The landing of this little balloon did not leave it in a condition to exhibit proudly to future generations. After drifting three quarters of an hour, it fell in a field near Gonesse, a village fifteen miles from the place of ascension, apparently ruptured from overdistention. The villagers flocked about it with curiosity and trepidation, ignorant of its nature, whether of bird kind or monster; and doubtful of its origin, whether natural or satanic. They fell upon it with flails and pitchforks. When struck it smelt strongly of sulphur, indicating a diabolic source. They finally hitched it to the tail of a horse which galloping away in terror, badly damaged it. Whether this destruction was wrought through fear or rustic hilarity, it induced the government of France to issue a notice to the public explaining the innocuous nature of a simple balloon.
In the meantime Joseph Montgolfier, having reached Paris, had constructed a waterproof linen balloon 46 feet in diameter and ornamented in oil colors, which was to be publicly launched at Versailles. On September 19, 1783, the king and queen, the court and a vast throng of people of every rank and age, assembled to witness the ascension. Montgolfier explained to them every detail, and finally lit the fire, about one o’clock. The great bag gradually expanded, rounding out in eleven minutes to a beautiful globular form, tugging upward with a force of seven hundred pounds. Beneath was suspended a wicker cage containing the first aërial passengers—a sheep, a rooster and a duck. The vessel rose majestically above the applauding multitude to a height of fourteen hundred feet, and drifted some two miles in eight minutes, descending gradually in the wood at Vaucresson. The animals were tipped out on landing; but, when found by two game-keepers, they were none the worse for their strange journey. The sheep was grazing and the cock crowing, says one report, while another relates that the sheep had trampled on the rooster and lamed him.
Stephen Montgolfier now wishing to send up human passengers, made a balloon of 100,000 cubic feet capacity. It was shaped like a full lemon pointing upward, with a cylindrical neck below, 16 feet in diameter. Around this neck was a wicker balcony three feet wide, to carry the aëronauts, bundles of straw for fuel, pails of water and sponges to extinguish incipient conflagrations, here and there in the balloon, during a journey. Through stokeholes in the side of the neck sheaves of straw could be forked to the grate suspended centrally below by radial chains. During inflation the base of the balloon rested on a platform, and its top was supported by a rope stretched between two poles. The vessel when completed, in a garden of the Faubourg St. Antoine, was 85 feet high by 48 feet across, and weighed 1,600 pounds. About its zone, painted in oil, were elegant decorations; portraits, cyphers of the king’s name, fleur-de-lis, with fancy borders below and above; while higher still, on the arching dome of the bag, were all the signs of the celestial zodiac.
The handsome vessel was now ready; but what daring captain should navigate her? King Louis proposed two prisoners who were under sentence of death, and had to be killed somehow. But the brave Pilâtre de Rozier protested indignantly: “Eh quoi! de vils criminels auraient les premiers la gloire de senlever dans les airs! Non, non, cela ne sera point.” He stirred up the city, and finally prevailed, through the entreaties of the Marquis d’Arlandes, who secured from the king permission to accompany his friend.
After some days of preliminary practice in maneuvering the tethered balloon, these gentlemen were ready for an aërial voyage. On November 21, 1783, the balloon was inflated in the garden of La Muette palace, and stocked with enough straw for an hour’s journey. When all was ready Pilâtre de Rozier and the Marquis d’Arlandes stepped with eager courage into the gallery taking opposite sides to ensure proper balance. At two o’clock they rose splendidly, amid the acclamations of a vast throng of spectators, and at the height of 280 feet, removing their hats, saluted the surprised multitude. Encountering a south blowing wind, they drifted five miles in some twenty minutes, and landed safely in a field. The apparatus was soon assembled on a cart and returned to the Faubourg St. Antoine, where it was originally constructed. The details of this first human voyage in a balloon are very interesting and well told in a letter written by the Marquis d’Arlande to a member of the French Academy.
Fig. 7.—Montgolfier’s Passenger Balloon.
“At this time M. Pilâtre said: ‘You do nothing, and we shall not mount.’ ‘Pardon me,’ I replied. I threw a truss of straw upon the fire, stirring it a little at the same time, and then quickly turned my face back again; but I could no longer see La Muette. Astonished, I gave a look to the direction of the river.... M. Pilâtre then said, ‘See, there is the river, and observe that we descend.’ ‘Well, then, my friend, let us increase the fire;’ and we worked away. But instead of crossing the river, as our direction seemed to indicate, which carried us over the house of the Invalides, we passed along the island of Cygnes, reëntered over the principal bed of the river, and advanced up it as far as the gate de la Conference. I said to my intrepid companion: ‘See, there is the river &c.’ I stirred the fire, and took with the fork a truss of straw, which from being too tight, did not take fire very easily. I lifted it and shook it in the middle of the flame. The next moment I felt as if I were lifted up from under the arms, and said to my companion, ‘Now we mount, &c.’ At the same time I heard a noise toward the top of the machine, as if it were going to burst; I looked, but did not see anything. However, as I was looking up, I felt a shock, which was the only one I experienced. The direction of the motion was from the upper part downwards. I said then: ‘What are you doing? Are you dancing?’ ‘I don’t stir,’ said he. ‘So much the better,’ I replied, ‘it is then a new current, which, I hope, will push us over the river.’ In fact, I turned myself in order to see where we were, and I found myself between l’École Militaire and les Invalides, beyond which place we had already gone about 2,500 feet. M. Pilâtre said at the same time: ‘We are on the plain.’ ‘Yes,’ said I, ‘and we advance.’ ‘Work on,’ said he. I then heard another noise in the machine, which appeared to be the effect of a rope breaking. This fresh admonition made me examine attentively the interior of our habitation. I saw that the part of the machine which was turned toward the south was full of round holes, many of which were of a considerable size. I then said: ‘We must descend,’ and at the same time I took the sponge and easily extinguished the fire, which was round some holes that I could reach; but leaning on the lower part of the linen, to observe whether it adhered firmly to the surrounding circle, I found that the linen was easily separated from it, on which I repeated that it was necessary to descend. My companion said: ‘We are over Paris.’ ‘Never mind that,’ said I, ‘but look if there appears any danger for you on your side—are you safe?’ He said: ‘Yes.’ I examined my side, and found that there was no danger to apprehend. Farther, I wetted with a sponge those cords which were within my reach. They all resisted, except two, which gave way. I then said: ‘We may pass over Paris.’ In doing this, we approached the tops of houses very sensibly; we increased the fire, and rose with the greatest ease. I looked below me, and perfectly discovered the Mission Étranger. It seemed as if we were going toward Saint-Sulpice, which I could perceive through the aperture of our machine. On rising a current of air made us leave this direction, and carried us toward the south. I saw on my left a sort of forest, which I took to be the Luxembourg; we passed over the Boulevard, and then I said: ‘Let us now descend.’ The fire was nearly extinguished; but the intrepid M. Pilâtre, who never loses his presence of mind, and who went forward, imagining that we were going against the mills that are between Petite Gentilly and the Boulevard, admonished me. I threw a bundle of straw on the fire, and shaking it in order to inflame it more easily, we rose, and a new current carried us a little toward our left. M. Rozier said again: ‘Take care of the mills’; but as I was looking through the aperture of the machine, I could observe more accurately that we could not meet with them, and said: ‘We are there.’ The moment after, I observed that we went over a piece of water, which I took for the river, but after landing, I recollected that it was the piece of water, &c. The moment we touched the ground, I raised myself up to the gallery and perceived the upper part of the machine to press very gently on my head, I pushed it back, and jumped out of the gallery, and on turning toward the machine, expected to find it distended, but was surprised to find it perfectly emptied and quite flattened, &c.”
While the foregoing experiment was in progress, plans were matured for the construction of a hydrogen balloon large enough to support two passengers and remain aloft many hours, without the need of carrying dangerous fuel. This type of balloon, called a Charlière, after its inventor, was destined largely to supersede the hot-air type, known as the Montgolfière, and indeed, to replace it entirely for free voyages of considerable endurance and for most power voyages. The construction after the plan of Professor Charles was delegated to two very intelligent mechanics, the Robert brothers who also had succeeded in dissolving caoutchouc, and thus producing a very superior balloon varnish. The project was first announced in the Journal de Paris of the 19th of November 1783. As usual in those days of public enthusiasm, a subscription was opened to defray the expenses of the experiment, estimated to cost about ten thousand francs.
