Not less impressive is the journey when the afternoon watch has replaced the morning vigil by the drawing of the planet nearer to the sun. Lost in the brilliance of the dazzling sky, the planet lies hid from the senses’ search. The quest were hopeless did not the mind guide the telescope to its goal. To theory alone is it visible still, and so to its predicted place the observer sets his circles, and punctual to the prophecy the planet swings into the field of view. One must be dulled by long routine to such mastery of mind not to have the act itself clothe with a sense of charmed withdrawal the object of his quest.
So much and more there are of traveler’s glimpses by the way, compensation that offsets the frequent discomfort, and even balking of his purpose by inopportune cloud. For the best of places is not perfect, and a storm will sometimes rob him of a region he wished to see. He must learn to wait upon his opportunities and then no less to wait for mankind’s acceptance of his results; for in common with most explorers he will encounter on his return that final penalty of penetration, the certainty at first of being disbelieved.
In such respect he will be even worse off than were the other world discoverers of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. For they at least could offer material proof of things that they had seen. Dumb Indians and gold spoke more convincingly than the lips of the great navigators. To astronomy, too, that other world was due. Without a knowledge of the earth’s shape and size got from Francisco of Pisa, Columbus had never adventured himself upon the deep. But more than this, an astronomer it was, in the person of Americus Vespucius, who first discovered the new world, by recognizing it as such; Columbus never dreaming he had lighted upon a world that was new. Nor does it impair one jot or tittle of his glory that he knew it not. Nothing can deprive him of the imperishable fame of launching forth into the void in hope of a beyond, though he found not what he sought but something stranger still.
So, curiously, has it been with the trans-etherian. To Schiaparelli the republic of science owes a new and vast domain. His genius first detected those strange new markings on the Martian disk which have proved the portal to all that has since been seen, and his courage in the face of universal condemnation led to exploration of them. He made there voyage after voyage, much as Columbus did on Earth, with even less of recognition from home. As with Columbus, too, the full import of his great discovery lay hid even to him and only by discoveries since is gradually resulting in recognition of another sentient world.
CHAPTER II
A DEPARTURE-POINT
As the character of the travel is distinctive, so the outcome of the voyage is unique. If he choose his departure-point aright, the observer will be vouchsafed an experience without parallel on Earth. To select this setting-out station is the first step in the journey upon which everything depends. For it is essential to visual arrival that a departure-point be taken where definition is at its best. Now, so far as our present knowledge goes, the conditions most conducive to good seeing turn out to lie in one or other of the two great desert belts that girdle the globe. Many of us are unaware of the existence of such belts and yet they are among the most striking features of physical geography. Could we get off our globe and view it from without we should mark two sash-like bands of country, to the poleward side of either tropic, where the surface itself lay patently exposed. Unclothed of verdure themselves they would stand forth doubly clear by contrast. For elsewhere cloud would hide to a greater or less extent the actual configuration of the Earth’s topography to an observer scanning it from space.
One of these sash-like belts of desert runs through southern California, Arizona, New Mexico, the Sahara, Arabia Petræa and the Desert of Gobi; the other traverses Peru, the South African veldt, and Western Australia. They are desert because in them rain is rare; and even clouds seldom form. In a twofold way they conduce to astronomic ends. Absence of rain makes primarily for clear skies and secondarily for steady air; and the one of these conditions is no less vital to sight than the other. Water vapor is a great upsetter of atmospheric equilibrium and commotion in the air the spoiler of definition. Thus from the cloudlessness of their skies man finds in them most chance of uninterrupted communion with the stars, while by suitably choosing his spot he here obtains as well that prime desideratum for planetary work, as near a heavenly equanimity in the air currents over his head as is practically possible.
From the fact that these regions are desert they are less frequented of man, and the observer is thus perforce isolated by the nature of the case, the regions best adapted to mankind being the least suited to astronomic observations. In addition to what nature has thus done in the matter, humanity has further differentiated the two classes of sights by processes of its own contriving. Not only is civilized man actively engaged in defacing such part of the Earth’s surface as he comes in contact with, he is equally busy blotting out his sky. In the latter uncommendable pursuit he has in the last quarter of a century made surprising progress. With a success only too undesirable his habitat has gradually become canopied by a welkin of his own fashioning, which has rendered it largely unfit for the more delicate kinds of astronomic work. Smoke from multiplying factories by rising into the air and forming the nucleus about which cloud collects has joined with electric lighting to help put out the stars. These concomitants of advancing civilization have succeeded above the dreams of the most earth-centred in shutting off sight of the beyond so that today few city-bred children have any conception of the glories of the heavens which made of the Chaldean shepherds astronomers in spite of themselves.
The old world and the new are alike affected by such obliteration. Long ago London took the lead with fogs proverbial wholly due to smoke, fine particles of solid matter in suspension making these points of condensation about which water vapor gathers to form cloud. With the increase of smoke-emitting chimneys over the world other centres of population have followed suit till today Europe and eastern North America vie with each other as to which sky shall be the most obliterate. Even when the obscuration is not patent to the layman it is evident to the meteorologist or astronomer. By a certain dimming of the blue, smoke or dust reveals its presence high up aloft as telltalely as if the thing itself were visible. Some time since the writer had occasion to traverse Germany in summer from Göttingen to Cologne and in so doing was impressed by a cloudiness of the sky he felt sure had not existed when he knew it as a boy. For the change was too startling and extensive to be wholly laid to the score of the brighter remembrances of youth. On reaching Cologne he mentioned his suspicion to Klein, only to find his own inference corroborated; observations made twenty years ago being impracticable today. Two years later in Milan Celoria told the same story, the study of Mars having ceased to be possible there for like cause. Factory smoke and electric lights had combined to veil the planet at about the time Schiaparelli gave up his observations because of failing sight. With a certain poetic fitness the sky had itself been blotted just at the time the master’s eye had dimmed.