From the Earth to the moon; and, round the moonVerne, Jules
Science
From the Earth to the moon; and, round the moon
Verne, Jules
Manned space flight -- Fiction; Moon -- Fiction; Science fiction; Space flight to the moon -- Fiction; Space ships -- Fiction
“Yes, Nicholl, snow; the surface of which is deeply frozen. See how
they reflect the luminous rays. Cooled lava would never give out such
intense reflection. There must then be water, there must be air on the
moon. As little as you please, but the fact can no longer be
contested.” No, it could not be. And if ever Barbicane should see the
earth again, his notes will bear witness to this great fact in his
selenographic observations.
These mountains of Doerful and Leibnitz rose in the midst of plains of
a medium extent, which were bounded by an indefinite succession of
circles and annular ramparts. These two chains are the only ones met
with in this region of circles. Comparatively but slightly marked, they
throw up here and there some sharp points, the highest summit of which
attains an altitude of 24,600 feet.
But the projectile was high above all this landscape, and the
projections disappeared in the intense brilliancy of the disc. And to
the eyes of the travelers there reappeared that original aspect of the
lunar landscapes, raw in tone, without gradation of colors, and without
degrees of shadow, roughly black and white, from the want of diffusion
of light.
But the sight of this desolate world did not fail to captivate them by
its very strangeness. They were moving over this region as if they had
been borne on the breath of some storm, watching heights defile under
their feet, piercing the cavities with their eyes, going down into the
rifts, climbing the ramparts, sounding these mysterious holes, and
leveling all cracks. But no trace of vegetation, no appearance of
cities; nothing but stratification, beds of lava, overflowings polished
like immense mirrors, reflecting the sun’s rays with overpowering
brilliancy. Nothing belonging to a _living_ world—everything to a dead
world, where avalanches, rolling from the summits of the mountains,
would disperse noiselessly at the bottom of the abyss, retaining the
motion, but wanting the sound. In any case it was the image of death,
without its being possible even to say that life had ever existed
there.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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