by Jules Verne
CHAPTER VIII. VENUS IN PERILOUS PROXIMITY
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 soexcited his wonder on the 1st, and it seemed most probable that, in itsirregular orbit, it had been carried beyond the range of vision.
The weather was still superb. The wind, after veering to the west, hadsunk to a perfect calm. Pursuing its inverted course, the sun rose andset with undeviating regularity; and the days and nights were stilldivided into periods of precisely six hours each--a sure proof that thesun remained close to the new equator which manifestly passed throughGourbi Island.
Meanwhile the temperature was steadily increasing. The captain kept histhermometer close at hand where he could repeatedly consult it, and onthe 15th he found that it registered 50 degrees centigrade in the shade.
No attempt had been made to rebuild the gourbi, but the captain andBen Zoof managed to make up quarters sufficiently comfortable in theprincipal apartment of the adjoining structure, where the stone walls,that at first afforded a refuge from the torrents of rain, now formed anequally acceptable shelter from the burning sun. The heat was becominginsufferable, surpassing the heat of Senegal and other equatorialregions; not a cloud ever tempered the intensity of the solar rays;and unless some modification ensued, it seemed inevitable that allvegetation should become scorched and burnt off from the face of theisland.
In spite, however, of the profuse perspirations from which he suffered,Ben Zoof, constant to his principles, expressed no surprise at theunwonted heat. No remonstrances from his master could induce him toabandon his watch from the cliff. To withstand the vertical beams ofthat noontide sun would seem to require a skin of brass and a brainof adamant; but yet, hour after hour, he would remain conscientiouslyscanning the surface of the Mediterranean, which, calm and deserted, layoutstretched before him. On one occasion, Servadac, in reference to hisorderly's indomitable perseverance, happened to remark that he thoughthe must have been born in the heart of equatorial Africa; to which BenZoof 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 ownmuch-loved home.
This unprecedented temperature very soon began to take effect upon theproducts of the soil. The sap rose rapidly in the trees, so that in thecourse of a few days buds, leaves, flowers, and fruit had come to fullmaturity. It was the same with the cereals; wheat and maize sprouted andripened as if by magic, and for a while a rank and luxuriant pasturageclothed the meadows. Summer and autumn seemed blended into one. IfCaptain Servadac had been more deeply versed in astronomy, he wouldperhaps have been able to bring to bear his knowledge that if the axisof the earth, as everything seemed to indicate, now formed a right anglewith the plane of the ecliptic, her various seasons, like those of theplanet Jupiter, would become limited to certain zones, in which theywould remain invariable. But even if he had understood the _rationale_of the change, the convulsion that had brought it about would have beenas much a mystery as ever.
The precocity of vegetation caused some embarrassment. The time forthe corn and fruit harvest had fallen simultaneously with that of thehaymaking; and as the extreme heat precluded any prolonged exertions,it was evident "the population" of the island would find it difficult toprovide the necessary amount of labor. Not that the prospect gavethem much concern: the provisions of the gourbi were still far fromexhausted, and now that the roughness of the weather had so happilysubsided, they had every encouragement to hope that a ship of somesort would soon appear. Not only was that part of the Mediterraneansystematically frequented by the government steamers that watched thecoast, but vessels of all nations were constantly cruising off theshore.
In spite, however, of all their sanguine speculations, no ship appeared.Ben Zoof admitted the necessity of extemporizing a kind of parasol forhimself, otherwise he must literally have been roasted to death upon theexposed summit of the cliff.
Meanwhile, Servadac was doing his utmost--it must be acknowledged, withindifferent success--to recall the lessons of his school-days. He wouldplunge into the wildest speculations in his endeavors to unravelthe difficulties of the new situation, and struggled into a kind ofconviction that if there had been a change of manner in the earth'srotation on her axis, there would be a corresponding change in herrevolution round the sun, which would involve the consequence of thelength of the year being either diminished or increased.
Independently of the increased and increasing heat, there was anothervery conclusive demonstration that the earth had thus suddenlyapproximated towards the sun. The diameter of the solar disc was nowexactly twice what it ordinarily looks to the naked eye; in fact, it wasprecisely such as it would appear to an observer on the surface of theplanet Venus. The most obvious inference would therefore be that theearth's distance from the sun had been diminished from 91,000,000 to66,000,000 miles. If the just equilibrium of the earth had thus beendestroyed, and should this diminution of distance still continue, wouldthere not be reason to fear that the terrestrial world would be carriedonwards to actual contact with the sun, which must result in its totalannihilation?
The continuance of the splendid weather afforded Servadac every facilityfor observing the heavens. Night after night, constellations intheir beauty lay stretched before his eyes--an alphabet which, to hismortification, not to say his rage, he was unable to decipher. In theapparent dimensions of the fixed stars, in their distance, in theirrelative position with regard to each other, he could observe no change.Although it is established that our sun is approaching the constellationof Hercules at the rate of more than 126,000,000 miles a year, andalthough Arcturus is traveling through space at the rate of fifty-fourmiles a second--three times faster than the earth goes round thesun,--yet such is the remoteness of those stars that no appreciablechange is evident to the senses. The fixed stars taught him nothing.
Far otherwise was it with the planets. The orbits of Venus and Mercuryare within the orbit of the earth, Venus rotating at an average distanceof 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 nowreceiving about double the amount of light and heat that it had beenreceiving before the catastrophe, it was receiving about the same as theplanet Venus; he was driven, therefore, to the estimate of the measurein which the earth must have approximated to the sun, a deduction inwhich he was confirmed when the opportunity came for him to observeVenus herself in the splendid proportions that she now assumed.
That magnificent planet which--as Phosphorus or Lucifer, Hesperus orVesper, the evening star, the morning star, or the shepherd's star--hasnever failed to attract the rapturous admiration of the most indifferentobservers, here revealed herself with unprecedented glory, exhibitingall the phases of a lustrous moon in miniature. Various indentations inthe outline of its crescent showed that the solar beams were refractedinto regions of its surface where the sun had already set, and proved,beyond a doubt, that the planet had an atmosphere of her own; andcertain luminous points projecting from the crescent as plainly markedthe existence of mountains. As the result of Servadac's computations, heformed the opinion that Venus could hardly be at a greater distance than6,000,000 miles from the earth.
"And a very safe distance, too," said Ben Zoof, when his master told himthe conclusion at which he had arrived.
"All very well for two armies, but for a couple of planets not quite sosafe, perhaps, as you may imagine. It is my impression that it is morethan 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 ofabout equal volume, and were traveling with great velocity in oppositedirections, any collision between them must be attended with the mostdisastrous consequences to one or both of them. But Ben Zoof failed tosee that, even at the worst, the catastrophe could be much more seriousthan 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 timesfaster than the fastest express, and that if they meet, either oneor the other must be destroyed? What would become of your darlingMontmartre then?"
The captain had touched a tender chord. For a moment Ben Zoof stood withclenched 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 thecaptain's brusque rejoinder.
All discomfited and bewildered, Ben Zoof retired without a word.
During the ensuing days the distance between the two planets continuedto decrease, and it became more and more obvious that the earth, on hernew orbit, was about to cross the orbit of Venus. Throughout this timethe earth had been making a perceptible approach towards Mercury, andthat planet--which is rarely visible to the naked eye, and then onlyat what are termed the periods of its greatest eastern and westernelongations--now appeared in all its splendor. It amply justified theepithet of "sparkling" which the ancients were accustomed to conferupon it, and could scarcely fail to awaken a new interest. The periodicrecurrence of its phases; its reflection of the sun's rays, sheddingupon it a light and a heat seven times greater than that received by theearth; its glacial and its torrid zones, which, on account of the greatinclination of the axis, are scarcely separable; its equatorial bands;its mountains eleven miles high;--were all subjects of observationworthy of the most studious regard.
But no danger was to be apprehended from Mercury; with Venus only didcollision appear imminent. By the 18th of January the distance betweenthat planet and the earth had become reduced to between two and threemillions of miles, and the intensity of its light cast heavy shadowsfrom all terrestrial objects. It might be observed to turn upon its ownaxis in twenty-three hours twenty-one minutes--an evidence, from theunaltered duration of its days, that the planet had not shared in thedisturbance. On its disc the clouds formed from its atmospheric vaporwere plainly perceptible, as also were the seven spots, which, accordingto Bianchini, are a chain of seas. It was now visible in broad daylight.Buonaparte, when under the Directory, once had his attention called toVenus at noon, and immediately hailed it joyfully, recognizing it ashis own peculiar star in the ascendant. Captain Servadac, it may well beimagined, did not experience the same gratifying emotion.
On the 20th, the distance between the two bodies had again sensiblydiminished. The captain had ceased to be surprised that no vesselhad been sent to rescue himself and his companion from their strangeimprisonment; the governor general and the minister of war weredoubtless far differently occupied, and their interests far otherwiseengrossed. What sensational articles, he thought, must now be teeming tothe newspapers! What crowds must be flocking to the churches! The endof the world approaching! the great climax close at hand! Two days more,and the earth, shivered into a myriad atoms, would be lost in boundlessspace!
These dire forebodings, however, were not destined to be realized.Gradually the distance between the two planets began to increase; theplanes of their orbits did not coincide, and accordingly the dreadedcatastrophe did not ensue. By the 25th, Venus was sufficiently remote topreclude any further fear of collision. Ben Zoof gave a sigh of reliefwhen the captain communicated the glad intelligence.
Their proximity to Venus had been close enough to demonstrate thatbeyond a doubt that planet has no moon or satellite such as Cassini,Short, Montaigne of Limoges, Montbarron, and some other astronomers haveimagined to exist. "Had there been such a satellite," said Servadac,"we might have captured it in passing. But what can be the meaning," headded 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 Observatorywho could explain all this?"
"Very likely; but what of that?"
"Let us be philosophers, and wait patiently until we can hear theirexplanation."
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 havelearnt to know that 'what can't be cured must be endured.'"
The captain made no reply, but for a time, at least, he desisted frompuzzling himself over matters which he felt he was utterly incompetentto explain. But an event soon afterwards occurred which awakened hiskeenest interest.
About nine o'clock on the morning of the 27th, Ben Zoof walkeddeliberately into his master's apartment, and, in reply to a question asto what he wanted, announced with the utmost composure that a ship wasin sight.
"A ship!" exclaimed Servadac, starting to his feet. "A ship! Ben Zoof,you donkey! you speak as unconcernedly as though you were telling methat my dinner was ready."
"Are we not philosophers, captain?" said the orderly.
But the captain was out of hearing.
