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URANIA
URANIA
BY CAMILLE FLAMMARION
_ILLUSTRATED BY_ DE BIELER, MYRBACH, AND GAMBARD
_TRANSLATED BY_ AUGUSTA RICE STETSON
BOSTON ESTES AND LAURIAT Publishers
_Copyright, 1890_, BY ESTES & LAURIAT.
University Press: JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE.
CONTENTS.
Part First.
THE HEAVENLY MUSE.
PAGE I. A DREAM OF YOUTH 9
II. UNKNOWN HUMANITIES 18
III. THE INFINITE VARIETY OF BEINGS 35
IV. ETERNITY AND THE INFINITE 44
V. THE LIGHT OF THE PAST 57
Part Second.
GEORGE SPERO.
I. LIFE 71
II. THE APPARITION 86
III. "TO BE, OR NOT TO BE?" 101
IV. AMOR 122
V. THE AURORA BOREALIS 141
VI. ETERNAL PROGRESS 152
Part Third.
HEAVEN AND EARTH.
I. TELEPATHY 161
II. ITER EXTATICUM COELESTE 207
III. THE PLANET MARS 227
IV. THE FIXED POINT IN THE UNIVERSE 257
V. AD VERITATEM PER SCIENTIAM 302
Part First.
THE HEAVENLY MUSE.
I.
A DREAM OF YOUTH.
I was seventeen years old; her name was Urania.
Was Urania a fair, blue-eyed maiden, a dream of spring, an innocent butinquisitive daughter of Eve? No; she was simply, as in days of yore,that one of the nine Muses who presided over astronomy, and whosecelestial glance inspired and directed the chorus of the spheres; shewas the angelic idea which soars above terrestrial dulness. She had notthe disturbing flesh, nor the heart whose palpitations are communicatedat a distance, nor the gentle ardor of human life; but she existednevertheless in a sort of ideal world,--lofty and always pure,--and yetshe was human enough in name and form to produce a strong and deepimpression upon an adolescent soul, to arouse in that soul anindefinite, indefinable feeling of admiration,--almost of love.
In his hours of solitude, and even through the intellectual labors withwhich the education of the day overloads his brain, a young man whosehand has never plucked the divine fruit from the tree of Paradise, whoselips are still untouched, whose heart has not yet spoken, whose sensesare beginning to awaken amid vague new aspirations, thrills with apresentiment of the divinity to which he is soon to sacrifice, andpersonifies beforehand in ever-varying forms the unknown being whofloats through the airy fabric of his dreams. He wishes, longs to reachthis unknown being, but dares not yet, perhaps may never dare, in thepurity of his admiration, unless some helping hand come to his aid. IfChloe is not well informed, indiscreet and talkative Lycinion must takeit upon herself to instruct Daphnis.
Whatever tells us of the yet unknown attraction can charm, interest,delight, and captivate us. A cold engraving, showing the oval of a pureface, even an old-fashioned painting, a sculpture,--a sculptureespecially,--awakens a new feeling in our hearts; the blood flowsfaster, or seems to stop; the idea crosses our reddening brow like aflash, and remains floating in our pensive mind. It is the beginning ofdesires, the beginning of life, the dawn of a beautiful summer day,harbinger of the sunrise.
As for me, my first love, my adolescent passion, had, not for its objectassuredly, but as a determining cause--a clock! It is rather odd, but soit is! Humdrum calculations used up all my afternoons from two untilfour; it was merely correcting observations, made the night before, ofstars or planets by applying the reductions arising from atmosphericrefraction, which itself depends on the height of the barometer and thetemperature. These calculations are as simple as they are tiresome;they are made mechanically, by the help of prepared tables, whilethinking of something else.
The illustrious Le Verrier was then director of the Paris Observatory.Although in no way artistic, he had in his study a golden bronze clockof very beautiful design, dating from the end of the First Empire,--thework of Pradier's chisel. The pedestal of this clock represented inbas-relief the birth of astronomy on the Egyptian plains. A massivecelestial sphere surrounded by the zodiacal circle, supported bysphinxes, held the dial; Egyptian gods adorned the sides. But the chiefbeauty of this artistic work consisted of an exquisite little statue ofUrania, lithe, elegant,--I had almost said majestic.
The celestial Muse was standing. With her right hand she measured thedegrees of the starry sphere by the aid of a compass; her drooping lefthand held a small astronomical telescope. Superbly draped, she lookeddown in an attitude of stately grandeur. I had never before seen sobeautiful a face as hers. With the light falling directly upon it, thepure countenance looked grave and austere. If the light came to itobliquely, it appeared somewhat meditative; but coming from above andfrom the side, the enchanting face brightened with a mysterious smile,her glance grew almost caressing, her exquisite serenity gave place toan expression of joy, amiability, and happiness delightful tocontemplate. It was like a song of the soul, a poetic melody. Thesechanges of expression fairly made the statue alive. Muse and goddess,she was beautiful, she was enchanting, she was adorable.
Whenever I had occasion to go to the eminent mathematician it was nothis world-wide reputation which impressed me most. I forgot the formulasof logarithms, and even the immortal discovery of the planet Neptune, tobow beneath the charm of Pradier's work. The beautiful figure soadmirably modelled beneath its antique drapery, the graceful throat, theexpressive face, attracted my eyes and captivated my thoughts. Veryoften, as we were leaving the office about four o'clock to go back toParis, I would peep through the half-open door to see if the directorwere absent. Monday and Wednesday were the best days,--the first becauseof the Institute meetings, which he seldom missed; the second on accountof the Bureau of Longitudes sessions, which he avoided with the mostprofound disdain: he would even leave the observatory expressly, to makehis contempt for them more emphatic. Then I would stand before my dearUrania and look at her to my heart's content, enraptured by her beautyof form and face, and go away more satisfied, but not happier,--shecharmed, but filled me with regrets.
One evening--the evening on which I discovered how the light couldchange her face--I found the library-door wide open. A lamp stood on thechimney-piece shedding its rays over the Muse in one of her mostbewitching aspects. The slanting light lovingly caressed the brow,cheeks, lips, and throat. Her expression was wonderful. I went in, andfor a while stood there in motionless contemplation. Then I triedchanging the position of the lamp, making the light play over theshoulders, arms, neck, and hair. The statue seemed to live, to think, toawake, and smile again! Odd, whimsical idea; strange feeling! I hadactually fallen in love! I had changed from admirer to lover! If I hadbeen told then that what I felt was not real love, and that thisplatonism was but a childish dream, I should have been very incredulous.The director came in, but did not seem so much surprised at my presenceas I might have feared. (The study was often used to reach theobservation rooms.) "You are late for Jupiter," he said, as I replacedthe lamp on the chimney-piece; and when I reached the threshold headded, "Can it be possible that you are a poet?" lengtheni
ng out thelast syllable as though he had said "poet."
I might have answered him by quoting Kepler, Galileo, D'Alembert, thetwo Herschels, and other famous savants who were poets and astronomersat the same time. I could have reminded him that the first director ofthis very observatory, Jean-Dominique Cassini, sang of Urania in Latin,French, and Italian verse. But the observatory pupils were not in thehabit of answering the senator-director in any way whatever; senatorswere personages of importance in those days, and the directorship of theobservatory was a life-office. Then too the great geometrician wouldhave looked upon the most wonderful poem by Dante, Ariosto, or Hugo withthe same profound disdain that a big Newfoundland dog would show if oneshould put a glass of wine to his mouth. Besides, I was clearly in thewrong.
How that charming figure of Urania haunted me, with all the deliciouschanges of expression! Her smile was so gracious, and sometimes herbronze eyes had such a real look. She lacked nothing but speech.
That night, just as I fell asleep, I saw the divine goddess again; andthis time she spoke.
Oh, she was really living now! And what a pretty mouth! I could havekissed each word. "Come," she said, "come up into the sky. Far away fromthe earth, you shall look down upon this lower world, you shallcontemplate the great universe in its grandeur. Come and see."