From the Earth to the Moon by Verne, Jules

“Why should we not succeed?” said Michel Ardan; “why should we

not arrive safely? We are launched; we have no obstacle before

us, no stones in the way; the road is open, more so than that of

a ship battling with the sea; more open than that of a balloon

battling with the wind; and if a ship can reach its destination,

a balloon go where it pleases, why cannot our projectile attain

its end and aim?”

“It _will_ attain it,” said Barbicane.

“If only to do honor to the Americans,” added Michel Ardan, “the

only people who could bring such an enterprise to a happy termination,

and the only one which could produce a President Barbicane. Ah, now

we are no longer uneasy, I begin to think, What will become of us?

We shall get right royally weary.”

Barbicane and Nicholl made a gesture of denial.

“But I have provided for the contingency, my friends,” replied

Michel; “you have only to speak, and I have chess, draughts,

cards, and dominoes at your disposal; nothing is wanting but a

billiard-table.”

“What!” exclaimed Barbicane; “you brought away such trifles?”

“Certainly,” replied Michel, “and not only to distract

ourselves, but also with the laudable intention of endowing the

Selenite smoking divans with them.”

“My friend,” said Barbicane, “if the moon is inhabited, its

inhabitants must have appeared some thousands of years before

those of the earth, for we cannot doubt that their star is much

older than ours. If then these Selenites have existed their

hundreds of thousands of years, and if their brain is of the same

organization of the human brain, they have already invented all

that we have invented, and even what we may invent in future ages.

They have nothing to learn from _us_, and we have everything to

learn from _them_.”

“What!” said Michel; “you believe that they have artists like

Phidias, Michael Angelo, or Raphael?”

“Yes.”

“Poets like Homer, Virgil, Milton, Lamartine, and Hugo?”

“I am sure of it.”

“Philosophers like Plato, Aristotle, Descartes, Kant?”

“I have no doubt of it.”

“Scientific men like Archimedes, Euclid, Pascal, Newton?”

“I could swear it.”

“Comic writers like Arnal, and photographers like– like Nadar?”

“Certain.”

“Then, friend Barbicane, if they are as strong as we are, and

even stronger– these Selenites– why have they not tried to

communicate with the earth? why have they not launched a lunar

projectile to our terrestrial regions?”

“Who told you that they have never done so?” said Barbicane seriously.

“Indeed,” added Nicholl, “it would be easier for them than for

us, for two reasons; first, because the attraction on the moon’s

surface is six times less than on that of the earth, which would

allow a projectile to rise more easily; secondly, because it

would be enough to send such a projectile only at 8,000 leagues

instead of 80,000, which would require the force of projection

to be ten times less strong.”

“Then,” continued Michel, “I repeat it, why have they not done it?”

“And I repeat,” said Barbicane; “who told you that they have not

done it?”

“When?”

“Thousands of years before man appeared on earth.”

“And the projectile– where is the projectile? I demand to see

the projectile.”

“My friend,” replied Barbicane, “the sea covers five-sixths of

our globe. From that we may draw five good reasons for

supposing that the lunar projectile, if ever launched, is now at

the bottom of the Atlantic or the Pacific, unless it sped into

some crevasse at that period when the crust of the earth was not

yet hardened.”

“Old Barbicane,” said Michel, “you have an answer for

everything, and I bow before your wisdom. But there is one

hypothesis that would suit me better than all the others, which

is, the Selenites, being older than we, are wiser, and have not

invented gunpowder.”

At this moment Diana joined in the conversation by a sonorous barking.

She was asking for her breakfast.

“Ah!” said Michel Ardan, “in our discussion we have forgotten

Diana and Satellite.”

Immediately a good-sized pie was given to the dog, which

devoured it hungrily.

“Do you see, Barbicane,” said Michel, “we should have made a

second Noah’s ark of this projectile, and borne with us to the

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