A MONSTER MEETING.
On the following day Barbicane, fearing that indiscreet questions might
be put to Michel Ardan, was desirous of reducing the number of the
audience to a few of the initiated, his own colleagues for instance. He
might as well have tried to check the Falls of Niagara! He was compelled,
therefore, to give up the idea, and to let his new friend run the chances
of a public conference. The place chosen for this monster meeting was a
vast plain situated in the rear of the town. In a few hours, thanks to the
help of the shipping in port, an immense roofing of canvas was stretched
over the parched prairie, and protected it from the burning rays of the
sun. There 300,000 people braved for many hours the stifling heat while
awaiting the arrival of the Frenchman. Of this crowd of spectators a first
set could both see and hear; a second set saw badly and heard nothing
at all; and as for the third, it could neither see nor hear anything at
all. At three o'clock Michel Ardan made his appearance, accompanied by
the principal members of the Gun Club. He was supported on his right by
President Barbicane, and on his left by J. T. Maston, more radiant than
the midday sun and nearly as ruddy. Ardan mounted a platform, from the
top of which his view extended over a sea of black hats. He exhibited not
the slightest embarrassment; he was just as gay, familiar, and pleasant
as if he were at home. To the hurrahs which greeted him he replied by
a graceful bow; then, waving his hand to request silence, he spoke in
perfectly correct English as follows:—
Illustration: THE MEETING.
"Gentlemen, despite the very hot weather I request your patience for a
short time while I offer some explanations regarding the projects which
seem to have so interested you. I am neither an orator nor a man of
science, and I had no idea of addressing you in public; but my friend
Barbicane has told me that you would like to hear me, and I am quite at
your service. Listen to me, therefore, with your 600,000 ears, and please
to excuse the faults of the speaker. Now pray do not forget that you see
before you a perfect ignoramus whose ignorance goes so far that he cannot
even understand the difficulties! It seemed to him that it was a matter
quite simple, natural, and easy to take one's place in a projectile and
start for the moon! That journey must be undertaken sooner or later;
and, as for the mode of locomotion adopted, it follows simply the law of
progress. Man began by walking on all-fours; then, one fine day, on two
feet; then in a carriage; then in a stage-coach; and lastly by railway.
Well, the projectile is the vehicle of the future, and the planets
themselves are nothing else! Now some of you, gentlemen, may imagine that
the velocity we propose to impart to it is extravagant. It is nothing
of the kind. All the stars exceed it in rapidity, and the earth herself
is at this moment carrying us round the sun at three times as rapid a
rate, and yet she is a mere lounger on the way compared with many others
of the planets! And her velocity is constantly _decreasing._ Is it not
evident, then, I ask you, that there will some day appear velocities far
greater than these, of which light or electricity will probably be the
mechanical agent?
"Yes, gentlemen," continued the orator, "in spite of the opinions of
certain narrow-minded people, who would shut up the human race upon
this globe, as within some magic circle which it must never outstep, we
shall one day travel to the moon, the planets, and the stars, with the
same facility, rapidity, and certainty as we now make the voyage from
Liverpool to New York! Distance is but a relative expression, and must
end by being reduced to zero."
The assembly, strongly predisposed as they were in favour of the French
hero, were slightly staggered at this bold theory. Michel Ardan perceived
the fact.
"Gentlemen," he continued with a pleasant smile, "you do not seem quite
convinced. Very good! Let us reason the matter out. Do you know how long
it would take for an _express train_ to reach the moon? Three hundred
days; no more! And what is that? The distance is no more than nine times
the circumference of the earth; and there are no sailors or travellers,
of even moderate activity, who have not made longer journeys than that
in their lifetime. And now consider that I shall be only ninety-seven
hours on my journey. Ah! I see you are reckoning that the moon is a long
way off from the earth, and that one must think twice before making the
experiment. What would you say, then, if we were talking of going to
Neptune, which revolves at a distance of more than two thousand seven
hundred and twenty millions of miles from the sun! And yet what is that
compared with the distance of the fixed stars, some of which, such as
Arcturus, are at billions of miles distant from us? And then you talk
of the _distance_ which separates the planets from the sun! And there
are people who affirm that such a thing as distance exists. Absurdity,
folly, idiotic nonsense! Would you know what I think of our own solar
universe? Shall I tell you my theory? It is very simple! In my opinion
the solar system is a solid, homogeneous body; the planets which compose
it are in _actual contact_ with each other; and whatever space exists
between them is nothing more than the space which separates the molecules
of the densest metal, such as silver, iron, or platinum! I have the
right, therefore, to affirm, and I repeat, with the conviction which must
penetrate all your minds, 'Distance is but an empty name; distance does
not really exist!'"
"Hurrah!" cried one voice (need it be said it was that of J. T. Maston?).
"Distance does not exist!" And overcome by the energy of his movements,
he nearly fell from the platform to the ground. He just escaped a severe
fall, which would have proved to him that distance was by no means _an
empty name._
Illustration: PROJECTILE TRAINS FOR THE MOON.
"Gentlemen," resumed the orator, "I repeat that the distance between the
earth and her satellite is a mere trifle, and undeserving of serious
consideration. I am convinced that before twenty years are over one half
of our earth will have paid a visit to the moon. Now, my worthy friends,
if you have any question to put to me, you will, I fear, sadly embarrass
a poor man like myself; still I will do my best to answer you."
Up to this point the President of the Gun Club had been satisfied with the
turn which the discussion had assumed. It became now, however, desirable
to divert Ardan from questions of a practical nature, with which he was
doubtless far less conversant. Barbicane, therefore, hastened to get in
a word, and began by asking his new friend whether he thought that the
moon and the planets were inhabited.
"You put before me a great problem, my worthy President," replied the
orator, smiling. "Still, men of great intelligence, such as Plutarch,
Swedenborg, Bernardin de St. Pierre, and others have, if I mistake not,
pronounced in the affirmative. Looking at the question from the natural
philosopher's point of view, I should say that _nothing useless_ existed
in the world; and, replying to your question by another, I should venture
to assert, that if these worlds are _habitable_, they either are, have
been, or will be inhabited."
"No one could answer more logically or fairly," replied the president.
"The question then reverts to this: _Are_ these worlds habitable? For my
own part I believe they are."
"For myself, I feel certain of it," said Michel Ardan.
"Nevertheless," retorted one of the audience, "there are many arguments
_against_ the habitability of the worlds. The conditions of life must
evidently be greatly modified upon the majority of them. To mention
only the planets, we should be either broiled alive in some, or frozen
to death in others, according as they are more or less removed from the
sun."
"I regret," replied Michel Ardan, "that I have not the honour of personally
knowing my contradictor, for I would have attempted to answer him. His
objection has its merits, I admit; but I think we may successfully combat
it, as well as all others which affect the habitability of the other
worlds. If I were a _natural philosopher,_ I would tell him that if less
of caloric were _set in motion_ upon the planets which are nearest to
the sun, and more, on the contrary, upon those which are farthest removed
from it, this simple fact would alone suffice to equalize the heat, and
to render the temperature of those worlds supportable by beings organized
like ourselves. If I were a _naturalist_, I would tell him that, according
to some illustrious men of science, nature has furnished us with instances
upon the earth of animals existing under very varying conditions of life;
that fish respire in a medium fatal to other animals; that amphibious
creatures possess a double existence very difficult of explanation; that
certain denizens of the seas maintain life at enormous depths, and there
support a pressure equal to that of fifty or sixty atmospheres without
being crushed; that several aquatic insects, insensible to temperature,
are met with equally among boiling springs and in the frozen plains
of the Polar Sea; in fine, that we cannot help recognizing in nature a
diversity of means of operation oftentimes incomprehensible, but not the
less real. If I were a _chemist_, I would tell him that the aerolites,
bodies evidently formed exteriorly of our terrestrial globe, have, upon
analysis, revealed indisputable traces of carbon, a substance which
owes its origin solely to organized beings, and which, according to the
experiments of Reichenbach, must necessarily itself have been _endued
with animation._ And lastly, were I a theologian, I would tell him that
the scheme of the Divine Redemption, according to St. Paul, seems to be
applicable, not merely to the earth, but to all the celestial worlds.
But, unfortunately I am neither theologian, nor chemist, nor naturalist,
nor philosopher; therefore, in my absolute ignorance of the great laws
which govern the universe, I confine myself to saying in reply, 'I do not
know whether the worlds are inhabited or not; and since I do not know,
_I am going to see!_"
Whether Michel Ardan's antagonist hazarded any further arguments or
not it is impossible to say, for the uproarious shouts of the crowd
would not allow any expression of opinion to gain a hearing. On silence
being restored, the triumphant orator contented himself with adding the
following remarks:—
"Gentlemen, you will observe that I have but slightly touched upon
this great question. There is another altogether different line of
arguments in favour of the habitability of the stars, which I omit for
the present. I only desire to call attention to one point. To those who
maintain that the planets are _not_ inhabited one may reply:—You might
be perfectly in the right, if you could only show that the earth is the
_best possible world,_ spite of what Voltaire has said. She has but _one_
satellite, while Jupiter, Uranus, Saturn, Neptune have each several,
an advantage by no means to be despised. But that which renders our own
globe so uncomfortable is the inclination of its axis to the plane of its
orbit. Hence the inequality of days and nights; hence the disagreeable
diversity of the seasons. On the surface of our unhappy spheroid we
are always either too hot or too cold; we are frozen in winter, broiled
in summer; it is the planet of rheumatism, coughs, bronchitis; while
on the surface of Jupiter, for example, where the axis is but slightly
inclined, the inhabitants may enjoy uniform temperatures. It possesses
zones of perpetual springs, summers, autumns, and winters; every Jovian
may choose for himself what climate he likes, and there spend the whole
of his life in security from all variations of temperature. You will, I
am sure, readily admit this superiority of Jupiter over our own planet,
to say nothing of his years, which each equal twelve of ours! Under
such auspices, and such marvellous conditions of existence, it appears
to me that the inhabitants of so fortunate a world must be in every
respect superior to ourselves. All we require, in order to attain to
such perfection, is the mere trifle of having an axis of rotation less
inclined to the plane of its orbit!"
"Hurrah!" roared an energetic voice, "let us unite our efforts, invent
the necessary machines, and rectify the earth's axis!"
A thunder of applause followed this proposal, the author of which was, of
course, no other than J. T. Maston. And, in all probability, if the truth
must be told, if the Yankees could only have found a point of application
for it, they would have constructed a lever capable of raising the earth
and rectifying its axis. It was just this deficiency which baffled these
daring mechanicians.