"H. G. Wells - the war of the worlds" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wells H G)

The Martians seem to have calculated their descent with amazing
subtlety- their mathematical learning is evidently far in excess of
ours- and to have carried out their preparations with a well-nigh
perfect unanimity. Had our instruments permitted it, we might have
seen the gathering trouble far back in the nineteenth century. Men
like Schiaparelli watched the red planet- it is odd, by-the-bye,
that for countless centuries Mars has been the star of war- but failed
to interpret the fluctuating appearances of the markings they mapped
so well. All that time the Martians must have been getting ready.
During the opposition of 1894 a great light was seen on the
illuminated part of the disk, first at the Lick Observatory, then by
Perrotin of Nice, and then by other observers. English readers heard
of it first in the issue of Nature dated August 2. I am inclined to
think that this blaze may have been the casting of the huge gun, in
the vast pit sunk into their planet, from which their shots were fired
at us. Peculiar markings, as yet unexplained, were seen near the
site of that outbreak during the next two oppositions.
The storm burst upon us six years ago now. As Mars approached
opposition, Lavelle of Java set the wires of the astronomical exchange
palpitating with the amazing intelligence of a huge outbreak of
incandescent gas upon the planet. It had occurred towards midnight
of the twelfth; and the spectroscope, to which he had at once
resorted, indicated a mass of flaming gas, chiefly hydrogen, moving
with an enormous velocity towards this earth. This jet of fire had
become invisible about a quarter past twelve. He compared it to a
colossal puff of flame suddenly and violently squirted out of the
planet, "as flaming gases rushed out of a gun."
A singularly appropriate phrase it proved. Yet the next day there
was nothing of this in the papers except a little note in the Daily
Telegraph, and the world went in ignorance of one of the gravest
dangers that ever threatened the human race. I might not have heard of
the eruption at all had I not met Ogilvy, the well-known astronomer,
at Ottershaw. He was immensely excited at the news, and in the
excess of his feelings invited me up to take a turn with him that
night in a scrutiny of the red planet.
In spite of all that has happened since, I still remember that
vigil very distinctly: the black and silent observatory, the
shadowed lantern throwing a feeble glow upon the floor in the
corner, the steady ticking of the clockwork of the telescope, the
little slit in the roof- an oblong profundity with the stardust
streaked across it. Ogilvy moved about, invisible but audible. Looking
through the telescope, one saw a circle of deep blue and the little
round planet swimming in the field. It seemed such a little thing,
so bright and small and still, faintly marked with transverse stripes,
and slightly flattened from the perfect round. But so little it was,
so silvery warm- a pin's-head of light! It was as if it quivered,
but really this was the telescope vibrating with the activity of the
clockwork that kept the planet in view.
As I watched, the planet seemed to grow larger and smaller and to
advance and recede, but that was simply that my eye was tired. Forty