By the courtesy of the proprietors of the Strand Magazine we are allowed to quote M. Deloncle’s own words describing his emotions on his first view through the giant telescope:—
“As is invariably the case, whenever an innovation that sets at nought old-established theories is brought forward, the prophecies of failure were many and loud, and I had more than a suspicion that my success would cause less satisfaction to others than to myself. Better than any one else I myself was cognisant of the unpropitious conditions in which my instrument had to work. The proximity of the river, the dust raised by hundreds of thousands of trampling feet, the trepidation of the soil, the working of the machinery, the changes of temperature, the glare from the thousands of electric lamps in close proximity—each of these circumstances, and many others of a more technical nature, which it would be tedious to enumerate, but which were no less important, would have been more than sufficient to make any astronomer despair of success even in observatories where all the surroundings are chosen with the utmost care.
“In regions pure of calm and serene air large new instruments take months, more often years, to regulate properly.
“In spite of everything, however, I still felt confident. Our calculations had been gone over again and again, and I could see nothing that in my opinion warranted the worst apprehensions of my kind critics.
“It was with ill-restrained impatience that I waited for the first night when the moon should show herself in a suitable position for being observed; but the night arrived in due course.
“Everything was in readiness. The movable portion of the roof of the building had been slid back, and the mirror of the siderostat stood bared to the sky.
“In the dark, square chamber at the other end of the instrument, 200 feet away, into which the eyepiece of the instrument opened, I had taken my station with two or three friends. An attendant at the telephone stood waiting at my elbow to transmit my orders to his colleague in charge of the levers that regulated the siderostat and its mirror.
“The moon had risen now, and her silvery glory shone and sparkled in the mirror.
“‘A right declension,’ I ordered.
“The telephone bell rang in reply. ‘Slowly, still slower; now to the left—enough; again a right declension—slower; stop now—very, very slowly.’