The Romance of Modern Invention Part 13

THE GREAT PARIS TELESCOPE

A telescope so powerful that it brings the moon apparently to within thirty-five miles of the earth; so long that many a cricketer could not throw a ball from one end of it to the other; so heavy that it would by itself make a respectable load for a goods train; so expensive that astronomically-inclined millionaires might well hesitate to order a similar one for their private use.

Such is the huge Paris telescope that in 1900 delighted thousands of visitors in the French Exposition, where, among the many wonderful sights to be seen on all sides, it probably attracted more notice than any other exhibit. This triumph of scientific engineering and dogged perseverance in the face of great difficulties owes its being to a suggestion made in 1894 to a group of French astronomers by M.

Deloncle. He proposed to bring astronomy to the front at the coming Exposition, and to effect this by building a refracting telescope that in size and power should completely eclipse all existing instruments and add a new chapter to the "story of the heavens."

To the mind unversed in astronomy the telescope appeals by the magnitude of its dimensions, in the same way as do the Forth Bridge, the Eiffel Tower, the Big Wheel, the statue of Liberty near New York harbour, the Pyramids, and most human-made "biggest on records."

At the time of M. Deloncle's proposal the largest refracting telescope was the Yerkes' at William's Bay, Wisconsin, with an object-gla.s.s forty inches in diameter; and next to it the 36-inch Lick instrument on Mount Hamilton, California, built by Messrs. Alvan Clark of Cambridgeport, Ma.s.sachusetts. Among reflecting telescopes the prior place is still held by Lord Rosse's, set up on the lawn of Birr Castle half a century ago. Its speculum, or mirror, weighing three tons, lies at the lower end of a tube six feet across and sixty feet long. This huge reflector, being mounted in meridian, moves only in a vertical direction. A refracting telescope is one of the ordinary pocket type, having an object-lens at one end and an eyepiece at the other. A reflector, on the other hand, has no object-lens, its place being taken by a mirror that gathers the rays entering the tube and reflects them back into the eyepiece, which is situated nearer the mouth end of the tube than the mirror itself.

Each system has its peculiar disadvantages. In reflectors the image is more or less distorted by "spherical aberration." In refractors the image is approximately perfect in shape, but liable to "chromatic aberration," a phenomenon especially noticeable in cheap telescopes and field-gla.s.ses, which often show objects fringed with some of the colours of the spectrum. This defect arises from the different refrangibility of different light rays. Thus, violet rays come to a focus at a shorter distance from the lens than red rays, and when one set is in focus to the eye the other must be out of focus. In carefully-made and expensive instruments compound lenses are used, which by the employment of different kinds of gla.s.s bring all the colours to practically the same focus, and so do away with chromatic aberration.

To reduce colour troubles to a _minimum_ M. Deloncle proposed that the object-lens should have a focal distance of about two hundred feet, since a long focus is more easily corrected than a short one, and a diameter of over fifty-nine inches. The need for so huge a lens arises out of the optical principles of a refractor. The rays from an object--a star, for instance--strike the object-gla.s.s at the near end, and are bent by it into a converging beam, till they all meet at the focus. Behind the focus they again separate, and are caught by the eyepiece, which reduces them to a parallel beam small enough to enter the pupil. We thus see that though the unaided eye gathers only the few rays that fall directly from the object on to the pupil, when helped by the telescope it receives the concentrated rays falling on the whole area of the object-gla.s.s; and it would be sensible of a greatly increased brightness had not this light to be redistributed over the image, which is the object magnified by the eyepiece.

a.s.suming the aperture of the pupil to be one-tenth of an inch, and the object to be magnified a hundred times, the object-lens should have a hundred times the diameter of the pupil to render the image as bright as the object itself. If the lens be five instead of ten inches across, a great loss of light results, as in the high powers of a microscope, and the image loses in distinctness what it gains in size.

As M. Deloncle meant his telescope to beat all records in respect of magnification, he had no choice but to make a lens that should give proportionate illumination, and itself be of unprecedented size.

At first M. Deloncle met with considerable opposition and ridicule.

Such a scheme as his was declared to be beyond accomplishment. But in spite of many prophecies of ultimate failure he set to work, entrusting the construction of the various portions of his colossal telescope to well-tried experts. To M. Gautier was given the task of making all the mechanical parts of the apparatus; to M. Mantois the casting of the giant lenses; to M. Despret the casting of the huge mirror, to which reference will be made immediately.

The first difficulty to be encountered arose from the sheer size of the instrument. It was evidently impossible to mount such a leviathan in the ordinary way. A tube, 180 feet long, could not be made rigid enough to move about and yet permit careful observation of the stars.

Even supposing that it were satisfactorily mounted on an "equatorial foot" like smaller gla.s.ses, how could it be protected from wind and weather? To cover it, a mighty dome, two hundred feet or more in diameter, would be required; a dome exceeding by over seventy feet the cupola of St. Peter's, Rome; and this dome must revolve easily on its base at a pace of about fifty feet an hour, so that the telescope might follow the motion of the heavenly bodies.

The constructors therefore decided to abandon any idea of making a telescope that could be moved about and pointed in any desired direction. The alternative course open to them was to fix the telescope itself rigidly in position, and to bring the stars within its field by means of a mirror mounted on a ma.s.sive iron frame--the two together technically called a siderostat. The mirror and its support would be driven by clockwork at the proper sidereal rate. The siderostat principle had been employed as early as the eighteenth century, and perfected in recent years by Leon Foucault, so that in having recourse to it the builders of the telescope were not committing themselves to any untried device.

In days when the handling of ma.s.ses of iron, and the erection of huge metal constructions have become matters of everyday engineering life, no peculiar difficulty presented itself in connection with the metal-work of the telescope. The greatest possible care was of course observed in every particular. All joints and bearings were adjusted with an extraordinary accuracy; and all the cylindrical moving parts of the siderostat verified till they did not vary from perfect cylindricity by so much as one twenty-five-thousandth of an inch!

The tube of the telescope, 180 feet long, consisted of twenty-four sections, fifty-nine inches in diameter, bolted together and supported on seven ma.s.sive iron pillars. It weighed twenty-one tons. The siderostat, twenty-seven feet high, and as many in length, weighed forty-five tons. The lower portion, which was fixed firmly on a bed of concrete, had on the top a tank filled with quicksilver, in which the mirror and its frame floated. The quicksilver supported nine-tenths of the weight, the rest being taken by the levers used to move the mirror. Though the total weight of the mirror and frame was thirteen tons, the quicksilver offered so little resistance that a pull of a few pounds sufficed to rotate the entire ma.s.s.

The real romance of the construction of this huge telescope centres on the making of the lenses and mirror. First-cla.s.s lenses for all photographic and optical purposes command a very high price on account of the care and labour that has to be expended on their production; the value of the gla.s.s being trifling by comparison. Few, if any, trades require greater mechanical skill than that of lensmaking; the larger the lens the greater the difficulties it presents, first in the casting, then in the grinding, last of all in the polishing. The presence of a single air-bubble in the molten gla.s.s, the slightest irregularity of surface in the polishing may utterly destroy the value of a lens otherwise worth several thousands of pounds.

[Ill.u.s.tration: _Reproduced by the permission of Proprietors of "Knowledge."_

_General view, of the Great Paris Telescope, showing the eye-end. The tube is 180 feet long, and 59 inches in diameter. It weighs 21 tons._]

The object-gla.s.s of the great telescope was cast by M. Mantois, famous as the manufacturer of large lenses. The gla.s.s used was boiled and reboiled many times to get rid of all bubbles. Then it was run into a mould and allowed to cool very gradually. A whole month elapsed before the breaking of a mould, when the lens often proved to be cracked on the surface, owing to the exterior having cooled faster than the interior and parted company with it. At last, however, a perfect cast resulted.

M. Despret undertook the even more formidable task of casting the mirror at his works at Jeumont, North France. A special furnace and oven, capable of containing over fifteen tons of molten gla.s.s, had to be constructed. The mirror, 6-1/2 feet in diameter and eleven inches thick, absorbed 3-3/4 tons of liquid gla.s.s; and so great was the difficulty of cooling it gradually, that out of the twenty casts eighteen were failures.

The rough lenses and mirror having been ground to approximate correctness in the ordinary way, there arose the question of polishing, which is generally done by one of the most sensitive and perfect instruments existing-the human hand. In this case, owing to the enormous size of the objects to be treated, hand work would not do. The mere hot touch of a workman would raise on the gla.s.s a tiny protuberance, which would be worn level with the rest of the surface by the polisher, and on the cooling of the part would leave a depression, only 1-75,000 of an inch deep, perhaps, but sufficient to produce distortion, and require that the lens should be ground down again, and the whole surface polished afresh.

M. Gautier therefore polished by machinery. It proved a very difficult process altogether, on account of frictional heating, the rise of temperature in the polishing room, and the presence of dust. To insure success it was found necessary to warm all the polishing machinery, and to keep it at a fixed temperature.

At the end of almost a year the polishing was finished, after the lenses and mirror had been subjected to the most searching tests, able to detect irregularities not exceeding 1-250,000 of an inch. M.

Gautier applied to the mirror M. Foucault's test, which is worth mentioning. A point of light thrown by the mirror is focused through a telescope. The eyepiece is then moved inwards and outwards so as to throw the point out of focus. If the point becomes a luminous circle surrounded by concentric rings, the surface throwing the light point is perfectly plane or smooth. If, however, a pushing-in shows a vertical flattening of the point, and a pulling-out a horizontal flattening, that part is concave; if the reverse happens, convexity is the cause.

For the removal of the mirror from Jeumont to Paris a special train was engaged, and precautions were taken rivalling those by which travelling Royalty is guarded. The train ran at night without stopping, and at a constant pace, so that the vibration of the gla.s.s atoms might not vary. On arriving at Paris, the mirror was transferred to a ponderous waggon, and escorted by a body of men to the Exposition buildings. The huge object-lens received equally careful treatment.

The telescope was housed at the Exhibition in a long gallery pointing due north and south, the siderostat at the north end. At the other, the eyepiece, end, a large amphitheatre accommodated the public a.s.sembled to watch the projection of stellar or lunar images on to a screen thirty feet high, while a lecturer explained what was visible from time to time. The images of the sun and moon as they appeared at the primary focus in the eyepiece measured from twenty-one to twenty-two inches in diameter, and the screen projections were magnified from these about thirty times superficially.

The eyepiece section consisted of a short tube, of the same breadth as the main tube, resting on four wheels that travelled along rails.

Special gearing moved this truck-like construction backwards and forwards to bring a sharp focus into the eyepiece or on to a photographic plate. Focusing was thus easy enough when once the desired object came in view; but the observer being unable to control the siderostat, 250 feet distant, had to telephone directions to an a.s.sistant stationed near the mirror whenever he wished to examine an object not in the field of vision.

By the courtesy of the proprietors of the _Strand_ _Magazine_ we are allowed to quote M. Deloncle's own words describing his emotions on his first view through the giant telescope:--

"As is invariably the case, whenever an innovation that sets at nought old-established theories is brought forward, the prophecies of failure were many and loud, and I had more than a suspicion that my success would cause less satisfaction to others than to myself. Better than any one else I myself was cognisant of the unpropitious conditions in which my instrument had to work. The proximity of the river, the dust raised by hundreds of thousands of trampling feet, the trepidation of the soil, the working of the machinery, the changes of temperature, the glare from the thousands of electric lamps in close proximity--each of these circ.u.mstances, and many others of a more technical nature, which it would be tedious to enumerate, but which were no less important, would have been more than sufficient to make any astronomer despair of success even in observatories where all the surroundings are chosen with the utmost care.

"In regions pure of calm and serene air large new instruments take months, more often years, to regulate properly.

"In spite of everything, however, I still felt confident. Our calculations had been gone over again and again, and I could see nothing that in my opinion warranted the worst apprehensions of my kind critics.

"It was with ill-restrained impatience that I waited for the first night when the moon should show herself in a suitable position for being observed; but the night arrived in due course.

"Everything was in readiness. The movable portion of the roof of the building had been slid back, and the mirror of the siderostat stood bared to the sky.

"In the dark, square chamber at the other end of the instrument, 200 feet away, into which the eyepiece of the instrument opened, I had taken my station with two or three friends. An attendant at the telephone stood waiting at my elbow to transmit my orders to his colleague in charge of the levers that regulated the siderostat and its mirror.

"The moon had risen now, and her silvery glory shone and sparkled in the mirror.

"'A right declension,' I ordered.

"The telephone bell rang in reply. 'Slowly, still slower; now to the left--enough; again a right declension--slower; stop now--very, very slowly.'

"On the ground-gla.s.s before our eyes the moon's image crept up from one corner until it had overspread the gla.s.s completely. And there we stood in the centre of Paris, examining the surface of our satellite with all its craters and valleys and bleak desolation.

"I had won the day."

PHOTOGRAPHING THE INVISIBLE.

Most of us are able to recognise when we see them shadowgraphs taken by the aid of the now famous X-rays. They generally represent some part of the structure of men, beasts, birds, or fishes. Very dark patches show the position of the bones, large and small; lighter patches the more solid muscles clinging to the bony framework; and outside these again are shadowy tracts corresponding to the thinnest and most transparent portions of the fleshy envelope.

In an age fruitful as this in scientific marvels, it often takes some considerable time for the public to grasp the full importance of a fresh discovery. But when, in 1896, it was announced that Professor Rontgen of Wurzburg had actually taken photographs of the internal organs of still living creatures, and penetrated metal and other opaque substances with a new kind of ray, great interest was manifested throughout the civilised world. On the one hand the "new photography" seemed to upset popular ideas of opacity; on the other it savoured strongly of the black art, and, by its easy excursions through the human body, seemed likely to revolutionise medical and surgical methods. At first many strange ideas about the X-rays got afloat, attributing to them powers which would have surprised even their modest discoverer. It was also thought that the records were made in a camera after the ordinary manner of photography, but as a matter of fact Rontgen used neither lens nor camera, the operation being similar to that of casting a shadow on a wall by means of a lamp. In X-radiography a specially constructed electrically-lit gla.s.s tube takes the place of the lamp, and for the wall is subst.i.tuted a sensitised plate. The object to be radiographed is merely inserted between them, its various parts offering varying resistance to the rays, so that the plate is affected unequally, and after exposure may be developed and printed from it the usual way. Photographs obtained by using X-rays are therefore properly called shadowgraphs or skiagraphs.

The discovery that has made Professor Rontgen famous is, like many great discoveries, based upon the labours of other men in the same field. Geissler, whose vacuum tubes are so well known for their striking colour effects, had already noticed that electric discharges sent through very much rarefied air or gases produced beautiful glows.

Sir William Crookes, following the same line of research, and reducing with a Sprengel air-pump the internal pressure of the tubes to 1/100000 of an atmosphere, found that a luminous glow streamed from the cathode, or negative pole, in a straight line, heating and rendering phosph.o.r.escent anything that it met. Crookes regarded the glow as composed of "radiant matter," and explained its existence as follows. The airy particles inside the tube, being few in number, are able to move about with far greater freedom than in the tightly packed atmosphere outside the tube. A particle, on reaching the cathode, is repelled violently by it in a straight line, to "bombard" another particle, the walls of the tube, or any object set up in its path, the sudden arrest of motion being converted into light and heat.

By means of special tubes he proved that the "radiant matter" could turn little vanes, and that the flow continued even when the terminals of the shocking-coil were _outside_ the gla.s.s, thus meeting the contention of Puluj that the radiant matter was nothing more than small particles of platinum torn from the terminals. He also showed that, when intercepted, radiant matter cast a shadow, the intercepting object receiving the energy of the bombardment; but that when the obstruction was removed the hitherto sheltered part of the gla.s.s wall of the tube glowed with a brighter phosph.o.r.escence than the part which had become "tired" by prolonged bombardment. Experiments further revealed the fact that the shaft of "Cathode rays" could be deflected by a magnet from their course, and that they affected an ordinary photographic plate exposed to them.

In 1894 Lenard, a Hungarian, and pupil of the famous Hertz, fitted a Crookes' tube with a "window" of aluminium in its side replacing a part of the gla.s.s, and saw that the course of the rays could be traced through the outside air. From this it was evident that something else than matter must be present in the shaft of energy sent from the negative terminal of the tube, as there was no direct communication between the interior and the exterior of the tube to account for the external phosph.o.r.escence. Whatever was the nature of the rays he succeeded in making them penetrate and impress themselves on a sensitised plate enclosed in a metal box.

Then in 1896 came Rontgen's great discovery that the rays from a Crookes' tube, after traversing the _gla.s.s_, could pierce opaque matter. He covered the tube with thick cardboard, but found that it would still cast the shadows of books, cards, wood, metals, the human hand, &c., on to a photographic plate even at the distance of some feet. The rays would also pa.s.s through the wood, metal, or bones in course of time; but certain bodies, notably metals, offered a much greater resistance than others, such as wood, leather, and paper.

Professor Rontgen crowned his efforts by showing that a skeleton could be "shadow-graphed" while its owner was still alive.

Naturally everybody wished to know not only what the rays could do, but what they were. Rontgen, not being able to identify them with any known rays, took refuge in the algebraical symbol of the unknown quant.i.ty and dubbed them X-rays. He discovered this much, however, that they were invisible to the eye under ordinary conditions; that they travelled in straight lines only, pa.s.sing through a prism, water, or other refracting bodies without turning aside from their path; and that a magnet exerted no power over them. This last fact was sufficient of itself to prevent their confusion with the radiant matter "cathode rays" of the tube. Rontgen thought, nevertheless, that they might be the cathode rays trans.m.u.ted in some manner by their pa.s.sage through the gla.s.s, so as to resemble in their motion sound-waves, _i.e._ moving straight forward and not swaying from side to side in a series of zig-zags. The existence of such ether waves had for some time before been suspected by Lord Kelvin.