into view. They thought the Sun had locked the little planet into a pattern that flooded one of its hemispheres with heat and light while leaving the other in permanent darkness. Likewise many of their contemporaries and most of their followers up to the mid-1960s believed that Mercury maintained eternal ‘day’ on one side and ‘night’ on the other. But the Sun constrains the rotation and revolution of Mercury according to a different formula: the planet spins around its axis once every 58.6 days – a rate rhythmically related to its orbital period, so that Mercury completes three turns on its axis for every two journeys around the Sun.
The 3:2 pattern affects observers on Earth by repeatedly offering them the same side of Mercury six or seven apparitions in a row. Schiaparelli and Antoniadi indeed beheld an unchanging face of Mercury throughout their studies, and must be forgiven for reaching the wrong conclusion about its rotation, since the planet’s behaviour indulged them in their error.
Throughout the twentieth and into the twenty-first century, Mercury has continued to be a difficult target. Even the Hubble Space Telescope, orbiting above the Earth’s atmosphere, avoided looking at Mercury, for fear of pointing its delicate optics so dangerously close to the Sun, and only one spacecraft has so far braved the hostile heat and radiation of the near-Mercury environment.
Mariner 10, Earth’s emissary to Mercury, flew by the planet twice in 1974 and once more in 1975. It relayed thousands of pictures and measurements of a landscape riddled with crater holes, from small bowls to giant basins. Light or dark trails of debris marked the places where newer assaults had overturned the rubble of the old. Lava that flowed among the impact scars had smoothed over some of the depressions, but overall poor battered Mercury preserved a clear record of the era, ended nearly four billion years ago, when leftover fragments of the Solar System’s creation menaced the fledgling planets.
The most violent attack on Mercury inflicted a wound eight hundred miles wide, which has been named Caloris Basin (‘the Basin of Heat’). The mile-high mountains on Caloris’s rim must have sprung up in response to the massive impact explosion that excavated the Basin, and all around the mountains, further signs of disturbance lay in ridges and rough ground rippling out for hundreds of miles. The collision at Caloris also sent shock waves clear through Mercury’s dense, metallic interior, to set off quakes that lifted the crust on the far side of the planet and cut it to pieces.
Mariner 10 photo montages, which captured less than half of Mercury’s surface, revealed a network of scarps and fault lines that indicate the whole planet must have shrunk to its present dimensions from some larger beginning. When Mercury’s interior contracted, the global crust readjusted itself to fit the suddenly smaller world – like some furtive trick of the god Mercury, disguising himself.
After a thirty-year hiatus in exploration, a new mission called MESSENGER (an acronym for MErcury Surface, Space ENvironment, GEochemistry and Ranging) is now en route to Mercury. Launched in August 2004, but unable to fly as quickly or directly as its namesake, the craft will not reach Mercury’s vicinity until January 2008. At first sight of the planet, MESSENGER will start a detailed mapping effort requiring three flybys of Mercury over the following three years, while the spacecraft orbits the Sun, protected under a sunshade made of ceramic cloth. Then, in March 2011, MESSENGER will manoeuvre into orbit around Mercury itself, for a year-long odyssey (as measured in Earth time) to monitor the planet through two of its long days. Circling Mercury rapidly and repeatedly every twelve hours, MESSENGER will function as a new oracle, streaming answers to the questions posed by anxious truth-seekers on Earth.
* The ancients recognized seven planets: Sun, Moon, Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter and Saturn.
* Gassendi quotes here from Ovid, referring to the Sun god Apollo by his other name, Phoebus.
For a breeze of morning moves,
And the planet of Love is on high, Beginning to faint in the light that she loves On a bed of daffodil sky, To faint in the light of the sun she loves, To faint in his light, and to die.
Alfred, Lord Tennyson, ‘Maud’
Now ‘morning star’, now ‘evening star’, the bright ornament of the planet Venus plays prelude to the rising Sun, or postscript to the sunset.
For months at a time Venus will vault the eastern horizon before dawn and linger there through daybreak, the last of night’s beacons to fade. She begins these morning apparitions close to the Sun in time and space, so that she arrives in a lightening sky. But as the days and nights go by, she comes up sooner and ventures further from the Sun, rising while Dawn is still a distant idea. At length she reaches the end of her tether, and the Sun calls her back, making her rise a little bit later each night, till she again verges on the day. Then Venus vanishes altogether for the time it takes her to pass behind the Sun.
After fifty days, on average, she reappears at the Sun’s other hand, in the evening sky, to be hailed as evening star for months to come. Shimmering into view as the Sun goes down, Venus hangs alone in the twilight. The first few sunsets find her bathed in the afterglow colours of the western horizon, but at length Venus comes to light already high overhead, where she dominates night’s onset. Who knows how many childhood wishes are squandered on that planet before the gathering darkness brings out the stars?
Thou fair-haired angel of the evening,
Now, whilst the sun rests on the mountains, light Thy bright torch of love; thy radiant crown Put on, and smile upon our evening bed! Smile on our loves, and, while thou drawest the Blue curtains of the sky, scatter thy silver dew On every flower that shuts its sweet eyes In timely sleep. Let thy west wind sleep on The lake; speak silence with thy glimmering eyes, And wash the dusk with silver.
William Blake, ‘To The Evening Star’
Hours into the night, Venus still outshines every other light, unless the Moon intrudes to best her. The Moon appears bigger and brighter, by virtue of lying about one hundred times closer to us, though Venus is the larger and the fairer by far. Venus’s shroud of yellow-white cloud reflects light much more effectively than the dun-coloured, dust-covered surface of the Moon. Virtually 80 per cent of the Sunlight lavished on Venus just skitters off her cloud tops and spills back into space, while the Moon beams back a mere 8 per cent.
The remarkable brightness of Venus gains lustre from her nearness to Earth. Venus comes within twenty-four million miles of Earth at closest approach – closer than any other planet. (Mars, Earth’s second nearest neighbour, always stays at least thirty-five million miles away.) Even when Venus and Earth recede as far from each other as possible, separated by more than one hundred and fifty million miles, Venus retains her superlative brilliance for Earthbound observers. On the scale of ‘apparent magnitude’ astronomers use to compare the relative brightness of heavenly bodies, Venus far exceeds the most luminous stars.*
What strong allurement draws, what spirit guides,
Thee, Vesper! brightening still, as if the nearer Thou com’st to man’s abode the spot grew dearer Night after night?
William Wordsworth, ‘To the Planet Venus’
The nearer Venus draws to Earth, the brighter she appears, naturally enough. Yet as her glow crescendos, the globe of Venus actually diminishes from full to gibbous through quarter and then crescent phase. Like the Moon, Venus appears to change shape as she moves along
