III
FULL MOON TO OLD MOON
AFTER dinner, in the brilliantly lighted drawing-room, we once more spread out the photographs on a table.
“This time,” I said, taking up No. 14, “we are going to watch the advance of night over the moon. Before, it was the march of sunrise that we followed. Both begin at the same place, the western edge or limb of the moon. Comparing this photograph, which was taken when the moon was about fifteen and two-third days old, with No. 13, taken when the moon’s age was more than a day less, you perceive, at a glance, wherein the chief difference lies. In No. 13 sunrise is just reaching the eastern limb; in No. 14 sunset has begun at the western limb. Having watched day sweep across the lunar world, we shall now see night following on its track. West of the Mare Crisium and the Mare Fœcunditatis, which I expect you to recognize on sight by this time, darkness has already fallen, and the edge of the moon in that direction is invisible. The long, cold night of a fortnight’s duration has begun its reign there. The setting sun illuminates the western wall of the ring mountain Langrenus, which you will remember was one of the first notable formations of the kind that we saw emerging in the lunar morning. But then it was its eastern wall that was most conspicuous in the increasing sunlight. For the selenographer the difference of aspect presented by the various objects of the lunar world when seen first under morning and then under evening illumination is extremely interesting and important. Many details not readily seen, or not visible at all, in the one case become conspicuous in the other. But it is only close along the line where night is advancing that notable changes are to be seen. Over the general surface of the moon there is not yet any perceptible change, because the sunshine still falls nearly vertical upon it. Tycho’s rays are as conspicuous as ever. Aristarchus, away over on the eastern side, is, if possible, brighter than before, and the three small dark ovals, Endymion a little west of the north (or lower) point, Plato at the edge of the Mare Imbrium, and Grimaldi near the bright eastern limb, are all conspicuous.”
No. 14. August 26, 1904; Moon’s Age 15.65 Days.
“But look!” exclaimed my friend, putting her finger upon the photograph. “Here is something that you have not mentioned at all. I believe that I have made a discovery, although you probably will not accept it as a scientific one. I see here a dark woman in the moon.”
“I confess,” I replied, “that I am not acquainted with her, and do not even see her. Please point her out to me.”
“She appears in profile, like the brilliant Moon Maiden, but is not so much of a beauty. In fact I begin to suspect that she is the ‘Old Woman in the Moon,’ that I have often heard of.”
“Positively I do not see her.”
“Then I will try to recall some of the names that you have been telling me in order to indicate where you should. She faces west and occupies most of the eastern half of the disk. Her head is under Tycho, toward the northeast, I suppose you would say. The bright double ray that you pointed out in one of the preceding pictures lies across the top of her head and over her ear. Her face seems to be formed by a part of the Mare Nubium—you observe how well I have learned your selenographical terms—and her hooked nose is composed of a kind of bay, projecting into the bright part below Tycho. Her front hair is banged, and the Mare Humorum constitutes her chignon. She has a short neck, and a humped back, consisting of the Oceanus Procellarum. Copernicus resembles a starry badge that she wears on her breast, and Aristarchus glitters on the inner side of the elbow of her long arm. The Mare Imbrium seems to be a sort of round, bulky object that she carries on her knee, and she appears to be gazing with intentness in the direction of the Mare Tranquillitatis.”