always attribute to others what belongs to ourselves. The earth says;
_it is not I who turn, it is the sun_. The moon says; _it is not I who
vibrate, but the earth_: there is error throughout. I would not advise
you to attempt making any reform, answered I; you had better consider
the remaining proofs of the resemblance which the earth and moon bear
to each other. Figure to yourself those two globes suspended in the
heavens. You know the sun always enlightens one half of a circular
body, whilst the other half remains in the shade. There is then one
half of both the earth and the moon, which is enlightened by the sun,
or in other words, in which it is day, and the other half in which
it is night. Observe likewise that as a ball moves with less force
and celerity after it has struck against a wall from which it flies
off to an opposite place, so the light is weaker when reflected to
us from a body that only receives it. The pale light of the moon is
in reality the brilliancy of the sun, but as we receive it merely by
reflection, in coming to us, it is deprived of its strength. Of course,
it shines with much greater splendour on the moon, and for the same
reason the dazzling light received by our globe, from the sun, must
appear faint, when reflected back to the moon. That part of the moon
which to us appears luminous during the night, is the side which has
day-light; and the part of the earth which is illuminated by the day,
when turned toward the dark side of the moon, affords equal light to
her. All this depends on the mutual position of the earth and moon.
During the first days of the month, when the moon is not discernible,
she is placed between the sun and us, and proceeding in the day time
with the sun: the luminous side is therefore necessarily turned to the
sun, whilst the dark part is towards the earth. We are unable to see
the unenlightened side of the moon, but this dark half viewing the part
of our globe in which it is day, is assisted by our light, and though
invisible to us, has the advantage of seeing the earth as a full moon:
it is then to the lunar inhabitants _full-earth_, if I may so express
myself.[22] After this, the moon advancing in her monthly round, and no
longer between the sun and earth, turns towards us a small part of her
enlightened half, and that we call the crescent. At the same time that
part of the moon which is involved in the obscurity of night, ceases
so see all the luminous side of the earth, and finds it continue to
decrease.
[Footnote 22: We have a convincing proof of the light reflected from
the earth at this time, in the dusky light perceived on a part of the
moon that is not enlightened by the sun. Astron. Art. 1412.]
Enough--said the Marchioness, in her lively manner; I shall easily
learn the rest when I like: let me stop a moment, and trace the moon
through her monthly circle. I see that in general that planet and the
earth have very different degrees of light, and I imagine that when we
have the full-moon all the luminous side of the moon is turned toward
all the part of our globe which is obscure; and that, at that time, the
inhabitants cannot discern us at all, but say they have _new-earth_. I
should not chuse to be obnoxious to reproach for obliging you to enter
into a long explanation of any thing so easily understood, but the
eclipses--how are they effected? You could guess it without difficulty,
I replied. When we have a new moon, and she, being between us and the
sun, presents her dark side to our luminous half, the shadow of this
obscure part falls on the earth; so that wherever the moon is in a
direct line under the sun, she hides that luminary from our sight, and
darkens a part of the enlightened side of our globe; this, then, forms
an eclipse of the sun to us during the day-time, and an eclipse of the
earth to the moon during her night. When the moon is at the full, the
earth is between her and the sun, the shaded side of the earth towards
the light side of the moon. If the earth's shadow fall directly on the
moon, it darkens the luminous half that we see; 'tis then we have an
eclipse of the moon in our night, and the moon, an eclipse of the sun
in her day. What prevents an eclipse every time the moon is between the
sun and us, or the earth between the sun and moon, is this; it often
happens that these three bodies are not placed exactly in a line, in
which case the one that would occasion the eclipse throws its shadow on
one side of the other and consequently does not obstruct its light.
I am very much astonished, said the Marchioness, that there is so
little mystery in eclipses, and that being produced by such simple
means, every body does not discover the cause of them. In truth,
answered I, there are many people, who from the emotions they feel at
one of these phenomena, appear to have little chance of finding out
the occasion of them at present. Throughout the East-Indies, when the
sun and moon are eclipsed, the inhabitants believe that a great dragon
with his black claws is going to seize these luminaries; and all the
time the eclipse lasts, you may see whole rivers covered with the heads
of these Indians, who have put themselves up to the throat in water,
because, according to their notions, this is a very religious act,
and will induce the sun or moon to defend itself bravely against the
dragon. In America, it was thought that the sun and moon were angry
when they were eclipsed, and every kind of absurdity was practised to
regain their favour. The Grecians too, who had arrived at such a height
of refinement--did they not, for a long time, believe that the moon was
eclipsed by the power of sorcery, and that the magicians caused her to
descend from the skies and cast a baneful influence on the herbs? And
were not we likewise in great alarm, but two-and-thirty years ago,[23]
at a total eclipse of the sun? Did not an immense number of people shut
themselves up in caves and cellars; and were they easily persuaded to
leave them by the philosophers who wrote so much to re-assure them?
[Footnote 23: 1654. There have been others in Europe in 1724, 1715, and
1716.]
Really, replied she, all that is too ridiculous. There ought to be a
decree passed to prevent any body from ever talking of eclipses, lest
the memory of these follies should be perpetuated. The decree, said I,
should extend so far as to obliterate the memory of every subject, for
I can think of nothing in the world which is not the monument of some
human folly.
Answer me this question, said the Marchioness:--Are the inhabitants
of the moon as much afraid of eclipses as those of the earth? How
ridiculous it is if the Indians of that world put themselves up to the
chin in water; if the Americans believe the earth is angry with them;
if the Greeks imagine we are enchanted, and suppose we shall injure
their herbs; and in short, if we are inflicting on them all the terror
they have caused us? I have no doubt but that is the case, answered
I; for why should the good folks in the moon have more sense than we?
What right have they to frighten us, unless we can frighten them? I
dare say, added I, laughing; that, as a prodigious number of men have
been, and still are, silly enough to worship the moon; so there are
some in the moon that pay their adorations to the earth, and that
they are kneeling to one another. If it be so, she replied, we may
pretend to have an influence on the moon, and to produce the crisis
in the diseases of her sick people, but as a little common sense in
the dwellers on that globe would be sufficient to destroy all these
honours, I must confess I am afraid they will have the advantage over
us.
Don't alarm yourself, said I; 'tis not probable that we are the
only fools in the universe. There is something in ignorance that is
calculated for general reception, and though I can only guess the
character of the people in question, yet I have no more doubt, that
could we form the comparison, we should find ourselves equal to them,
than I have that the accounts are true that we receive of their globe.
What accounts do you receive enquired she. Those, I replied, that are
given us by the learned who travel there every day by the assistance of
telescopes. They tell us that they have discovered in the moon earth,
seas, lakes, elevated mountains, and profound abysses.
You astonish me, cried the Marchioness: I cannot imagine the
possibility of discovering mountains and abysses, from the great
irregularity they cause on the surface of the globe; but how do they
distinguish earth from sea? Because, answered I, the water,[24] by
suffering part of the light to pass through it, and consequently
reflecting less than the earth, has, at a distance, the appearance of
dark spots; whilst the solid parts, by reflecting all the light, look
much more brilliant. The illustrious M. Cassini, who has acquired a
greater knowledge of the celestial bodies than any man in the world,
discovered in the moon something which separates, then re-unites, and
afterwards loses itself in a cavity. We have reason to believe, from
its appearance that this is a river. In short all these different
parts are now so well known to us, that they have been named after our
great men. One place is called Copernicus, another Archimedes, another
Gabileus. Other parts have fancy names; there is a promontory of
decams, a sea of nectar, and so on; in fact our description of the moon
is so particular, that if a learned man was to take a journey there, he
would be in no more danger of losing himself than I should in Paris.
[Footnote 24: It is proved that there is no water in the moon, but
there are volcanoes; they may even be seen without a telescope, which
was the case on the 7th of March, 1794. _Philos. Trans._]
But, said she, I should like to have a more detailed account of the
interior of the country. The gentlemen of the observatory are not able
to give it you, I replied; you must make enquiry of Astolfo, who was
taken to the moon by St. John. That is one of the pleasantest follies
of Ariosto, I'm sure you will be amused with it. I confess it would
have been better if he had not introduced in it so respectable a name
as that of St. John; poets, however, will take licenses, and we may
venture to excuse this, for the whole poem is dedicated to a cardinal,
and one of our popes has honoured it with a particular eulogium, which
in some editions is placed before the work. This is the subject of the
piece: Orlando, nephew to Charlemagne, had lost his senses, because
the beautiful Angelica preferred Medore to him. Astolfo, a valourous
knight-errant was one day carried by his hippogriffe to the terrestial
paradise, which was at the top of a very high mountain: there he met
with St. John, who informed him that it was necessary, in order to cure
Orlando of his madness, for them to take a journey together to the
moon. Astolfo, delighted with the opportunity of seeing a new country,
needed no entreaty, and in a moment the apostle and knight took their
course in a chariot of fire. As Astolfo was no philosopher, he was
surprised to find the moon much larger than it appeared while he was on
the earth; his astonishment however increased when he saw in it rivers,
lakes, mountains, towns, forests, and, what I should have been equally
surprised at, nymphs hunting in the forests. But the most curious
thing of all he saw was a valley in which was to be found every thing
that was lost on the earth: crowns, riches, the rewards of ambition,
hopes without number, all the time that had been devoted to gaming, all
the alms men had ordered to be distributed after their death, verses
dedicated to monarchs, and the sighs of lovers.
As to lovers' sighs, rejoined the Marchioness; I don't know what became
of them in Ariosto's time, but at present I fancy there are none that
go to the moon. We should find a great many, said I, were they only
those that you have occasioned. In short, the moon is so careful in
collecting all that is lost here that not a single thing is wanting
of the number: Ariosto has even whispered that Constantine's donation
is there: the popes have assumed the government of Rome and Italy by
virtue of a donation from that emperor, but the truth is we can't tell
what is become of it. There is but one sort of thing that has not
escaped to the moon, and that is--folly: the people on earth have taken
care not to part with that; but to make the moon amends, an incredible
quantity of wit has taken its flight thither, which is there preserved
in phials; it is a very subtile fluid, and easily evaporates unless
carefully corked up: on each of these phials is written the name of
the owner. I think Ariosto puts them together without any order, but
I like better to imagine them placed neatly in long rows. Astolfo was
astonished to find full phials belonging to many wise people of his
acquaintance. I am sure, continued I, mine has been considerably
augmented since I began to indulge myself with you in philosophic and
poetic reveries: but I console myself by supposing that after listening
to all my fancies _your_ wits must inevitably become so volatile that
at least a little phial full will evaporate, and make its way to the
moon.
Our knight-errant found his own among the rest, and by St. John's
permission took possession of it and snuffed up all the bottleful
like Hungary water: but according to Ariosto he did not carry it
away with him; for, it soon returned to the moon, in consequence of
an extravagance he was guilty of some time after. He did not forget
Orlando's phial which had occasioned his journey; he had a good deal
of trouble in carrying it, for the hero's wit was naturally weighty,
and not a drop was wanting. At the end, Ariosto, according to his
general custom of saying whatever he pleases, addresses, in beautiful
language the following apostrophe to his mistress: "Who, my fair one,
will ascend to the heavens, to restore the senses of which your charms
has robbed me? Hitherto I have not complained, but I know not what
may be the extent of my loss; should I continue the victim of your
beauty, I shall in the end become what I have represented Orlando to
be. However, I do not believe it is necessary for me to traverse the
airy regions for the recovery of my senses; all the faculties of my
soul, instead of mounting to such unattainable height, are solacing
themselves in the beam of your eyes, and hovering round your lovely
mouth. Ah! have compassion on me, and suffer me to take them back with
my lips." Is not the thought pretty? For my part, in adopting Ariosto's
way of thinking, I should dissuade people from ever letting their wits
escape, unless it were from the influence of love; for you see how
near they then continue, and how easily they may be regained; but when
they are lost in any other way, as we, for instance, are losing ours,
in philosophising, they fly directly to the moon, and are not caught
again at pleasure. Never mind, said the Marchioness; ours will have an
honourable station among the philosophic phials; whereas, had we lost
them in the poet's way, they might perhaps hover around some unworthy
object. But, continued she, to deprive me completely of mine, tell me
seriously whether you believe there are men living in the moon, for
you have not yet given me a decided opinion. Do I believe it? replied
I; oh no, I don't believe there are men in the moon. We see how much
all nature is changed even when we have travelled from here to China;
different faces; different figures; different manners; and almost a
different sort of understandings: from here to the moon the alteration
must be considerably greater. When adventurers explore unknown
countries, the inhabitants they find are scarcely human; they are
animals in the shape of men, even in that respect sometimes imperfect;
but almost devoid of human reason; could any of these travellers reach
the moon, they surely would not find it inhabited by men.
Then what sort of creatures are they? asked the Marchioness
impatiently. Upon my word, madam, said I, I can't tell. Were it
possible for us to be endowed with reason, and at the same time not
of the human species; were we, I say, such beings, and inhabitants
of the moon, should we ever imagine that this world contained so
fantastical a creature as man? Could we form in our minds the image
of a being composed of such extravagant passions, and such wise
reflections; an existence so short, and plans so extensive; so much
knowledge of trifles, and so much ignorance of the most important
things; such ardent love of liberty, yet such proneness to slavery; so
strong a desire for happiness, with so little power of being happy?
The people in the moon, must be very clever to imagine such a motley
character. We are incessantly contemplating our own nature, yet we
are still unacquainted with it. Some have found it so difficult to
comprehend, that they have said the gods had taken too much nectar
when they created men; and when they had recovered their calm reason,
they could not help laughing at their own work. Well, we are not in
danger of being laughed at by the inhabitants of the moon, answered
the Marchioness, as they would find it so impossible to imagine our
characters; but I should be very glad if we could find out theirs,
for really, one feels a painful degree of curiosity in knowing that
there are beings in the moon we see yonder, and not having the means
of discovering what they are. How is it, I replied, that you have no
anxiety to be acquainted with all the southern part of the world which
is yet unknown to us? We and the inhabitants of that part of the globe
are voyaging in the same vessel, of which they occupy the head and we
the stern. You see that the head and the stern have no communication
with each other; that the people at one end know nothing of the nature
or occupations of those at the other, and yet you want to be acquainted
with all that is going forward in the moon, that separate vessel which
is sailing in a distant part of the heavens.