<h2 id="sigil_toc_id_93">CHAPTER XVII.</h2>
<h3 id="sigil_toc_id_94">TYCHO.</h3>
<p>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.</p>
<p>At this moment the travellers 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.</p>
<p>"Ah!" said Nicholl, "these rays of heat are good. With what
impatience must the Selenites wait the reappearance of the orb of
day."</p>
<p>"Yes," replied Michel Ardan, "imbibing as it were the brilliant
ether, light and heat, all life is contained in them."</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>Mounts Doerfel 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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>"They are snow," he exclaimed.</p>
<p>"Snow?" repeated Nicholl.</p>
<p>"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.</p>
<p>These mountains of Doerfel 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.</p>
<p>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 travellers there reappeared that original aspect of
the lunar landscapes, raw in tone, without gradation of colours, and
without degrees of shadow, roughly black and white, from the want of
diffusion of light.</p>
<div class="illus"><ANTIMG alt="Illustration: HE DISTINGUISHED ALL THIS." id="distinguished" src=
"images/distinguished.jpg" /></div>
<div class="caption">HE DISTINGUISHED ALL THIS.</div>
<p>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 levelling 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 <i>living</i>
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.</p>
<p>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 ardour, 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?</p>
<p>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 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
<i>Mappa Selenographica</i>.</p>
<p>Newton is situated in exactly 77° south lat., and 16° east long.
It forms an annular crater, the ramparts of which, rising to a height
of 21,300 feet, seemed to be impassable.</p>
<p>Barbicane made his companions observe that the height of this
mountain above the surrounding plain was far from equalling 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.</p>
<p>"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 whilst under the pressure of internal fires the reliefs
rise to considerable height, the depths withdraw far below the lunar
level."</p>
<p>"I do not dispute the fact," replied Michel Ardan.</p>
<p>Some minutes after passing Newton, the projectile directly
overlooked the annular mountain 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.</p>
<p>This circle, one of the most remarkable of the disc, is situated
in 58° south lat., and 15° east long. Its height is estimated at
22,950 feet. The travellers, at a distance of twenty-four miles
(reduced to four by their glasses), could admire this vast crater in
its entirety.</p>
<div class="illus"><ANTIMG alt="Illustration: CAN YOU PICTURE TO YOURSELVES?" id="picture" src=
"images/picture.jpg" /></div>
<div class="caption">CAN YOU PICTURE TO YOURSELVES?</div>
<p>"Terrestrial volcanoes," said Barbicane, "are but molehills
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?"</p>
<p>"What is its breadth?" asked Nicholl.</p>
<p>"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."</p>
<p>"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?"</p>
<p>Barbicane was not listening to Michel Ardan; he was contemplating
those 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.</p>
<p>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.</p>
<p>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 centre 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.</p>
<p>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 centre of irradiation,
a crater vomiting rays. It was the tire of a brilliant wheel, an
<i>asteria</i> 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!</p>
<p>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 splendour. 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.</p>
<p>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 lat., and 12° east long. Its centre 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 centre and crowned by
radiating beams.</p>
<p>What this incomparable mountain really is, with all the
projections converging towards 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 splendour. Then
all shadows disappear, the foreshortening of perspective disappears,
and all proofs become white—a disagreeable fact; for this strange
region would have been marvellous 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.</p>
<p>The distance which separated the travellers 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.</p>
<p>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 travellers
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 1500 feet. A vast circle, in which ancient Rome could
have been held in its entirety ten times over.</p>
<p>"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!"</p>
<p>"All! It would be too small for them," replied Barbicane
simply.</p>
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