Once or twice one has come across a story of some adventurous couple
(usually in America) who have been married in a captive balloon. The
incident is reproduced from time to time, the newspapers printing it
almost always placing on some other newspaper the responsibility of the
statement. The story may originally have taken its birth in a diseased
craving of some undistinguished couple for notoriety, or, as is more
likely, in a lack of striking headlines for some very enterprising
American paper. But in any case, we are concerned here with no such
matter, but with an actual wedding trip, undertaken and carried through
by a very distinguished couple, in a perfectly free balloon; and this
with no idea of notoriety-hunting.
The name of M. Camille Flammarion, the distinguished French astronomer,
is very nearly as familiar in this country as in France, and some of
his most important works are made popular by means of translations. He
is distinguished by an imagination very rare in men of science, and his
theories of the inhabitation of the stars are of a very striking and
beautiful character; while many other of his astronomical speculations
are similarly bold and original.
M. Flammarion's interest in ballooning began more than thirty years
ago, and since that time he has been a most enthusiastic aeronaut;
making very numerous ascents and recording large numbers of extremely
important scientific observations. His book, "Voyages en Ballon,"
contains many interesting accounts of his ascents, and has been
translated by Mr. James Glaisher, the English meteorologist and
aeronaut. It is of the wedding trip performed in a balloon by Monsieur
and Madame Flammarion that we are to speak.
Madame Flammarion is herself a most enthusiastic balloon-traveller.
Indeed, she has often said that nothing but the practical impossibility
of the feat prevents her living altogether in a balloon. And she
takes much delight in recounting the story of her wedding trip,
which was her first balloon ascent, and of a humorous incident which
characterized it. We shall give Madame Flammarion's account as nearly
as her own words can be rendered in English. The story was told us
in the beautiful garden of the Château Juvisy, the magnificent house
which is now M. Flammarion's home and observatory, but which has been
the resting-place of French Kings in their journeys between Paris and
Fontainebleau, from Henri Quatre to Louis Philippe. Parenthetically
we may say that Madame Flammarion is herself a distinguished person,
and Vice-President of the League of Ladies on behalf of International
Disarmament. This is her story as she tells it:--
I had always wished to make a balloon ascent. The stories and
descriptions I had read had touched my enthusiasm, and already, before
I had entered a balloon, I was, at heart, an enthusiastic aeronaut. To
hang in space above, looking down upon the rolling world below, and all
the little people in it, was for years the height of all my ambitions.
Nevertheless, I never expected to make an ascent in circumstances so
novel and charming as those which actually accompanied my first balloon
experience.
Just before our marriage, in discussing with my future husband the
form which our wedding journey should take, I begged him to choose the
most magnificent and poetical route possible--an ideal route, never
before made use of in the like circumstances. M. Flammarion understood
my meaning at once. Indeed, the same thought had occurred to himself,
though I first gave it expression.
From this moment Flammarion was busily engaged with the aeronaut,
M. Jules Godard, in making preparations for the aerial journey. But
preparations for the wedding itself also claimed attention, and it was
in some part in consequence of Flammarion's desires in this matter that
an odd incident made memorable the first part of our journey.
[Illustration: M. FLAMMARION (AT THE TIME OF THE WEDDING). _From a
Photo. by Alexander Martin, Paris._]
First we were married in legal form--in a manner corresponding to
marriage before a registrar in England. Flammarion wished this to be
the only ceremony, and desired no Church rite; in this being consistent
with his great astronomical philosophy, which I expect to be the
religion of the future. But in the end he waived his determination,
to please our mothers--and, I must confess, to please me also. But
he made the condition that there should be no confession, such as is
usually made part of the Roman Catholic ceremony. The good Abbé P----,
who was to officiate, expended all his eloquence to shake Flammarion's
determination in this respect, but his eloquence and his pains went for
nothing. It was useless to insist, Flammarion assured him, and he found
it so.
"But, my dear friend," pleaded the excellent Abbé, "if not a
confession, then at least something: merely a conversation."
"No! Never! Not even that!" was Flammarion's final answer.
"Then," persisted the Abbé, "you will at any rate grant me one personal
favour--nothing connected with the ceremony. Say, now, will you grant
me that favour?"
"Most certainly," Flammarion replied, rather incautiously. "Granted
before asked. What is it?"
"That I may ascend with you in the balloon."
"Abbé--you are a shrewd man. It shall be as you wish, of course. In
fact, the balloon will carry four, and as we ourselves, with the
aeronaut, M. Godard, make only three, there is a vacancy. You shall
fill it, Monsieur l'Abbé--it is promised."
Unfortunately, the outcome of this promise was very deep offence to a
very worthy man--so deep, that the Abbé was almost estranged from my
husband, as you shall hear.
Every detail of the events of our wedding-day is as clearly defined
in my memory as if it were but a recollection of yesterday. It was
a brilliant day, and all the town seemed as gay and as happy as we.
Still, there was one little matter of regret--our balloon trip must be
postponed for a little while, for M. Jules Godard had had an apoplectic
fit three days before, and was not yet recovered. This the Abbé did not
know.
The service, which was short, had finished, and we were in our
carriage--indeed, Flammarion was in the act of closing the door--when a
vigorous hand seized the bridegroom's and a joyous voice cried, "And I
also?"
It was the Abbé. In the confusion of our happiness we had quite
forgotten that he was to accompany us to the breakfast--to which, as a
matter of fact, he had been the first person invited.
The Abbé entered the carriage with no more ceremony, installed himself
comfortably, and carefully deposited a travelling bag on the seat
before him.
[Illustration: MADAME FLAMMARION (AT THE TIME OF THE WEDDING). _From a
Photo. by Dagron, Paris._]
"Hey! hey!" quoth the Abbé", laughing merrily and rubbing his hands
together. "Here we are, my friends! Well! We set out this evening in
our balloon, don't we? Eh? I have prepared--O yes, I have prepared!
I shall send messages to all my friends. I have filled this bag with
little papers, on each of which I have written: 'From the altitude of
the heavens I salute you. Abbé P----.' These we will throw out from the
balloon!"
"But, my dear Abbé," said Flammarion, a little taken aback; "we haven't
told you. We're not going now!"
The Abbé grew almost livid. "Come!" he stammered. "What--what's this?
Is it a joke? Anyhow, it isn't a good one!"
"I assure you, my dear Abbé, it is no joke, but the simple truth. We
_can't_ go, for Godard the aeronaut is ill. Three days ago he had an
apoplectic fit--indeed, he very nearly died. What should we have done
if the fit had occurred in the balloon? He is better now, but not well
enough to make the ascent."
The poor Abbé was thunderstruck. "And I was so counting on the
journey!" he said. "I've been telling everybody I know! People have
even been sending me provisions for the voyage. Truly, I don't know
where we should have put them; but that's beside the question--they
came. And now we are not to go! I shall be the laughing-stock of all my
acquaintance! It's too bad--too bad!"
All through the breakfast the Abbé remained melancholy, notwithstanding
the merry occasion, and the fact that Madame Godard, who was present,
assured him that her husband was quite unable to make an ascent in his
weakly condition. Till at last, in parting from him, Flammarion cheered
him by the assurance that he _should_ go up in a balloon after all,
for, in fact, the project was only deferred. And so the Abbé departed
hopefully. But who can count on the future? Fate disposed things
differently, and poor Abbé P----'s misfortune endured to the end of the
matter.
At last the time arrived, a week after the wedding-day. On the eve of
the day fixed for the ascent my brother-in-law--Ernest Flammarion, the
publisher--came to see us. He also wished to ascend with us; was most
eager, in fact. It must be remembered that, at the time I speak of,
balloon ascents were much less common than they have since become, and
one had very few opportunities of an experience in the air. In the end,
my husband promised his brother that he should come, if only the Abbé
should be prevented, or should from any cause forego his claim. Ernest
quite understood the situation, and waited with much anxiety, but with
little hope. "It's not of much use," he said. "The Abbé won't give up
his place. I'm afraid the thing's settled!"
The few hours intervening before the time fixed for the start were
hours of anxious watching. The weather was perfect, but we were
constantly on thorns lest some change should manifest itself.
But what of the Abbé? When the start was determined upon--on the
morning of the day when Ernest Flammarion called on us--my husband
hurried out to inform the Abbé, but found that he was away from home,
at La Varenne Saint-Hilaire, which he always made his summer residence.
Still, the Abbé's servant assured Flammarion that he would be back,
doubtless in the evening. So a note was written and left on the Abbé's
desk, thus:--
"We set out to-morrow at close of day in a balloon; do not miss this
celestial appointment, but meet us at about five o'clock at the
gas-works of La Villette.--FLAMMARION."
The eventful day (it was the 28th of August, 1874) dawned brilliantly,
and the day fulfilled the promise of the dawn--a delightfully
equable temperature, a gentle breeze, and a bright sky. And at
five we assembled at the gas-works--our aeronaut and his wife, my
brother-in-law, Ernest Flammarion, and ourselves, with a number of
friends to see us off.
It is necessary to allow plenty of time for preparations in view of a
balloon ascent, because of the innumerable details to be attended to,
any one of which may delay the start for an unexpected length of time.
One may allow an hour as ample, and then, at the end of three hours,
find the balloon still unready. No such delay occurred in this case,
though Godard and his assistants were hard at work for some time, while
we talked with our friends.
The balloon, which rolled and swung before us, had been specially made
for us, and it was of 2,000 mètres cubic capacity. Its material was
the best China silk, and it had a magnificent dark golden tint, most
beautiful as it rose, semi-transparent in the sunshine.
In vain we awaited the Abbé. We wondered whether anything could have
prevented his receiving the note, or whether he might be ill. It would
soon be impossible to wait longer. The balloon trembled, and the great
globe rose, little by little, from the ground. Soon it was a truly
beautiful object, immense in its rotundity and majestic as it rose
above us, vibrating with the powerful breath that soon was to lift us
up into the unknown.
Everything was prepared, and still there was no sign of Abbé P----.
"Plainly the Abbé is not coming," said Godard. "We can wait no longer.
We must start at once if we are to see Paris at sunset!"
"Then we will go," said my husband. And scarce had he turned to speak
to his brother when the latter was in the car beside the aeronaut.
Indeed, he scarce seemed certain of his good fortune till he was well
in the air.
Now it was my turn. The car was a little way from the ground, so my
husband carried me. I was trembling with excitement and impatience. In
another minute, when all four were in their places, Godard cried, "Let
go, all!" and our friends about the car fell back quickly.
For me, I confess, it was a serious moment. I could not resist
speculations as to where we were going, into what tempestuous whirlwind
we might be carried, what lightning-cloud might rend and burn our
balloon, now so gallant and so beautiful.
We rose, at first, softly and slowly. For a long time we could hear the
voices below us, "_Au revoir!_ A good voyage and a quick return!" But
with our release from the earth we were no longer the same: we seemed
to leave all earthly interests behind us. Our bodily weight we seemed
to lose, and our brains also grew buoyant. We were held entirely by
admiration of the wonders about us.
[Illustration: "AU REVOIR!"]
Nothing so magnificent had I ever imagined. The charming landscapes of
the earth were small things indeed in comparison with the colossal, the
marvellous prospect that was before our eyes. When at last we found our
voices our exclamations seemed ridiculously inadequate to the occasion.
"Heavens! How beautiful it is, how beautiful!" But we could not find
adequate words for it.
My husband said, "The earth descends below us." And the words well
expressed the sensation conveyed. The earth seemed to sink away from us
in a wonderful, indeed, in a terrible, manner. Everything was wonderful
and weird. Indeed, the whole of such a journey seems a strange and
fantastic dream, luxurious to the senses and impressively superb. Its
beauty cannot be told, cannot be written. It must be seen and felt.
The sun was sinking in the west. For a while the daylight seemed even
more intense as it was about to vanish. Then the sun disappeared; it
had set. But we rose and rose, and presently we saw the red wonder
again. In simple fact, here was the sun _rising again_ for us alone,
and in the west! But the sight lasted a very short time, and once more
the great luminary sank from sight. We had seen the sun set twice in
one evening!
My delight was inexpressible; to sit here beside my newly-made husband
here in the sky, travelling I knew not where. Our movement was
altogether imperceptible--we would seem to be entirely still; there
was no such current of air even as would cause a quiver in the flame
of a candle. At this time our height was about 300 or 400 mètres, and
we gazed over the edge of the car at the towns, the railway lines, the
fields, and the woods--all Liliputian toys, and things to smile at.
We passed over the Buttes-Chaumont, at Vincennes. I turned my head to
ask a question of Godard, and was terrified to perceive that he had
in his mouth a large pipe! I touched my husband's arm, and pointed. He
looked, and with a cry he instantly snatched the pipe away. "Do you
want to blow us all up?" he exclaimed.
But Godard merely laughed. "Ha! ha!" he cried, "you don't perceive.
There is no light to it! It is a mere habit. I can't do without my
pipe, and I keep it in my mouth and imagine I am smoking. Come, let me
have it!"
The incident amused us much, and for almost the whole of the remainder
of the journey the pipe remained between Godard's lips, while he, to
all appearance, smoked with perfect satisfaction.
And now we came by the mouth of the Marne. Suddenly there was a burst
of laughter among us; it came from my husband. At first he could not
answer our questions; then he pointed below, to a place where we could
perceive something moving. "Listen!" he said.
[Illustration: "'DO YOU WANT TO BLOW US ALL UP?' HE EXCLAIMED."]
We listened eagerly, and heard cries of despair in the quiet evening
air, far below. "Flammarion! Flammarion! Hé! Flammarion! Come down!
Come down here!"
There was great excitement in the little place below. From the garden
of a little house several persons were making signs to us.
"This is the place," exclaimed Flammarion; "this is the place,
clearly. There is a fatality in this! My friends, we are exactly and
perpendicularly above the estate of the Abbé P----, at La Varenne
Saint-Hilaire! Do you hear? He calls us!"
And indeed it was the fact, the simple fact. What cruel tricks chance
will play!
"Come down! Come down, Flammarion!" And then the voices of those below
died away, for we had gone from their sight. It is probable that if we
_had_ attempted to descend just there we should all have experienced a
good bath in the Marne--a dangerous river in these parts.
Godard threw out ballast, and we rose higher still. "What will the
Abbé think?" I said. "He will never pardon us for this heart-breaking
disappointment!" And, indeed, to finish with the poor Abbé, I may say
here that he would never believe the truth of what had happened, nor
under what conditions Ernest Flammarion had been allowed to take his
place. He maintained that we had arranged the whole thing beforehand;
and for more than a year we saw nothing of him, notwithstanding our
friendly attentions and most cordial appeals.
Now the moon shone with such intensity that the country stood as
clearly defined as in full daylight, and the time was half-past
nine. Here we were at the height of 1,900 mètres, and we seemed to
be entering into another world. Here all Nature was in dead silence,
superb and terrible; we were in the clouds. My husband has described
the scene better than I am able. We were in the starry skies, having
at our feet clouds that seemed vast mountains of snow--an impressive,
unearthly landscape--white alps, glaciers, valleys, ridges, precipices.
An unknown Nature revealed herself, creating, as in a dream, the most
dazzling and fantastic panoramas. Stupendous combats between the clouds
arose and rolled; the air-currents followed one another, hurled and
flung themselves in mighty commotion, shaking and breaking, in dead
silence, the monstrous masses. We felt, we saw in action, the powerful,
incessant, prodigious forces of the atmosphere, while the earth slept
below.
It was a scene beyond all words. Presently a monstrous elephant
formed itself before our eyes. We entered into the very midst of it,
and were blinded by the cold and damp vapour--a singular and awful
cloud, whence we emerged but to plunge again into others more awful
still; now a furious sea, now a group of hideous phantoms, now long,
luminous tracts, glittering like streams of silver in the ghostly white
light. "This is not so pleasant," my brother-in-law murmured. "Why not
descend?"
The billows of cloud piled together, terribly agitated. Above us, below
us and about us, all was stirred to fury. My agitation was great; for
of all these circumstances the silence, the absolute silence, was the
most terrible. Amid all the shocks of the cloud-masses, amid all the
rages of the hideous gigantic phantoms, of those fearful forces that
might at any moment crush us in a clap of thunder, not a sound, even
of the faintest, was heard. The balloon glided through the enervating,
cloud-filled heavens steadily and proudly, and soon we were free of the
mists, and sailing serenely under the deep blue sky in the pale light
of the moon.
[Illustration: "A SINGULAR AND AWFUL CLOUD."]
"I like this better," said Ernest, and we agreed with him.
We gazed at the white plain of rolling clouds below us. What was
that--the little ball that ran so quickly along the furrowed white
spaces? The little ball edged with an aureole of tender colours?
"That?" answered Godard. "That is we ourselves--the balloon, or rather
its shadow. What do you think of its rate of travelling, Madame
Flammarion--you who imagine that we are not moving at all?"
Truly, it was our own shadow, swiftly skimming the clouds below, a
curious and charming sight.
And now we saw the first signs of dawn. The balloon sank and sank, and
soon we were skimming above meadows scented with a thousand perfumes.
To us it seemed that we must touch the trees every moment, so nearly
did we approach the earth. But, as a matter of fact, we were still a
hundred mètres from the ground. Again it was a delightful experience,
thus to skim above the earth in the silent, starry morning, without a
breath of air that we could feel. The plains, the hills, the rivulets
passed before us as in a dream. It was communion with Nature indeed.
"Now," said Godard, suddenly, "we are ascending, and quickly." And,
indeed, as he spoke we shot upwards, and in a moment were again among
the clouds. In the distance we observed a peculiar light. Was it a
lighthouse? No, we were far from the sea. Reassured on this point,
we are soon uneasy in regard to another, for presently we saw that
lightning-flashes were traversing the clouds. "It is a storm," Godard
observed, "and it will be a bad one."
"Then we will throw out ballast and avoid it," said my husband.
It was done, and instantly we ascended to the height of 3,000 mètres.
Now we saw that the deep blue of the sky was paling, and day broke. Far
above us Sirius glittered, and in a few moments more our altitude was
4,000 mètres, the highest of the trip. At this height I breathed less
freely; and everything liquid in the car--even the wine--was frozen.
We shivered under our furs, and there was a humming in my ears. In
spite of these drawbacks I was as enthusiastic as ever, and I assured
my husband, who expressed some solicitude for me, that I had never
been better, and that I would be very glad to live in a balloon! And
as for descending, who could think of it, with such a spectacle before
us? Behind us was the moon and the darkness; below, afar, a storm of
lightning and thunder; and before us, most wonderful of all, the rising
of the sun, filling the empyrean with his rays and flinging a mantle of
purple and gold over all, clouds and balloon alike. The mysterious and
weird beauties of the night gave place to the brilliant metamorphosis
of day.
[Illustration: M. FLAMMARION (PRESENT DAY). _From a Photo. by Professor
Stebbing, Paris._]
And now, alas! we returned to earth. In twenty minutes, after a swift
though tranquil descent from the height of 4,000 mètres, we were again
among our fellow-mortals, in the neighbourhood of Spa. Our trip had
lasted nearly thirteen hours.
The population of the district had never seen a balloon so near, and
our arrival roused the countryside. The people came running from every
direction, yelling and gesticulating, and scarcely had the car touched
earth when it was surrounded so closely by a crowd of peasants that
it was impossible for Godard to make proper arrangements for landing.
By dint of frightful grimaces and abuse, he induced them to draw back
sufficiently to enable him to make fast, and then my companions were
obliged to protect me: for the women, and even some of the men, came to
touch me--my hair, my hands, my face, and my clothes--to make sure that
I was really alive!
[Illustration: MADAME FLAMMARION (PRESENT DAY). _From a Photo. by
Professor Stebbing, Paris._]
Ernest Flammarion alighted first. "I am very happy," he said, "to have
been up in a balloon, but I don't think I shall go again."
As for my husband, his persistent passion for ballooning is well known;
and as for myself, I have made two more aerial voyages with him, and I
would be glad to make a thousand.
One gets, of course, very little of common luxuries in a balloon.
There is just a car of basket-work, and a wooden plank for a seat. The
knees must serve for a table, and the head rests on the edge of the
car when one sits and rests. The bench will hold only two at a time,
and even the two find it a tight fit. Of course, it is impossible to
cook in a balloon, for anything in the nature of fire would produce
an instant blow-up, and a scattering of the whole expedition to the
four winds. The food one takes consists of cold meat, bread, fruit,
eggs, and perhaps salad--prepared beforehand. M. Flammarion carried his
instruments as usual--his barometers, telescopes, thermometers, and the
rest--on his wedding trip, and made scientific observations and notes
from first to last.
_A Peep into "Punch."_