Fantasy and Reality

“Have you ever seen the moon?” asked a professor, ironically, of one of his pupils.

“Have you ever seen the moon?” a professor asked one of his students ironically.

“No, sir!” replied the pupil, still more ironically, “but I must say I have heard it spoken of.”

“No, sir!” the pupil replied, even more ironically. “But I must say I've heard of it.”

In one sense, the pupil’s witty answer might be given by a large majority of sublunary beings. How many people have heard speak of the moon who have never seen it—at least through a glass or a telescope! How many have never examined the map of their satellite!

In one sense, the vast majority of people on Earth could give the pupil’s witty answer. How many people have heard of the moon but never seen it through a spyglass or telescope! How many have never examined a map of their satellite!

In looking at a selenographic map, one peculiarity strikes us. Contrary to the arrangement followed for that of the Earth and Mars, the continents occupy more particularly the southern hemisphere of the lunar globe. These continents do not show such decided, clear, and regular boundary lines as South America, Africa, and the Indian peninsula. Their angular, capricious, and deeply indented coasts are rich in gulfs and peninsulas. They remind one of the confusion in the islands of the Sound, where the land is excessively indented. If navigation ever existed on the surface of the moon, it must have been wonderfully difficult and dangerous; and we may well pity the Selenite sailors and hydrographers; the former, when they came upon these perilous coasts, the latter when they took the soundings of its stormy banks.

One peculiarity stands out on a map of the Moon. Unlike the continents of Earth and Mars, the Moon’s continents lie mostly in its southern hemisphere. These continents do not have boundaries as distinct, clear, and regular as those of South America, Africa, and the Indian peninsula. Their angular, irregular, and deeply indented coasts are rich in gulfs and peninsulas. They bring to mind the jumble of islands in the Sound, where the coastline is deeply indented. If ships ever sailed on the Moon’s surface, navigation must have been extremely difficult and dangerous. We may well pity the Selenite sailors who encountered these perilous coasts, and the hydrographers who measured the depths along their stormy banks.

We may also notice that, on the lunar sphere, the south pole is much more continental than the north pole. On the latter, there is but one slight strip of land separated from other continents by vast seas. Toward the south, continents clothe almost the whole of the hemisphere. It is even possible that the Selenites have already planted the flag on one of their poles, while Franklin, Ross, Kane, Dumont, d’Urville, and Lambert have never yet been able to attain that unknown point of the terrestrial globe.

We may also notice that the Moon’s south pole has much more land than its north pole. At the north pole, there is only a narrow strip of land, separated from the other continents by vast seas. Toward the south, continents cover almost the entire hemisphere. The Selenites may even have planted a flag at one of their poles. Meanwhile, Franklin, Ross, Kane, Dumont, d’Urville, and Lambert have never managed to reach that unknown point on Earth.

As to islands, they are numerous on the surface of the moon. Nearly all oblong or circular, and as if traced with the compass, they seem to form one vast archipelago, equal to that charming group lying between Greece and Asia Minor, and which mythology in ancient times adorned with most graceful legends. Involuntarily the names of Naxos, Tenedos, and Carpathos, rise before the mind, and we seek vainly for Ulysses’ vessel or the “clipper” of the Argonauts. So at least it was in Michel Ardan’s eyes. To him it was a Grecian archipelago that he saw on the map. To the eyes of his matter-of-fact companions, the aspect of these coasts recalled rather the parceled-out land of New Brunswick and Nova Scotia, and where the Frenchman discovered traces of the heroes of fable, these Americans were marking the most favorable points for the establishment of stores in the interests of lunar commerce and industry.

The moon has many islands. Nearly all are oval or circular, as if drawn with a compass. Together, they seem to form one vast archipelago, like the charming group of islands between Greece and Asia Minor. In ancient times, mythology adorned those islands with graceful legends. The names of Naxos, Tenedos, and Carpathos come to mind unbidden. We search in vain for Ulysses’ vessel or the “clipper” of the Argonauts. At least, that was how Michel Ardan saw it. To him, the map showed a Greek archipelago. To his practical companions, the coasts looked more like the divided lands of New Brunswick and Nova Scotia. Where the Frenchman found traces of legendary heroes, the Americans were choosing the best locations for stores serving lunar commerce and industry.

After wandering over these vast continents, the eye is attracted by the still greater seas. Not only their formation, but their situation and aspect remind one of the terrestrial oceans; but again, as on earth, these seas occupy the greater portion of the globe. But in point of fact, these are not liquid spaces, but plains, the nature of which the travelers hoped soon to determine. Astronomers, we must allow, have graced these pretended seas with at least odd names, which science has respected up to the present time. Michel Ardan was right when he compared this map to a “Tendre card,” got up by a Scudary or a Cyrano de Bergerac. “Only,” said he, “it is no longer the sentimental card of the seventeenth century, it is the card of life, very neatly divided into two parts, one feminine, the other masculine; the right hemisphere for woman, the left for man.”

After wandering over these vast continents, the eye is drawn to the even larger seas. Their formation, location, and appearance are like those of Earth’s oceans. And, as on Earth, the seas occupy most of the globe. But these are not bodies of water. They are plains, and the travelers hoped soon to learn what they were made of. Astronomers, it must be said, have given these supposed seas some rather odd names. Science has kept those names to this day. Michel Ardan was right to compare the map to a “Tendre card,” made by a Scudary or a Cyrano de Bergerac. “Only,” he said, “it is no longer the sentimental card of the seventeenth century. It is the card of life, neatly divided into two parts, one feminine and the other masculine. The right hemisphere is for woman, the left for man.”

In speaking thus, Michel made his prosaic companions shrug their shoulders. Barbicane and Nicholl looked upon the lunar map from a very different point of view to that of their fantastic friend. Nevertheless, their fantastic friend was a little in the right. Judge for yourselves.

At these words, Michel’s practical companions shrugged their shoulders. Barbicane and Nicholl viewed the lunar map very differently from their imaginative friend. Nevertheless, their imaginative friend was partly right. Judge for yourselves.

In the left hemisphere stretches the “Sea of Clouds,” where human reason is so often shipwrecked. Not far off lies the “Sea of Rains,” fed by all the fever of existence. Near this is the “Sea of Storms,” where man is ever fighting against his passions, which too often gain the victory. Then, worn out by deceit, treasons, infidelity, and the whole body of terrestrial misery, what does he find at the end of his career? that vast “Sea of Humors,” barely softened by some drops of the waters from the “Gulf of Dew!” Clouds, rain, storms, and humors—does the life of man contain aught but these? and is it not summed up in these four words?

Across the left hemisphere stretches the “Sea of Clouds,” where human reason is so often shipwrecked. Not far away lies the “Sea of Rains,” fed by all the fever of life. Nearby is the “Sea of Storms,” where man is always fighting his passions, which too often defeat him. Then, worn out by deceit, betrayals, infidelity, and all the misery of earthly life, what does he find at life’s end? The vast “Sea of Humors,” barely softened by a few drops of water from the “Gulf of Dew!” Clouds, rain, storms, and humors. Does human life contain anything else? Isn’t it summed up in these four words?

The right hemisphere, “dedicated to the ladies,” encloses smaller seas, whose significant names contain every incident of a feminine existence. There is the “Sea of Serenity,” over which the young girl bends; “The Lake of Dreams,” reflecting a joyous future; “The Sea of Nectar,” with its waves of tenderness and breezes of love; “The Sea of Fruitfulness;” “The Sea of Crises;” then the “Sea of Vapors,” whose dimensions are perhaps a little too confined; and lastly, that vast “Sea of Tranquillity,” in which every false passion, every useless dream, every unsatisfied desire is at length absorbed, and whose waves emerge peacefully into the “Lake of Death!”

The right hemisphere, “dedicated to the ladies,” contains smaller seas. Their meaningful names cover every event in a woman's life. There is the “Sea of Serenity,” over which the young girl leans. There is “The Lake of Dreams,” reflecting a joyful future. There is “The Sea of Nectar,” with its waves of tenderness and breezes of love. Then come “The Sea of Fruitfulness” and “The Sea of Crises.” Next is the “Sea of Vapors,” which is perhaps a little too small. Finally, there is the vast “Sea of Tranquillity.” In it, every false passion, every useless dream, and every unfulfilled desire is absorbed at last. Its waves flow peacefully into the “Lake of Death!”

What a strange succession of names! What a singular division of the moon’s two hemispheres, joined to one another like man and woman, and forming that sphere of life carried into space! And was not the fantastic Michel right in thus interpreting the fancies of the ancient astronomers? But while his imagination thus roved over “the seas,” his grave companions were considering things more geographically. They were learning this new world by heart. They were measuring angles and diameters.

What a strange series of names! What an unusual division of the moon’s two hemispheres! They were joined like man and woman, forming that sphere of life carried into space. And wasn’t the imaginative Michel right to interpret the ancient astronomers’ fantasies this way? But while his imagination wandered over “the seas,” his serious companions were thinking more geographically. They were learning this new world by heart. They were measuring angles and diameters.