Frontispiece to Lovell's expurgated edition.
VOYAGE TO THE SUN
At last our vessel reached Toulon harbour, and after returning thanks to the winds and stars for a prosperous voyage, we embraced on the wharf and said farewell. In my case, because money was among the fabulous stories of the World of the Moon whence I came and I had practically lost all memory of it, the skipper paid himself for my passage with the honour of having carried in his ship a man fallen from the sky. Nothing then prevented me from proceeding to Toulouse to a friend's house. I was burning to see him, for the joy I hoped to give him with the recital of my adventures. I shall not be so troublesome as to relate here all that happened on the way; I grew tired, I rested, I was thirsty, I was hungry, I drank, and I ate among twenty or thirty dogs which made up his pack.[49] Although I was in a very bad state, thin and swarthy with sunburn, he did not fail to recognise me. In a transport of joy he flung himself on my neck, kissed me more than a hundred times, and trembling with pleasure led me into his house, where as soon as his tears gave place to his voice he exclaimed:
"At least we live and shall live, in spite of all the accidents by which Fortune has shaken our lives. But, Good Gods! it is not true then that you were burned in Canada in the great firework display you had invented? And yet two or three people worthy of credit among those who brought me this sad news swore they had seen and touched the wooden Bird in which you were carried off. They told me that unluckily you had got into it at the moment it was fired and that the impetus of the rockets burning all around carried you so high you were lost to sight. And they vowed you were so completely consumed that when the machine fell back only a few of your ashes were found."
"Those ashes", I replied, "sir, were those of the fire-works themselves, for the fire did not hurt me in the least. The rockets were fastened on outside and consequently their heat could not trouble me. You know that as soon as the powder was exhausted, the swift ascent of the rockets ceased to raise the machine, which then fell to the ground. I saw it fall and when I expected nothing but to fall with it, I was surprised to feel myself rising towards the Moon. But I must explain to you the cause of an effect which you will take for a miracle.... The day of this accident I had rubbed all my body with marrow on account of certain bruises. But the Moon was then waning and at that period draws up marrow; it absorbed so gluttonously the marrow rubbed on my flesh, especially when my box rose above the middle region, where there were no intervening clouds to weaken its influence, that my body followed the attraction; and I protest it continued to suck me up so long that at last I reached that world we call the Moon."
I then related at length all the details of my voyage and Monsieur de Colignac was so ravished at hearing such extraordinary things that he implored me to set them down in writing. I enjoy repose and therefore resisted him for a long time, because of the visits such a publication would probably have attracted; but at length, shamed by the reproaches he continued to attack me with, I resolved at last to satisfy him. I therefore took pen in hand and as soon as I finished a sheet he went to Toulouse to vaunt it in the best company, for he was more anxious for my reputation than his own; he was considered one of the greatest minds of his century[50] and by making himself the indefatigable echo of my praises he made me known to everyone. Already, without having seen me, the engravers had cut my portrait and from every square the town echoed with pedlars shouting at the top of their voices from hoarse throats: "Portrait of the author of The Voyage to the Moon." Among those who read my book were numerous ignoramuses who turned over its pages. To counterfeit great wits they applauded like the others and clapped their hands at every word, for fear of a mistake, exclaiming joyously "How excellent he is!" at all the passages they did not understand. But superstition disguised as conscience, whose teeth are very sharp under a fool's shirt, so gnawed at their hearts that they preferred rather to give up the reputation of philosophers (which suited them like ill-fitting clothes) than to have to answer for it at the Judgment Day.
This was the other side of the question and each was then in a hurry to recant. The work they had so highly prized was now simply a pot-pourri of ridiculous stories, a mass of disconnected fragments, a collection of fairy tales to lull children to sleep; and those ignorant even of syntax condemned the author to carry a candle to Saint Mathurin.[51] This contest of opinion between the men of wit and the idiots increased its reputation. Very soon manuscript copies were being sold secretly.[52] Everyone, in and out of society, from the gentleman to the monk, bought the book and the women even took sides. Each family was divided and the interested in this quarrel went so far that the town was divided into two factions, the Lunar and the Anti-Lunar.
We were still engaged in the skirmishes of the battle when one morning there came into Colignac's room nine or ten grey-beards in long robes, who spoke to him as follows:
"Sir, you know that there is not one among us who is not your relative, your kin or your friend, and consequently that anything shameful which happens to you falls equally upon us. And yet we are credibly informed that you shelter a sorcerer in your house."
"A sorcerer!" cried Colignac, "Good Gods! Tell me his name. I will deliver him into your hands; but we must take care this is not a calumny."