On the Proper Use of Stars

by Dominique Fortier

  One seaman showed an unexpected talent for calligraphy; another was able to solve equations with a number of unknowns without the help of pen and paper; a cook’s helper discovered a passion for magnetism, a science for which he had something of a gift, as Crozier discovered when he was setting out the basic principles to a small group.

  “And so the reason why a compass needle always points to the north is that is magnetized.”

  “Does it become magnetized or has it always been?”

  “Some metals are naturally magnetized: iron, for instance, which was found in the vicinity of the city of Magnesia in Turkey, to which the phenomenon of magnetism owes its name. For a long time those were the metals used for making compasses. In more recent years, however, we have learned how to magnetize certain metals by heating and then chilling them,” he replied, happy to see them showing an interest in such questions of orientation on which their survival might depend.

  “But,” interrupted the assistant cook, a fair-haired young fellow who could not have been more than eighteen, “does that mean the needle points towards the Pole because it is attracted there as if by a magnet? So that Earth herself serves as a magnet, is that right, sir?”

  “You’re absolutely correct.” Crozier nodded, particularly satisfied to note that the general theory, while abstract and relatively complex, could be understood by even the most simple-minded.

  “But sir,” the young man went on, sounding troubled, “is it not true that magnetized metals are always attracted by the South Pole of the magnet, not the North?”

  “What’s he carrying on about?” others on all sides were asking.

  At these words, Francis Rawdon Moira Crozier, who had been made a Fellow of the Royal Society and of the Royal Astronomical Society because of the excellence and the significance of his work on magnetism, who had been closely involved in the discovery of the South Magnetic Pole before he identified the location of the North Magnetic Pole, was speechless.

  The assistant cook’s voice was now tinged with despair:

  “If that is the case, then the North Pole is actually the South Pole of the magnet, the South Magnetic Pole, and the real North Magnetic Pole is in Antarctica, is that not true, sir?”

  “Idiot!” whispered the man next to him, elbowing him in the ribs. “Do you think you’re at the South Pole now? Isn’t it cold enough for you? Or maybe you think you’re in Australia with the Zulus?”

  Crozier noticed neither the discourtesy nor the ethnological absurdity. He had felt the Earth open beneath his feet, the Earth he had travelled, whose continents and seas he had explored, surveyed, measured, mapped, but whose innermost laws were obviously still escaping him. How had he not thought about that? Of course it changed nothing: whether a pole was called North or South changed neither its location nor its functioning. But if he, along with generations of explorers and scientists, had been able to make such a crass error, how could he believe that he had not committed other equally tragic ones?

  The assistant cook – only then did Crozier realize that he did not know the boy’s name – was squatting on the crate that he was using as a seat. Motionless, with shoulders hunched and chin bent over his chest, he did not take his eyes off his commander, from whom he expected a denial, an explanation, a jibe. Quite obviously he hoped that the man standing in front of him, who was his superior in age, constitution, experience, and education, not to mention in rank and fortune, would set him straight; he wanted things to resume the places they’d always held.

  But Crozier did not even think of scoffing, as he sometimes did when one of the men asked a question that was just too absurd. He confined himself to saying, his voice choked, that the lesson was over and dismissed his students without subjecting them, as he usually did, to a problem of mathematics or logic that would keep their minds busy until the following day. The assistant cook got to his feet with the others, his back still bent.

  Crozier called to him: “I say!”

  Several pairs of inquiring eyes rose.

  “You!” he said, pointing to the young man, who sat down again, resigned.

  When the others had gone, Crozier came and sat beside him.

  “What is your name?”

  “Adam, sir.”

  “Just Adam, or do you have a last name, too?”

  “They call me Adam Tuesday, sir, because I was found one Tuesday on the steps of the orphanage. I guess that’s my family name. It is the one I put down when I signed up, sir.”

  “Very well, Adam Tuesday, was it perhaps at the orphanage that you were taught about magnetism?”

  “No, sir. I learned it here, from books in the library. I never saw so many, and they told me I could read them when my work was done,” he added quickly, like a child expecting to be scolded.

  “They told you the truth. Those books were brought on board for the benefit of everyone, and everyone may consult them as he wishes. Which ones did you read, then?”

  “All of them, sir.”

  “You read every one of the books that deal with magnetism?”

  “Yes, sir, and all the others, too. I particularly liked the Sonnets of William Shakespeare, sir.”

  12 January 1846

  TO WHILE AWAY the boredom of the long winter months, someone had the idea of reviving Parry’s Royal Arctic Theatre as a way of entertaining our crew. The men devoted themselves to it with a fervour and good humour that showed how profoundly they long for something to do. They managed to persuade DesVoeux, who strikes me as a man who would not let pass an opportunity to show himself off to advantage, to play a small part in their farce. Perhaps I am being unfair. Perhaps he is only thinking about the men’s morale and participates with good grace in their masquerade, the way an older brother will agree to briefly take part in his younger brother’s games. As for me, I shall be content with the role of spectator – which does have its own importance, for it goes without saying that these antics have meaning only if someone is there to witness them.

  For a week now the lessons have gone from two and a half hours to one hour per day. The time thereby freed is spent on rehearsals and endless whispered secret meetings. Every day, in one corner of the lower deck, a workshop is fitted out where a dozen men bustle about making costumes from old uniforms, blankets, and cloth, some brought specifically for the occasion. The men are silent and careful to hide any costume-making from my eyes and from those of anyone who is not one of the actors. In another corner sets are being assembled and painted with the help of onion skins and beet juice. Harvey, the cartographer, has let himself get caught up in it and I am rather curious to see the result.

  Like DesVoeux, however, he refuses to expose the slightest detail, despite efforts by Fitzjames to worm some information out of him. The first and only performance by the troop, which has been christened Her Majesty’s Northern Theatre, is to be presented in some ten days’ time. I believe the story will be adapted from an old French play that has turned up in the library of the Erebus and which, it is said, made men laugh until they cried.

  Journey to the Moon

  A comedy in three acts presented by

  Her Majesty’s Northern Theatre

  In order of appearance:

  SAVINIEN CYRANO DE BERGERAC

  FIRST FRIEND

  SECOND FRIEND

  ACT 1, SCENE 1

  Night. Three tipsy friends are walking down a faintly lit street, arguing. Above the rooftops the full moon is slowly rising.

  FIRST FRIEND

  See how round the moon is tonight!

  SECOND FRIEND

  You would swear it was a huge meringue pie. Hmmm … I wouldn’t say no to a slice! (They laugh.)

  CYRANO

  And, gentlemen, if that Moon were a world like this one, for which our world served as Moon?

  SECOND FRIEND

  But of course. Why stop there? Why should our world not serve as its Sun, for heaven’s sake! (More laughter.)

  CYRANO

  Laugh if you w
ill. Who is to say that at this very moment people in some other Moon are not poking fun at a man who maintains that this globe is a world? Very well, good luck along the road.

  (The friends separate, still laughing. The others go away. Cyrano goes home. We hear sounds of clinking glass, then he comes out carrying a dozen flasks filled with liquid.)

  CYRANO (speaking to himself while he stares at the flasks on his belt)

  Before this evening I knew not to what purpose I would put the dew taken from the petals of a thousand poppies, an operation which required that I rise before dawn over ten days so as to collect the precious liquid before it evaporated, irresistibly attracted by the Sun. As the day star has set, it stands to reason that this dew will be quite naturally attracted by the Moon, as will I.

  (Once the operation is complete he uncorks the flasks one by one, rubs his hands and waits a few seconds. Then he rises, slowly, above the rooftops.)

  ACT 1, SCENE 2

  CYRANO

  SIX SELENES

  DÆMON OF SOCRATES

  An undulating, uniformly white landscape under a sky speckled

  with stars, where we make out a brown and green planet bigger than

  the others: Earth. Cyrano is stretched out on the ground, his flasks

  spread around him. He is coming back to himself.

  CYRANO

  Where am I? Oh, my head … I remember nothing. What has happened to me? (Looking around him.) But … Can it be that … Have I then arrived on …

  (Enter a group of six Selenes, their only garment a kind of a long loincloth. Their skin and hair are white as flour and they seem highly irritated.)

  SELENES (pointing to Cyrano)

  Wooloo wooloo wooloo!

  CYRANO

  Would you gentlemen be so kind as to inform me in what country I now find myself? I set out from the city of Paris, I know not if it was several minutes ago or several hours, and I am now here among you …

  SELENES (more and more annoyed)

  WOOLOO WOOLOO WOOLOO!

  (They approach Cyrano, help him to his feet, and surround him. One grabs his hat, another pulls his moustache.)

  CYRANO

  Gentlemen, gentlemen, I beg you, a little self-control. Kindly stop pestering me, else I shall …

  (He tries to pick up his sword but realizes that it is no longer in its case. The Selenes break into a rhythmical dance around Cyrano, who tries in vain to break away from their circle.)

  DÆMON OF SOCRATES (off stage, threatening)

  LOUWOO! LOUWOO! LOUWOO!

  (Alarmed, the Selenes scatter, letting fall Cyrano’s hat and gloves. The Dæmon of Socrates appears. He is wearing a long gown.)

  DÆMON OF SOCRATES

  Kindly excuse, my lord, these simpletons. They are unaccustomed to visitors. For you have come from the Moon, have you not?

  CYRANO

  I thank you, sir. (Thinking about what the other man has said.) From the Moon? On the contrary, I come from Earth, from a town that is known by the name Paris …

  DÆMON OF SOCRATES (interrupting him)

  Ah, Paris … I lived in Paris too, once upon a time … But I am straying from the point; I am delighted to see you, sir, it has been a long time since I’ve had the opportunity to converse with a fellow countryman. So long, in fact, that I have got into the habit of referring to the world that is yours as do the inhabitants of this one … But you must be exhausted after your long voyage. Very close to here is an inn where you can have something to eat. Allow me to accompany you there.

  CYRANO

  Gladly, Sir … Sir … To whom do I have the honour?

  DÆMON OF SOCRATES

  Several names have been given me in my lifetime: Hélie, Enoch … But the one I prefer is without any doubt Daemon of Socrates.

  CYRANO

  Very well, Mr. Dæmon. My name is Savinien Cyrano de Bergerac.

  DÆMON OF SOCRATES

  It has been a very long time since I have had a home, but you judged correctly, Monsieur de Bergerac, you are now on what is called, where you come from, the Moon.

  ACT 1, SCENE 3

  CYRANO

  DÆMON OF SOCRATES

  INNKEEPER

  A salon in the inn, two tables, four chairs, a cooking pot steaming in the hearth. Here, too, everything is white. Cyrano and the Dæmon of Socrates take seats at a table. The innkeeper appears, waves his arm in front of his clients. Cyrano is dumbfounded, but the other man replies by shaking his leg and the innkeeper disappears.

  CYRANO

  What is the meaning of this pantomime, sir?

  DÆMON OF SOCRATES

  The language in most common use among these people is expressed by wriggling the limbs, where certain parts of the body signify a complete discourse. Waving one finger, one hand, one ear, one lip, one arm, one cheek, for instance, will make each one in particular an oration, or, if using all one’s limbs, a period. Others serve to designate single words, such as a crease on one’s brow, the various forms of shuddering of the muscles, the inversions of the hands, the movements of a foot. Accordingly, assuming that you must be very hungry after your journey, I have requested a soup for you. I can moreover smell it drawing near.

  CYRANO (sniffing)

  You are quite right, I smell it too. What a delicious aroma. I truly believe that never in all my life have I been given such a sweet scent to inhale.

  DÆMON OF SOCRATES

  Very well, indulge yourself.

  (Cyrano waits, increasingly impatient. The Dæmon of Socrates stands up.)

  CYRANO

  I say! Where is that soup, by Jove? Have you made it your challenge to mock me all the day long?

  DÆMON OF SOCRATES

  I should have thought to warn you: whatever we see here is smoke. The art of cooking is to enclose the exhalations given off by the meats inside large vessels and, having collected several kinds, depending on the appetite of those who are being treated, we discover another and another after that until the entire company is sated. Once the feast is over, we pay in verse.

  CYRANO

  Ah, now, will you stop mocking me. There is no country, no planet where a verse is common currency, even simply for purchasing some broth.

  DÆMON OF SOCRATES

  No, certainly not, but innkeepers are partial to rhymes. And so even when we have feasted here for eight days it would not cost even a sonnet, and I have four with me, along with nine epigrams, two odes, and an eclogue.

  (Exeunt.)

  12 March 1846

  Beechey Island, 74° 70′ N 93° 33’ W, −9° F

  Spied yesterday some Esquimaux who have set up their Encampment in proximity to the Terror and the Erebus. They had never seen White Men, and in order to reassure them we had recourse to the Universal Symbol of Good Will, which is a branch of Olive. Once they were reassured, they accepted our Presents and gave us in exchange a revolting piece of Meat which they seemed to believe was an enticing Tidbit. Crozier bit into it. I believe that to please our Hosts he would have eaten Snow should it be necessary.

  Pensive, Sir John rubbed his wrist. Writing tired him. Rereading his words, it struck him that his account did not adequately express the extraordinary nature of the meeting, of the danger avoided, or the spectacular success of his diplomatic venture, all of them matters to which Lady Jane would put the finishing touches should he wish to provide readers a description that was worthy of the events. To give good measure and to direct his wife, he believed it necessary to add:

  I have been able Personally to observe that the men are, as has been suspected, perfectly hairless. They are Fierce and made Many Threatening Motions in our direction before at my Suggestion we hoisted the Flag on which appears the Olive Branch and that immediately Pacified them.

  To tell the truth, things had not happened exactly in that way; he had not approached closely enough to examine the facial hair of his visitors, but never mind, he was relatively certain that these men had none – and who would contradict him?
A significant detail came back to his memory and with his efficient pen he wrote:

  Their Smell is most Unpleasant.

  12 March 1846

  For the first time since we have been iced in off Beechey Island, we have been visited by Esquimaux. It is obvious that they had never before seen White men or boats or even wood, for they spent long minutes sounding the topsides of the ship as if it were the carcass of a whale.

  Their small group comprised three men and two women, one of them repulsive, nearly toothless, which did not stop her from grinning broadly, while the other, younger one could have been pretty had her hair and her skin not been covered with a slick of rancid oil and had her entire being not given off a powerful stench of fish.

  They arrived on three sledges pulled by some twenty puny dogs, tongues lolling, next to whom our gallant Neptune looked like a lord. Men and women alike were clad in the skins of animals which they wore in the manner of pelisses, that is to say with the fur turned towards the inside; their mittens and boots were made of skin as well. Spying them, the members of the crew, who for the most part knew of Esquimaux only what they had read in Sir John’s narratives – hence very little, if I may to say so – began to let out cries of joy as if they had spied some legendary animal. True, some six months have now passed since we have seen a new face and it is normal that the appearance of a human creature, even if it were an Esquimau, be greeted with explosions of joy. Our hosts showed themselves to be cautious, however, and refused stubbornly, despite our motions and our explanations, to board the ships. Sir John suggested that we hold up on a stick a white flag on which appeared an olive branch, a universal symbol that would signify his peaceful intentions, and whose meaning would be so obvious there would be no question of confusion. I tried to explain to him that these men, having never in their lives seen an olive branch, would not know what to make of this flag, but the thing was prepared in no time at all and held very high. The three men pointed to it and talked among themselves, still not daring to take one step forward. It is difficult to say who among our small group of savages or our own young sailors was the more disconcerted in the presence of the other. A long moment passed that way, in mutual observation. The Esquimaux absolutely did not understand how we had been able to get to where we were. From their gestures and a few words that I recognized, I realized that they were wondering if we had dragged the ships across the ice or if we had arrived from the air.