it is the fault of that unfortunate meteor which has so
deplorably altered our first 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.”
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.
Barbicane gave his friends some explanation of the causes and
the consequences of this curious phenomenon.
“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.”
“They would make the voyage for nothing but 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.”
“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.”
“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!”
“Nicely worded!” said Michel, “slightly academical perhaps.”
“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.”
“But,” said Nicholl, “that advantage must be well compensated by
the insupportable heat which the light brings with it.”
“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.”
“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.”
“Quite right,” replied Nicholl.
“On the contrary,” continued Barbicane.
“One moment,” said Michel, interrupting his grave companion.