ZHyul Vern - Off on a Comet [Hector Servadac]

Among so many effective and artistic tales, it is difficult to give apreference to one over all the rest. Yet, certainly, even amid Vernesremarkable works, his "Off on a Comet" must be given high rank. Perhapsthis story will be remembered when even "Round the World in Eighty Days"and "Michael Strogoff" have been obliterated by centuries of time. Atleast, of the many books since written upon the same theme as Vernes,no one has yet succeeded in equaling or even approaching it.

In one way "Off on a Comet" shows a marked contrast to Vernes earlierbooks. Not only does it invade a region more remote than even the "Tripto the Moon," but the author here abandons his usual scrupulouslyscientific attitude. In order that he may escort us through the depthsof immeasurable space, show us what astronomy really knows of conditionsthere and upon the other planets, Verne asks us to accept a situationfrankly impossible. The earth and a comet are brought twice intocollision without mankind in general, or even our astronomers, becomingconscious of the fact. Moreover several people from widely scatteredplaces are carried off by the comet and returned uninjured. Yet further,the comet snatches for the convenience of its travelers, both air andwater. Little, useful tracts of earth are picked up and, as it were,turned over and clapped down right side up again upon the cometssurface. Even ships pass uninjured through this remarkable somersault.These events all belong frankly to the realm of fairyland.

If the situation were reproduced in actuality, if ever a comet shouldcome into collision with the earth, we can conceive two scientificallypossible results. If the comet were of such attenuation, such almostinfinitesimal mass as some of these celestial wanderers seem to be, wecan imagine our earth self-protective and possibly unharmed. If, on theother hand, the comet had even a hundredth part of the size and solidityand weight which Verne confers upon his monster so as to give histravelers a homein that case the collision would be unspeakablydisastrousespecially to the unlucky individuals who occupied the exactpoint of contact.

But once granted the initial and the closing extravagance, the departureand return of his characters, the alpha and omega of his tale, howclosely the author clings to facts between! How closely he follows, andimparts to his readers, the scientific probabilities of the universebeyond our earth, the actual knowledge so hard won by our astronomers!Other authors who, since Verne, have told of trips through the planetaryand stellar universe have given free rein to fancy, to dreams of whatmight be found. Verne has endeavored to impart only what is known toexist.

In the same year with "Off on a Comet," 1877, was published also thetale variously named and translated as "The Black Indies," "TheUnderground City," and "The Child of the Cavern." This story, like"Round the World in Eighty Days" was first issued in "feuilleton" by thenoted Paris newspaper "Le Temps." Its success did not equal that of itspredecessor in this style. Some critics indeed have pointed to this workas marking the beginning of a decline in the authors power of awakinginterest. Many of his best works were, however, still to follow. And, asregards imagination and the elements of mystery and awe, surely in the"Underground City" with its cavern world, its secret, undiscoverable,unrelenting foe, the "Harfang," bird of evil omen, and the "firemaidens" of the ruined castle, surely with all these "imagination" isanything but lacking.

From the realistic side, the work is painstaking and exact as all theauthors works. The sketches of mines and miners, their courage andtheir dangers, their lives and their hopes, are carefully studied. Soalso is the emotional aspect of the deeps under ground, the blackness,the endless wandering passages, the silence, and the awe.

"Nothing, sir, can induce me to surrender my claim."

"I am sorry, count, but in such a matter your views cannot modify mine."

"But allow me to point out that my seniority unquestionably gives me aprior right."

"Mere seniority, I assert, in an affair of this kind, cannot possiblyentitle you to any prior claim whatever."

"Then, captain, no alternative is left but for me to compel you to yieldat the swords point."

"As you please, count; but neither sword nor pistol can force me toforego my pretensions. Here is my card."

"And mine."

This rapid altercation was thus brought to an end by the formalinterchange of the names of the disputants. On one of the cards wasinscribed:

Captain Hector Servadac,Staff Officer, Mostaganem.

On the other was the title:

Count Wassili Timascheff,On board the Schooner "Dobryna."

It did not take long to arrange that seconds should be appointed, whowould meet in Mostaganem at two oclock that day; and the captain andthe count were on the point of parting from each other, with a salute ofpunctilious courtesy, when Timascheff, as if struck by a sudden thought,said abruptly: "Perhaps it would be better, captain, not to allow thereal cause of this to transpire?"

"Far better," replied Servadac; "it is undesirable in every way for anynames to be mentioned."

"In that case, however," continued the count, "it will be necessary toassign an ostensible pretext of some kind. Shall we allege a musicaldispute? a contention in which I feel bound to defend Wagner, while youare the zealous champion of Rossini?"

"I am quite content," answered Servadac, with a smile; and with anotherlow bow they parted.

The scene, as here depicted, took place upon the extremity of a littlecape on the Algerian coast, between Mostaganem and Tenes, about twomiles from the mouth of the Shelif. The headland rose more than sixtyfeet above the sea-level, and the azure waters of the Mediterranean, asthey softly kissed the strand, were tinged with the reddish hue of theferriferous rocks that formed its base. It was the 31st of December. Thenoontide sun, which usually illuminated the various projections of thecoast with a dazzling brightness, was hidden by a dense mass of cloud,and the fog, which for some unaccountable cause, had hung for the lasttwo months over nearly every region in the world, causing seriousinterruption to traffic between continent and continent, spread itsdreary veil across land and sea.

After taking leave of the staff-officer, Count Wassili Timascheff wendedhis way down to a small creek, and took his seat in the stern of a lightfour-oar that had been awaiting his return; this was immediately pushedoff from shore, and was soon alongside a pleasure-yacht, that was lyingto, not many cable lengths away.

At a sign from Servadac, an orderly, who had been standing at arespectful distance, led forward a magnificent Arabian horse; thecaptain vaulted into the saddle, and followed by his attendant, wellmounted as himself, started off towards Mostaganem. It was half-pasttwelve when the two riders crossed the bridge that had been recentlyerected over the Shelif, and a quarter of an hour later their steeds,flecked with foam, dashed through the Mascara Gate, which was one offive entrances opened in the embattled wall that encircled the town.

At that date, Mostaganem contained about fifteen thousand inhabitants,three thousand of whom were French. Besides being one of the principaldistrict towns of the province of Oran, it was also a military station.Mostaganem rejoiced in a well-sheltered harbor, which enabled her toutilize all the rich products of the Mina and the Lower Shelif. It wasthe existence of so good a harbor amidst the exposed cliffs of thiscoast that had induced the owner of the Dobryna to winter in theseparts, and for two months the Russian standard had been seen floatingfrom her yard, whilst on her mast-head was hoisted the pennant of theFrench Yacht Club, with the distinctive letters M. C. W. T., theinitials of Count Timascheff.