from region to region, in the presence of unfathomable grandeurs, in
sight of celestial motions whose speed we are but just beginning
properly to value, but which already surpasses all conception. The
proper annual motion of the sun Alpha Centauri exceeds 188 millions of
leagues per year. The proper motion of the 61st of Cygnus (second sun in
the order of distances) is equivalent to 370 millions of leagues per
year, or about one million of leagues per day. The star Alpha Cygni
comes to us in a direct line at a speed of 500 millions of leagues per
year. The proper motion of the star 1830 of Groombridge's Catalogue
rises to 2,590 millions of leagues per year, which represents seven
millions of leagues per day, 115,000 kilometres per hour, or 320,000
metres per second! These are minimum estimates, inasmuch as we certainly
do not see perpendicularly, but obliquely, the stellar displacements
thus measured.
What projectiles! They are suns thousands and millions of times heavier
than the Earth, launched through the unfathomable void with giddy rates
of speed, revolving in immensity under the influence of the gravitation
of all the stars of the universe. And these millions and thousand
millions of suns, planets, clusters of stars, nebulæ, worlds in their
infancy, worlds near their end, rush with equal velocity towards goals
of which they are ignorant, with an energy and intensity of action
before which gunpowder and dynamite are like the breath of sleeping
babes.
And thus everything hurries on through all eternity perhaps, without
being able ever to reach the unexisting limits of infinity.... Motion,
activity, light, life everywhere. Happily so, without doubt. If all
these innumerable suns, planets, earths, moons, comets, were fixed and
immovable, petrified kings in their eternal tombs, how much more
formidable, but also more mournful, would be the aspect of such a
universe! Can you imagine the whole creation stopped, benumbed,
mummified? Is not such an idea unbearable? Is there not something
funereal about it?
What causes these motions? What maintains them? What regulates them?
Universal gravitation, invisible force, which the visible universe (what
we call matter) obeys. A body attracted from infinity by the Earth would
attain a velocity of 11,300 metres per second; just as a body thrown
from the Earth with that speed would never fall again. A body attracted
by the Sun from the infinite would attain a speed of 608,000 metres; and
a body thrown by the Sun with that swiftness would never return to its
point of departure. Clusters of stars may give us velocities much more
remarkable still, but which are explained by the theory of gravitation.
A glance at a map of the proper motions of the stars is enough to make
one understand the variety and grandeur of these motions.
* * * * *
Thus the stars, the suns, the planets, the worlds, the shooting-stars,
the meteoric stones, in short all the bodies which constitute this vast
universe, rest, not on solid bases, as the childish and primitive
conception of our fathers seemed to require, but _upon invisible and
immaterial forces_ which govern their motions. These milliards of
celestial bodies have their respective movements for the purpose of
stability, and mutually lean upon each other across the void which
separates them. The mind which could eliminate time and space would see
the Earth, the planets, the Sun, the stars, rain down from a limitless
sky in all imaginable directions, like the drops carried away by the
whirlwinds of a gigantic tempest, and drawn, not by a common basis, but
by the attraction of each and all; each one of these cosmic drops, each
one of these worlds, each one of these suns, is whirled away at a speed
so rapid that the flight of cannon-balls is but rest in comparison: it
is not one hundred, nor five hundred, nor a thousand metres per
second,--it is ten thousand, twenty, fifty, a hundred, and even two or
three hundred thousand metres _per second_!
How is it that there are no meetings in the midst of all this motion?
Perhaps there may be some,--the "temporary stars," which appear to rise
again from their ashes, would seem to indicate it. But as a matter of
fact, it would be difficult for meetings to occur, because space is
immense, relatively to the celestial bodies, and because the motion by
which each body is animated entirely prevents it from submitting
passively to the attraction of another body and falling upon it; it
keeps its own motion, which cannot be destroyed, and glides around the
focus which attracts it, as a butterfly would obey the attraction of a
flame without burning itself in it. Besides, absolutely speaking, these
motions are not "rapid."
Indeed, everything runs, flies, falls, rolls, rushes through the void,
but at such respective distances that it all appears to be at rest. If
we wanted to place in a frame, the size of Paris, the stars whose
distances have been measured up to the present time, the nearest star
would be placed at two kilometres from the Sun, from which the Earth
would be distant one centimetre, Jupiter at five centimetres, and
Neptune at thirty centimetres. The 61st of Cygnus would be at four
kilometres, Sirius at ten kilometres, the polar star at twenty-seven
kilometres, etc.; and the immense majority of the stars would remain
outside the department of the Seine. Well, to give to all these
projectiles their relative motions, the Earth would take a year to run
through its orbit of a centimetre radius, Jupiter twelve years to run
through his of five centimetres, and Neptune one hundred and sixty-five
years. The proper motions of the Sun and stars would be of the same
nature; that is to say, all would appear to be at rest, even under the
microscope. Urania reigns with calmness and serenity in the immensity of
the universe.
So the constitution of the sidereal universe is just like that of the
bodies which we call material. All bodies, organic or inorganic, man,
animal, plant, stone, iron, bronze, are composed of molecules which are
in perpetual motion, and which do not touch one another. Each one of
these atoms is infinitely small, and invisible not only to the eye, not
only to the microscope, but even to thought; since it is possible that
these atoms may be centres of force. It has been calculated that in the
head of a pin there are not less than eight sextillions of atoms,--that
is, eight thousand milliards of milliards,--and that in one centimetre
of cubic air there are not less than a sextillion of molecules. All
these atoms, all these molecules, are in motion under the influence of
the forces which govern them; and as compared with their dimensions,
great distances separate them. We may even believe that there is in
principle but one kind of atoms, and that it is the number of primitive
atoms, essentially simple and homogeneous, their modes of arrangement,
and their motions, which constitute the diversity of molecules; a
molecule of gold, of iron, would not differ from a molecule of sulphur,
of oxygen, of hydrogen, etc., except in the number, the disposition, and
the motion of the primitive atoms which compose it: each molecule would
be a system, a microcosm.
But whatever may be the idea that one conceives of the inner
constitution of bodies, the truth is now recognized and indisputable
that the fixed point for which our imagination has been seeking, exists
nowhere. Archimedes can vainly call for a point of support, that he may
lift the world. _Worlds, like atoms, rest on the invisible_, on
immaterial force; everything moves, urged on by attraction, and as if in
search of that fixed point which flies as it is pursued, and which does
not exist, since in the infinite the centre is everywhere and nowhere.
So-called positive minds, which assert with so much assurance that
"Matter reigns alone, with its properties," and who smile disdainfully
at the researches of thinkers, should first tell us what they mean by
that famous word "matter." If they did not stop at the surface of
things, if they even suspected that appearances hid intangible
realities, they would doubtless be a little more modest.
To us, who seek the truth with no jealousy of system, it seems that the
essence of matter remains as mysterious as the essence of force; the
visible universe not being in the least what it appears to be to our
senses. In fact, that visible universe is composed of invisible atoms;
it rests upon the void, and the forces which govern it are in themselves
immaterial and invisible. It would be less bold to think that matter
does not exist, that all is dynamism, than to pretend to affirm the
existence of an exclusively material universe. As to the material
support of the world, it disappeared--a somewhat interesting
observation--precisely with the conquest of Mechanics, which proclaim
the triumph of the invisible. The fixed point vanishes in the universal
balance of powers, in the ideal harmony of ether vibrations; the more
one seeks it, the less one finds it; and the last effort of our thought
has for a last support, for supreme reality, the Infinite.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
A SOUL CLOTHED WITH AIR.
She was standing, in her chaste nudity, with uplifted arms, twisting the
thick and waving masses of her hair, which she was trying to bring into
subjection on the top of her head,--a fresh, young beauty, who had not
yet attained the fulness and perfection of developed form, but was
approaching it, radiant in the loveliness of her seventeenth year.
A child of Venice, her white, soft, rose-tinted skin revealed the
circulation of a strong and ardent life-blood beneath its transparency;
her eyes shone with a mysterious and haunting light, and the dewy
redness of her lightly parted lips made one think of the fruit as much
as of the flower. She was marvellously beautiful as she stood thus; and
if some hero Paris had received a mission to award the palm to her, I do
not know which he would have laid at her feet, that of grace, elegance,
or beauty,--for she seemed to blend the living charm of modern
attractiveness with the calm perfections of classic beauty.
The happiest, the most unexpected chance had led the painter Falero and
me to where she was. One lovely afternoon last spring we were walking on
the seashore. We had been through one of the groves of olive-trees, with
their sad-looking leaves, which are so frequent between Nice and Monaco,
and without being aware of it had entered some private grounds which
were unenclosed on the side towards the beach. A picturesque, winding
path led up the hill. We had just passed an orange-grove whose golden
apples recalled the garden of the Hesperides; the air was fragrant, the
sky a deep blue, and we were discoursing upon a parallel between art and
science, when my companion suddenly stopped, as if by an irresistible
fascination, making me a sign to be silent and to look.
Behind the clumps of cactus and fig-trees, a few feet in front of us,
was a sumptuous bathroom, with its western window open, letting us see
the young girl standing not far from a marble basin into which a jet of
water fell with a gentle murmur, and before a large mirror which
reflected her image from head to foot. Probably the noise of the falling
water had prevented her hearing our footsteps. We stood mute and
motionless behind the cactus, discreetly, or indiscreetly, watching her.
She was lovely, and apparently unaware of her own beauty. Her feet were
on a tiger-skin; she was in no haste. Finding that her hair was still
too damp, she let it fall about her again, turned in our direction, and
picked up a rose from the table near the window; then going back to the
long mirror, she resumed her hair-dressing, finished it leisurely, put
the little rose between two coils, and turning with her back to the sun,
stooped, probably to pick up her first piece of clothing. But she
suddenly sprang back with a piercing cry, hid her face in her hands, and
hastily retreated to a shaded corner.
We have always thought since that some movement of our heads must have
betrayed our presence, or that by some trick of the mirror she had seen
us. Whatever it was, we thought it prudent to retrace our steps, and
went down to the sea again by the same path.
* * * * *
"Ah," said my companion, "I assure you that among all my models I have
never seen any more perfect, even for my picture of the 'Double Stars'
and of 'Celia.' What do you think about it yourself? Did not that
apparition come just in time to prove that I am right? You need waste no
eloquence upon the delights of science,--acknowledge that art also has
its charms. Do not the stars of Earth compare favorably with the
beauties of the sky? Do you not admire the graceful beauty of that form
as I do? What exquisite tints, what flesh!"
"I should not have the bad taste not to admire what is truly beautiful,"
I answered. "I admit that human beauty (and of course female loveliness
in particular) truly represents the most perfect thing that Nature has
produced on our planet. But do you know what I most admire in that
being? It is not its artistic or æsthetic aspect, it is the scientific
proof it gives of a simply wonderful fact. In that beautiful body I see
a soul clothed with air."
"Oh, you are fond of paradoxes! A soul clothed with air! That is rather
idealistic for so real a body! No doubt the charming creature has a
soul; but permit an artist to admire her body, her vitality, her
solidity, her color...."
"I do not object. But it is just that physical beauty which makes me
admire the soul in her, the invisible force that formed her."
"What do you mean by that? We surely have a body! The existence of a
soul is less palpable."
"To the senses, yes; to the mind, no. Now, your senses absolutely
deceive you about the motion of the Earth, the nature of the sky, the
apparent solidity of the body; about beings and about things. Will you
follow my reasoning for a moment?
* * * * *
[Illustration]
"When I breathe the perfume of a rose, when I admire the beauty of form,
the smoothness of coloring, the grace of this flower in its freshly
opening bloom, what strikes me most is the work of the hidden, unknown,
mysterious force which rules over the plant's life and can direct it in
the maintenance of its existence, which chooses the proper molecules of
air, water, and earth for its nourishment, and which knows above all
how to assimilate those molecules and group them so delicately as to
form this graceful stem, these dainty little green leaves, these soft
pink petals, these exquisite tints and delicious fragrance. This
mysterious force is the animating principle of the plant. Put a
lily-seed, an acorn, a grain of wheat, and a peach-stone side by side
in the ground; each germ will build up its own organism.
[Illustration]
"I knew a maple-tree which was dying on the ruins of an old wall, a few
feet from good, rich soil in a ditch, and which in despair threw out a
venturesome root, reached the coveted soil, buried itself there, and
gained a solid footing, so that by degrees, although a motionless thing,
it changed its place, let its original roots die, left the stones, and
lived resuscitated upon the organ that had set it free. I have known
elms which were going to eat up the soil of a fertile field, whose food
had been cut off from them by a wide ditch, and who therefore determined
to make their uncut roots pass under the ditch. They succeeded, and
returned to their regular food, much to the cultivator's astonishment. I
knew an heroic jasmine which went eight times through holes in a board
which kept the light away from it, and which a teasing observer would
put back into the shade, hoping at last to wear out the flower's energy;
but he did not succeed.
"A plant breathes, drinks, eats, selects, refuses, seeks, works, lives,
acts according to its instincts. One does 'like a charm,' another pines,
a third is nervous and agitated. The sensitive-plant shivers and droops
its leaves at the slightest touch. In certain hours of well-being the
calla lily is warm, the pink is phosphorescent, the valisneria goes down
to the bottom of the lake to ripen the fruit of her loves. In these
manifestations of an unknown life the philosopher cannot help
recognizing a song from the universal choir in the plant world.
"I go no further for the human soul just now, although it is
incomparably superior to the soul of a plant, and although it has
created an intellectual world as much above the rest of the terrestrial
world as the stars are higher than the Earth. I am not looking at it now
from the point of view of its spiritual faculties, but only as force
animating the human being.
"Ah! I wonder that that force can group the atoms that we breathe, or
that we assimilate by nutrition and form this charming being! Think of
that young girl the day she was born, and follow in thought the gradual
development of that little body through the years of her awkward age to
the first graces of youth and the charms of womanhood. How is human
organism nourished, developed, and composed? You know,--by respiration
and nutrition.
"The air supplies three quarters of our nourishment by respiration. The
oxygen in the air maintains the fire of life, and the body is comparable
to a flame, constantly renewed by the principles of combustion. The lack
of oxygen extinguishes life as it extinguishes a lamp. By respiration
the black venous blood is transformed into red arterial blood and
regenerated. The lungs are a fine tissue pierced with from forty to
fifty millions of little holes, which are just too small for the blood
to filter through, and just large enough for the air to penetrate them.
A perpetual interchange of gas takes place between the air and the
blood, the first furnishing the second with oxygen, the second
eliminating carbonic acid. On the one hand the atmospheric oxygen burns
carbon in the lung; on the other the lung exhales carbonic acid,
nitrogen, and water in the form of vapor. In the daytime, plants breathe
by an opposite process,--they absorb carbonic acid and exhale oxygen; by
this difference maintaining one part of the general equilibrium of
terrestrial life.
"Of what is the human body composed? An average adult man weighs 70
kilograms. Of this amount there are nearly 52 kilograms of water in the
blood and flesh. Analyze the substance of our body, you will find
albumen, fibrine, caseine, and gelatine; that is, organic substances
composed originally of the four essential gases,--oxygen, nitrogen,
hydrogen, and carbonic acid. You will also find substances with no
nitrogen, such as gum, sugar, starch, and fat. These matters likewise
pass through our organism; their carbon and hydrogen are consumed by the
oxygen breathed in during respiration, and then exhaled under the form
of carbonic acid and water.
"You are not unaware that water is a combination of two gases, oxygen
and hydrogen; the air is a mixture of two gases, oxygen and nitrogen, to
which are added in lesser proportions water in the form of vapor, which,
however, is but condensed oxygen, etc.
"Thus our body is composed only of transformed gases."
* * * * *
"But," interrupted my companion, "we do not live solely upon the air; at
certain hours, indicated by our stomachs, it is very necessary to add
some supplies which are not without a value of their own,--such as a
pheasant's wing, a filet de sole, a glass of Château Laffitte or
champagne, or, as your taste may prefer, asparagus, grapes, peaches...."
"Yes, that all passes through our organism and renews its
tissues,--pretty rapidly too; for in a few months (not in seven years,
as was formerly thought) our body is entirely renewed. To return to that
lovely being who posed before us just now. None of that flesh which we
admired existed three or four months ago; those shoulders, that face,
those eyes, that mouth, those arms, that hair, and, even to the very
nails, all that organism, is but a current of molecules, a ceaselessly
renewed flame, a river which we may look at all our lives, but never see
the same water again. Now, all that is but assimilated gas, condensed
and modified, and more than anything else, it is air. These bones
themselves, so solid now, were formed and hardened gradually. Do not
forget that our whole body is composed of invisible molecules which do
not touch each other, and which are continually renewed.
"Finally, our table is spread with vegetables and fruits; if we are
vegetarians we absorb substances almost entirely drawn from the air.
This peach is air and water; this pear, this grape, this almond are also
made of air and water, a few gaseous elements drawn to them by the sap,
by solar heat, by the rain. Asparagus or salad, peas or beans, lettuce
or chicory, all these live in the air and on the air; what the earth
furnishes, what the sap seeks out, are also gases, and the very same
nitrogen, oxygen, hydrogen, carbon, etc.
"If it is a question of beefsteak, chicken, or some other 'meat,' the
difference is not very great. Sheep and oxen feed upon grass. If we
relish a partridge cooked with cauliflower, a roasted quail, a truffled
turkey, or a stewed hare, all these substances, apparently so different,
are only transformed vegetable matter, which itself is but a grouping
of molecules taken from the gases of which we have just been
speaking,--air, water, elements, molecules, and atoms almost
imponderable of themselves, and moreover absolutely invisible to the
naked eye.
"Thus, whatever may be our kind of nourishment, our body, kept repaired,
developed by the absorption of molecules acquired by respiration and
alimentation, is really but a current incessantly renewed by means of
this assimilation,--directed, governed, and organized by the immaterial
force which animates us. To this force we may assuredly give the name of
'soul.' It groups the atoms which suit it, eliminates those which are
useless to it, and, starting with an imperceptible speck, an
indiscernible germ, ends by building up the Apollo Belvidere or the
Venus of the Capitol. Phidias is but a coarse imitator, compared to this
hidden and mysterious force. Mythology tells us that Pygmalion became
the lover of a statue of his own creation. Not so! Pygmalion,
Praxiteles, Michael Angelo, Benvenuto, and Canova created nothing but
statues. The force that can construct the living body of man and woman
is more sublime.
"But this force is immaterial, invisible, intangible, imponderable, like
the attraction which lulls the worlds in the universal melody; and the
body, however material it may seem to us, is in itself only a harmonious
grouping, formed by the attraction of this interior force. So you see
that I confine myself strictly within the limits of positive science in
speaking of this young girl by the title of a soul clothed with
air,--like you or me, for instance, neither more nor less.
"From the origin of humanity down to within a century or two, it has
been believed that sensation was perceived at the very point where it
was felt. A pain felt in the finger was considered as having its seat in
the finger itself. Children and many people believe so still. Physiology
has demonstrated that the impression is transmitted from the finger-tip
to the brain by means of the nervous system. If the nerve is cut, the
finger may be burned with impunity; the paralysis is complete. We have
been able to determine the time taken by the impression in transmitting
itself from any part of the body to the brain, and it is known that the
rapidity of this transmission is about twenty-eight metres per second.
Since then we have referred sensation to the brain. But we have stopped
half way.
"The brain is matter, like the finger, and by no means fixed and stable
matter. It is essentially changing matter, rapidly variable, and forming
no identity. A single lobe, a single cell, a single molecule which does
not change, does not and could not exist in the whole mass of encephalic
matter. A stoppage of motion, of circulation, or of transformation
would be a death-warrant. The brain subsists and feels, only on
condition of submitting, like all the rest of the body, to the incessant
transformations of organic matter which constitute the vital circuit.