POPULAR SCIENCE AND ART
René Bazin has sketched cleverly Pasteur's brilliant career. France has
no clearer claim to glory than in Pasteur, for he is one of the men,
who, in spite of everything, keeps her in the first rank of nations.
A rare good fortune attended him. While many scholars who seek the truth
without concerning themselves with the practical results have to wait
many long years before their discoveries can be used, Pasteur's
discoveries were useful at once. So the mob, which cannot understand
science studied for its own sake, appreciated Pasteur's works. He saved
millions to the public treasury, and tens of thousands of human lives.
He had already secured a notable place in science when the public
learned his name through the memorable contest between him and Pouchet
over "spontaneous generation." The probabilities of the case were on
Pouchet's side. People refused to believe that these organisms which
developed in great numbers in an enclosed jar or that the molds which
developed under certain conditions were not produced spontaneously. The
youth of the time went wild over the question.
I was constantly being asked, "Are you for Pouchet or Pasteur?" and my
invariable response was, "I shall be for the one who proves he is
right." I was unwilling to admit that any such question could be solved
_a priori_ in accordance with preconceived ideas, although I must
confess that among my friends I found no one of the same opinion.
We know how Pasteur won a striking victory through his patience and his
genius. He demonstrated that millions and millions of germs are present
in the air about us and that when one of them finds favorable
conditions, a living being appears which engenders others. "Many are
called, but few are chosen." This law may seem unjust, but it is one of
the great laws of Nature.
Pasteur, the great benefactor, whose discoveries did so much for all
classes of society, should have been popular, but he was, on the
contrary, extremely unpopular. The leading publicists of the day were
influenced by some inexplicable sentiment and they made constant war on
him. When, after several years of prodigious labor, Pasteur ventured to
assert himself, they took advantage of his following the dictates of
humanity in accepting all sorts of cases, curable or not, to spread a
report that his treatment did not cure, but instead gave the disease
which it was supposed to cure. Popular fury was aroused to such a
height, that a monster mass meeting was held _against_ Pasteur. Louise
Michel addressed this meeting with her customary vigor of speech and
amidst frantic applause shouted this unqualified remark, "_Scientific
questions should be settled by the people._"
By this time everybody was talking about microbes, and a shop on the
boulevards announced an exhibition of them. They used what is known as a
solar microscope and threw on a screen, suitably enlarged, the
animalculae which grow in impure water, the larvae of mosquitoes, and
other insects, which bear about the same relation to microbes that an
elephant does to a flea. I went into this establishment, and saw the
plain people with their wives looking at the exhibition very seriously
and really believing that they saw the famous microbes. One of them near
me said, with a knowing air, "What won't science do next?"
I was indignant, and I had all I could do to keep from saying: "They are
fooling you. What they are showing you is not Science, at the most only
its antechamber. As for you who are deceiving these naïve good people,
you are only impostors."
But I kept still; I would only have succeeded in getting thrown out. But
I said to myself--and I still say--"Why not enlighten these people, who
obviously want light?" It is impossible to _teach_ them science, but it
should be possible to make them at least comprehend what science _is_,
for they have no idea of it now. They do not know--in this era when they
are constantly talking about their rights and urged to demand more wages
and less work--that there are young people who are spending their best
years and leading a precarious existence, working day and night, without
hope of personal profit, with no other end in view besides the hope of
discovering new facts from which humanity may benefit at some time in
the future. They do not know that all the benefits of civilization which
they carelessly enjoy are the result of the long, painful and enormous
work of the thinkers whom they regard as idlers and visionaries who grow
rich from the sweat of the toilers. In a word, they should be taught to
give respect to what is worthy of it.
It is true that there are scientific congresses, but these are serious
gatherings which attract only the select few. It should be possible to
interest everybody, and in order to make scientific meetings interesting
we should use motion pictures and concerts.
But here we trench on art. We ought to teach the people not only science
but art as well, but the latter is the more difficult.
* * * * *
Modern peoples are not artistic. The Greeks were, and the Japanese were,
before the European invasion. An artistic people is recognized by their
ignorance of "objects of art," for in such an environment art is
everywhere. An artistic people no more dreams of creating art than a
great nobleman of consciously exhibiting a distinguished manner.
Distinction lies in his slightest mannerism without his being conscious
of the fact. So, among artistic peoples, the most ordinary and humble
objects have style. And this style, furthermore, is in perfect harmony
with the purpose of the object. It is absolutely appropriate for that
purpose in its proportions, in the purity of its lines, the elegance of
its form, its perfection of execution, and, above all, in its meaning.
When an outcry is raised against the ugliness and tawdriness of certain
objects in this country, the answer is, "But see how cheap they are!"
But style and conscience in work cost nothing. Feeling for art is,
however, inherent in human nature. The weapons of primitive peoples are
beautiful. The prehistoric hatchets of the Stone Age are perfect in
their contours. There is, therefore, no question of creating a feeling
for art in the people, but of awakening it.
Music holds so important a place in the modern world, that we ought to
begin with that. There is plenty of gay music, easy to understand, which
is in harmony with the laws of art, and the people ought to hear it
instead of the horrors which they cram into our ears under the pretence
of satisfying our tastes. What pleases people most is sentimental music,
but it need not be a silly sentimentality. Instead, they ought to give
the people the charming airs which grow, as naturally as daisies on a
lawn, in the vast field of opéra-comique. That is not high art, it is
true, but it is pretty music and it is high art compared with what is
heard too often in the cafés. I am not ignorant of the fact that such
establishments employ talented people. But along with the good, what
frightful things one hears! And no one would listen to their
instrumental repertoire anywhere else!
Every time anyone has tried to raise the standards and employ real
singers and real _virtuosi_, the attendance has increased. But, very
often, even at the theatres, the managers satisfy their own tastes under
the pretence of satisfying that of the public. That is, of course,
intensely human. We judge others by ourselves.
A famous manager once said to me, as he pointed to an empty house, "The
public is amazing. Give them what they like, and they don't come!"
One day I was walking in a garden. There was a bandstand and musicians
were playing some sort of music. The crowd was indifferent and passed by
talking without paying the slightest attention. Suddenly there sounded
the first notes of the delightful _andante_ of Beethoven's _Symphony in
D_--a flower of spring with a delicate perfume. At the first notes all
walking and talking stopped. And the crowd stood motionless and in an
almost religious silence as it listened to the marvel. When the piece
was over, I went out of the garden, and near the entrance I heard one of
the managers say,
"There, you see they don't like that kind of music.
And that kind of music was never played there again.