They could not adjust them so as to be able to realize the different plains of vision.

All things seemed in a heap.

Foreground and background were indistinguishably commingled.

No painter could ever transfer a lunar landscape to his canvas.
"Landscape," Ardan said; "what do you mean by a landscape?
Can you call a bottle of ink intensely black, spilled over a sheet of paper intensely white, a landscape ?" At the eightieth degree, when the Projectile was hardly 100 miles distant from the Moon, the aspect of things underwent no improvement.

On the contrary, the nearer the travellers approached the lunar surface, the drearier, the more inhospitable, and the more _unearthly_, everything seem to look.