KISSES
"Among thy fancies, tell me this,
What is the thing we call a kiss?
I shall resolve ye what it is."
--Robert Herrick
Kissing is an extremely ancient habit of mankind coming to us from far
beyond the range of history, and undoubtedly practised by the remote
animal-like ancestors of the human race. Poets have exalted it, and in
these hygienic days doctors have condemned it. In the United States
they have even proposed to forbid it by law, on the ground that
disease germs may be (and undeniably are in some cases) conveyed by it
from one individual to another. But it is too deep-rooted in human
nature, and has a significance and origin too closely associated with
human well-being in the past, and even in the present, to permit of
its being altogether "tabooed" by medical authority.
There are two kinds of "kissing" practised by mankind at the present
time--one takes the form of "nose-rubbing"--each kiss-giver rubbing
his nose against that of the other. The second kind, which is that
familiar to us in Europe, consists in pressing the lips against the
lips, skin, or hair of another individual, and making a short, quick
inspiration, resulting in a more or less audible sound. Both kinds are
really of the nature of "sniffing," the active effort to smell or
explore by the olfactory sense. The "nose-kiss" exists in races so far
apart from one another as the Maoris of New Zealand and the Esquimaux
of the Arctic regions. It is the habit of the Chinese, of the Malays,
and other Asiatic races. The only Europeans who practise it are the
Laplanders. The lip-kiss is distinguished by some authorities as "the
salute by taste" from nose-rubbing, which is "the salute by smell."
The word "kiss" is connected by Skeat with the Latin "gustus," taste;
both words signify essentially "choice." But it would be a mistake to
regard the lip-kiss as merely an effort to taste in the strict sense,
since the act of inspiration accompanying it brings the olfactory
passages of the nose into play. Lip-kissing is frequently mentioned in
the most ancient Hebrew books of the Bible, and it was also the method
of affectionate salutation among the Ancient Greeks. Primarily both
kinds of kissing were, there can be no doubt, an act of exploration,
discrimination, and recognition dependent on the sense of smell. The
more primitive character of the kiss is retained by the lovers' kiss,
the mother's kissing and sniffing of her babe, and by the kiss of
salutation to a friend returning from or setting out on a distant
journey. Identification and memorising by the sense of smell is the
remote origin and explanation of those kisses. The kissing of one
another by grown-up men as a salutation was abandoned in this country
as late as the eighteenth century. "'Tis not the fashion here," says a
London gentleman to his country-bred friend in Congreve's "Way of the
World." But we have, most of us, witnessed it abroad, and perhaps been
unexpectedly subjected to the process, as I once was by an
affectionate scientific colleague. Independently of the more ordinary
practice of kissing--there is the "ceremonial kiss"--the kissing of
hands, or of feet and toes, which still survives in Court
functions--whilst the Viennese and the Spaniards, though they no
longer actually carry out their threat, habitually startle a foreigner
by exclaiming--"I kiss your hands." The Russian Sclavs are the most
profuse and indiscriminate of European peoples in their kissing. I
have seen a Russian gentleman about to depart on a journey "devoured"
by the kisses of his relations and household retainers, male and
female. Among the poor in rural districts in Russia this excessive
habit of kissing leads to the propagation of the most terrible
ulcerative disease among innocent people--as related by Metchnikoff in
the lectures on modern hygiene which he gave in London some seven or
eight years ago (published by Heinemann).
We may take it, then, that the act of kissing is primarily and in its
remote origin an exploration by the sense of smell, which has either
lost its original significance, and become ceremonial, or has, even
though still appealing to the sense of smell, ceased to be (if,
indeed, it ever was so) consciously and deliberately an exercise of
that sense. This leads us to the very interesting subject of the sense
of smell in man and in other animals. There is no doubt that the sense
of smell is not so acute in man as it is in many of the higher
animals, and even in some of the lower forms, such as insects. It is
the fact that so far as we can trace its existence and function in
animals, the sense of smell is of prime importance as distinguishing
odours which are associated either with objects or conditions
favourable to the individual and its race, or, on the other hand,
hostile and injurious to it. It never reaches such an extended
development as a source of information or general relation of the
individual to its surroundings as do the senses of sight, hearing and
touch. It depends for its utility on the existence of odorous bodies
which are not very widely present, and are far from universal
accompaniments of natural objects. Apart from some pungent mineral
gases, all odorous bodies are of organic origin. Even as recognised by
the less acute olfactory sense of man, the number and variety of
agreeable and of disagreeable scents, produced by various species of
animals and plants, is very considerable. But there is no doubt that
the number and variety discriminated by such animals as dogs and many
of the other hairy, warm-blooded beasts is far greater. The nature of
the particles given off by odorous bodies which act on the
nerve-endings of the organs of smell of animals, is remarkable. They
are volatile; that is to say, they are thrown off from their source
and float in the air in a state of extreme subdivision. Unlike the
particles which act upon the nerves of taste, they are not
necessarily soluble in water, and though often spread through and
carried by liquids, are in fact rarely dissolved in water. The
dissolved particles which act upon the nerves of taste can be
distinguished by man into four groups--sweet, sour, bitter, and
saline. But no such classification of "smells" is possible. As a rule
mankind confuses the "taste" of things with their accompanying
"smell." The finer flavours of food and drink not included in the four
classes of tastes are really due to odoriferous particles present in
the food or drink, which act on the terminations of the olfactory
nerves in the recesses of the nose, and excite no sensation through
the nerves of taste.
The part of the brain from which the nerves of smell arise is of
relatively enormous size in the lower vertebrates--as much as one
fifth of the volume of the entire brain in fishes--a fact which seems
to indicate great importance for the sense of smell in those forms.
Even in the mammals (the hairy, warm-blooded, young-suckling beasts)
the size of the olfactory lobes of the brain and of the olfactory
nerves, and the labyrinthine chambers of the nose on which the nerves
are spread, is very large, as one may see by looking at a mammal's
skull divided into right and left halves. And it seems immoderately
large to us--to man--because, after all, so far as our conscious lives
are concerned, the sense of smell has very small importance. Yet man
has a very considerable set of olfactive chambers within the nostrils
and has large olfactory nerves. Not rarely men and women are found who
are absolutely devoid of the sense of smell, and the same thing occurs
with domesticated cats and dogs. In these cases the olfactory lobes of
the brain are imperfectly developed. It is found that men in this
condition suffer but little inconvenience in consequence. We are able,
through their statements, to ascertain what parts of the savoury
qualities of food and drink belong to taste and what to smell. Such
individuals do not perceive perfumes, the bouquet of wine, or the
fragrance of tobacco, nor can they appreciate the artistic efforts of
a good cook. But they are spared the pain of foul smells, and
possibly in this way they may incur some danger in civilised life
through not being able to detect the escape of sewer-gas or of
coal-gas into a house, or the putrid condition of ice-stored fish,
birds, and meat. A friend of my own, who is devoid of the sense of
smell, inherited this defect from his father, and has transmitted it
to some of his children. I was surprised to find in conversing with
him how often I alluded to smells, either pleasant or unpleasant, when
(as we had agreed he should) he would interrupt me and say that my
remark had no meaning for him.
Some have a far more acute sense of smell than others, and again some
men, probably without being more acutely endowed in that way, pay more
attention to smells, and use the memory of them in description and
conversation. Guy de Maupassant is remarkable as a writer for his
abundant introduction of references to agreeable and mysterious
perfumes, and also to repulsive odours. But some men certainly have an
exceptionally acute sense of smell, and can, on entering an empty
room, recognise that such and such a person has been there by the
faint traces--not of perfumery carried by the visitor--but of his
individual smell or odour. This brings us to one of the most important
facts about odorous bodies and the sense of smell, namely, that not
only do the various species of animals (and plants) each have their
own odour--often difficult or impossible for man, with his aborted
olfactory powers, to distinguish--but that every individual has its
own special odour. As to how far this can be considered a universal
disposition is doubtful. It is probable that the power of
discriminating such individual odours is limited (even in the case of
dogs, where it is sometimes very highly developed), to a power of
discriminating the distinctive smells of the individuals of certain
species of animals, and not of every individual of every species.
Everyone knows of the wonderful power of the bloodhound in tracking an
individual man by his smell, but dogs of other breeds also often
possess what seems to us extraordinary powers of the kind. On a pebbly
beach I pick up one smooth flint pebble as big as a walnut. It is
closely similar to thousands of others lying there. I hold it in my
hand without letting my fox-terrier see it, and then I throw it. It
drops some eighty yards off among the other pebbles, and I could not
myself find it again. But the dog runs forward, notes vaguely by ear
and by eye the spot where it strikes, and then commences a systematic
circling within about ten yards of the spot. In half a minute he
pounces with the utmost assurance on to one selected stone, and brings
it to me. It is invariably the stone which had been in my hand, unseen
by the dog, thrown by me, and detected by the smell I have
communicated to it.
Not only is the discrimination of individuals by the sense of smell a
very astonishing thing, but so also is the obvious fact that the total
amount of odoriferous matter which is sufficient to give a definite
and discriminative sensation through the organ of smell is of a
minuteness beyond all calculation or conception. These two facts--the
almost infinite individual diversity of smell and the almost infinite
minuteness of the particles exciting it--render it very difficult to
form a satisfactory conclusion as to the nature of those particles. It
has been from time to time suggested that the end organs of the
olfactory nerves may be excited, not by chemically active particles,
but by "rays," olfactive undulations comparable to those of light.
Physicists have not yet been able to deal with the problem, but the
recent discoveries and theories as to radio-active bodies such as
radium may possibly lead to some more plausible theory as to the
diffusion and minuteness of odorous particles than any which has yet
been formulated. An example of the minuteness of odoriferous particles
is afforded by a piece of musk which for ten years in succession has
given off into the changing air of an ordinary room "particles"
causing a readily recognised smell of musk, and yet is found at the
end of that time to have lost no weight, that is to say, no weight
which can be appreciated by the finest chemical balance. An analogy (I
say only an analogy, a resemblance) to this is furnished by a pinch of
the salt known as radium chloride, no bigger than a rape-seed, and
enclosed in a glass tube, which will continue for months and years to
emit penetrating particles producing continuously without cessation
most obvious luminous and electrical effects upon distant objects, the
particles being so minute that no loss of weight can be detected in
the pinch of salt from which they are given off.
The sense of smell is of service to animals--
(1) In avoiding enemies and noxious things.
(2) In tracing and following and discriminating prey or other food.
(3) In recognising members of their own species and individuals of
their own herd or troop, and in finding their own young and their own
nests.
(4) In seeking individuals of the opposite sex at the breeding season.
It is in connection with the last of these services that we come
across some of the most curious observations as to the production and
perception of odorous particles. Butterflies and moths and some other
insects have olfactory organs in the ends of the antennae and the
"palps" about the mouth. The perfumes of flowers have been developed
so as to attract insects by the sense of smell, as their colours have
been also developed to attract insects by the eye. The insects serve
the flowers by carrying the fertilizing pollen from one flower to
another, and thus promoting cross-fertilization among separate
individual plants of the same species. But probably concurrently with
this has grown up the production of perfume by the scales on the wings
of moths and butterflies--perfumes which have the most powerful
attraction for the opposite sex of the same species. Curiously enough
(for these perfumes might very well exist without being detected by
man) some of the perfumes produced by butterflies are "smellable" by
man. That of the green-veined white is described as resembling the
agreeable odour of the lemon verbena. It is produced by certain scales
on the front border of the hinder wings of the male insects, and not
at all by the females, who are, however, attracted by it, and flutter
around the sweet-smelling male. Other male butterflies produce a scent
like that of sweet briar, others like honeysuckle, others like
jasmine, and so attract the females. Other butterflies are known which
produce repulsive odours, and so protect themselves from being eaten
by birds and lizards. Again, there are moths (for instance, the
emperor moth, Saturnia), the females of which produce a perfume which
attracts the males, and is of far-reaching power. The French
entomologist, Fabre, placed one of these female moths in a box covered
with net-gauze, and left it in a room with open window, facing the
countryside. In less than an hour the room was full of male emperor
moths--more than a hundred arrived, although none had been previously
visible in the neighbourhood. They crowded over the box, and even
afterwards, when the female moth had been removed, the perfume
remained in the box, and the male moths eagerly sought it. The perfume
must have carried far from the room where the female was, out into the
woods where it was perceived, and followed up to its source by the
male moths.
Such perfumes are very generally produced by little pockets or glands
in the skin, the secretion having, in the case of insects, birds and
mammals, an oily nature. In mammals they are largely produced by both
males and females, and serve to attract the sexes to one another.
Hairs are situated close to the minute odoriferous glands and serve an
important part in accumulating and diffusing the characteristic
perfume. Musk and civet are of this nature, and it is a significant
fact that these substances are used as perfumes by human beings. It
would seem as though mankind had lost either the power of
satisfactorily perceiving the perfumes naturally produced by the human
skin, or that the production of such perfumes had for some reason
diminished. Either condition would account for the use by mankind of
the perfumes of other animals and of flowers. There are a variety of
odorous substances produced by different parts of the human body, of
which some are agreeable and others disagreeable. One of the most
curious facts in regard to odorous bodies is the close resemblance
between agreeable and repulsive odours, and the readiness with which
the judgment of human beings may pronounce the same odour agreeable at
one period or place, and disagreeable at another. There also seems to
be a "dulling" of the power to perceive an odour which is a
consequence of constant exposure to that odour. Thus the Chinese say
that Europeans all smell unpleasantly, the odour resembling that of
sheep, although we do not observe it; whilst Europeans notice and
dislike the smell of the negro, a smell of the existence of which he
is unaware. The blood of animals, including that of man, has, when
freshly shed, a smell peculiar to the species, which has not, however,
any resemblance to that of the skin or of the waxy glands of the same
animal.
It seems that in regard to the exercise of the sense of smell by man,
we must distinguish not only greater from less acuteness and variety
of perception, but in the case of this sense-organ, as in regard to
the others, we must distinguish "unconscious" from "conscious"
sensation. All our movements are guided and determined by sensations
to touch and sight, and to some extent, of hearing, of which we are
unconscious. A vast amount of our sense-experience comes to us and is
recorded without our having consciousness of anything of the kind
going on. It is probable that the world of smells in which a dog with
a fine olfactive sense lives, produces little or nothing in the dog's
mind which is equivalent to our conscious perception of degrees of
agreeable and disagreeable odours. The dog is simply attracted and
repulsed in this direction and in that by the operation of his
olfactive organs, without, so to speak, giving any attention to the
sensation which is guiding him or being "aware" of it. No doubt at
times, and with special intensities of smell, he is, in his way,
conscious of a specific sensation. It is probable that whilst man's
general acuteness in perceiving and discriminating smells has dwindled
(as has that of the apes) in comparison with what it was in his remote
animal ancestry, yet he retains a large inherited capacity of
unconscious smell-sense, which most of us are unable to recognise,
although it is there, operating in ourselves unknown to us and
unobserved. The consciousness of smell-sensations is what we value and
talk of. It does not extend to the more primal smell-excitations,
except in extraordinary individuals. Thus, it seems to be not
improbable that we are attracted or repelled by other human
individuals by the unconscious operation upon us of attractive or
repulsive odours, and that the unaccountable liking or disliking which
we sometimes experience in regard to other individuals is due to
perfumes and odours emanating from such persons, which act upon us
through our olfactory organs without our being conscious of the fact.
It seems that we can thus arrive at a probable explanation of the
universality of the habit of kissing, and of "what is that thing we
call a kiss." It is not consciously used among civilised populations
as a deliberate attempt to smell the person kissed, but it
nevertheless serves to allow the unconscious exercise of
smell-preference, testing, and selection, with which are mingled, more
or less frequently, moments of conscious appreciation of the complex
of odours appertaining as an individual quality to the person kissed.