A Journey in Other Worlds [99]
talked on for an hour.
"I do not see how it is," said Bearwarden, "that these moons,
considering their distance from the sun, and the consequently
small amount of light they receive, are so bright."
"A body's brightness in reflecting light," replied Cortlandt,
"depends as much on the colour and composition of its own surface
as on the amount it receives. It is conceivable that these
moons, if placed at the earth's distance from the sun, would be
far brighter than our moon, and that our familiar satellite, if
removed to Saturn, would seem very dim. We know how much more
brilliant a mountain in the sunlight is when clad in snow than
when its sides are bare. These moons evidently reflect a large
proportion of the light they receive."
When they came out shortly after midnight the girl's-face moon
had already set, leaving a dark and dreary void in the part of
the sky it had so ideally filled. The inexpressibly sad
satellite (on account of its shorter distance and more rapid rate
of revolution) was still above the horizon, and, being slightly
tilted, had a more melancholy, heart-broken look than before.
While they gazed sadly at the emptiness left by Dione, Cortlandt
saw Ayrault's expression change, and, not clearly perceiving its
cause, said, wishing to cheer him: "Never mind, Dick; to-morrow
night we shall see it again."
"Ah, prosaic reasoner," retorted Bearwarden, who saw that this,
like so many other things, had reminded Ayrault of Sylvia, "that
is but small consolation for having lost it now, though I suppose
our lot is not so hard as if we were never to see it again. In
that moon's face I find the realization of my fancied ideal
woman; while that sad one yonder seems as though some celestial
lover, in search of his fate, had become enamoured of her, and
tried in vain to win her, and the grief in his mind had impressed
itself on the then molten face of a satellite to be the monument
throughout eternity of love and a broken heart. If the spirits
and souls of the departed have any command of matter, why may not
their intensest thoughts engrave themselves on a moon that, when
dead and frozen, may reflect and shine as they did, while
immersed in the depths of space? At first Dione bored me; now I
should greatly like to see her again."
"History repeats itself," replied Cortlandt, "and the same phases
of life recur. It is we that are in a changed receptive mood.
The change that seems to be in them is in reality in us. Remain
as you are now, and Dione will give you the same pleasure
tomorrow that she gave to-day."
To Ayrault this meant more than the mere setting to rise again of
a heavenly body. The perfume of a flower, the sighing of the
wind, suggesting some harmony or song, a full or crescent moon,
recalled thoughts and associations of Sylvia. Everything seemed
to bring out memory, and he realized the utter inability of
absence to cure the heart of love. "If Sylvia should pass from
my life as that moon has left my vision," his thoughts continued,
"existence would be but sadness and memory would be its cause,
for the most beautiful sounds entail sorrow; the most beautiful
sights, intense pain. "Ah," he went on with a trace of
bitterness, while his friends fell asleep in the cave, "I might
better have remained in love with science; for whose studies
Nature, which is but a form of God, in the right spirit, is not
dependent for his joy or despair on the whims of a girl. She, of
course, sees many others, and, being only twenty, may forget me.
Must I content myself with philosophical rules and mathematical
formulae, when she, whose changefulness I may find greater than
the winds that sigh over me, now loves me no longer? O love,
which makes us miserable when we feel it, and more miserable
still when it is gone!"
He strung a number of copper wires at different degrees of
tension between two trees, and listened to the wind as it ranged
up and down on this improvised AEolian harp. It gradually ran
into a regular refrain,
"I do not see how it is," said Bearwarden, "that these moons,
considering their distance from the sun, and the consequently
small amount of light they receive, are so bright."
"A body's brightness in reflecting light," replied Cortlandt,
"depends as much on the colour and composition of its own surface
as on the amount it receives. It is conceivable that these
moons, if placed at the earth's distance from the sun, would be
far brighter than our moon, and that our familiar satellite, if
removed to Saturn, would seem very dim. We know how much more
brilliant a mountain in the sunlight is when clad in snow than
when its sides are bare. These moons evidently reflect a large
proportion of the light they receive."
When they came out shortly after midnight the girl's-face moon
had already set, leaving a dark and dreary void in the part of
the sky it had so ideally filled. The inexpressibly sad
satellite (on account of its shorter distance and more rapid rate
of revolution) was still above the horizon, and, being slightly
tilted, had a more melancholy, heart-broken look than before.
While they gazed sadly at the emptiness left by Dione, Cortlandt
saw Ayrault's expression change, and, not clearly perceiving its
cause, said, wishing to cheer him: "Never mind, Dick; to-morrow
night we shall see it again."
"Ah, prosaic reasoner," retorted Bearwarden, who saw that this,
like so many other things, had reminded Ayrault of Sylvia, "that
is but small consolation for having lost it now, though I suppose
our lot is not so hard as if we were never to see it again. In
that moon's face I find the realization of my fancied ideal
woman; while that sad one yonder seems as though some celestial
lover, in search of his fate, had become enamoured of her, and
tried in vain to win her, and the grief in his mind had impressed
itself on the then molten face of a satellite to be the monument
throughout eternity of love and a broken heart. If the spirits
and souls of the departed have any command of matter, why may not
their intensest thoughts engrave themselves on a moon that, when
dead and frozen, may reflect and shine as they did, while
immersed in the depths of space? At first Dione bored me; now I
should greatly like to see her again."
"History repeats itself," replied Cortlandt, "and the same phases
of life recur. It is we that are in a changed receptive mood.
The change that seems to be in them is in reality in us. Remain
as you are now, and Dione will give you the same pleasure
tomorrow that she gave to-day."
To Ayrault this meant more than the mere setting to rise again of
a heavenly body. The perfume of a flower, the sighing of the
wind, suggesting some harmony or song, a full or crescent moon,
recalled thoughts and associations of Sylvia. Everything seemed
to bring out memory, and he realized the utter inability of
absence to cure the heart of love. "If Sylvia should pass from
my life as that moon has left my vision," his thoughts continued,
"existence would be but sadness and memory would be its cause,
for the most beautiful sounds entail sorrow; the most beautiful
sights, intense pain. "Ah," he went on with a trace of
bitterness, while his friends fell asleep in the cave, "I might
better have remained in love with science; for whose studies
Nature, which is but a form of God, in the right spirit, is not
dependent for his joy or despair on the whims of a girl. She, of
course, sees many others, and, being only twenty, may forget me.
Must I content myself with philosophical rules and mathematical
formulae, when she, whose changefulness I may find greater than
the winds that sigh over me, now loves me no longer? O love,
which makes us miserable when we feel it, and more miserable
still when it is gone!"
He strung a number of copper wires at different degrees of
tension between two trees, and listened to the wind as it ranged
up and down on this improvised AEolian harp. It gradually ran
into a regular refrain,