I acknowledge my error, I replied: I was thinking of the situation of the sun, without considering the effect of such an excessive light: but although you have so properly corrected my mistake, yet you must allow me to tell you that you have fallen into one yourself. The inhabitants of the sun would not see any thing: they would be either incapable of enduring so immoderate a light, or, were their eyes sufficiently strong, of receiving it unless they were at some distance; therefore the sun could only be a habitation for people without sight. In short, we have abundant proofs that this luminary was not intended to be a dwelling-place; and therefore we may as well continue our planetary journey. We are now stopping at the central point which is always the lowest part in any thing that is round; and, by the way, I should tell you that in going from our world to this centre we have travelled thirty-three millions of leagues. We must now return the way we came. We pass by Mercury, Venus, the Earth and the Moon; all which we have visited. Then we arrive at Mars. I don't know that there is any thing remarkable in this planet. The days there are about half an hour longer than ours; and the years twice the length of ours, except a month and a half. Mars is four times less than the earth,[37] and the sun appears rather smaller and less brilliant than it does to us.--In short, Mars contains nothing calculated to arrest our attention. [Footnote 37: Its volume, or bulk is five times smaller.] But what a beautiful object is Jupiter, surrounded by his four moons, or satellites! These moons are four little planets which, whilst Jupiter revolves in twelve years round the sun, constantly go round him as the moon does round the earth. But, interrupted the Marchioness, how is it that there are planets which go round other planets, no better than themselves? It seems to me that there would be much more regularity and uniformity in assigning to all the planets but one sort of orbit in which they should move round the sun. Ah! madam, I replied, were you but acquainted with the vortices of Descartes; those vortices, so terrible in name, and so charming in the ideas they give rise to; you would not talk in this way. My wits must all go, said she, laughing. I must know what these vortices are. Make me quite mad at once: now I have dipped into philosophy I can't trouble myself about the care of my senses: spite of the world's laughter, we will talk of the vortices. I did not know you had so much enthusiasm, said I; 'tis pity it has no other object than vortices.