Dreams of an astronomer E-Book

Camille Flammarion

• Herausgeber: Librorium Editions
• Kategorie: Wissenschaft und neue Technologien
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

IT WAS at Venice. The lofty windows of the ancient Ducal Palace of the Speranzi opened upon the Grand Canal. The orb of night was mirrored in the waters by a furrow of silver spangles, and the immensity of the sky stretched over the towers and cupolas.
When the musicians borne by the gondolas had turned the corner of the canal to glide towards the Bridge of Sighs, their last choruses vanished in the night, and Venice seemed to go to sleep in that profound silence known to no hive of humanity but the Queen of the Adriatic. This Venetian silence was untroubled save by the cadenced beats of the old clock, and perhaps I should not have appreciated the whole depth of the universal muteness but for the regular oscillation of that apparatus designed for measuring time. The continuous “tick-tock” marked out the silence, and, curiously enough, seemed to intensify it.

Leseprobe

DREAMS OF AN ASTRONOMER

CAMILLE FLAMMARION

Translated from the French by E. E. FOURNIER D’ALBE

© 2024 Librorium Editions

ISBN : 9782385747893

I. A VOYAGE IN THE SKY

DREAMS OF AN ASTRONOMER

I. A VOYAGE IN THE SKY

CHAPTER I A VOYAGE IN THE SKY

II. THE WORLD OF LONG AGO

CHAPTER II THE WORLD OF LONG AGO

III. THE WORLD TO COME

CHAPTER III THE WORLD TO COME

IV. VENUS THE BEAUTIFUL

CHAPTER IV VENUS THE BEAUTIFUL

FOOTNOTES:

V. THE PLANET MARS

CHAPTER V THE PLANET MARS

VI. THE GIANT WORLD OF JUPITER

CHAPTER VI THE GIANT WORLD OF JUPITER

VII. HEARTBEATS ACROSS SPACE

CHAPTER VII HEARTBEATS ACROSS SPACE

VIII. IDEAS CONCERNING COMMUNICATION BETWEEN THE WORLDS

CHAPTER VIII IDEAS CONCERNING COMMUNICATION BETWEEN THE WORLDS

IX. STARS AND ATOMS

CHAPTER IX STARS AND ATOMS

FOOTNOTES:

X. ARE OTHER PLANETS INHABITED?

CHAPTER X ARE OTHER PLANETS INHABITED?

INDEX

CHAPTER I A VOYAGE IN THE SKY

INTRODUCTION

IT WAS at Venice. The lofty windows of the ancient Ducal Palace of the Speranzi opened upon the Grand Canal. The orb of night was mirrored in the waters by a furrow of silver spangles, and the immensity of the sky stretched over the towers and cupolas.

When the musicians borne by the gondolas had turned the corner of the canal to glide towards the Bridge of Sighs, their last choruses vanished in the night, and Venice seemed to go to sleep in that profound silence known to no hive of humanity but the Queen of the Adriatic. This Venetian silence was untroubled save by the cadenced beats of the old clock, and perhaps I should not have appreciated the whole depth of the universal muteness but for the regular oscillation of that apparatus designed for measuring time. The continuous “tick-tock” marked out the silence, and, curiously enough, seemed to intensify it.

Seated in the embrasure of the high window, I contemplated the shining disc of the Moon enthroned in an azure sky filled entirely with its light, and I remembered that this luminary of the night, so tranquil and calm in appearance, moved a thousand yards in space at each beat of the clock. This fact struck me for the first time with a certain force, perhaps on account of the enveloping solitude.

Gazing upon the lunar globe, in which I could distinguish with the naked eye the ancient seas and geographical outlines, I bethought myself that it was still perhaps inhabited by beings organised differently from ourselves who can live in an extremely rarefied atmosphere; but what struck me even more forcibly was its rapid revolution round the Earth, at the rate of 1,000 yards at each beat of the clock, making 38 miles a minute, 2,280 an hour, 53,800 a day, or 1,500,000 miles for each lunar month.

I saw in my mind the Moon revolving round us from west to east in less than a month, and at the same time I felt, so to speak, the daily movement of the Earth about its axis, also from west to east, which makes the sky appear to move in the opposite direction. While I was still reflecting, indeed, the Moon had actually shifted and descended in the west towards the steeple of the Chiesa. These terrestrial and celestial movements, softer than those of the gondolas gliding on the limpid waters, bear us along through reality as through a dream. They measure the days and the years as we pass, like fleeting shadows, while they endure for ever. The silent Moon, sphinx of the sky, shone already on the waters silvered by her splendour millions of years ago, while terrestrial humanity was still awaiting its slow unfolding in the limbo of future possibilities. Strange animals peopled the forests which covered the continents, fantastic fishes pursued each other in the floods, vampires clove the air, and two-footed crocodiles, which seem to be the ancestors of those of Egyptian mythology, showed themselves in the clearings on the banks of the rivers. Later the same Moon shone on the birth of the flowers, on the nests of the first birds. But how many nights had she not illuminated with pale beams before the first glance from a human eye fell upon her, before the first human thought ascended towards her! To-night she shines upon a populous and active humanity, flourishing cities, marble palaces, built amid the clouds. Just now, at my feet, in a gondola a pair of lovers called upon her to witness their eternal vows, forgetting that her rapid phases are the symbol of our changefulness and our shortness of life. Yes, she has been the confidante of many mysteries, and for a long time yet will radiant youth sing under her sky its eternal song of love. But one day, a poor, enfeebled lamp, she will only shine upon a cemetery of ice; there will be no more clocks for measuring hours nor human beings to count them. Thus I mused, in the bright moonlight which seemed to intensify all the shadows and to deepen all the abysses between the palaces plunging into the black water. This neighbouring world exists at a distance of 240,000 miles from us. Our thoughts fly thither in a flash. With the speed of light, the distance is covered in 1⅓ second. In imagination I took flight up to the distant luminary. I forgot Venice, the Adriatic, and the Earth, and I felt myself carried beyond the confines of the terrestrial atmosphere.

(1) TWO HUNDRED AND FORTY THOUSAND MILES FROM THE EARTH

I seemed to approach the pale Phœbe and to arrive suddenly above the immense chain of the lunar Apennines, which separate the “Sea of Vapour” from the “Sea of Rain,” not far from the central meridian. I recognised, just as I had so often observed them in the telescope, the amphitheatres and craters of Archimedes, Autolycus, and Aristillus, and I hovered for some time over the steep cliffs of the “Sea of Serenity.” I saw the traces of old submersions and I distinguished several craters almost obliterated by formidable land-slides. I got accustomed to this view the more rapidly for the fact that astronomical instruments have long familiarised us with this neighbouring world, and that certain details of lunar geography are better known than are many points of terrestrial geography. Those immense amphitheatres, those yawning craters, those steep-walled mountains, those deep valleys, those numerous cracks in the soil—we have studied them all and we know them. We find there the geographical result of considerable volcanic activity, craters 2 miles in depth and 60, 100, or 150 miles wide, mountain peaks 4 or 5 miles high, plains and valleys where the traces of successive selenological epochs are traceable. In the lower depths I observed the effects of a sensible atmosphere, surface changes produced over immense stretches of ground by the action of the Sun’s rays during days fifteen times as long as ours, changes of aspect due to the frost of the long lunar night and the thaw under the midday Sun, long white streaks traversing the circular plains; something like geysers in activity; short-lived plants without any terrestrial analogy—a whole world still alive, apparently in its last death-struggle. My thought and my gaze rested on the pale figure of the Earth’s satellite, and I asked myself whether there was not alive at that moment, in some ancient city at the bottom of a crater or a valley, some thinking being, with its eyes raised to the sky, contemplating the Earth where we are and asking the same question: whether any intelligent beings lived on the surface of that immense globe throning for ever over their heads, and presenting to their minds the same riddle which their abode presents to us.

While I thus reflected about our neighbour in space, the orb of night had sunk in the west, and I saw at some distance from it on the left a star shining with a reddish glow, shedding rays of fire over the heavenly vault. I was not long in recognising in this ardent star our neighbour the planet Mars, and I forgot the moon over this other celestial island, the sister of our own, which has so many analogies with our planet.

Here, said I to myself, is the planet of greatest interest to ourselves, the one we know best. It gravitates round the sun along an orbit traced at a mean distance of 143 million miles from the central luminary. Our Earth passes through its annual revolution at a distance of 92 million miles. There are, therefore, on an average, 51 million miles between the two orbits. On the night of my vigil, Mars happened to be at its minimum distance from the Earth. Fortunately, as the two orbits are neither circular nor parallel, the real distance is sometimes reduced to 37 million miles. Light, which takes 1⅓ second to traverse the distance between the Earth and the Moon, takes 200 seconds, or 3 minutes 20 seconds, to cross the celestial abyss which separates Mars from the Earth, It seemed to me that I really spent those 3 minutes in flying the distance, and I entirely forgot the high window of my Venetian palace over the aspect of the new world to which the flight of my thought had brought me.

(2) THIRTY-SEVEN MILLION MILES PROM THE EARTH

It is not very far, astronomically speaking. It is, in fact, quite near, a few paces away. The world of Mars is the first station of the solar system, the first planet we meet on leaving the Earth to visit the remote regions of the heavens. The farther we move away from the Earth, the smaller grows the apparent size of our own world. Seen from the Moon, our planet hangs in the sky like an enormous moon, four times the size of our own satellite, and sixteen times as luminous, for it is isolated in space and reflects the light received from the Sun, as is done by the Moon and the various planets of the solar system. From about 250,000 miles, therefore, the Earth still appears of a considerable size, being about four times the size of the full Moon. At 2½ million miles it appears ten times smaller in diameter, but still shows a perceptible disc. At the distance of the orbit of Mars, at the time when the planets are in greatest proximity (37 million miles), the Earth no longer shows a sensible disc, but is still the biggest and brightest star in the entire heavens. The inhabitants of Mars, therefore, admire us as a brilliant star in the sky, showing aspects similar to those which Venus shows to us. We are their morning and evening star, and no doubt their mythology has erected altars to us.

When I arrived on that planet, it was about midday on its central meridian. I noticed two small moons revolving rapidly in their sky, and I alighted on the slope of a mountain overlooking a distant sea. The sea was shallow and full of water-plants. The panorama reminded me of that which one sees from the terrace of the Nice Observatory, and I seemed to see a Mediterranean of calm water, of a rather dark bluish-green colour. But it was a different element, and I saw that the plants were of a species unknown on Earth. Airy navies consisting of a sort of bird-fishes glided through the atmosphere, and I soon found that the inhabitants of this celestial territory have received by natural evolution the enviable privilege of flying through the air, and that their method of locomotion is particularly aviation. Gravity is feeble on the surface of the planet, and hence the density of beings and objects on that planet is much less than it is with us. Engineering science has for many centuries reached a high degree of perfection. They have carried out immense works, incomparably superior to those achieved on our planet during the last century, and they have transformed their globe by gigantic operations which earthly astronomers are just beginning to appreciate by means of the telescope. One may easily understand, indeed, that that world should be more advanced than ours, because it is more ancient chronologically, and because, being smaller than our globe, it has cooled down more rapidly and has run through the phases of organic evolution at a greater rate. Its years are nearly twice as long as ours, in the proportion of 365 days to 687. While we count 37 years on Earth, the Martian only counts 20, and a man of 79 years on Earth is only 40 Martian years old. This is an advantage of 88 per cent. Its condition of habitability, its climate and meteorology, its days and its nights, are analogous to ours. Even from where we are we can observe its continents, its polar snows which melt in the spring, its canals which also change with the seasons, its humid plains periodically varied by vegetation, its clouds, generally very light, but dense enough towards the polar regions, its mists in the mornings and especially in the evening, above all, the perpetual changes, incomparably more intense than those of the Earths surface—in a word, all those manifestations of an activity greater than that of our own home of the present day.

I only delayed on Mars for the time necessary to form a general idea of the life which animates our neighbouring globe and to make sure that it is more active than that of terrestrial humanity, and I found myself, some moments later, transported to the annular world of Saturn.

(3) AT SEVEN HUNDRED AND FIFTY MILLION MILES

The conception of time, the appreciation of duration, are essentially relative to the state of our mind. If we sleep profoundly for seven or eight hours, that time will have made a gap in our life of no greater length than that produced by ten minutes of sleep. The miners who by the collapse of a shaft are entombed for five or six days before being rescued, always believe that they have not been cut off for more than twenty hours. Buried on a Tuesday, for instance, they will not believe that they have had to wait till Sunday. On the other hand, one may seem to pass several hours, very slowly, in a dream of a few seconds. A friend of mine told me that one day, as he was riding through a wood, his horse bolted and threw him into a ravine. He said his fall had certainly not taken more than three seconds, but that during those three seconds he had passed in review at least ten years of his life in all their successive details and without any apparent hurrying of events. Then, again, who has not observed how long the minutes may seem during some hours of waiting?

The orbit of the Earth round the Sun being 92 million miles, and that of Saturn 888 million, there are 796 million miles between the two orbits. Light traverses this gap in 70 minutes. My fancy flew this distance with the speed of light, and I was aware of these 2,240 seconds required to cover the distance at the rate of 186,000 miles a second. Yet I am sure that I did not spend all that time in traversing the distance to Saturn, nor even the lesser time corresponding to the distance between Mars and the ringed planet, for the first stroke of ten had sounded on the old clock when I forgot Mars and fixed my attention on Saturn, and I arrived at my destination before the hour had finished striking.

I alighted on the tenth satellite, whence one can easily appreciate the grandeur of the Saturnian system. The enormous planet of, a diameter more than 9½ times that of our globe, with a surface 90 times that of the Earth, and a bulk 745 times that of our floating home, is surrounded by gigantic rings measuring 178,000 miles across. Girt by this multiple ring, the planet presides over a retinue of ten satellites revolving round it in a system having a radius of 8 million miles, a system which in itself constitutes a universe larger than that known to the ancients. Until the age of truth inaugurated by the conquests of modern astronomy, nobody on our planet, no poet, no philosopher, no thinker, had guessed the real grandeur of the proportions on which the universe is constructed. How small our Earth appears seen from the Saturnian system! It is barely seen, once in six months, as a small luminous dot near the sun, shining for a few minutes in the evening after sunset, or a few minutes in the morning before sunrise.

(4) TWO THOUSAND FIVE HUNDRED MILLION MILES FROM THE SUN

In the depths of space, at a distance from the sun more than 30 times our own, under a glow of light and heat 900 times feebler than that which we enjoy, there roams the world of Neptune, among conditions of life quite different from those which obtain on Earth. Those short-sighted naturalists who affirmed even quite recently, with professorial emphasis, that the abysses of the ocean are condemned to an eternal sterility, because the conditions of light and pressure are absolutely different from the conditions near the surface, have received from Nature herself the rudest contradiction which can be inflicted upon the pedantic science of pretenders to infallibility. This contradiction, however direct and absolute, has not discouraged them all, for there are still some who declare that life can only exist on worlds having conditions identical with ours. Always the reasonings of the fish who affirms—quite sincerely—that it is impossible to live outside water! Let us leave these teachers to their illusions and continue our ascent. Astronomy must be the great teacher of philosophy.

The distant world of Neptune, on which every year equals nearly 165 of our years, and where ten years represent the whole historical interval which separates us from the Romans (we must remember than 1,650 years ago the Romans reigned at Paris and in Gaul, and neither France nor any of the present-day nations were thought of), this neighbouring world, I say, is well fitted to teach us to enlarge our narrow and personal conceptions, especially as regards the measurement of time. The calendar of that planet is just as exact, just as precise, as ours, and a Neptunian year is not longer to those slow and reflective beings who inhabit the place than is a terrestrial year to those hurrying and agitated persons who swarm in our turbulent cities. Yet a Neptunian adolescent of 20 has really lived nearly 3,300 terrestrial years, without knowing that such a time is called “very long” by the inhabitants of our planet, whom such a life would carry back to the epoch of Homer and ancient Greece.

It would be impossible even with the most careful examination to discover any point of comparison between the beings which live on the Neptunian world and those which we know on Earth. None of our classifications, whether of the animal kingdom, vast and diversified though it be, or of the vegetable kingdom, highly complex in itself, could be applied to them. It is another world, absolutely different from this one. Spectrum analysis indeed establishes the fact that its chemical composition is quite other than that of our terrestrial home. The organisms which live on the surface of the different planets are the resultant of the forces acting upon them. The origin of the human form lies in the ancestral forms of the long animal series whence it has gradually emerged, and of which it is the highest perfection, and these primitive animal forms go back in an unbroken chain to the rudimentary organisms unprovided with the senses which are the glory of man, organisms which inaugurated the manifestations of life, but which can hardly be described as living. They are neither animals nor plants. They appear to be organised substances, already distinct from the inorganic kingdom, but as yet only simple chemical combinations endowed with a sort of diffused vitality, an elementary protoplasm, the germ of all developments of terrestrial life, both animal and vegetable. The first organised beings were formed in the bosom of the warm waters of the oceans which covered the entire surface of the earth at the time when the geological periods began. Their intrinsic nature, their properties, their faculties, were already the resultant of the chemical composition of those waters, of the density and temperature of the surrounding medium; the variation of this medium and of the condition of existence have brought about corresponding changes in the development of this genealogical tree, and, according to the habitat of the organisms, whether in the deep, middle, or upper regions of the waters, on the sea-shore, in the low-lying plains, on sunny slopes or mountain-tops, the genealogical tree gave rise to more and more diversified organisms. Present-day terrestrial humanity is the last flower, the last fruit of this tree. But all this life is terrestrial from root to summit, and on every planet the tree is different. Life is Neptunian on Neptune, Uranian on Uranus, Saturnian on Saturn, Sirian on the system of Sirius, Arcturian on that of Arcturus, appropriate to every medium, or rather, more strictly speaking, produced and developed by each world according to its physical state and in harmony with that primeval law which all nature obeys: the law of progress.

This immense symphony of life, adapted to every world according to conditions of space and time, develops like a universal choir, the parts of which are separated from each other by deserts of space and by eternities of time. It appears to us discontinuous because we can only hear one note at a time. But in reality there is no absolute separation either in space or time. Jupiter will not be inhabited by thinking beings for millions of years to come; from the point of view of the Absolute, the interval is not greater than that which separates yesterday from to-day.

All this happens and accomplishes itself naturally, and as if God did not exist. And indeed the being whom the inhabitants of the Earth have hitherto defined as God does not exist. The Buddha of the Chinese, the Osiris of the Egyptians, the Jehovah of the Hebrews, the Ormuzd and Ahriman of the Persians, the Teutates of the Gauls, the Jupiter of the Greeks, “God the Father” or “God the Son” of the Christians, or the great Allah of the Mussulman, are human conceptions, personifications invented by man in which he has embodied not only his highest aspirations and his sublimest virtues, but also his grossest prevarications and ugliest vices.