Part 3

In these Conversations I have represented a woman receiving information on things with which she was entirely unacquainted. I thought this fiction would enable me to give the subject more ornament, and would encourage the female sex in the pursuit of knowledge, by the example of a woman who though ignorant of the sciences, is capable of understanding all she is told, and arranging in her ideas the worlds and vortices. Why should any woman allow the superiority of this imaginary Marchioness, who only believes what she could not avoid understanding?

'Tis true, she gives some attention to the subject, but what sort of attention is requisite? Not such as will laboriously penetrate into an obscure thing, or a thing that is spoken of in an obscure manner; it is needful only to read with sufficient application to render the ideas familiar. Women may understand this system of philosophy by giving it as much attention as they would bestow on the Princess of Cleves, in order to understand the story and see all the beauties of the work. I do not deny that the ideas contained in this book are less familiar to the generality of females than those in the Princess of Cleves, but they are not more abstruse, and I am convinced that on a second perusal they would be perfectly understood.

As I did not wish to establish an imaginary system that had no foundation, I have employed true philosophical arguments, and as many of them as were necessary to establish my opinions; but fortunately the ideas connected with natural philosophy are in themselves beautiful, and whilst they satisfy the understanding, give as much pleasure as if formed only to charm the imagination.

To such parts of my subjects as did not possess these beauties I have given extraneous ornaments; Virgil has done this in his Georgics, where he renders a dry subject interesting by frequent and agreeable digressions: Ovid likewise in his Art of Love has pursued the same plan, although the matter of his poem was far more pleasing than any thing he could add to it: he seems to think it tiresome to speak constantly of one subject--even of love. I have more need of embellishments than he, yet I have used them sparingly. I have only given such as the freedom of conversation authorised; I have only placed them in parts that I thought required them; I have inserted most of them in the commencement of the work to accustom the mind by degrees to the objects I wish to present to its attention, in short, I have derived them from my subject, or formed them as much as possible to resemble my subject.

I did not venture to give any opinions on the inhabitants of the different worlds, since they must have been entirely chimerical; I have endeavoured to express all that might reasonably be imagined, and even the conjectures that are added are not without foundation. Truth and fiction are in some measure blended, but always so as to be distinguishable from each other: I do not undertake to justify such a composition; the union of philosophy and amusement is the chief aim of this work, but I know not whether I have adopted the right method.

It only remains for me now to address one class of persons; they are perhaps the most difficult to satisfy, not because my reasoning is inconclusive, but because they feel themselves privileged to disregard the best arguments: I am speaking of scrupulous people who may imagine religion is endangered by placing inhabitants any where but on the earth. I respect even an excessive scrupulosity when it arises from piety, nor would I willingly hurt the feelings of any one from whom I differed: but by rectifying a little error of the imagination we shall find that this objection cannot affect my system of giving inhabitants to an infinite number of worlds. When you are told that the moon is peopled, you immediately figure to yourself men like ourselves, and then a variety of theological difficulties occur. The posterity of Adam cannot have colonized the moon; therefore the inhabitants of that planet are not descendants of our first parents; now it would be a difficult point in theology to account for the existence of men who had any other ancestor. No more need be said; every imaginable difficulty is included in this, and the expressions that would be necessary for a more full explanation are too worthy of reverence to be employed in a work containing so little of the serious as this. The objection then turns on the existence of men in the moon, but it is the objectors themselves who talk of men as its inhabitants; I have asserted no such thing: I say there are inhabitants, and I likewise say they may not at all resemble us. What are they then?--I have never seen them; I do not speak from acquaintance with them.

Do not consider it a subterfuge, to rid myself of the objection, when I affirm that the moon is not peopled by men; you will see that according to the idea I entertain of the endless diversity of the works of nature, it is impossible such beings as we, should be placed there. This opinion is supported throughout the book, and it is an opinion which no philosopher can deny: I think, therefore, on this ground, the following conversations will be objected to only by those who have never read them. But will this consideration suffice to deliver me from the fear of censure? No; it rather gives me cause to apprehend objections from every side.

FONTENELLE.

CONVERSATIONS

ON THE

PLURALITY OF WORLDS.

TO MR. L----.

You desire me, dear Sir, to give you a particular account of the manner in which my time has been spent whilst at the Marchioness of G--'s in the country. To obey your injunctions strictly, I shall be obliged to fill a volume, and what is still more formidable, a volume of philosophy.

You expect to be entertained with a history of splendid feasts, hunting, and card-parties; and you will hear of nothing, but planets, worlds, and vortexes: for the discussion of these latter subjects, formed our principal amusement. Fortunately you are a philosopher, therefore I have the less reason to dread raillery from such a quarter; on the reverse, I may even hope for your congratulations, on having rendered the Marchioness sensible to the charms of philosophy: we could not have made a more valuable acquisition; for youth and beauty, in every cause holds such power, that if wisdom herself were desirous of being welcomed by mortals, and would assume the form of this lovely woman, surely with such an exterior, and such fascinating eloquence, she could not fail to attract every heart.

Notwithstanding all this, you must not expect to be transported with admiration, whilst I repeat the conversations I have held with her ladyship: my genius should be equal with her's, to relate what she said, in her own delightful manner. Conscious of inability, I must relinquish the attempt, and leave you to discern through the recital, that rapidity of apprehension, which characterizes the mind of the Marchioness. From the wonderful quickness with which she comprehends the most abstruse subjects, I consider her already learned: at least, I may be allowed to say, that after a little study, she might attain the heights of science; when many, who spend their lives amid the dull disputes of vast libraries, remain for ever in the deepest ignorance.

Before I recount our various conversations, perhaps you may expect some description of their scene; some picture of the romantic country, under whose shades the Marchioness is enjoying the autumn. If so, you will be disappointed: so many people have exercised their talents on this gay species of writing, that I shall dispense with the ceremony, and merely say, that on my arrival I had the pleasure of finding myself the only visitor.

The two first days were passed in relating the news of Paris, which I had just quitted. When that subject was exhausted, an evening walk in the park, suggested the discussion of those learned topics, the commencement of which you will find in the next page.

FIRST EVENING.

Dubos. Reflections on Poetry and Painting. ]

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THE EARTH IS A PLANET WHICH TURNS ON ITS AXIS, AND GOES ROUND THE SUN.

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After supper we went to take a walk in the park. We felt the fragrant breeze of evening peculiarly delightful, as the heat had been intense during the day: the silvery rays of the moon, gleaming through the foliage, formed an agreeable contrast with the darkened shadows of the landscape. Not a cloud intercepted or veiled the smallest star. Every orb appeared a mass of pure gold, rendered more brilliant by the rich blue of the sky. The beauty of the scenery produced a gentle reverie, from which, had not the Marchioness been with me, I should not have been easily roused; but in the company of so interesting a woman I could not long abandon myself to the influence of the moon and stars. Do you not think, said I, addressing myself to her, that the charms of a fine night greatly exceed those of the day? Yes, she replied, the splendour of day resembles a fair and dazzling beauty, but the milder radiance of night may be compared to a woman of less brilliancy of complexion, and more sweetness of expression. You are very generous, resumed I, in giving the preference to the brunette, whilst you are so fair. It is however true, that an unclouded sun is the most glorious object in nature; and it is equally true, that the heroines of romance, the most beautiful objects imagination can depict, have almost invariably been represented with fair complexions. Beauty, answered my companion, is nothing, unless it interests our feelings. You will not deny that the finest day never had the power of inspiring so delightful a reverie as you were falling into just now in contemplating the loveliness of the evening. You are right, said I, but the loveliest night I ever beheld, with all it's shadowy beauty, would fail to give me such enchanting sensations as the contemplation of the fair face of the Marchioness de G----. I should not be satisfied with your compliment, she replied, did I even believe you sincere, since the brightness of day, with which we have been comparing fair women, has so little influence on your heart. Why do lovers, who undoubtedly can judge of what is most touching, address all their poetic effusions to the night? To the ear of day they neither confide their transports nor their sorrows--why is it so entirely excluded from their confidence? Probably, I answered, because it is not calculated to inspire that delicious sentiment, at once impassioned and melancholy, which we feel in the stillness of night, whilst all nature seems to repose. The stars appear to move with more silent progress than the sun: every object that decorates the heavens is soft, and attractive to the eye: in short, we resign ourselves more easily to reverie because we feel as if no other being was at that time enjoying the pensive pleasure that expands our soul. Perhaps, too, the uniformity of day, in which the sky presents no other object than the sun, is less favourable to the wild and pleasing illusions of fancy than the view of innumerable stars, scattered with sportive irregularity, over the boundless space. I have always felt what you describe, said she, I love to see the stars, and am almost inclined to reproach the sun for hiding them. Ah! cried I, I cannot forgive him for concealing so many worlds from my sight! Worlds! she exclaimed, turning to me with surprise, what do you mean? Forgive me, said I, you touched the wildest chord of my imagination--I forget myself in a romantic idea. And what is this romantic idea? enquired the Marchioness. Ah! replied I, I am half ashamed of owning it:--I have taken it in my head that every star may be a world. I would not positively assert the truth of my opinion, but I believe it because it affords me pleasure; it has possessed my mind with irresistible force; and I consider pleasure a needful accessary to truth. Well, said she, since your whim is such a pleasant one, make me a partaker of it; I'll believe any thing you chuse about the stars, provided it contributes to my happiness. Ah! madam, I replied, 'tis not such an enjoyment as you would find in seeing one of Molière's comedies: it is an idea which can only give delight to the understanding. What! exclaimed she, do you think I am not susceptible of pleasures which depend only on reason? I will convince you of your mistake. Teach me your system. No, answered I, I will not subject myself to the reproach of having talked of philosophy, in such an enchanting walk as this, to the most interesting woman of my acquaintance. No, seek for pedants elsewhere.

For a long while I attempted, in vain, to excuse myself; I was at last obliged to yield: I insisted, however, for my reputation's sake, on a promise of secrecy. Every objection being removed, I wished to begin the subject, but found the commencement extremely difficult; for, with a person who was ignorant of natural philosophy, it was necessary to converse in a very circuitous manner, to prove that the earth was a planet, the other planets similar to the earth, and all the stars so many suns which enlightened a number of worlds. I once more assured her it would be much better to talk on such trifles as other people, in our situation, would amuse themselves with. In the end, however, to give her a general idea of philosophy, I pursued the following plan.

All philosophy, said I, is founded on two things; an inquisitive mind, and defective sight; for if your eyes could discern every thing to perfection you would easily perceive whether each star is a sun, giving light to a number of worlds; on the other hand, had you less curiosity, you would hardly take the trouble to inform yourself about the matter, and consequently remain in equal ignorance; but the difficulty consists in our wanting to become acquainted with more than we see: besides, it is out of our power to understand much of what is even within the reach of our sight, because objects appear to us very different from what they are. Thus philosophers pass their lives in disbelieving what they see, and endeavouring to conjecture what is concealed from them; such a state of mind is not very enviable.

In thinking on this subject, nature always appears to me in the same point of view as theatrical representations. In the situation you occupy at the opera you do not see the whole of its arrangements: the machinery and decorations are so disposed as to produce an agreeable effect at a distance, and at the same time the weights and wheels are hidden by which every motion is effected. You behold all that is passing, without concerning yourself about the causes; and so perhaps do all the other spectators, unless among the number some obscure student of mechanics is puzzling himself to account for an extraordinary motion which he cannot understand. You see the case of this mechanical genius resembles that of the philosopher studying the structure of the universe. What, however, augments the difficulty with respect to philosophers is, that nature so conceals from us the means by which her scenery is produced, that for a long time we were unable to discover the causes of her most simple movements. Figure yourself, as spectators of an opera, the Pythagorases, the Platos, the Aristotles; all these men whose names are so celebrated. Let us suppose them viewing the flight of Phæton, rising on the wind; ignorant at the same time of the construction of the theatre, and the cords by which the figure is put in motion. One to explain the phenomenon, says, it is some hidden virtue in Phæton which causes him to rise; another replies, Phæton is composed of certain numbers which produce his elevation. A third says, Phæton has a love for the top of the stage; he is uneasy at any other part. The fourth thinks, it is not essential to the nature of Phæton to rise in the air, but he prefers flying up to leaving a vacuum at the top of the stage. Such were the ridiculous notions of the ancient philosophers, which to my astonishment have not ruined the reputation of antiquity. After all Descartes and some other moderns appear: they tell you that Phæton rises in consequence of being drawn by cords, fastened to a descending weight, which is heavier than himself. It is no longer believed that a body can have motion, unless acted upon by another body; that it can rise and descend without a counterbalancing weight; thus, whoever examines the mechanism of nature is only going behind the scenes of a theatre. If that be the case, answered the Marchioness, philosophy is a very mechanical affair! So much so, I replied, that I am afraid it will fall into disrepute. In short, the universe is but a watch on a larger scale; all its motions depending on determined laws and the mutual relation of its parts. Confess the truth, have you not hitherto entertained a more exalted idea of the works of nature? Have you not considered them with more veneration than they deserve? I have known some people esteem them less as their knowledge encreased. For my part, said she, I contemplate the universe with more awful delight now I find that such wonderful order is produced by principles so simple.

I know not, rejoined I, how you have acquired such rational ideas, for, to say the truth, they are not very common. The generality are affected only by the obscure and marvellous. They admire nature merely because they consider it a sort of magic; something too occult for the understanding to reach: to them a thing appears contemptible as soon as they find the possibility of explaining its nature: but you, madam, can reason so clearly, that I have only to draw aside the veil, and present the world to your inspection.

What we behold at the greatest distance from our earth is the azure heaven, that immense arch to which the stars seem firmly to adhere. They are called fixed, because they appear to have no other motion than that of their sky, carrying them from east to west. Between the earth and the remote firmament are suspended, at various distances, the sun, moon, and the other five stars, denominated planets; Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter and Saturn. These planets not being stationary at one point in the heavens, but having unequal motions, vary with respect to their relative situations; the fixed stars, on the contrary, always bear the same local relation to each other. The chariot, for instance, that you may distinguish, formed of those seven stars, has always had that configuration, and is likely to retain it; but the moon sometimes approaches nearer to the sun; sometimes retreats farther from it; the same is observed of the other planets. Such were the observations made by the Chaldean shepherds whose continual leisure enabled them to give so much attention to the heavenly bodies as to form the rudiments of astronomy, for we learn that that science took its rise in Chaldea, as Geometry was first studied in Egypt, where the inundations of the Nile destroyed the boundaries of different possessions, made the inhabitants desirous of exact measures by which they could again separate their own lands from those of their neighbours. Thus astronomy is the offspring of idleness, geometry of interest; and if we enquire into the origin of poetry, we shall probably find that she is the daughter of love.