(*1) NOTE—Strictly speaking, there is but little similarity
between the above sketchy trifle and the celebrated “Moon-Story”
of Mr. Locke; but as both have the character of _hoaxes_
(although the one is in a tone of banter, the other of downright
earnest), and as both hoaxes are on the same subject, the
moon—moreover, as both attempt to give plausibility by scientific
detail—the author of “Hans Pfaall” thinks it necessary to say, in
_self-defence,_ that his own _jeu d’esprit_ was published in the
“Southern Literary Messenger” about three weeks before the
commencement of Mr. L’s in the “New York Sun.” Fancying a
likeness which, perhaps, does not exist, some of the New York
papers copied “Hans Pfaall,” and collated it with the
“Moon-Hoax,” by way of detecting the writer of the one in the
writer of the other.
As many more persons were actually gulled by the “Moon-Hoax” than
would be willing to acknowledge the fact, it may here afford some
little amusement to show why no one should have been deceived-to
point out those particulars of the story which should have been
sufficient to establish its real character. Indeed, however rich
the imagination displayed in this ingenious fiction, it wanted
much of the force which might have been given it by a more
scrupulous attention to facts and to general analogy. That the
public were misled, even for an instant, merely proves the gross
ignorance which is so generally prevalent upon subjects of an
astronomical nature.
The moon’s distance from the earth is, in round numbers, 240,000
miles. If we desire to ascertain how near, apparently, a lens
would bring the satellite (or any distant object), we, of course,
have but to divide the distance by the magnifying or, more
strictly, by the space-penetrating power of the glass. Mr. L.
makes his lens have a power of 42,000 times. By this divide
240,000 (the moon’s real distance), and we have five miles and
five sevenths, as the apparent distance. No animal at all could
be seen so far; much less the minute points particularized in the
story. Mr. L. speaks about Sir John Herschel’s perceiving flowers
(the Papaver rheas, etc.), and even detecting the color and the
shape of the eyes of small birds. Shortly before, too, he has
himself observed that the lens would not render perceptible
objects of less than eighteen inches in diameter; but even this,
as I have said, is giving the glass by far too great power. It
may be observed, in passing, that this prodigious glass is said
to have been molded at the glasshouse of Messrs. Hartley and
Grant, in Dumbarton; but Messrs. H. and G.‘s establishment had
ceased operations for many years previous to the publication of
the hoax.
On page 13, pamphlet edition, speaking of “a hairy veil” over the
eyes of a species of bison, the author says: “It immediately
occurred to the acute mind of Dr. Herschel that this was a
providential contrivance to protect the eyes of the animal from
the great extremes of light and darkness to which all the
inhabitants of our side of the moon are periodically subjected.”
But this cannot be thought a very “acute” observation of the
Doctor’s. The inhabitants of our side of the moon have,
evidently, no darkness at all, so there can be nothing of the
“extremes” mentioned. In the absence of the sun they have a light
from the earth equal to that of thirteen full unclouded moons.
The topography throughout, even when professing to accord with
Blunt’s Lunar Chart, is entirely at variance with that or any
other lunar chart, and even grossly at variance with itself. The
points of the compass, too, are in inextricable confusion; the
writer appearing to be ignorant that, on a lunar map, these are
not in accordance with terrestrial points; the east being to the
left, etc.
Deceived, perhaps, by the vague titles, Mare Nubium, Mare
Tranquillitatis, Mare Faecunditatis, etc., given to the dark
spots by former astronomers, Mr. L. has entered into details
regarding oceans and other large bodies of water in the moon;
whereas there is no astronomical point more positively
ascertained than that no such bodies exist there. In examining
the boundary between light and darkness (in the crescent or
gibbous moon) where this boundary crosses any of the dark places,
the line of division is found to be rough and jagged; but, were
these dark places liquid, it would evidently be even.
The description of the wings of the man-bat, on page 21, is but a
literal copy of Peter Wilkins’ account of the wings of his flying
islanders. This simple fact should have induced suspicion, at
least, it might be thought.
On page 23, we have the following: “What a prodigious influence
must our thirteen times larger globe have exercised upon this
satellite when an embryo in the womb of time, the passive subject
of chemical affinity!” This is very fine; but it should be
observed that no astronomer would have made such remark,
especially to any journal of Science; for the earth, in the sense
intended, is not only thirteen, but forty-nine times larger than
the moon. A similar objection applies to the whole of the
concluding pages, where, by way of introduction to some
discoveries in Saturn, the philosophical correspondent enters
into a minute schoolboy account of that planet—this to the
“Edinburgh Journal of Science!”
But there is one point, in particular, which should have betrayed
the fiction. Let us imagine the power actually possessed of
seeing animals upon the moon’s surface—what would first arrest
the attention of an observer from the earth? Certainly neither
their shape, size, nor any other such peculiarity, so soon as
their remarkable _situation_. They would appear to be walking,
with heels up and head down, in the manner of flies on a ceiling.
The _real_ observer would have uttered an instant ejaculation of
surprise (however prepared by previous knowledge) at the
singularity of their position; the _fictitious_ observer has not
even mentioned the subject, but speaks of seeing the entire
bodies of such creatures, when it is demonstrable that he could
have seen only the diameter of their heads!
It might as well be remarked, in conclusion, that the size, and
particularly the powers of the man-bats (for example, their
ability to fly in so rare an atmosphere—if, indeed, the moon have
any), with most of the other fancies in regard to animal and
vegetable existence, are at variance, generally, with all
analogical reasoning on these themes; and that analogy here will
often amount to conclusive demonstration. It is, perhaps,
scarcely necessary to add, that all the suggestions attributed to
Brewster and Herschel, in the beginning of the article, about “a
transfusion of artificial light through the focal object of
vision,” etc., etc., belong to that species of figurative writing
which comes, most properly, under the denomination of rigmarole.
There is a real and very definite limit to optical discovery
among the stars—a limit whose nature need only be stated to be
understood. If, indeed, the casting of large lenses were all that
is required, man’s ingenuity would ultimately prove equal to the
task, and we might have them of any size demanded. But,
unhappily, in proportion to the increase of size in the lens, and
consequently of space-penetrating power, is the diminution of
light from the object, by diffusion of its rays. And for this
evil there is no remedy within human ability; for an object is
seen by means of that light alone which proceeds from itself,
whether direct or reflected. Thus the only “artificial” light
which could avail Mr. Locke, would be some artificial light which
he should be able to throw—not upon the “focal object of vision,”
but upon the real object to be viewed—to wit: upon the moon. It
has been easily calculated that, when the light proceeding from a
star becomes so diffused as to be as weak as the natural light
proceeding from the whole of the stars, in a clear and moonless
night, then the star is no longer visible for any practical
purpose.
The Earl of Ross’s telescope, lately constructed in England, has
a _speculum_ with a reflecting surface of 4,071 square inches;
the Herschel telescope having one of only 1,811. The metal of the
Earl of Ross’s is 6 feet diameter; it is 5 1/2 inches thick at
the edges, and 5 at the centre. The weight is 3 tons. The focal
length is 50 feet.
I have lately read a singular and somewhat ingenious little book,
whose title-page runs thus: “L’Homme dans la lvne ou le Voyage
Chimerique fait au Monde de la Lvne, nouellement decouvert par
Dominique Gonzales, Aduanturier Espagnol, autrem?t dit le Courier
volant. Mis en notre langve par J. B. D. A. Paris, chez Francois
Piot, pres la Fontaine de Saint Benoist. Et chez J. Goignard, au
premier pilier de la grand’salle du Palais, proche les
Consultations, MDCXLVII.” Pp. 76.
The writer professes to have translated his work from the English
of one Mr. D’Avisson (Davidson?) although there is a terrible
ambiguity in the statement. “J’ en ai eu,” says he “l’original de
Monsieur D’Avisson, medecin des mieux versez qui soient
aujourd’huy dans la cõnoissance des Belles Lettres, et sur tout
de la Philosophic Naturelle. Je lui ai cette obligation entre les
autres, de m’ auoir non seulement mis en main ce Livre en
anglois, mais encore le Manuscrit du Sieur Thomas D’Anan,
gentilhomme Eccossois, recommandable pour sa vertu, sur la
version duquel j’ advoue que j’ ay tiré le plan de la mienne.”
After some irrelevant adventures, much in the manner of Gil Blas,
and which occupy the first thirty pages, the author relates that,
being ill during a sea voyage, the crew abandoned him, together
with a negro servant, on the island of St. Helena. To increase
the chances of obtaining food, the two separate, and live as far
apart as possible. This brings about a training of birds, to
serve the purpose of carrier-pigeons between them. By and by
these are taught to carry parcels of some weight—and this weight
is gradually increased. At length the idea is entertained of
uniting the force of a great number of the birds, with a view to
raising the author himself. A machine is contrived for the
purpose, and we have a minute description of it, which is
materially helped out by a steel engraving. Here we perceive the
Signor Gonzales, with point ruffles and a huge periwig, seated
astride something which resembles very closely a broomstick, and
borne aloft by a multitude of wild swans _(ganzas)_ who had
strings reaching from their tails to the machine.
The main event detailed in the Signor’s narrative depends upon a
very important fact, of which the reader is kept in ignorance
until near the end of the book. The _ganzas,_ with whom he had
become so familiar, were not really denizens of St. Helena, but
of the moon. Thence it had been their custom, time out of mind,
to migrate annually to some portion of the earth. In proper
season, of course, they would return home; and the author,
happening, one day, to require their services for a short voyage,
is unexpectedly carried straight tip, and in a very brief period
arrives at the satellite. Here he finds, among other odd things,
that the people enjoy extreme happiness; that they have no _law;_
that they die without pain; that they are from ten to thirty feet
in height; that they live five thousand years; that they have an
emperor called Irdonozur; and that they can jump sixty feet high,
when, being out of the gravitating influence, they fly about with
fans.
I cannot forbear giving a specimen of the general _philosophy_ of
the volume.
“I must not forget here, that the stars appeared only on that side of
the globe turned toward the moon, and that the closer they were to it
the larger they seemed. I have also me and the earth. As to the stars,
_since there was no night where I was, they always had the same
appearance; not brilliant, as usual, but pale, and very nearly like the
moon of a morning. _But few of them were visible, and these ten times
larger (as well as I could judge) than they seem to the inhabitants of
the earth. The moon, which wanted two days of being full, was of a
terrible bigness.
“I must not forget here, that the stars appeared only on that side of
the globe turned toward the moon, and that the closer they were to it
the larger they seemed. I have also to inform you that, whether it was
calm weather or stormy, I found myself _always immediately between the
moon and the earth._ I_ _was convinced of this for two reasons-because
my birds always flew in a straight line; and because whenever we
attempted to rest, _we were carried insensibly around the globe of the
earth. _For I admit the opinion of Copernicus, who maintains that it
never ceases to revolve _from the east to the west, _not upon the poles
of the Equinoctial, commonly called the poles of the world, but upon
those of the Zodiac, a question of which I propose to speak more at
length here-after, when I shall have leisure to refresh my memory in
regard to the astrology which I learned at Salamanca when young, and
have since forgotten.”
Notwithstanding the blunders italicized, the book is not without
some claim to attention, as affording a naive specimen of the
current astronomical notions of the time. One of these assumed,
that the “gravitating power” extended but a short distance from
the earth’s surface, and, accordingly, we find our voyager
“carried insensibly around the globe,” etc.
There have been other “voyages to the moon,” but none of higher
merit than the one just mentioned. That of Bergerac is utterly
meaningless. In the third volume of the “American Quarterly
Review” will be found quite an elaborate criticism upon a certain
“journey” of the kind in question—a criticism in which it is
difficult to say whether the critic most exposes the stupidity of
the book, or his own absurd ignorance of astronomy. I forget the
title of the work; but the _means_ of the voyage are more
deplorably ill conceived than are even the _ganzas_ of our friend
the Signor Gonzales. The adventurer, in digging the earth,
happens to discover a peculiar metal for which the moon has a
strong attraction, and straightway constructs of it a box, which,
when cast loose from its terrestrial fastenings, flies with him,
forthwith, to the satellite. The “Flight of Thomas O’Rourke,” is
a _jeu d’ esprit_ not altogether contemptible, and has been
translated into German. Thomas, the hero, was, in fact, the
gamekeeper of an Irish peer, whose eccentricities gave rise to
the tale. The “flight” is made on an eagle’s back, from Hungry
Hill, a lofty mountain at the end of Bantry Bay.
In these various _brochures_ the aim is always satirical; the
theme being a description of Lunarian customs as compared with
ours. In none is there any effort at _plausibility_ in the
details of the voyage itself. The writers seem, in each instance,
to be utterly uninformed in respect to astronomy. In “Hans
Pfaall” the design is original, inasmuch as regards an attempt at
_verisimilitude,_ in the application of scientific principles (so
far as the whimsical nature of the subject would permit), to the
actual passage between the earth and the moon.
(*2) The zodiacal light is probably what the ancients called
Trabes. Emicant Trabes quos docos vocant.—Pliny, lib. 2, p. 26.
(*3) Since the original publication of Hans Pfaall, I find that
Mr. Green, of Nassau balloon notoriety, and other late aeronauts,
deny the assertions of Humboldt, in this respect, and speak of a
decreasing inconvenience,—precisely in accordance with the theory
here urged in a mere spirit of banter.
(*4) Hevelius writes that he has several times found, in skies
perfectly clear, when even stars of the sixth and seventh
magnitude were conspicuous, that, at the same altitude of the
moon, at the same elongation from the earth, and with one and the
same excellent telescope, the moon and its maculae did not appear
equally lucid at all times. From the circumstances of the
observation, it is evident that the cause of this phenomenon is
not either in our air, in the tube, in the moon, or in the eye of
the spectator, but must be looked for in something (an
atmosphere?) existing about the moon.
Cassini frequently observed Saturn, Jupiter, and the fixed stars,
when approaching the moon to occultation, to have their circular
figure changed into an oval one; and, in other occultations, he
found no alteration of figure at all. Hence it might be supposed,
that at some times and not at others, there is a dense matter
encompassing the moon wherein the rays of the stars are
refracted.