Fact And Fancy

: All Around The Moon

"Have you ever seen the Moon?" said a teacher ironically one day in

class to one of his pupils.



"No, sir;" was the pert reply; "but I think I can safely say I've heard

it spoken about."



Though saying what he considered a smart thing, the pupil was probably

perfectly right. Like the immense majority of his fellow beings, he had

looked at the Moon, heard her talked of, written poetry about her
but,

in the strict sense of the term, he had probably never seen her--that

is--scanned her, examined her, surveyed her, inspected her, reconnoitred

her--even with an opera glass! Not one in a thousand, not one in ten

thousand, has ever examined even the map of our only Satellite. To guard

our beloved and intelligent reader against this reproach, we have

prepared an excellent reduction of Beer and Maedler's Mappa, on which,

for the better understanding of what is to follow, we hope he will

occasionally cast a gracious eye.



When you look at any map of the Moon, you are struck first of all with

one peculiarity. Contrary to the arrangement prevailing in Mars and on

our Earth, the continents occupy principally the southern hemisphere of

the lunar orb. Then these continents are far from presenting such sharp

and regular outlines as distinguish the Indian Peninsula, Africa, and

South America. On the contrary, their coasts, angular, jagged, and

deeply indented, abound in bays and peninsulas. They remind you of the

coast of Norway, or of the islands in the Sound, where the land seems to

be cut up into endless divisions. If navigation ever existed on the

Moon's surface, it must have been of a singularly difficult and

dangerous nature, and we can scarcely say which of the two should be

more pitied--the sailors who had to steer through these dangerous and

complicated passes, or the map-makers who had to designate them on their

charts.



You will also remark that the southern pole of the Moon is much more

continental than the northern. Around the latter, there exists only a

slight fringe of lands separated from the other continents by vast

"seas." This word "seas"--a term employed by the first lunar map

constructors--is still retained to designate those vast depressions on

the Moon's surface, once perhaps covered with water, though they are now

only enormous plains. In the south, the continents cover nearly the

whole hemisphere. It is therefore possible that the Selenites have

planted their flag on at least one of their poles, whereas the Parrys

and Franklins of England, the Kanes and the Wilkeses of America, the

Dumont d'Urvilles and the Lamberts of France, have so far met with

obstacles completely insurmountable, while in search of those unknown

points of our terrestrial globe.



The islands--the next feature on the Moon's surface--are exceedingly

numerous. Generally oblong or circular in shape and almost as regular in

outline as if drawn with a compass, they form vast archipelagoes like

the famous group lying between Greece and Asia Minor, which mythology

has made the scene of her earliest and most charming legends. As we gaze

at them, the names of Naxos, Tenedos, Milo, and Carpathos rise up before

our mind's eye, and we begin looking around for the Trojan fleet and

Jason's Argo. This, at least, was Ardan's idea, and at first his eyes

would see nothing on the map but a Grecian archipelago. But his

companions, sound practical men, and therefore totally devoid of

sentiment, were reminded by these rugged coasts of the beetling cliffs

of New Brunswick and Nova Scotia; so that, where the Frenchman saw the

tracks of ancient heroes, the Americans saw only commodious shipping

points and favorable sites for trading posts--all, of course, in the

purest interest of lunar commerce and industry.



To end our hasty sketch of the continental portion of the Moon, we must

say a few words regarding her orthography or mountain systems. With a

fair telescope you can distinguish very readily her mountain chains, her

isolated mountains, her circuses or ring formations, and her rills,

cracks and radiating streaks. The character of the whole lunar relief is

comprised in these divisions. It is a surface prodigiously reticulated,

upheaved and depressed, apparently without the slightest order or

system. It is a vast Switzerland, an enormous Norway, where everything

is the result of direct plutonic action. This surface, so rugged, craggy

and wrinkled, seems to be the result of successive contractions of the

crust, at an early period of the planet's existence. The examination of

the lunar disc is therefore highly favorable for the study of the great

geological phenomena of our own globe. As certain astronomers have

remarked, the Moon's surface, though older than the Earth's, has

remained younger. That is, it has undergone less change. No water has

broken through its rugged elevations, filled up its scowling cavities,

and by incessant action tended continuously to the production of a

general level. No atmosphere, by its disintegrating, decomposing

influence has softened off the rugged features of the plutonic

mountains. Volcanic action alone, unaffected by either aqueous or

atmospheric forces, can here be seen in all its glory. In other words

the Moon looks now as our Earth did endless ages ago, when "she was void

and empty and when darkness sat upon the face of the deep;" eons of ages

ago, long before the tides of the ocean and the winds of the atmosphere

had begun to strew her rough surface with sand and clay, rock and coal,

forest and meadow, gradually preparing it, according to the laws of our

beneficent Creator, to be at last the pleasant though the temporary

abode of Man!



Having wandered over vast continents, your eye is attracted by the

"seas" of dimensions still vaster. Not only their shape, situation, and

look, remind us of our own oceans, but, again like them, they occupy

the greater part of the Moon's surface. The "seas," or, more correctly,

plains, excited our travellers' curiosity to a very high degree, and

they set themselves at once to examine their nature.



The astronomer who first gave names to those "seas" in all probability

was a Frenchman. Hevelius, however, respected them, even Riccioli did

not disturb them, and so they have come down to us. Ardan laughed

heartily at the fancies which they called up, and said the whole thing

reminded him of one of those "maps of matrimony" that he had once seen

or read of in the works of Scudery or Cyrano de Bergerac.



"However," he added, "I must say that this map has much more reality in

it than could be found in the sentimental maps of the 17th century. In

fact, I have no difficulty whatever in calling it the Map of Life!

very neatly divided into two parts, the east and the west, the masculine

and the feminine. The women on the right, and the men on the left!"



At such observations, Ardan's companions only shrugged their shoulders.

A map of the Moon in their eyes was a map of the Moon, no more, no less;

their romantic friend might view it as he pleased. Nevertheless, their

romantic friend was not altogether wrong. Judge a little for yourselves.



What is the first "sea" you find in the hemisphere on the left? The

Mare Imbrium or the Rainy Sea, a fit emblem of our human life, beaten

by many a pitiless storm. In a corresponding part of the southern

hemisphere you see Mare Nubium, the Cloudy Sea, in which our poor

human reason so often gets befogged. Close to this lies Mare Humorum,

the Sea of Humors, where we sail about, the sport of each fitful breeze,

"everything by starts and nothing long." Around all, embracing all, lies

Oceanus Procellarum, the Ocean of Tempests, where, engaged in one

continuous struggle with the gusty whirlwinds, excited by our own

passions or those of others, so few of us escape shipwreck. And, when

disgusted by the difficulties of life, its deceptions, its treacheries

and all the other miseries "that flesh is heir to," where do we too

often fly to avoid them? To the Sinus Iridium or the Sinus Roris,

that is Rainbow Gulf and Dewy Gulf whose glittering lights, alas! give

forth no real illumination to guide our stumbling feet, whose sun-tipped

pinnacles have less substance than a dream, whose enchanting waters all

evaporate before we can lift a cup-full to our parched lips! Showers,

storms, fogs, rainbows--is not the whole mortal life of man comprised in

these four words?



Now turn to the hemisphere on the right, the women's side, and you also

discover "seas," more numerous indeed, but of smaller dimensions and

with gentler names, as more befitting the feminine temperament. First

comes Mare Serenitatis, the Sea of Serenity, so expressive of the

calm, tranquil soul of an innocent maiden. Near it is Lacus Somniorum,

the Lake of Dreams, in which she loves to gaze at her gilded and rosy

future. In the southern division is seen Mare Nectaris, the Sea of

Nectar, over whose soft heaving billows she is gently wafted by Love's

caressing winds, "Youth on the prow and Pleasure at the helm." Not far

off is Mare Fecunditatis, the Sea of Fertility, in which she becomes

the happy mother of rejoicing children. A little north is Mare

Crisium, the Sea of Crises where her life and happiness are sometimes

exposed to sudden, and unexpected dangers which fortunately, however,

seldom end fatally. Far to the left, near the men's side, is Mare

Vaporum, the Sea of Vapors, into which, though it is rather small, and

full of sunken rocks, she sometimes allows herself to wander, moody, and

pouting, and not exactly knowing where she wants to go or what she wants

to do. Between the two last expands the great Mare Tranquillitatis,

the Sea of Tranquillity, into whose quiet depths are at last absorbed

all her simulated passions, all her futile aspirations, all her

unglutted desires, and whose unruffled waters are gliding on forever in

noiseless current towards Lacus Mortis, the Lake of Death, whose misty

shores



"In ruthless, vast, and gloomy woods are girt."



So at least Ardan mused as he stooped over Beer and Maedler's map. Did

not these strange successive names somewhat justify his flights of

fancy? Surely they had a wonderful variety of meaning. Was it by

accident or by forethought deep that the two hemispheres of the Moon had

been thus so strangely divided, yet, as man to woman, though divided

still united, and thus forming even in the cold regions of space a

perfect image of our terrestrial existence? Who can say that our

romantic French friend was altogether wrong in thus explaining the

astute fancies of the old astronomers?



His companions, however, it need hardly be said, never saw the "seas" in

that light. They looked on them not with sentimental but with

geographical eyes. They studied this new world and tried to get it by

heart, working at it like a school boy at his lessons. They began by

measuring its angles and diameters.



To their practical, common sense vision Mare Nubium, the Cloudy Sea,

was an immense depression of the surface, sprinkled here and there with

a few circular mountains. Covering a great portion of that part of the

southern hemisphere which lies east of the centre, it occupied a space

of about 270 thousand square miles, its central point lying in 15 deg. south

latitude and 20 deg. east longitude. Northeast from this lay Oceanus

Procellarum, the Ocean of Tempests, the most extensive of all the

plains on the lunar disc, embracing a surface of about half a million of

square miles, its centre being in 10 deg. north and 45 deg. east. From its bosom

those wonderful mountains Kepler and Aristarchus lifted their vast

ramparts glittering with innumerable streaks radiating in all

directions.



To the north, in the direction of Mare Frigoris, extends Mare

Imbrium, the Sea of Rains, its central point in 35 deg. north and 20 deg.

east. It is somewhat circular in shape, and it covers a space of about

300 thousand square miles. South of Oceanus Procellarum and separated

from Mare Nubium by a goodly number of ring mountains, lies the little

basin of Mare Humorum, the Sea of Humors, containing only about 66

thousand square miles, its central point having a latitude of 25 deg. south

and a longitude of 40 deg. east.



On the shores of these great seas three "Gulfs" are easily found: Sinus

Aestuum, the Gulf of the Tides, northeast of the centre; Sinus

Iridium, the Gulf of the Rainbows, northeast of the Mare Imbrium; and

Sinus Roris, the Dewy Gulf, a little further northeast. All seem to be

small plains enclosed between chains of lofty mountains.



The western hemisphere, dedicated to the ladies, according to Ardan, and

therefore naturally more capricious, was remarkable for "seas" of

smaller dimensions, but much more numerous. These were principally:

Mare Serenitatis, the Sea of Serenity, 25 deg. north and 20 deg. west,

comprising a surface of about 130 thousand square miles; Mare Crisium,

the Sea of Crises, a round, well defined, dark depression towards the

northwestern edge, 17 deg. north 55 deg. west, embracing a surface of 60

thousand square miles, a regular Caspian Sea in fact, only that the

plateau in which it lies buried is surrounded by a girdle of much higher

mountains. Then towards the equator, with a latitude of 5 deg. north and a

longitude of 25 deg. west, appears Mare Tranquillitatis, the Sea of

Tranquillity, occupying about 180 thousand square miles. This

communicates on the south with Mare Nectaris, the Sea of Nectar,

embracing an extent of about 42 thousand square miles, with a mean

latitude of 15 deg. south and a longitude of 35 deg. west. Southwest from Mare

Tranquillitatis, lies Mare Fecunditatis, the Sea of Fertility, the

greatest in this hemisphere, as it occupies an extent of more than 300

thousand square miles, its latitude being 3 deg. south and its longitude 50 deg.

west. For away to the north, on the borders of the Mare Frigoris, or

Icy Sea, is seen the small Mare Humboldtianum, or Humboldt Sea, with a

surface of about 10 thousand square miles. Corresponding to this in the

southern hemisphere lies the Mare Australe, or South Sea, whose

surface, as it extends along the western rim, is rather difficult to

calculate. Finally, right in the centre of the lunar disc, where the

equator intersects the first meridian, can be seen Sinus Medii, the

Central Gulf, the common property therefore of all the hemispheres, the

northern and southern, as well as of the eastern and western.



Into these great divisions the surface of our satellite resolved itself

before the eyes of Barbican and M'Nicholl. Adding up the various

measurements, they found that the surface of her visible hemisphere was

about 7-1/2 millions of square miles, of which about the two thirds

comprised the volcanoes, the mountain chains, the rings, the islands--in

short, the land portion of the lunar surface; the other third comprised

the "seas," the "lakes," the "marshes," the "bays" or "gulfs," and the

other divisions usually assigned to water.



To all this deeply interesting information, though the fruit of

observation the closest, aided and confirmed by calculation the

profoundest, Ardan listened with the utmost indifference. In fact, even

his French politeness could not suppress two or three decided yawns,

which of course the mathematicians were too absorbed to notice.



In their enthusiasm they tried to make him understand that though the

Moon is 13-1/2 times smaller than our Earth, she can show more than 50

thousand craters, which astronomers have already counted and designated

by specific names.



"To conclude this portion of our investigation therefore," cried

Barbican, clearing his throat, and occupying Aldan's right ear,--"the

Moon's surface is a honey combed, perforated, punctured--"



"A fistulous, a rugose, salebrous,--" cut in the Captain, close on the

left.



--"And highly cribriform superficies--" cried Barbican.



--"A sieve, a riddle, a colander--" shouted the Captain.



--"A skimming dish, a buckwheat cake, a lump of green cheese--" went on

Barbican--.



--In fact, there is no knowing how far they would have proceeded with

their designations, comparisons, and scientific expressions, had not

Ardan, driven to extremities by Barbican's last profanity, suddenly

jumped up, broken away from his companions, and clapped a forcible

extinguisher on their eloquence by putting his hands on their lips and

keeping them there awhile. Then striking a grand attitude, he looked

towards the Moon and burst out in accents of thrilling indignation:



"Pardon, O beautiful Diana of the Ephesians! Pardon, O Phoebe, thou

pearl-faced goddess of night beloved of Greece! O Isis, thou sympathetic

queen of Nile-washed cities! O Astarte, thou favorite deity of the

Syrian hills! O Artemis, thou symbolical daughter of Jupiter and Latona,

that is of light and darkness! O brilliant sister of the radiant Apollo!

enshrined in the enchanting strains of Virgil and Homer, which I only

half learned at college, and therefore unfortunately forget just now!

Otherwise what pleasure I should have had in hurling them at the heads

of Barbican, M'Nicholl, and every other barbarous iconoclast of the

nineteenth century!--"



Here he stopped short, for two reasons: first he was out of breath;

secondly, he saw that the irrepressible scientists had been too busy

making observations of their own to hear a single word of what he had

uttered, and were probably totally unconscious that he had spoken at

all. In a few seconds his breath came back in full blast, but the idea

of talking when only deaf men were listening was so disconcerting as to

leave him actually unable to get off another syllable.



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