Chapter 14

The 354-and-a-Half-Hour Night

11 min

At the moment when this phenomenon took place so rapidly, the projectile was skirting the moon’s north pole at less than twenty-five miles distance. Some seconds had sufficed to plunge it into the absolute darkness of space. The transition was so sudden, without shade, without gradation of light, without attenuation of the luminous waves, that the orb seemed to have been extinguished by a powerful blow.

When this sudden event occurred, the projectile was passing less than twenty-five miles from the moon’s north pole. Within seconds, it plunged into the absolute darkness of space. The change was sudden, with no shadow, no gradual dimming, and no weakening of the light waves. It was as if a powerful blow had put out the moon’s light.

“Melted, disappeared!” Michel Ardan exclaimed, aghast.

“Melted, disappeared!” Michel Ardan exclaimed in shock.

Indeed, there was neither reflection nor shadow. Nothing more was to be seen of that disc, formerly so dazzling. The darkness was complete. and rendered even more so by the rays from the stars. It was “that blackness” in which the lunar nights are insteeped, which last three hundred and fifty-four hours and a half at each point of the disc, a long night resulting from the equality of the translatory and rotary movements of the moon. The projectile, immerged in the conical shadow of the satellite, experienced the action of the solar rays no more than any of its invisible points.

Indeed, there was neither reflection nor shadow. The once dazzling disc could no longer be seen. The darkness was complete, made even deeper by the light of the stars. It was “that blackness” in which the Moon’s nights are steeped. Those nights last 354 and a half hours at each point on the disc. They are so long because the Moon takes the same time to orbit as it does to rotate. The projectile was immersed in the Moon’s cone-shaped shadow. It received no more sunlight than any of the Moon’s invisible points.

In the interior, the obscurity was complete. They could not see each other. Hence the necessity of dispelling the darkness. However desirous Barbicane might be to husband the gas, the reserve of which was small, he was obliged to ask from it a fictitious light, an expensive brilliancy which the sun then refused.

Inside, it was completely dark. They could not see each other, so they needed a light. Barbicane wanted to conserve the gas, since only a small supply remained. But he had to use it for artificial light, an expensive brightness that the sun now refused to provide.

“Devil take the radiant orb!” exclaimed Michel Ardan, “which forces us to expend gas, instead of giving us his rays gratuitously.”

“Damn the sun!” exclaimed Michel Ardan. “It makes us use gas instead of giving us its light for free.”

“Do not let us accuse the sun,” said Nicholl, “it is not his fault, but that of the moon, which has come and placed herself like a screen between us and it.”

“Let’s not blame the sun,” said Nicholl. “It’s not the sun’s fault, but the moon’s. She has come between us and the sun like a screen.”

“It is the sun!” continued Michel.

“It’s the sun!” Michel continued.

“It is the moon!” retorted Nicholl.

“It’s the moon!” Nicholl retorted.

An idle dispute, which Barbicane put an end to by saying:

Barbicane ended the pointless argument by saying:

“My friends, it is neither the fault of the sun nor of the moon; it is the fault of the projectile, which, instead of rigidly following its course, has awkwardly missed it. To be more just, it is the fault of that unfortunate meteor which has so deplorably altered our first direction.”

“My friends, it is neither the sun’s fault nor the moon’s. It is the projectile’s fault. Instead of staying on course, it has awkwardly missed its path. To be fair, it is the fault of that unfortunate meteor, which has so regrettably changed our original direction.”

“Well,” replied Michel Ardan, “as the matter is settled, let us have breakfast. After a whole night of watching it is fair to build ourselves up a little.”

“Well,” replied Michel Ardan, “now that the matter is settled, let’s have breakfast. After staying up all night watching, we deserve to build up our strength a little.”

This proposal meeting with no contradiction, Michel prepared the repast in a few minutes. But they ate for eating’s sake, they drank without toasts, without hurrahs. The bold travelers being borne away into gloomy space, without their accustomed cortege of rays, felt a vague uneasiness in their hearts. The “strange” shadow so dear to Victor Hugo’s pen bound them on all sides. But they talked over the interminable night of three hundred and fifty-four hours and a half, nearly fifteen days, which the law of physics has imposed on the inhabitants of the moon.

No one objected to the proposal, so Michel prepared the meal in a few minutes. But they ate only for the sake of eating. They drank without toasts or cheers. The bold travelers were being carried into gloomy space, without their usual cortege of rays. They felt a vague uneasiness in their hearts. The “strange” shadow so beloved by Victor Hugo surrounded them on all sides. But they talked about the endless night that the laws of physics have imposed on the moon’s inhabitants. It lasts three hundred and fifty-four and a half hours, nearly fifteen days.

Barbicane gave his friends some explanation of the causes and the consequences of this curious phenomenon.

Barbicane explained some of the causes and consequences of this curious phenomenon to his friends.

“Curious indeed,” said they; “for, if each hemisphere of the moon is deprived of solar light for fifteen days, that above which we now float does not even enjoy during its long night any view of the earth so beautifully lit up. In a word she has no moon (applying this designation to our globe) but on one side of her disc. Now if this were the case with the earth—if, for example, Europe never saw the moon, and she was only visible at the antipodes, imagine to yourself the astonishment of a European on arriving in Australia.”

“Very curious,” they said. “Each hemisphere of the moon goes without sunlight for fifteen days. But during its long night, the hemisphere we are floating above cannot even see the beautifully lit Earth. In short, the moon has a moon of its own (if we call Earth that) on only one side. Now imagine if the same were true of Earth. If, for example, the moon were never visible in Europe, but only on the opposite side of the world, imagine how astonished a European would be on arriving in Australia.”

“They would make the voyage for nothing but to see the moon!” replied Michel.

“They would make the trip just to see the moon!” replied Michel.

“Very well!” continued Barbicane, “that astonishment is reserved for the Selenites who inhabit the face of the moon opposite to the earth, a face which is ever invisible to our countrymen of the terrestrial globe.”

“Very well!” Barbicane continued. “That surprise is reserved for the Selenites who live on the side of the moon facing away from Earth. That side is always invisible to our fellow inhabitants of Earth.”

“And which we should have seen,” added Nicholl, “if we had arrived here when the moon was new, that is to say fifteen days later.”

“And we would have seen it,” Nicholl added, “if we had arrived here during the new moon, fifteen days later.”

“I will add, to make amends,” continued Barbicane, “that the inhabitants of the visible face are singularly favored by nature, to the detriment of their brethren on the invisible face. The latter, as you see, have dark nights of 354 hours, without one single ray to break the darkness. The other, on the contrary, when the sun which has given its light for fifteen days sinks below the horizon, see a splendid orb rise on the opposite horizon. It is the earth, which is thirteen times greater than the diminutive moon that we know—the earth which developes itself at a diameter of two degrees, and which sheds a light thirteen times greater than that qualified by atmospheric strata—the earth which only disappears at the moment when the sun reappears in its turn!”

“To make up for that,” continued Barbicane, “I will add that nature has greatly favored the inhabitants of the visible side. Their brethren on the invisible side are less fortunate. As you see, they have dark nights lasting 354 hours, without a single ray of light. The others, by contrast, see a splendid orb rise on the opposite horizon. It appears when the sun, after shining for fifteen days, sinks below the horizon. It is the earth, thirteen times larger than the little moon we know. The earth appears two degrees across. It gives thirteen times more light than the moon’s light, as filtered through the atmosphere. And the earth disappears only when the sun reappears!”

“Nicely worded!” said Michel, “slightly academical perhaps.”

“Nicely put!” said Michel. “Perhaps a little academic.”

“It follows, then,” continued Barbicane, without knitting his brows, “that the visible face of the disc must be very agreeable to inhabit, since it always looks on either the sun when the moon is full, or on the earth when the moon is new.”

“So,” Barbicane continued without frowning, “the visible face of the moon must be a very pleasant place to live. It always faces either the sun when the moon is full, or the earth when the moon is new.”

“But,” said Nicholl, “that advantage must be well compensated by the insupportable heat which the light brings with it.”

“But,” said Nicholl, “the unbearable heat that comes with the light must more than offset that advantage.”

“The inconvenience, in that respect, is the same for the two faces, for the earth’s light is evidently deprived of heat. But the invisible face is still more searched by the heat than the visible face. I say that for you, Nicholl, because Michel will probably not understand.”

“The problem is the same for both faces, since Earth’s light evidently gives no heat. But heat penetrates the invisible face more deeply than the visible face. I say that for you, Nicholl, because Michel probably won’t understand.”

“Thank you,” said Michel.

“Indeed,” continued Barbicane, “when the invisible face receives at the same time light and heat from the sun, it is because the moon is new; that is to say, she is situated between the sun and the earth. It follows, then, considering the position which she occupies in opposition when full, that she is nearer to the sun by twice her distance from the earth; and that distance may be estimated at the two-hundredth part of that which separates the sun from the earth, or in round numbers 400,000 miles. So that invisible face is so much nearer to the sun when she receives its rays.”

“Indeed,” Barbicane continued, “when the hidden side receives both light and heat from the sun, the moon is new. In other words, the moon is between the sun and the earth. When the moon is full, it is on the opposite side of the earth. So when it is new, it is closer to the sun by twice its distance from the earth. That distance may be estimated at one two-hundredth of the distance between the sun and the earth, or roughly 400,000 miles. So the hidden side is that much closer to the sun when it receives its rays.”

“Quite right,” replied Nicholl.

“That's right,” Nicholl replied.

“On the contrary,” continued Barbicane.

“On the contrary,” Barbicane continued.

“One moment,” said Michel, interrupting his grave companion.

“One moment,” said Michel, interrupting his serious companion.

“What do you want?”

“I ask to be allowed to continue the explanation.”

“I ask to continue the explanation.”

“And why?”

“To prove that I understand.”

“Get along with you,” said Barbicane, smiling.

“Come on,” said Barbicane, smiling.

“On the contrary,” said Michel, imitating the tone and gestures of the president, “on the contrary, when the visible face of the moon is lit by the sun, it is because the moon is full, that is to say, opposite the sun with regard to the earth. The distance separating it from the radiant orb is then increased in round numbers to 400,000 miles, and the heat which she receives must be a little less.”

“On the contrary,” said Michel, imitating the president’s tone and gestures, “when the sun lights the visible face of the moon, the moon is full. That means it is on the opposite side of the earth from the sun. The distance between the moon and the sun then increases to roughly 400,000 miles. So the moon must receive a little less heat.”

“Very well said!” exclaimed Barbicane. “Do you know, Michel, that, for an amateur, you are intelligent.”

“Well said!” exclaimed Barbicane. “You know, Michel, you’re intelligent for an amateur.”

“Yes,” replied Michel coolly, “we are all so on the Boulevard des Italiens.”

“Yes,” Michel replied coolly, “we all are on the Boulevard des Italiens.”

Barbicane gravely grasped the hand of his amiable companion, and continued to enumerate the advantages reserved for the inhabitants of the visible face.

Barbicane solemnly shook his friendly companion's hand. He continued to list the advantages enjoyed by the inhabitants of the visible face.

Among others, he mentioned eclipses of the sun, which only take place on this side of the lunar disc; since, in order that they may take place, it is necessary for the moon to be in opposition. These eclipses, caused by the interposition of the earth between the moon and the sun, can last two hours; during which time, by reason of the rays refracted by its atmosphere, the terrestrial globe can appear as nothing but a black point upon the sun.

Among other things, he mentioned solar eclipses, which occur only on this side of the moon's disc. For them to occur, the moon must be in opposition. These eclipses happen when Earth passes between the moon and the sun. They can last two hours. During that time, Earth's atmosphere refracts the sun's rays, so Earth can appear only as a black dot on the sun.

“So,” said Nicholl, “there is a hemisphere, that invisible hemisphere which is very ill supplied, very ill treated, by nature.”

“So,” said Nicholl, “the invisible hemisphere is very poorly supplied and very badly treated by nature.”

“Never mind,” replied Michel; “if we ever become Selenites, we will inhabit the visible face. I like the light.”

“Never mind,” replied Michel. “If we ever become Selenites, we’ll live on the visible side. I like the light.”

“Unless, by any chance,” answered Nicholl, “the atmosphere should be condensed on the other side, as certain astronomers pretend.”

“Unless, by chance,” Nicholl replied, “the atmosphere is concentrated on the other side, as some astronomers claim.”

“That would be a consideration,” said Michel.

“That would be something to consider,” said Michel.

Breakfast over, the observers returned to their post. They tried to see through the darkened scuttles by extinguishing all light in the projectile; but not a luminous spark made its way through the darkness.

After breakfast, the observers returned to their post. They turned off all the lights in the projectile and tried to see through the darkened windows. But not a single spark of light pierced the darkness.

One inexplicable fact preoccupied Barbicane. Why, having passed within such a short distance of the moon—about twenty-five miles only—why the projectile had not fallen? If its speed had been enormous, he could have understood that the fall would not have taken place; but, with a relatively moderate speed, that resistance to the moon’s attraction could not be explained. Was the projectile under some foreign influence? Did some kind of body retain it in the ether? It was quite evident that it could never reach any point of the moon. Whither was it going? Was it going farther from, or nearing, the disc? Was it being borne in that profound darkness through the infinity of space? How could they learn, how calculate, in the midst of this night? All these questions made Barbicane uneasy, but he could not solve them.

One unexplained fact troubled Barbicane. The projectile had passed within only twenty-five miles of the moon. Why had it not fallen? If its speed had been enormous, he could have understood why it had not fallen. But at a relatively moderate speed, its resistance to the moon’s pull was impossible to explain. Was some outside force acting on the projectile? Was some kind of body holding it in the ether? Clearly, it could never reach any point on the moon. Where was it going? Was it moving away from the moon’s disc or coming closer? Was it being carried through the infinity of space in that profound darkness? How could they find out or make any calculations in the midst of this darkness? All these questions troubled Barbicane, but he could not answer them.

Certainly, the invisible orb was there, perhaps only some few miles off; but neither he nor his companions could see it. If there was any noise on its surface, they could not hear it. Air, that medium of sound, was wanting to transmit the groanings of that moon which the Arabic legends call “a man already half granite, and still breathing.”

Certainly, the invisible orb was there, perhaps only a few miles away. But neither he nor his companions could see it. If there was any noise on its surface, they could not hear it. There was no air to carry the sound of the moon’s groans. Arabic legends call the moon “a man already half granite, and still breathing.”

One must allow that that was enough to aggravate the most patient observers. It was just that unknown hemisphere which was stealing from their sight. That face which fifteen days sooner, or fifteen days later, had been, or would be, splendidly illuminated by the solar rays, was then being lost in utter darkness. In fifteen days where would the projectile be? Who could say? Where would the chances of conflicting attractions have drawn it to? The disappointment of the travelers in the midst of this utter darkness may be imagined. All observation of the lunar disc was impossible. The constellations alone claimed all their attention; and we must allow that the astronomers Faye, Charconac, and Secchi, never found themselves in circumstances so favorable for their observation.

That was enough to aggravate even the most patient observers. It was precisely the unknown hemisphere that was slipping from their sight. Fifteen days earlier or later, that face had been, or would be, brilliantly lit by the sun. Now it was disappearing into complete darkness. Where would the projectile be in fifteen days? Who could say? Where would the competing forces of attraction have drawn it? One can imagine the travelers’ disappointment in the midst of this complete darkness. They could not observe the lunar disc at all. Only the constellations held their attention. And we must admit that the astronomers Faye, Charconac, and Secchi never had such favorable conditions for observing them.

Indeed, nothing could equal the splendor of this starry world, bathed in limpid ether. Its diamonds set in the heavenly vault sparkled magnificently. The eye took in the firmament from the Southern Cross to the North Star, those two constellations which in 12,000 years, by reason of the succession of equinoxes, will resign their part of the polar stars, the one to Canopus in the southern hemisphere, the other to Wega in the northern. Imagination loses itself in this sublime Infinity, amid which the projectile was gravitating, like a new star created by the hand of man. From a natural cause, these constellations shone with a soft luster; they did not twinkle, for there was no atmosphere which, by the intervention of its layers unequally dense and of different degrees of humidity, produces this scintillation. These stars were soft eyes, looking out into the dark night, amid the silence of absolute space.

Nothing could equal the splendor of this world of stars, bathed in clear ether. The diamonds set in the sky sparkled magnificently. The eye could take in the sky from the Southern Cross to the North Star. In 12,000 years, the precession of the equinoxes will cause them to give up their roles as polar stars. Canopus will take that role in the southern hemisphere, and Wega in the northern. The imagination loses itself in this sublime infinity. Through it, the projectile traveled like a new star created by human hands. For a natural reason, the constellations shone with a soft light. They did not twinkle because there was no atmosphere. Twinkling is caused by atmospheric layers of unequal density and differing humidity. The stars were soft eyes looking out into the dark night, amid the silence of absolute space.

Long did the travelers stand mute, watching the constellated firmament, upon which the moon, like a vast screen, made an enormous black hole. But at length a painful sensation drew them from their watchings. This was an intense cold, which soon covered the inside of the glass of the scuttles with a thick coating of ice. The sun was no longer warming the projectile with its direct rays, and thus it was losing the heat stored up in its walls by degrees. This heat was rapidly evaporating into space by radiation, and a considerably lower temperature was the result. The humidity of the interior was changed into ice upon contact with the glass, preventing all observation.

For a long time, the travelers stood silent, watching the star-filled sky. The moon blocked it like a vast screen, leaving an enormous black hole. At last, a painful sensation drew their attention away. Intense cold soon covered the inside of the windows with a thick layer of ice. The sun’s direct rays were no longer warming the projectile, so its walls were gradually losing their stored heat. The heat radiated rapidly into space, causing the temperature to drop considerably. Moisture inside turned to ice when it touched the glass, making it impossible to see out.

Nicholl consulted the thermometer, and saw that it had fallen to seventeen degrees (Centigrade) below zero. So that, in spite of the many reasons for economizing, Barbicane, after having begged light from the gas, was also obliged to beg for heat. The projectile’s low temperature was no longer endurable. Its tenants would have been frozen to death.

Nicholl checked the thermometer and saw that the temperature had fallen to seventeen degrees Celsius below zero. There were many reasons to conserve gas. But Barbicane had already had to draw on it for light, and now he needed it for heat too. The cold inside the projectile was unbearable. Its occupants would have frozen to death.

1° Fahrenheit.

“Well!” observed Michel, “we cannot reasonably complain of the monotony of our journey! What variety we have had, at least in temperature. Now we are blinded with light and saturated with heat, like the Indians of the Pampas! now plunged into profound darkness, amid the cold, like the Esquimaux of the north pole. No, indeed! we have no right to complain; nature does wonders in our honor.”

“Well!” said Michel, “we really cannot complain that our journey has been boring! We have had plenty of variety, at least in temperature. One moment we are blinded by light and soaked in heat, like the Indians of the Pampas! The next we are plunged into deep darkness and cold, like the Esquimaux of the north pole. No, indeed! We have no right to complain. Nature is doing wonders in our honor.”

“But,” asked Nicholl, “what is the temperature outside?”

“But,” Nicholl asked, “what is the temperature outside?”

“Exactly that of the planetary space,” replied Barbicane.

“Exactly the same as in space between the planets,” replied Barbicane.

“Then,” continued Michel Ardan, “would not this be the time to make the experiment which we dared not attempt when we were drowned in the sun’s rays?

“Then,” Michel Ardan continued, “isn't this the time to try the experiment? We didn't dare attempt it when we were flooded with sunlight.

“It is now or never,” replied Barbicane, “for we are in a good position to verify the temperature of space, and see if Fourier or Pouillet’s calculations are exact.”

“It’s now or never,” replied Barbicane, “because we’re in a good position to measure the temperature of space. We can see whether Fourier’s or Pouillet’s calculations are accurate.”

“In any case it is cold,” said Michel. “See! the steam of the interior is condensing on the glasses of the scuttles. If the fall continues, the vapor of our breath will fall in snow around us.”

“In any case, it is cold,” said Michel. “Look! The steam inside is condensing on the porthole windows. If the temperature keeps falling, the vapor from our breath will fall as snow around us.”

“Let us prepare a thermometer,” said Barbicane.

“Let's get a thermometer ready,” said Barbicane.

We may imagine that an ordinary thermometer would afford no result under the circumstances in which this instrument was to be exposed. The mercury would have been frozen in its ball, as below 42° Fahrenheit below zero it is no longer liquid. But Barbicane had furnished himself with a spirit thermometer on Wafferdin’s system, which gives the minima of excessively low temperatures.

We can imagine that an ordinary thermometer would not work in the conditions this instrument would face. The mercury would have frozen in its bulb, since it is no longer liquid below 42° Fahrenheit below zero. But Barbicane had brought a spirit thermometer based on Wafferdin’s system, which records extremely low minimum temperatures.

Before beginning the experiment, this instrument was compared with an ordinary one, and then Barbicane prepared to use it.

Before the experiment, the instrument was compared with an ordinary one. Then Barbicane prepared to use it.

“How shall we set about it?” asked Nicholl.

“How should we go about it?” asked Nicholl.

“Nothing is easier,” replied Michel Ardan, who was never at a loss. “We open the scuttle rapidly; throw out the instrument; it follows the projectile with exemplary docility; and a quarter of an hour after, draw it in.”

“Nothing could be easier,” replied Michel Ardan, who always had an answer. “We quickly open the hatch and throw out the instrument. It follows the projectile as obediently as can be. Then, a quarter of an hour later, we pull it back in.”

“With the hand?” asked Barbicane.

“By hand?” asked Barbicane.

“With the hand,” replied Michel.

“With the hand,” Michel said.

“Well, then, my friend, do not expose yourself,” answered Barbicane, “for the hand that you draw in again will be nothing but a stump frozen and deformed by the frightful cold.”

“Well then, my friend, don’t expose yourself,” Barbicane replied. “The terrible cold would leave your hand a frozen, deformed stump.”

“Really!”

“You will feel as if you had had a terrible burn, like that of iron at a white heat; for whether the heat leaves our bodies briskly or enters briskly, it is exactly the same thing. Besides, I am not at all certain that the objects we have thrown out are still following us.”

“You will feel as if you had suffered a terrible burn, like one from white-hot iron. That is because heat leaving our bodies quickly feels exactly the same as heat entering them quickly. Besides, I am not at all sure that the objects we threw out are still following us.”

“Why not?” asked Nicholl.

“Because, if we are passing through an atmosphere of the slightest density, these objects will be retarded. Again, the darkness prevents our seeing if they still float around us. But in order not to expose ourselves to the loss of our thermometer, we will fasten it, and we can then more easily pull it back again.”

“Because if we are passing through even the thinnest atmosphere, these objects will slow down. Also, the darkness prevents us from seeing whether they are still floating around us. But to avoid losing our thermometer, we will fasten it so we can pull it back more easily.”

Barbicane’s advice was followed. Through the scuttle rapidly opened, Nicholl threw out the instrument, which was held by a short cord, so that it might be more easily drawn up. The scuttle had not been opened more than a second, but that second had sufficed to let in a most intense cold.

They followed Barbicane’s advice. Nicholl quickly opened the hatch and threw out the instrument. It was attached to a short cord so they could pull it back in more easily. The hatch had been open for no more than a second, but that was enough to let in intense cold.

“The devil!” exclaimed Michel Ardan, “it is cold enough to freeze a white bear.”

“Damn!” exclaimed Michel Ardan. “It’s cold enough to freeze a polar bear.”

Barbicane waited until half an hour had elapsed, which was more than time enough to allow the instrument to fall to the level of the surrounding temperature. Then it was rapidly pulled in.

Barbicane waited half an hour, which was more than enough time for the instrument to cool to the surrounding temperature. Then it was quickly pulled in.

Barbicane calculated the quantity of spirits of wine overflowed into the little vial soldered to the lower part of the instrument, and said:

Barbicane calculated how much alcohol had flowed into the small vial soldered to the bottom of the instrument. Then he said:

“A hundred and forty degrees Centigrade below zero!”

“One hundred and forty degrees Celsius below zero!”

218 degrees Fahrenheit below zero.

M. Pouillet was right and Fourier wrong. That was the undoubted temperature of the starry space. Such is, perhaps, that of the lunar continents, when the orb of night has lost by radiation all the heat which fifteen days of sun have poured into her.

M. Pouillet was right and Fourier was wrong. That was undoubtedly the temperature of space. Perhaps it is also the temperature of the lunar continents. This would be when the moon has radiated away all the heat it received during fifteen days of sunlight.