The Collected Works of Jules Verne: 36 Novels and Short Stories (Unexpurgated Edition) (Halcyon Classics)

by Jules Verne

  "Her temperature would be carried to such a point," answered Barbicane, "that she would be immediately reduced to vapour."

  "Good," said Michel; "that means of ending the world would simplify many things."

  "And suppose the earth were to fall upon the sun?" said Nicholl.

  "According to calculations," answered Barbicane, "that would develop a heat equal to that produced by 1,600 globes of coal, equal in volume to the terrestrial globe."

  "A good increase of temperature for the sun," replied Michel Ardan, "of which the inhabitants of Uranus or Neptune will probably not complain, for they must be dying of cold on their planet."

  "Thus, then, my friends, any movement suddenly stopped produces heat. This theory makes it supposed that the sun is constantly fed by an incessant fall of bodies upon its surface. It has been calculated--"

  "Now I shall be crushed," murmured Michel, "for figures are coming."

  "It has been calculated," continued Barbicane imperturbably, "that the shock of each asteroid upon the sun must produce heat equal to that of 4,000 masses of coal of equal volume."

  "And what is the heat of the sun?" asked Michel.

  "It is equal to that which would be produced by a stratum of coal surrounding the sun to a depth of twenty-seven kilometres."

  "And that heat--"

  "Could boil 2,900,000,000 of cubic myriametres of water an hour." (A myriametre is equal to rather more than 6.2138 miles, or 6 miles 1 furlong 28 poles.)

  "And we are not roasted by it?" cried Michel.

  "No," answered Barbicane, "because the terrestrial atmosphere absorbs four-tenths of the solar heat. Besides, the quantity of heat intercepted by the earth is only two thousand millionth of the total."

  "I see that all is for the best," replied Michel, "and that our atmosphere is a useful invention, for it not only allows us to breathe, but actually prevents us roasting."

  "Yes," said Nicholl, "but, unfortunately, it will not be the same on the moon."

  "Bah!" said Michel, always confident. "If there are any inhabitants they breathe. If there are no longer any they will surely have left enough oxygen for three people, if only at the bottom of those ravines where it will have accumulated by reason of its weight! Well, we shall not climb the mountains! That is all."

  And Michel, getting up, went to look at the lunar disc, which was shining with intolerable brilliancy.

  "Faith!" said he, "it must be hot up there."

  "Without reckoning," answered Nicholl, "that daylight lasts 360 hours."

  "And by way of compensation night has the same duration," said Barbicane, "and as heat is restored by radiation, their temperature must be that of planetary space."

  "A fine country truly!" said Nicholl.

  "Never mind! I should like to be there already! It will be comical to have the earth for a moon, to see it rise on the horizon, to recognise the configuration of its continents, to say to oneself, 'There's America and there's Europe;' then to follow it till it is lost in the rays of the sun! By-the-bye, Barbicane, have the Selenites any eclipses?"

  "Yes, eclipses of the sun," answered Barbicane, "when the centres of the three stars are on the same line with the earth in the middle. But they are merely annular eclipses, during which the earth, thrown like a screen across the solar disc, allows the greater part to be seen."

  "Why is there no total eclipse?" asked Nicholl. "Is it because the cone of shade thrown by the earth does not extend beyond the moon?"

  "Yes, if you do not take into account the refraction produced by the terrestrial atmosphere, not if you do take that refraction into account. Thus, let _delta_ be the horizontal parallax and _p_ the apparent semidiameter--"

  "Ouf!" said Michel, "half of _v_ zero square! Do speak the vulgar tongue, man of algebra!"

  "Well, then, in popular language," answered Barbicane, "the mean distance between the moon and the earth being sixty terrestrial radii, the length of the cone of shadow, by dint of refraction, is reduced to less than forty-two radii. It follows, therefore, that during the eclipses the moon is beyond the cone of pure shade, and the sun sends it not only rays from its edges, but also rays from its centre."

  "Then," said Michel in a grumbling tone, "why is there any eclipse when there ought to be none?"

  "Solely because the solar rays are weakened by the refraction, and the atmosphere which they traverse extinguishes the greater part of them."

  "That reason satisfies me," answered Michel; "besides, we shall see for ourselves when we get there. Now, Barbicane, do you believe that the moon is an ancient comet?"

  "What an idea!"

  "Yes," replied Michel, with amiable conceit, "I have a few ideas of that kind."

  "But that idea does not originate with Michel," answered Nicholl.

  "Then I am only a plagiarist."

  "Without doubt," answered Nicholl. "According to the testimony of the ancients, the Arcadians pretended that their ancestors inhabited the earth before the moon became her satellite. Starting from this fact, certain _savants_ think the moon was a comet which its orbit one day brought near enough to the earth to be retained by terrestrial attraction."

  "And what truth is there in that hypothesis?" asked Michel.

  "None," answered Barbicane, "and the proof is that the moon has not kept a trace of the gaseous envelope that always accompanies comets."

  "But," said Nicholl, "might not the moon, before becoming the earth's satellite, have passed near enough to the sun to leave all her gaseous substances by evaporation?"

  "It might, friend Nicholl, but it is not probable."

  "Why?"

  "Because--because, I really don't know."

  "Ah, what hundreds of volumes we might fill with what we don't know!" exclaimed Michel. "But I say," he continued, "what time is it?"

  "Three o'clock," answered Nicholl.

  "How the time goes," said Michel, "in the conversation of _savants_ like us! Decidedly I feel myself getting too learned! I feel that I am becoming a well of knowledge!"

  So saying, Michel climbed to the roof of the projectile, "in order better to observe the moon," he pretended. In the meanwhile his companions watched the vault of space through the lower port-light. There was nothing fresh to signalise.

  When Michel Ardan came down again he approached the lateral port-light, and suddenly uttered an exclamation of surprise.

  "What is the matter now?" asked Barbicane.

  The president approached the glass and saw a sort of flattened sack floating outside at some yards' distance from the projectile. This object seemed motionless like the bullet, and was consequently animated with the same ascensional movement.

  "Whatever can that machine be?" said Michel Ardan. "Is it one of the corpuscles of space which our projectile holds in its radius of attraction, and which will accompany it as far as the moon?"

  "What I am astonished at," answered Nicholl, "is that the specific weight of this body, which is certainly superior to that of the bullet, allows it to maintain itself so rigorously on its level."

  "Nicholl," said Barbicane, after a moment's reflection, "I do not know what that object is, but I know perfectly why it keeps on a level with the projectile."

  "Why, pray?"

  "Because we are floating in the void where bodies fall or move--which is the same thing--with equal speed whatever their weight or form may be. It is the air which, by its resistance, creates differences in weight. When you pneumatically create void in a tube, the objects you throw down it, either lead or feathers, fall with the same rapidity. Here in space you have the same cause and the same effect."

  "True," said Nicholl, "and all we throw out of the projectile will accompany us to the moon."

  "Ah! what fools we are!" cried Michel.

  "Why this qualification?" asked Barbicane.

  "Because we ought to have filled the projectile with useful objects, books, instruments, tools, &c. We could have thrown them all out, and they would all have followed in our wake! But, now
I think of it, why can't we take a walk outside this? Why can't we go into space through the port-light? What delight it would be to be thus suspended in ether, more favoured even than birds that are forced to flap their wings to sustain them!"

  "Agreed," said Barbicane, "but how are we to breathe?"

  "Confounded air to fail so inopportunely!"

  "But if it did not fail, Michel, your density being inferior to that of the projectile, you would soon remain behind."

  "Then it is a vicious circle."

  "All that is most vicious."

  "And we must remain imprisoned in our vehicle."

  "Yes, we must."

  "Ah!" cried Michel in a formidable voice.

  "What is the matter with you?" asked Nicholl.

  "I know, I guess what this pretended asteroid is! It is not a broken piece of planet!"

  "What is it, then?" asked Nicholl.

  "It is our unfortunate dog! It is Diana's husband!"

  In fact, this deformed object, reduced to nothing, and quite unrecognisable, was the body of Satellite flattened like a bagpipe without wind, and mounting, for ever mounting!

  CHAPTER VII.

  A MOMENT OF INTOXICATION.

  Thus a curious but logical, strange yet logical phenomenon took place under these singular conditions. Every object thrown out of the projectile would follow the same trajectory and only stop when it did. That furnished a text for conversation which the whole evening could not exhaust. The emotion of the three travellers increased as they approached the end of their journey. They expected unforeseen incidents, fresh phenomena, and nothing would have astonished them under present circumstances. Their excited imagination outdistanced the projectile, the speed of which diminished notably without their feeling it. But the moon grew larger before their eyes, and they thought they had only to stretch out their hands to touch it.

  The next day, the 5th of December, they were all wide awake at 5 a.m. That day was to be the last of their journey if the calculations were exact. That same evening, at midnight, within eighteen hours, at the precise moment of full moon, they would reach her brilliant disc. The next midnight would bring them to the goal of their journey, the most extraordinary one of ancient or modern times. At early dawn, through the windows made silvery with her rays, they saluted the Queen of Night with a confident and joyful hurrah.

  The moon was sailing majestically across the starry firmament. A few more degrees and she would reach that precise point in space where the projectile was to meet her. According to his own observations, Barbicane thought that he should accost her in her northern hemisphere, where vast plains extend and mountains are rare--a favourable circumstance if the lunar atmosphere was, according to received opinion, stored up in deep places only.

  "Besides," observed Michel Ardan, "a plain is more suitable for landing upon than a mountain. A Selenite landed in Europe on the summit of Mont Blanc, or in Asia on a peak of the Himalayas, would not be precisely at his destination!"

  "What is more," added Nicholl, "on a plain the projectile will remain motionless after it has touched the ground, whilst it would roll down a hill like an avalanche, and as we are not squirrels we should not come out safe and sound. Therefore all is for the best."

  In fact, the success of the audacious enterprise no longer appeared doubtful. Still one reflection occupied Barbicane; but not wishing to make his two companions uneasy, he kept silence upon it.

  The direction of the projectile towards the northern hemisphere proved that its trajectory had been slightly modified. The aim, mathematically calculated, ought to have sent the bullet into the very centre of the lunar disc. If it did not arrive there it would be because it had deviated. What had caused it? Barbicane could not imagine nor determine the importance of this deviation, for there was no datum to go upon. He hoped, however, that the only result would be to take them towards the upper edge of the moon, a more suitable region for landing.

  Barbicane, therefore, without saying anything to his friends, contented himself with frequently observing the moon, trying to see if the direction of the projectile would not change. For the situation would have been so terrible had the bullet, missing its aim, been dragged beyond the lunar disc and fallen into interplanetary space.

  At that moment the moon, instead of appearing flat like a disc, already showed her convexity. If the sun's rays had reached her obliquely the shadow then thrown would have made the high mountains stand out. They could have seen the gaping craters and the capricious furrows that cut up the immense plains. But all relief was levelled in the intense brilliancy. Those large spots that give the appearance of a human face to the moon were scarcely distinguishable.

  "It may be a face," said Michel Ardan, "but I am sorry for the amiable sister of Apollo, her face is so freckled!"

  In the meantime the travellers so near their goal ceaselessly watched this new world. Their imagination made them take walks over these unknown countries. They climbed the elevated peaks. They descended to the bottom of the large amphitheatres. Here and there they thought they saw vast seas scarcely kept together under an atmosphere so rarefied, and streams of water that poured them their tribute from the mountains. Leaning over the abyss they hoped to catch the noise of this orb for ever mute in the solitudes of the void.

  This last day left them the liveliest remembrances. They noted down the least details. A vague uneasiness took possession of them as they approached their goal. This uneasiness would have been doubled if they had felt how slight their speed was. It appeared quite insufficient to take them to the end of their journey. This was because the projectile scarcely "weighed" anything. Its weight constantly decreased, and would be entirely annihilated on that line where the lunar and terrestrial attractions neutralise each other, causing surprising effects.

  Nevertheless, in spite of his preoccupations, Michel Ardan did not forget to prepare the morning meal with his habitual punctuality. They ate heartily. Nothing was more excellent than their broth liquefied by the heat of the gas. Nothing better than these preserved meats. A few glasses of good French wine crowned the repast, and caused Michel Ardan to remark that the lunar vines, warmed by this ardent sun, ought to distil the most generous wines--that is, if they existed. Any way, the far-seeing Frenchman had taken care not to forget in his collection some precious cuttings of the Médoc and Côte d'Or, upon which he counted particularly.

  The Reiset and Regnault apparatus always worked with extreme precision. The air was kept in a state of perfect purity. Not a particle of carbonic acid resisted the potash, and as to the oxygen, that, as Captain Nicholl said, was of "first quality." The small amount of humidity in the projectile mixed with this air and tempered its dryness, and many Paris, London, or New York apartments and many theatres do not certainly fulfil hygienic conditions so well.

  But in order to work regularly this apparatus had to be kept going regularly. Each morning Michel inspected the escape regulators, tried the taps, and fixed by the pyrometer the heat of the gas. All had gone well so far, and the travellers, imitating the worthy J.T. Maston, began to get so stout that they would not be recognisable if their imprisonment lasted several months. They behaved like chickens in a cage--they fattened.

  Looking through the port lights Barbicane saw the spectre of the dog, and the different objects thrown out of the projectile, which obstinately accompanied it. Diana howled lamentably when she perceived the remains of Satellite. All the things seemed as motionless as if they had rested upon solid ground.

  "Do you know, my friends," said Michel Ardan, "that if one of us had succumbed to the recoil shock at departure we should have been much embarrassed as to how to get rid of him? You see the accusing corpse would have followed us in space like remorse!"

  "That would have been sad," said Nicholl.

  "Ah!" continued Michel, "what I regret is our not being able to take a walk outside. What delight it would be to float in this radiant ether, to bathe in these pure rays of the sun! If Barbicane had only thou
ght of furnishing us with diving-dresses and air-pumps I should have ventured outside, and have assumed the attitude of a flying-horse on the summit of the projectile."

  "Ah, old fellow!" answered Barbicane, "you would not have stayed there long in spite of your diving-dress; you would have burst like an obus by the expansion of air inside you, or rather like a balloon that goes up too high. So regret nothing, and do not forget this: while we are moving in the void you must do without any sentimental promenade out of the projectile."

  Michel Ardan allowed himself to be convinced in a certain measure. He agreed that the thing was difficult, but not "impossible;" that was a word he never uttered.

  The conversation passed from this subject to another, and never languished an instant. It seemed to the three friends that under these conditions ideas came into their heads like leaves in the first warm days of spring.

  Amidst the questions and answers that crossed each other during this morning, Nicholl asked one that did not get an immediate solution.

  "I say," said he, "it is all very well to go to the moon, but how shall we get back again?"

  "What do you mean by that, Nicholl?" asked Barbicane gravely.

  "It seems to me very inopportune to ask about getting away from a country before you get to it," added Michel.

  "I don't ask that question because I want to draw back, but I repeat my question, and ask, 'How shall we get back?'"

  "I have not the least idea," answered Barbicane.

  "And as for me," said Michel, "if I had known how to come back I should not have gone."

  "That is what you call answering," cried Nicholl.

  "I approve of Michel's words, and add that the question has no actual interest. We will think about that later on, when we want to return. Though the Columbiad will not be there, the projectile will."

  "Much good that will be, a bullet without a gun!"

  "A gun can be made, and so can powder! Neither metal, saltpetre, nor coal can be wanting in the bowels of the moon. Besides, in order to return you have only the lunar attraction to conquer, and you will only have 8,000 leagues to go so as to fall on the terrestrial globe by the simple laws of weight."