should—ahem—very delicately hint that—the end of your nasal organ was absent without leave.”
“And how do you suppose I lost it?” he asked.
“Can’t guess,” said I.
“Mortified by frost in the sun,” he replied.
“Haw! haw! haw!” affecting to humour the joke, “A very novel idea—frost in the sun! You are pleased to wax facetious, he! he! he!”
“I speak in sober sadness,” returned the old gent, gravely; “no giggling matter, I assure you. So sudden, and so intense was the change of temperature, that before I could twirl round my cap on my head, the tip of my nose turned the colour of a blue-bottle fly, and falling at my feet, with one snivel gave up the ghost. Conceive my feelings when I witnessed the irremediable catastrophe. You may grin, if you choose; but let me tell you, before the loss of the much lamented tip, I was the ‘glass of fashion and the mould of form.’ ”
“Nay, my friend, I haven’t the slightest doubt of the fact,” said I, looking as serious as possible, and thrusting my tongue into the cheek, turned away from him. “But you have not yet explained the riddle.”
“There is no riddle to explain,” he replied. “The sun, indeed, emits heat, but retains none. His rays are icy until they have been rubbed hot by passing through our air. Do you not observe that the top of a mountain, though nearer the sun, is colder than the valley below? Do not always trust to mere appearances. Look at the moon and stars. They seem bright enough from here; if you could take a closer view, you would find them duller than the eye of a boiled salmon. Then consider the case of gravitation. Philosophers say all bodies tend to the centre; would not that point seem to contain the accumulated aggregate of all attraction and weight? Yet they tell us again, a body at the centre would have no weight at all. I tell you, the little warmth which the sun can boast at home, is squeezed from his own rays, when reflected back by the earth and the moon.”
“That’s passing odd!” said I, utterly bewildered by the subtle web of reasoning, and the erudite illustrations of my travelled friend. “One would have thought, in sooth, that sending rays to warm the sun, would be sending coals to Newcastle with a vengeance.”
“Such is the fact, nevertheless,” he replied, “as I learned to my cost. Experto crede! You can form but a meagre idea of the intensity of cold, unless you can conceive five thousand degrees below zero of Fahrenheit; unless you can imagine a lump of solid mercury or frozen alcohol feeling in your hand hotter than a live coal; unless you can fancy the North Pole blazing like a kitchen fire—unless—”
“Grammercy!” I exclaimed, “I give it up in despair; the stretch of imagination is beyond me. On this view of the matter I wonder no longer that one end of your nose fell off, but that the other end stayed on.”
“And when at last,” he continued, “I was domiciled in the solar world, what was there to repay me for the catastrophe of my first debut? The best lodging which gold or grumbling could procure, was such that any pig would have rejected with an indignant grunt. And then the natives! I thought, at first, I had been transplanted among a nation of baboons; but in verity, to a genuine, gentlemanly, well-behaved baboon the comparison is most unfair. In intellect and person they appeared to me a remove below the ugliest and stupidest of monkey-race. During one half of the year all were in a state of the most besotted drunkenness, and during the other half, all lay torpid like so many moles or bats. Yet here was I doomed to drag out the full period of my appointed sojourn. Miserable as it was, I could not abridge, by a single hour, the fixed duration of this hated imprisonment.”
“You have no reason to complain,” interrupted I, “this was the tax you were destined to pay for your privileges. The course of your travels, like that of true love, was not to run smooth.”
“If you had been in my place, my friend,” he replied, “I calculate you would not have practised the philosophy you preach. In vain did I shake my glass, and curse my genius, for making its neck so infernally narrow. Each obstinate grain of sand dropped deliberately and methodically through—much more slowly, I am very sure, than usual. No Siberian exile ever exulted half so much at the dawning of the day which was to restore him to his long-lost home, as did I, when the last gram had run out, and released me from my odious thraldom. ‘With curses not loud but deep,’ I departed, and as I went, I shook the dust from off my feet!—
“To wind up my tour of our own system, I next resolved to pay a visit to one of those strange bodies called comets. It was about the middle of the last century, and a huge fellow was then bowling away towards the sun, but as yet some couple of billions of miles distant. I found all the inhabitants of the Nucleus busily preparing for the gaieties of the approaching carnival—that is their passage of the perihelion, which, occurring in the comet I speak of only once in seventy years, was of course made a season of the most boisterous hilarity.”
“I should think so, indeed,” said I, “seventy Christmas-days rolled into one! Our ballad says, Christmas comes but once a-year, what should we say, if it came only once in seventy years?”
“We should say it was rather long in coming,” said the old gentleman, with naivete. “I should mention, moreover, that this was the only holiday kept at all, nor was it less ardently longed for, than chimney-sweeps anticipate May-day.
“During this long period,” continued he, “they had had abundance of time to spin a new tail; the old one having paid toll in the former passage; for, you must know, the sun, as lord of the manor, levies this his tribute in proportion as the comets trespass upon his domain. On we came with the glorious appendage, ‘streaming like a meteor in the troubled space!’ I will not shock your credulity, by attempting to give an accurate estimate of its computed magnitude. The cometists were justly proud of it, as they had spared neither labour nor expense in its creation, and certainly they had exceeded their most sanguine expectations. All other rivals, including the Safety-Opposition Comet, which appeared at the end of last year may hide their diminished tails. I speak within bounds, when I say the tail was many hundred times as large as itself!”
“I don’t doubt it at all,” said I. “Why, we have a comet attached to our own earth, ay, even to our own little corner of it, a very queer and very mischievous comet too, whose tail is computed to be fortytimes the size of itself! But what, after all, is the use of your mighty tails?”
“Ah! thereby hangs a tale,” said my traveller. “Of what use is the rudder to a ship? Such unsubstantial aerial things are comets, that had it not been for this providential appendage, and for the consummate skill of the cometists themselves, every stray star in the heavens would have jostled us, by his attraction, from our course, and sent us floundering Heaven knows whither! I laughed when I thought of your conceited astronomers peeping through their puny telescopes, and calculating the laws of our motion, and the elements of our orbit! With the aid of a phial or two of concentrated essence of gravitation, we could accelerate or retard our speed, and with the help of our redoubted tail we regulated our course almost at pleasure.”
“And in what direction did you please to regulate it?”
“At first we steered right for the sun’s eye, but apprehending the danger of too close a contact, we suddenly put the helm hard-a-lee, and passed our perihelion at about two comets’ length. For my own part, I found nothing so very delightful in these vaunted halcyon-days. It was fiery hot, as you may well imagine, and the sun’s atmosphere, being composed of extract of comets’ tails, was so close and
suffocating, that I fancied, all the time, my head was dipped in a tureen of pea-soup. A London fog in November is vacuum compared to it.”
“It only proves,” I sagely observed, “that the comical natives have the same failings as we earthites. They prize things, valueless in themselves, in proportion to their rarity. I suppose that what they deemed Paradise, because it happened once in seventy years, they would have thought Purgatory had it happened once a week!”
“I suppose so. Well, the infatuated people revelled in their fancied happiness, little recking of the catastrophe in store for them. All this time, you may be sure, the sun’s absorbing powers were not idle. No sooner had we emerged from the soupy atmosphere, whose amazing density had put in requisition our whole stock of quintessence of gravity, to work our way onward, than we found ourselves in a lamentable plight indeed, sweeping ‘through the horizontal misty air, shorn of our tail.’ So immoderately had the foolish people been intoxicated with their imaginary joy during the continuance of these Saturnalia, that the depression which usually succeeds uncommon excitement would have been sufficient alone to impart a very woe-begone expression to the phizzes of every one. Away then we slunk with our tail between our legs, like—”