Question and Answer

On the 4th of December, when the travelers awoke after fifty-four hours’ journey, the chronometer marked five o’clock of the terrestrial morning. In time it was just over five hours and forty minutes, half of that assigned to their sojourn in the projectile; but they had already accomplished nearly seven-tenths of the way. This peculiarity was due to their regularly decreasing speed.

On December 4, the travelers woke after fifty-four hours of travel. The chronometer showed five o’clock in the morning on Earth. In terms of time, it was just over five hours and forty minutes, half the time allotted for their stay in the projectile. But they had already covered nearly seven-tenths of the distance. This was because their speed was steadily decreasing.

Now when they observed the earth through the lower window, it looked like nothing more than a dark spot, drowned in the solar rays. No more crescent, no more cloudy light! The next day, at midnight, the earth would be new, at the very moment when the moon would be full. Above, the orb of night was nearing the line followed by the projectile, so as to meet it at the given hour. All around the black vault was studded with brilliant points, which seemed to move slowly; but, at the great distance they were from them, their relative size did not seem to change. The sun and stars appeared exactly as they do to us upon earth. As to the moon, she was considerably larger; but the travelers’ glasses, not very powerful, did not allow them as yet to make any useful observations upon her surface, or reconnoiter her topographically or geologically.

When they looked at Earth through the lower window, it was just a dark spot, lost in the sunlight. There was no crescent, no more cloudy light! The next day at midnight, Earth would be new, at the very moment the moon was full. Above them, the moon was approaching the projectile’s path, so that it would meet the projectile at the appointed hour. All around them, the black sky was studded with brilliant points of light that seemed to move slowly. But they were so far away that their apparent size did not seem to change. The sun and stars looked exactly as they do from Earth. The moon, however, was much larger. But the travelers’ telescopes were not very powerful. They could not yet make useful observations of its surface or survey its topography or geology.

Thus the time passed in never-ending conversations all about the moon. Each one brought forward his own contingent of particular facts; Barbicane and Nicholl always serious, Michel Ardan always enthusiastic. The projectile, its situation, its direction, incidents which might happen, the precautions necessitated by their fall on to the moon, were inexhaustible matters of conjecture.

The time passed in endless conversations about the moon. Each contributed his own facts. Barbicane and Nicholl were always serious, while Michel Ardan was always enthusiastic. They never ran out of things to speculate about. They discussed the projectile, its position and direction, and what might happen. They also considered the precautions they would need to take when they landed on the moon.

As they were breakfasting, a question of Michel’s, relating to the projectile, provoked rather a curious answer from Barbicane, which is worth repeating. Michel, supposing it to be roughly stopped, while still under its formidable initial speed, wished to know what the consequences of the stoppage would have been.

At breakfast, Michel asked a question about the projectile. Barbicane’s curious answer is worth repeating. Michel wanted to know what would have happened if the projectile had been stopped abruptly while still traveling at its tremendous initial speed.

“But,” said Barbicane, “I do not see how it could have been stopped.”

“But,” said Barbicane, “I don't see how it could have been stopped.”

“But let us suppose so,” said Michel.

“But let’s suppose so,” said Michel.

“It is an impossible supposition,” said the practical Barbicane; “unless that impulsive force had failed; but even then its speed would diminish by degrees, and it would not have stopped suddenly.”

“That’s impossible,” said the practical Barbicane, “unless the force driving it had failed. But even then, it would have slowed down gradually, not stopped suddenly.”

“Admit that it had struck a body in space.”

“Admit that it had hit an object in space.”

“What body?”

“What body?”

“Why that enormous meteor which we met.”

“Why, that enormous meteor we encountered.”

“Then,” said Nicholl, “the projectile would have been broken into a thousand pieces, and we with it.”

“Then,” said Nicholl, “the projectile would have shattered into a thousand pieces, and so would we.”

“More than that,” replied Barbicane; “we should have been burned to death.”

“More than that,” Barbicane replied, “we would have burned to death.”

“Burned?” exclaimed Michel, “by Jove! I am sorry it did not happen, ‘just to see.’”

“Burned?” exclaimed Michel. “Good grief! I’m sorry it didn’t happen, ‘just to see.’”

“And you would have seen,” replied Barbicane. “It is known now that heat is only a modification of motion. When water is warmed—that is to say, when heat is added to it—its particles are set in motion.”

“And you would have seen,” Barbicane replied. “We now know that heat is simply a form of motion. When water is warmed, heat is added to it, and its particles begin to move.”

“Well,” said Michel, “that is an ingenious theory!”

“Well,” said Michel, “that’s a clever theory!”

“And a true one, my worthy friend; for it explains every phenomenon of caloric. Heat is but the motion of atoms, a simple oscillation of the particles of a body. When they apply the brake to a train, the train comes to a stop; but what becomes of the motion which it had previously possessed? It is transformed into heat, and the brake becomes hot. Why do they grease the axles of the wheels? To prevent their heating, because this heat would be generated by the motion which is thus lost by transformation.”

“And a true one, my good friend, because it explains every phenomenon of heat. Heat is simply the motion of atoms, a vibration of the particles in a body. When the brakes are applied to a train, it stops. But what happens to the motion it had before? The motion is transformed into heat, and the brakes become hot. Why are the wheel axles greased? To keep them from heating up. That heat would be generated by motion lost through transformation.”

“Yes, I understand,” replied Michel, “perfectly. For example, when I have run a long time, when I am swimming, when I am perspiring in large drops, why am I obliged to stop? Simply because my motion is changed into heat.”

“Yes, I understand,” Michel replied. “Perfectly. For example, why do I have to stop when I’ve been running or swimming for a long time and sweating heavily? Simply because my motion is turned into heat.”

Barbicane could not help smiling at Michel’s reply; then, returning to his theory, said:

Barbicane couldn't help smiling at Michel's reply. Then he returned to his theory and said:

“Thus, in case of a shock, it would have been with our projectile as with a ball which falls in a burning state after having struck the metal plate; it is its motion which is turned into heat. Consequently I affirm that, if our projectile had struck the meteor, its speed thus suddenly checked would have raised a heat great enough to turn it into vapor instantaneously.”

“So, if our projectile had collided with the meteor, it would have been like a ball that glows after striking a metal plate. The ball’s motion is converted into heat. Therefore, I maintain that if our projectile had struck the meteor, its sudden stop would have generated enough heat to vaporize it instantly.”

“Then,” asked Nicholl, “what would happen if the earth’s motion were to stop suddenly?”

“Then,” asked Nicholl, “what would happen if the earth suddenly stopped moving?”

“Her temperature would be raised to such a pitch,” said Barbicane, “that she would be at once reduced to vapor.”

“Her temperature would rise so high,” said Barbicane, “that she would instantly turn to vapor.”

“Well,” said Michel, “that is a way of ending the earth which will greatly simplify things.”

“Well,” said Michel, “that’s one way to end the Earth. It would certainly simplify things.”

“And if the earth fell upon the sun?” asked Nicholl.

“What if the earth fell into the sun?” asked Nicholl.

“According to calculation,” replied Barbicane, “the fall would develop a heat equal to that produced by 16,000 globes of coal, each equal in bulk to our terrestrial globe.”

“According to calculations,” Barbicane replied, “the fall would produce as much heat as 16,000 balls of coal. Each ball would be the size of Earth.”

“Good additional heat for the sun,” replied Michel Ardan, “of which the inhabitants of Uranus or Neptune would doubtless not complain; they must be perished with cold on their planets.”

“That would give the sun some good extra heat,” replied Michel Ardan. “The inhabitants of Uranus or Neptune surely wouldn't complain. They must be freezing on their planets.”

“Thus, my friends,” said Barbicane, “all motion suddenly stopped produces heat. And this theory allows us to infer that the heat of the solar disc is fed by a hail of meteors falling incessantly on its surface. They have even calculated—”

“So, my friends,” said Barbicane, “whenever motion suddenly stops, it produces heat. This theory suggests that a constant hail of meteors falling on the sun’s surface feeds its heat. They have even calculated...”

“Oh, dear!” murmured Michel, “the figures are coming.”

“Oh, dear!” Michel murmured. “Here come the figures.”

“They have even calculated,” continued the imperturbable Barbicane, “that the shock of each meteor on the sun ought to produce a heat equal to that of 4,000 masses of coal of an equal bulk.”

“They have even calculated,” continued the unflappable Barbicane, “that each meteor striking the sun should produce as much heat as 4,000 pieces of coal of the same size.”

“And what is the solar heat?” asked Michel.

“And how hot is the sun?” asked Michel.

“It is equal to that produced by the combustion of a stratum of coal surrounding the sun to a depth of forty-seven miles.”

“It is equal to the amount produced by burning a layer of coal forty-seven miles deep around the sun.”

“And that heat—”

“And that heat...”

“Would be able to boil two billions nine hundred millions of cubic myriameters² of water.”

“Could boil 2.9 billion cubic myriameters² of water.”

“And it does not roast us!” exclaimed Michel.

“And it doesn’t roast us!” exclaimed Michel.

“No,” replied Barbicane, “because the terrestrial atmosphere absorbs four-tenths of the solar heat; besides, the quantity of heat intercepted by the earth is but a billionth part of the entire radiation.”

“No,” replied Barbicane, “because Earth’s atmosphere absorbs four-tenths of the sun’s heat. Besides, Earth receives only one billionth of the sun’s total radiation.”

“I see that all is for the best,” said Michel, “and that this atmosphere is a useful invention; for it not only allows us to breathe, but it prevents us from roasting.”

“I see that everything is for the best,” said Michel, “and that this atmosphere is a useful invention. It not only lets us breathe, but also keeps us from roasting.”

“Yes!” said Nicholl, “unfortunately, it will not be the same in the moon.”

“Yes!” said Nicholl. “Unfortunately, it won't be the same on the moon.”

“Bah!” said Michel, always hopeful. “If there are inhabitants, they must breathe. If there are no longer any, they must have left enough oxygen for three people, if only at the bottom of ravines, where its own weight will cause it to accumulate, and we will not climb the mountains; that is all.” And Michel, rising, went to look at the lunar disc, which shone with intolerable brilliancy.

“Bah!” said Michel, always hopeful. “If there are inhabitants, they must breathe. If there are no longer any, they must have left enough oxygen for three people. It would at least be at the bottom of ravines, where its weight would make it collect. We simply won't climb the mountains.” Michel got up and went to look at the lunar disc, which shone with unbearable brightness.

“By Jove!” said he, “it must be hot up there!”

“Wow!” he said. “It must be hot up there!”

“Without considering,” replied Nicholl, “that the day lasts 360 hours!”

“Without considering,” Nicholl replied, “that the day lasts 360 hours!”

“And to compensate that,” said Barbicane, “the nights have the same length; and as heat is restored by radiation, their temperature can only be that of the planetary space.”

“To make up for that,” said Barbicane, “the nights are just as long. And because heat is restored by radiation, their temperature can only be that of space between the planets.”

“A pretty country, that!” exclaimed Michel. “Never mind! I wish I was there! Ah! my dear comrades, it will be rather curious to have the earth for our moon, to see it rise on the horizon, to recognize the shape of its continents, and to say to oneself, ‘There is America, there is Europe;’ then to follow it when it is about to lose itself in the sun’s rays! By the bye, Barbicane, have the Selenites eclipses?”

“What a beautiful country!” exclaimed Michel. “Never mind! I wish I were there! Ah, my dear friends, it would be strange to have Earth as our moon. We could watch it rise on the horizon and recognize the shapes of its continents. We could say to ourselves, ‘There is America, there is Europe.’ Then we could watch it disappear into the sun’s rays! By the way, Barbicane, do the Selenites have eclipses?”

“Yes, eclipses of the sun,” replied Barbicane, “when the centers of the three orbs are on a line, the earth being in the middle. But they are only partial, during which the earth, cast like a screen upon the solar disc, allows the greater portion to be seen.”

“Yes, solar eclipses,” replied Barbicane, “when the centers of the three bodies line up, with Earth in the middle. But the eclipses are only partial. Earth acts like a screen over the sun’s disc, leaving most of it visible.”

“And why,” asked Nicholl, “is there no total eclipse? Does not the cone of the shadow cast by the earth extend beyond the moon?”

“And why,” asked Nicholl, “is there no total eclipse? Doesn’t the cone of Earth’s shadow extend beyond the Moon?”

“Yes, if we do not take into consideration the refraction produced by the terrestrial atmosphere. No, if we take that refraction into consideration. Thus let <lower case delta> be the horizontal parallel, and p the apparent semidiameter—”

“Yes, if we ignore the refraction caused by Earth's atmosphere. No, if we take that refraction into account. So let <lower case delta> be the horizontal parallel, and p the apparent semidiameter...”

“Oh!” said Michel. “Do speak plainly, you man of algebra!”

“Oh!” said Michel. “Please speak plainly, you algebra man!”

“Very well, replied Barbicane; “in popular language the mean distance from the moon to the earth being sixty terrestrial radii, the length of the cone of the shadow, on account of refraction, is reduced to less than forty-two radii. The result is that when there are eclipses, the moon finds itself beyond the cone of pure shadow, and that the sun sends her its rays, not only from its edges, but also from its center.”

“Very well,” replied Barbicane. “Simply put, the average distance from the moon to the earth is sixty earth radii. Because of refraction, the cone of shadow is shortened to less than forty-two earth radii. As a result, during eclipses, the moon is beyond the cone of complete shadow. So the sun’s rays reach the moon not only from the sun’s edges, but also from its center.”

“Then,” said Michel, in a merry tone, “why are there eclipses, when there ought not to be any?”

“Then,” Michel asked cheerfully, “why are there eclipses when there shouldn’t be any?”

“Simply because the solar rays are weakened by this refraction, and the atmosphere through which they pass extinguished the greater part of them!”

“Simply because this refraction weakens the sun’s rays, and the atmosphere they pass through blocks most of them!”

“That reason satisfies me,” replied Michel. “Besides we shall see when we get there. Now, tell me, Barbicane, do you believe that the moon is an old comet?”

“That reason makes sense to me,” replied Michel. “Besides, we’ll see when we get there. Now, tell me, Barbicane, do you think the moon is an old comet?”

“There’s an idea!”

“There’s an idea!”

“Yes,” replied Michel, with an amiable swagger, “I have a few ideas of that sort.”

“Yes,” Michel replied with a friendly swagger, “I have a few ideas like that.”

“But that idea does not spring from Michel,” answered Nicholl.

“But that idea didn't come from Michel,” Nicholl replied.

“Well, then, I am a plagiarist.”

“Well, then, I copied someone else's work.”

“No doubt about it. According to the ancients, the Arcadians pretend that their ancestors inhabited the earth before the moon became her satellite. Starting from this fact, some scientific men have seen in the moon a comet whose orbit will one day bring it so near to the earth that it will be held there by its attraction.”

“No doubt about it. According to the ancients, the Arcadians claimed their ancestors lived on Earth before the moon became its satellite. Based on this, some scientists have suggested that the moon is a comet. Its orbit will one day bring it so close to Earth that Earth's gravity will hold it there.”

“Is there any truth in this hypothesis?” asked Michel.

“Is there any truth to this theory?” asked Michel.

“None whatever,” said Barbicane, “and the proof is, that the moon has preserved no trace of the gaseous envelope which always accompanies comets.”

“None at all,” said Barbicane. “The proof is that the moon has no trace of the gas envelope that always surrounds comets.”

“But,” continued Nicholl, “Before becoming the earth’s satellite, could not the moon, when in her perihelion, pass so near the sun as by evaporation to get rid of all those gaseous substances?”

“But,” Nicholl continued, “before becoming Earth’s satellite, couldn’t the moon have passed close enough to the sun at perihelion for all those gases to evaporate?”

“It is possible, friend Nicholl, but not probable.”

“It’s possible, my friend Nicholl, but not likely.”

“Why not?”

“Why not?”

“Because—Faith I do not know.”

“Because, honestly, I don't know.”

“Ah!” exclaimed Michel, “what hundred of volumes we might make of all that we do not know!”

“Ah!” exclaimed Michel, “we could fill hundreds of books with everything we don't know!”

“Ah! indeed. What time is it?” asked Barbicane.

“Oh, really? What time is it?” asked Barbicane.

“Three o’clock,” answered Nicholl.

“Three o’clock,” said Nicholl.

“How time goes,” said Michel, “in the conversation of scientific men such as we are! Certainly, I feel I know too much! I feel that I am becoming a well!”

“How time flies,” said Michel, “when scientific men like us talk! I really feel I know too much! I feel like I’m becoming a well of knowledge!”

Saying which, Michel hoisted himself to the roof of the projectile, “to observe the moon better,” he pretended. During this time his companions were watching through the lower glass. Nothing new to note!

With that, Michel pulled himself up to the roof of the projectile, pretending it was “to see the moon better.” Meanwhile, his companions watched through the lower window. Nothing new to report!

When Michel Ardan came down, he went to the side scuttle; and suddenly they heard an exclamation of surprise!

When Michel Ardan came down, he went to the side window. Suddenly, they heard an exclamation of surprise!

“What is it?” asked Barbicane.

“What is it?” asked Barbicane.

The president approached the window, and saw a sort of flattened sack floating some yards from the projectile. This object seemed as motionless as the projectile, and was consequently animated with the same ascending movement.

The president went to the window and saw a sort of flattened sack floating a few yards from the projectile. The sack seemed as motionless as the projectile, so it was rising at the same speed.

“What is that machine?” continued Michel Ardan. “Is it one of the bodies which our projectile keeps within its attraction, and which will accompany it to the moon?”

“What is that machine?” Michel Ardan continued. “Is it one of the objects held by our projectile’s gravity? Will it travel with the projectile to the moon?”

“What astonishes me,” said Nicholl, “is that the specific weight of the body, which is certainly less than that of the projectile, allows it to keep so perfectly on a level with it.”

“What surprises me,” said Nicholl, “is that the body stays perfectly level with the projectile. Its specific weight is certainly less than the projectile’s.”

“Nicholl,” replied Barbicane, after a moment’s reflection, “I do not know what the object it, but I do know why it maintains our level.”

“Nicholl,” Barbicane replied after a moment’s thought, “I don’t know what the object is, but I do know why it keeps us level.”

“And why?”

“And why?”

“Because we are floating in space, my dear captain, and in space bodies fall or move (which is the same thing) with equal speed whatever be their weight or form; it is the air, which by its resistance creates these differences in weight. When you create a vacuum in a tube, the objects you send through it, grains of dust or grains of lead, fall with the same rapidity. Here in space is the same cause and the same effect.”

“Because we are floating in space, my dear captain. In space, objects fall or move (which is the same thing) at the same speed, whatever their weight or shape. Air resistance creates these differences in weight. When you create a vacuum in a tube, objects fall through it at the same speed, whether grains of dust or grains of lead. Here in space, the same cause produces the same effect.”

“Just so,” said Nicholl, “and everything we throw out of the projectile will accompany it until it reaches the moon.”

“That’s right,” said Nicholl, “and everything we throw out of the projectile will travel with it until it reaches the moon.”

“Ah! fools that we are!” exclaimed Michel.

“Ah! What fools we are!” exclaimed Michel.

“Why that expletive?” asked Barbicane.

“Why did you swear?” asked Barbicane.

“Because we might have filled the projectile with useful objects, books, instruments, tools, etc. We could have thrown them all out, and all would have followed in our train. But happy thought! Why cannot we walk outside like the meteor? Why cannot we launch into space through the scuttle? What enjoyment it would be to feel oneself thus suspended in ether, more favored than the birds who must use their wings to keep themselves up!”

“Because we could have filled the projectile with useful things, books, instruments, tools, and so on. We could have thrown them all out, and they all would have followed us. But what a wonderful idea! Why can’t we walk outside like the meteor? Why can’t we launch ourselves into space through the hatch? What fun it would be to float there in space, better off than birds, which must use their wings to stay aloft!”

“Granted,” said Barbicane, “but how to breathe?”

“Agreed,” said Barbicane, “but how will we breathe?”

“Hang the air, to fail so inopportunely!”

“Damn the air for failing at such a bad time!”

“But if it did not fail, Michel, your density being less than that of the projectile, you would soon be left behind.”

“But if it did not fail, Michel, you would soon be left behind because you are less dense than the projectile.”

“Then we must remain in our car?”

“Then do we have to stay in our car?”

“We must!”

“We must!”

“Ah!” exclaimed Michel, in a load voice.

“Ah!” exclaimed Michel in a loud voice.

“What is the matter,” asked Nicholl.

“What’s the matter?” Nicholl asked.

“I know, I guess, what this pretended meteor is! It is no asteroid which is accompanying us! It is not a piece of a planet.”

“I think I know what this supposed meteor is! It isn't an asteroid traveling with us! It isn't a piece of a planet.”

“What is it then?” asked Barbicane.

“What is it then?” asked Barbicane.

“It is our unfortunate dog! It is Diana’s husband!”

“It’s our poor dog! It’s Diana’s husband!”

Indeed, this deformed, unrecognizable object, reduced to nothing, was the body of Satellite, flattened like a bagpipe without wind, and ever mounting, mounting!

Indeed, this deformed, unrecognizable object, reduced to nothing, was Satellite's body. It was flattened like a deflated bagpipe and kept rising, rising!