Tycho

At six in the evening the projectile passed the south pole at less than forty miles off, a distance equal to that already reached at the north pole. The elliptical curve was being rigidly carried out.

At six in the evening, the projectile passed within forty miles of the south pole, just as it had at the north pole. It was following a precise elliptical path.

At this moment the travelers once more entered the blessed rays of the sun. They saw once more those stars which move slowly from east to west. The radiant orb was saluted by a triple hurrah. With its light it also sent heat, which soon pierced the metal walls. The glass resumed its accustomed appearance. The layers of ice melted as if by enchantment; and immediately, for economy’s sake, the gas was put out, the air apparatus alone consuming its usual quantity.

At that moment, the travelers entered the sun’s blessed rays once more. They again saw the stars that move slowly from east to west. They greeted the radiant sun with three cheers. Along with its light, the sun sent heat, which soon penetrated the metal walls. The glass returned to its usual appearance. The layers of ice melted as if by magic. To save gas, they immediately turned it off, leaving only the air apparatus consuming its usual amount.

“Ah!” said Nicholl, “these rays of heat are good. With what impatience must the Selenites wait the reappearance of the orb of day.”

“Ah!” said Nicholl, “these warm rays feel good. The Selenites must wait impatiently for the sun to return.”

“Yes,” replied Michel Ardan, “imbibing as it were the brilliant ether, light and heat, all life is contained in them.”

“Yes,” replied Michel Ardan, “as if drinking in the brilliant ether, light and heat, all life is contained in them.”

At this moment the bottom of the projectile deviated somewhat from the lunar surface, in order to follow the slightly lengthened elliptical orbit. From this point, had the earth been at the full, Barbicane and his companions could have seen it, but immersed in the sun’s irradiation she was quite invisible. Another spectacle attracted their attention, that of the southern part of the moon, brought by the glasses to within 450 yards. They did not again leave the scuttles, and noted every detail of this fantastical continent.

At that moment, the bottom of the projectile turned slightly away from the lunar surface to follow its slightly elongated elliptical orbit. From this point, Barbicane and his companions could have seen the earth if it had been full. But the earth was completely hidden in the sun’s glare. Another sight drew their attention: the southern part of the moon, which their telescopes brought within 450 yards. They stayed at the portholes, noting every detail of this fantastic continent.

Mounts Doerful and Leibnitz formed two separate groups very near the south pole. The first group extended from the pole to the eighty-fourth parallel, on the eastern part of the orb; the second occupied the eastern border, extending from the 65° of latitude to the pole.

Mounts Doerful and Leibnitz formed two separate groups very near the south pole. The first group stretched from the pole to the 84th parallel, on the eastern part of the moon. The second lay along the eastern edge, stretching from 65° latitude to the pole.

On their capriciously formed ridge appeared dazzling sheets, as mentioned by Pere Secchi. With more certainty than the illustrious Roman astronomer, Barbicane was enabled to recognize their nature.

Dazzling sheets appeared on their irregularly shaped ridge, as Pere Secchi had noted. Barbicane could identify their nature with greater certainty than the distinguished Roman astronomer.

“They are snow,” he exclaimed.

“They are snow!” he exclaimed.

“Snow?” repeated Nicholl.

“Snow?” repeated Nicholl.

“Yes, Nicholl, snow; the surface of which is deeply frozen. See how they reflect the luminous rays. Cooled lava would never give out such intense reflection. There must then be water, there must be air on the moon. As little as you please, but the fact can no longer be contested.” No, it could not be. And if ever Barbicane should see the earth again, his notes will bear witness to this great fact in his selenographic observations.

“Yes, Nicholl, snow with a deeply frozen surface. See how the snow reflects the light. Cooled lava would never reflect light so intensely. So there must be water and air on the moon. There may be as little as you like, but the fact can no longer be disputed.” No, it could not be disputed. And if Barbicane ever saw Earth again, his notes would bear witness to this great fact in his observations of the moon.

These mountains of Doerful and Leibnitz rose in the midst of plains of a medium extent, which were bounded by an indefinite succession of circles and annular ramparts. These two chains are the only ones met with in this region of circles. Comparatively but slightly marked, they throw up here and there some sharp points, the highest summit of which attains an altitude of 24,600 feet.

The mountains of Doerful and Leibnitz rose amid medium-sized plains. An endless succession of circles and ring-shaped ridges surrounded the plains. These two mountain ranges are the only ones found in this region of circles. They are relatively low, but sharp peaks rise here and there. The highest reaches 24,600 feet.

But the projectile was high above all this landscape, and the projections disappeared in the intense brilliancy of the disc. And to the eyes of the travelers there reappeared that original aspect of the lunar landscapes, raw in tone, without gradation of colors, and without degrees of shadow, roughly black and white, from the want of diffusion of light.

But the projectile was high above the landscape, and the raised features disappeared in the intense brightness of the disc. Once again, the travelers saw the stark appearance of the lunar landscape. There were no gradations of color or degrees of shadow. Without diffused light, the landscape was a harsh black and white.

But the sight of this desolate world did not fail to captivate them by its very strangeness. They were moving over this region as if they had been borne on the breath of some storm, watching heights defile under their feet, piercing the cavities with their eyes, going down into the rifts, climbing the ramparts, sounding these mysterious holes, and leveling all cracks. But no trace of vegetation, no appearance of cities; nothing but stratification, beds of lava, overflowings polished like immense mirrors, reflecting the sun’s rays with overpowering brilliancy. Nothing belonging to a living world—everything to a dead world, where avalanches, rolling from the summits of the mountains, would disperse noiselessly at the bottom of the abyss, retaining the motion, but wanting the sound. In any case it was the image of death, without its being possible even to say that life had ever existed there.

But the sight of this desolate world captivated them precisely because it was so strange. They moved over the region as if carried by the breath of a storm. They watched the heights pass beneath their feet and peered into cavities. They descended into rifts, climbed the ridges, probed mysterious holes, and leveled every crack. But there was no trace of vegetation and no sign of cities. There were only layers of rock, beds of lava, and flows polished like immense mirrors. These reflected the sun’s rays with overpowering brilliance. Nothing belonged to a living world. Everything belonged to a dead world. Here, avalanches would roll from the mountaintops and scatter silently at the bottom of the abyss. They would still move, but make no sound. In any case, it was an image of death, and no one could even say whether life had ever existed there.

Michel Ardan, however, thought he recognized a heap of ruins, to which he drew Barbicane’s attention. It was about the 80th parallel, in 30° longitude. This heap of stones, rather regularly placed, represented a vast fortress, overlooking a long rift, which in former days had served as a bed to the rivers of prehistorical times. Not far from that, rose to a height of 17,400 feet the annular mountain of Short, equal to the Asiatic Caucasus. Michel Ardan, with his accustomed ardor, maintained “the evidences” of his fortress. Beneath it he discerned the dismantled ramparts of a town; here the still intact arch of a portico, there two or three columns lying under their base; farther on, a succession of arches which must have supported the conduit of an aqueduct; in another part the sunken pillars of a gigantic bridge, run into the thickest parts of the rift. He distinguished all this, but with so much imagination in his glance, and through glasses so fantastical, that we must mistrust his observation. But who could affirm, who would dare to say, that the amiable fellow did not really see that which his two companions would not see?

Michel Ardan, however, thought he saw a heap of ruins and pointed it out to Barbicane. It lay around the 80th parallel, at 30° longitude. The stones were arranged fairly regularly, forming a vast fortress overlooking a long rift. In prehistoric times, the rift had served as a riverbed. Not far away stood the ring-shaped mountain of Short, rising 17,400 feet, as high as the Asiatic Caucasus. With his usual enthusiasm, Michel Ardan insisted on “the evidence” for his fortress. Below it, he made out the ruined ramparts of a town. Here he saw the still-intact arch of a portico, and there two or three columns lying below their bases. Farther on was a series of arches that must have supported an aqueduct. Elsewhere, he saw the sunken pillars of a gigantic bridge, extending into the widest parts of the rift. He saw all this, but his gaze was so imaginative, and his glasses so fanciful, that we must doubt his observation. But who could say with certainty, who would dare say, that the amiable fellow did not really see what his two companions would not see?

Moments were too precious to be sacrificed in idle discussion. The selenite city, whether imaginary or not, had already disappeared afar off. The distance of the projectile from the lunar disc was on the increase, and the details of the soil were being lost in a confused jumble. The reliefs, the circles, the craters, and the plains alone remained, and still showed their boundary lines distinctly. At this moment, to the left, lay extended one of the finest circles of lunar orography, one of the curiosities of this continent. It was Newton, which Barbicane recognized without trouble, by referring to the Mappa Selenographica.

Time was too precious to waste on idle discussion. The selenite city, whether real or imagined, had already vanished into the distance. The projectile was moving farther from the Moon, and the details of its surface were blurring together. Only the raised features, circles, craters, and plains remained visible, their outlines still distinct. To the left lay one of the finest circular formations on the Moon, one of the curiosities of this continent. It was Newton, which Barbicane recognized easily by consulting the Mappa Selenographica.

Newton is situated in exactly 77° south latitude, and 16° east longitude. It forms an annular crater, the ramparts of which, rising to a height of 21,300 feet, seemed to be impassable.

Newton is located at exactly 77° south latitude and 16° east longitude. It is a ring-shaped crater with walls rising 21,300 feet. The walls seemed impossible to cross.

Barbicane made his companions observe that the height of this mountain above the surrounding plain was far from equaling the depth of its crater. This enormous hole was beyond all measurement, and formed a gloomy abyss, the bottom of which the sun’s rays could never reach. There, according to Humboldt, reigns utter darkness, which the light of the sun and the earth cannot break. Mythologists could well have made it the mouth of hell.

Barbicane pointed out that the mountain rose far less above the surrounding plain than its crater descended below it. The enormous hole was too deep to measure. It formed a gloomy abyss whose bottom the sun’s rays could never reach. According to Humboldt, utter darkness reigns there, unbroken by light from either the sun or the earth. Mythologists could easily have made it the mouth of hell.

“Newton,” said Barbicane, “is the most perfect type of these annular mountains, of which the earth possesses no sample. They prove that the moon’s formation, by means of cooling, is due to violent causes; for while, under the pressure of internal fires the reliefs rise to considerable height, the depths withdraw far below the lunar level.”

“Newton,” said Barbicane, “is the finest example of these ring-shaped mountains, which have no equivalent on Earth. They prove that violent forces shaped the moon as it cooled. For the pressure of internal fires raises the peaks to great heights, while the depths sink far below the lunar surface.”

“I do not dispute the fact,” replied Michel Ardan.

“I don't dispute that,” replied Michel Ardan.

Some minutes after passing Newton, the projectile directly overlooked the annular mountains of Moret. It skirted at some distance the summits of Blancanus, and at about half-past seven in the evening reached the circle of Clavius.

A few minutes after passing Newton, the projectile was directly above the ring-shaped mountains of Moret. It passed some distance from the peaks of Blancanus. At about seven thirty in the evening, it reached the circle of Clavius.

This circle, one of the most remarkable of the disc, is situated in 58° south latitude, and 15° east longitude. Its height is estimated at 22,950 feet. The travelers, at a distance of twenty-four miles (reduced to four by their glasses) could admire this vast crater in its entirety.

This circle, one of the most remarkable on the disc, lies at 58° south latitude and 15° east longitude. Its height is estimated at 22,950 feet. The travelers were twenty-four miles away, but their glasses made the distance seem only four miles. They could admire the entire vast crater.

“Terrestrial volcanoes,” said Barbicane, “are but mole-hills compared with those of the moon. Measuring the old craters formed by the first eruptions of Vesuvius and Etna, we find them little more than three miles in breadth. In France the circle of Cantal measures six miles across; at Ceyland the circle of the island is forty miles, which is considered the largest on the globe. What are these diameters against that of Clavius, which we overlook at this moment?”

“Earth’s volcanoes,” said Barbicane, “are molehills compared with those on the moon. The old craters formed by the first eruptions of Vesuvius and Etna are just over three miles across. In France, the circle of Cantal is six miles across. At Ceyland, the circle of the island is forty miles across, making it the largest on Earth. How do these diameters compare with that of Clavius, which we are looking down on right now?”

“What is its breadth?” asked Nicholl.

“How wide is it?” asked Nicholl.

“It is 150 miles,” replied Barbicane. “This circle is certainly the most important on the moon, but many others measure 150, 100, or 75 miles.”

“It is 150 miles,” Barbicane replied. “This circle is certainly the most important on the moon, but many others measure 150, 100, or 75 miles.”

“Ah! my friends,” exclaimed Michel, “can you picture to yourselves what this now peaceful orb of night must have been when its craters, filled with thunderings, vomited at the same time smoke and tongues of flame. What a wonderful spectacle then, and now what decay! This moon is nothing more than a thin carcase of fireworks, whose squibs, rockets, serpents, and suns, after a superb brilliancy, have left but sadly broken cases. Who can say the cause, the reason, the motive force of these cataclysms?”

“Ah, my friends,” exclaimed Michel, “can you imagine what this now peaceful moon must have been like? Its craters thundered and spewed smoke and tongues of flame at the same time. What a wonderful sight it was then, and how it has decayed now! The moon is nothing more than the thin remains of a fireworks display. Its firecrackers, rockets, serpents, and suns once shone brilliantly, but now only their sadly broken cases remain. Who can say what caused these cataclysms, why they happened, or what force drove them?”

Barbicane was not listening to Michel Ardan; he was contemplating these ramparts of Clavius, formed by large mountains spread over several miles. At the bottom of the immense cavity burrowed hundreds of small extinguished craters, riddling the soil like a colander, and overlooked by a peak 15,000 feet high.

Barbicane was not listening to Michel Ardan. He was studying the walls of Clavius, formed by large mountains stretching for miles. At the bottom of the immense cavity, hundreds of small, extinct craters pocked the ground like holes in a colander. A peak 15,000 feet high overlooked them.

Around the plain appeared desolate. Nothing so arid as these reliefs, nothing so sad as these ruins of mountains, and (if we may so express ourselves) these fragments of peaks and mountains which strewed the soil. The satellite seemed to have burst at this spot.

The plain looked desolate all around. Nothing was as barren as these uneven lands, or as sad as these ruined mountains. If one may put it this way, fragments of peaks and mountains littered the ground. The Moon seemed to have burst open at this spot.

The projectile was still advancing, and this movement did not subside. Circles, craters, and uprooted mountains succeeded each other incessantly. No more plains; no more seas. A never ending Switzerland and Norway. And lastly, in the canter of this region of crevasses, the most splendid mountain on the lunar disc, the dazzling Tycho, in which posterity will ever preserve the name of the illustrious Danish astronomer.

The projectile kept moving forward without slowing. Circles, craters, and uprooted mountains appeared one after another without end. There were no more plains, no more seas. It was an endless Switzerland and Norway. Finally, in the center of this region of crevasses stood the most splendid mountain on the lunar disc, dazzling Tycho. It would forever preserve the name of the illustrious Danish astronomer for future generations.

In observing the full moon in a cloudless sky no one has failed to remark this brilliant point of the southern hemisphere. Michel Ardan used every metaphor that his imagination could supply to designate it by. To him this Tycho was a focus of light, a center of irradiation, a crater vomiting rays. It was the tire of a brilliant wheel, an asteria enclosing the disc with its silver tentacles, an enormous eye filled with flames, a glory carved for Pluto’s head, a star launched by the Creator’s hand, and crushed against the face of the moon!

Everyone who has observed the full moon in a cloudless sky has noticed this bright spot in its southern hemisphere. Michel Ardan used every metaphor his imagination could supply to describe it. To him, Tycho was a focus of light, a center radiating light, a crater spewing rays. It was the rim of a brilliant wheel, an asteria enclosing the disc with its silver tentacles, an enormous eye filled with flames, a halo carved for Pluto’s head, a star launched by the Creator’s hand and crushed against the face of the moon!

Tycho forms such a concentration of light that the inhabitants of the earth can see it without glasses, though at a distance of 240,000 miles! Imagine, then, its intensity to the eye of observers placed at a distance of only fifty miles! Seen through this pure ether, its brilliancy was so intolerable that Barbicane and his friends were obliged to blacken their glasses with the gas smoke before they could bear the splendor. Then silent, scarcely uttering an interjection of admiration, they gazed, they contemplated. All their feelings, all their impressions, were concentrated in that look, as under any violent emotion all life is concentrated at the heart.

Tycho is so bright that people on Earth can see it without a telescope, even from 240,000 miles away! Imagine how intense its light was to observers only fifty miles away! Seen through the clear ether, its brilliance was unbearable. Barbicane and his friends had to blacken their glasses with smoke from the gas flame before they could bear the glare. Then they gazed at it in silence, scarcely uttering a word of admiration. All their feelings and impressions were concentrated in that gaze, just as intense emotion concentrates all life in the heart.

Tycho belongs to the system of radiating mountains, like Aristarchus and Copernicus; but it is of all the most complete and decided, showing unquestionably the frightful volcanic action to which the formation of the moon is due. Tycho is situated in 43° south latitude, and 12° east longitude. Its center is occupied by a crater fifty miles broad. It assumes a slightly elliptical form, and is surrounded by an enclosure of annular ramparts, which on the east and west overlook the outer plain from a height of 15,000 feet. It is a group of Mont Blancs, placed round one common center and crowned by radiating beams.

Tycho belongs to the system of mountains with radiating rays, like Aristarchus and Copernicus. But it is the most complete and distinct of them all. It clearly shows the terrifying volcanic activity that formed the moon. Tycho lies at 43° south latitude and 12° east longitude. At its center is a crater fifty miles wide. The crater is slightly elliptical and surrounded by a ring of mountain walls. On the east and west, these walls rise 15,000 feet above the outer plain. They form a group of Mont Blancs around a common center, crowned by radiating rays.

What this incomparable mountain really is, with all the projections converging toward it, and the interior excrescences of its crater, photography itself could never represent. Indeed, it is during the full moon that Tycho is seen in all its splendor. Then all shadows disappear, the foreshortening of perspective disappears, and all proofs become white—a disagreeable fact: for this strange region would have been marvelous if reproduced with photographic exactness. It is but a group of hollows, craters, circles, a network of crests; then, as far as the eye could see, a whole volcanic network cast upon this encrusted soil. One can then understand that the bubbles of this central eruption have kept their first form. Crystallized by cooling, they have stereotyped that aspect which the moon formerly presented when under the Plutonian forces.

Even photography could never capture what this incomparable mountain really looks like. It could not show all the ridges converging on Tycho or the protrusions inside its crater. Indeed, Tycho is seen in all its splendor during a full moon. Then all shadows disappear, perspective no longer foreshortens the view, and all photographic prints come out white. This is disappointing, because the strange region would have been marvelous if reproduced with photographic accuracy. It is a mass of hollows, craters, and circles, crossed by a network of ridges. As far as the eye can see, a whole volcanic network covers this crusted ground. One can then understand that the bubbles from this central eruption have kept their original shape. They crystallized as they cooled, preserving the appearance the moon once had when it was under Plutonian forces.

The distance which separated the travelers from the annular summits of Tycho was not so great but that they could catch the principal details. Even on the causeway forming the fortifications of Tycho, the mountains hanging on to the interior and exterior sloping flanks rose in stories like gigantic terraces. They appeared to be higher by 300 or 400 feet to the west than to the east. No system of terrestrial encampment could equal these natural fortifications. A town built at the bottom of this circular cavity would have been utterly inaccessible.

The travelers were close enough to Tycho’s circular peaks to make out their main features. On the causeway forming Tycho’s fortifications, mountains rose in tiers like gigantic terraces along the inner and outer slopes. The mountains appeared to be 300 or 400 feet higher on the western side than on the eastern side. No system of fortifications on Earth could match these natural defenses. A town built at the bottom of this circular hollow would have been completely inaccessible.

Inaccessible and wonderfully extended over this soil covered with picturesque projections! Indeed, nature had not left the bottom of this crater flat and empty. It possessed its own peculiar orography, a mountainous system, making it a world in itself. The travelers could distinguish clearly cones, central hills, remarkable positions of the soil, naturally placed to receive the chefs-d’œuvre of Selenite architecture. There was marked out the place for a temple, here the ground of a forum, on this spot the plan of a palace, in another the plateau for a citadel; the whole overlooked by a central mountain of 1,500 feet. A vast circle, in which ancient Rome could have been held in its entirety ten times over.

Inaccessible and spread wonderfully across this ground, covered with picturesque rocky projections! Nature had not left the floor of the crater flat and empty. It had its own distinctive mountain system, making it a world in itself. The travelers could clearly make out cones, central hills, and striking formations in the ground. They seemed naturally suited to hold the masterpieces of Selenite architecture. Here was a place for a temple, there a site for a forum. In one spot was the outline of a palace, and in another, a plateau for a citadel. A central mountain, 1,500 feet high, overlooked it all. The vast circle was large enough to hold the whole of ancient Rome ten times over.

“Ah!” exclaimed Michel Ardan, enthusiastic at the sight; “what a grand town might be constructed within that ring of mountains! A quiet city, a peaceful refuge, beyond all human misery. How calm and isolated those misanthropes, those haters of humanity might live there, and all who have a distaste for social life!”

“Ah!” exclaimed Michel Ardan, delighted by the sight. “What a grand town could be built inside that ring of mountains! A quiet city, a peaceful refuge from all human misery. How calmly and separately from the world misanthropes, those haters of humanity, could live there, along with everyone who dislikes social life!”

“All! It would be too small for them,” replied Barbicane simply.

“All of it! It would be too small for them,” Barbicane replied simply.