By a natural impulse, Servadac's first thought was to observe

the position of the pole-star. It was in sight, but so near
to the horizon as to suggest the utter impossibility of its

being any longer the central pivot of the sidereal system;
it occupied a position through which it was out of the question

that the axis of the earth indefinitely prolonged could ever pass.
In his impression he was more thoroughly confirmed when, an hour later,

he noticed that the star had approached still nearer the horizon,
as though it had belonged to one of the zodiacal constellations.

The pole-star being manifestly thus displaced, it remained
to be discovered whether any other of the celestial bodies

had become a fixed center around which the constellations made
their apparent daily revolutions. To the solution of this problem

Servadac applied himself with the most thoughtful diligence.
After patient observation, he satisfied himself that the required

conditions were answered by a certain star that was stationary not
far from the horizon. This was Vega, in the constellation Lyra,

a star which, according to the precession of the equinoxes,
will take the place of our pole-star 12,000 years hence.

The most daringimagination could not suppose that a period
of 12,000 years had been crowded into the space of a fortnight;

and therefore the captain came, as to an easier conclusion,
to the opinion that the earth's axis had been suddenly and

immensely shifted; and from the fact that the axis, if produced,
would pass through a point so little removed above the horizon,

he deduced the inference that the Mediterranean must have been
transported to the equator.

Lost in bewildering maze of thought, he gazed long and intently upon
the heavens. His eyes wandered from where the tail of the Great Bear,

now a zodiacal constellation, was scarcely visible above the waters,
to where the stars of the southern hemisphere were just breaking on his view.

A cry from Ben Zoof recalled him to himself.
"The moon!" shouted the orderly, as though overjoyed at once

again beholding what the poet has called:
"The kind companion of terrestrial night;"

and he pointed to a disc that was rising at a spot precisely
opposite the place where they would have expected to see the sun.

"The moon!" again he cried.
But Captain Servadac could not altogether enter into his

servant's enthusiasm. If this were actually" target="_blank" title="ad.事实上；实际上">actually the moon, her distance
from the earth must have been increased by some millions of miles.

He was rather disposed to suspect that it was not the earth's
satellite at all, but some planet with its apparent magnitude

greatly enlarged by its approximation to the earth. Taking up
the powerful field-glass which he was accustomed to use in his

surveying operations, he proceeded to investigate more carefully
the luminous orb. But he failed to trace any of the lineaments,

supposed to resemble a human face, that mark the lunar surface;
he failed to decipher any indications of hill and plain;

nor could he make out the aureole of light which emanates from
what astronomers have designated Mount Tycho. "It is not the moon,"

he said slowly.
"Not the moon?" cried Ben Zoof. "Why not?"

"It is not the moon," again affirmed the captain.
"Why not?" repeated Ben Zoof, unwilling to renounce his first impression.

"Because there is a small satellite in attendance."
And the captain drew his servant's attention to a bright speck,

apparently about the size of one of Jupiter's satellites seen
through a moderatetelescope, that was clearly visible just

within the focus of his glass.
Here, then, was a fresh mystery. The orbit of this planet was

assuredly interior to the orbit of the earth, because it accompanied
the sun in its apparentmotion; yet it was neither Mercury nor Venus,

because neither one nor the other of these has any satellite at all.
The captain stamped and stamped again with mingled vexation,

agitation, and bewilderment. "Confound it!" he cried,
"if this is neither Venus nor Mercury, it must be the moon;

but if it is the moon, whence, in the name of all the gods,
has she picked up another moon for herself?"

The captain was in dire perplexity.
CHAPTER VIII

VENUS IN PERILOUS PROXIMITY
The light of the returning sun soon extinguished the glory of the stars,

and rendered it necessary for the captain to postpone his observations.
He had sought in vain for further trace of the huge disc that had

so excited his wonder on the 1st, and it seemed most probable that,
in its irregular orbit, it had been carried beyond the range of vision.

The weather was still superb. The wind, after veering to the west,
had sunk to a perfect calm. Pursuing its inverted course, the sun

rose and set with undeviating regularity; and the days and nights
were still divided into periods of precisely six hours each--

a sure proof that the sun remained close to the new equator
which manifestly passed through Gourbi Island.

Meanwhile the temperature was steadily increasing. The captain kept
his thermometer close at hand where he could repeatedly consult it,

and on the 15th he found that it registered 50 degrees centigrade
in the shade.

No attempt had been made to rebuild the gourbi, but the captain
and Ben Zoof managed to make up quarters sufficiently comfortable

in the principalapartment of the adjoining structure,
where the stone walls, that at first afforded a refuge from

the torrents of rain, now formed an equallyacceptable shelter
from the burning sun. The heat was becoming insufferable,

surpassing the heat of Senegal and other equatorial regions;
not a cloud ever tempered the intensity of the solar rays;

and unless some modification ensued, it seemed inevitable
that all vegetation should become scorched and burnt off from

the face of the island.
In spite, however, of the profuse perspirations from which he suffered,

Ben Zoof, constant to his principles, expressed no surprise at the
unwonted heat. No remonstrances from his master could induce him to abandon

his watch from the cliff. To withstand the vertical beams of that noontide
sun would seem to require a skin of brass and a brain of adamant; but yet,

hour after hour, he would remain conscientiously scanning the surface of
the Mediterranean, which, calm and deserted, lay outstretched before him.

On one occasion, Servadac, in reference to his orderly's indomitable
perseverance, happened to remark that he thought he must have been born

in the heart of equatorial Africa; to which Ben Zoof replied, with the
utmost dignity, that he was born at Montmartre, which was all the same.

The worthy fellow was unwilling to own that, even in the matter of heat,
the tropics could in any way surpass his own much-loved home.

This unprecedented temperature very soon began to take effect upon
the products of the soil. The sap rose rapidly in the trees,

so that in the course of a few days buds, leaves, flowers, and fruit
had come to full maturity. It was the same with the cereals;

wheat and maize sprouted and ripened as if by magic,
and for a while a rank and luxuriant pasturage clothed

the meadows. Summer and autumn seemed blended into one.
If Captain Servadac had been more deeply versed in astronomy,

he would perhaps have been able to bring to bear his knowledge
that if the axis of the earth, as everything seemed to indicate,

now formed a right angle with the plane of the ecliptic,
her various seasons, like those of the planet Jupiter, would become

limited to certain zones, in which they would remain invariable.
But even if he had understood the _rationale_ of the change,

the convulsion that had brought it about would have been as much
a mystery as ever.

The precocity of vegetation caused some embarrassment.
The time for the corn and fruit harvest had fallen simultaneously

with that of the haymaking; and as the extreme heat precluded
any prolonged exertions, it was evident "the population"

of the island would find it difficult to provide the necessary
amount of labor. Not that the prospect gave them much concern:

the provisions of the gourbi were still far from exhausted,
and now that the roughness of the weather had so happily subsided,

they had every encouragement to hope that a ship of some sort
would soon appear. Not only was that part of the Mediterranean

systematically frequented by the government steamers that watched
the coast, but vessels of all nations were constantly cruising

off the shore.
In spite, however, of all their sanguine speculations, no ship appeared.

Ben Zoof admitted the necessity of extemporizing a kind of parasol
for himself, otherwise he must literally have been roasted to death

upon the exposed summit of the cliff.