Ossipoff too allowed himself to be infected by Gontran’s confidence, and asked anxiously: “Explain yourself, my dear friend, I implore you. What natural apparatus are you talking about?”
“Volcanoes, Monsieur Ossipoff!” cried Flammermont, triumphantly.
“Volcanoes!” repeated Ossipoff, utterly bewildered.
“Yes!” said Gontran. “Volcanoes are natural cannons. Surprising results might be obtained from volcanoes, if one succeeded in controlling their power!”
Ossipoff and his daughter looked at Gontran, unable to believe their ears, doubting that the young man was speaking seriously.
The latter riffled through the Spanish scientist’s work with his finger. “Hold on,” he said. On page 130, Martinez da Campadores gives a table of the speeds of projection observed in different volcanoes. Etna launches stones with a speed of 800 meters per second; Vesuvius 1250 meters; Hecla 1500 meters; Stromboli, 1600 meters…but there are volcanoes in South America that are more powerful. Thus, Pichincha, Cotopaxi and Antisana communicate to the stones that escape their gaping craters an initial velocity of between 3000 and 4000 meters a second.” He paused to catch his breath and added: “Well, Monsieur Ossipoff, do you think it’s impossible to master the power of these subterranean vapors and regulate their expansion?”
The old scientist uttered a cry of joy. “Ah!” he stammered, in a trembling voice. “Ah, Gontran…my son! You’ll save my life!” He drew the young man to him and hugged him in a fit of sincere affection.
At that moment the door opened and Fricoulet appeared on the threshold. “Good!” he said, joyously. “So you’ve recovered your health, my dear Monsieur Ossipoff—and I’ll tell you some news that will hasten your recovery.”
“Speak, speak!” Ossipoff hastened to say.
“I’ve seen the prefect; I’ve seen the presidents of the various scientific societies of the département. I’ve told them your story, which interested them greatly, and they’ve all agreed to play a part in the committee that will sponsor your first lecture. The auditorium of the theater has been graciously put at your disposal, and I have here a list of people rich enough to furnish you with capital, to whom shall send out invitations.”
He had said all of this in a single breath, his eyes shining and his face radiant. Then he let himself fall into a chair, sponging his sweat-covered forehead with his handkerchief. To his great surprise, though, his communication did not receive the enthusiastic greeting that he expected.
“My God, my dear Monsieur Fricoulet,” replied Ossipoff, with a marked coolness, “I’m very grateful to you for all the trouble you’ve taken…but I’m obliged to tell you that I’m unable to utilize your services.”
The young engineer opened his eyes wide.
“Yes,” the old man went on. “While you were running around a great deal, and talking no less, your friend Flammermont, a true scientist, who runs around less and talks less, was quietly studying the means of putting our projects of celestial circumnavigation into operation in spite of everything.”
Fricoulet looked at the young Comte in complete bewilderment. Gontran replied, with some embarrassment: “Oh, you’re exaggerating, Monsieur Ossipoff. Doctus cum libro.”42
“No, no,” insisted the old man. “You’re modest in your erudition, my young friend, and that’s what sets you apart from false scientists who conceal the semblance of science they parade with their fluency of their chatter.” So saying, he glanced disdainfully at Fricoulet.
“So you’ve found a means of going to the Moon,” said the latter, examining Gontran curiously.
“My God!” replied the young Comte. “I was riffling through this volume by Campadores you left on the side-table, when the idea occurred to me that one might be able to use the propulsive force of volcanoes.”
Fricoulet thought that his friend had gone mad. He leapt out of his armchair, ran to him and seized his hands. Gontran took the young engineer’s attitude as poof of his enthusiasm and added: “Well, what do you think of my proposal?”
Fricoulet was on the point of answering that it was a madness that surpassed all of the cases of mental alienation so far discovered by physicians, but it occurred to him that Ossipoff would be sure to attribute that reply to his jealousy, and he cried: “Magnificent! Sublime! Sheer genius!”
Ossipoff, however, suddenly uttered a desolate exclamation. “Alas,” he said, “the proposal, magnificent in theory, is impossible in practice. To utilize the power of a volcano scientifically, it would be necessary to know when an eruption was to take place.”
Gontran’s expression lengthened considerably. “That’s true,” he stammered.
“Is that all that’s stopping you?” asked Fricoulet. “In that case, Martinez da Campadores can get you over the difficulty.” Addressing Gontran, he added: “If you’ve read the book all the way through, you’ll have seen that, at the end, the author includes a table of predictions of volcanic eruptions up to the year 1900. It’s based on the principle, universally recognized since, that eruptions are elated to terrestrial magnetism, and that when a volcanic eruption is imminent the compass needle is confused. He therefore studied, for several years, in the very crater of Vesuvius, the relationship that exists between geological phenomena and magnetism, which permitted him to formulate laws regarding the prediction, several years in advance, of great subterranean cataclysms.”
“But how did he establish the table?” asked Ossipoff, his voice trembling with emotion.
“In a perfectly simple fashion. These laws being established, it follows that the movements of the Earth’s crust can be compared to tides, and that they obey an incontestable periodicity determined by the positions of celestial bodies and centrifugal force. Thus, after having carefully calculated the circumstances in which a number of ancient eruptions and earthquakes took place, Martinez set up the very curious table that concludes his book.”
While speaking, he had taken the volume from Gontran’s hands and he riffled through it rapidly.
“Yes,” murmured Ossipoff, “but, admitting that one can know the date of the eruption with certainty, it’s still necessary for the volcano to be situated between the 28th north and south parallels in order for the Moon to pass directly overhead, and it’s also necessary that the mountain itself should be high enough to avoid a notable diminution of the velocity of departure in consequence of the layers of the atmosphere.”
As he concluded this speech with a despairing shake of the head, Fricoulet ran to him, his index-finger posed triumphantly on one of the volume’s pages. “Victory!” he cried. “Victory! Here’s what Campadores says: March 28, 1882, formidable eruption of Cotopaxi, terrible earthquakes in the Pastos region.43 Now, it seems to me that Cotopaxi, one of the highest mountains in equatorial America, is between the 28th north and south parallels.
A strange gleam ignited in Ossipoff’s pupils. He folded his arms across his chest and murmured: “My God! My God! Then the dream isn’t insane?”
“But what if the Spanish scientist is mistaken?” said Gontran.
Fricoulet looked at him ironically. “Bah!” he replied. “You only have to invent an apparatus capable of revealing in advance the state of fermentation of the Earth’s crust and indicate the proximity of a seismological phenomenon…that’s nothing at all. You can do that.”
“You’re right,” Flammermont replied, with imperturbable self-possession. “I thought as much—now, another point: the eruption’s predicted for March, and it’s already October.”
“We’ll work twice as hard,” Ossipoff retorted. “In five months, we’ll succeed in constructing the celestial vehicle to be projected by the volcano and preparing the crater of Cotopaxi for the role of cannon that we want it to play.”
“But, Papa,” murmured Selena, who saw, fearfully, that the scientist was getting carried away by the idea, “where would we get the money to put such large projects into operation.”
Ossipoff smiled in a mysterious manner. Pointing to t
he telescope that he had brought from Ekaterinburg, which was suspended on the wall by a cord, he said: “Give me that, my dear child.”
Then, unscrewing the telescope’s objective lens, he up-ended the instrument, causing the precious stones given to him by the criminal Yegor to cascade on to his bed.
The young woman and the two young men put their hands together, dazzled by the milticolored gleams that the emeralds and topazes emitted.
“Wow!” murmured Fricoulet. “Do you know, Monsieur Ossipoff, that there’s a fortune here.”
“Pooh—800,000 or 900,000 francs at the most. But that’s all we’ll need, now that Cotopaxi’s going to serve as our cannon.”
Selena put her arms round her father’s neck, joyfully.
Fricoulet took Gontran to one side then and whispered: “How long are you going to keep this joke up?”
“Until my marriage to Selena.”
“Even if that only takes place on the Moon?”
Flammermont looked at his friend in bewilderment. “Oh,” he said, “I certainly hope things won’t go as far as that.”
“Me neither—but it’s necessary to be ready for anything.”
Gontran shrugged his shoulders gently and he replied: “Well, when one’s in love, it’s not the same as when one’s not in love—so may Cupid, god of love, watch over us!”
Chapter VII
The Shell 44
It was two months later. Gontran de Flammermont, whom Ossipoff had charged with the responsibility of supervising the construction the shell that would carry them into space, according to his plans, had arranged a meeting with the old scientist and his daughter that evening. It was, he had briefly said in his letter, a matter of reporting on the progress the project had made.
As one might imagine, Ossipoff and his daughter presented themselves at the appointed time at the Cail factory in Grenelle, where the colossal engine and its accessory machinery was under construction. There, they met the young Comte, escorted by his inseparable friend Fricoulet, who guided them through the deserted workshops and dark yards to a glazed hangar, into which he admitted them. In the middle of an immense space, the proportions of which seemed almost doubled by the obscurity, stood an enormous mass whose vague contours seemed to gleam in the darkness.
“What’s that?” murmured Selena, impressed in spite of herself by the silent darkness surrounding them.
“Stay where you are,” Fricoulet replied. As he spoke he drew away from the group comprised by Ossipoff, his daughter and Gontran de Flammermont.
Suddenly, the latter party uttered a triple exclamation of surprise and admiration. By pushing a button, Fricoulet had just lit up an electric lamp suspended from the ceiling of the workshop and the immense block in front of which the visitors had paused emerged from the darkness that enveloped it as if by magic, bathed in light. It resembled one of the ancient pepper-pot-shaped towers of the Middle Ages, made entirely in polished metal, shining like silver.
“The shell!” cried Ossipoff.
“Yes, my dear Monsieur,” said Fricoulet, “it’s the shell whose plan you gave to Monsieur de Flammermont, and which I have constructed on his instructions.
The old scientist walked around the projectile with an evident air of satisfaction.
“I permitted myself,” the former diplomat said, “to make a slight modification to your plan with respect to the metal of the shell. Fearing that it might be too heavy, in fact, I thought of nickel-plated magnesium. You know that the production of magnesium has been fully industrialized, and that it costs little more than 80 francs a kilogram. It is the lightest of metals, for it weighs only a sixth as much as silver and less than half as much as aluminum. Nickel, on the other hand, is as resistant as steel, so I chose it in preference to any other alloy.”
The old scientist nodded his head approvingly.
“But a mass like that must have a considerable weight,” Selena observed.
“Pooh! About five or six kilos. As you can see, it’s been founded and nickeled in separate sections, assembled with the aid of nuts and bolts—which makes it relatively easy to transport.”
“We wanted to assemble it,” Fricoulet added, “in order to make certain that the whole was in accordance with your views, and also so that it would be easier to reassemble it in the crater of Cotopaxi.”
Ossipoff had drawn closer in order to pass his trembling fingers over the polished metal, like a father caressing a child whose advent he has been awaiting impatiently.
Selena too examined the enormous projectile with a grave expression and wide eyes. “We’ll have to go inside that?” she murmured.
As the young woman pronounced these words, Gontran pressed a switch, and a hidden door opened in the flank of the shell, turning soundlessly on its hinges and giving access to the interior. “Go in, Mademoiselle, go in,” he said, standing aside to let Selena pass. Mikhail Ossipoff almost elbowed her out of the way to get in more rapidly.
Like a jewel-box, the interior of the shell was covered with thick padding. The floor, covered with a thick carpet, was mounted on powerful springs of great elasticity, suspended in such a fashion that, although their solidity was proof against anything, they could yield without breaking to the rudest shocks. Four portholes opened in the walls at the four cardinal points, fitted with glass in order to permit the passengers to see what was happening outside. A circular divan ran along the entire length of the padded wall, and a chandelier hung from the ceiling, bearing four incandescent lamps.
“The fitting-out isn’t complete,” said Gontran, reading evident signs of satisfaction on the old scientist’s face. “The cabinet-maker hasn’t yet delivered the only item of furniture with which the room will be equipped—a sort of cupboard-cum-sideboard whose upper section forms a bookcase, with a desk and drawers in the middle, a dressing-table a little lower down and whose lowest section will serve to store our clothes.
“Bravo!” cried Ossipoff. “Those are details of the greatest importance, which I had omitted.”
“The cupboard is the invention of our friend Fricoulet,” said Gontran.
The young engineer inclined his head modestly, while murmuring in Selena’s ear: “This Gontran has an aplomb that I’ve not seen before; in fact, the cupboard is his and the rest is mine. I admire his clever reversal of roles.”
“Oh, Monsieur Fricoulet,” implored the young woman, “since your friend’s happiness is at stake, sacrifice a little of your self-respect.”
“Eh! That’s all I do, Mademoiselle, sacrifice my self-respect. More than that, I stamp on it…veritably trample it underfoot…it’s unnecessary to ask for more.” And he muttered something between his gritted teeth that Selena did not catch—and which, if she had, would undoubtedly not have flattered her. As usual, Fricoulet was cursing women.
Hearing voices behind him, however, Ossipoff abruptly turned round. “What’s that?” he demanded, suspiciously.
Fricoulet replied, cheerfully: “Mademoiselle was asking me about the upper part of the shell, and I was explaining that there was another level, to which a ladder formed of crampons fixed into the hull gives access. It’s divided into three sections connected by a circular landing, each lighted by a porthole. One will serve as a kitchen, the second as a laboratory, the third as a store-room for oxygen, wine and the various utensils and instruments that we’ll need to take with us.”
“I see that you’ve left that part of my plan intact,” Ossipoff said to Gontran.
“It seemed absolutely perfect to me,” Flammermont relied, gravely, “and I followed your instructions to the letter.”
Selena had to summon up all her will-power to repress a strong desire to laugh. “You were just talking about cooking, Monsieur Fricoulet,” she said. “Will we have the means to make beef stew?”
“A very simple means, Mademoiselle. We’ll carry a Trouvé battery.”45
“You see,” murmured Gontran, “he’s also an inventor of new cooking-implements.”
Frico
ulet was seized by a violent fit of coughing, during which he trod on his friend’s toes to impose silence upon him. “We shall carry,” he repeated, “a 12-element Trouvé electrical battery, with the materials necessary to keep its working for 240 hours—ten days without a pause. The current produced will feed the incandescent chandelier that you can see suspended there, and also a lamp placed in each room. As for the furnaces, they’ll be fueled by alcohol, which, while furnishing an intense heat, will not produce any smoke to pollute the air.”
Selena clapped her hands. “Bravo!” she exclaimed. “I’ve passed the shipboard cordon bleu and I promise you succulent menus.”
Gontran shook his head.
“Do you doubt my competence, Monsieur?” cried the young woman, as if her self-respect as a housekeeper had been offended.
“Me?” cried Flammermont. “God forbid, my dear Selena; what I doubt is being able to appreciate your full value.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, before thinking about putting anything in our stomachs, it’s necessary to think about putting something in our lungs. In a word, how shall we breathe? I won’t hide from you, Monsieur Ossipoff, that that’s a matter that has caused me incessant anxiety, since your plan has no trace of that detail.”
“Undoubtedly,” said Fricoulet, “Monsieur Ossipoff intends to manufacture respirable air artificially from potassium chloride and manganese dioxide?”
The old scientist made a violent gesture of negation. “Not at all,” he replied, “for, to decompose that mixture and produce oxygen requires energetic heating…” He paused to look at Gontran, seemingly interrogating him.
“I have it!” cried the ex-diplomat, to whom Fricoulet had just whispered the response. “You’re going to employ Tessié de Motay’s method.”46 Privately, he added: As long as Ossipoff doesn’t take it into his head to ask me for an explanation of that…
The Extraordinary Adventures of a Russian Scientist Across the Solar System (Vol. 1) Page 17
