Ossipoff’s expression cheered up slightly. Gontran’s reflected the most profound astonishment.
“Yes,” Selena continued, addressing the young man with a knowing look, “Monsieur le Comte is more than a friend of the sciences; he is a fervent adept, who is by no means indifferent to the great progress that out epoch has seen. In addition to the diplomatic career that he is obliged to follow, he has continued to occupy himself with astronomy, chemistry, physics and many other things…”
Flammermont looked at the young woman in dismay.
The old scientist fixed the young man with an abruptly softened gaze. “You’re welcome in my home, Monsieur,” he said. “Please be seated.” Indicating a chair to his visitor, he sank into his armchair.
Meanwhile, with a skilled maneuver, Selena placed herself on a tapestry pouf directly behind Gontran’s chair. Once installed, half-concealed by the semi-darkness that reigned within the room, she leaned forward slightly and murmured: “Don’t be afraid—let my father speak and rely on me.”
Somewhat reassured by these words, the young man put on a brave face and set himself to face the anticipated assault as best he could.
“You’re presumably related to the author of Les Continents célestes?” asked Ossipoff, after a moment’s pause.
Gontran, who had been expecting the conversation to deal with his marriage request, took the chance of replying: “Indeed.”
Immediately, as if he were extremely pleased with that reply, the old man rolled his armchair closer to the young man’s chair.
“And you doubtless see a great deal of him?”
“As much as I can,” Gontran replied, deciding to give the answers that the questions seemed to invite.
Ossipoff’s face lit up. “In that case,” he said, “you must be very familiar with his theories. I mean his real theories—those that he expresses in private.”
“Very familiar might perhaps be putting it a bit strongly,” Gontran said, afraid of saying too much, “but I dare say that I’m sufficiently up to date with the illustrious scientist’s thinking.” And he added, privately: May the Devil roast me alive if I know a single thing about what my worthy namesake thinks.
As for Ossipoff, he rubbed his hands together with an expression of perfect contentment. “Let’s see, Monsieur le Comte,” he said, point-blank. “What do you think, personally, about the Moon?”
The young man remained quite dazed for a few seconds, and was racking his brains in search of a reply that might satisfy the old scientist when the latter added: “I’ll explain what I mean. Do you—like the majority of astronomers, who start from the position that that Moon has no atmosphere and that nothing is ever seen to move there—believe that our satellite is a dead world, deprived of any species of life, animal or vegetable?”
“Well, I certainly don’t claim to be able to affirm anything,” said Gontran, who did not want to compromise himself, “However, the most elementary reasoning and the simplest common sense lead us to think…”
“That the Moon is the dwelling of inhabitants of some sort,” Ossipoff finished for him, utterly convinced that he had divined the meaning of the young man’s ambiguous words, “and you’re right.” And he added, mentally, considering these words as a reflection of the theories of the celebrated Flammermont: I always suspected that Flammermont thought so. One can read it between the lines of his books. Then he continued, aloud: “So you’re a partisan of the doctrine of the plurality of worlds?”
“It’s the only one that responds to my intimate sentiments,” the young man replied, decisively, not knowing the first thing about the doctrine to which the old man was referring, but having heard Selena whisper an affirmative response.
Ossipoff got up and started pacing around his study, with his forehead furrowed, absorbed in his thoughts. Them stopping in front of the young Frenchman, he said: “My daughter is right, my friend, to say that we have ideas in common. Yes, I can see that you’re a lover of the great things that distinguish human beings from the brute whose regrettable instincts they so unfortunately retain. I’m glad to find that you consider the Moon to be a province annexed to this Earth on which we are condemned to crawl. For myself, I proclaim loudly that the Moon will sooner or later be one of our celestial colonies.”
“But…” Gontran put in, with a negative gesture.
“You’re doubtless saying to yourself that the colony in question might be very difficult to found,” Ossipoff went on, “since science has not as yet imagined any means of locomotion by means of which to quit our terraqueous globe and travel 100,000 leagues through the void!”10
“That’s true,” said the young man, having all the trouble in the world keeping a straight face.
“Then again, you also think that the country to be colonized is frightful, and would make the most wretched habitation—because the telescope shows us nothing there but rocks languishing in an eternal silence and lit for 354 hours at a stretch by an implacable Sun, whose intensity is never assuaged by any cloud.”11
Flammermont listened, making no movement, for fear that the slightest gesture might be interpreted by his interlocutor as a contradiction of theories dear to him.
Ossipoff went on. “As to that, I reply to you that, like Airy12 and many other astronomers and cosmographers, I think that we should not be too hasty to draw conclusions on the basis of what our imperfect telescopes permit us to distinguish. The most powerful telescope, in fact, only allows us to see as much of the lunar surface as we could see if we were floating over it in a balloon at a height of 100 leagues…” The old man shrugged his shoulders—a gesture replete with commiseration. “Now, I ask you,” he went on, “what can one see at a distanced of 100 leagues? Objects several 100 meters in height or width. Thus, the pyramids of Egypt, transported to the Moon, would remain invisible to our most powerful optical instruments! We are told that the Moon is a dead world, uninhabited and uninhabitable because we see it from too far away to distinguish its cities, its inhabitants, its plants and animals—but that’s absurd!”
“It’s true, though…” the diplomat began.
Ossipoff cut him off. “Oh, I see where you’re going,” he replied, wagging his index finger at him. “You’re going to tell me that, although the Moon might be inhabited by creatures created expressly to live in a world that has neither clouds nor water, it doesn’t follow that the Moon might be habitable by beings like us—in a word, that there’s no proof that you could survive there if you were transported there, because that would require your conformation, in harmony with the forces active upon the Earth, to still—by some freak of chance—be in harmony with the conditions existing on our satellite.”
Gontran was about to reply when, feeling himself pulled backwards by the tail of his coat, he understood that Selena was instructing him to be silent, and he shut up.
“To that,” continued the scientist, “I shall reply with Hansen13 that the Moon is shaped like an egg, whose smaller end faces the Earth and whose center of gravity is set 60 kilometers from the interior central point of the hemisphere that is unknown to us. Now, if an atmosphere and liquids exist on our satellite, of which I am convinced, they must in consequence be drawn into that hemisphere, being unable to remain for a long time in the one we see in consequence of the attraction of the Earth and the existence of that center of gravity.” Here Ossipoff paused, looking victoriously at the young man, doubtless expecting some sign of approval that had not been expectable previously.
“You said it!” cried Flammermont, warmly. “Your deductions are correct, illustrious master, and for myself, I’ve always thought, contrary to popular opinion, that there must be inhabitants in the Moon and that terrestrial humankind might very well be able to adaptable to it.” And he added, smiling: “As no one will ever be able to go and try it, though…”
“How do you know?” exclaimed Ossipoff, folding his arms and looking at the Comte in a challenging manner. “Is it the distance that scares you? Why make a fuss a
bout the 96,000 leagues that separate us from the Moon? They’re trivial by comparison with the millions and millions of leagues that constitute the radius of the Solar System. Is it, on the other hand, the means of crossing those 96,000 leagues that gives you pause? Remember, though, that terrestrial humanity is young in its own world, and if you take account of the continual march of progress, you’ll surely admit that science and industry will one day furnish our descendants with a viable means of abandoning our worldlet in order to visit, not only the Moon—which will be invaded by legions of emigrants—but the entire Solar System.” The old man had rise to his full height. Standing directly in front of the dazed Gontran, he was talking in a vibrant voice, as if inspired. “And that day,” he added, in a mysterious voice, “might arrive sooner than you think.”
Ossipoff went swiftly to his bookcase, opened it, and reached out towards the volumes piles on its shelves. “I possess all the imaginary voyages written since antiquity, of which other worlds are the object,” he said. “It seems to me that the Moon has been the rendezvous of all the storytellers and pseudo-voyagers. Here, for example, is the True History written by Lucian of Samosata, 500 years before our era,14 Plutarch’s The Face of the Man in the Moon, Godwin’s Man in the Moone, by an Englishman who imagined having himself drawn to our planet by a team of swans.15 As we arrive at what I shall call the modern period, I can cite, among other works, The States and Empires of the Sun and Moon by one of your compatriots, Cyrano de Bergerac, Discoveries in the Moon by the American Locke and voyages to the Moon by Edgar Poe, Dr. Cathelineau16 and many others that there is no need to list, but which are there, side by side, resting from the numerous fatigues to which I have submitted them. Each voyager, impelled by his imagination, has adopted a particular means of locomotion…but it is necessary to admit that they are all scientifically implausible.”
Flammermont, who had listened to this long tirade religiously, got to his feet, seeing that it was over. “Monsieur Ossipoff,” he said, in a serious tone. “I should like to ask you a question.”
“Go on.”
“The charm of your conversation is so great, Monsieur,” the young man said, “and I experienced such contentment in hearing the subjects that you have touched upon discussed in my presence, that I had totally forgotten the reason for my visit. That is a crime of treason against gallantry for which I beg Mademoiselle Selena’s pardon.” Then, bowing formally to the old man, he said in a grave voice: “Monsieur Ossipoff, I have the honor…”
The scientist put out his hand. “I know, I know,” he said. “But we’ll make that, if you wish, the object of a particular conversation…after tea. You’re staying for tea aren’t you?” Without waiting for the young man’s response, Ossipoff made a sign to Selena.
Selena got up, took the samovar that was fuming and bubbling on the stove and poured the odorous amber liquid into three fine Japanese porcelain cups. Then, going cup in hand to Gontran—who was following her with his eyes, mute and almost ecstatic—she murmured: “Don’t stand there without saying anything. Don’t wait for my father to ask you another embarrassing question—take the initiative.”
Very embarrassed, Gontran reflected momentarily, then, finally, having gravely absorbed a sip of tea, he said, not without a certain familiarity: “My God! Given that some people consider the Moon habitable by men of our species, it’s entirely natural that it has always been the object of dreams and aspirations of celestial voyagers. What astonishes me is that they have not thought more often of visiting the mysterious stars, which sparkle so poetically in the transparent night.”
Ossipoff leapt out of his chair and Selena bit her lip.
Gontran, not knowing what he had said, alternated his gaze between them, trying to divine the enormity of his words from their faces.
“If you think about it,” said the old man, in a slightly disdainful tone, “and if you calculate, imaginatively, the colossal distances at which—and I’m not talking about the stars—the planets of the Solar System orbit the Sun, you’ll understand the difficulty of traveling to such distant worlds. The Moon, which rotates around us every 27 and a half days, is the first stop, the first station, of any celestial voyage.
The crestfallen Flammermont bowed his head, obstinately fixing his eyes the bearskin run that covered the floorboards, as if he hoped to find an idea of genius there. “Of course, Monsieur Ossipoff,” he said. “I’m not unaware of the immense distances that separate the stars in the sky, and the disposition of the universe, as you can well imagine, is in no way unfamiliar to me.” And he added, in an emphatic tone, while leaning backwards in order to hear what Selena was whispering in his ear more clearly: “Who does not know that the Sun is immobile at the center of our Solar System, and that it sustains the planets in the powerful meshes of its gravitational attraction?” Carried away by the approving nods of Ossipoff’s head, and feeling the necessity of completely dispelling the bad impression that his recent ill-chosen words has created, he went on: “Those planets…those planets…are, first of all…”
“First of all what?” asked the old man.
“Those planets, “Gontain repeated, leaning back far enough to lose his balance “are, first of all…” But Selena remained mute—for what reason, he did not know—and he could not do anything else but imitate her.
Surprised by this silence, Ossipoff looked at the young man, suddenly assailed by doubts regarding the cosmological knowledge of the man who aspired to be his son-in-law. “Well?” he said, with a sort of impatient astonishment. “Those planets…?”
Flammermont shook himself, as if emerging from a dream, and replied by pointing to Selena, who went to her father, a cup of tea in her hand, “Excuse me, Monsieur Ossipoff, if I have descended from the immensity to which I had risen up with you, but have I not before my very eyes, in your home, an image of celestial phenomena: this star gravitating around the Sun of science!”
The young woman blushed with contentment. As for Ossipoff, his forehead cleared and, flattered in his paternal affection and in his scientific pride, he looked at Gontran gratefully.
By a skillful maneuver the young woman had slipped behind her father’s armchair, over which she leaned for a few seconds.
“But to get back to our conversation,” the old man continued. “You were saying?” His body bent forward, with his elbows on his knees and his eyes closed, he was concentrating all his attention on Gontran’s reply.
The latter shrugged his shoulders desperately, looking at Selena. Suddenly, she smiled radiantly, as if a stroke of genius had suddenly come to mind. Silently, she stepped away from the armchair, turned to the wall—which was covered by an immense blackboard designed for the scientist’s algebraic calculations—and seized a piece of chalk. In the middle of the board she drew a circle, which she labeled in distinct letters: Sun. Beside it, a slightly larger circle appeared, along with the word Mercury.
Immediately, following Selena’s explanatory mime from the corner of his eye, the young man said, confidently: “The first of the planets we encounter as we move away from the Sun is Mercury…”
“Which rotates around the sun in 88 days,” added Ossipoff. “That’s right.”
Selena continued to write and Gontran, his eyes fixed on the savior blackboard, continued emphatically: “After Mercury, there’s Venus, the Earth’s younger sister.”
“Whose year is 280 days, indeed, and whose distance from the Sun is 26,000,000 leagues, as you so rightly say.17 Next is our Earth, isn’t it?”
“At 148,000,000 kilometers,” added Gontran, reading the figure that appeared in enormous characters in the corner of the blackboard.
“Then we find…?”
“Mars,” the young Comte hastened to say. “Mars, 52,000,000 leagues distant,18 and finally…Jupiter…the colossal, monstrous Jupiter…” He had not hesitated to attribute these epithets to the planet he had just named because of the large circle by which Selena represented it on the blackboard.
The old
scientist had raised his head abruptly, and the young woman briskly resumed her place, leaning on the back of the armchair.
“Yes,” said Ossipoff, in a vibrant voice, “you’re right to qualify as monstrous a world equivalent 1300 Earths like ours, and whose diameter is no less than 35,000 leagues. Jupiter! That gigantic world, which turns on its vertical axis in only 10 hours! Jupiter, which is escorted in its course by four satellites, two of which are as large as the planet Mercury!”
Impressed in spite of himself by the old man’s enthusiasm, Gontran remained motionless, interested, submissive to these astonishing revelations about a world of which he was hearing mention for the first time.
“And after Jupiter,” Ossipoff continued in the same tone, “we find Saturn, the gigantic Saturn, 355,000,000 leagues away from the central star, which rotates on its axis, in the midst of its seven rings, almost as rapidly as Jupiter.”
The scientist stopped, fixing Flammermont with a gaze that altered Selena to the fact that the young man was about to be asked another embarrassing question—so she said: “Isn’t it that planet of whose calendar has—didn’t you tell me, father?—10,000 of our days, which is 27 years and 3 months?”
“Indeed, but…”
“Saturn covers more than 100,000 leagues in its orbit,”19 the young woman continued, “and drags with it, in its movement around the Sun, its cosmic rings and eight satellites…” She stopped. Seizing the old scientist’s head in both hands, she tipped it back and kissed it. “Well, Father?” she said. “Am I an exceptional student, and am I a credit to my professor?”
Mikhail Ossipoff was radiant; he enveloped his daughter with a tender regard and exclaimed to Gontran: “And you thought I might give this child to the first comer—one of those down-to-earth idlers indifferent to the celestial marvels that surround us! But that would be a crime, my dear sir, and I would 100 times rather see Selena remain a daughter than have a son-in-law of whose education I could not first be convinced.”
The Extraordinary Adventures of a Russian Scientist Across the Solar System (Vol. 1) Page 4