as they succeed each other on the earth. Besides, even without
these conditions, life was possible.”
“And so,” asked Michel Ardan, “humanity has disappeared from
the moon?”
“Yes,” replied Barbicane, “after having doubtless remained
persistently for millions of centuries; by degrees the
atmosphere becoming rarefied, the disc became uninhabitable, as
the terrestrial globe will one day become by cooling.”
“By cooling?”
“Certainly,” replied Barbicane; “as the internal fires became
extinguished, and the incandescent matter concentrated itself,
the lunar crust cooled. By degrees the consequences of these
phenomena showed themselves in the disappearance of organized
beings, and by the disappearance of vegetation. Soon the
atmosphere was rarefied, probably withdrawn by terrestrial
attraction; then aerial departure of respirable air, and
disappearance of water by means of evaporation. At this period
the moon becoming uninhabitable, was no longer inhabited.
It was a dead world, such as we see it to-day.”
“And you say that the same fate is in store for the earth?”
“Most probably.”
“But when?”
“When the cooling of its crust shall have made it uninhabitable.”
“And have they calculated the time which our unfortunate sphere
will take to cool?”
“Certainly.”
“And you know these calculations?”
“Perfectly.”
“But speak, then, my clumsy savant,” exclaimed Michel Ardan,
“for you make me boil with impatience!”
“Very well, my good Michel,” replied Barbicane quietly; “we know
what diminution of temperature the earth undergoes in the lapse
of a century. And according to certain calculations, this mean
temperature will after a period of 400,000 years, be brought
down to zero!”
“Four hundred thousand years!” exclaimed Michel. “Ah! I
breathe again. Really I was frightened to hear you; I imagined
that we had not more than 50,000 years to live.”
Barbicane and Nicholl could not help laughing at their
companion’s uneasiness. Then Nicholl, who wished to end the
discussion, put the second question, which had just been
considered again.
“Has the moon been inhabited?” he asked.
The answer was unanimously in the affirmative. But during this
discussion, fruitful in somewhat hazardous theories, the
projectile was rapidly leaving the moon: the lineaments faded
away from the travelers’ eyes, mountains were confused in the
distance; and of all the wonderful, strange, and fantastical
form of the earth’s satellite, there soon remained nothing but
the imperishable remembrance.
CHAPTER XIX
A STRUGGLE AGAINST THE IMPOSSIBLE
For a long time Barbicane and his companions looked silently and
sadly upon that world which they had only seen from a distance,
as Moses saw the land of Canaan, and which they were leaving
without a possibility of ever returning to it. The projectile’s
position with regard to the moon had altered, and the base was
now turned to the earth.
This change, which Barbicane verified, did not fail to surprise them.
If the projectile was to gravitate round the satellite in an
elliptical orbit, why was not its heaviest part turned toward it,
as the moon turns hers to the earth? That was a difficult point.
In watching the course of the projectile they could see that on
leaving the moon it followed a course analogous to that traced
in approaching her. It was describing a very long ellipse,
which would most likely extend to the point of equal attraction,
where the influences of the earth and its satellite are neutralized.
Such was the conclusion which Barbicane very justly drew from
facts already observed, a conviction which his two friends
shared with him.
“And when arrived at this dead point, what will become of us?”
asked Michel Ardan.
“We don’t know,” replied Barbicane.
“But one can draw some hypotheses, I suppose?”
“Two,” answered Barbicane; “either the projectile’s speed will
be insufficient, and it will remain forever immovable on this
line of double attraction—-”
“I prefer the other hypothesis, whatever it may be,” interrupted Michel.
“Or,” continued Barbicane, “its speed will be sufficient, and it
will continue its elliptical course, to gravitate forever around
the orb of night.”
“A revolution not at all consoling,” said Michel, “to pass to
the state of humble servants to a moon whom we are accustomed to
look upon as our own handmaid. So that is the fate in store for us?”
Neither Barbicane nor Nicholl answered.
“You do not answer,” continued Michel impatiently.