Venus In Perilous Proximity

: BOOK I.
: Off On A Comet

The light of the returning sun soon extinguished the glory of the stars,

and rendered it necessary for the captain to postpone his observations.

He had sought in vain for further trace of the huge disc that had so

excited his wonder on the 1st, and it seemed most probable that, in its

irregular orbit, it had been carried beyond the range of vision.



The weather was still superb. The wind, after veering to the west, had
br />
sunk to a perfect calm. Pursuing its inverted course, the sun rose and

set with undeviating regularity; and the days and nights were still

divided into periods of precisely six hours each--a sure proof that the

sun remained close to the new equator which manifestly passed through

Gourbi Island.



Meanwhile the temperature was steadily increasing. The captain kept his

thermometer close at hand where he could repeatedly consult it, and on

the 15th he found that it registered 50 degrees centigrade in the shade.



No attempt had been made to rebuild the gourbi, but the captain and

Ben Zoof managed to make up quarters sufficiently comfortable in the

principal apartment of the adjoining structure, where the stone walls,

that at first afforded a refuge from the torrents of rain, now formed an

equally acceptable shelter from the burning sun. The heat was becoming

insufferable, surpassing the heat of Senegal and other equatorial

regions; not a cloud ever tempered the intensity of the solar rays;

and unless some modification ensued, it seemed inevitable that all

vegetation should become scorched and burnt off from the face of the

island.



In spite, however, of the profuse perspirations from which he suffered,

Ben Zoof, constant to his principles, expressed no surprise at the

unwonted heat. No remonstrances from his master could induce him to

abandon his watch from the cliff. To withstand the vertical beams of

that noontide sun would seem to require a skin of brass and a brain

of adamant; but yet, hour after hour, he would remain conscientiously

scanning the surface of the Mediterranean, which, calm and deserted, lay

outstretched before him. On one occasion, Servadac, in reference to his

orderly's indomitable perseverance, happened to remark that he thought

he must have been born in the heart of equatorial Africa; to which Ben

Zoof replied, with the utmost dignity, that he was born at Montmartre,

which was all the same. The worthy fellow was unwilling to own that,

even in the matter of heat, the tropics could in any way surpass his own

much-loved home.



This unprecedented temperature very soon began to take effect upon the

products of the soil. The sap rose rapidly in the trees, so that in the

course of a few days buds, leaves, flowers, and fruit had come to full

maturity. It was the same with the cereals; wheat and maize sprouted and

ripened as if by magic, and for a while a rank and luxuriant pasturage

clothed the meadows. Summer and autumn seemed blended into one. If

Captain Servadac had been more deeply versed in astronomy, he would

perhaps have been able to bring to bear his knowledge that if the axis

of the earth, as everything seemed to indicate, now formed a right angle

with the plane of the ecliptic, her various seasons, like those of the

planet Jupiter, would become limited to certain zones, in which they

would remain invariable. But even if he had understood the rationale

of the change, the convulsion that had brought it about would have been

as much a mystery as ever.



The precocity of vegetation caused some embarrassment. The time for

the corn and fruit harvest had fallen simultaneously with that of the

haymaking; and as the extreme heat precluded any prolonged exertions,

it was evident "the population" of the island would find it difficult to

provide the necessary amount of labor. Not that the prospect gave

them much concern: the provisions of the gourbi were still far from

exhausted, and now that the roughness of the weather had so happily

subsided, they had every encouragement to hope that a ship of some

sort would soon appear. Not only was that part of the Mediterranean

systematically frequented by the government steamers that watched the

coast, but vessels of all nations were constantly cruising off the

shore.



In spite, however, of all their sanguine speculations, no ship appeared.

Ben Zoof admitted the necessity of extemporizing a kind of parasol for

himself, otherwise he must literally have been roasted to death upon the

exposed summit of the cliff.



Meanwhile, Servadac was doing his utmost--it must be acknowledged, with

indifferent success--to recall the lessons of his school-days. He would

plunge into the wildest speculations in his endeavors to unravel

the difficulties of the new situation, and struggled into a kind of

conviction that if there had been a change of manner in the earth's

rotation on her axis, there would be a corresponding change in her

revolution round the sun, which would involve the consequence of the

length of the year being either diminished or increased.



Independently of the increased and increasing heat, there was another

very conclusive demonstration that the earth had thus suddenly

approximated towards the sun. The diameter of the solar disc was now

exactly twice what it ordinarily looks to the naked eye; in fact, it was

precisely such as it would appear to an observer on the surface of the

planet Venus. The most obvious inference would therefore be that the

earth's distance from the sun had been diminished from 91,000,000 to

66,000,000 miles. If the just equilibrium of the earth had thus been

destroyed, and should this diminution of distance still continue, would

there not be reason to fear that the terrestrial world would be carried

onwards to actual contact with the sun, which must result in its total

annihilation?



The continuance of the splendid weather afforded Servadac every facility

for observing the heavens. Night after night, constellations in

their beauty lay stretched before his eyes--an alphabet which, to his

mortification, not to say his rage, he was unable to decipher. In the

apparent dimensions of the fixed stars, in their distance, in their

relative position with regard to each other, he could observe no change.

Although it is established that our sun is approaching the constellation

of Hercules at the rate of more than 126,000,000 miles a year, and

although Arcturus is traveling through space at the rate of fifty-four

miles a second--three times faster than the earth goes round the

sun,--yet such is the remoteness of those stars that no appreciable

change is evident to the senses. The fixed stars taught him nothing.



Far otherwise was it with the planets. The orbits of Venus and Mercury

are within the orbit of the earth, Venus rotating at an average distance

of 66,130,000 miles from the sun, and Mercury at that of 35,393,000.

After pondering long, and as profoundly as he could, upon these figures,

Captain Servadac came to the conclusion that, as the earth was now

receiving about double the amount of light and heat that it had been

receiving before the catastrophe, it was receiving about the same as the

planet Venus; he was driven, therefore, to the estimate of the measure

in which the earth must have approximated to the sun, a deduction in

which he was confirmed when the opportunity came for him to observe

Venus herself in the splendid proportions that she now assumed.



That magnificent planet which--as Phosphorus or Lucifer, Hesperus or

Vesper, the evening star, the morning star, or the shepherd's star--has

never failed to attract the rapturous admiration of the most indifferent

observers, here revealed herself with unprecedented glory, exhibiting

all the phases of a lustrous moon in miniature. Various indentations in

the outline of its crescent showed that the solar beams were refracted

into regions of its surface where the sun had already set, and proved,

beyond a doubt, that the planet had an atmosphere of her own; and

certain luminous points projecting from the crescent as plainly marked

the existence of mountains. As the result of Servadac's computations, he

formed the opinion that Venus could hardly be at a greater distance than

6,000,000 miles from the earth.



"And a very safe distance, too," said Ben Zoof, when his master told him

the conclusion at which he had arrived.



"All very well for two armies, but for a couple of planets not quite so

safe, perhaps, as you may imagine. It is my impression that it is more

than likely we may run foul of Venus," said the captain.



"Plenty of air and water there, sir?" inquired the orderly.



"Yes; as far as I can tell, plenty," replied Servadac.



"Then why shouldn't we go and visit Venus?"



Servadac did his best to explain that as the two planets were of

about equal volume, and were traveling with great velocity in opposite

directions, any collision between them must be attended with the most

disastrous consequences to one or both of them. But Ben Zoof failed to

see that, even at the worst, the catastrophe could be much more serious

than the collision of two railway trains.



The captain became exasperated. "You idiot!" he angrily exclaimed;

"cannot you understand that the planets are traveling a thousand times

faster than the fastest express, and that if they meet, either one

or the other must be destroyed? What would become of your darling

Montmartre then?"



The captain had touched a tender chord. For a moment Ben Zoof stood with

clenched teeth and contracted muscles; then, in a voice of real concern,

he inquired whether anything could be done to avert the calamity.



"Nothing whatever; so you may go about your own business," was the

captain's brusque rejoinder.



All discomfited and bewildered, Ben Zoof retired without a word.



During the ensuing days the distance between the two planets continued

to decrease, and it became more and more obvious that the earth, on her

new orbit, was about to cross the orbit of Venus. Throughout this time

the earth had been making a perceptible approach towards Mercury, and

that planet--which is rarely visible to the naked eye, and then only

at what are termed the periods of its greatest eastern and western

elongations--now appeared in all its splendor. It amply justified the

epithet of "sparkling" which the ancients were accustomed to confer

upon it, and could scarcely fail to awaken a new interest. The periodic

recurrence of its phases; its reflection of the sun's rays, shedding

upon it a light and a heat seven times greater than that received by the

earth; its glacial and its torrid zones, which, on account of the great

inclination of the axis, are scarcely separable; its equatorial bands;

its mountains eleven miles high;--were all subjects of observation

worthy of the most studious regard.



But no danger was to be apprehended from Mercury; with Venus only did

collision appear imminent. By the 18th of January the distance between

that planet and the earth had become reduced to between two and three

millions of miles, and the intensity of its light cast heavy shadows

from all terrestrial objects. It might be observed to turn upon its own

axis in twenty-three hours twenty-one minutes--an evidence, from the

unaltered duration of its days, that the planet had not shared in the

disturbance. On its disc the clouds formed from its atmospheric vapor

were plainly perceptible, as also were the seven spots, which, according

to Bianchini, are a chain of seas. It was now visible in broad daylight.

Buonaparte, when under the Directory, once had his attention called to

Venus at noon, and immediately hailed it joyfully, recognizing it as

his own peculiar star in the ascendant. Captain Servadac, it may well be

imagined, did not experience the same gratifying emotion.



On the 20th, the distance between the two bodies had again sensibly

diminished. The captain had ceased to be surprised that no vessel

had been sent to rescue himself and his companion from their strange

imprisonment; the governor general and the minister of war were

doubtless far differently occupied, and their interests far otherwise

engrossed. What sensational articles, he thought, must now be teeming to

the newspapers! What crowds must be flocking to the churches! The end

of the world approaching! the great climax close at hand! Two days more,

and the earth, shivered into a myriad atoms, would be lost in boundless

space!



These dire forebodings, however, were not destined to be realized.

Gradually the distance between the two planets began to increase; the

planes of their orbits did not coincide, and accordingly the dreaded

catastrophe did not ensue. By the 25th, Venus was sufficiently remote to

preclude any further fear of collision. Ben Zoof gave a sigh of relief

when the captain communicated the glad intelligence.



Their proximity to Venus had been close enough to demonstrate that

beyond a doubt that planet has no moon or satellite such as Cassini,

Short, Montaigne of Limoges, Montbarron, and some other astronomers have

imagined to exist. "Had there been such a satellite," said Servadac,

"we might have captured it in passing. But what can be the meaning," he

added seriously, "of all this displacement of the heavenly bodies?"



"What is that great building at Paris, captain, with a top like a cap?"

asked Ben Zoof.



"Do you mean the Observatory?"



"Yes, the Observatory. Are there not people living in the Observatory

who could explain all this?"



"Very likely; but what of that?"



"Let us be philosophers, and wait patiently until we can hear their

explanation."



Servadac smiled. "Do you know what it is to be a philosopher, Ben Zoof?"

he asked.



"I am a soldier, sir," was the servant's prompt rejoinder, "and I have

learnt to know that 'what can't be cured must be endured.'"



The captain made no reply, but for a time, at least, he desisted from

puzzling himself over matters which he felt he was utterly incompetent

to explain. But an event soon afterwards occurred which awakened his

keenest interest.



About nine o'clock on the morning of the 27th, Ben Zoof walked

deliberately into his master's apartment, and, in reply to a question as

to what he wanted, announced with the utmost composure that a ship was

in sight.



"A ship!" exclaimed Servadac, starting to his feet. "A ship! Ben Zoof,

you donkey! you speak as unconcernedly as though you were telling me

that my dinner was ready."



"Are we not philosophers, captain?" said the orderly.



But the captain was out of hearing.



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