Yes! Like Jupiter.

At the time of that memorable meeting in honour of Michel Ardan—so appropriately mentioned by the orator—if J. T. Maston had excitedly exclaimed, “Let us right the Earth’s axis,” it was because the daring and fantastical Frenchman, one of the heroes of the Moon Voyage, had chanted his dithyrambic hymn in honour of the most important planets of our solar system. In his superb panegyric he had celebrated the special advantages of the giant planet, as we briefly reported at the time.

The problem solved by the calculator of the Gun Club was the substitution of a new axis of rotation for the old one on which the Earth had turned ever since in popular phrase, “the world was a world.” This new axis of rotation would be perpendicular to the plane of its orbit; and under such conditions the climatal situation of the old Pole would be much the same as that of Trondhjem, in Norway, in spring-time. The palÆocrystic armour would thus naturally melt under the rays of the Sun; and at the same time climate would be distributed over the Earth as the climates are distributed in Jupiter.

The inclination of our planet’s axis, or in other terms, the angle which its axis of rotation makes with the plane of its ecliptic is 66° 32'. A few degrees would thus bring the axis perpendicular to the plane of the orbit it describes round the Sun.

But—it is important to remark—the effort that the North Polar Practical Association was about to make would not, strictly speaking, right the Earth’s axis. Mechanically, no force, however considerable, could accomplish that. The Earth is not like a chicken on a spit, that we can take it in our hand and shift it as we will. But the making of a new axis was possible—it may be said easy—if the engineers only had the fulcrum dreamt of by Archimedes and the lever imagined by J. T. Maston.

But as it had been decided to keep the invention a secret until further orders, all that could be done was to study the consequences. And to begin with, the journals and reviews of all sorts appealing to the learned and the ignorant devoted themselves to considering how Jupiter was affected by the approximate perpendicularity of his axis to the plane of his orbit.

Jupiter, like Mercury, Venus, the Earth, Mars, Saturn, Uranus, and Neptune, forms part of the solar system, and sweeps round at nearly five hundred million miles from the central fire; and his volume is about fourteen times that of the Earth.

If there be such a thing as Jovian life, that is to say, if there are any inhabitants on Jupiter, the following are the advantages they obtain by living on the great planet—advantages so poetically brought into relief at the memorable meeting above alluded to.

In the first place, during the diurnal rotation of Jupiter, which occupies nine hours, fifty-five minutes, the days are always equal to the nights in all latitudes; that is to say, the Jovian day is four hours, fifty-seven minutes long, and the Jovian night lasts also four hours and fifty-seven minutes.

“There,” said the admirers of Jovian existence, “you have something suited to people of regular habits. They will be delighted to submit to such regularity.”

That is what would happen to the Earth if Barbicane did what he promised, only as the new axis would make no difference in the time of rotation, twenty-four hours would still separate the successive noons, and our spheroid would be blessed with nights and days each twelve hours long, and we should live in a perpetual equinox.

“But the climatal phenomena would be much more curious; and no less interesting,” said the enthusiasts, “would be the absence of the seasons.”

Owing to the inclination of the axis to the plane of the orbit, we have the annual changes known as spring, summer, autumn, and winter. The Jovians could know nothing of these things, and the Terrestrians would know them no more. The moment the new axis became perpendicular to the ecliptic there would be neither frigid zones nor torrid zones, but the whole Earth would rejoice in a temperate climate.

Why was this?

What is the Torrid zone? It is that part of the Earth comprised between the Tropics of Cancer and Capricorn. Every place within this zone has the Sun in the zenith twice a year.

What are the Temperate zones? The part comprised between the Tropics and the Polar circles; between 23° 28' and 66° 32' of latitude, and in which the Sun never rises to the zenith, but is above the horizon on every day in the year.

What are the Frigid zones? That part of the circumpolar regions in which the Sun does not rise above the horizon on every day in the year; while at the Pole itself he does not rise for six months at a time.

The height of the Sun above the horizon is the cause of the excessive heat of the Torrid zone, the moderate heat of the Temperate zone, and the excessive cold within the Polar circles.

When the axis became perpendicular these things would be different. The Sun would remain on the plane of the Equator. All the year round he would pursue his imperturbable twelve-hour course, and rise to a distance from the zenith according to the latitude of the place. In countries of twenty degrees of latitude he would rise seventy degrees above the horizon; in countries of forty-nine degrees of latitude he would rise forty-one; in places of eighty-four degrees he would rise six, and of ninety degrees (the Pole), he would just peep half his diameter above the horizon. The days would be perfectly regular, and the Sun would rise at the same time, and also at the same point on the horizon, throughout the year.

“Look at the advantages!” said the friends of Barbicane. “Every man, according to his temperament, can choose his own climate, which will be invariable!”

Those modern Titans, the North Polar Practical Association, were going to effect a complete change in the state of things which had existed ever since the spheroid had been launched on its orbit to become the Earth as we know it.

The astronomer might lose a few of the familiar constellations; the poet might lose the long winter nights and the long summer days that figure so frequently in modern verse; but what of that when we think of the advantages that would be enjoyed by the majority of the human race?

As the newspapers in the Barbicane interest pointed out, the products of the Earth being reduced to regularity, the farmer could always plant and sow in the most favourable temperature.

“Be it so!” said the opposition. “But are we to have no rains, or hail, or storms, or waterspouts, or other odds and ends that make matters pleasant for the depressed agriculturist?”

“You may have them, of course,” said the Barbicanians, “but they will probably be rarer, owing to the regularity of the climate having its effect on the troubles of the atmosphere! Yes, humanity will profit greatly by the new state of things. It will be quite a transformation of the terrestrial globe. Barbicane & Co. will have conferred much good on the present and future generations by destroying the inequality of the days and nights and the irritating diversity of the seasons!”

And the New York Sun of the 27th of December concluded one of its most eloquent articles:—

“Honour to Impey Barbicane and his colleagues! Not only will they have made the Earth more hygienically habitable, but they will have made it more productive; for then we can sow as soon as we have harvested, for no time will be wasted over the winter. Not only will our coal supplies be increased by the new fields, which will insure a supply for many long years, but the climatal conditions will be altered to our great advantage! Honour, then, to Barbicane & Co., who will take the first rank among the benefactors of mankind!”