BY
One of the Forty belonging to the French Academy; and Secretary to the Academy of Sciences.
WITH NOTES,
AND A CRITICAL ACCOUNT OF THE AUTHOR'S WRITINGS,
BY
JEROME DE LA LANDE,
SENIOR DIRECTOR OF THE OBSERVATORY AT PARIS.
Translated from a late Paris Edition, by
MISS ELIZABETH GUNNING.
London:
PRINTED BY J. CUNDEE, IVY-LANE;
SOLD BY T. HURST, PATERNOSTER-ROW.
1803.
Whenever I have entered into conversation with any sensible woman on astronomy, I have always found that she had read Fontenelle's Plurality of Worlds; and that his book had excited her curiosity on the subject. As it has been so much read already, it must continue to engage attention: I therefore thought it would be useful to point out its faults; to add some observations, without which the reader would be led into error with respect to the vortices; to make known the late discoveries; and to shew what numbers, before our author, had written on the plurality of worlds. But I have made no alterations in the text; the reputation of Fontenelle renders him respectable, even in his mistakes.
The Astronomy for Ladies, which I have published as a substitute for this book, would be more instructive, but less amusing; therefore, as it will be but little read, I shall endeavour to supply the defects of Fontenelle's work, by adding to the original some ideas more exact than his own.
M. Codrika has translated it into Greek, with explanations taken from my Astronomy.
M. Bode has translated it into German; and his translation has already gone through three editions: the last is that of 1798, Berlin, in octavo, Bernard de Fontenelle, Dialogen ueber die Mehrheit der Welten.
When Voltaire published, in 1738, his Essays on the Elements of Newton, he began with these words: "Here is no Marchioness; no imaginary philosophy." It was supposed that he here alluded to Fontenelle; this he contradicts by saying: "so far from having his book in view, I publicly declare that I consider it one of the best works that ever were written." (Mem. de Trublet, p. 135).
This book has been printed a hundred times; the handsome edition of Fontenelle's Works, in folio, published at the Hague in 1728,[1] with figures by Bernard Pickart; the still more beautiful edition of the Worlds alone, edited by Didot the younger, in 1797, in folio, are master-pieces of typography; but in them nothing is found but the original work; therefore I consider our edition far preferable.
[1] That edition does not contain the account of the bees, which is in the present edition.
I shall here give a short account of the author of this work.
Bernard le Bovier[2] de Fontenelle was born at Bouen, February 11, 1657. He died January 9, 1757.
[2] Lebeau writes the name le Bouyer, from the family name, in the Mémoires de l'Académie des Inscriptions; but it is pronounced le Bovier. (Mem. p. 19.)
The first efforts of his genius were directed to poetry: at the age of thirteen he had composed a Latin poem: about the year 1683 he devoted himself to literature and philosophy. In 1699 he began l'Historie de l'Académie des Sciences, which he continued with great success during forty-two years. Few persons have contributed more to the progress of the sciences than he has done, by accommodating them to every capacity, and inspiring by his panegyrics, a love of study. For my part, I feel a pleasure in acknowledging that I am indebted to him for the germ of that insatiable activity of mind I have experienced ever since the age of sixteen. I could find nothing in the world like the Academy of Sciences, and ardently wished for the happiness of seeing it, long before I had any idea of the possibility of one day belonging to it.
In 1727 he published his Elemens de la Géométrie de l'infini; this was merely the amusement of a man of genius who had heard a little of geometry, and chose to hazard his opinions on the subject.
We may find an eulogium on our author in l'Historie de l'Académie des Sciences for 1757, in the Mémoires de l'Académie des Belles-Lettres, and in a work written entirely on the subject, published by Trublet in the year 1761, entitled Mémoires pour servir à l'Historie de la vie et des Ouvrages de Fontenelle. In these memoirs a particular critique shews us the various merits of Fontenelle's works: there is also an article by Trublet in the edition of Moréri, published in 1759.
I have remarked in the twentieth book of my Astronomy, that in every period of time it has been believed that the planets were inhabited, on account of their resemblance to the earth. The idea of the plurality of worlds is expressed in the Orphics, those ancient Grecian poems attributed to Orpheus (Plut. de Placitis Philosoph. l. 2, cap. 13.) Proclus has preserved some verses in which we find that the writer of the Orphics places mountains, men, and cities in the moon. The Pythagoreans, such as Philolaüs, Hicetas, Heraclides, taught that the stars were all worlds. Several ancient philosophers even admitted an infinity of worlds beyond the reach of our sight. Epicurus, Lucretius, and all the Epicureans were of the same opinion; and Metrodorus thought it as absurd to imagine but one world in the immensity of space, as to say that only one ear of corn could grow in a great extent of country. Zeno of Eleusis, Anaximenes, Anaximander, Leucippus, Democritus, asserted the same thing: in short, there were some philosophers who, although they did not consider the rest of the planets inhabited, placed inhabitants in the moon; such were Anaxagorus, Xenophanes, Lucian, Plutarch, (De Oracular. defectu. De Facie in orbe Lunæ,) Eusebius, Stobius. We may see a long list of the ancients who have treated on the subject, in Fabricius, (Biblio. Græcæ, t. 1. cap. 20.) and in the Mémoire de Bonamy (Acad. des Inscriptions, tom. ix.) Hevelius appeared as firmly persuaded of this opinion in 1647, when he talked of the difference between the inhabitants of the two hemispheres of the moon: he calls them selenitæ, and examines at length all the phœnomena observed in their planet, after the example of Kepler (Astron. Lunaris.) It was maintained at Oxford, in certain themes which are mentioned in the News of the Republic of Letters, June 1784, that the system of Pythagoras on the inhabitants of the moon was well founded: two years afterwards Fontenelle discussed this subject in his agreeable work. There are farther details of the different astronomical opinions at the end of Gregory's book. For the objections, we may refer to Riccioli. (Almagestum, tom. 1, p. 188, 204). In 1686 the Plurality of Worlds was adorned by Fontenelle with all the beauties of which a philosophical work was susceptible. Huygens (who died in 1695) in his book entitled Cosmothéoros, published in 1698, likewise enters largely into the subject.
The resemblance between the earth and the other planets is so striking, that if we allow the earth to have been formed for habitation, we cannot deny that the planets were made for the same purpose; for if there is, in the nature of things, a connection between the earth and the men who inhabit it, a similar connexion must exist between the planets and beings who inhabit them.
We see six planets around the sun, the earth is the third; they all move in elliptical orbits; they have all a rotatory motion like the earth, as well as spots, irregularities, mountains: some of them have satellites, the earth has one satellite: Jupiter is flattened like our world; in short there is every possible resemblance between the planets and the earth: is it, then, rational to suppose the existence of living and thinking beings is confined to the earth? From what is such a privilege derived but the groveling minds of persons who can never rise above the objects of their immediate sensations?
Lambert believed that even the comets were inhabited. (Systême du Monde, Bouillon; 1770.) Buffon determines the period when each planet became habitable, and when it will cease to be so, from its refrigeration. (Suplèmens, in 4to. tom. 11.) What I have said of planets that turn round the sun, will naturally extend to all the planetary systems which environ the fixed stars; every star being an immoveable and luminous body, having light in itself, may properly be compared with our sun. We must conclude that if our sun serves to attract and enlighten the planets which surround it, the fixed stars have the same use. It is thought that the sun and fixed stars are uninhabitable because they are composed of fire; yet M. Knight, in a work written to explain all the phœnomena of nature, by attraction and repulsion, endeavours to prove that the sun and stars may be habitable worlds, and that the people in them may possibly suffer from extreme cold. M. Herschel likewise thinks the sun is inhabited (Philos. Trans. 179. p. 155, et suiv.)
Some timid, superstitious writers have reprobated this system, as contrary to religion: they little knew how to promote the glory of their Creator. If the immensity of his works announce his power, can any idea be more calculated than this to exhibit their magnificence and sublimity? We see with the naked eye, several thousands of stars; in every part of the firmament we discover with telescopes, innumerable others; with more perfect telescopes, we still find a multitude more. We compute, from the number seen through Herschel's telescopes in one region of the sky, that there are a hundred millions. Imagination pierces beyond the extent of vision, beholding multitudes of unknown worlds, infinitely more in number than those which are visible to our sight; and ranges unrestrained in the boundless space of creation.
Our only difficulty with respect to the inhabitants of so many millions of planets, is the obscurity of the final causes, which it is difficult to admit when we see into what errors the greatest philosophers have fallen; for instance Fermat, Leibnitz, Maupertius, &c. in attempting to employ these final causes or metaphysical suppositions of imagined relations between effects that we see and the causes we assign them, or the ends for which we believe them to exist.
If the plurality of worlds be admitted without difficulty; if the planets are believed to be inhabited, it is because the earth is considered merely as a habitation for man, from which it is inferred that were the planets uninhabited they would be useless: but I will venture to assert that such a mode of reasoning is confined, unphilosophic, and at the same time, presumptuous. What are we in comparison of the universe? Do we know the extent, the properties, the destination, and the connexions of nature? Is our existence, formed as we are, of a few frail atoms, to be considered any thing when we think of the greatness of the whole? Can we add to the perfection and grandeur of the universe? These ideas are expressed by Saussure, who in speaking of a traveller to Mont-blanc says: "if, during his meditations, the thought of the insignificant beings that move on the face of the earth offers itself to his mind, if he compares their duration with the grand epochs of nature, how great will be his astonishment that man, occupying so small a space, existing so short a time, can ever imagine that his being is the only end for which the universe was created."
From these considerations d'Alembert, in the Encyclopedia, (art. World) after examining the arguments for supposing the planets inhabited, concludes by saying: the subject is enveloped in total obscurity.
But Buffon affirms that wherever there is a certain degree of heat, the motion produces organized beings; we need not enquire in what way, but imagine these to be the inhabitants of the planets: if that should be the case, we may conclude it highly probable that they are inhabited, notwithstanding the preceding objections.
LA LANDE.
1802.
I find myself nearly in the situation of Cicero, when he undertook to write in his own language on philosophical subjects, that, till then, had never been treated of but in Greek. He tells us that his works were said to be useless, because those who delighted in philosophy, having taken the pains to study the books written in Greek, would not afterwards think of examining his Latin ones, which were not originals; and that persons who had no taste for philosophy, would neither care for the Greek nor the Latin.
To which he answers, that exactly the contrary would happen; that the unlearned would be allured to philosophy by the facility of reading Latin works; and that the well-informed, after studying the Greek authors, would be pleased to see how the subjects were handled in Latin.
Cicero might with propriety speak in this manner; his superior genius and great celebrity assured him success in this untried project, but I have not the same advantages to inspire me with confidence, in a similar undertaking. I was desirous of representing philosophy in a way that was not philosophical; I have attempted to compose a book that shall neither be too abstruse for the gay, nor too amusive for the learned. But if what was said to Cicero should be repeated to me, I could not venture to answer as he did: possibly in attempting to find a middle way which would accommodate philosophy to every class, I have chosen one that will not be agreeable to any. It is very difficult to maintain a medium, and I think I shall never be inclined to make a second attempt of this nature.
I should warn those that have some knowledge of natural philosophy, that I do not suppose this book capable of giving them any information; it will merely afford them some amusement, by presenting in a lively manner what they have already become acquainted with by dint of study. I would also inform those who are ignorant of these subjects that it has been my design to amuse and instruct them at the same time: the former will counteract my intention if they here expect improvement, and the latter, if they here only seek for entertainment.
I need not say that of all philosophical subjects I have chosen that which is most calculated to excite curiosity: surely nothing ought to interest us more than to know how our own world is formed; and whether there be other worlds similar to it, and inhabited in the same way: but let no one be disquieted if unable to answer these enquiries; they who have time to spare may examine such subjects; many have it not in their power.
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.
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[3] 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.
[3] The lady here mentioned was Madame de la Mesangire of Rouen. She was a beautiful brunette; but in compliance with her desire to be concealed, the author has spoken of her in the following pages, as having a fair complexion. The park belonging to her residence, is described in the "First Evening."
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:[4] 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.
[4] The Vortexes of Descartes, occupied the attention of the learned, for nearly a century; but this hypothesis was superceded by a discovery of the laws of attraction. Although Newton's famous book on principles was published in 1687, Fontenelle always retained his educational prejudice in favour of the Vortexes. A few years before his death, he consulted me on a little work he had some time since composed on the subject. I endeavoured to dissuade him from making it public; but Falconet was afterwards weak enough to do so. The book is entitled "Theory of the Cartesian Vortexes, with Reflections on Attraction." The author's name was never affixed to the work.
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.
[5] This first book has been translated into a variety of languages; it is the best eclogue that has been composed in the last fifty years: the descriptions and imagery it contains are perfectly suited to the style of pastoral poetry; indeed many of the images would not have disgraced the pen of a Virgil.
Dubos. Reflections on Poetry and Painting.
THE EARTH IS A PLANET WHICH TURNS ON ITS AXIS, AND GOES ROUND THE SUN.
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.[6] 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,[7] 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.
[6] In 1781, M. Herschel discovered a sixth. Astronomy by Lalande, third edition, 1792, Vol. 1, Art. 116.
[7] Perhaps in Ethiopia. Astronomy, Art. 260.
I am glad, said the Marchioness, you have given me this genealogy of the sciences; astronomy is the only one that will suit me: geometry, according to your account of it, requires a more selfish heart than mine; and I have not susceptibility enough to attempt poetry with success; I have, however, as much leisure as can be needful for the study of astronomy; it is another favourable circumstance that we are in the country, leading a pastoral life. Do not mistake madam, answered I, talking of planets and fixed stars is not all that constitutes a pastoral life. Was the conversation of the shepherds, in the golden age, confined to astronomy? Ah, said she, but it would be dangerous to conform one's mode of life to their's. No, that of the other shepherds you mention appears preferable to me; therefore let us converse, if you please, in the Chaldean style. After this disposition of the stars was remarked, what followed? The next thing, I replied, was to imagine the arrangement of the different parts of the universe; that is what the learned call making a system. But before I explain to you the first of these systems, give me leave to premise that we are all naturally disposed to the same sort of madness as a certain Athenian of whom you have heard, who had taken it in his head that every vessel which went into the port of Pyreum belonged to him. We chuse to believe that every thing in creation is destined to our service; and when we enquire of some philosophers the use of such a prodigious number of fixed stars, of which a smaller proportion would have been sufficient for all the offices they appear to perform; they coolly answer, they were made to gratify our sight. On this selfish principle it was for a long time supposed that the earth was motionless in the midst of the universe, whilst all the heavenly bodies were created for the sole purpose of journeying round, and distributing their light to her. Next to the earth they placed the moon, after the moon, Mercury, then Venus, the Sun, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn; beyond all these the firmament of fixed stars. It was imagined that the earth was stationed exactly in the middle of the circles described by these planets which extended in proportion to their distance from the earth, and that consequently the most remote planets required a longer time to perform their revolutions, which certainly is true. But, interrupted the Marchioness, I can't see why you should disapprove such an arrangement of the universe, it appears to me sufficiently commodious and intelligible, I really feel quite satisfied with it. I have taken pains, answered I, to represent this system in the most favourable point of view; if I were to explain it exactly as it was conceived by Ptolemy the author of it, and his disciples, you would be quite shocked. As the motions of the planets are irregular, being sometimes quicker, sometimes slower; going sometimes in one direction, sometimes in another; now nearer to the earth, then at a greater distance from it; the ancients figured to themselves an endless number of circles intersecting each other, by which they endeavoured to understand the great variety of movements. The confusion, however, caused by such an infinity of circles was so perplexing that, at the time no better system was known, one of the kings of Castile,[8] a profound mathematician, was daring enough to say, that if the supreme Being had consulted him when he created the world, he would have given him some good advice. We are filled with horror at the impiety of this expression, but it serves to shew us how absurd must have been the hypothesis which could prompt it. The advice this man wished to have given, undoubtedly regarded the suppression of so many circles, which did but prevent the planetary motions from being understood. Probably he would likewise have expunged from the system two or three superfluous firmaments, supposed to be above the fixed stars. The philosophers, to explain some particular motion of the heavenly bodies, placed, beyond the heaven that bounds our view, a sky of crystal, which communicated this motion to the lower sky. Was a new movement discovered? they had nothing to do but to form a second crystal firmament. In short skies of crystal were made without any trouble. Why did they always chuse crystal? enquired the Marchioness; would nothing else have answered the purpose as well? No, answered I, it was necessary to have a substance, at once transparent and solid, for it was Aristotle's opinion that solidity was essential to the dignity of their nature, and as this was believed by a great man, nobody thought of doubting it. But since that time comets have been seen which, being higher than was formerly imagined, must have broken all the crystal of these skies, in passing through them, and by that mean, thrown the universe into confusion; it was therefore found necessary to change the matter of which these firmaments were composed, into a fluid, such as air.
[8] Alphonsus, king of Castile died in 1284.
It is now discovered with certainty, by the researches of later ages, that Venus and Mercury turn round the Sun, and not round the earth, on this subject the ancient system is absolutely exploded. I will now acquaint you with another which provides for every difficulty, one that does not require any amendments of the king of Castile, for its simplicity is so charming that one cannot refuse to believe it. Yours, interrupted the Marchioness, seems a sort of bargaining philosophy; whoever offers a system that is effected at the least expense, has the preference. 'Tis true, said I; we have no other chance of understanding the plan by which the operations of nature are carried on. Nature is a wonderful economist; if a work is to be effected, and two ways are practicable, we may be sure she will adopt that which costs her the least, however trifling the difference. This economy is notwithstanding in every respect consistent with the surprising magnificence which appears in all her productions. Magnificence is employed in the design, and frugality in the execution of it. Nothing should excite our admiration so much as a stupendous project effected by simple means: but we are apt to cherish ideas of a very different kind. We place the frugality in the designs of nature, and her grandeur in the execution. We imagine her forming a contracted plan, and executing it with ten times the labour that is requisite: what can be so ridiculous? I hope, she replied, that the system you are going to explain will strictly imitate nature; the simplicity you so admire will spare me a great deal of trouble in comprehending your instructions. Your hope will be realized, said I, we have now no useless incumbrances. At the appearance of a certain German named Copernicus,[9] astronomy became simplified; he destroyed all the unnecessary circles, and crushed to pieces the crystalline firmaments.[10] Animated with philosophic enthusiasm, he dislodged the earth from the central situation which had been assigned it, and in its room placed the sun, who was more worthy of such a mark of distinction. The planets were no longer supposed to perform their revolutions round the earth, and enclose it in the centre of their orbits. If they afford us light it is as it were by chance, and in consequence of passing us in their course. They all turn around the sun; the earth itself not excepted; and as a punishment for the indolent repose it had been thought to enjoy, Copernicus made it take an ample share of the general activity: in short of all these celestial attendants, appointed for the service of our little globe, the moon alone is left to move round it. Stop a moment, said the Marchioness, your imagination is so elevated with your subject, you have explained it in such pompous language, that I believe I have scarcely understood you. The sun, you say, is immoveable in the centre of the universe; which of the planets is next in succession? 'Tis Mercury, I replied. Mercury goes regularly round the Sun in nearly a circular orbit, of which that luminary is the central point. Next to Mercury is Venus, which turns in the same manner round the Sun. Afterwards comes the Earth, and being higher than Mercury and Venus, describes a larger circle round the Sun than either of those planets. Then follow Mars, Jupiter and Saturn, in the order I have named them; thus you see the circle of Saturn must be the most extensive of all; it likewise requires a longer time than the other planets to perform its revolution. But, exclaimed she, you have forgotten the moon. I shall recollect it presently, said I; the moon never abandons the earth, but is constantly going round it; but as the earth is continually moving onwards in a circle round the sun, the moon at once follows its motion, and revolves round it; this attendant planet, therefore only goes round the sun in consequence of invariably continuing near to the earth.