The Extraordinary Adventures of a Russian Scientist Across the Solar System (Vol. 1)

by Georges Le Faure; Henri de Graffigny

  Making no reply, Fricoulet opened the tap wide and the steam rushed into the conduits, whistling. The entire apparatus shook; the propeller hubs groaned and their vanes turned vertiginously—but it was in vain. There were such variations in the strength and direction of the wind that the Albatros, like a bird strayed into a whirlwind, fluttered without making any substantial headway.

  It was much the same until 5 p.m. The sky had become dark and menacing, and distant rumbles of thunders could be heard on the horizon. Abruptly, without any warning that it was so imminent, the squall arrived like a thunderbolt, bending the trees to the ground and whipping up thick clouds of dust, beneath which the ground disappeared. At that moment that aeroplane was at an altitude of no more than 200 meters, flying over the foothills of the Alps.

  “Higher! Higher!” cried Fricoulet, stoking the fire of his machine in an attempt to confront the storm.

  The apparatus climbed vertically and went into the clouds—but there, the tempest reigned, perhaps more terribly than in the inferior regions. It took possession of the Albatros, which had to resign itself to flee like a vulgar aerostat in spite of its pilot’s efforts.

  To allow Fricoulet complete freedom of action in maneuvering, the travelers huddled together against the guard-rail and maintained silence. Lightning-flashes streaked the sky, inflaming the atmosphere and splitting the clouds that were coming apart all around the Albatros.

  Suddenly, the whistling of the steam through the escape-valve fell silent, and the grinding of the propellers stopped. Fricoulet could not restrain a cry of rage, and stood stock still, as if petrified, looking at the extinct lamp with a terrible expression. The petroleum had suddenly run out.

  “We’re going down!” cried Ossipoff.

  “No,” murmured Fricoulet, dully. “We’re falling.”

  The aeroplane, deprived of fuel and surrendered to its own weight, was now only retained in the air by the force of its parachute.

  Selena suddenly released a terrible scream. “The sea! The sea!”

  Indeed, on the horizon, the agitated waves of the Mediterranean rose up, and the apparatus, carried like a feather by the storm, was heading for it with vertiginous speed.

  “Are we lost?” Gontran asked his friend.

  “Not yet, if I have anything to do with it,” the latter replied. Exerting all his strength upon the rudder, in order at least to direct the Albatros’s fall, he constrained the aeroplane to obey him again. Suddenly, however, and intense whistle sounded overhead and the planks of the deck seemed to collapse beneath their feet. A lightning strike of unexpected violence had just torn away the two propellers and simultaneously set fire to the fabric of the inclined planes.

  Deprived of all its engines of locomotion, the Albatros slipped through the layers of air with a violence that the fire could only increase. It seemed inevitable that it would crash into the side of a mountain when, by a desperate effort, the young engineer succeeded in bringing the vast surface of canvas that formed the anterior rudder into a horizontal plane. The fall moderated slightly and, still advancing under the terrible pressure of the gusts of wind, the Albatros came to within ten meters of the ground.

  “Look out!” shouted Fricoulet, stridently. “Get ready for the impact! Hold tight!”

  At the same time, there was a fearful shock; the aeroplane had just touched down. Like a bird falling from the sky, mortally struck by a hunter’s bullet, it lay inert, wings extended. The force of the reaction threw the travelers off the platform, rolling on the ground.

  Although stunned, Ossipoff was the first to get to his feet; immediately, his eyes went to Selena. The young woman, trembling with fear, ran to her father, who opened his arms. After an emotional embrace, the old scientist said: “What about Monsieur de Flammermont?”

  “Present!” the young Comte cried, joyfully, emerging from a crevasse into whose depths he had rolled.

  “Well,” said Fricoulet, who was busy putting out the fire that was devouring the aeroplane’s fabric, “is anything broken?”

  “No,” the three travelers replied, in unison.

  Then Ossipoff, who was looking around curiously, suddenly exclaimed: “But we’re in a civilized country, gentlemen! There’s an observatory!” He pointed at a singular construction, which emerged from the ground some 200 meters away, somewhat reminiscent of a jockey’s cap set on the ground.

  “Hurrah!” said Alcide Fricoulet, waving his cap triumphantly. “Hurrah for the Albatros and its engineer. That’s the Nice Observatory—we’re in France!”

  Chapter VI

  In which Gontran has a bright idea.

  While our friends, gathered around the lamentable wreckage of the Albatros, consulted one another as to what to do next, a lively agitation reigned in the Nice Observatory. A dozen young people, gathered in a long covered gallery that led from the administration buildings to the library, were discussing the surprising phenomenon they had just witnessed in a heated fashion.

  “It was an aerolith,” said one. “I recognized all the distinctive characteristics. If you care to recall…”

  “And I’m quite ready to prove to you that it was a comet, whose tail has just brushed Mount Boron.37 You must, in fact, have observed…”

  “Neither an aerolith nor a comet, but simply a perfectly natural result of the storm that has just passed over the region…it was a lightning-bolt.”

  Ironic laughter greeted this declaration, and they all repeated:

  “It was an aerolith.”

  “It was a comet.”

  “It was lightning.”

  At the same time, they looked at one another furiously, brandishing the binoculars and telescopes with which they were equipped, ready to transform these peaceful scientific instruments into weapons of war.

  “Well, Messieurs,” said one of them, who seemed to have preserved a little more self-control than the others, “there’s one means of finding out which of us is right.”

  “What means?”

  “Let’s go and see. Nothing will be easier, on reaching the place where the strange fall that we’re arguing about took place, than to establish whether we’re dealing with an aerolith, a bolide or simply a lightning-strike.”

  This proposal was greeted with enthusiastic cheers. Five minutes later, the whole band emerged from the Observatory and took the road leading down to Nice. Suddenly, as they rounded a corner, they perceived a group of individuals who were engaged in a heated discussion, pointing excitedly at an object extended on the ground.

  Immediately, our young people, carried away by curiosity and having no doubt that they were confronted by witnesses to the phenomenon that had divided their opinions, ran to our friends and arrived beside them out of breath.

  “What was it that fell?”

  “Where has it gone?”

  “Did it cause this damage?”

  Ossipoff and his companions, surprised by these questions emerging simultaneously from various mouths, looked at the newcomers with a certain anxiety.

  “What are you talking about, Messieurs?” asked the old man.

  “The aerolith!”

  “The comet!”

  “The lightning-bolt.”

  These responses had no other effect than to persuade Ossipoff that he was dealing with madmen. Even so, he said: “What aerolith? What comet? What lightning-bolt?”

  “Didn’t you see anything, then?” said the others, utterly disappointed.

  The old Russian shook his head. “Nothing at all,” he replied. “But who are you, and what do you want.”

  “We’re the student astronomers of the Nice Observatory,” one of them replied.

  Scarcely had he pronounced these words when Ossipoff precipitated himself on him, seized him by the arm and kissed him frantically on both cheeks, crying: “Astronomers! Astronomers!”

  This time it was the turn of the young men to think that they were in the presence of a madman. They took a step back, and the one who had just been subjected to Oss
ipoff’s accolade replied: “Just now, as the storm was ending, we observed a very curious phenomenon, as to the nature of which we’re divided. Some claim that it was a fiery aerolith, others the tail of a comet, others a flash of lightning.”

  A burst of laughter greeted these words. That was Fricoulet—who, taking a step forward, cried: “Well, Messieurs, you’re all right and you’re all mistaken. What you saw was like an aerolith, for it fell from the sky; it was like a comet, for it possesses a tail, and it was like a lightning-bolt, because it was in flames—and yet it is neither an aerolith, nor a comet, nor a lightning-bolt.”

  “What is it, then?”

  “It is—or, rather, was—an aeroplane,” replied the young engineer, pointing to the broken limbs of the Albatros, which were lying at his feet, “and it was our fall that you witnessed.”

  “Who are you, then Messieurs?” they asked, drawing closer to the travelers again.

  “Oh, we’re no one in particular,” Fricoulet replied, modestly. “We’re not famous.” He pointed at Mikhail Ossipoff. “On the other hand, you should have heard of this gentleman. He’s Mikhail Ossipoff.”

  At this name, known throughout the scientific world, the young men took off their hats respectfully. The one who had spoken before approached the old man. “Monsieur Ossipoff,” he said, in an emotional voice, “permit me, in the name of French youth—which knows your work and admires you—to shake you by the hand.” Then, after a cordial handshake, he said: “Now, I hope you will do us the great honor of accepting the hospitality of the Observatory. We have guest rooms there, Monsieur Ossipoff, and you have every right to that title.”

  The old scientists darted a rapid glance at his companions and replied: “In spite of the cordiality of your invitation, Messieurs, I’d decline it for fear of being indiscreet—but the long journey has exhausted my daughter, who might not be able to go as far as Nice, so I therefore accept it wholeheartedly….”

  Ossipoff offered his arm to Selena and, accompanied by Fricoulet and Gontran, he headed for the Observatory, followed by the company of young astronomers as if by a guard of honor.

  Constructed on the summit of Mount Boron, abut 50 meters above sea-level, the Observatory looked out on one side over the Mediterranean, whose blue shores extended as far as Cape Frejus, and on the other over the valley of the Paillon, with the eternally-white peaks of the Alps on the horizon.

  In addition to the climatological conditions indispensable to an observatory, one could not have chosen a more admirable site to rest the eyes of scientists dazzled by the contemplation of celestial beauty. In it, Monsieur Bischoffsheim,38 to whose generosity the construction of Nice Observatory is due, had combined the work of an artist, a nature-lover and a philanthropic friend of the progress of science. But what has given this scientific establishment a near-universal reputation is its equatorial telescope, presently the most powerful in the entire world. It has a focal length of 18 meters; its objective lens is 76 centimeters in diameter. With its equatorially movable carriage, it weighs no less than 25,000 kilograms, and that enormous mass is controlled by a simple clockwork mechanism. As for the cupola beneath which that gigantic telescope is installed—on of the marvels of metallic construction of the century—it is 21 meters in diameter and more than 30 meters high; its weight is no less than 95,000 kilograms—95 tonnes!

  One might believe that such a considerable weight would not be easily maneuverable, but not so. The constructor of this cupola, Monsieur Eiffel,39 has, in fact, devised a mechanism that renders this enormous construction docile even to the hand of a child. Instead of rolling on metallic castors, like other observatory cupolas, the Nice cupola is balanced on watertight containers floating in a basin of water contained within the sustaining walls, so that the feeblest effort is sufficient to direct the slot of the enormous hemisphere towards any part of the sky.

  While it requires nearly an hour’s work at the Paris Observatory to accomplish a complete rotation of the great cupola—which measures no more than 13 meters—a few minutes is sufficient to rotate the enormous cupola of Nice Observatory on its axis.

  Needless to say, as early as possible the following morning, Mikhail Ossipoff set about examining every detail of all these marvels. On finding himself once again in the midst of instruments in the company of which he had spent his life, the memory of his suffering immediately vanished, and he surrendered himself to the joy of scanning visually those celestial worlds to which he felt so powerfully attracted.

  In the evening, though, when he went to rejoin his friends in the little room in which, to give them more privacy, their supper had been served to them, the old man’s face was veiled by a sadness that did not escape Selena’s observation.

  “What’s the matter, Father?” she said, affectionately putting her arm around Ossipoff’s neck. “What secret trouble is darkening your features?”

  He shook his head and replied in a low voice: “It’s nothing, my child. Nothing’s wrong, I swear.”

  Selena looked at him for a moment, then turned to Gontran, her beautiful eyes misted over. The young man understood that the young woman was asking for his help. He drew nearer to the armchair into which the old scientist had sunk, and put a friendly hand on his shoulder. “I’ll wager, my dear Monsieur Ossipoff,” he said, “that I know what’s troubling you.”

  The old man shivered, but did not reply.

  “I’ll wager,” Gontran went on, “that this famous telescope, which has permitted you, so to speak, to put your finger on the marvels of the Heavens, has something to do with your chagrin.”

  Ossipoff shook his head. “It has been such a long time,” he murmured, “since I perused my dear lunar solitudes. It took me back to the time when I was so happy in St. Petersburg, you see…when I was not what I am today…a miserable exile…”

  “It took you back to the time when you formulated your great project…”

  Ossipoff seized his hand abruptly and darted a sideways glance at Fricoulet, whose was sitting in a corner immersed in reading a book he had found in the Observatory library. “Don’t mention that in front of him,” he said, in a low voice. “There’s no need to take him into our confidence.”

  Selena smiled, and said: “My dear Father, there’s no mystery about our projects as regards Monsieur Fricoulet. He knows everything.”

  Ossipoff pulled a face. “Why have you told him?” he stammered.

  “Wasn’t it necessary, to interest him in your fate? Not only does he know about your projects, but I’ve promised him in your name to make him a participant in your celestial voyage.”

  Ossipoff started. “What an idea!” he exclaimed.

  “It was only on that condition that he consented to save you,” Gontran said.

  The old man shrugged his shoulders. “To save me! To save me!” he grumbled. “Because he was able to construct that aeroplane according to your plans! It’s his profession, after all. In truth, I think you’re very good, my dear Gontran, to be so generous to a fellow who tries to put you in the shade at every opportunity.”

  “But, if you’ll permit…”

  “No, I won’t permit you to say anything whatsoever in his defense, for I saw quite clearly during the journey…every time I spoke to you, he answered in your stead, purely to make himself seem important…but he’s wasting his time.”

  Gontran looked at Selena, with a glint in his eyes, while making every effort to suppress a smile. “Still, Monsieur Ossipoff,” he said, “all that doesn’t explain why you’re so sad.”

  The old man seized his hands. “What!” he said. “You haven’t guessed the reason? Yes, I’m thinking about that marvelous project, to the preparation of which I’ve dedicated my entire life…and I’m heart-broken at the thought of being robbed and cheated by a villain, at the very moment when I was about to attain the goal of my efforts.”

  “But what’s preventing you from taking advantage of your renewed liberty to go back to work? A man like you has no need of notes to re
constitute his work. In a few days, you can put your plans and your formula on paper again.”

  “What about money?” murmured Ossipoff.

  “Money?” said Gontran. “Without prying into your private affairs, were you counting on your personal resources to bring your project to fruition?”

  “Certainly not—but in St. Petersburg I had a situation that permitted me to hope that I might raise the formidable capital necessary to the great enterprise. People are very interested in celestial matters in Russia, and a public subscription would soon have furnished me with the means to do what I wanted to do.”

  Fricoulet, who had been listening to the conversation for some minutes, took his nose out of his book and said: “Why not attempt here what you wanted to attempt there? People in France are fond of scientists—not to mention the fact that our quixotic temperament urges us to take up the causes of all victims and unfortunates. Besides, your nationality is sympathetic to us.”

  As the old man shook his head, the young engineer added: “If I were you, I’d go from city to city, giving lectures on my projects, until I’d accumulated he necessary support.”

  “Since you assure me of it, Monsieur Fricoulet,” Ossipoff replied, “I don’t doubt that the plan you suggest has every chance of success—unfortunately, I don’t have the time.”

  “The time!” Flammermont replied, jokingly. “But you’re not yet on the point of death, thank God! I’ve rarely seen a man of your age as robust and resilient.”

  Selena, saddened by her father’s thoughtfulness, smiled softly at Gontran.

  “That’s not what I mean,” said Ossipoff. “You don’t understand.”

  “What do you mean, then?”

  “This: that Sharp has certainly not stolen all my plans in order to let them lie dormant in boxes, and that he must have profited from the long months of my detention.”

  “What of it?”

  “So,” replied the old man, “there’s nothing left for me to do but die. Even supposing that I could assemble the funds necessary to the great enterprise, to put it into operation would require an indispensable period of time…and I won’t finish second, outdistanced by that wretch.”