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Title: Biographies of distinguished scientific men. First series

Author: F. Arago

Translator: Robert Grant
Baden Powell
W. H. Smyth

Release date: September 30, 2005 [eBook #16775]
Most recently updated: December 12, 2020

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/16775

Credits: Produced by Bill Tozier, Barbara Tozier, Martin Pettit and
the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BIOGRAPHIES
OF DISTINGUISHED SCIENTIFIC MEN. FIRST SERIES ***

BIOGRAPHIES
OF

DISTINGUISHED SCIENTIFIC
MEN.

By FRANÇOIS ARAGO,
MEMBER OF THE INSTITUTE.

TRANSLATED BY

ADMIRAL W.H. SMYTH, D.C.L., F.R.S., &c.

THE REV. BADEN POWELL, M.A., F.R.S., &c.
AND

ROBERT GRANT, Esq., M.A., F.R.A.S.
FIRST SERIES.
BOSTON:
TICKNOR AND FIELDS.
M DCCC LIX.

RIVERSIDE, CAMBRIDGE:

PRINTED BY H.O. HOUGHTON AND COMPANY.

TRANSLATORS' PREFACE.

The present volume of the series of English translations of M. Arago's
works consists of his own autobiography and a selection of some of his
memoirs of eminent scientific men, both continental and British.
It does not distinctly appear at what period of his life Arago composed the
autobiography, but it bears throughout the characteristic stamp of his ardent
and energetic disposition. The reader will, perhaps, hardly suppress a smile
at the indications of self-satisfaction with which several of the incidents are
brought forward, while the air of romance which invests some of the
adventures may possibly give rise to some suspicion of occasional
embellishment; on these points, however, we leave each reader to judge for
himself. In relation to the history of science, this memoir gives some
interesting particulars, which disclose to us much of the interior spirit of the
Academy of Sciences, not always of a kind the most creditable to some of
Arago's former contemporaries.
But a far higher interest will be found to belong to those eloquent memoirs,
or éloges of eminent departed men of science, who had attained the
distinction of being members of the Academy.
In these the reader will find a luminous, eminently simple, and popular
account of the discoveries of each of those distinguished individuals, of a
kind constituting in fact a brief history of the particular branch of science to
which he was devoted. And in the selection included in the present volume,
which constitutes but a portion of the entire series, we have comprised the
accounts of men of such varied pursuits as to convey no inadequate
impression of the progress of discovery throughout a considerable range of
the whole field of the physical sciences within the last half century.
The account given by the author, of the principal discoveries made by the
illustrious subjects of his memoirs, is in general very luminous, but at the
same time presupposes a familiarity with some parts of science which may

not really be possessed by all readers. For the sake of a considerable class,
then, we have taken occasion, wherever the use of new technical terms or
other like circumstances seemed to require it, to introduce original notes
and commentaries, sometimes of considerable extent, by the aid of which
we trust the scientific principles adverted to in the text will be rendered
easily intelligible to the general reader.
In some few instances also we have found ourselves called upon to adopt a
more critical tone; where we were disposed to dissent from the view taken
by the author on particular questions of a controversial kind, or when he is
arguing in support, or in refutation, of opposing theories on some points of
science not yet satisfactorily cleared up.
We could have wished that our duty as translators and editors had not
extended beyond such mere occasional scientific or literary criticism. But
there unfortunately seemed to be one or two points where, in pronouncing
on the claims of distinguished individuals, or criticizing their inventions, a
doubt could not but be felt as to the perfect fairness of Arago's judgment,
and in which we were constrained to express an unfavourable opinion on
the manner in which the relative pretensions of men of the highest
eminence seemed to be decided, involving what might sometimes be fairly
regarded as undue prejudice, or possibly a feeling of personal or even
national jealousy. Much as we should deprecate the excitement of any
feeling of hostility of this kind, yet we could not, in our editorial capacity,
shrink from the plain duty of endeavouring to advocate what appeared to us
right and true; and we trust that whatever opinion may be entertained as to
the conclusions to which we have come on such points, we shall not have
given ground for any complaint that we have violated any due courtesy or
propriety in our mode of expressing those conclusions, or the reasons on
which they are founded.

CONTENTS.

THE HISTORY OF MY YOUTH.
An Autobiography of Francis Arago

BAILLY.
Introduction.
Infancy Of Bailly.—His Youth.—His Literary Essays.—His
Mathematical Studies.
Bailly becomes the Pupil of Lacaille.—He is associated with him in
his Astronomical Labours.
Bailly a Member of the Academy of Sciences.—His Researches on
Jupiter's Satellites.
Bailly's Literary Works.—His Biographies of Charles V.—of Leibnitz
—of Peter Corneille—of Molière.
Debates relative to the Post of Perpetual Secretary of the Academy of
Sciences.
History of Astronomy.—Letters on the Atlantis of Plato and on the
Ancient History of Asia.
First Interview of Bailly with Franklin.—His Entrance into the French
Academy in 1783.—His Reception.—Discourse.—His Rupture with
Buffon.
Report on Animal Magnetism.
Election of Bailly into the Academy of Inscriptions.
Report on the Hospitals.
Report on the Slaughter-Houses.
Biographies of Cook and of Gresset.
Assembly of the Notables.—Bailly is named First Deputy of Paris; and
soon after Dean or Senior of the Deputies of the Communes.
Bailly becomes Mayor of Paris.—Scarcity.—Marat declares himself
inimical to the Mayor.—Events of the 6th of October.
A Glance at the Posthumous Memoir of Bailly.
Examination of Bailly's Administration as Mayor.

The King's Flight.—Events on the Champ de Mars.
Bailly quits the Mayoralty the 12th of November, 1791.—The
Eschevins.—Examination of the Reproaches that might be addressed
to the Mayor.
Bailly's Journey from Paris to Nantes, and then from Nantes to Mélun.
—His Arrest in this last Town.—He is transferred to Paris.
Bailly is called as a Witness in the Trial of the Queen.—His own Trial
before the Revolutionary Tribunal.—His Condemnation to Death.—
His Execution.—Imaginary Details added by ill-informed Historians to
what that odious and frightful Event already presented.
Portrait of Bailly.—His Wife.

HERSCHEL.
Personal History.
Chronological Table of the Memoirs of William Herschel.
Improvements in the Means of Observation.
Labours in Sidereal Astronomy.
Labours relative to the Solar System.
Optical Labours.

LAPLACE.
Preliminary Notice.
APPENDIX.
(A.) Brief Notice of some other interesting Results of the Researches
of Laplace which have not been mentioned in the Text.
(B.) The Mécanique Céleste.

JOSEPH FOURIER.
Preliminary Notice.
Birth of Fourier.—His Youth.
Memoir on the Resolution of Numerical Equations.
Part played by Fourier in our Revolution.—His Entrance into the
Corps of Professors of the Normal School and the Polytechnic School.
—Expedition to Egypt.
Fourier Prefect of L'Isère.
Mathematical Theory of Heat.
Central Heat of the Terrestrial Globe.

Return of Napoleon from Elba.—Fourier Prefect of the Rhone.—His
Nomination to the Office of Director of the Board of Statistics of the
Seine.
Entrance of Fourier into the Academy of Sciences.—His Election to
the Office of Perpetual Secretary.—His Admission to the French
Academy.
Character of Fourier.—His Death.

LIVES
OF

DISTINGUISHED SCIENTIFIC MEN.

THE HISTORY OF MY YOUTH:
AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF FRANCIS ARAGO.

I have not the foolish vanity to imagine that any one, even a short time
hence, will have the curiosity to find out how my first education was given,
and how my mind was developed; but some biographers, writing off hand
and without authority, having given details on this subject utterly incorrect,
and of a nature to imply negligence on the part of my parents, I consider
myself bound to put them right.
I was born on the 26th of February, 1786, in the commune of Estagel, an
ancient province of Roussillon (department of the Eastern Pyrenees). My
father, a licentiate in law, had some little property in arable land, in
vineyards, and in plantations of olive-trees, the income from which
supported his numerous family.
I was thus three years old in 1789, four years old in 1790, five years in
1791, six years in 1792, and seven years old in 1793, &c.
The reader has now himself the means of judging whether, as has been said,
and even stated in print, I had a hand in the excesses of our first revolution.
My parents sent me to the primary school in Estagel, where I learnt the
rudiments of reading and writing. I received, besides, in my father's house,
some private lessons in vocal music. I was not otherwise either more or less
advanced than other children of my age. I enter into these details merely to
show how much mistaken are those who have printed that at the age of
fourteen or fifteen years I had not yet learnt to read.
Estagel was a halting-place for a portion of the troops who, coming from
the interior, either went on to Perpignan, or repaired direct to the army of
the Pyrenees. My parents' house was therefore constantly full of officers
and soldiers. This, joined to the lively excitement which the Spanish
invasion had produced within me, inspired me with such decided military
tastes, that my family was obliged to have me narrowly watched to prevent

my joining by stealth the soldiers who left Estagel. It often happened that
they caught me at a league's distance from the village, already on my way
with the troops.
On one occasion these warlike tastes had nearly cost me dear. It was the
night of the battle of Peires-Tortes. The Spanish troops in their retreat had
partly mistaken their road. I was in the square of the village before
daybreak; I saw a brigadier and five troopers come up, who, at the sight of
the tree of liberty, called out, "Somos perdidos!" I ran immediately to the
house to arm myself with a lance which had been left there by a soldier of
the levée en masse, and placing myself in ambush at the corner of a street, I
struck with a blow of this weapon the brigadier placed at the head of the
party. The wound was not dangerous; a cut of the sabre, however, was
descending to punish my hardihood, when some countrymen came to my
aid, and, armed with forks, overturned the five cavaliers from their saddles,
and made them prisoners. I was then seven years old.[1]
My father having gone to reside at Perpignan, as treasurer of the mint, all
the family quitted Estagel to follow him there. I was then placed as an out-
door pupil at the municipal college of the town, where I occupied myself
almost exclusively with my literary studies. Our classic authors had become
the objects of my favourite reading. But the direction of my ideas became
changed all at once by a singular circumstance which I will relate.
Walking one day on the ramparts of the town, I saw an officer of engineers
who was directing the execution of the repairs. This officer, M. Cressac,
was very young; I had the hardihood to approach him, and to ask him how
he had succeeded in so soon wearing an epaulette. "I come from the
Polytechnic School," he answered. "What school is that?" "It is a school
which one enters by an examination." "Is much expected of the
candidates?" "You will see it in the programme which the Government
sends every year to the departmental administration; you will find it
moreover in the numbers of the journal of the school, which are in the
library of the central school."
I ran at once to the library, and there, for the first time, I read the
programme of the knowledge required in the candidates.

From this moment I abandoned the classes of the central school, where I
was taught to admire Corneille, Racine, La Fontaine, Molière, and attended
only the mathematical course. This course was entrusted to a retired
ecclesiastic, the Abbé Verdier, a very respectable man, but whose
knowledge went no further than the elementary course of La Caille. I saw at
a glance that M. Verdier's lessons would not be sufficient to secure my
admission to the Polytechnic School; I therefore decided on studying by
myself the newest works, which I sent for from Paris. These were those of
Legendre, Lacroix, and Garnier. In going through these works I often met
with difficulties which exceeded my powers; happily, strange though it be,
and perhaps without example in all the rest of France, there was a proprietor
at Estagel, M. Raynal, who made the study of the higher mathematics his
recreation. It was in his kitchen, whilst giving orders to numerous domestics
for the labours of the next day, that M. Raynal read with advantage the
"Hydraulic Architecture" of Prony, the "Mécanique Analytique," and the
"Mécanique Céleste." This excellent man often gave me useful advice; but I
must say that I found my real master in the cover of M. Garnier's "Treatise
on Algebra." This cover consisted of a printed leaf, on the outside of which
blue paper was pasted. The reading of the page not covered made me
desirous to know what the blue paper hid from me. I took off this paper
carefully, having first damped it, and was able to read underneath it the
advice given by d'Alembert to a young man who communicated to him the
difficulties which he met with in his studies: "Go on, sir, go on, and
conviction will come to you."
This gave me a gleam of light; instead of persisting in attempts to
comprehend at first sight the propositions before me, I admitted their truth
provisionally; I went on further, and was quite surprised, on the morrow,
that I comprehended perfectly what overnight appeared to me to be
encompassed with thick clouds.
I thus made myself master, in a year and a half, of all the subjects contained
in the programme for admission, and I went to Montpellier to undergo the
examination. I was then sixteen years of age. M. Monge, junior, the
examiner, was detained at Toulouse by indisposition, and wrote to the
candidates assembled at Montpellier that he would examine them in Paris. I
was myself too unwell to undertake so long a journey, and I returned to
Perpignan.

There I listened for a moment to the solicitations of my family, who pressed
me to renounce the prospects which the Polytechnic School opened. But my
taste for mathematical studies soon carried the day; I increased my library
with Euler's "Introduction à l'Analyse Infinitésimale," with the "Résolution
des Equations Numériques," with Lagrange's "Théorie des Fonctions
Analytiques," and "Mécanique Analytique," and finally with Laplace's
"Mécanique Céleste." I gave myself up with great ardour to the study of
these books. From the journal of the Polytechnic School containing such
investigations as those of M. Poisson on Elimination, I imagined that all the
pupils were as much advanced as this geometer, and that it would be
necessary to rise to this height to succeed.
From this moment, I prepared myself for the artillery service,—the aim of
my ambition; and as I had heard that an officer ought to understand music,
fencing, and dancing, I devoted the first hours of each day to the cultivation
of these accomplishments.
The rest of the time I was seen walking in the moats of the citadel of
Perpignan, seeking by more or less forced transitions to pass from one
question to another, so as to be sure of being able to show the examiner how
far my studies had been carried.[2]
At last the moment of examination arrived, and I went to Toulouse in
company with a candidate who had studied at the public college. It was the
first time that pupils from Perpignan had appeared at the competition. My
intimidated comrade was completely discomfited. When I repaired after
him to the board, a very singular conversation took place between M.
Monge (the examiner) and me.
"If you are going to answer like your comrade, it is useless for me to
question you."
"Sir, my comrade knows much more than he has shown; I hope I shall be
more fortunate than he; but what you have just said to me might well
intimidate me and deprive me of all my powers."
"Timidity is always the excuse of the ignorant; it is to save you from the
shame of a defeat that I make you the proposal of not examining you."

"I know of no greater shame than that which you now inflict upon me. Will
you be so good as to question me? It is your duty."
"You carry yourself very high, sir! We shall see presently whether this be a
legitimate pride."
"Proceed, sir; I wait for you."
M. Monge then put to me a geometrical question, which I answered in such
a way as to diminish his prejudices. From this he passed on to a question in
algebra, then the resolution of a numerical equation. I had the work of
Lagrange at my fingers' ends; I analyzed all the known methods, pointing
out their advantages and effects; Newton's method, the method of recurring
series, the method of depression, the method of continued fractions,—all
were passed in review; the answer had lasted an entire hour. Monge,
brought over now to feelings of great kindness, said to me, "I could, from
this moment, consider the examination at an end. I will, however, for my
own pleasure, ask you two more questions. What are the relations of a
curved line to the straight line that is a tangent to it?" I looked upon this
question as a particular case of the theory of osculations which I had studied
in Legrange's "Fonctions Analytiques." "Finally," said the examiner to me,
"how do you determine the tension of the various cords of which a funicular
machine is composed?" I treated this problem according to the method
expounded in the "Mécanique Analytique." It was clear that Lagrange had
supplied all the resources of my examination.
I had been two hours and a quarter at the board. M. Monge, going from one
extreme to the other, got up, came and embraced me, and solemnly declared
that I should occupy the first place on his list. Shall I confess it? During the
examination of my comrade I had heard the Toulousian candidates uttering
not very favourable sarcasms on the pupils from Perpignan; and it was
principally for the sake of reparation to my native town that M. Monge's
behaviour and declaration transported me with joy.
Having entered the Polytechnic School, at the end of 1803, I was placed in
the excessively boisterous brigade of the Gascons and Britons. I should
have much liked to study thoroughly physics and chemistry, of which I did
not even know the first rudiments; but the behaviour of my companions

rarely left me any time for it. As for analysis, I had already, before entering
the Polytechnic School, learnt much more than was required for leaving it.
I have just related the strange words which M. Monge, junior, addressed to
me at Toulouse in commencing my examination for admission. Something
analogous occurred at the opening of my examination in mathematics for
passing from one division of the school to another. The examiner, this time,
was the illustrious geometer Legendre, of whom, a few years after, I had the
honour of becoming the colleague and the friend.
I entered his study at the moment when M. T——, who was to undergo his
examination before me, having fainted away, was being carried out in the
arms of two servants. I thought that this circumstance would have moved
and softened M. Legendre; but it had no such effect "What is your name,"
he said to me sharply. "Arago," I answered. "You are not French then?" "If I
was not French I should not be before you; for I have never heard of any
one being admitted into the school unless his nationality had been proved."
"I maintain that he is not French whose name is Arago." "I maintain, on my
side, that I am French, and a very good Frenchman too, however strange my
name may appear to you." "Very well; we will not discuss the point farther;
go to the board."
I had scarcely taken up the chalk, when M. Legendre, returning to the first
subject of his preoccupations, said to me: "You were born in one of the
departments recently united to France?" "No, sir; I was born in the
department of the Eastern Pyrenees, at the foot of the Pyrenees." "Oh! why
did you not tell me that at once? all is now explained. You are of Spanish
origin, are you not?" "Possibly; but in my humble family there are no
authentic documents preserved which could enable me to trace back the
civil position of my ancestors; each one there is the child of his own deeds.
I declare to you again that I am French, and that ought to be sufficient for
you."
The vivacity of this last answer had not disposed M. Legendre in my favour.
I saw this very soon; for, having put a question to me which required the
use of double integrals, he stopped me, saying: "The method which you are
following was not given to you by the professor. Whence did you get it?"
"From one of your papers." "Why did you choose it? was it to bribe me?"

"No; nothing was farther from my thoughts. I only adopted it because it
appeared to me preferable." "If you are unable to explain to me the reasons
for your preference, I declare to you that you shall receive a bad mark, at
least as to character."
I then entered upon the details which established, as I thought, that the
method of double integrals was in all points more clear and more rational
than that which Lacroix had expounded to us in the amphitheatre. From this
moment Legendre appeared to me to be satisfied, and to relent.
Afterwards, he asked me to determine the centre of gravity of a spherical
sector. "The question is easy," I said to him. "Very well; since you find it
easy, I will complicate it: instead of supposing the density constant, I will
suppose that it varies from the centre to the surface according to a
determined function." I got through this calculation very happily; and from
this moment I had entirely gained the favour of the examiner. Indeed, on my
retiring, he addressed to me these words, which, coming from him,
appeared to my comrades as a very favourable augury for my chance of
promotion: "I see that you have employed your time well; go on in the same
way the second year, and we shall part very good friends."
In the mode of examination adopted at the Polytechnic School in 1804,
which is always cited as being better than the present organization, room
was allowed for the exercise of some unjustifiable caprices. Would it be
believed, for example, that the old M. Barruel examined two pupils at a
time in physics, and gave them, it is said, the same mark, which was the
mean between the actual merits of the two? For my part, I was associated
with a comrade full of intelligence, but who had not studied this branch of
the course. We agreed that he should leave the answering to me, and we
found the arrangement advantageous to both.
As I have been led to speak of the school as it was in 1804, I will say that
its faults were less those of organization than those of personal
management; for many of the professors were much below their office, a
fact which gave rise to somewhat ridiculous scenes. The pupils, for
instance, having observed the insufficiency of M. Hassenfratz, made a
demonstration of the dimensions of the rainbow, full of errors of
calculation, but in which the one compensated the other so that the final

result was true. The professor, who had only this result whereby to judge of
the goodness of the answer, when he saw it appear on the board, did not
hesitate to call out, "Good, good, perfectly good!" which excited shouts of
laughter on all the benches of the amphitheatre.
When a professor has lost consideration, without which it is impossible for
him to do well, they allow themselves to insult him to an incredible extent.
Of this I will cite a single specimen.
A pupil, M. Leboullenger, met one evening in company this same M.
Hassenfratz, and had a discussion with him. When he reëntered the school
in the morning, he mentioned this circumstance to us. "Be on your guard,"
said one of our comrades to him; "you will be interrogated this evening.
Play with caution, for the professor has certainly prepared some great
difficulties so as to cause laughter at your expense."
Our anticipations were not mistaken. Scarcely had the pupils arrived in the
amphitheatre, when M. Hassenfratz called to M. Leboullenger, who came to
the board.
"M. Leboullenger," said the professor to him, "you have seen the moon?"
"No, sir." "How, sir! you say that you have never seen the moon?" "I can
only, repeat my answer—no, sir." Beside himself, and seeing his prey
escape him, by means of this unexpected answer, M. Hassenfratz addressed
himself to the inspector charged with the observance of order that day, and
said to him, "Sir, there is M. Leboullenger, who pretends never to have seen
the moon." "What would you wish me to do?" stoically replied M. Le Brun.
Repulsed on this side, the professor turned once more towards M.
Leboullenger, who remained calm and earnest in the midst of the
unspeakable amusement of the whole amphitheatre, and cried out with
undisguised anger, "You persist in maintaining that you have never seen the
moon?" "Sir," returned the pupil, "I should deceive you if I told you that I
had not heard it spoken of, but I have never seen it." "Sir, return to your
place."
After this scene, M. Hassenfratz was but a professor in name; his teaching
could no longer be of any use.

At the commencement of the second year, I was appointed "chef de
brigade." Hatchette had been professor of hydrography at Collioure; his
friends from Roussillon recommended me to him. He received me with
great kindness, and even gave me a room in his lodgings. It was there that I
had the pleasure of making Poisson's acquaintance, who lived next to us.
Every evening the great geometer entered my room, and we passed entire
hours in conversing on politics and mathematics, which is certainly not
quite the same thing.
In the course of 1804, the school was a prey to political passions, and that
through the fault of the government.
They wished forthwith to oblige the pupils to sign an address of
congratulation on the discovery of the conspiracy in which Moreau was
implicated. They refused to do so on the ground that it was not for them to
pronounce on a cause which had been in the hands of justice. It must,
however, be remarked, that Moreau had not yet dishonoured himself by
taking service in the Russian army, which had come to attack the French
under the walls of Dresden.
The pupils were invited to make a manifestation in favour of the institution
of the Legion of Honour. This again they refused. They knew well that the
cross, given without inquiry and without control, would be, in most cases,
the recompense of charlatanism, and not of true merit.
The transformation of the Consular into the Imperial Government gave rise
to very animated discussions in the interior of the school.
Many pupils refused to add their felicitations to the mean adulations of the
constituted bodies.
General Lacuée, who was appointed governor of the school, reported this
opposition to the Emperor.
"M. Lacuée," cried Napoleon, in the midst of a group of courtiers, who
applauded with speech and gesture, "you cannot retain at the school those
pupils who have shown such ardent Republicanism; you will send them
away." Then, collecting himself, he added, "I will first know their names
and their stages of promotion." Seeing the list the next day, he did not
proceed further than the first name, which was the first in the artillery. "I

will not drive away the first men in advancement," said he. "Ah! if they had
been at the bottom of the list! M. Lacuée, leave them alone."
Nothing was more curious than the séance to which General Lacuée came
to receive the oath of obedience from the pupils. In the vast amphitheatre
which contained them, one could not discern a trace of the gravity which
such a ceremony should inspire. The greater part, instead of answering, at
the call of their names, "I swear it," cried out, "Present."
All at once the monotony of this scene was interrupted by a pupil, son of
the Conventionalist Brissot, who called out in a stentorian voice, "I will not
take the oath of obedience to the Emperor." Lacuée, pale and with little
presence of mind, ordered a detachment of armed pupils placed behind him
to go and arrest the recusant. The detachment, of which I was at the head,
refused to obey. Brissot, addressing himself to the General, with the greatest
calmness said to him, "Point out the place to which you wish me to go; do
not force the pupils to dishonour themselves by laying hands on a comrade
who has no desire to resist."
The next morning Brissot was expelled.
About this time, M. Méchain, who had been sent to Spain to prolong the
meridional line as far as Formentera, died at Castellon de la Plana. His son,
Secretary at the Observatory, immediately gave in his resignation. Poisson
offered me the situation. I declined his first proposal. I did not wish to
renounce the military career,—the object of all my predilections, and in
which, moreover, I was assured of the protection of Marshal Lannes,—a
friend of my father's. Nevertheless I accepted, on trial, the position offered
me in the Observatory, after a visit which I made to M. de Laplace in
company with M. Poisson, under the express condition that I could re-enter
the Artillery if that should suit me. It was from this cause that my name
remained inscribed on the list of the pupils of the school. I was only
detached to the Observatory on a special service.
I entered this establishment, then, on the nomination of Poisson, my friend,
and through the intervention of Laplace. The latter loaded me with
civilities. I was happy and proud when I dined in the Rue de Tournon with
the great geometer. My mind and my heart were much disposed to admire
all, to respect all, that was connected with him who had discovered the

cause of the secular equation of the moon, had found in the movement of
this planet the means of calculating the ellipticity of the earth, had traced to
the laws of attraction the long inequalities of Jupiter and of Saturn, &c. &c.
But what was my disenchantment, when one day I heard Madame de
Laplace, approaching her husband, say to him, "Will you entrust to me the
key of the sugar?"
Some days afterwards, a second incident affected me still more vividly. M.
de Laplace's son was preparing for the examinations of the Polytechnic
School. He came sometimes to see me at the Observatory. In one of his
visits I explained to him the method of continued fractions, by help of
which Lagrange obtains the roots of numerical equations. The young man
spoke of it to his father with admiration. I shall never forget the rage which
followed the words of Emile de Laplace, and the severity of the reproaches
which were addressed to me, for having patronized a mode of proceeding
which may be very long in theory, but which evidently can in no way be
found fault with on the score of its elegance and precision. Never had a
jealous prejudice shown itself more openly, or under a more bitter form.
"Ah!" said I to myself, "how true was the inspiration of the ancients when
they attributed weaknesses to him who nevertheless made Olympus tremble
by a frown!"
Here I should mention, in order of time, a circumstance which might have
produced the most fatal consequences for me. The fact was this:—
I have described above, the scene which caused the expulsion of Brissot's
son from the Polytechnic School. I had entirely lost sight of him for several
months, when he came to pay me a visit at the Observatory, and placed me
in the most delicate, the most terrible, position that an honest man ever
found himself in.
"I have not seen you," he said to me, "because since leaving the school I
have practised daily firing with a pistol; I have now acquired a skill beyond
the common, and I am about to employ it in ridding France of the tyrant
who has confiscated all her liberties. My measures are taken: I have hired a
small room on the Carrousel, close to the place by which Napoleon, on
coming out from the court, will pass to review the cavalry; from the humble

window of my apartment will the ball be fired which will go through his
head."
I leave it to be imagined with what despair I received this confidence. I
made every imaginable effort to deter Brissot from his sinister project; I
remarked how all those who had rushed on enterprises of this nature had
been branded in history by the odious title of assassin. Nothing succeeded
in shaking his fatal resolution; I only obtained from him a promise on his
honour that the execution of it should be postponed for a time, and I put
myself in quest of means for rendering it abortive.
The idea of announcing Brissot's project to the authorities did not even
enter my thoughts. It seemed a fatality which came to smite me, and of
which I must undergo the consequences, however serious they might be.
I counted much on the solicitations of Brissot's mother, already so cruelly
tried during the revolution. I went to her home, in the Rue de Condé, and
implored her earnestly to coöperate with me in preventing her son from
carrying out his sanguinary resolution. "Ah, sir," replied this lady, who was
naturally a model of gentleness, "if Silvain" (this was the name of her son)
"believes that he is accomplishing a patriotic duty, I have neither the
intention nor the desire to turn him from his project."
It was from myself that I must henceforth draw all my resources. I had
remarked that Brissot was addicted to the composition of romances and
pieces of poetry. I encouraged this passion, and every Sunday, above all,
when I knew that there would be a review, I went to fetch him, and drew
him into the country, in the environs of Paris. I listened then complacently
to the reading of those chapters of his romance which he had composed
during the week.
The first excursions frightened me a little, for armed with his pistols,
Brissot seized every occasion of showing his great skill; and I reflected that
this circumstance would lead to my being considered as his accomplice, if
he ever carried out his project. At last, his pretensions to literary fame,
which I flattered to the utmost, the hopes (though I had none myself) which
I led him to conceive of the success of an attachment of which he had
confided the secret to me, made him receive with attention the reflections
which I constantly made to him on his enterprise. He determined on making

a journey beyond the seas, and thus relieved me from the most serious
anxiety which I have experienced in all my life.
Brissot died after having covered the walls of Paris with printed handbills in
favour of the Bourbon restoration.
I had scarcely entered the Observatory, when I became the fellow-labourer
of Biot in researches on the refraction of gases, already commenced by
Borda.
While engaged in this work the celebrated academician and I often
conversed on the interest there would be in resuming in Spain the
measurement interrupted by the death of Méchain. We submitted our project
to Laplace, who received it with ardour, procured the necessary funds, and
the Government confided to us two this important mission.
M. Biot, I, and the Spanish commissary Rodriguez departed from Paris in
the commencement of 1806. We visited, on our way, the stations indicated
by Méchain; we made some important modifications in the projected
triangulation, and at once commenced operations.
An inaccurate direction given to the reflectors established at Iviza, on the
mountain Campvey, rendered the observations made on the continent
extremely difficult. The light of the signal of Campvey was very rarely
seen, and I was, during six months, in the Desierto de las Palmas, without
being able to see it, whilst at a later period the light established at the
Desierto, but well directed, was seen every evening from Campvey. It will
easily be imagined what must be the ennui experienced by a young and
active astronomer, confined to an elevated peak, having for his walk only a
space of twenty square metres, and for diversion only the conversation of
two Carthusians, whose convent was situated at the foot of the mountain,
and who came in secret, infringing the rule of their order.
At the time when I write these lines, old and infirm, my legs scarcely able
to sustain me, my thoughts revert involuntarily to that epoch of my life
when, young and vigorous, I bore the greatest fatigues, and walked day and
night, in the mountainous countries which separate the kingdoms of
Valencia and Catalonia from the kingdom of Aragon, in order to reëstablish
our geodesic signals which the storms had overset.

I was at Valencia towards the middle of October, 1806. One morning early
the French consul entered my room quite alarmed: "Here is sad news," said
M. Lanusse to me; "make preparations for your departure; the whole town
is in agitation; a declaration of war against France has just been published;
it appears that we have experienced a great disaster in Prussia. The Queen,
we are assured, has put herself at the head of the cavalry and of the royal
guard; a part of the French army has been cut to pieces; the rest is
completely routed. Our lives would not be in safety if we remained here;
the French ambassador at Madrid will inform me as soon as an American
vessel now at anchor in the 'Grao' of Valencia can take us on board, and I
will let you know as soon as the moment is come." This moment never
came; for a few days afterwards the false news, which one must suppose
had dictated the proclamation of the Prince of the Peace, was replaced by
the bulletin of the battle of Jéna. People who at first played the braggart and
threatened to root us out, suddenly became disgracefully cast down; we
could walk in the town, holding up our heads, without fear henceforth of
being insulted.
This proclamation, in which they spoke of the critical circumstances in
which the Spanish nation was placed; of the difficulties which encompassed
this people; of the safety of their native country; of laurels, and of the god
of victory; of enemies with whom they ought to fight;—did not contain the
name of France. They availed themselves of this omission (will it be
believed?) to maintain that it was directed against Portugal.
Napoleon pretended to believe in this absurd interpretation; but from this
moment it became evident that Spain would sooner or later be obliged to
render a strict account of the warlike intentions which she had suddenly
evinced in 1806; this, without justifying the events of Bayonne, explains
them in a very natural way.
I was expecting M. Biot at Valencia, he having undertaken to bring some
new instruments with which we were to measure the latitude of Formentera.
I shall take advantage of these short intervals of repose to insert here some
details of manners, which may, perhaps, be read with interest.
I will recount, in the first instance, an adventure which nearly cost me my
life under somewhat singular circumstances.

One day, as a recreation, I thought I could go, with a fellow-countryman, to
the fair at Murviedro, the ancient Saguntum, which they told me was very
curious. I met in the town the daughter of a Frenchman resident at Valencia,
Madlle. B——. All the hotels were crowded; Madlle. B—— invited us to
take some refreshments at her grandmother's; we accepted; but on leaving
the house she informed us that our visit had not been to the taste of her
betrothed, and that we must be prepared for some sort of attack on his part;
we went directly to an armourer's, bought some pistols, and commenced our
return to Valencia.
On our way I said to the calezero (driver), a man whom I had employed for
a long time, and who was much devoted to me:—
"Isidro, I have some reason to believe that we shall be stopped; I warn you
of it, so that you may not be surprised at the shots which will be fired from
the caleza (vehicle)."
Isidro, seated on the shaft, according to the custom of the country,
answered:—
"Your pistols are completely useless, gentlemen; leave me to act; one cry
will be enough; my mule will rid us of two, three, or even four men."
Scarcely one minute had elapsed after the calezero had uttered these words,
when two men presented themselves before the mule and seized her by the
nostrils. At the same instant a formidable cry, which will never be effaced
from my remembrance,—the cry of Capitana!—was uttered by Isidro. The
mule reared up almost vertically, raising up one of the men, came down
again, and set off at a rapid gallop. The jolt which the carriage made led us
to understand too well what had just occurred. A long silence succeeded this
incident; it was only interrupted by these words of the calezero, "Do you
not think, gentlemen, that my mule is worth more than any pistols?"
The next day the captain-general, Don Domingo Izquierdo, related to me
that a man had been found crushed on the road to Murviedro. I gave him an
account of the prowess of Isidro's mule, and no more was said.
One anecdote, taken from among a thousand, will show what an
adventurous life was led by the delegate of the Bureau of Longitude.

During my stay on a mountain near Cullera, to the north of the mouth of the
river Xucar, and to the south of the Albuféra, I once conceived the project
of establishing a station on the high mountains which are in front of it. I
went to see them. The alcaid of one of the neighbouring villages warned me
of the danger to which I was about to expose myself. "These mountains,"
said he to me, "form the resort of a band of highway robbers." I asked for
the national guard, as I had the power to do so. My escort was supposed by
the robbers to be an expedition directed against them, and they dispersed
themselves at once over the rich plain which is watered by the Xucar. On
my return I found them engaged in combat with the authorities of Cullera.
Wounds had been given on both sides, and, if I recollect right, one alguazil
was left dead on the plain.
The next morning I regained my station. The following night was a horrible
one; the rain fell in a deluge. Towards night, there was knocking at my
cabin door. To the question "Who is there?" the answer was, "A custom-
house guard, who asks of you a shelter for some hours." My servant having
opened the door to him, I saw a magnificent man enter, armed to the teeth.
He laid himself down on the earth, and went to sleep. In the morning, as I
was chatting with him at the door of my cabin, his eyes flashed on seeing
two persons on the slope of the mountain, the alcaid of Cullera and his
principal alguazil, who were coming to pay me a visit. "Sir," cried he,
"nothing less than the gratitude which I owe to you, on account of the
service which you have rendered to me this night, could prevent my seizing
this occasion for ridding myself, by one shot of this carabine, of my most
cruel enemy. Adieu, sir!" And he departed, springing from rock to rock as
light as a gazelle.
On reaching the cabin, the alcaid and his alguazil recognized in the fugitive
the chief of all the brigands in the country.
Some days afterwards, the weather having again become very bad, I
received a second visit from the pretended custom-house guard, who went
soundly to sleep in my cabin. I saw that my servant, an old soldier, who had
heard the recital of the deeds and behaviour of this man, was preparing to
kill him. I jumped down from my camp bed, and, seizing my servant by the
throat,—"Are you mad?" said I to him; "are we to discharge the duties of
police in this country? Do you not see, moreover, that this would expose us

to the resentment of all those who obey the orders of this redoubted chief?
And we should thus render it impossible for us to terminate our operations."
Next morning, when the sun rose, I had a conversation with my guest,
which I will try to reproduce faithfully.
"Your situation is perfectly known to me; I know that you are not a custom-
house guard; I have learnt from certain information that you are the chief of
the robbers of the country. Tell me whether I have any thing to fear from
your confederates?"
"The idea of robbing you did occur to us; but we concluded that all your
funds would be in the neighbouring towns; that you would carry no money
to the summit of mountains, where you would not know what to do with it,
and that our expedition against you could have no fruitful result. Moreover,
we cannot pretend to be as strong as the King of Spain. The King's troops
leave us quietly enough to exercise our industry; but on the day that we
molested an envoy from the Emperor of the French, they would direct
against us several regiments, and we should soon have to succumb. Allow
me to add, that the gratitude which I owe to you is your surest guarantee."
"Very well, I will trust in your words; I shall regulate my conduct by your
answer. Tell me if I can travel at night? It is fatiguing to me to move from
one station to another in the day under the burning influence of the sun."
"You can do so, sir; I have already given my orders to this purpose; they
will not be infringed."
Some days afterwards, I left for Denia; it was midnight, when some
horsemen rode up to me, and addressed these words to me:—
"Stop there, señor; times are hard; those who have something must aid
those who have nothing. Give us the keys of your trunks; we will only take
your superfluities."
I had already obeyed their orders, when it came into my head to call out
—"But I have been told, that I could travel without risk."
"What is your name, sir?"
"Don Francisco Arago."

"Hombre! vaya usted con Dios (God be with you)."
And our cavaliers, spurring away from us, rapidly lost themselves in a field
of "algarrobos."
When my friend the robber of Cullera assured me that I had nothing to fear
from his subordinates, he informed me at the same time that his authority
did not extend north of Valencia. The banditti of the northern part of the
kingdom obeyed other chiefs; one of whom, after having been taken, was
condemned and hung, and his body divided into four quarters, which were
fastened to posts, on four royal roads, but not without their having
previously been boiled in oil, to make sure of their longer preservation.
This barbarous custom produced no effect; for scarcely was one chief
destroyed before another presented himself to replace him.
Of all these brigands those had the worst reputation who carried on their
depredations in the environs of Oropeza. The proprietors of the three mules,
on which M. Rodriguez, I, and my servant were riding one evening in this
neighbourhood, were recounting to us the "grand deeds" of these robbers,
which, even in full daylight, would have made the hair of one's head stand
on end, when, by the faint light of the moon, we perceived a man hiding
himself behind a tree; we were six, and yet this sentry on horseback had the
audacity to demand our purses or our lives: my servant, at once answered
him—"You must then believe us to be very cowardly; take yourself off, or I
will bring you down by one shot of my carabine." "I will be off," returned
the worthless fellow "but you will soon hear news of me." Still full of fright
at the remembrance of the stories which they had just been relating, the
three "arieros" besought us to quit the high road and cast ourselves into a
wood which was on our left. We yielded to their proposal; but we lost our
way. "Dismount," said they, "the mules have been obeying the bridle and
you have directed them wrongly. Let us retrace our way as far as the high
road, and leave the mules to themselves, they will well know how to find
their right way again." Scarcely had we effected this manœuvre, which
succeeded marvellously well, when we heard a lively discussion taking
place at a short distance from us. Some were saying: "We must follow the
high road, and we shall meet with them." Others maintained that they must
get into the wood on the left. The barking of the dogs, by which these

individuals were accompanied, added to the tumult. During this time we
pursued our way silently, more dead than alive. It was two o'clock in the
morning. All at once we saw a faint light in a solitary house; it was like a
light-house for the mariner in the midst of the tempest, and the only means
of safety which remained to us. Arrived at the door of the farm, we knocked
and asked for hospitality. The inmates, very little reassured, feared that we
were thieves, and did not hurry themselves to open to us.
Impatient at the delay, I cried out, as I had received authority to do so, "In
the name of the King, open to us!" They obeyed an order thus given; we
entered pell-mell, and in the greatest haste, men and mules, into the kitchen,
which was on the ground-floor; and we hurried to extinguish the lights, in
order not to awaken the suspicions of the bandits who were seeking for us.
Indeed, we heard them, passing and repassing near the house, vociferating
with the whole force of their lungs against their unlucky fate. We did not
quit this solitary house until broad day, and we continued our route for
Tortosa, not without having given a suitable recompense to our hosts. I
wished to know by what providential circumstance they happened to have a
lamp burning at that unseasonable hour. "We had killed a pig," they told me,
"in the course of the day, and we were busy preparing the black puddings."
Had the pig lived one day more, or had there been no black puddings, I
should certainly have been no longer in this world, and I should not have
the opportunity to relate the story of the robbers of Oropeza.
Never could I better appreciate the intelligent measure by which the
constituent assembly abolished the ancient division of France into
provinces, and substituted its division into departments, than in traversing
for my triangulation the Spanish border kingdoms of Catalonia, Valencia,
and Aragon. The inhabitants of these three provinces detested each other
cordially, and nothing less than the bond of a common hatred was necessary
to make them act simultaneously against France. Such was their animosity
in 1807 that I could scarcely make use at the same time of Catalonians,
Aragons, and Valencians, when I moved with my instruments from one
station to another. The Valencians, in particular, were treated by the
Catalonians as a light, trifling, inconsistent people. They were in the habit
of saying to me, "En el reino de Valencia la carne es verdura, la verdura
agua, los hombres mugeres, las mugeres nada"; which may be translated

thus: "In the kingdom of Valencia meat is a vegetable, vegetables are water,
men are women, and women nothing."
On the other hand, the Valencians, speaking of the Aragons, used to call
them "schuros."
Having asked of a herdsman of this province who had brought some goats
near to one of my stations, what was the origin of this denomination, at
which his compatriots showed themselves so offended:
"I do not know," said he, smiling cunningly at me, "whether I dare answer
you." "Go on, go on," I said to him, "I can hear anything without being
angry." "Well, the word schuros means that, to our great shame, we have
sometimes been governed by French kings. The sovereign, before assuming
power, was bound to promise under oath to respect our freedom and to
articulate in a loud voice the solemn words lo Juro! As he did not know
how to pronounce the J he said schuro. Are you satisfied, señor?" I
answered him, "Yes, yes. I see that vanity and pride are not dead in this
country."
Since I have just spoken of a shepherd, I will say that in Spain, the class of
individuals of both sexes destined to look after herds, appeared to me
always less further removed than in France, from the pictures which the
ancient poets have left us of the shepherds and shepherdesses in their
pastoral poetry. The songs by which they endeavour to while away the
tedium of their monotonous life, are more remarkable in their form and
substance than in the other European nations to which I have had access. I
never recollect without surprise, that being on a mountain situated at the
junction-point of the kingdoms of Valencia, Aragon, and Catalonia, I was all
at once overtaken by a violent storm, which forced me to take refuge in my
tent, and to remain there squatting on the ground. When the storm was over
and I came out from my retreat, I heard, to my great astonishment, on an
isolated peak which looked down upon my station, a shepherdess who was
singing a song of which I only recollect these eight lines, which will give an
idea of the rest:—

A los que amor no saben
Ofreces las dulzuras
Y a mi las amarguras

Que s'e lo quo es amar.

Las gracias al me certé
Eran cuadro de flores
Te cantaban amores
Por hacerte callar.
Oh! how much sap there is in this Spanish nation! What a pity that they will
not make it yield fruit!
In 1807, the tribunal of the Inquisition existed still at Valencia, and at times
performed its functions. The reverend fathers, it is true, did not burn people,
but they pronounced sentences in which the ridiculous contended with the
odious. During my residence in this town, the holy office had to busy itself
about a pretended sorceress; it doomed her to go through all quarters of the
town astride on an ass, her face turned towards the tail, and naked down to
the waist. Merely to observe the commonest rules of decency, the poor
woman had been plastered with a sticky substance, partly honey, they told
me, to which adhered an enormous quantity of little feathers, so that to say
the truth, the victim resembled a fowl with a human head. The procession,
whether attended by a crowd I leave it to be imagined, stationed itself for
some time in the cathedral square, where I lived. I was told that the
sorceress was struck on the back a certain number of blows with a shovel;
but I do not venture to affirm this, for I was absent at the moment when this
hideous procession passed before my windows.
We thus see, however, what sort of spectacles were given to the people in
the commencement of the nineteenth century, in one of the principal towns
of Spain, the seat of a celebrated university, and the native country of
numerous citizens distinguished by their knowledge, their courage, and
their virtues. Let not the friends of humanity and of civilization disunite; let
them form, on the contrary, an indissoluble union, for superstition is always
on the watch, and waits for the moment again to seize its prey.
I have mentioned in the course of my narrative that two Carthusians often
left their convent in the Desierto de las Palmas, and came, though
prohibited, to see me at my station, situated about two hundred metres
higher. A few particulars will give an idea of what certain monks were, in
the Peninsula, in 1807.

One of them, Father Trivulce, was old; the other was very young. The
former, of French origin, had played a part at Marseilles, in the counter-
revolutionary events of which this town was the theatre, at the
commencement of our first revolution. His part had been a very active one;
one might see the proof of this in the scars of sabre cuts which furrowed his
breast. It was he who was the first to come. When he saw his young
comrade march up, he hid himself; but as soon as the latter had fully
entered into conversation with me, Father Trivulce showed himself all at
once. His appearance had the effect of Medusa's head. "Reassure yourself,"
said he to his young compeer; "only let us not denounce each other, for our
prior is not a man to pardon us for having come here and infringed our vow
of silence, and we should both receive a punishment, the recollection of
which would long remain." The treaty was at once concluded, and from that
day forward the two Carthusians came very often to converse with me.
The youngest of our two visitors was an Aragonian, his family had made
him a monk against his will. He related to me one day, before M. Biot, (then
returned from Tarragon, where he had taken refuge to get cured of his
fever,) some particulars which, according to him, proved that in Spain there
was no longer more than the ghost of religion. These details were mostly
borrowed from the secrets of confession. M. Biot manifested sharply the
displeasure which this conversation caused him; there were even in his
language some words which led the monk to suppose that M. Biot took him
for a kind of spy. As soon as this suspicion had entered his mind, he quitted
us without saying a word, and the next morning I saw him come up early,
armed with a light gun. The French monk had preceded him, and had
whispered in my ear the danger that threatened my companion. "Join with
me," he said, "to turn the young Aragonian monk from his murderous
project." I need scarcely say that I employed myself with ardour in this
negotiation, in which I had the happiness to succeed. There were here, as
must be seen, the materials for a chief of guerilleros. I should be much
astonished if my young monk did not play his part in the war of
independence.
The anecdote which I am about to relate will amply prove that religion was,
with the Carthusian monks of the Desierto de las Palmas, not the
consequence of elevated sentiments, but a mere compound of superstitious
practices.

The scene with the gun, always present to my mind, seemed to make it clear
to me that the Aragon monk, if actuated by his passions, would be capable
of the most criminal actions. Hence, I had a very disagreeable impression
when one Sunday, having come down to hear mass, I met this monk, who,
without saying a word, conducted me by a series of dark corridors into a
chapel where the daylight penetrated only by a very small window. There I
found Father Trivulce, who prepared himself to say mass for me alone. The
young monk assisted. All at once, an instant before the consecration, Father
Trivulce, turning towards me, said these exact words: "We have permission
to say mass with white wine; we therefore make use of that which we
gather from our own vines: this wine is very good. Ask the prior to let you
taste it, when on leaving this you go to breakfast with him. For the rest, you
can assure yourself this instant of the truth of what I say to you." And he
presented me the goblet to drink from. I resisted strongly, not only because I
considered it indecent to give this invitation in the middle of the mass, but
because, besides, I must own I conceived the thought for a moment that the
monks wished, by poisoning me, to revenge themselves on me for M. Biot
having insulted them. I found that I was mistaken, that my suspicions had
no foundation; for Father Trivulce went on with the interrupted mass, drank,
and drank largely, of the white wine contained in one of the goblets. But
when I had got out of the hands of the two monks, and was able to breathe
the pure air of the country, I experienced a lively satisfaction.
The right of asylum accorded to some churches was one of the most
obnoxious privileges among those of which the revolution of 1789 rid
France. In 1807, this right still existed in Spain, and belonged, I believe, to
all the cathedrals. I learnt, during my stay at Barcelona, that there was, in a
little cloister contiguous to the largest church of the town, a brigand,—a
man guilty of several assassinations, who lived quietly there, guaranteed
against all pursuit by the sanctity of the place. I wished to assure myself
with my own eyes of the reality of the fact, and I went with my friend
Rodriguez into the little cloister in question. The assassin was then eating a
meal which a woman had just brought him. He easily guessed the object of
our visit, and made immediately such demonstrations as convinced us that,
if the asylum was safe for the robber, it would not be so long for us. We
retired at once, deploring that, in a country calling itself civilized, there
should still exist such crying, such monstrous abuses.

In order to succeed in our geodesic operations, to obtain the cöoperation of
the inhabitants of the villages near our stations, it was desirable for us to be
recommended to the priests. We went, therefore,—M. Lanusse, the French
Vice-Consul, M. Biot, and I,—to pay a visit to the Archbishop of Valencia,
to solicit his protection. This archbishop, a man of very tall figure, was then
chief of the Franciscans; his costume more than negligent, his gray robe,
covered with tobacco, contrasted with the magnificence of the
archiepiscopal palace. He received us with kindness, and promised us all
the recommendations we desired; but, at the moment of taking leave of him,
the whole affair seemed to be spoiled. M. Lanusse and M. Biot went out of
the reception room without kissing the hand of his grace, although he had
presented it to each of them very graciously. The archbishop indemnified
himself on my poor person. A movement, which was very near breaking my
teeth, a gesture which I might justly call a blow of the fist, proved to me
that the chief of the Franciscans, notwithstanding his vow of humility, had
taken offence at the want of ceremony in my fellow visitors. I was going to
complain of the abrupt way in which he had treated me, but I had the
necessities of our trigonometrical operations before my eyes, and I was
silent.
Besides this, at the instant when the closed fist of the archbishop was
applied to my lips, I was still thinking of the beautiful optical experiments
which it would have been possible to make with the magnificent stone
which ornamented his pastoral ring. This idea, I must frankly declare, had
preoccupied me during the whole of the visit.
M. Biot having at last come to seek me again at Valencia, where I expected,
as I have before said, some new instruments, we went on to Formentera, the
southern extremity of our arc, of which place we determined the latitude.
M. Biot quitted me afterwards to return to Paris, whilst I made the
geodesical junction of the island of Majorca to Iviza, and to Formentera,
obtaining thus, by means of one single triangle, the measure of an arc of
parallel of one degree and a half.
I then went to Majorca, to measure there the latitude and the azimuth.
At this epoch, the political fermentation, engendered by the entrance of the
French into Spain, began to invade the whole Peninsula and the islands

dependent on it. This ferment had as yet in Majorca only reached to the
ministers, the partisans, and the relations of the Prince of Peace. Each
evening, I saw, drawn in triumph in the square of Palma, the capital of the
island of Majorca, on carriages, the effigies in flames, sometimes of the
minister Soller, another time those of the bishop, and even those of private
individuals supposed to be attached to the fortunes of the favourite Godoï. I
was far from suspecting then that my turn would soon arrive.
My station at Majorca, the Clop de Galazo, a very high mountain, was
situated exactly over the port where Don Jayme el Conquistator
disembarked when he went to deliver the Balearic Islands from the Moors.
The report spread itself through the population that I had established myself
there in order to favour the arrival of the French army, and that every
evening I made signals to it. But these reports had nothing menacing until
the moment of the arrival at Palma, the 27th of May, 1808, of an ordnance
officer from Napoleon. This officer was M. Berthémie; he carried to the
Spanish squadron, at Mahon, the order to go in all haste to Toulon. A
general rising, which placed the life of this officer in danger, followed the
news of his mission. The Captain-General Vivés only saved his life by
shutting him up in the strong castle of Belver. They then bethought
themselves of the Frenchman established on the Clop de Galazo, and
formed a popular expedition to go and seize him.
M. Damian, the owner of a small kind of vessel called a Mistic, which the
Spanish Government had placed at my disposal, was beforehand with them,
and brought me a costume by means of which I disguised myself. In
directing myself towards Palma, in company with this brave seaman, we
met with the rioters who were going in search of me. They did not
recognize me, for I spoke Majorcan perfectly. I strongly encouraged the
men of this detachment to continue their route, and I pursued my way
towards Palma. At night I went on board the Mistic, commanded by Don
Manuel de Vacaro, whom the Spanish Government had placed under my
orders. I asked this officer if he would conduct me to Barcelona, occupied
by the French, promising him that if they made any attempt to keep him
there, I would at once return and surrender myself a prisoner.
Don Manuel, who up to this time had shown extreme obsequiousness
towards me, had now no words but those of rudeness and distrust. There

occurred on the pier where the Mistic was moored a riotous movement,
which Vacaro assured me was directed against me. "Do not be uneasy," said
he to me; "if they should penetrate into the vessel you can hide yourself in
this trunk." I made the attempt; but the chest which he showed me was so
small that my legs were entirely outside, and the cover could not be shut
down. I understood perfectly what that meant, and I asked M. Vacaro to let
me also be shut up in the castle of Belver. The order for incarceration
having arrived from the captain-general, I got into the boat, where the
sailors of the Mistic received me with emotion.
At the moment of their crossing the harbour the populace perceived me,
commenced a pursuit, and it was not without much difficulty that I reached
Belver safe and sound. I had only, indeed, received on my way one slight
wound from a dagger in the thigh. Prisoners have often been seen to run
with all speed from their dungeon; I am the first, perhaps, to whom it has
happened to do the reverse. This took place on the 1st or 2d of June, 1808.
The governor of Belver was a very extraordinary personage. If he is still
alive he may demand of me a certificate as to his priority to the modern
hydropathists; the grenadier-captain maintained that pure water, suitably
administered, was a means of treatment for all illnesses, even for
amputations. By listening very patiently to his theories, and never
interrupting him, I won his good opinion. It was at his request, and from
interest in our safety, that a Swiss garrison replaced the Spanish troop which
until then had been employed as the guard of Belver. It was also through
him that I one day learnt that a monk had proposed to the soldiers who went
to bring my food from the town, to put some poison into one of the dishes.
All my old Majorcan friends had abandoned me at the moment of my
detention. I had had a very sharp correspondence with Don Manuel de
Vacaro in order to obtain the restitution of the passport of safety which the
English Admiralty had granted to us. M. Rodriguez alone ventured to visit
me in full daylight, and bring me every consolation in his power.
The excellent M. Rodriguez, to while away the monotony of my
incarceration, remitted to me from time to time the journals which were
then published at different parts of the Peninsula. He often sent them to me
without reading them. Once I saw in these journals the recital of the

horrible massacres of which the town of Valencia—I make a mistake, the
square of the Bull-fights—had been the theatre, and in which nearly the
whole of the French established in this town (more than 350) had
disappeared under the pike of the bull-fighter. Another journal contained an
article bearing this title: "Relacion de la ahorcadura del señor Arago e del
señor Berthémie,"—literally, "Account of the execution of M. Arago and M.
Berthémie." This account spoke of the two executed men in very different
terms. M. Berthémie was a Huguenot; he had been deaf to all exhortations;
he had spit in the face of the ecclesiastic who was present, and even on the
image of Christ. As for me, I had conducted myself with much decency, and
had allowed myself to be hung without giving rise to any scandal. The
writer also expressed his regret that a young astronomer had been so weak
as to associate himself with treason, coming under the disguise of science to
assist the entrance of the French army into a friendly kingdom.
After reading this article I immediately made my decision: "Since they talk
of my death," said I to my friend Rodriguez, "the event will not be long in
coming. I should prefer being drowned to being hung. I will make my
escape from this fortress; it is for you to furnish me with the means."
Rodriguez, knowing better than any one how well founded my
apprehensions were, set himself at once to the work.
He went to the captain-general, and made him feel what would be the
danger of his position if I should disappear in a popular riot, or even if he
were forced to give me up. His observations were so much the better
comprehended, as no one could then predict what might be the issue of the
Spanish revolution. "I will undertake," said the captain-general Vivés to my
colleague Rodriguez, "to give an order to the commander of the fortress,
that when the right moment arrives, he shall allow M. Arago, and even the
two or three other Frenchmen who are with him in the castle of Belver, to
pass out. They will then have no need of the means of escape which they
have procured; but I will take no part in the preparations which will become
necessary to enable the fugitives to leave the island; I leave all that to your
responsibility."
Rodriguez immediately conferred secretly with the brave commander
Damian. It was agreed between them that Damian should take the command

of a half-decked boat, which the wind had driven ashore; that he should
equip it as if for a fishing expedition; that he should carry us to Algiers;
after which his reëntrance at Palmas, with or without fish, would inspire no
suspicion.
All was executed according to agreement, notwithstanding the inquisitorial
surveillance which Don Manuel de Vacaro exercised over the commander
of his "Mistic."
On the 28th July, 1808, we silently descended the hill on which Belver is
built, at the same moment that the family of the minister Soller entered the
fortress to escape the fury of the populace. Arrived at the shore, we found
there Damian, his boat, and three sailors. We embarked at once, and set sail.
Damian had taken the precaution of bringing with us in this frail vessel the
instruments of value which he had carried off from my station at the Clop
de Galazo. The sea was unfavourable; Damian thought it prudent to stop at
the little island of Cabrera, destined to become a short time afterwards so
sadly celebrated by the sufferings which the soldiers of the army of Dupont
experienced after the shameful capitulation of Baylen. There a singular
incident was very near compromising all. Cabrera, tolerably near to the
southern extremity of Majorca, is often visited by fishermen coming from
that part of the island. M. Berthémie feared, justly enough, that the rumour
of our escape having spread about, they might dispatch some boats to seize
us. He looked upon our going into harbour as inopportune; I maintained that
we must yield to the prudence of the commander. During this discussion,
the three seamen whom Damian had engaged saw that M. Berthémie, whom
I had endeavoured to pass off as my servant, maintained his opinion against
me on a footing of equality. They then addressed themselves in these terms
to the commander:—
"We only consented to take part in this expedition upon condition that the
Emperor's aide-de-camp, shut up at Belver, should not be of the number of
those persons whom we should help off. We only wished to aid the flight of
the astronomer. Since it seems to be otherwise, you must leave this officer
here, unless you would prefer to throw him into the sea."
Damian at once informed me of the imperative wishes of his boat's crew. M.
Berthémie agreed with me to suffer some abuse such as could only be

tolerated by a servant threatened by his master; all the suspicions
disappeared.
Damian, who feared also for himself the arrival of Majorcan fishermen,
hastened to set sail on the 29th of July, 1808, the first moment that was
favourable, and we arrived at Algiers on the 3d of August.
Our looks were anxiously directed towards the port, to guess what reception
might await us. We were reassured by the sight of the tri-coloured flag,
which was flying on two or three buildings. But we were mistaken; these
buildings were Dutch. Immediately upon our entrance, a Spaniard, whom,
from his tone of authority, we took for a high functionary of the Regency,
came up to Damian, and asked him: "What do you bring?" "I bring,"
answered the commander, "four Frenchmen." "You will at once take them
back again. I prohibit you from disembarking." As we did not seem inclined
to obey his order, our Spaniard, who was the constructing engineer of the
ships of the Dey, armed himself with a pole, and commenced battering us
with blows. But immediately a Genoese seaman, mounted on a
neighbouring vessel, armed himself with an oar, and struck our assailant
both with edge and point. During this animated combat we managed to land
without any opposition. We had conceived a singular idea of the manner in
which the police act on the coast of Africa.
We pursued our way to the French Consul's, M. Dubois Thainville. He was
at his country house. Escorted by the janissary of the consulate, we went off
towards this country house, one of the ancient residences of the Dey,
situated not far from the gate of Bab-azoum. The consul and his family
received us with great amity, and offered us hospitality.
Suddenly transported to a new continent, I looked forward anxiously to the
rising of the sun to enjoy all that Africa might offer of interest to a
European, when all at once I believed myself to be engaged in a serious
adventure. By the faint light of the dawn, I saw an animal moving at the
foot of my bed. I gave a kick with my foot: all movement ceased. After
some time, I felt the same movement made under my legs. A sharp jerk
made this cease quickly. I then heard the fits of laughter of the janissary,
who lay on the couch in the same room as I did; and I soon saw that he had

simply placed on my bed a large hedgehog to amuse himself by my
uneasiness.
The consul occupied himself the next day in procuring a passage for us on
board a vessel of the Regency which was going to Marseilles. M. Ferrier,
the Chancellor of the French Consulate, was at the same time Consul for
Austria. He procured for us two false passports, which transformed us—M.
Berthémie and me—into two strolling merchants, the one from Schwekat, in
Hungary, the other from Leoben.
The moment of departure had arrived; the 13th of August, 1808, we were on
board, but our ship's company was not complete. The captain, whose title
was Raï Braham Ouled Mustapha Goja, having perceived that the Dey was
on his terrace, and fearing punishment if he should delay to set sail,
completed his crew at the expense of the idlers who were looking on from
the pier, and of whom the greater part were not sailors. These poor people
begged as a favour for permission to go and inform their families of this
precipitate departure, and to get some clothes. The captain remained deaf to
their remonstrances. We weighed anchor.
The vessel belonged to the Emir of Seca, Director of the Mint. The real
commander was a Greek captain, named Spiro Calligero. The cargo
consisted of a great number of groups. Amongst the passengers there were
five members of the family which the Bakri had succeeded as kings of the
Jews; two ostrich-feather merchants, Moroccans; Captain Krog, from
Berghen in Norway, who had sold his ship at Alicant; two lions sent by the
Dey to the emperor Napoleon, and a great number of monkeys. Our voyage
was prosperous. Off Sardinia we met with an American ship coming out
from Cagliari. A cannon-shot (we were armed with forty pieces of small
power) warned the captain to come to be recognized. He brought on board a
certain number of counterparts of passports, one of which agreed perfectly
with that which we carried. The captain being thus all right, was not a little
astonished when I ordered him, in the name of Captain Braham, to furnish
us with tea, coffee, and sugar. The American captain protested; he called us
brigands, pirates, robbers. Captain Braham admitted without difficulty all
these qualifications, and persisted none the less in the exaction of sugar,
coffee, and tea.

The American, then driven to the last stage of exasperation, addressed
himself to me, who acted as interpreter, and cried out, "Oh! rogue of a
renegade! if ever I meet you on holy ground I will break your head." "Can
you then suppose," I answered him, "that I am here for my pleasure, and
that, notwithstanding your menace, I would not rather go with you, if I
could?" These words calmed him; he brought the sugar, the coffee, and the
tea claimed by the Moorish chief, and we again set sail, though without
having exchanged the usual farewell.
We had already entered the Gulf of Lyons, and were approaching
Marseilles, when on the 16th August, 1808, we met with a Spanish corsair
from Palamos, armed at the prow with two twenty-four pounders. We made
full sail; we hoped to escape it: but a cannon-shot, a ball from which went
through our sails, taught us that she was a much better sailer than we were.
We obeyed an injunction thus expressed, and awaited the great boat from
the corsair. The captain declared that he made us prisoners, although Spain
was at peace with Barbary, under the pretext that we were violating the
blockade which had been lately raised on all the coasts of France: he added,
that he intended to take us to Rosas, and that there the authorities would
decide on our fate.
I was in the cabin of the vessel; I had the curiosity to look furtively at the
crew of the boat, and there I perceived, with a dissatisfaction which may
easily be imagined, one of the sailors of the "Mistic," commanded by Don
Manuel de Vacaro, of the name of Pablo Blanco, of Palamos, who had often
acted as my servant during my geodesic operations. My false passport
would become from this moment useless, if Pablo should recognize me: I
went to bed at once, covered my head with the counterpane, and lay as still
as a statue.
During the two days which elapsed between our capture and our entrance
into the roads of Rosas, Pablo, whose curiosity often brought him into the
room, used to exclaim, "There is one passenger whom I have not yet
managed to get a sight of."
When we arrived at Rosas it was decided that we should be placed in
quarantine in a dismantled windmill, situated on the road leading to
Figueras. I was careful to disembark in a boat to which Pablo did not

belong. The corsair departed for a new cruise, and I was for a moment freed
from the harassing thoughts which my old servant had caused me.
Our ship was richly laden; the Spanish authorities were immediately
desirous to declare it a lawful prize. They pretended to believe that I was
the proprietor of it, and wished, in order to hasten things, to interrogate me,
even without awaiting the completion of the quarantine. They stretched two
cords between the mill and the shore, and a judge placed himself in front of
me. As the interrogatories were made from a good distance, the numerous
audience which encircled us took a direct part in the questions and answers.
I will endeavour to reproduce this dialogue with all possible fidelity:—
"Who are you?"
"A poor roving merchant."
"Whence do you come?"
"From a country where you certainly never were."
"In a word, what country is it?"
I was afraid to answer, for the passports, steeped in vinegar, were in the
hands of the judge-instructor, and I had forgotten whether I was from
Schwekat or from Leoben. Finally I answered at all hazards:—
"I come from Schwekat."
And this information happily was found to agree with that of the passport.
"You are as much from Schwekat as I am," answered the judge. "You are
Spanish, and, moreover, a Spaniard from the kingdom of Valencia, as I
perceive by your accent."
"Would you punish me, sir, because nature has endowed me with the gift of
languages? I learn with facility the dialects of those countries through
which I pass in the exercise of my trade; I have learnt, for example, the
dialect of Iviza."
"Very well, you shall be taken at your word. I see here a soldier from Iviza;
you shall hold a conversation with him."

"I consent; I will even sing the goat song."
Each of the verses of this song (if verses they be) terminates by an imitation
of the bleating of the goat.
I commenced at once, with an audacity at which I really feel astonished, to
chant this air, which is sung by all the shepherds of the island.

Ah graciada señora
Una canzo bouil canta
Bè, bè, bè, bè.

No sera gaira pulida
Nosé si vos agradara
Bè, bè, bè, bè.

At once my Ivizacan, upon whom this air had the effect of the ranz des
vaches on the Swiss, declared, all in tears, that I was a native of Iviza.
I then said to the judge that if he would put me in communication with a
person knowing the French language, he would arrive at just as
embarrassing a result. An émigré officer of the Bourbon regiment offered at
once to make the experiment, and, after some phrases interchanged between
us, affirmed without hesitation that I was French.
The judge, rendered impatient, exclaimed, "Let us put an end to these trials
which decide nothing. I summon you, sir, to tell me who you are. I promise
that your life will be safe if you answer me with sincerity.
"My greatest wish would be to give an answer to your satisfaction. I will,
then, try to do so; but I warn you that I am not going to tell you the truth. I
am son of the innkeeper at Mataro." "I know that innkeeper; you are not his
son." "You are right. I announced to you that I should vary my answers until
one of them should suit you. I retract then, and tell you that I am a titiretero,
(player of marionettes,) and that I practised at Lerida."
A loud shout of laughter from the multitude encircling us greeted this
answer, and put an end to the questions.

"I swear by the d——l," exclaimed the judge, "that I will discover sooner or
later who you are!"
And he retired.
The Arabs, the Moroccans, the Jews, who witnessed this interrogatory,
understood nothing of it; they had only seen that I had not allowed myself
to be intimidated. At the close of the interview they came to kiss my hand,
and gave me, from this moment, their entire confidence.
I became their secretary for all the individual or collective remonstrances
which they thought they had a right to address to the Spanish Government;
and this right was incontestable. Every day I was occupied in drawing up
petitions, especially in the name of the two ostrich-feather merchants, one
of whom called himself a tolerably near relation of the Emperor of
Morocco. Astonished at the rapidity with which I filled a page of my
writing, they imagined, doubtless, that I should write as fast in Arabic
characters, when it should be requisite to transcribe passages from the
Koran; and that this would form both for me and for them the source of a
brilliant fortune, and they besought me, in the most earnest way, to become
a Mahometan.
Very little reassured by the last words of the judge, I sought means of safety
from another quarter.
I was the possessor of a safe-conduct from the English Admiralty; I
therefore wrote a confidential letter to the captain of an English vessel, The
Eagle, I think, which had cast anchor some days before in the roads at
Rosas. I explained to him my position. "You can," I said to him, "claim me,
because I have an English passport. If this proceeding should cost you too
much, have the goodness at least to take my manuscripts and to send them
to the Royal Society in London."
One of the soldiers who guarded us, and in whom I had fortunately inspired
some interest, undertook to deliver my letter. The English captain came to
see me; his name was, if my memory is right, George Eyre. We had a
private conversation on the shore. George Eyre thought, perhaps, that the
manuscripts of my observations were contained in a register bound in
morocco, and with gilt edges to the leaves. When he saw that these

manuscripts were composed of single leaves, covered with figures, which I
had hidden under my shirt, disdain succeeded to interest, and he quitted me
hastily. Having returned on board, he wrote me a letter which I could find if
needful, in which he said to me,—"I cannot mix myself up in your affairs;
address yourself to the Spanish Government; I am persuaded that it will do
justice to your remonstrance, and will not molest you." As I had not the
same persuasion as Captain George Eyre, I chose to take no notice of his
advice.
I ought to mention that some time after having related these particulars in
England, at Sir Joseph Banks's, the conduct of George Eyre was severely
blamed; but when a man breakfasts and dines to the sound of harmonious
music, can he accord his interest to a poor devil sleeping on straw and
nibbled by vermin, even though he have manuscripts under his shirt? I may
add that I (unfortunately for me) had to do with a captain of an unusual
character. For, some days later, a new vessel, The Colossus, having arrived
in the roads, the Norwegian, Captain Krog, although he had not, like me, an
Admiralty passport, made an application to the commander of this new
ship; he was immediately claimed, and relieved from captivity.
The report that I was a Spanish deserter, and proprietor of the vessel,
acquiring more and more credit, and this position being the most dangerous
of all, I resolved to get out of it. I begged the commandant of the place, M.
Alloy, to come to receive my declaration, and I announced to him that I was
French. To prove to him the truth of my words, I invited him to send for
Pablo Blanco, the sailor in the service of the corsair who took us, and who
had returned from his cruise a short time before. This was done as I wished.
In disembarking, Pablo Blanco, who had not been warned, exclaimed with
surprise: "What! you, Don Francisco, mixed up with all these miscreants!"
The sailor gave the Governor circumstantial evidence as to the mission
which I fulfilled with two Spanish commissaries. My nationality thus
became proved.
That same day Alloy was replaced in the command of the fortress by the
Irish Colonel of the Ultonian regiment; the corsair left for a fresh cruise,
taking away Pablo Blanco; and I became once more the roving merchant
from Schwekat.

From the windmill, where we underwent our quarantine, I could see the
tricoloured flag flying on the fortress of Figueras. The reconnoitring parties
of the cavalry came sometimes within five or six hundred metres; it would
not then have been difficult for me to escape. However, as the regulations
against those who violate the sanitary laws are very rigorous in Spain, as
they pronounce the penalty of death against him who infringes them, I only
determined to make my escape on the eve of our admission to pratique.
The night being come I crept on all-fours along the briars, and I should soon
have got beyond the line of sentinels who guarded us. A noisy uproar which
I heard among the Moors made me determine to reënter, and I found these
poor people in an unspeakable state of uneasiness, thinking themselves lost
if I left; I therefore remained.
The next day a strong picquet of troops presented itself before the mill. The
manœuvres made by it inspired all of us with anxiety, but especially
Captain Krog.[3] "What will they do with us?" he exclaimed. "Alas! you
will see only too soon," replied the Spanish officer. This answer made every
one believe that they were going to shoot us. What might have strengthened
me in this idea was the obstinacy with which Captain Krog and two other
individuals of small size hid themselves behind me. A handling of arms
made us think that we had but a few seconds to live.
In analyzing the feelings which I experienced on this solemn occasion, I
have come to the conclusion that the man who is led to death is not as
unhappy as the public imagines him to be. Fifty ideas presented themselves
nearly simultaneously to my mind, and I did not rack my brain for any of
them; I only recollect the two following, which have remained engraved on
my memory. On turning my head to the right, I saw the national flag flying
on the bastions of Figueras, and I said to myself, "If I were to move a few
hundred metres, I should be surrounded by comrades, by friends, by fellow
citizens, who would receive me affectionately. Here, without their being
able to impute any crime to me, I am going to suffer death at twenty-two
years of age." But what agitated me more deeply was this: looking towards
the Pyrenees, I could distinctly see their peaks, and I reflected that my
mother, on the other side of the chain, might at this awful moment be
looking peaceably at them.

The Spanish authorities, finding that to redeem my life I would not declare
myself the owner of the vessel, had us conducted without farther
molestation to the fortress of Rosas. Having to file through nearly all the
inhabitants of the town, I had wished at first, through a false feeling of
shame, to leave in the mill the remains of our week's meals. But M.
Berthémie, more prudent than I, carried over his shoulder a great quantity
of pieces of black bread, tied up with packthread. I imitated him. I furnished
myself famously from our old stock, set it on my shoulder, and it was with
this accoutrement that I made my entrance into the famous fortress.
They placed us in a casemate, where we had barely the space necessary for
lying down. In the windmill, they used to bring us, from time to time, some
provisions, which came from our boat. Here, the Spanish government
purveyed our food. We received every day some bread and a ration of rice;
but as we had no means of dressing food, we were in reality reduced to dry
bread.
Dry bread was very unsubstantial food for one who could see from his
casemate, at the door of his prison, a sutler selling grapes at two farthings a
pound, and cooking, under the shelter of half a cask, bacon and herrings;
but we had no money to bring us into connection with this merchant. I then
decided, though with very great regret, to sell a watch which my father had
given me. I was only offered about a quarter of its value; but I might well
accept it, since there were no competitors for it.
As possessors of sixty francs, M. Berthémie and I could now appease the
hunger from which we had long suffered; but we did not like this return of
fortune to be profitable to ourselves alone, and we made some presents,
which were very well received by our companions in captivity. Though this
sale of my watch brought some comfort to us, it was doomed at a later
period to plunge a family into sorrow.
The town of Rosas fell into the power of the French after a courageous
resistance. The prisoners of the garrison were sent to France, and naturally
passed through Perpignan. My father went in quest of news wherever
Spaniards were to be found. He entered a café at the moment when a
prisoner officer drew from his fob the watch which I had sold at Rosas. My
good father saw in this act the proof of my death, and fell into a swoon. The

officer had got the watch from a third party, and could give no account of
the fate of the person to whom it had originally belonged.
The casemate having become necessary to the defenders of the fortress, we
were taken to a little chapel, where they deposited for twenty-four hours
those who had died in the hospital. There we were guarded by peasants who
had come across the mountain, from various villages, and particularly from
Cadaquès. These peasants, eager to recount all that they had seen of interest
during their one day's campaign, questioned me as to the deeds and
behaviour of all my companions in misfortune. I satisfied their curiosity
amply, being the only one of the set who could speak Spanish.
To enlist their good will, I also questioned them at length upon the subject
of their village, on the work that they did there, on smuggling, their
principal sources of employment, &c. &c. They answered my questions
with the loquacity common to country rustics. The next day our guards
were replaced by some others who were inhabitants of the same village. "In
my business of a roving merchant," I said to these last, "I have been at
Cadaquès;" and then I began to talk to them of what I had learnt the night
before, of such an individual, who gave himself up to smuggling with more
success than others, of his beautiful residence, of the property which he
possessed near the village,—in short, of a number of particulars which it
seemed impossible for any but an inhabitant of Cadaquès to know. My jest
produced an unexpected effect. Such circumstantial details, our guards said
to themselves, cannot be known by a roving merchant; this personage,
whom we have found here in such singular society, is certainly a native of
Cadaquès; and the son of the apothecary must be about his age. He had
gone to try his fortune in America; it is evidently he who fears to make
himself known, having been found with all his riches in a vessel on its way
to France. The report spread, became more consistent, and reached the ears
of a sister of the apothecary established at Rosas. She runs to me, believes
she recognizes me, and falls on my neck. I protest against the identity. "Well
played!" said she to me; "the case is serious, as you have been found in a
vessel coming to France; persist in your denial; circumstances may perhaps
take a more favourable turn, and I shall profit by them to insure your
deliverance. In the mean time, my dear nephew, I will let you want for
nothing." And truly every morning M. Berthémie and I received a
comfortable repast.

The church having become necessary to the garrison to serve as a magazine,
we were moved on the 25th of September, 1808, to a Trinity fort, called the
Bouton de Rosas, a citadel situated on a little mountain at the entrance of
the roads, and we were deposited deep under ground, where the light of day
did not penetrate on any side. We did not long remain in this infected place,
not because they had pity upon us, but because it offered shelter for a part
of the garrison attacked by the French. They made us descend by night to
the edge of the sea, and then transported us on the 17th of October to the
port of Palamos. We were shut up in a hulk; we enjoyed, however, a certain
degree of liberty;—they allowed us to go on land, and to parade our
miseries and our rags in the town. It was there that I made the acquaintance
of the dowager Duchess of Orleans, mother of Louis Philippe. She had left
the town of Figueras, where she resided, because, she told me, thirty-two
bombs sent from the fortress had fallen in her house. She was then
intending to take refuge in Algiers, and she asked me to bring the captain of
the vessel to her, of whom, perhaps, she would have to implore protection. I
related to my "raïs" the misfortunes of the Princess; he was moved by them,
and I conducted him to her. On entering, he took off his slippers from
respect, as if he had entered within a mosque, and holding them in his hand,
he went to kiss the front of the dress of Madame d'Orleans. The Princess
Was alarmed at the sight of this manly figure, wearing the longest beard I
ever saw; she quickly recovered herself, and the interview proceeded with a
mixture of French politeness and Oriental courtesy.
The sixty francs from Rosas were expended. Madame D'Orleans would
have liked much to assist us, but she was herself without money. All that
she could gratify us with was a piece of sugarbread. The evening of our
visit I was richer than the Princess. To avoid the fury of the people the
Spanish Government sent those French who had escaped the first massacres
back to France in slight boats. One of the cartels came and cast anchor by
the side of our hulk. One of the unhappy emigrants offered me a pinch of
snuff. On opening the snuff-box I found there "una onza de oro," (an ounce
of gold,) the sole remains of his fortune. I returned the snuff-box to him,
with warm thanks, after having shut up in it a paper containing these words:
—"My fellow-countryman who carries this note has rendered me a great
service;—treat him as one of your children." My petition was naturally
favourably received; it was by this bit of paper, the size of the onza de oro,

that my family learnt that I was still in existence, and it enabled my mother
—a model of piety—to cease saying masses for the repose of my soul.
Five days afterwards, one of my hardy compatriots arrived at Palamos, after
having traversed the line of posts both French and Spanish, carrying to a
merchant who had friends at Perpignan the proposal to furnish me with all I
was in need of. The Spaniard showed a great inclination to agree to the
proposal; but I did not profit by his good will, because of the occurrence of
events which I shall relate presently.
The Observatory at Paris is very near the barrier. In my youth, curious to
study the manners of the people, I used to walk in sight of the public-houses
which the desire of escaping payment of the duty has multiplied outside the
walls of the capital; on these excursions I was often humiliated to see men
disputing for a piece of bread, just as animals might have done. My feelings
on this subject have very much altered since I have been personally exposed
to the tortures of hunger. I have discovered, in fact, that a man, whatever
may have been his origin, his education, and his habits, is governed, under
certain circumstances, much more by his stomach than by his intelligence
and his heart. Here is the fact which suggested these reflections to me.
To celebrate the unhoped-for arrival of una onza de oro, M. Berthémie and I
had procured an immense dish of potatoes. The ordnance officer of the
Emperor was already devouring it with his eyes, when a Moroccan, who
was making his ablutions near us with one of his companions, accidentally
filled it with dirt. M. Berthémie could not control his anger; he darted upon
the clumsy Mussulman, and inflicted upon him a rough punishment.
I remained a passive spectator of the combat, until the second Moroccan
came to the aid of his compatriot. The party no longer being equal, I also
took part in the conflict by seizing the new assailant by the beard. The
combat ceased at once, because the Moroccan would not raise his hand
against a man who could write a petition so rapidly. This conflict, like the
struggles of which I had often been a witness outside the barriers of Paris,
had originated in a dish of potatoes.
The Spaniards always cherished the idea that the ship and her cargo might
be confiscated; a commission came from Girone to question us. It was
composed of two civil judges and one inquisitor. I acted as interpreter.

When M. Berthémie's turn came, I went to fetch him, and said to him,
"Pretend that you can only talk Styrian, and be at ease; I will not
compromise you in translating your answers."
It was done as we had agreed; unfortunately the language spoken by M.
Berthémie had but little variety, and the sacrement der Teufel, which he had
learnt in Germany, when he was aide-de-camp to Hautpoul, predominated
too much in his discourse. Be that as it may, the judges observed that there
was too great a conformity between his answers and those which I had
made myself, to render it necessary to continue an interrogatory, which I
may say, by the way, disturbed me much. The wish to terminate it was still
more decided on the part of the judges, when it came to the turn of a sailor
named Mehemet. Instead of making him swear on the Koran to tell the
truth, the judge was determined to make him place his thumb on the
forefinger so as represent the cross. I warned him that great offence would
thus be given; and, accordingly, when Mehemet became aware of the
meaning of this sign, he began to spit upon it with inconceivable violence.
The meeting ended at once.
The next day things had wholly changed their appearance; one of the judges
from Girone came to declare to us that we were free to depart, and to go
with our ship wherever we chose. What was the cause of this sudden
change? It was this.
During our quarantine in the windmill at Rosas, I had written, in the name
of Captain Braham, a letter to the Dey of Algiers. I gave him an account of
the illegal arrest of his vessel, and of the death of one of the lions which the
Dey had sent to the Emperor. This last circumstance transported the African
monarch with rage. He sent immediately for the Spanish Consul, M. Onis,
claimed pecuniary damages for his dear lion, and threatened war if his ship
was not released directly. Spain had then to do with too many difficulties to
undertake wantonly any new ones, and the order to release the vessel so
anxiously coveted arrived at Girone, and from thence at Palamos.
This solution, to which our Consul at Algiers, M. Dubois Thainville, had
not remained inattentive, reached us at the moment when we least expected
it. We at once made preparations for our departure, and on the 28th of
November, 1808, we set sail, steering for Marseilles; but, as the Mussulmen

on board the vessel declared, it was written above that we should not enter
that town. We could already perceive the white buildings which crown the
neighbouring hills of Marseilles, when a gust of the "mistral," of great
violence, sent us from the north towards the south.
I do not know what route we followed, for I was lying in my cabin,
overcome with sea-sickness; I may therefore, though an astronomer, avow
without shame, that at the moment when our unqualified pilots supposed
themselves to be off the Baléares, we landed, on the 5th of December, at
Bougie.
There, they pretended that during the three months of winter, all
communication with Algiers, by means of the little boats named sandalis,
would be impossible, and I resigned myself to the painful prospect of so
long a stay in a place at that time almost a desert. One evening I was
making these sad reflections while pacing the deck of the vessel, when a
shot from a gun on the coast came and struck the side planks close to which
I was passing. This suggested to me the thought of going to Algiers by land.
I went next day, accompanied by M. Berthémie and Captain Spiro
Calligero, to the Caïd of the town: "I wish," said I to him, "to go to Algiers
by land." The man, quite frightened, exclaimed, "I cannot allow you to do
so; you would certainly be killed on the road; your Consul would make a
complaint to the Dey, and I should have my head cut off."
"Fear not on that ground. I will give you an acquittance."
It was immediately drawn up in these terms: "We, the undersigned, certify
that the Caïd of Bougie wished to dissuade us from going to Algiers by
land; that he has assured us that we shall be massacred on the road; that
notwithstanding his representations, reiterated twenty times, we have
persisted in our project. We beg the Algerine authorities, particularly our
Consul, not to make him responsible for this event if it should occur. We
once more repeat, that the voyage has been undertaken against his will.

Signed: Arago and Berthémie."

Having given this declaration to the Caïd, we considered ourselves quit of
this functionary; but he came up to me, undid, without saying a word, the

knot of my cravat, took it off, and put it into his pocket. All this was done so
quickly that I had not time, I will add that I had not even the wish, to
reclaim it.
At the conclusion of this audience, which had terminated in so singular a
manner, we made a bargain with a Mahomedan priest, who promised to
conduct us to Algiers for the sum of twenty "piastres fortes," and a red
mantle. The day was occupied in disguising ourselves well or ill, and we set
out the next morning, accompanied by several Moorish sailors belonging to
the crew of the ship, after having shown the Mahomedan priest that we had
nothing with us worth a sou, so that if we were killed on the road he would
inevitably lose all reward.
I went, at the last moment, to make my bow to the only lion that was still
alive, and with whom I had lived in very good harmony; I wished also to
say good-bye to the monkeys, who during nearly five months had been
equally my companions in misfortune.[4] These monkeys during our
frightful misery had rendered us a service which I scarcely dare mention,
and which will scarcely be guessed by the inhabitants of our cities, who
look upon these animals as objects of diversion; they freed us from the
vermin which infested us, and showed particularly a remarkable cleverness
in seeking out the hideous insects which lodged themselves in our hair.
Poor animals! they seemed to me very unfortunate in being shut up in the
narrow enclosure of the vessel, when, on the neighbouring coast, other
monkeys, as if to bully them, came on to the branches of the trees, giving
innumerable proofs of their agility.
At the commencement of the day, we saw on the road two Kabyls, similar
to the soldiers of Jugurtha, whose harsh appearance powerfully allayed our
fancy for wandering. In the evening we witnessed a fearful tumult, which
appeared to be directed against us. We learnt afterwards that the
Mahomedan priest had been the object of it; that it originated with some
Kabyls whom he had disarmed on one of their journeys to Bougie. This
incident, which appeared likely to be repeated, inspired us for a moment
with the thought of returning; but the sailors were resolute, and we
continued our hazardous enterprise.

In proportion as we advanced, our troops became increased by a certain
number of Kabyls, who wished to go to Algiers to work there in the quality
of seamen, and who dared not undertake alone this dangerous journey.
The third day we encamped in the open air, at the entrance of a forest. The
Arabs lighted a very large fire in the form of a circle, and placed themselves
in the middle. Towards eleven o'clock, I was awakened by the noise which
the mules made, all trying to break their fastenings. I asked what was the
cause of this disturbance. They answered me that a "sebâá" had come
roaming in the neighbourhood. I was not aware then that a "sebâá" was a
lion, and I went to sleep again. The next day, in traversing the forest, the
arrangement of the caravan was changed. It was grouped in the smallest
space possible; one Kabyl was at the head, his gun ready for service;
another was in the rear, in the same position. I inquired of the owner of the
mule the cause of these unusual precautions. He answered me, that they
were dreading an attack from a "sebâá" and that if this should occur, one of
us would be carried off without having time to put himself on the defensive.
"I would rather be a spectator," I said to him, "than an actor in the scene you
describe; consequently, I will give you two piastres more if you will keep
your mule always in the centre of the moving group." My proposal was
accepted. It was then for the first time that I saw that my Arab carried a
yatagan under his tunic, which he used for pricking on the mule the whole
time that we were in the thicket. Superfluous cautions! The "sebâá" did not
show himself.
Each village being a little republic, whose territory we could not cross
without obtaining permission and a passport from the Mahomedan priest
président, the priest who conducted our caravan used to leave us in the
fields, and went sometimes a good way off to a village to solicit the
permission without which it would have been dangerous to continue our
route. He remained entire hours without returning to us, and we then had
occasion to reflect sadly on the imprudence of our enterprise. We generally
slept amongst habitations. Once, we found the streets of a village
barricaded, because they were fearing an attack from a neighbouring
village. The foremost man of our caravan removed the obstacles; but a
woman came out of her house like a fury, and belaboured us with blows
from a pole. We remarked that she was fair, of brilliant whiteness, and very
pretty.

Another time we lay down in a lurking-place dignified by the beautiful
name of caravansary. In the morning, when the sun rose, cries of "Roumi!
Roumi!" warned us that we had been discovered. The sailor, Mehemet, he
who figured in the scene of the oath at Palamos, entered in a melancholy
mood the enclosure where we were together, and made us understand that
the cries of "Roumi!" vociferated under these circumstances, were
equivalent to a sentence of death. "Wait," said he; "a means of saving you
has occurred to me." Mehemet entered some moments afterwards, told us
that his means had succeeded, and invited me to join the Kabyls, who were
going to say prayers.
I accordingly went out, and prostrated myself towards the East. I imitated
minutely the gestures which I saw made around me, pronouncing the sacred
words,—La elah il Allah! oua Mahommed raçoul Allah! It was the scene of
Mamamouchi of the "Bourgeois Gentilhomme," which I had so often seen
acted by Dugazon,—with this one difference, that this time it did not make
me laugh. I was, however, ignorant of the consequences it might have
brought upon me on my arrival at Algiers. After having made the profession
of faith before Mahomedans—There is but one God, and Mahomet is his
prophet, if I had been informed against to the mufti, I must inevitably have
become Mussulman, and they would not have allowed me to go out of the
Regency.
I must not forget to relate by what means Mehemet had saved us from
inevitable death. "You have guessed rightly," said he to the Kabyls; "there
are two Christians in the caravansary, but they are Mahomedans at heart,
and are going to Algiers to be adopted by the mufti into our holy religion.
You will not doubt this when I tell you that I was myself a slave to some
Christians, and that they redeemed me with their money."
"In cha Allah!" they exclaimed with one voice. And it was then that the
scene took place which I have just described.
We arrived in sight of Algiers the 25th December, 1808. We took leave of
the Arab owners of our mules, who walked on foot by the side of us, and we
spurred them on, in order to reach the town before the closing of the gates.
On our arrival, we learnt that the Dey, to whom we owed our first
deliverance, had been beheaded. The guard of the palace before which we

passed, stopped us and questioned us as to whence we came. We replied
that we came from Bougie by land. "It is not possible!" exclaimed all the
janissaries at once; "the Dey himself would not venture to undertake such a
journey!" "We acknowledge that we have committed a great imprudence;
that we would not undertake to recommence the journey for millions; but
the fact that we have just declared is the strict truth."
Arrived at the consular house, we were, as on the first occasion, very
cordially welcomed. We received a visit from a dragoman sent by the Dey,
who asked whether we persisted in maintaining that Bougie had been our
point of departure, and not Cape Matifou, or some neighbouring port. We
again affirmed the truth of our recital; it was confirmed, the next day, on the
arrival of the proprietors of our mules.
At Palamos, during the various interviews which I had with the dowager
Duchess of Orleans, one circumstance had particularly affected me. The
Princess spoke to me unceasingly of the wish she had to go and rejoin one
of her sons, whom she believed to be alive, but of whose death I had been
informed by a person belonging to her household. Hence I was anxious to
do all that lay in my power to mitigate a sorrow which she must experience
before long.
At the moment when I quitted Spain for Marseilles, the Duchess confided to
me two letters which I was to forward in safety to their addresses. One was
destined for the Empress-mother of Russia, the other for the Empress of
Austria.
Scarcely had I arrived at Algiers, when I mentioned these two letters to M.
Dubois Thainville, and begged him to send them to France by the first
opportunity. "I shall do nothing of the sort," he at once answered me. "Do
you know that you have behaved in this affair like a young inexperienced
man, or, to speak out, like a blunderer? I am surprised that you did not
comprehend that the Emperor, with his pettish spirit, might take this much
amiss, and consider you, according to the contents of the two letters, as the
promoter of an intrigue in favour of the exiled family of the Bourbons."
Thus the paternal advice of the French Consul taught me that in all that
regards politics, however nearly or remotely, one cannot give himself up
without danger to the dictates of the heart and the reason.

I enclosed my two letters in an envelope bearing the address of a
trustworthy person, and gave them into the hands of a corsair, who, after
touching at Algiers, would proceed to France. I have never known whether
they reached their destination.
The reigning Dey, successor to the beheaded Dey, had formerly filled the
humble office of "épileur"[5] of dead bodies in the mosques. He governed
the Regency with much gentleness, occupying himself with little but his
harem. This disgusted those who had raised him to this eminent post, and
they resolved upon getting rid of him. We became aware of the danger
which menaced him, by seeing the courts and vestibules of the consular
house full, according to the custom under such circumstances, of Jews,
carrying with them whatever they had of most value. It was a rule at
Algiers, that all that happened in the interval comprised between the death
of a Dey and the installation of his successor, could not be followed up by
justice, and must remain unpunished. One can imagine, then, why the
children of Moses should seek safety in the consular houses, the European
inhabitants of which had the courage to arm themselves for self-defence as
soon as the danger was apparent, and who, moreover, had a janissary to
guard them.
Whilst the unfortunate Dey "épileur" was being conducted towards the
place where he was to be strangled, he heard the cannon which announced
his death and the installation of his successor. "They are in great haste," said
he; "what will you gain by carrying matters to extremities? Send me to the
Levant; I promise you never to return. What have you to reproach me
with?" "With nothing," answered his escort, "but your insignificance.
However, a man cannot live as a mere private man, after having been Dey
of Algiers." And the unfortunate man perished by the rope.
The communication by sea between Bougie and Algiers was not so difficult,
even with the "sandalas," as the Caïd of the former town wished to assure
me. Captain Spiro had the cases landed, which belonged to me. The Caïd
sought to discover what they contained; and, having perceived through a
chink something yellowish, he hastened to send the news to the Dey, that
the Frenchmen who had come to Algiers by land had among their baggage
cases filled with zechins, destined to revolutionize the Kabylie. They
immediately had these cases forwarded to Algiers, and at their opening,

before the Minister of Naval Affairs, all the phantasmagoria of zechins, of
treasure, of revolution, disappeared at the sight of the stands and the limbs
of several repeating circles in copper.
We are now going to sojourn several months in Algiers. I will take
advantage of this to put together some details of manners which may be
interesting as the picture of a state of things anterior to that of the
occupation of the Regency by the French. This occupation, it must be
remarked, has already fundamentally altered the manners and the habits of
the Algerine population.
I am about to report a curious fact, and one which shows that politics,
which insinuate themselves and bring discord into the bosom of the most
united families, had succeeded, strange to say, in penetrating as far as the
galley-slaves' prison at Algiers. The slaves belonged to three nations: there
were in 1809 in this prison, Portuguese, Neapolitans, and Sicilians; among
these two latter classes were counted partisans of Murat and those of
Ferdinand of Naples. One day, at the beginning of the year, a dragoman
came in the name of the Dey to beg M. Dubois Thainville to go without
delay to the prison, where the friends of the French and their adversaries
had involved themselves in a furious combat; and already several had
fallen. The weapon with which they struck each other was the heavy long
chain attached to their legs.
Each Consul, as I said above, had a janissary placed with him as his guard;
the one belonging to the French Consul was a Candiote; he had been
surnamed the Terror. Whenever some news unfavourable to France was
announced in the cafés, he came to the Consulate to inform himself as to the
reality of the fact; and when we told him that the other janissaries had
propagated false news, he returned to them, and there, yatagan in hand, he
declared himself ready to enter the lists in combat against those who should
still maintain the truth of the news. As these continual threats might
endanger him, (for they had no support beyond his mere animal courage,)
we had wished to render him expert in the handling of arms by giving him
some lessons in fencing; but he could not endure the idea that Christians
should touch him at every turn with foils; he therefore proposed to
substitute for the simulated duel a real combat with the yatagan.

One may gain an exact idea of this savage nature when I mention that,
having one day heard a pistol-shot, the sound of which proceeded from his
room, people ran, and found him bathed in his blood; he had just shot off a
ball into his arm to cure himself of a rheumatic pain.
Seeing with what facility the Deys disappeared, I said one day to our
janissary, "With this prospect before your eyes, would you consent to
become Dey?" "Yes, doubtless," answered he. "You seem to count as
nothing the pleasure of doing all that one likes, if only even for a single
day!"
When we wished to take a turn in the town of Algiers, we generally took
care to be escorted by the janissary attached to the consular house; it was
the only means of escaping insults, affronts, and even acts of violence. I
have just said it was the only means. I made a mistake; there was one other;
that was, to go in the company of a French "lazarist" of seventy years of
age, and whose name, if my memory serves me, was Father Joshua; he had
lived in this country for half a century. This man, of exemplary virtue, had
devoted himself with admirable self-denial to the service of the slaves of
the Regency, and had divested himself of all considerations of nationality;
—the Portuguese, Neapolitans, Sicilians, all were equally his brethren.
In the times of plague he was seen day and night carrying eager help to the
Mussulmans; thus, his virtue had conquered even religious hatreds; and
wherever he passed, he and the persons who might accompany him
received from multitudes of the people, from the janissaries, and even from
the officials of the mosques, the most respectful salutations.
During our long hours of sailing on board the Algerine vessel, and our
compulsory stay in the prisons at Rosas, and on the hulk at Palamos, I
gathered some ideas as to the interior life of the Moors or the Coulouglous,
which, even now when Algiers has fallen under the dominion of France,
would perhaps be yet worth preserving. I shall, however, confine myself to
recounting, nearly word for word, a conversation which I had with Raïs
Braham, whose father was a "Turc fin," that is to say, a Turk born in the
Levant.
"How is it that you consent," said I to him, "to marry a young girl whom
you have never seen, and find in her, perhaps, an excessively ugly woman,

instead of the beauty whom you had fancied to yourself?"
"We never marry without having obtained information from the women
who serve in the capacity of servants at the public baths. The Jewesses are
moreover, in these cases, very useful go-betweens."
"How many legitimate wives have you?"
"I have four, that is to say, the number authorized by the Koran."
"Do they live together on a good understanding?"
"Ah, sir, my house is a hell. I never enter it without finding them at the step
of the door, or at the bottom of the stairs; then, each wants to be the first to
make me listen to the complaints which she has to bring against her
companions. I am about to utter blasphemy, but I think that our holy
religion ought to prohibit a plurality of wives to those who are not rich
enough to give to each a separate habitation."
"But since the Koran allows you to repudiate even legitimate wives, why do
you not send back three of them to their parents?"
"Why? because that would ruin me. On the day of the marriage the father of
the young woman to be married stipulates for a dowry, and the half of it is
paid. The other half may be exacted the day that the woman is repudiated. It
would then be three half dowries that I should have to pay if I sent back
three of my wives. I ought, however, to rectify one inaccuracy in what I said
just now, that my four wives had never agreed together. Once, they were
agreed among themselves in the feeling of a common hatred. In going
through the market I had bought a young negress. In the evening, when I
retired to rest, I perceived that my wives had prepared no bed for her, and
that the unfortunate girl was extended on the ground. I rolled up my
trowsers and laid them under her head as a kind of pillow. In the morning
the distracting cries of the poor slave made me run to her, and I found her
nearly sinking under the blows of my four wives; for once they understood
each other marvellously well."
In February, 1809, the new Dey, the successor of the "épileur," a short time
after having entered on his functions, claimed from two to three hundred
thousand francs,—I do not remember exactly the sum,—which he

pretended was due to him from the French Government. M. Dubois
Thainville answered that he had received the Emperor's orders not to pay
one centime.
The Dey was furious, and decided upon declaring war against us. A
declaration of war at Algiers used to be immediately followed by putting all
the persons of other nations into prison. This time matters were not pushed
to this extreme limit. Our names might be figuring on the list of the slaves
of the Regency; but in fact, so far as I was concerned, I remained free in the
consular house. By means of a pecuniary guarantee, contracted with the
Swedish Consul, M. Norderling, I was even permitted to live at his country
house, situated near the Emperor's fort.
The most insignificant event was sufficient to modify the ideas of these
barbarians. I had come into the town one day, and was seated at table at M.
Dubois Thainville's, when the English Consul, Mr. Blankley, arrived in
great haste, announcing to our Consul the entrance into the port of a French
prize. "I never will uselessly add," said he, generously, "to the severities of
war; I came to announce to you, my colleague, that I will give up your
prisoners on a receipt which will insure me the deliverance of an equal
number of Englishmen detained in France." "I thank you," answered M.
Dubois Thainville; "but I do not the less deplore this event that it will
retard, indefinitely, perhaps, the settlement of the account in which I am
engaged with the Dey."
During this conversation, armed with a telescope, I was looking through the
window of the dining-room, trying to persuade myself at least that the
captured vessel was not one of much importance. But one must yield to
evidence. It was pierced for a great number of guns. All at once, the wind
having displayed the flags, I perceived with surprise the French flag over
the English flag. I communicated what I observed to Mr. Blankley. He
answered immediately, "You do not surely pretend to observe better with
your bad telescope than I did with my Dollond?"
"And you cannot pretend," said I to him in my turn, "to see better than an
astronomer by profession? I am sure of my fact. I beg M. Thainville's
permission, and will go this instant to visit this mysterious prize."
In short, I went there; and this is what I learnt:—

General Duhesme, Governor of Barcelona, wishing to rid himself of the
most ill-disciplined portion of his garrison, formed the principal part into
the crew of a vessel, the command of which he gave to a lieutenant of
Babastre, a celebrated corsair of the Mediterranean.
There were amongst these improvised seamen a hussar, a dragoon, two
veterans, a miner with his long beard, &c. &c. The vessel, leaving
Barcelona by night, escaped the English cruiser, and got to the entrance of
Port Mahon. An English "lettre de marque" was coming out of the port. The
crew of the French vessel boarded her; and a furious combat on the deck
ensued, in which the French got the upper hand. It was this "lettre de
marque" which had now arrived at Algiers.
Invested with full power by M. Dubois Thainville, I announced to the
prisoners that they were about to be immediately given up to their Consul. I
respected even the trick of the captain, who, wounded by several sabre-cuts,
had contrived to cover up his head with his principal flag. I re-assured his
wife; but my chief care was especially devoted to a passenger whom I saw
with one arm amputated.
"Where is the surgeon," I said to him, "who operated on you?"
"It was not our surgeon," he answered. "He basely fled with a part of the
crew, and saved himself on land."
"Who, then, cut off your arm?"
"It was the hussar whom you see here."
"Unhappy man!" I exclaimed; "what could lead you, when it was not your
profession, to perform this operation?"
"The pressing request of the wounded man. His arm had already swollen to
an enormous size. He wanted some one to cut it off for him with a blow of a
hatchet. I told him that in Egypt, when I was in hospital, I had seen several
amputations made; that I would imitate what I had seen, and might perhaps
succeed. That at any rate it would be better than the blow of a hatchet. All
was agreed; I armed myself with the carpenter's saw; and the operation was
done."

I went off immediately to the American consul, to claim the assistance of
the only surgeon worthy of confidence who was then in Algiers. M. Triplet
—I think I recollect that that was the name of the man of the distinguished
art whose aid I invoked—came at once on board the vessel, examined the
dressing of the wound, and declared, to my very lively satisfaction, that all
was going on well, and that the Englishman would survive his horrible
injury.
The same day we had the wounded men carried on litters to Mr. Blankley's
house; this operation, executed with somewhat of ceremony, modified,
though slightly, the feelings of the Dey in our favour, and his sentiments
became yet more favourable towards us in consequence of another maritime
occurrence, although a very insignificant one.
One day a corvette was seen in the horizon armed with a very great number
of guns, and shaping her way towards the port of Algiers; there appeared
immediately after an English brig of war, in full sail; a combat was
therefore expected, and all the terraces of the town were covered with
spectators; the brig appeared to be the best sailer, and seemed to us likely to
reach the corvette, but the latter tacked about, and seemed desirous to
engage in battle; the English vessel fled before her; the corvette tacked
about a second time, and again directed her course towards Algiers, where,
one would have supposed, she had some special mission to execute. The
brig, in her turn now changed her course, but held herself constantly beyond
the reach of shot from the corvette; at last the two vessels arrived in
succession in the port, and cast anchor, to the lively disappointment of the
Algerine population, who had hoped to be present without danger at a
maritime combat between the "Christian dogs," belonging to two nations
equally detested in a religious point of view; but shouts of laughter could
not be repressed when it was seen that the corvette was a merchant vessel,
and that she was only armed with wooden imitations of cannon. It was said
in the town that the English sailors were furious, and had been on the point
of mutiny against their too prudent captain.
I have very little to tell in favour of the Algerines; hence I must do an act of
justice by mentioning, that the corvette departed the next day for the
Antilles, her destination, and that the brig was not permitted to set sail until
the next day but one.

Bakri often came to the French Consulate to talk of our affairs with M.
Dubois Thainville: "What can you want?" said the latter, "you are an
Algerine; you will be the first victim of the Dey's obstinacy. I have already
written to Livorno that your families and your goods are to be seized. When
the vessels laden with cotton, which you have in this port, arrive at
Marseilles, they will be immediately confiscated; it is for you to judge
whether it would not better suit you to pay the sum which the Dey claims,
than to expose yourself to tenfold and certain loss."
Such reasoning was unanswerable; and whatever it might cost him, Bakri
decided on paying the sum that was demanded of France.
Permission to depart was immediately granted to us; I embarked the 21st of
June, 1809, on board a vessel in which M. Dubois Thainville and his family
were passengers.
The evening before our departure from Algiers, a corsair deposited at the
consul's the Majorcan mail, which he had taken from a vessel which he had
captured. It was a complete collection of the letters which the inhabitants of
the Baléares had been writing to their friends on the Continent.
"Look here," said M. Dubois Thainville to me, "here is something to amuse
you during the voyage,—you who generally keep your room from sea-
sickness,—break the seals and read all these letters, and see whether they
contain any accounts by which we might profit how to aid the unhappy
soldiers who are dying of misery and despair in the little island of Cabrera."
Scarcely had we arrived on board the vessel, when I set myself to the work,
and acted without scruple or remorse the part of an official of the black
chamber, with this sole difference, that the letters were unsealed without
taking any precautions. I found amongst them several dispatches, in which
Admiral Collingwood signified to the Spanish Government the ease with
which the prisoners might be delivered. Immediately on our arrival at
Marseilles these letters were sent to the minister of naval affairs, who, I
believe, did not pay much attention to them.
I knew almost every one at Palma, the capital of Majorca. I leave it to be
imagined with what curiosity I read the missives in which the beautiful
ladies of the town expressed their hatred against los malditos cavachios,

(French,) whose presence in Spain had rendered necessary the departure for
the Continent of a magnificent regiment of hussars; how many persons
might I not have embroiled, if under a mask I had found myself with them
at the opera ball!
Many of the letters made mention of me, and were particularly interesting
to me; I was sure in this instance there was nothing to constrain the
frankness of those who had written them. It is an advantage which few
people can boast having enjoyed to the same degree.
The vessel in which I was, although laden with bales of cotton, had some
corsair papers of the Regency, and was the reputed escort of three richly
laden merchant vessels which were going to France.
We were off Marseilles on the 1st of July, when an English frigate came to
stop our passage: "I will not take you," said the English captain; "but you
will go towards the Hyères Islands, and Admiral Collingwood will decide
on your fate."
"I have received," answered the Barbary captain, "an express commission to
conduct these vessels to Marseilles, and I will execute it."
"You, individually, can do what may seem to you best," answered the
Englishman; "as to the merchant vessels under your escort, they will be, I
repeat to you, taken to Admiral Collingwood." And he immediately gave
orders to those vessels to set sail to the East.
The frigate had already gone a little distance when she perceived that we
were steering towards Marseilles. Having then learnt from the crews of the
merchant vessels that we were ourselves laden with cotton, she tacked
about to seize us.
She was very near reaching us, when we were enabled to enter the port of
the little island of Pomègue. In the night she put her boats to sea to try to
carry us off; but the enterprise was too perilous, and she did not dare
attempt it.
The next morning, 2d of July, 1809, I disembarked at the lazaretto.

At the present day they go from Algiers to Marseilles in four days; it had
taken me eleven months to make the same voyage. It is true that here and
there I had made involuntary sojourns.
My letters sent from the lazaretto at Marseilles were considered by my
relatives and friends as certificates of resurrection, they having for a long
time past supposed me dead. A great geometer had even proposed to the
Bureau of Longitude no longer to pay my allowance to my authorized
representative; which appears the more cruel inasmuch as this
representative was my father.
The first letter which I received from Paris was full of sympathy and
congratulations on the termination of my laborious and perilous adventures;
it was from a man already in possession of an European reputation, but
whom I had never seen: M. de Humboldt, after what he had heard of my
misfortunes, offered me his friendship. Such was the first origin of a
connection which dates from nearly forty-two years back, without a single
cloud ever paving troubled it.
M. Dubois Thainville had numerous acquaintances in Marseilles; his wife
was a native of that town, and her family resided there. They received,
therefore, both of them, numerous visits in the parlour of the lazaretto. The
bell which summoned them, for me alone was dumb; and I remained as
solitary and forsaken, at the gates of a town peopled with a hundred
thousand of my countrymen, as if I had been in the heart of Africa. One day,
however, the parlour-bell rang three times (the number of times
corresponding to the number of my room); I thought it must be a mistake. I
did not, however, allow this to appear. I traversed proudly under the escort
of my guard of health the long space which separates the lazaretto, properly
so called, from the parlour; and there I found, with very lively satisfaction,
M. Pons, the director of the Observatory at Marseilles, and the most
celebrated discoverer of comets of whom the annals of Astronomy have
ever had to register the success.
At any time a visit from the excellent M. Pons, whom I have since seen
director of the Observatory at Florence, would have been very agreeable to
me; but, during my quarantine, I felt it unappreciably valuable. It proved to
me that I had returned to my native soil.

Two or three days before our admission to freedom, we experienced a loss
which was deeply felt by each of us. To pass away the heavy time of a
severe quarantine, the little Algerine colony was in the habit of going to an
enclosure near the lazaretto, where a very beautiful gazelle, belonging to M.
Dubois Thainville, was confined; she bounded about there in full liberty
with a grace which excited our admiration. One of us endeavoured to stop
this elegant animal in her course; he seized her unluckily by the leg, and
broke it. We all ran, but only, alas! to witness a scene which excited the
deepest emotion in us.
The gazelle, lying on her side, raised her head sadly; her beautiful eyes (the
eyes of a gazelle!) shed torrents of tears; no cry of complaint escaped her
mouth; she produced that effect upon us which is always felt when a person
who is suddenly struck by an irreparable misfortune, resigns himself to it,
and shows his profound anguish only by silent tears.
Having ended my quarantine, I went at once to Perpignan, to the bosom of
my family, where my mother, the most excellent and pious of women,
caused numerous masses to be said to celebrate my return, as she had done
before to pray for the repose of my soul, when she thought that I had fallen
under the daggers of the Spaniards. But I soon quitted my native town to
return to Paris; and I deposited at the Bureau of Longitude and the Academy
of Sciences my observations, which I had succeeded in preserving amidst
the perils and tribulations of my long campaign.
A few days after my arrival, on the 18th of September, 1809, I was
nominated an academician in the place of Lalande. There were fifty-two
voters; I obtained forty-seven voices, M. Poisson four, and M. Nouet one. I
was then twenty-three years of age.
A nomination made with such a majority would appear, at first sight, as if it
could give rise to no serious difficulties; but it proved otherwise. The
intervention of M. de Laplace, before the day of ballot, was active and
incessant to have my admission postponed until the time when a vacancy,
occurring in the geometry section, might enable the learned assembly to
nominate M. Poisson at the same time as me. The author of the Mécanique
Céleste had vowed to the young geometer an unbounded attachment,
completely justified, certainly, by the beautiful researches which science

already owed to him. M. de Laplace could not support the idea that a young
astronomer, younger by five years than M. Poisson, a pupil, in the presence
of his professor at the Polytechnic School, should become an academician
before him. He proposed to me, therefore, to write to the Academy that I
would not stand for election until there should be a second place to give to
Poisson. I answered by a formal refusal, and giving my reasons in these
terms: "I care little to be nominated at this moment. I have decided upon
leaving shortly with M. de Humboldt for Thibet. In those savage regions the
title of member of the Institute will not smooth the difficulties which we
shall have to encounter. But I would not be guilty of any rudeness towards
the Academy. If they were to receive the declaration for which I am asked,
would not the savans who compose this illustrious body have a right to say
to me: 'How are you certain that we have thought of you? You refuse what
has not yet been offered to you.'"
On seeing my firm resolution not to lend myself to the inconsiderate course
which he had advised me to follow, M. de Laplace went to work in another
way; he maintained that I had not sufficient distinction for admission into
the Academy. I do not pretend that, at the age of three-and-twenty, my
scientific attainments were very considerable, if estimated in an absolute
manner; but when I judged by comparison, I regained courage, especially
on considering that the three last years of my life had been consecrated to
the measurement of an arc of the meridian in a foreign country; that they
were passed amid the storms of the war with Spain; often enough in
dungeons, or, what was yet worse, in the mountains of Kabylia, and at
Algiers, at that time a very dangerous residence.
Here is, therefore, my statement of accounts for that epoch. I make it over
to the impartial appreciation of the reader.
On leaving the Polytechnic School, I had made, in conjunction with M.
Biot, an extensive and very minute research on the determination of the
coefficient of the tables of atmospheric refraction.
We had also measured the refraction of different gases, which, up to that
time, had not been attempted.
A determination, more exact than had been previously obtained, of the
relation of the weight of air to the weight of mercury, had furnished a direct

value of the coefficient of the barometrical formula which served for the
calculation of the heights.
I had contributed, in a regular and very assiduous manner, during nearly
two years, to the observations which were made day and night with the
transit telescope and with the mural quadrant at the Paris Observatory.
I had undertaken, in conjunction with M. Bouvard, the observations relating
to the verification of the laws of the moon's libration. All the calculations
were prepared; it only remained for me to put the numbers into the
formulæ, when I was, by order of the Bureau of Longitude, obliged to leave
Paris for Spain. I had observed various comets, and calculated their orbits. I
had, in concert with M. Bouvard, calculated, according to Laplace's
formula, the table of refraction which has been published in the Recueil des
Tables of the Bureau of Longitude, and in the Connaissance des Temps. A
research on the velocity of light, made with a prism placed before the object
end of the telescope of the mural circle, had proved that the same tables of
refraction might serve for the sun and all the stars.
Finally, I had just terminated, under very difficult circumstances, the
grandest triangulation which had ever been achieved, to prolong the
meridian line from France as far as the island of Formentera.
M. de Laplace, without denying the importance and utility of these labours
and these researches, saw in them nothing more than indications of
promise; M. Lagrange then said to him explicitly:—
"Even you, M. de Laplace, when you entered the Academy, had done
nothing brilliant; you only gave promise. Your grand discoveries did not
come till afterwards."
Lagrange was the only man in Europe who could with authority address
such an observation to him.
M. de Laplace did not reply upon the ground of the personal question, but
he added,—"I maintain that it is useful to young savans to hold out the
position of member of the Institute as a future recompense, to excite their
zeal."

"You resemble," replied M. Hallé, "the driver of the hackney coach, who, to
excite his horses to a gallop, tied a bundle of hay at the end of his carriage
pole; the poor horses redoubled their efforts, and the bundle of hay always
flew on before them. After all, his plan made them fall off, and soon after
brought on their death."
Delambre, Legendre, Biot, insisted on the devotion, and what they termed
the courage, with which I had combated arduous difficulties, whether in
carrying on the observations, or in saving the instruments and the results
already obtained. They drew an animated picture of the dangers I had
undergone. M. de Laplace ended by yielding when he saw that all the most
eminent men of the Academy had taken me under their patronage, and on
the day of the election he gave me his vote. It would be, I must own, a
subject of regret with me even to this day, after a lapse of forty-two years, if
I had become member of the Institute without having obtained the vote of
the author of the Mécanique Céleste.
The Members of the Institute were always presented to the Emperor after he
had confirmed their nominations. On the appointed day, in company with
the presidents, with the secretaries of the four classes, and with the
academicians who had special publications to offer to the Chief of the State,
they assembled in one of the saloons of the Tuileries. When the Emperor
returned from mass, he held a kind of review of these savans, these artists,
these literary men, in green uniform.
I must own that the spectacle which I witnessed on the day of my
presentation did not edify me. I even experienced real displeasure in seeing
the anxiety evinced by members of the Institute to be noticed.
"You are very young," said Napoleon to me on coming near me; and
without waiting for a flattering reply, which it would not have been difficult
to find, he added,—"What is your name?" And my neighbour on the right,
not leaving me time to answer the simple enough question just addressed to
me, hastened to say,—
"His name is Arago?"
"What science do you cultivate?"
My neighbour on the left immediately replied,—

"He cultivates astronomy."
"What have you done?"
My neighbour on the right, jealous of my left hand neighbour for having
encroached on his rights at the second question, now hastened to reply, and
said,—
"He has just been measuring the line of the meridian in Spain."
The Emperor imagining doubtless that he had before him either a dumb
man or an imbecile, passed on to another member of the Institute. This one
was not a novice, but a naturalist well known through his beautiful and
important discoveries; it was M. Lamarck. The old man presented a book to
Napoleon.
"What is that?" said the latter, "it is your absurd meteorology, in which you
rival Matthieu Laensberg. It is this 'annuaire' which dishonours your old
age. Do something in Natural History, and I should receive your
productions with pleasure. As to this volume, I only take it in consideration
of your white hair. Here!" And he passed the book to an aide-de-camp.
Poor M. Lamarck, who, at the end of each sharp and insulting sentence of
the Emperor, tried in vain to say, "It is a work on Natural History which I
present to you," was weak enough to fall into tears.
The Emperor immediately afterwards met with a more energetic antagonist
in the person of M. Lanjuinais. The latter had advanced, book in hand.
Napoleon said to him, sneeringly:—
"The entire Senate, then, is to merge in the Institute?" "Sire," replied
Lanjuinais, "it is the body of the state to which most time is left for
occupying itself with literature."
The Emperor, displeased at this answer, at once quitted the civil uniforms,
and busied himself among the great epaulettes which filled the room.
Immediately after my nomination, I was exposed to strange annoyances on
the part of the military authorities. I had left for Spain, still holding the title
of pupil of the Polytechnic School. My name could not remain on the books
more than four years; consequently I had been enjoined to return to France

to go through the examinations necessary on quitting the school. But in the
meantime Lalande died, and thus a place in the Bureau of Longitude
became vacant. I was named assistant astronomer. These places were
submitted to the nomination of the Emperor. M. Lacuée, Director of the
Conscription, thought that, through this latter circumstance, the law would
be satisfied, and I was authorized to continue my operations.
M. Matthieu Dumas, who succeeded him, looked at the question from an
entirely different point of view; he enjoined me either to furnish a
substitute, or else to set off myself with the contingent of the twelfth
arrondissement of Paris.
All my remonstrances and those of my friends having been fruitless, I
announced to the honourable General that I should present myself in the
Place de l'Estrapade, whence the conscripts had to depart, in the costume of
a member of the Institute; and that thus I should march on foot through the
city of Paris. General Matthieu Dumas was alarmed at the effect which this
scene would produce on the Emperor, himself a member of the Institute,
and hastened, under fear of my threat, to confirm the decision of General
Lacuée.
In the year 1809, I was chosen by the "conseil du perfectionnement" of the
Polytechnic School, to succeed M. Monge, in his chair of Analysis applied
to Geometry. The circumstances attending that nomination have remained a
secret; I seize the first opportunity which offers itself to me to make them
known.
M. Monge took the trouble to come to me one day, at the Observatory, to
ask me to succeed him. I declined this honour, because of a proposed
journey which I was going to make into Central Asia with M. de Humboldt.
"You will certainly not set off for some months to come," said the illustrious
geometer; "you could, therefore, take my place temporarily." "Your
proposal," I replied, "flatters me infinitely; but I do not know whether I
ought to accept it. I have never read your great work on partial differential
equations; I do not, therefore, feel certain that I should be competent to give
lessons to the pupils of the Polytechnic School on such a difficult theory."
"Try," said he, "and you will find that that theory is clearer than it is

generally supposed to be." Accordingly, I did try; and M. Monge's opinion
appeared to me to be well founded.
The public could not comprehend, at that time, how it was that the
benevolent M. Monge obstinately refused to confide the delivery of his
course to M. Binet, (a private teacher under him,) whose zeal was well
known. It is this motive which I am going to reveal.
There was then in the "Bois de Boulogne" a residence named the Grey
House, where there assembled round M. Coessin, the high-priest of a new
religion, a number of adepts, such as Lesueur, the musician, Colin, private
teacher of chemistry at the school, M. Binet, &c. A report from the prefect
of police had signified to the Emperor that the frequenters of the Grey
House were connected with the Society of Jesuits. The Emperor was uneasy
and irritated at this. "Well," said he to M. Monge, "there are your dear
pupils become disciples of Loyola!" And on Monge's denial, "You deny it,"
answered the Emperor; "well, then, know that the private teacher of your
course is in that clique." Every one can understand that after such a remark,
Monge could not consent to being succeeded by M. Binet.
Having entered the academy, young, ardent, and impassioned, I took much
greater part in the nominations than may have been suitable for my position
and my time of life. Arrived at an epoch of life whence I examine
retrospectively all my actions with calmness and impartiality, I can render
this amount of justice to myself, that, excepting in three or four instances,
my vote and interest were always in favour of the most deserving candidate,
and more than once I succeeded in preventing the Academy from making a
deplorable choice. Who could blame me for having maintained with energy
the election of Malus, considering that his competitor, M. Girard, unknown
as a physicist, obtained twenty-two votes out of fifty-three, and that an
addition of five votes would have given him the victory over the savant who
had just discovered the phenomenon of polarization by reflection, over the
savant whom Europe would have named by acclamation? The same
remarks are applicable to the nomination of Poisson, who would have failed
against this same M. Girard if four votes had been otherwise given. Does
not this suffice to justify the unusual ardour of my conduct? Although in a
third trial the majority of the Academy was decided in favour of the same

engineer, I cannot regret that I supported up to the last moment with
conviction and warmth the election of his competitor, M. Dulong.
I do not suppose that, in the scientific world, any one will he disposed to
blame me for having preferred M. Liouville to M. de Pontécoulant.
Sometimes it happened that the Government wished to influence the choice
of the Academy; with a strong sense of my rights I invariably resisted all
dictation. Once this resistance acted unfortunately on one of my friends—
the venerable Legendre; as to myself, I had prepared myself beforehand for
all the persecutions of which I could be made the object. Having received
from the Minister of the Interior an invitation to vote for M. Binet against
M. Navier on the occurrence of a vacant place in the section of mechanics,
Legendre nobly answered that he would vote according to his soul and his
conscience. He was immediately deprived of a pension which his great age
and his long services rendered due to him. The protégé of the authorities
failed; and, at the time, this result was attributed to the activity with which I
enlightened the members of the Academy as to the impropriety of the
Minister's proceedings.
On another occasion the King wished the Academy to name Dupuytren, the
eminent surgeon, but whose character at the time lay under grave
imputations. Dupuytren was nominated, but several blanks protested against
the interference of the authorities in academic elections.
I said above that I had saved the Academy from some deplorable choices; I
will only cite a single instance, on which occasion I had the sorrow of
finding myself in opposition to M. de Laplace. The illustrious geometer
wished a vacant place in the astronomical section to be granted to M.
Nicollet,—a man without talent, and, moreover, suspected of misdeeds
which reflected on his honour in the most serious degree. At the close of a
contest, which I maintained undisguisedly, notwithstanding the danger
which might follow from thus braving the powerful protectors of M.
Nicollet, the Academy proceeded to the ballot; the respected M. Damoiseau,
whose election I had supported, obtained forty-five votes out of forty-eight.
Thus M. Nicollet had collected but three.
"I see," said M. de Laplace to me, "that it is useless to struggle against
young people; I acknowledge that the man who is called the great elector of

the Academy is more powerful than I am."
"No," replied I; "M. Arago can only succeed in counterbalancing the
opinion justly preponderating for M. de Laplace, when the right is found to
be without possible contradiction on his side."
A short time afterwards M. Nicollet had run away to America, and the
Bureau of Longitude had a warrant passed to expel him ignominiously from
its bosom.
I would warn those savans, who, having early entered the Academy, might
be tempted to imitate my example, to expect nothing beyond the
satisfaction of their conscience. I warn them, with a knowledge of the case,
that gratitude will almost always be found wanting.
The elected academician, whose merits you have sometimes exalted beyond
measure, pretends that you have done no more than justice to him; that you
have only fulfilled a duty, and that he therefore owes you no thanks.
Delambre died the 19th August, 1822. After the necessary delay, they
proceeded to fill his place. The situation of Perpetual Secretary is not one
which can long be left vacant. The Academy named a commission to
present it with candidates; it was composed of Messrs. de Laplace, Arago,
Legendre, Rossel, Prony, and Lacroix. The list presented was composed of
the names of Messrs. Biot, Fourier, and Arago. It is not necessary for me to
say with what obstinacy I opposed the inscription of my name on this list; I
was compelled to give way to the will of my colleagues, but I seized the
first opportunity of declaring publicly that I had neither the expectation nor
the wish to obtain a single vote; that, moreover, I had on my hands already
as much work as I could get through; that in this respect M. Biot was in the
same position; and that, in short, I should vote for the nomination of M.
Fourier.
It was supposed, but I dare not flatter myself that it was the fact, that my
declaration exercised a certain influence on the result of the ballot. The
result was as follows: M. Fourier received thirty-eight votes, and M. Biot
ten. In a case of this nature each man carefully conceals his vote, in order
not to run the risk of future disagreement with him who may be invested
with the authority which the Academy gives to the perpetual secretary. I do

not know whether I shall be pardoned if I recount an incident which amused
the Academy at the time.
M. de Laplace, at the moment of voting, took two plain pieces of paper; his
neighbour was guilty of the indiscretion of looking, and saw distinctly that
the illustrious geometer wrote the name of Fourier on both of them. After
quietly folding them up, M. de Laplace put the papers into his hat, shook it,
and said to this same curious neighbour: "You see, I have written two
papers; I am going to tear up one, I shall put the other into the urn; I shall
thus be myself ignorant for which of the two candidates I have voted."
All went on as the celebrated academician had said; only that every one
knew with certainty that his vote had been for Fourier; and "the calculation
of probabilities" was in no way necessary for arriving at this result.
After having fulfilled the duties of secretary with much distinction, but not
without some feebleness and negligence in consequence of his bad health,
Fourier died the 16th of May, 1830. I declined several times the honour
which the Academy appeared willing to do me, in naming me to succeed
him. I believed, without false modesty, that I had not the qualities necessary
to fill this important place suitably. When thirty-nine out of forty-four
voters had appointed me, it was quite time that I should give in to an
opinion so flattering and so plainly expressed. On the 7th of June, 1830, I,
therefore, became perpetual secretary of the Academy for the Mathematical
Sciences; but, conformably to the plea of an accumulation of offices, which
I had used as an argument to support, in November, 1822, the election of M.
Fournier, I declared that I should give in my resignation of the
Professorship in the Polytechnic School. Neither the solicitations of
Marshal Soult, the Minister of War, nor those of the most eminent members
of the Academy, could avail in persuading me to renounce this resolution.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] With such precocious heroism it is by no means so clear that the author
might not have had a hand in the revolution, from which he endeavours
above to exculpate himself.
[2] Méchain, member of the Academy of Sciences and of the Institute, was
charged in 1792 with the prolongation of the measure of the arc of the
meridian in Spain as far as Barcelona.
During his operations in the Pyrenees, in 1794, he had known my father,
who was one of the administrators of the department of the Eastern
Pyrenees. Later, in 1803, when the question was agitated as to the
continuation of the measure of the meridian line as far as the Balearic
Islands, M. Méchain went again to Perpignan, and came to pay my father a
visit. As I was about setting off to undergo the examination for admission at
the Polytechnic School, my father ventured to ask him whether he could not
recommend me to M. Monge. "Willingly," answered he; "but, with the
frankness which is my characteristic, I ought not to leave you unaware that
it appears to me improbable that your son, left to himself, can have rendered
himself completely master of the subjects of which the programme consists.
If, however, he be admitted, let him be destined for the artillery, or for the
engineers; the career of the sciences, of which you have talked to me, is
really too difficult to go through, and unless he had a special calling for it,
your son would only find it deceptive." Anticipating a little the order of
dates, let us compare this advice with what occurred: I went to Toulouse,
underwent the examination, and was admitted; one year and a half
afterwards I filled the situation of secretary at the Observatory, which had
become vacant by the resignation of M. Méchain's son; one year and a half
later, that is to say, four years after the Perpignan "horoscope," associated
with M. Biot, I filled the place, in Spain, of the celebrated academician who
had died there, a victim to his labours.
[3] This appears to be an oversight, as in a preceding page M. Arago
described the fortunate release of Captain Krog from this captivity.

[4] On my return to Paris I hastened to the Jardin des Plantes to pay a visit
to the lion, but he received me with a very unamiable gnashing of the teeth.
Think then of the marvellous history of the Florentine lion, the subject of so
many engravings, which is offered on the stall of every printseller to the
eyes of the moved and astonished passers-by.
[5] An "épileur" is a person who removes superfluous hairs. We have been
unable to ascertain what office of this kind is performed in Mohammedan
funerals.

BAILLY.
BIOGRAPHY READ AT THE PUBLIC SITTING OF THE
ACADEMY OF SCIENCES, THE 26TH OF FEBRUARY,
1844.

INTRODUCTION.

Gentlemen,—The learned man, illustrious in so many ways, whose life I am
going to relate, was taken from France half a century ago. I hasten to make
this remark, so as thoroughly to show that I have selected this subject
without being deterred by complaints which I look upon as unjust and
inapplicable. The glory of the members of the early Academy of Sciences is
an inheritance for the present Academy. We must cherish it as we would the
glory of later days; we must hallow it with the same respect, we must
devote to it the same worship: the word prescription would here be
synonymous with ingratitude.
If it had happened, Gentlemen, that amongst the academicians who
preceded us, a man, already illustrious by his labours, and, without personal
ambition, yet thrown, despite himself, into the midst of a terrible revolution,
exposed to a thousand unrestrained passions, had cruelly disappeared in the
political effervescence—oh! then, any negligence, any delay in studying the
facts would be inexcusable; the honourable contemporaries of the victim
would soon be no longer there to shed the light of their honest and impartial
memory on obscure events; an existence devoted to the cultivation of
reason and of truth would come to be appreciated only from documents, on
which, for my part, I would not blindly draw, until it shall be proved that, in
revolutionary times, we can trust to the uprightness of parties.
I felt in duty bound, Gentlemen, to give you a sketch of the ideas that have
led me to present to you a detailed account of the life and labours of a

member of the early Academy of Sciences. The biographies which will soon
follow this, will show that the studies I have undertaken respecting Carnot,
Condorcet, and Bailly, have not prevented me from attending seriously to
our illustrious contemporaries.
To render them a loyal and truthful homage, is the first duty of the
secretaries of the Academy, and I will religiously fulfil it; without binding
myself, however, to observe a strict chronological order, or to follow the
civil registers step by step.
Eulogies, said an ancient authority, should be deferred until we have lost the
true measure of the dead. Then we could make giants of them without any
one opposing us. On the contrary, I am of opinion that biographers,
especially those of academicians, ought to make all possible haste, so that
every one may be represented according to his true measure, and that well-
informed people may have the opportunity of rectifying the mistakes which,
notwithstanding every care, almost inevitably slip into this sort of
composition. I regret that our former secretaries did not adopt this rule. By
deferring from year to year to analyze the scientific and political life of
Bailly with their scruples, and with their usual talents, they allowed time for
inconsiderateness, prejudice, and passions of every kind, to impregnate our
minds with a multitude of serious errors, which have added considerably to
the difficulty of my task. When I was led to form very different opinions
from those that are found spread through some of the most celebrated
works, on the events of the great revolution of 1789, in which our fellow-
academician took an active part, I could not be so conceited as to expect to
be believed on my own word. To propound my opinions then was
insufficient; I had also to combat those of the historians with whom I
differed. This necessity has given to the biography that I am going to read
an unusual length. I solicit the kind sympathy of the assembly on this point.
I hope to obtain it, I acknowledge, when I consider that my task is to
analyze before you the scientific and literary claims of an illustrious
colleague, to depict the uniformly noble and patriotic conduct of the first
President of the National Assembly; to follow the first Mayor of Paris in all
the acts of an administration, the difficulties of which appeared to be above
human strength; to accompany the virtuous magistrate to the very scaffold,
to unroll the mournful phases of the cruel martyrdom that he was made to

undergo; to retrace, in a word, some of the greatest, some of the most
terrible events of the French Revolution.

INFANCY OF BAILLY.—HIS YOUTH.—HIS LITERARY
ESSAYS.—HIS MATHEMATICAL STUDIES.

John Sylvain Bailly was born at Paris in 1736. His parents were James
Bailly and Cecilia Guichon.
The father of the future astronomer had charge of the king's pictures. This
post had continued in the obscure but honest family of Bailly for upwards
of a century.
Sylvain, while young, never quitted his paternal home. His mother would
not be separated from him; it was not that she could give him the instruction
required from masters in childhood, but a tenderness, allowed to run to the
utmost extreme, entirely blinded her. Bailly then formed his own mind,
under the eye of his parents. Nothing could be better, it seemed, than the
boyhood of our brother academician, to verify the oft-repeated theory,
touching the influence of imitation on the development of our faculties.
Here, the result, attentively examined, would not by a great deal agree with
the old hypothesis. I know not but, every thing considered, whether it would
rather furnish powerful weapons to whoever would wish to maintain that, in
its early habits, childhood rather seeks for contrasts.
James Bailly had an idle and light character; whilst young Sylvain from the
beginning showed strong reasoning powers, and a passion for study.
The grown man felt in his own element while in noisy gayety.
But the boy loved retirement.
To the father, solitude would have been fatal; for to him life consisted in
motion, sallies, witty conversations, free and easy parties, the little gay
suppers of those days.

The son, on the contrary, would remain alone and quite silent for whole
days. His mind sufficed to itself; he never sought the fellowship of
companions of his own age. Extreme steadiness was at once his habit and
his taste.
The warder of the king's pictures drew remarkably well, but did not appear
to have troubled himself much with the principles of art.
His son Sylvain studied those principles deeply, and to some purpose; he
became a theoretic artist of the first class, but he never could either draw or
paint even moderately well.
There are few young people who would not, at some time or other, have
wished to escape from the scrutinizing eyes of their parents. The contrary
was the case in Bailly's family, for James used sometimes to say to his
friends or to his servants, "Do not mention this peccadillo to my son.
Sylvain is worth more than I am; his morals are very strict. Under the most
respectful exterior, I should perceive in his manner a censure which would
grieve me. I wish to avoid his tacit reproaches, even when he does not say a
word."
The two characters resembled each other only in one point—in their taste
for poetry, or perhaps we ought to say versification, but even here we shall
perceive differences.
The father composed songs, little interludes, and farces that were acted at
the Italian Comedy; but the son commenced at the age of sixteen by a
serious work of time,—a tragedy.
This tragedy was entitled Clothaire. The subject, drawn from the early
centuries of the French History, had led Bailly by a curious and touching
coincidence to relate the tortures inflicted on a Mayor of Paris by a deluded
and barbarous multitude. The work was modestly submitted to the actor
Lanoue, who, although he bestowed flattering encouragement on Bailly,
dissuaded him frankly from exposing Clothaire to the risk of a public
representation. On the advice of the comedian-author, the young poet took
Iphygenia in Tauris for the subject of his second composition. Such was his
ardour, that by the end of three months, he had already written the last line
of the fifth act of his new tragedy, and hastened to Passy, to solicit the

opinion of the author of Mahomet II. This time Lanoue thought he
perceived that his confiding young friend was not intended by nature for the
drama, and he declared it to him without disguise. Bailly heard the fatal
sentence with more resignation than could have been expected from a youth
whose budding self-esteem received so violent a shock. He even threw his
two tragedies immediately into the fire. Under similar circumstances,
Fontenelle showed less docility in his youth. If the tragedy of Aspar also
disappeared in the flames, it was not only in consequence of the criticism of
a friend; for the author went so far as to call forth the noisy judgment of the
pit.
Certainly no astronomer will regret that any opinions either off-hand or well
digested, on the first literary productions of Bailly, contributed to throw him
into the pursuit of science. Still, for the sake of principle, it seems just to
protest against the praises given to the foresight of Lanoue, to the sureness
of his judgment, to the excellence of his advice. What was it in fact? A lad
of sixteen or seventeen years of age, composes two tolerable tragedies, and
these essays are made irrevocably to decide on his future fate. We have then
forgotten that Racine had already reached the age of twenty-two, when he
first appeared, producing Theagenes and Charicles, and the Inimical
Brothers; that Crébillon was nearly forty years of age when he composed a
tragedy on The Death of the Sons of Brutus, of which not a single verse has
been preserved; finally, that the two first comedies of Molière, The three
rival Doctors and The Schoolmaster, are no longer known but by their
titles. Let us recall to mind that reflection of Voltaire's: "It is very difficult
to succeed before the age of thirty in a branch of literature that requires a
knowledge of the world and of the human heart."
A happy chance showed that the sciences might open an honourable and
glorious path to the discouraged poet. M. de Moncaville offered to teach
him mathematics, in exchange for drawing-lessons that his son received
from the warder of the king's pictures. The proposal being accepted, the
progress of Sylvain Bailly in these studies was rapid and brilliant.

BAILLY BECOMES THE PUPIL OF LACAILLE.—HE IS
ASSOCIATED WITH HIM IN HIS ASTRONOMICAL
LABOURS.

The mathematical student soon after had one of those providential meetings
which decide a young man's future fate. Mademoiselle Lejeuneux cultivated
painting. It was at the house of this female artist, known afterwards as
Madame La Chenaye, that Lacaille saw Bailly. The attentive, serious, and
modest demeanour of the student charmed the great astronomer. He showed
it in a most unequivocal manner, by offering, though so avaricious of his
time, to become the guide of the future observer, and also to put him in
communication with Clairaut.
It is said that from his first intercourse with Lacaille, Bailly showed a
decided vocation for astronomy. This fact appears to me incontestable. At
his first appearance in this line, I find him associated in the most laborious,
difficult, and tiresome investigations of that great observer.
These epithets may perhaps appear extraordinary; but they will be so only
to those who have learnt the science of the stars in ancient poems, either in
verse or in prose.
The Chaldæans, luxuriously reclining on the perfumed terraced roofs of
their houses in Babylon, under a constantly azure sky, followed with their
eyes the general and majestic movements of the starry sphere; they
ascertained the respective displacements of the planets, the moon, the sun;
they noted the date and hour of eclipses; they sought out whether simple
periods would not enable them to foretell these magnificent phenomena a
long time beforehand. Thus the Chaldæans created, if I may be allowed the
expression, Contemplative Astronomy. Their observations were neither
numerous nor exact; they both made and discussed them without labour and
without trouble.
Such is not, by a great deal, the position of modern astronomers. Science
has felt the necessity of the celestial motions being studied in their minutest
details. Theories must explain these details; it is their touchstone; it is by
details that theories become confirmed or fall to the ground. Besides, in
Astronomy, the most important truths, the most astonishing results, are

based on the measurement of quantities of extreme minuteness. Such
measures, the present bases of the science, require very fatiguing attention,
infinite care, to which no learned man would bind himself, were he not
sustained, and encouraged by the hope of attaining some capital
determination, through an ardent and decided devotion to the subject.
The modern astronomer, really worthy of the name, must renounce the
distractions of society, and even the refreshment of uninterrupted sleep. In
our climates during the inclement season, the sky is almost constantly
overspread by a thick curtain of clouds. Under pain of postponing by some
centuries the verification of this or that theoretic point, we must watch the
least clearing off, and avail ourselves of it without delay.
A favourable wind arises and dissipates the vapours in the very direction
where some important phenomenon will manifest itself, and is to last only a
few seconds. The astronomer, exposed to all the transitions of weather, (it is
one of the conditions of accuracy,) the body painfully bent, directs the
telescope of a great graduated circle in haste upon the star that he
impatiently awaits. His lines for measuring are a spider's threads. If in
looking he makes a mistake of half the thickness of one of these threads, the
observation is good for nothing; judge what his uneasiness must be; at the
critical moment, a puff of wind occasioning a vibration in the artificial light
adapted to his telescope, the threads become almost invisible; the star itself,
whose rays reach the eye through atmospheric strata of various density,
temperature, and refrangibility, will appear to oscillate so much as to render
the true position of it almost unassignable; at the very moment when
extremely good definition of the object becomes indispensable to insure
correctness of measures, all becomes confused, either because the eye-piece
gets steamed with vapour, or that the vicinity of the very cold metal
occasions an abundant secretion of tears in the eye applied to the telescope;
the poor observer is then exposed to the alternative of abandoning to some
other more fortunate person than himself, the ascertaining a phenomenon
that will not recur during his lifetime, or introducing into the science results
of problematical correctness. Finally, to complete the observation, he must
read off the microscopical divisions of the graduated circle, and for what
opticians call indolent vision (the only sort that the ancients ever required)
must substitute strained vision, which in a few years brings on blindness.[6]

When he has scarcely escaped from this physical and moral torture, and the
astronomer wishes to know what degree of utility is deducible from his
labours, he is obliged to plunge into numerical calculations of repelling
length and intricacy. Some observations that have been made in less than a
minute, require a whole day's work in order to be compared with the tables.
Such was the view that Lacaille, without any softening, exhibited to his
young friend; such was the profession into which the adolescent poet
plunged with great ardour, and without having been at all prepared for the
transition.
A useful calculation constituted the first claim of our tyro to the attention of
the learned world.
The year 1759 had been marked by one of those great events, the memory
of which is religiously preserved in scientific history. A comet, that of 1682,
had returned at the epoch foretold by Clairaut, and very nearly in the region
that mathematical analysis had indicated to him. This reappearance raised
comets out of the category of sublunary meteors; it gave them definitely
closed curves as orbits, instead of parabolas, or even mere straight lines;
attraction confined them within its immense domain; in short, these bodies
ceased for ever to be liable to superstition regarding them as prognostics.
The stringency, the importance of these results, would naturally increase in
proportion as the resemblance between the announced orbit and the real
orbit became more evident.
This was the motive that determined so many astronomers to calculate the
orbit of the comet minutely, from the observations made in 1759,
throughout Europe. Bailly was one of those zealous calculators. In the
present day, such a labour would scarcely deserve special mention; but we
must remark that the methods at the close of the eighteenth century were far
from being so perfect as those that are now in use, and that they greatly
depended on the personal ability of the individual who undertook them.
Bailly resided in the Louvre. Being determined to make the theory and
practice of astronomy advance together, he had an observatory established
from the year 1760, at one of the windows in the upper story of the south
gallery. Perhaps I may occasion surprise by giving the pompous name of

Observatory to the space occupied by a window, and the small number of
instruments that it could contain. I admit this feeling, provided it be
extended to the Royal Observatory of the epoch, to the old imposing and
severe mass of stone that attracts the attention of the promenaders in the
great walk of the Luxembourg. There also, the astronomers were obliged to
stand in the hollow of the windows; there also they said, like Bailly: I
cannot verify my quadrants either by the horizon or by the zenith, for I can
neither see the horizon nor the zenith. This ought to be known, even if it
should disturb the wild reveries of two or three writers, who have no
scientific authority: France did not possess an observatory worthy of her,
nor worthy of the science, and capable of rivalling the other observatories
of Europe, until within these ten or twelve years.
The earliest observations made by Bailly, from one of the windows in the
upper story of the Louvre gallery that looks out on the Pont des Arts, are
dated in the beginning of 1760. The pupil of Lacaille was not yet twenty-
four years old. Those observations relate to an opposition of the planet
Mars. In the same year he determined the oppositions of Jupiter and of
Saturn, and compared the results of his own determinations with the tables.
The subsequent year I see him associated with Lacaille in observing the
transit of Venus over the sun's disk. It was an extraordinary piece of good
fortune, Gentlemen, at the very commencement of his scientific life, to
witness in succession two of the most interesting astronomical events: the
first predicted and well established return of a comet; and one of those
partial eclipses of the sun by Venus, that do not recur till after the lapse of a
hundred and ten years, and from which science has deduced the indirect but
exact method, without which we should still be ignorant of the fact that the
sun's mean distance from our earth is thirty-eight millions of leagues.
I shall have completed the enumeration of Bailly's astronomical labours
performed before he became an academician, when I have added, from
observations of the comet of 1762, the calculation of its parabolic orbit; the
discussion of forty-two observations of the moon by La Hire, a detailed
labour destined to serve as a starting point for any person occupying
himself with the lunar theory; finally, also the reduction of 515 zodiacal
stars, observed by Lacaille in 1760 and 1761.

FOOTNOTE:

[6] This long list of supposed difficulties in making an exact observation is
hardly worthy of a zealous astronomer. Our author shows no enthusiasm for
his subject here, and ends by ascribing the whole jeremiad to Lacaille, a
man of very great practical perseverance. It is to be regretted that Arago
never refers to observations of his own, but constantly quotes from others,
nor does he always select the best. —Translator's Note.

BAILLY A MEMBER OF THE ACADEMY OF SCIENCES.—
HIS RESEARCHES ON JUPITER'S SATELLITES.

Bailly was named member of the Academy of Sciences the 29th January,
1763. From that moment his astronomical zeal no longer knew any bounds.
The laborious life of our fellow-academician might, on occasion, be set up
against a line, more fanciful than true, by which an ill-natured poet
stigmatized academical honours. Certainly no one would say of Bailly, that
after his election,

"Il s'endormit et ne fit qu'un somme."

"He fell asleep and made but one nap (or sum)."

On the contrary, we cannot but be surprised at the multitude of literary and
scientific labours that he accomplished in a few years.
Bailly's earliest researches on Jupiter's satellites began in 1763.
The subject was happily chosen. Studying it in all its generalities, he
showed himself both an indefatigable computer, a clear-sighted geometer,
and an industrious and able observer. Bailly's researches on the satellites of
Jupiter, will always be his first and chief claim to scientific glory. Before
him, the Maraldis, the Bradleys, the Wargentins had discovered empirically
some of the principal perturbations that those bodies undergo, in their
revolving motions around the powerful planet that rules them; but they had

not been traced up to the principles of universal attraction. The initiative
honour in this respect belongs to Bailly. Nor is this honour decreased by the
ulterior and considerable improvements that the science has since received;
even the discoveries of Lagrange and of Laplace have left this honour
intact.
The knowledge of the satellitic motions rests almost entirely on the
observation of the precise moment when each of those bodies disappears,
by entering into the conical shadow, which the immense opaque globe of
Jupiter projects on the opposite side from the sun. In the course of
discussing a multitude of these eclipses, Bailly was not long in perceiving
that the computers of the Satellitic Tables worked on numerical data that
were not at all comparable with each other. This seemed of little
consequence previous to the birth of the theory; but, after the analytical
discovery of the perturbations, it became desirable to estimate the possible
errors of observation, and to suggest means for remedying them. This was
the object of the very considerable work that Bailly presented to the
Academy in 1771.
In this beautiful memoir, the illustrious astronomer developes the series of
experiments, by the aid of which each observation may give the instant of
the real disappearance of a satellite, distinguished from the instant of the
apparent disappearance, whatever be the power of the telescope used,
whatever be the altitude of the eclipsed body above the horizon, and
consequently, whatever be the transparency of the atmospheric strata
through which the phenomenon is observed, also whatever be the distance
from that body to the sun, or to the planet; finally, whatever be the
sensibility of the observer's sight, all which circumstances considerably
influence the time of apparent disappearance. The same series of ingenious
and delicate observations led the author, very curiously, to the
determination of the true diameters of the satellites, that is to say, of small
luminous points, which, with the telescopes then in use, showed no
perceptible diameter.
I will rest contented with these general considerations; only remarking, in
addition, that the diaphragms used by Bailly were not intended only to
diminish the quantity of light contributing to the formation of the images,

but that they considerably increase the diameter, and in a variable way, at
least in the instance of stars.
Under this new aspect, it will be requisite to submit the question to a new
examination.
Any geometers and astronomers who wish to know all the extent of Bailly's
labours, must not content themselves with consulting the collections in the
Academy of Sciences; for he published, at the beginning of 1766, a separate
work under the modest title of Essay on the Theory of Jupiter's Satellites.
The author commences with the Astronomical History of the Satellites. This
history contains an almost complete analysis of the discoveries by Maraldi,
by Bradley, by Wargentin. The labours of Galileo and his contemporaries
are given with less detail and exactness. I have thought that I ought to fill
up the lacunæ, by availing myself of some very precious documents
published a few years since, and which were unknown to Bailly.
But this I will do in a separate notice, free from all preconceived ideas, and
free from all party spirit; I will not forget that an honest man ought not to
calumniate any one, not even the agents of the Inquisition.

BAILLY'S LITERARY WORKS.—HIS BIOGRAPHIES OF
CHARLES V.—OF LEIBNITZ—OF PETER CORNEILLE—
OF MOLIÈRE.

When Bailly entered the Academy of Sciences, the perpetual secretary was
Grandjean de Fouchy. The bad health of this estimable scholar occasioned
an early vacancy to be foreseen. D'Alembert cast his views on Bailly, hinted
to him the survivorship to Fouchy, and proposed to him, by way of
preparing the way, to write some biographies. Bailly followed the advice of
the illustrious geometer, and chose as the subject of his studies, the éloges
proposed by several academies, though principally by the French Academy.
From the year 1671 to the year 1758, the prize subjects proposed by the
French Academy related to questions of religion and morality. The

eloquence of the candidates had therefore had to exercise itself successively
on the knowledge of salvation; on the merit and dignity of martyrdom; on
the purity of the soul and of the body; on the danger there is in certain paths
that appear safe, &c. &c. It had even to paraphrase the Ave Maria.
According to the literal intentions of the founder, (Balzac,) each discourse
was ended by a short prayer. Duclos thought in 1758, that five or six
volumes of similar sermons must have exhausted the matter, and on his
proposal the Academy decided that, in future, it would give as the subject of
the eloquence prize, the eulogiums of the great men of the nation. Marshal
Saxe, Duguay Trouin, Sully, D'Aguesseau, Descartes, figured first on this
list. Later, the Academy felt itself authorized to propose the éloge of kings
themselves; it entered on this new branch at the beginning of 1767, by
asking for the éloge of Charles V.
Bailly entered the lists, but his essay obtained only an honourable mention.
Nothing is more instructive than to search out at what epoch originated the
principles and opinions of persons who have acted an important part on the
political scene, and how those opinions developed themselves. By a fatality
much to be regretted, the elements of these investigations are rarely
numerous or faithful. We shall not have to express these regrets relative to
Bailly. Each composition shows us the serene, candid, and virtuous mind of
the illustrious writer, in a new and true point of view. The éloge of Charles
V. was the starting point, followed by a long series of works, and it ought to
arrest our attention for a while.
The writings, crowned with the approbation of the French Academy, did not
reach the public eye till they had been submitted to the severe censure of
four Doctors in Theology. A special and digested approbation by the high
dignitaries of the Church, whom the illustrious assembly always possessed
among her members, was not a sufficient substitute for the humbling
formality. If we are sure that we possess the éloge of Charles V. such as it
flowed from the author's pen; if we have not reason to fear that the thoughts
have undergone some mutilation, we owe it to the little favour that the
discourse of Bailly enjoyed in the sitting of the Academy in 1767. Those
thoughts, however, would have defied the most squeamish mind, the most
shadowy susceptibility. The panegyrist unrolls with emotion the frightful
misfortunes that assailed France during the reign of King John. The

temerity, the improvidence of that monarch; the disgraceful passions of the
King of Navarre; his treacheries; the barbarous avidity of the nobility; the
seditious disposition of the people; the sanguinary depredations of the great
companies; the ever recurring insolence of England; all this is expressed
without disguise, yet with extreme moderation. No trait reveals, no fact
even foreshadows in the author, the future President of a reforming National
Assembly, still less the Mayor of Paris, during a revolutionary
effervescence. The author may make Charles V. say that he will discard
favour, and will call in renown to select his representatives; it will appear to
him that taxes ought to be laid on riches and spared on poverty; he may
even exclaim that oppression awakens ideas of equality. His temerity will
not overleap this boundary. Bossuet, Massillon, Bourdaloue, made the Chair
resound with bold words of another description.
I am far from blaming this scrupulous reserve; when moderation is united to
firmness, it becomes power. In a word, however, Bailly's patriotism might, I
was about to say ought to, have shown itself more susceptible, more ardent,
prouder. When in the elegant prosopopœia which closes the éloge, the King
of England has recalled with arrogance the fatal day of Poitiers, ought he
not instantly to have restrained that pride within just limits? ought he not to
have cast a hasty glance on the components of the Black Prince's army? to
examine whether a body of troops, starting from Bordeaux, recruiting in
Guienne, did not contain more Gascons than English? whether France, now
bounded by its natural limits, in its magnificent unity, would not have a
right, every thing being examined, to consider that battle almost as an event
of civil war? ought he not, in short, to have pointed out, in order to
corroborate his remarks, that the knight to whom King John surrendered
himself, Denys de Morbecque, was a French officer banished from Artois?
Self-reliance on the field of battle is the first requisite for obtaining success;
now, would not our self-reliance be shaken, if the men most likely to know
the facts, and to appreciate them wisely, appeared to think that the Frank
race were nationally inferior to other races who had peopled this or that
region, either neighbouring or distant? This, let it be well remarked, is not a
puerile susceptibility. Great events may, on a given day, depend on the
opinion that the nation has formed of itself. Our neighbours on the other
side of the Channel, afford examples on this subject that it would be well to
imitate.

In 1767, the Academy of Berlin proposed a prize for an éloge of Leibnitz.
The public was somewhat surprised at it. It was generally supposed that
Leibnitz had been admirably praised by Fontenelle, and that the subject was
exhausted. But from the moment that Bailly's essay, crowned in Prussia,
was published, former impressions were quite changed. Every one was
anxiously asserting that Bailly's appreciation of his subject might be read
with pleasure and benefit, even after Fontenelle's. The éloge composed by
the historian of Astronomy will not, certainly, make us forget that written by
the first Secretary of the Academy of Sciences. The style is, perhaps, too
stiff; perhaps it is also rather declamatory; but the biography, and the
analysis of his works, are more complete, especially if we consider the
notes; the universal Leibnitz is exhibited under more varied points of view.
In 1768, Bailly obtained the award of the prize of eloquence proposed by
the Academy of Rouen. The subject was the éloge of Peter Corneille. In
reading this work of our fellow-academician, we may be somewhat
surprised at the immense distance that the modest, the timid, the sensitive
Bailly puts between the great Corneille, his special favourite, and Racine.
When the French Academy, in 1768, proposed an éloge of Molière for
competition, our candidate was vanquished only by Chamfort. And yet, if
people had not since that time treated of the author of "Tartufe" to satiety,
perhaps I would venture to maintain, notwithstanding some inferiority of
style, that Bailly's discourse offered a neater, truer, and more philosophic
appreciation of the principal pieces of that immortal poet.

DEBATES RELATIVE TO THE POST OF PERPETUAL
SECRETARY OF THE ACADEMY OF SCIENCES.

We have seen D'Alembert, ever since the year 1763, encouraging Bailly to
exercise himself in a style of literary composition then much liked, the style
of éloge, and holding out to him in prospect the situation of Perpetual
Secretary of the Academy of Sciences. Six years after, the illustrious
geometer gave the same advice, and perhaps held out the same hopes, to the
young Marquis de Condorcet. This candidate, docile to the voice of his

protector, rapidly composed and published the éloges of the early founders
of the Academy, of Huyghens, of Mariotte, of Roëmer, &c.
At the beginning of 1773, the Perpetual Secretary, Grandjean de Fouchy,
requested that Condorcet should be nominated his successor, provided he
survived him. D'Alembert strongly supported this candidateship. Buffon
supported Bailly with equal energy; the Academy presented for some weeks
the aspect of two hostile camps. There was at last a strongly disputed
electoral battle; the result was the nomination of Condorcet.
I should regret if we had to judge of the sentiments of Bailly, after this
defeat, by those of his adherents. Their anger found vent in terms of
unpardonable asperity. They said that D'Alembert had "basely betrayed
friendship, honour, and the first principles of probity."
They here alluded to a promise of protection, support, coöperation, dating
ten years back. But was his promise absolute? Engaging himself personally
to Bailly for a situation that might not become vacant for ten or fifteen
years, had D'Alembert, contrary to his duty as an academician, declared
beforehand, that any other candidate, whatever might be his talents, would
be to him as not existing?
This is what ought to have been ascertained, before giving themselves up to
such violent and odious imputations.
Was it not quite natural that the geometer D'Alembert, having to pronounce
his opinion between two honourable learned men, gave the preference to
the candidate who seemed to him most imbued with the higher
mathematics? The éloges of Condorcet were, besides, by their style, much
more in harmony with those that the Academy had approved during three
quarters of a century. Before the declaration of the vacancy on the 27th of
February, 1773, D'Alembert said to Voltaire, relative to the recueil by
Condorcet, "Some one asked me the other day what I thought of that work.
I answered by writing on the frontispiece, 'Justice, propriety, learning,
clearness, precision, taste, elegance, and nobleness.'" And Voltaire wrote, on
the 1st of March, "I have read, while dying, the little book by M. de
Condorcet; it is as good in its departments as the éloges by Fontenelle.
There is a more noble and more modest philosophy in it, though bold."

And excitement in words and action could not be legitimately reproached in
a man who had felt himself supported by a conviction of such distinct and
powerful influence.
Among the éloges by Bailly, there is one, that of the Abbé de Lacaille,
which not having been written for a literary academy, shows no longer any
trace of inflation or declamation, and might, it seems to me, compete with
some of the best éloges by Condorcet. Yet, it is curious, that this excellent
biography contributed, perhaps as much as D'Alembert's opposition, to
make Bailly's claims fail. Vainly did the celebrated astronomer flatter
himself in his exordium, "that M. de Fouchy, who, as Secretary of the
Academy, had already paid his tribute to Lacaille, would not be displeased
at his having followed him in the same career ... that he would not be
blamed for repeating the praises due to an illustrious man."
Bailly, in fact, was not blamed aloud; but when the hour for retreat had
sounded in M. de Fouchy's ear, without any fuss, without showing himself
offended in his self-love, remaining apparently modest, this learned man, in
asking for an assistant, selected one who had not undertaken to repeat his
éloges; who had not found his biographies insufficient. This preference
ought not to be, and was not, uninfluential in the result of the competition.
Bailly, if Perpetual Secretary of the Academy, would have been obliged to
reside constantly at Paris. But Bailly, as member of the Astronomical
Section, might retire to the country, and thus escape those thieves of time,
as Byron called them, who especially abound in the metropolis. Bailly
settled at Chaillot. It was at Chaillot that our fellow-academician composed
his best works, those that will sail down the stream of time.
Nature had endowed Bailly with the most happy memory. He did not write
his discourses till he had completed them in his head. His first copy was
always a clean copy. Every morning Bailly started early from his humble
residence at Chaillot; he went to the Bois de Boulogne, and there, walking
for many hours at a time, his powerful mind elaborated, coördinated, and
robed in all the pomps of language, those high conceptions destined to
charm successive generations. Biographers inform us that Crébillon
composed in a similar way. And this was, according to several critics, the
cause of the incorrectness, of the asperity of style, which disfigure several

pieces by that tragic poet. The works of Bailly, and especially the discourses
that complete the History of Astronomy, invalidate this explanation. I could
also appeal to the elegant and pure productions of that poet whom France
has just lost and weeps for. No one indeed can be ignorant of his works;
Casimir Delavigne, like Bailly, never committed his verses to paper until he
had worked them up in his mind to that harmonious perfection which
procured for them the unanimous suffrages of all people of taste.
Gentlemen, pardon this reminiscence. The heart loves to connect such
names as those of Bailly and of Delavigne; those rare and glorious symbols,
in whom we find united talent, virtue, and an invariable patriotism.

HISTORY OF ASTRONOMY.—LETTERS ON THE
ATLANTIS OF PLATO AND ON THE ANCIENT HISTORY
OF ASIA.

In 1775, Bailly published a quarto volume, entitled History of Ancient
Astronomy, from its Origin up to the Establishment of the Alexandrian
School. An analogous work for the lapse of time, comprised between the
Alexandrian School and 1730, appeared in 1779, in two volumes. An
additional volume appeared three years later, entitled the History of Modern
Astronomy up to the Epoch of 1782. The fifth part of this immense
composition, the History of Indian Astronomy, was published in 1787.
When Bailly undertook this general history of Astronomy, the science
possessed nothing of the sort. Erudition had seized upon some special
questions, some detailed points, but no commanding view had presided
over these investigations.
Weidler's book, published in 1741, was a mere simple nomenclature of the
astronomers of every age, and of every country; the dates of their birth and
death; the titles of their works. The utility of this precise enumeration of
dates and titles did not alter the character of the book.
Bailly sketches the plan of his work with a masterly hand in a few lines; he
says, "It is interesting to transport one's self back to the times when

Astronomy began; to observe how discoveries were connected together,
how errors have got mixed up with truth, have delayed the knowledge of it,
and retarded its progress; and, after having followed the various epochs and
traversed every climate, finally to contemplate the edifice founded on the
labours of successive centuries and of various nations."
This vast plan essentially led to the minute discussion and comparison of a
multitude of passages both ancient and modern. If the author had mixed up
these discussions with the body of the work, he would have laboured for
astronomers only. If he had suppressed all discussions, the book would have
interested amateurs only. To avoid this double rock, Bailly decided on
writing a connected narrative with the quintessence of the facts, and to
place the proofs and the discussions of the merely conjectural parts, under
the appellation of explanations in separate chapters. Bailly's History,
without forfeiting the character of a serious and erudite work, became
accessible to the public in general, and contributed to disseminate accurate
notions of Astronomy both among literary men and among general society.
When Bailly declared, in the beginning of his book, that he would go back
to the very commencement of Astronomy, the reader might expect some
pages of pure imagination. I know not, however, whether any body would
have expected a chapter of the first volume to be entitled, Of Antediluvian
Astronomy.
The principal conclusion to which Bailly comes, after an attentive
examination of all the positive ideas that antiquity has bequeathed to us is,
that we find rather the ruins than the elements of a science in the most
ancient Astronomy of Chaldæa, of India, and of China.
After treating of certain ideas of Pluche, Bailly says, "The country of
possibilities is immense, and although truth is contained therein, it is not
often easy to distinguish it."
Words so reasonable would authorize me to inquire whether the calculations
of our fellow-labourer, intended to establish the immense antiquity of the
Indian Tables, are beyond all criticism. But the question has been
sufficiently discussed in a passage of The Exposition of the System of the
World, on which it would be useless to insist here. Whatever came from the
pen of M. de Laplace was always marked by the stamp of reason and of

evidence. In the first lines of his magnificent work, after having remarked
that "the history of Astronomy forms an essential part of the history of the
human mind," Bailly observes, "that it is perhaps the true measure of man's
intelligence, and a proof of what he can do with time and genius." I shall
allow myself to add, that no study offers to reflecting minds more striking
or more curious relations.
When by measurements, in which the evidence of the method advances
equally with the precision of the results, the volume of the earth is reduced
to the millionth part of the volume of the sun; when the sun himself,
transported to the region of the stars, takes up a very modest place among
the thousands of millions of those bodies that the telescope has revealed to
us; when the 38,000,000 of leagues which separate the earth from the sun,
have become, by reason of their comparative smallness, a base totally
insufficient for ascertaining the dimensions of the visible universe; when
even the swiftness of the luminous rays (77,000 leagues per second) barely
suffices for the common valuations of science; when, in short, by a chain of
irresistible proofs, certain stars have retired to distances that light could not
traverse in less than a million of years; we feel as if annihilated by such
immensities. In assigning to man, and to the planet that he inhabits, so small
a position in the material world, Astronomy seems really to have made
progress only to humble us.
But if, on the other hand, we regard the subject from the opposite point of
view, and reflect on the extreme feebleness of the natural means by the help
of which so many great problems have been attacked and solved; if we
consider that to obtain and measure the greater part of the quantities now
forming the basis of astronomical computation, man has had greatly to
improve the most delicate of his organs, to add immensely to the power of
his eye; if we remark that it was not less requisite for him to discover
methods adapted to measuring very long intervals of time, up to the
precision of tenths of seconds; to combat against the most microscopic
effects that constant variations of temperature produce in metals, and
therefore in all instruments; to guard against the innumerable illusions that a
cold or hot atmosphere, dry or humid, tranquil or agitated, impresses on the
medium through which the observations have inevitably to be made; the
feeble being resumes all his advantage; by the side of such wonderful
labours of the mind, what signifies the weakness, the fragility of our body;

what signify the dimensions of the planet, our residence, the grain of sand
on which it has happened to us to appear for a few moments!
The thousands of questions on which Astronomy has thrown its dazzling
light belong to two entirely distinct categories; some offered themselves
naturally to the mind, and man had only to seek the means for solving them;
others, according to the beautiful expression of Pliny, were enveloped in the
majesty of nature! When Bailly lays down in his book these two kinds of
problems, it is with the firmness, the depth, of a consummate astronomer;
and when he shows their importance, their immensity, it is always with the
talent of a writer of the highest order; it is sometimes with a bewitching
eloquence. If in the beautiful work we are alluding to, Astronomy
unavoidably assigns to man an imperceptible place in the material world,
she assigns him, on the other hand, a vast share in the intellectual world.
The writings which, supported by the invincible deductions of science, thus
elevate man in his own eyes, will find grateful readers in all climes and
times.
In 1775, Bailly sent the first volume of his history to Voltaire. In thanking
him for his present, the illustrious old man addressed to the author one of
those letters that he alone could write, in which flattering and enlivening
sentences were combined without effort with high reasoning powers. "I
have many thanks to return you, (said the Patriarch of Ferney,) for having
on the same day received a large book on medicine and yours, while I was
still ill; I have not opened the first, I have already read the second almost
entirely, and feel better."
Voltaire, indeed, had read Bailly's work pen in hand, and he proposed to the
illustrious astronomer some queries, which proved both his infinite
perspicacity, and wonderful variety of knowledge. Bailly then felt the
necessity of developing some ideas which in his History of Ancient
Astronomy were only accessories to his principal subject. This was the
object of the volume that he published in 1776, under the title of Letters on
the Origin of the Sciences and of the People of Asia, addressed to M. de
Voltaire. The author modestly announced that "to lead the reader by the
interest of the style to the interest of the question discussed," he would
place at the head of his work three letters from the author of Merope, and he
protested against the idea that he had been induced to play with paradoxes.

According to Bailly, the present nations of Asia are heirs of an anterior
people, who understood Astronomy perfectly. Those Chinese, those
Hindoos, so renowned for their learning, would thus have been mere
depositaries; we should have to deprive them of the title of inventors.
Certain astronomical facts, found in the annals of those southern nations,
appear to have belonged to a higher latitude. By these means we discover
the true site on the globe of the primitive people, proving against the
received opinion that learning came southward from the north.
Bailly also found that the ancient fables, considered physically, appeared to
belong to the northern regions of the earth.
In 1779, Bailly published a second collection, forming a sequel to the
former, and entitled Letters on the Atlantis of Plato, and on the Ancient
History of Asia.
Voltaire died before these new letters could be communicated to him. Bailly
did not think that this circumstance ought to make him change the form of
the discussion already employed in the former series; it is still Voltaire
whom he addresses.
The philosopher of Ferney thought it strange that there should be no
knowledge of this ancient people, who, according to Bailly, had instructed
the Indians. To answer this difficulty, the celebrated astronomer undertakes
to prove that some nations have disappeared, without their existence being
known to us by any thing beyond tradition. He cites five of these, and in the
first rank the Atlantidæ.
Aristotle said that he thought Atlantis was a fiction of Plato's: "He who
created it also destroyed it, like the walls that Homer built on the shores of
Troy, and then made them disappear." Bailly does not join in this
skepticism. According to him, Plato spoke seriously to the Athenians of a
learned, polished people, but destroyed and forgotten. Only, he totally
repudiates the idea of the Canaries being the remains of the ancient country
of the Atlantidæ, and now engulfed. Bailly rather places that nation at
Spitzbergen, Greenland, or Nova Zembla, whose climate may have
changed. We should also have to seek for the Garden of the Hesperides near
the Pole; in short, the fable of the Phœnix may have arisen in the Gulf of the

Obi, in a region where we must suppose the sun to have been annually
absent during sixty-five days.
It is evident, in many passages, that Bailly is himself surprised at the
singularity of his own conclusions, and fears that his readers may rather
regard them as jokes. He therefore exclaims, "My pen would not find
expressions for thoughts which I did not believe to be true." Let us add that
no effort is painful to him. Bailly calls successively to his aid astronomy,
history, supported by vast erudition, philology, the systems of Mairan, of
Buffon, relatively to the heat appertaining to the earth. He does not forget,
using his own words, "that in the human species, still more sensitive than
curious, more anxious for pleasure than for instruction, nothing pleases
generally, or for a long time, unless the style is agreeable; that dry truth is
killed by ennui!" Yet Bailly makes few proselytes; and a species of instinct
determines men of science to despise the fruits of so persevering a labour;
and D'Alembert goes so far as to tax them with poverty, even with hollow
ideas, with vain and ridiculous efforts; he goes so far as to call Bailly,
relatively to his letters, the illuminated brother. Voltaire is, on the contrary,
very polite and very academical in his communications with our author. The
renown of the Brahmins is dear to him; yet this does not prevent his
discussing closely the proofs, the arguments of the ingenious astronomer.
We could also now enter into a serious discussion. The mysterious veil that
in Bailly's time covered the East, is in great part raised. We now know the
Astronomy of the Chinese and the Hindoos in all its detail. We know up to
what point the latter had carried their mathematical knowledge. The theory
of central heat has in a few years made an unhoped-for progress; in short,
comparative philology, prodigiously extended by the invaluable labours of
Sacy, Rémusat, Quatremère, Burnouf, and Stanislaus Julien, have thrown
strong lights on some historical and geographical questions, where there
reigned before a profound darkness. Armed with all these new means of
investigation, it might easily be established that the systems relative to an
ancient unknown people, first creator of all the sciences, and relative to the
Atlantidæ, rest on foundations devoid of solidity. Yet, if Bailly still lived,
we should be only just in saying to him, as Voltaire did, merely changing
the tense of a verb, "Your two books were, Sir, treasures of the most
profound erudition and the most ingenious conjectures, adorned with an
eloquence of style, which is always suitable to the subject."

FIRST INTERVIEW OF BAILLY WITH FRANKLIN.—HIS
ENTRANCE INTO THE FRENCH ACADEMY IN 1783.—
HIS RECEPTION.—DISCOURSE.—HIS RUPTURE WITH
BUFFON.

Bailly became the particular and intimate friend of Franklin at the end of
1777. The personal acquaintance of these two distinguished men began in
the strangest manner.
One of the most illustrious members of the Institute, Volney, on returning
from the New World, said: "The Anglo-Americans tax the French with
lightness, with indiscretion, with chattering." (Volney, preface to The Table
of the Climate of the United States.) Such is the impression, in my opinion
very erroneous, at least by comparison, under which the Ambassador
Franklin arrived in France. All the world knows that he halted at Chaillot.
As an inhabitant of the Commune, Bailly thought it his duty to visit without
delay the illustrious guest thus received. He was announced, and Franklin,
knowing him by reputation, welcomed him very cordially, and exchanged
with his visitor the eight or ten words usual on such occasions. Bailly seated
himself by the American philosopher, and discreetly awaited some question
to be put to him. Half an hour passed, and Franklin had not opened his
mouth. Bailly drew out his snuff-box, and presented it to his neighbour
without a word; the traveller signed with his hand that he did not take snuff.
The dumb interview was then prolonged during a whole hour. Bailly finally
rose. Then Franklin, as if delighted to have found a Frenchman who could
remain silent, extended his hand to him, pressed his visitor's affectionately,
exclaiming: "Very well, Monsr. Bailly, very well!"
After having recounted the anecdote as our academician used amusingly to
relate it, I really fear being asked how I look upon it. Well, Gentlemen,
whenever this question may be put to me, I shall answer that Bailly and
Franklin discussing together some scientific question from the moment of
their meeting, would have appeared to me much more worthy of each other,
than the two actors of the scene at Chaillot. I will, moreover, grant that we
may draw the following inference,—that even men of genius are liable to

cross humours; but I must at the same time add that the example is not
dangerous, dumbness not being an efficacious method of making one's self
valued, or of distinguishing ourselves to advantage.
Bailly was nominated member of the French Academy in the place of M. de
Tressan, in November, 1783. The same day, M. de Choiseul Gouffier
succeeded to D'Alembert. Thanks to the coincidence of the two
nominations, Bailly escaped the sarcasms which the expectant academicians
never fail to pour out, with or without reason, against those who have
obtained a double crown. This time they vented their spleen exclusively on
the great man, thus enabling the astronomer to take possession of his new
dignity without raising the usual storm. Let us carefully collect, Gentlemen,
from the early years of our academician's life, all that may appear an
anticipated compensation for the cruel trials that we shall have to relate in
the sequel.
The admission of the eloquent author of the History of Astronomy into the
Academy, was more difficult than could be supposed by those who have
remarked to what slight works certain early and recent writers have owed
the same favour. Bailly failed three times. Fontenelle had before him
unsuccessfully presented himself once oftener; but Fontenelle underwent
these successive checks without ill-humour, and without being discouraged.
Bailly, on the contrary, with or without reason, seeing in these unfavourable
results of the elections the immediate effect of D'Alembert's enmity, showed
himself much more hurt at it, perhaps, than was suitable for a philosopher.
In these somewhat envenomed contests, Buffon always gave Bailly a
cordial and able support.
Bailly pronounced his reception-discourse in February, 1784. The merits of
M. de Tressan were therein celebrated with grace and delicacy. The
panegyrist identified himself with his subject. A select public loaded with
praises various passages wherein just and profound ideas were clothed in all
the richness of a forcible and harmonious style.
Did any one ever speak with more eloquence of the scientific power
revealed by a contemporary discovery! Listen, Gentlemen, and judge.
"That which the sciences can add to the privileges of the human race has
never been more marked than at the present moment. They have acquired

new domains for man. The air seems to become as accessible to him as the
waters, and the boldness of his enterprises equals almost the boldness of his
thoughts. The name of Montgolfier, the names of those hardy navigators of
the new element, will live through time; but who among us, on seeing these
superb experiments, has not felt his soul elevated, his ideas expanded, his
mind enlarged?"
I know not whether, all things considered, the satisfaction of self-love
which may be attached to academical titles, to his success in public and
important meetings, ever completely rewarded Bailly for the heartaches he
experienced in his literary career.
A kind and tender intimacy had grown up between the great naturalist
Buffon and the celebrated astronomer. An academical nomination broke it
up. You know it, Gentlemen; amongst us a nomination is the apple of
discord; notwithstanding the most opposite views, every one then thinks
that he is acting for the true interest of science or of letters; every one thinks
that he is proceeding in the line of strict justice; every one endeavours
earnestly to make proselytes. So far all is legitimate. But what is much less
so, is forgetting that a vote is a decision, and that in this sense the
academician, like the magistrate, may say to the suitor, whether an
academician or not, "I give decrees, and not services."
Unfortunately, considerations of this sort, notwithstanding their justice,
would make but little impression on the haughty and positive mind of
Buffon. That great naturalist wished to have the Abbé Maury nominated; his
associate Bailly thought he ought to vote for Sedaine. Let us place ourselves
in the ordinary course of things, and it will appear difficult to see in this
discordancy a sufficient cause for a rupture between two superior men. The
Unforeseen Wager and The Unconscious Philosopher, considerably
balanced the, then very light, weight of Maury. The comic poet had already
reached his sixty-sixth year; the Abbé was young. The high character, the
irreproachable conduct of Sedaine, might, without disparagement, be put in
comparison with what the public knew of the character of the official and
the private life of the future cardinal. Whence then had the illustrious
naturalist derived such a great affection for Maury, such violent antipathies
against Sedaine? It may be surmised that they arose from aristocratic
prejudices of rank. Nor is it impossible but that M. le Comte de Buffon

instinctively foresaw, with some repugnance, his approaching confraternity
with a man formerly a lapidary; but was not Maury the son of a shoemaker?
This very small incident of our literary history seemed doomed to remain in
obscurity; chance has, I believe, given me the key to it.
You remember, Gentlemen, that aphorism continually quoted by Buffon,
and of which he seemed very proud,—

"Style makes the man."

I have discovered that Sedaine made a counterpart of it. The author of
Richard Cœur de Lion and of The Deserter said,—

"Style is nothing, or next to it!"

Place this heresy, in imagination, under the eyes of the immortal writer,
whose days and nights were passed in polishing his style, and if you then
ask me why he detested Sedaine, I shall have a right to answer: You do not
know the human heart.
Bailly firmly resisted the imperious solicitations of his former patron, and
refused even to absent himself from the Academy on the day of the
nomination. He did not hesitate to sacrifice the attractions and advantages
of an illustrious friendship to the performance of a duty; he answered to him
who wanted to be master, "I will be free." Honour be to him!
The example of Bailly warns timid men never to listen to mere entreaties,
whatever may be their source; not to yield but to good arguments. Those
who have thought so little of their own tranquillity as to do any more in
academical elections than to give a silent and secret vote, will see on their
part, in the noble and painful resistance of an honest man, how culpable
they become in trying to substitute authority for persuasion, in wishing to
subject conscience to gratitude.
On the occurrence of a similar discord, the astronomer Lemonnier, of the
Academy of Sciences, said one day to Lalande, his fellow-academician and
former pupil, "I enjoin you not to put your foot again within my door during
the semi-revolution of the lunar orbital nodes." Calculation shows this to be
nine years. Lalande submitted to the punishment with a truly astronomical

punctuality; but the public, despite the scientific form of the sentence,
thought it excessively severe. What then will be said of that which was
pronounced by Buffon?—"We will never see each other more, Sir!" These
words will appear at once both harsh and solemn, for they were occasioned
by a difference of opinion on the comparative merits of Sedaine and the
Abbé Maury. Our friend resigned himself to this separation, nor ever
allowed his just resentment to be perceived. I may even remark, that after
this brutal disruption he showed himself more attentive than ever to seize
opportunities of paying a legitimate homage to the talents and eloquence of
the French Pliny.

REPORT ON ANIMAL MAGNETISM.

We are now going to see the astronomer, the savant, the man of letters,
struggling against passions of every kind, excited by the famous question of
animal magnetism.
At the beginning of the year 1778, a German doctor established himself at
Paris. This physician could not fail of succeeding in what was then styled
high society. He was a stranger. His government had expelled him; acts of
the greatest effrontery and unexampled charlatanism were imputed to him.
His success, however, exceeded all expectations. The Gluckists and the
Piccinists themselves forgot their differences, to occupy themselves
exclusively with the new comer.
Mesmer, since we must call him by his name, pretended to have discovered
an agent till then totally unknown both in the arts and in physics; an
universally distributed fluid, and serving thus as a means of communication
and of influence among the celestial globes;—a fluid capable of flux and
reflux, which introduced itself more or less abundantly into the substance of
the nerves, and acted on them in a useful manner,—thence the name of
animal magnetism given to this fluid.
Mesmer said: "Animal magnetism may be accumulated, concentrated,
transported, without the aid of any intermediate body. It is reflected like

light; musical sounds propagate and augment it."
Properties so distinct, so precise, seemed as if they must be capable of
experimental verification. It was requisite, then, to be prepared for some
instance of want of success, and Mesmer took good care not to neglect it.
The following was his declaration: "Although the fluid be universal, all
animated bodies do not equally assimilate it into themselves; there are some
even, though very few in number, that by their very presence destroy the
effects of this fluid in the surrounding bodies."
So soon as this was admitted, as soon it was allowed to explain instances of
non-success by the presence of neutralizing bodies, Mesmer no longer ran
any risk of being embarrassed. Nothing prevented his announcing, in full
security, "that animal magnetism could immediately cure diseases of the
nerves, and mediately other diseases; that it afforded to doctors the means
of judging with certainty of the origin, the nature, and the progress of the
most complicated maladies; that nature, in short, offered in magnetism a
universal means of curing and preserving mankind."
Before quitting Vienna, Mesmer had communicated his systematic notions
to the principal learned societies of Europe. The Academy of Sciences at
Paris, and the Royal Society of London, did not think proper to answer. The
Academy of Berlin examined the work, and wrote to Mesmer that he was in
error.
Some time after his arrival in Paris, Mesmer tried again to get into
communication with the Academy of Sciences. This society even acceded
to a rendezvous. But, instead of the empty words that were offered them,
the academicians required experiments. Mesmer stated—I quote his words
—that it was child's play; and the conference had no other result.
The Royal Society of Medicine, being called upon to judge of the pretended
cures performed by the Austrian doctor, thought that their agents could not
give a well-founded opinion "without having first duly examined the
patients to ascertain their state." Mesmer rejected this natural and
reasonable proposal. He wished that the agents should be content with the
word of honour and attestations of the patients. In this respect, also, the
severe letters of the worthy Vicq-d'Azyr put an end to communications
which must have ended unsatisfactorily.

The faculty of medicine showed, we think, less wisdom. It refused to
examine any thing; it even proceeded in legal form against one of its regent
doctors who had associated himself, they said, with the charlatanism of
Mesmer.
These barren debates evidently proved that Mesmer himself was not
thoroughly sure of his theory, nor of the efficacy of the means of cure that
he employed. Still the public showed itself blind. The infatuation became
extreme. French society appeared at one moment divided into magnetizers
and magnetized. From one end of the kingdom to the other agents of
Mesmer were seen, who, with receipt in hand, put the weak in intellect
under contribution.
The magnetizers had had the address to intimate that the mesmeric crises
manifested themselves only in persons endowed with a certain
sensitiveness. From that moment, in order not to be ranged among the
insensible, both men and women, when near the rod, assumed the
appearance of epileptics.
Was not Father Hervier really in one of those paroxysms of the disease
when he wrote, "If Mesmer had lived contemporary with Descartes and
Newton, he would have saved them much labour: those great men
suspected the existence of the universal fluid; Mesmer has discovered the
laws of its action"?
Count de Gébelin showed himself stranger still. The new doctrine would
naturally seduce him by its connection with some of the mysterious
practices of ancient times; but the author of The Primitive World did not
content himself with writing in favour of Mesmerism with the enthusiasm
of an apostle. Frightful pain, violent griefs, rendered life insupportable to
him; Gébelin saw death approaching with satisfaction, so from that moment
he begged earnestly that he might not be carried to Mesmer's, where
assuredly "he could not die." We must just mention, however, that his
request was not attended to; he was carried to Mesmer's, and died while he
was being magnetized.
Painting, sculpture, and engraving were constantly repeating the features of
this Thaumaturgus. Poets wrote verses to be inscribed on the pedestals of

the busts, or below the portraits. Those by Palisot deserve to be quoted, as
one of the most curious examples of poetic licences:—

"Behold that man—the glory of his age!
Whose art can all Pandora's ills assuage.
In skill and tact no rival pow'r is known—
E'en Greece, in him, would Esculapius own."[7]

Enthusiasm having thus gone to the last limits in verse, enthusiasm had but
one way left to become remarkable in prose: that is, violence. Is it not thus
that we must characterize the words of Bergasse?—"The adversaries of
animal magnetism are men who must one day be doomed to the execration
of all time, and to the punishment of the avenging contempt of posterity."
It is rare for violent words not to be followed by violent acts. Here every
thing proceeded according to the natural course of human events. We know,
indeed, that some furious admirers of Mesmer attempted to suffocate
Berthollet in the corner of one of the rooms of the Palais Royal, for having
honestly said that the scenes he had witnessed did not appear to him
demonstrative. We have this anecdote from Berthollet himself.
The pretensions of the German doctor increased with the number of his
adherents. To induce him to permit only three learned men to attend his
meetings, M. de Maurepas offered him, in the name of the king, 20,000
francs a year for life, and 10,000 annually for house-rent. Yet Mesmer did
not accept this offer, but demanded, as a national recompense, one of the
most beautiful châteaux in the environs of Paris, together with all its
territorial dependencies.
Irritated at finding his claims repulsed, Mesmer quitted France, angrily
vowing her to the deluge of maladies from which it would have been in his
power to save her. In a letter written to Marie Antoinette, the Thaumaturgus
declared that he had refused the government offers through austerity.
Through austerity!!! Are we then to believe that, as it was then pretended,
Mesmer was entirely ignorant of the French language; that in this respect
his meditations had been exclusively centered on the celebrated verse—

"Fools are here below for our amusement?"[8]

However this may be, the austerity of Mesmer did not prevent his being
most violently angry when he learnt at Spa that Deslon continued the
magnetical treatments at Paris. He returned in all haste. His partisans
received him with enthusiasm, and set on foot a subscription of 100 louis
per head, which produced immediately near 400,000 francs, (16,000l.) We
now feel some surprise to see, among the names of the subscribers, those of
Messrs. de Lafayette, de Ségur, d'Eprémesnil.
Mesmer quitted France a second time about the end of 1781, in quest of a
more enlightened government, who could appreciate superior minds. He left
behind him a great number of tenacious and ardent adepts, whose
importunate conduct at last determined the government to submit the
pretended magnetic discoveries to be examined by four Doctors of the
Faculty of Paris. These distinguished physicians solicited to have added to
them some members of the Academy of Sciences. M. de Breteuil then
recommended Messrs. Le Roy, Bory, Lavoisier, Franklin, and Bailly, to
form part of the mixed commission. Bailly was finally named reporter.
The work of our brother-academician appeared in August, 1784. Never was
a complex question reduced to its characteristic traits with more penetration
and tact; never did more moderation preside at an examination, though
personal passions seemed to render it impossible; never was a scientific
subject treated in a more dignified and lucid style.
Nothing equals the credulity of men in whatever touches their health. This
aphorism is an eternal truth. It explains how a portion of the public has
returned to mesmeric practices; how I shall still perform an interesting task
by giving a detailed analysis of the magnificent labours published by our
fellow-academician sixty years ago. This analysis will show, besides, how
daring those men were, who recently, in the bosom of another academy,
constituted themselves passionate defenders of some old women's tales,
which one would have supposed had been permanently buried in oblivion.
The commissioners go in the first place to the treatment by M. Deslon,
examine the famous rod, describe it carefully, relate the means adopted to
excite and direct magnetism. Bailly then draws out a varied and truly
extraordinary table of the state of the sick people. His attention is
principally attracted by the convulsions that they designated by the name of

crisis. He remarked that in the number of persons in the crisis state, there
were always a great many women, and very few men; he does not imagine
any deceit, however; holds the phenomena as established, and passes on to
search out their causes.
According to Mesmer and his partisans, the cause of the crisis and of the
less characteristic effects, resided in a particular fluid. It was to search out
proofs of the existence of this fluid, that the commissioners had first to
devote their efforts. Indeed, Bailly said, "Animal magnetism may exist
without being useful, but it cannot be useful if it does not exist."
The animal magnetic fluid is not luminous and visible, like electricity; it
does not produce marked and manifest effects on inert matter, as the fluid of
the ordinary magnet does; finally, it has no taste. Some magnetizers asserted
that it had a smell; but repeated experiments proved that they were in error.
The existence, then, of the pretended fluid, could be established only by its
effects on animated beings.
Curative effects would have thrown the commission into an inextricable
dædalus, because nature alone, without any treatment, cures many maladies.
In this system of observations, they could not have hoped to learn the exact
part performed by magnetism, until after a great number of cures, and after
trials oftentimes repeated.
The commissioners, therefore, had to limit themselves to instantaneous
effects of the fluid on the animal organism.
They then submitted themselves to the experiments, but using an important
precaution. "There is no individual," says Bailly, "in the best state of health,
who, if he closely attended to himself, would not feel within him an infinity
of movements and variations, either of exceedingly slight pain, or of heat,
in the various parts of his body.... These variations, which are continually
taking place, are independent of magnetism.... The first care required of the
commissioners was, not to be too attentive to what was passing within
them. If magnetism is a real and powerful cause, we have no need to think
about it to make it act and manifest itself; it must, so to say, force the
attention, and make itself perceived by even a purposely distracted mind."

The commissioners, magnetized by Deslon, felt no effect. After the healthy
people, some ailing ones followed, taken of all ages, and from various
classes of society. Among these sick people, who amounted to fourteen, five
felt some effects. On the remaining nine, magnetism had no effect whatever.
Notwithstanding the pompous announcements, magnetism already could no
longer be considered as a certain indicator of diseases.
Here the reporter made a capital remark: magnetism appeared to have no
effect on incredulous persons who had submitted to the trials, nor on
children. Was it not allowable to think, that the effects obtained in the others
proceeded from a previous persuasion as to the efficacy of the means, and
that they might be attributed to the influence of imagination? Thence arose
another system of experiments. It was desirable to confirm or to destroy this
suspicion; "it became therefore requisite to ascertain to what degree
imagination influences our sensations, and to establish whether it could
have been in part or entirely the cause of the effects attributed to
magnetism."
There could be nothing neater or more demonstrative than this portion of
the work of the commissioners. They go first to Dr. Jumelin, who, let it be
observed, obtains the same effects, the same crises as Deslon and Mesmer,
by magnetizing according to an entirely different method, and not
restricting himself to any distinction of poles; they select persons who seem
to feel the magnetic action most forcibly, and put their imagination at fault
by now and then bandaging their eyes.
What happens then?
When the patients see, the seat of the sensations is exactly the part that is
magnetized; when their eyes are bandaged, they locate these same
sensations by chance, sometimes in parts very far away from those to which
the magnetizer is directing his attention. The patient, whose eyes are
covered, often feels marked effects at a time when they are not magnetizing
him, and remains, on the contrary, quite passive while they are magnetizing
him, without his being aware of it.
Persons of all classes offer similar anomalies. An instructed physician,
subjected to these experiments, "feels effects whilst nothing is being done,

and often does not feel effects while he is being acted upon. On one
occasion, thinking that they had been magnetizing him for ten minutes, this
same doctor fancied that he felt a heat in his lumbi, which he compared to
that of a stove."
Sensations thus felt, when no magnetizing was exerted, must evidently have
been the effect of imagination.
The commissioners were too strict logicians to confine themselves with
these experiments. They had established that imagination, in some
individuals, can occasion pain, and heat—even a considerable degree of
heat—in all parts of the body; but practical female Mesmerizers did more;
they agitated certain people to that pitch, that they fell into convulsions.
Could the effect of imagination go so far?
Some new experiments entirely did away with these doubts.
A young man was taken to Franklin's garden at Passy, and when it was
announced to him that Deslon, who had taken him there, had magnetized a
tree, this young man ran about the garden, and fell down in convulsions, but
it was not under the magnetized tree: the crisis seized him while he was
embracing another tree, very far from the former.
Deslon selected, in the treatment of poor people, two women who had
rendered themselves remarkable by their sensitiveness around the famous
rod, and took them to Passy. These women fell into convulsions whenever
they thought themselves mesmerized, although they were not. At
Lavoisier's, the celebrated experiment of the cup gave analogous results.
Some plain water engendered convulsions occasionally, when magnetized
water did not.
We must really renounce the use of our reason, not to perceive a proof in
this collection of experiments, so well arranged that imagination alone can
produce all the phenomena observed around the mesmeric rod, and that
mesmeric proceedings, cleared from the delusions of imagination, are
absolutely without effect. The commissioners, however, recommence the
examination on these last grounds, multiply the trials, adopt all possible
precautions, and give to their conclusions the evidence of mathematical
demonstrations. They establish, finally and experimentally, that the action

of the imagination can both occasion the crises to cease, and can engender
their occurrence.
Foreseeing that people with an inert or idle mind would be astonished at the
important part assigned to the imagination by the commissioners'
experiments in the production of mesmeric phenomena, Bailly instanced:
sudden affection disturbing the digestive organs; grief giving the jaundice;
the fear of fire restoring the use of their legs to paralytic patients; earnest
attention stopping the hiccough; fright blanching people's hair in an instant,
&c.
The touching or stroking practised in mesmeric treatments, as auxiliaries of
magnetism, properly so called, required no direct experiments, since the
principal agent,—since magnetism itself, had disappeared. Bailly, therefore,
confined himself, in this respect, to anatomical and physiological
considerations, remarkable for their clearness and precision. We read, also,
with a lively interest, in his report, some ingenious reflections on the effects
of imitation in those assemblages of magnetized people. Bailly compares
them to those of theatrical representations. He says: "Observe how much
stronger the impressions are when there are a great many spectators, and
especially in places where there is the liberty of applauding. This sign of
particular emotions produces a general emotion, participated in by
everybody according to their respective susceptibility. This is also observed
in armies on the day of battle, when the enthusiasm of courage, as well as
panic-terrors, propagate themselves with so much rapidity. The sound of the
drum and of military music, the noise of the cannon, of the musquetry, the
cries, the disorder, stagger the organs, impart the same movement to men's
minds, and raise their imaginations to a similar degree. In this unity of
intoxication, an impression once manifested becomes universal; it
encourages men to charge, or determines men to fly." Some very curious
examples of imitation close this portion of Bailly's report.
The commissioners finally examined whether these convulsions,
occasioned by the imagination or by magnetism, could be useful in curing
or easing the suffering persons. The reporter said: "Undoubtedly, the
imagination of sick people often influences the cure of their maladies very
much.... There are cases in which every thing must first be disordered, to
enable us to restore order ... but the shock must be unique ... whereas in the

public treatment by magnetism ... the habit of the crises cannot but be
injurious."
This thought related to the most delicate considerations. It was developed in
a report addressed to the king personally. This report was to have remained
secret, but it was published some years since. It should not be regretted; the
magnetic treatment, regarded in a certain point of view, pleased sick people
much; they are now aware of all its dangers.
In conclusion, Bailly's report completely upsets an accredited error. This
was an important service, nor was it the only one. In searching for the
imaginary cause of animal magnetism, they ascertained the real power that
man can exert over man, without the immediate and demonstrable
intervention of any physical agent; they established that "the most simple
actions and signs sometimes produce most powerful effects; that man's
action on the imagination may be reduced to an art ... at least in regard to
persons who have faith." This work finally showed how our faculties should
be experimentally studied; in what way psychology may one day come to
be placed among the exact sciences.
I have always regretted that the commissioners did not judge it expedient to
add a historical chapter to their excellent work. The immense erudition of
Bailly would have given it an inestimable value. I figure to myself, also,
that in seeing the Mesmeric practices that have now been in use during
upwards of two thousand years, the public would have asked itself whether
so long an interval of time had ever been required to push a good and useful
thing forward into estimation. By circumscribing himself to this point of
view, a few traits would have sufficed.
Plutarch, for example, would have come to the aid of the reporter. He would
have showed him Pyrrhus curing complaints of the spleen, by means of
frictions made with the great toe of his right foot. Without giving one's self
up to a wild spirit of interpretation, we might be permitted to see in that fact
the germ of animal magnetism. I admit that one circumstance would have
rather unsettled the savant: this was the white cock that the King of
Macedon sacrificed to the gods before beginning these frictions.
Vespasian, in his turn, might have figured among the predecessors of
Mesmer, in consequence of the extraordinary cures that he effected in Egypt

by the action of his foot. It is true that the pretended cure of an old
blindness, only by the aid of a little of that emperor's saliva, would have
thrown some doubt on the veracity of Suetonius.
Homer and Achilles are not too far back but we might have invoked their
names. Joachim Camerarius, indeed, asserted having seen, on a very ancient
copy of the Iliad, some verses that the copyists sacrificed because they did
not understand them, and in which the poet alluded, not to the heel of
Achilles (its celebrity has been well established these three thousand years,)
but to the medical properties possessed by the great toe of that same hero's
right foot.
What I regret most is, the chapter in which Bailly might have related how
certain adepts of Mesmer's had the hardihood to magnetize the moon, so as,
on a given day, to make all the astronomers devoted to observing that body
fall into a syncope; a perturbation, by the way, that no geometer, from
Newton to Laplace, had thought of.
The work of Bailly gave rise to trouble, spite, and anger, among the
Mesmerists. It was for many months the target for their combined attacks.
All the provinces of France saw refutations of the celebrated report arise:
sometimes under the form of calm discussions, decent and moderate; but
generally with all the characteristics of violence, and the acrimony of a
pamphlet.
It would be labour thrown away now to go to the dusty shelves of some
special library, to hunt up hundreds of pamphlets, even the titles of which
are now completely forgotten. The impartial analysis of that ardent
controversy does not call for such labour; I believe at least that I shall attain
my aim, by concentrating my attention on two or three writings which, by
the strength of the arguments, the merit of the style, or the reputation of
their authors, have left some trace in men's minds.
In the first rank of this category of works we must place the elegant
pamphlet published by Servan, under the title of Doubts of a Provincial,
proposed to the Gentlemen Medical Commissioners commanded by the
King to examine into Animal Magnetism.

The appearance of this little work of Servan's was saluted in the camp of the
Mesmerists with cries of triumph and joy. Undecided minds fell back into
doubt and perplexity. Grimm wrote in Nov. 1784: "No cause is desperate.
That of magnetism seemed as if it must fall under the reiterated attacks of
medicine, of philosophy, of experience and of good sense.... Well, M.
Servan, formerly the Attorney-General at Grenoble, has been proving that
with talent we may recover from any thing, even from ridicule."
Servan's pamphlet seemed at the time the anchor of salvation for the
Mesmerists. The adepts still borrow from it their principal arguments. Let
us see, then, whether it has really shaken Bailly's report.
From the very commencing lines, the celebrated Attorney-General puts the
question in terms deficient in exactness. If we believe him, the
commissioners were called to establish a parallel between magnetism and
medicine; "they were to weigh on both sides the errors and the dangers; to
indicate with wise discernment what it would be desirable to preserve, and
what to retrench, in the two sciences." Thus, according to Servan, the
sanative art altogether would have been questioned, and the impartiality of
the physicians might appear suspicious. The clever magistrate took care not
to forget, on such an occasion, the eternal maxim, no one can be both judge
and client. Physicians, then, ought to have been excepted.
There then follows a legitimate homage to the non-graduated academicians,
members of the commission: "Before Franklin and Bailly," says the author,
"every knee must bend. The one has invented much, the other has
discovered much; Franklin belongs to the two worlds, and all ages seem to
belong to Bailly." But arming himself afterwards with more cleverness than
uprightness, with these words of the reporter, "The commissioners,
especially the doctors, made an infinity of experiments," he insinuates
under every form that the commissioners accepted of a very passive line of
conduct. Thus, putting aside the most positive declarations, pretending even
to forget the name, the titles of the reporter, Servan no longer sees before
him but one class of adversaries, regent doctors of the Faculty of Paris, and
then he gives full scope to his satirical vein. He holds it even as an honour
that they do not regard him as impartial. "The doctors have killed me; what
it has pleased them to leave me of life is not worth, in truth, my seeking a
milder term.... For these twenty years I have always been worse through the

remedies administered to me than through my maladies.... Even were
animal magnetism a chimera, it should be tolerated; it would still be useful
to mankind, by saving many individuals among them from the incontestable
dangers of vulgar medicine.... I wish that medicine, so long accustomed to
deceive itself, should still deceive itself now, and that the famous report be
nothing but a great error...." Amidst these singular declarations, there are
hundreds of epigrams still more remarkable by their ingenious and lively
turn than by their novelty. If it were true, Gentlemen, that the medical corps
had ever tried, knowingly, to impose on the vulgar, to hide the uncertainty
of their knowledge, the weakness of their theories, the vagueness of their
conceptions, under an obscure and pedantic jargon, the immortal and
laughable sarcasms of Molière would not have been more than an act of
strict justice. In all cases every thing has its day; now, towards the end of
the eighteenth century, the most delicate, the most thorny points of doctrine
were discussed with an entire good faith, with perfect lucidity, and in a style
that placed many members of the faculty in the rank Of our best speakers.
Servan, however, goes beyond the limits of a scientific discussion, when,
without any sort of excuse, he accuses his adversaries of being anti-
mesmerists through esprit de corps, and, what is worse, through cupidity.
Servan is more in his element when he points out that the present best
established medical theories occasioned at their birth prolonged debates;
when he reminds us that several medicines have been alternately proscribed
and recommended with vehemence: the author might even have more
deeply undermined this side of his subject. Instead of some unmeaning
jokes, why did he not show us, for example, in a neighbouring country, two
celebrated physicians, Mead and Woodward, deciding, sword in hand, the
quarrel that had arisen between them as to the purgative treatment of a
patient? We should then have heard Woodward, pierced through and
through, rolling on the ground, and drenched in blood, say to his adversary
with an exhausted voice: "The blow was harsh, but yet I prefer it to your
medicine!"
It is not truth alone that has the privilege of rendering men passionate. Such
was the legitimate result of these retrospective views. I now ask myself
whether, by labouring to put the truth of this aphorism in full light, the
passionate advocate of Mesmerism showed proof of ability!

Gentlemen, let us put all these personal attacks aside, all these
recriminations against science and its agents, who unfortunately had not
succeeded in restoring the health of the morose magistrate. What remains
then of his pamphlet? Two chapters, only two chapters, in which Bailly's
report is treated seriously. The medical commissioners and the members of
the Academy had not seen, in the real effects of Mesmerism anything more
than was occasioned by imagination. The celebrated magistrate exclaims on
this subject, "Any one hearing this proposition spoken of would suppose,
before reading the report, that the commissioners had treated and cured, or
considerably relieved by the force of imagination, large tumours, inveterate
obstructions, gutta serenas, and strong paralyses." Servan admitted, in short,
that magnetism had effected most wonderful cures. But there lay all the
question. The cures being admitted, the rest followed as a matter of course.
However incredible these cures might be, they must be admitted, they said,
when numerous witnesses certified their truth. Was it owing to chance that
attestations were wanting for the miracles at the Cemetery of St. Médard?
Did not the counsellor to the parliament, Montgeron, state, in three large
quarto volumes, the names of a great multitude of individuals who protested
on their honour as illuminati, that the tomb of the Deacon, Páris, had
restored sight to the blind, hearing to the deaf, strength to the paralytic; that
in a twinkling it cured ailing people of gouty rheumatism, of dropsy, of
epilepsy, of phthisis, of abscesses, of ulcers, &c.? Did these attestations,
although many emanated from persons of distinction, from the Chevalier
Folard, for example, prevent the convulsionists from becoming the
laughingstock of Europe? Did they not see the Duchess of Maine herself
laugh at their prowess in the following witty couplet?—

"A scavenger at the palace-gate
Who, his left heel being lame,
Obtained as a most special grace,
That his right should ail the same."[9]

Was not government, urged to the utmost, at last obliged to interfere, when
the multitude, carrying folly to the extremest bounds, was going to try to
resuscitate the dead? In short, do we not remember the amusing distich,
affixed at the time to the gate of the Cemetery of St. Médard?—

"By royal decree, we prohibit the gods
To work any miracles near to these sods."[10]

Servan must have known better than any one that in regard to testimony,
and in questions of complex facts, quality always carries the day over mere
numbers; let us add, that quality does not result either from titles of nobility,
or from riches, nor from the social position, nor even from a certain sort of
celebrity. What we must seek for in a witness is a calmness of mind and of
feeling, a store of knowledge, and a very rare thing, notwithstanding the
name it bears, common sense; on the other hand, what we must most avoid
is the innate taste of some persons for the extraordinary, the wonderful, the
paradoxical. Servan did not at all recollect these precepts in the criticism he
wrote on Bailly's work.
We have already remarked that the Commissioners of the Academy and of
the Faculty did not assert that the Mesmeric meetings were always
ineffectual. They only saw in the crises the mere results of imagination; nor
did any sort of magnetic fluid reveal itself to their eyes. I will also prove,
that imagination alone generated the refutation that Servan gave to Bailly's
theory. "You deny," exclaims the attorney-general, "you deny, gentlemen
commissioners, the existence of the fluid which Mesmer has made to act
such an important part! I maintain, on the contrary, not only that this fluid
exists, but also that it is the medium by the aid of which all the vital
functions are excited; I assert that imagination is one of the phenomena
engendered by this agent; that its greater or less abundance in this or that
among our organs, may totally change the normal intellectual state of
individuals."
Everybody agrees that too great a flow of blood towards the brain produces
a stupefaction of the mind. Analogous or inverse effects might evidently be
produced by a subtle, invisible, imponderable fluid, by a sort of nervous
fluid, or magnetic fluid (if this term be preferred), circulating through our
organs. And the commissioners took good care not to speak on this subject
of impossibility. Their thesis was more modest; they contented themselves
with saying that nothing demonstrated the existence of such a fluid.
Imagination, therefore, had no share in their report; but in Servan's
refutation, on the contrary, imagination was the chief actor.

One thing that was still less proved, if possible, than any of those that we
have been speaking of, is the influence that the magnetic fluid of the
magnetizer might exert on the magnetized person.
In magnetism, properly so called, in that which physicists have studied with
so much care and success, the phenomena are constant. They are
reproduced exactly under the same conditions of form, of duration, and of
quantity, when certain bodies, being present to each other, find themselves
exactly in the same relative positions. That is the essential and necessary
character of all purely material and mechanical action. Was it thus in the
pretended phenomena of animal magnetism? In no way. To-day the crises
would occur in the space of some seconds; to-morrow they may require
several entire hours; and finally, on another day, other circumstances
remaining the same, the effect would be positively null. A certain
magnetizer exercised a brisk action on a certain patient, and was absolutely
powerless on another who, on the contrary, entered into a crisis under the
earliest efforts of a second magnetizer. Instead of one or two universal
fluids, there must, then, to explain the phenomena, be as many distinct
fluids, and constantly acting, as there exist animated or inanimate beings in
the world.
The necessity of such a hypothesis evidently upset Mesmerism from its
very foundations; yet the illuminati did not judge thus. All bodies became a
focus of special emanations, more or less subtle, more or less abundant, and
more or less dissimilar. So far the hypothesis found very few contradictors,
even among rigorous minds; but soon these individual corporeal emanations
were endowed, relatively towards those, (without the least appearance of
proof,) either with a great power of assimilation, or with a decided
antagonism, or with a complete neutrality; but they pretended to see in these
occult qualities the material causes of the most mysterious affections of the
soul. Oh! then doubt had a legitimate right to take possession of all those
minds that had been taught by the strict proceedings of science not to rest
satisfied with vain words. In the singular system that I have been
explaining, when Corneille says,—

"There are some secret knots, some sympathies,
By whose relations sweet assorted souls
Attach themselves the one to the other...."[11]

and when the celebrated Spanish Jesuit Balthazar Gracian spoke of the
natural relationship of minds and hearts, both the one and the other alluded,
assuredly without suspecting it, to the mixture, penetration, and easy
crossing of two atmospheres.
"I love thee not, Sabidus," wrote Martial, "and I know not why; all that I
can tell thee is, that I love thee not." Mesmerists would soon have relieved
the poet from his doubts. If Martial loved not Sabidus, it was because their
atmospheres could not intermingle without occasioning a kind of storm.
Plutarch informs us that the conqueror of Arminius fainted at the sight of a
cock. Antiquity was astonished at this phenomenon. What could be more
simple, however? the corporeal emanations of Germanicus and of the cock
exercised a repulsive action the one on the other.
The illustrious biographer of Cheronea declares, it is true, that the presence
of the cock was not requisite, that its crowing produced exactly the same
effect on the adopted son of Tiberius. Now, the crowing may be heard a
long way off; the crowing, then, would seem to possess the power of
transporting the corporeal emanations of the king of the lower court with
great rapidity through space. The thing may appear difficult to believe. As
for myself, I think it would be puerile to stop at such a difficulty; have we
not leaped high over other difficulties far more embarrassing?
The Maréchal d'Albret was still worse off than Germanicus: the atmosphere
that made him fall into a syncope exhaled from the head of a wild boar. A
live, complete, whole wild boar produced no effect; but on perceiving the
head of the animal detached from the body, the Maréchal was struck as if
with lightning. You see, gentlemen, to what sad trials military men would
be exposed, if the Mesmerian theory of atmospheric conflicts were to regain
favour. We ought to be carefully on our guard against a ruse de guerre, of
which no one till then had ever thought,—that is, against cocks, wild boars,
&c.,—for through them an army might suddenly be deprived of its
commander-in-chief. "It would also be requisite not to entrust command,"
Montaigne says, "to men who would fly from apples more than from
arquebusades."
It is not only amongst the corpuscular emanations of living animals that the
Mesmerists asserted conflicts to occur. They unhesitatingly extended their

speculations to dead bodies. Some ancients dreamt that a catgut cord made
of a wolf's intestines would never strike in unison with one made from a
lamb's intestine; a discord of atmospheres renders the phenomenon
possible. It is still a conflict of corporeal emanations that explains the other
aphorism of an ancient philosopher: "The sound of a drum made with a
wolf's skin takes away all sonorousness from a drum made with a lamb's
skin."
Here I pause, Gentlemen. Montesquieu said: "When God created the brains
of human beings, he did not intend to guarantee them."
To conclude: Servan's witty, piquant, agreeably written pamphlet was
worthy under this triple claim of the reception with which the public
honoured it; but it did not shake, in any one part, the lucid, majestic, elegant
report by Bailly. The magistrate of Grénoble has said, that in his long
experience he had met men accustomed to reflect without laughing, and
other men who only wished to laugh without reflecting. Bailly thought of
the first class when he wrote his memorable report. The Doubts of the
Provincial man were destined only for the other class.
It was also to these light and laughing souls that Servan exclusively
addressed himself some time after, if it be true that the Queries of the young
Doctor Rhubarbini de Purgandis were written by him.
Rhubarbini de Purgandis sets to work manfully. In his opinion the report by
Franklin, by Lavoisier, by Bailly, is, in the scientific life of those learned
men, what the Monades were for Leibnitz, the Whirlwinds for Descartes,
the Commentary on the Apocalypse for Newton. These examples may
enable us to judge of the rest, and render all farther refutation unnecessary.
Bailly's report destroyed root and branch the ideas, the systems, the
practices of Mesmer and of his adepts. Let us add sincerely that we have no
right to appeal to him in regard to modern somnambulism. The greater
portion of the phenomena now grouped around that name were neither
known nor announced in 1783. A magnetizer certainly says the most
improbable thing in the world, when he affirms that a given individual in
the state of somnambulism can see every thing in the most profound
darkness, that he can read through a wall, and even without the help of his
eyes. But the improbability of these announcements does not result from the

celebrated report, for Bailly does not mention such marvels, neither in
praise nor dispraise; he does not say one word about them. The physicist,
the doctor, the merely curious man who gives himself up to experiments in
somnambulism, who thinks he must examine whether, in certain states of
nervous excitement, some individuals are really endowed with
extraordinary faculties; with the faculty, for example, of reading with their
stomach, or with their heel; people who wish to know exactly up to what
point the phenomena so boldly asserted by the magnetizers of our epoch
may be within the domain of rogues and sharks; all such people, we say, do
not at all deny the authority of the subject in question, nor do they put
themselves really in opposition to the Lavoisiers, the Franklins, or the
Baillys; they dive into an entirely new world, of which those illustrious
learned men did not even suspect the existence.
I cannot approve of the mystery adopted by some grave learned men, who,
in the present day, attend experiments on somnambulism. Doubt is a proof
of diffidence, and has rarely been inimical to the progress of science. We
could not say the same of incredulity. He who, except in pure mathematics,
pronounces the word impossible, is deficient in prudence. Reserve is
especially requisite when we treat of animal organization.
Our senses, notwithstanding twenty-four centuries of study, observations,
and researches, are far from being an exhausted subject. Take, for example,
the ear. A celebrated natural philosopher, Wollaston, occupied himself with
it; and immediately we learn, that with an equal sensibility as regards the
low notes a certain individual can hear the highest tones, whilst another
cannot hear them at all; and it becomes proved that certain men, with
perfectly sound organs, never heard the cricket in the chimney-corner, yet
did not doubt but that bats occasionally utter a piercing cry; and attention
being once awakened to these singular results, observers have found the
most extraordinary differences of sensibility between their right ear and
their left ear, &c.
Our vision offers phenomena not less curious, and an infinitely vaster field
of research. Experience has proved, for example, that some people are
absolutely blind to certain colours, as red, and enjoy perfect vision
relatively to yellow, to green, and to blue. If the Newtonian theory of
emission be true, we must irrevocably admit that a ray ceases to be light as

soon as we diminish its velocity by one ten thousandth part. Thence flow
those natural conjectures, which are well worthy of experimental
examination: all men do not see by the same rays; decided differences may
exist in this respect in the same individual during various nervous states; it
is possible that the calorific rays, the dark rays of one person, may be the
luminous rays of another person, and reciprocally; the calorific rays traverse
some substances freely, which are therefore called diathermal, these
substances, thus far, had been called opaque, because they transmit no ray
commonly called luminous; now the words opaque and diathermal have no
absolute meaning. The diathermals allow those rays to pass through which
constitute the light of one man; and they stop those which constitute the
light of another man. Perhaps in this way the key of many phenomena
might be found, that till now have remained without any plausible
explanation.
Nothing, in the marvels of somnambulism, raised more doubts than an oft-
repeated assertion, relative to the power which certain persons are said to
possess in a state of crisis, of deciphering a letter at a distance with the foot,
the nape of the neck, or the stomach. The word impossible in this instance
seemed quite legitimate. Still, I do not doubt but some rigid minds would
withhold it after having reflected on the ingenious experiments by which
Moser produces, also at a distance, very distinct images of all sorts of
objects, on all sorts of bodies, and in the most complete darkness.
When we call to mind in what immense proportion electric or magnetic
actions increase by motion, we shall be less inclined to deride the rapid
actions of magnetizers.
In here recording these developed reflections, I wished to show that
somnambulism must not be rejected à priori, especially by those who have
kept well up with the recent progress of the physical sciences. I have
indicated some facts, some resemblances, by which magnetizers might
defend themselves against those who would think it superfluous to attempt
new experiments, or even to see them performed. For my part, I hesitate not
to acknowledge it, although, notwithstanding the possibilities that I have
pointed out, I do not admit the reality of the readings, neither through a
wall, nor through any other opaque body, nor by the mere intromission of
the elbow, or the occiput,—still, I should not fulfil the duties of an

academician if I refused to attend the meetings where such phenomena were
promised me, provided they granted me sufficient influence as regards the
proofs, for me to feel assured that I was not become the victim of mere
jugglery.
Nor did Franklin, Lavoisier, or Bailly believe in Mesmeric magnetism
before they became members of the Government Commission, and yet we
may have remarked with what minute and scrupulous care they varied the
experiments. True philosophers ought to have constantly before their eyes
those two beautiful lines:—

"To suppose that every thing has been discovered is a
profound error:
It is mistaking the horizon for the limits of the
world."[12]

FOOTNOTES:

[7]

"Le voilà, ce mortel, dont le siècle s'honore,
Par qui sont replongés au séjour infernal
Tous les fléaux vengeurs que déchaîna Pandore;
Dans son art bienfaisant il n'a pas de rival,
Et la Grèce l'eut pris pour le dieu d'Epidaure."

[8]

"Les sots sont ici-bas pour nos menus plaisirs."

[9]

"Un décrotteur â la royale,
Du talon gauche estropié,
Obtint pour grace spéciale
D'être boiteux de l'autre pié."

[10]

"De par le Roi, défense à Dieu
D'opérer miracle en ce lieu!"
[11]

"Il est des nœuds secrets, il est des sympathies,
Dont par les doux rapports les âmes assorties
S'attachent l'une à l'autre."

[12]

"Croire tout découvert est un erreur profonde:
C'est prendre l'horizon pour les bornes du monde."

ELECTION OF BAILLY INTO THE ACADEMY OF
INSCRIPTIONS.

In speaking of the pretended identity of the Atlantis, or of the kingdom of
Ophir under Solomon with America, Bailly says, in his fourteenth letter to
Voltaire: "Those ideas belonged to the age of learned men, but not to the
philosophic age." And elsewhere (in the twenty-first letter) we read these
words: "Do not fear that I shall fatigue you by heavy erudition." To have
supposed that erudition could be heavy and be deficient in philosophy, was
for certain people of a secondary order an unpardonable crime. And thus we
saw men, excited by a sentiment of hate, arm themselves with a critical
microscope, and painfully seek out imperfections in the innumerable
quotations with which Bailly had strengthened himself. The harvest was not
abundant; yet, these eager ferrets succeeded in discovering some weak
points, some interpretations that might be contested. Their joy then knew no
bounds. Bailly was treated with haughty disdain: "His literary erudition was
very superficial; he had not the key of the sanctuary of antiquity; he was
everywhere deficient in languages."
That it might not be supposed that these reproaches had any reference to
Oriental literature, Bailly's adversaries added: "that he had not the least

tincture of the ancient languages; that he did not know Latin."
He did not know Latin? And do you not see, you stupid enemies of the great
Astronomer, that if it had been possible to compose such learned works as
The History of Astronomy, and The Letters on the Atlantis, without referring
to the original texts, by using translations only, you would no longer have
preserved any importance in the literary world. How is it that you did not
remark, that by despoiling Bailly (and very arbitrarily) of the knowledge of
Latin, you showed the inutility of studying that language to become both
one of your best writers, and one of the most illustrious philosophers of the
age?
The Academy of Inscriptions and Belles Lettres, far from participating in
these puerile rancours, in the blind prejudices of some lost children of
erudition, called Bailly to its bosom in 1785. Till then, Fontenelle alone had
had the honour of belonging to the three great Academies of France. Bailly
always showed himself very proud of a distinction which associated his
name in an unusual manner with that of the illustrious writer, whose
eulogies contributed so powerfully to make science and scientific men
known and respected.
Independently of this special consideration, Bailly, as member of the French
Academy, could all the better appreciate the suffrages of the Academy of
Inscriptions, since there existed at that time between those two illustrious
Societies a strong and inexplicable feeling of rivalry. This had even
proceeded so far, that by a most solemn deliberation of the Academy of
Inscriptions, any of its members would have ceased to belong to it, would
have been irrevocably expelled, if they had even only endeavoured to be
received into the French Academy; and the king having annulled this
deliberation, fifteen academicians bound themselves by oath to observe all
its stipulations notwithstanding; furthermore, in 1783, Choiseul Gouffier,
who was accused of having adhered to the principles of the fifteen
confederates, and then of having allowed himself to be nominated by the
rival Academy, was summoned by Anquetil to appear before the Tribunal of
the Marshals of France for having broken his word of honour.
But, I may be allowed here to remark, superior men have always had the
privilege of upsetting, by the mere influence of their name, the obstacles

that routine, prejudices, and jealousy wished to oppose to the progress and
the union of souls.

REPORT ON THE HOSPITALS.

Scientific tribunals, which should pronounce in the first instance while
awaiting the definitive judgment of the public, were one of the requisites of
our epoch; and thus, without any formal prescription of its successive
regulations, the Academy of Sciences has been gradually led on to appoint
committees to examine all the papers that have been presented to it, and to
pronounce on their novelty, merit, and importance. This labour is generally
an ungrateful one, and without glory, but talent has immense privileges;
entrust Bailly with those simple Academical Reports, and their publication
becomes an event.
M. Poyet, architect and comptroller of buildings in Paris, presented to
Government in the course of the year 1785, a paper wherein he strove to
establish the necessity of removing the Hôtel Dieu, and building a new
hospital in another locality. This document, submitted by order of the king
to the judgment of the Academy, gave rise, directly or indirectly, to three
deliberations. The Academic Commissioners were, Lassone, Tenou, Tillet,
Darcet, Daubenton, Bailly, Coulomb, Laplace, and Lavoisier. It was Bailly,
however, who constantly held the pen. His reports have been honoured with
a great and just celebrity. The progress of science would now perhaps allow
of some modification being made in the ideas of the illustrious
commissioners. Their views on warming-rooms, on their size, on
ventilation, on general health, might, for example, receive some real
ameliorations; but nothing could add to the sentiments of respect inspired
by Bailly's work. What clearness of exposition! What neatness, what
simplicity of style! Never did a writer put himself more completely out of
view; never did a man more sincerely seek to make the sacred cause of
humanity triumph. The interest that Bailly takes in the poor is deep, but
always exempt from parade; his words are moderate, full of gentleness,
even where hasty feelings of anger and indignation would have been
legitimate. Of anger and of indignation! Yes, Gentlemen; listen, and decide!

I have cited the names of the commissioners. At no time, and in no country,
could more virtue and learning have been united. These select men,
regulating themselves in this respect according to the most common logic,
felt that the task of pronouncing on a reform of the Hôtel Dieu imposed on
them the necessity of examining that establishment. "We have asked," said
their interpreter, "we have asked the Board of Administration to permit us to
see the hospital in detail, and accompanied by some one who could guide
and instruct us ... we required to know several particulars; we asked for
them, but we obtained nothing."
We have obtained nothing! These are the sad, the incredible words, that
men so worthy of respect are obliged to insert in the first line of their
report!
What then was the authority that allowed itself to be so deficient in the most
usual respect towards commissioners invested with the confidence of the
King, the Academy, and the Public? This authority consisted of several
administrators (the type of them, it is said, is not quite lost), who looked
upon the poor as their patrimony, who devoted to them a disinterested but
unproductive activity; who were impatient at any amelioration, the germ of
which had not developed itself either in their own heads, or in those of
certain men, philanthropic by nature, or by the privilege of their station. Ah!
if by enlightened and constant care that vast asylum, opened to poverty and
sickness, near Notre-Dame, had been then conducted, now sixty years ago,
only in a tolerable way, we should have understood how, in taking human
nature into consideration, the promoters of this great benefit would have
repelled an examination that seemed to throw a doubt on their zeal and on
their good sense. But alas! let us take from Bailly's work a few traits of the
moderate and faithful picture that he drew of the Hôtel Dieu, and you shall
decide, Gentlemen, whether the susceptibility of the administrators was
authorized; whether, on the contrary, they ought not themselves to have
anticipated the unhoped-for help from the king's power, united to science,
which was now offered to them; whether by retarding certain ameliorations
by a single day, they did not commit the crime of lèse-humanity.
In 1786, infirmities of all sorts were treated at the Hôtel Dieu: surgical
maladies, chronic maladies, contagious maladies, female diseases, infantine

diseases, &c. Every thing was admitted, but all presented an inevitable
confusion.
A patient on arriving was often laid in the bed and in the sheets of a man
who had had the itch, and had just died.
The department reserved for madmen being very confined, two were put to
sleep together. Two madmen in the same sheets! Nature revolts at the very
thought of it.
In the ward of St. Francis, reserved exclusively for men having the
smallpox, there were sometimes, for want of other space, as many as six
adults or eight children in a bed not a mètre and a half wide.
The women attacked with this frightful disease were mixed in the ward of
St. Monique with others who had only a simple fever, and the latter fell an
inevitable prey to the hideous contagion, in the very place where, full of
confidence, they had hoped to recover their health.
Women with child, women in their confinement, were equally crowded,
pell-mell, on narrow and infected truckle-beds.
Nor let it be supposed that I have borrowed from Bailly's Report some
purely exceptional cases, belonging to those cruel times, when whole
populations, suffering under some epidemic, were tried beyond all human
anticipation. In their usual state, the beds of the Hôtel Dieu, which were not
a mètre and a half wide, contained four, and often six patients; they were
placed alternately head and feet, the feet of one touching the shoulders of
the next; each had only for his share of space 25 centimetres (9 inches);
now, a man of medium size, lying with his arms close to his body, is 48
centimetres (16 inches) broad at the shoulders. The poor patients then could
not keep within the bed but by lying on their side perfectly immovable; no
one could turn without pushing, without waking his neighbour; they
therefore used to agree, as far as their illness would allow, for some of them
to remain up part of the night in the space between the beds, whilst the
others slept; and when the approaches of death nailed these unfortunate
people to their place, did they not energetically curse that help, which in
such a situation could only prolong their painful agony.

But it was not only that beds thus placed were a source of discomfort, of
disgust; that they prevented rest and sleep; that an insupportable heat
occasioned and propagated diseases of the skin and frightful vermin; that
the fever patient bedewed his neighbours with his profuse perspirations; and
that in the critical moment he might be chilled by contact with those whose
hot fit would occur later, &c. Still more serious effects resulted from the
presence of many sick in the same bed; the food, the medicines, intended
for one person, often found their way to another. In short, Gentlemen, in
those beds of multiple population, the dead often lay for hours, and
sometimes whole nights, intermingled with the living. The principal
charitable establishment in Paris thus offered those dreadful coincidences,
that the poets of Rome, that ancient historians have represented under King
Mezentius, as the utmost extreme of barbarism.
Such was, Gentlemen, the normal state of the old Hôtel Dieu. One word,
one word only, will suffice to tell what was the exceptional state: they
placed some patients on the tops or testers of those same beds, where we
have found so much suffering, so many authorized maledictions.
Now, Gentlemen, let us, together with our fellow academician, cast a glance
on the ward of surgical operations.
This ward was full of patients. The operations were performed in their
presence. Bailly says, "We see there the preparations for the torment; there
are heard the cries of the tormented. He who has to suffer the next day has
before him a picture of his own future sufferings; he who has passed
through this terrible trial, must be deeply moved at those cries so similar to
his own, and must feel his agonies repeated; and these terrors, these
emotions, he experiences in the midst of the progress of inflammation or
suppuration, retarding his recovery, and at the hazard of his life." ... "To
what purpose," Bailly justly exclaims, "would you make an unfortunate
man suffer, if there is not a probability of saving him, and unless we
increase that probability by all possible precautions?"
The heart aches, the mind becomes confused, at the sight of so much
misery; and yet this hospital, so little in harmony with its intended purpose,
still existed sixty years ago. It is in a capital, the centre of the arts, of
knowledge, of polished manners; it is in an age renowned for the

development of public wealth, for the progress of luxury, for the ruinous
creation of a crowd of establishments devoted to amusements, to worldly
and futile pleasures; it is by the side of the palace of an opulent archbishop;
it is at the gate of a sumptuous cathedral, that the unfortunate, under the
deceitful mask of charity, underwent such dreadful tortures. To whom
should we impute the long duration of this vicious and inhuman
organization?
To the professors of the art? No, no, Gentlemen! By an inconceivable
anomaly the physicians, the surgeons, never obtained more than a
secondary, a subordinate influence over the administration of the hospitals.
No, no, the sentiments of the medical body for the poor could not be
doubted, at an epoch and in a country where Dr. Anthony Petit thus
answered the irritated queen, Marie Antoinette: "Madam, if I came not
yesterday to Versailles, it was because I was attending the lying-in of a
peasant, who was in the greatest danger. Your Majesty errs, however, in
supposing that I neglect the Dauphin for the poor; I have hitherto treated the
young child with as much attention and care as if he had been the son of
one of your grooms."
Preference was granted to the most suffering, to those in most danger,
disregarding rank and fortune; such was, you see, Gentlemen, the sublime
rule of the French Medical Corps; and such is still its gospel. I want no
other proof of it than those admirable words addressed by our fellow
labourer Larrey, to his friend Tanchou, when wounded at the Battle of
Montmirail: "Your wound is slight, sir; we have only room and straw in this
ambulance for serious wounds. They will take you into that stable."
The medical corps could not, therefore, with any reason be accused or
suspected in regard to the old Hôtel Dieu of Paris.
If economy be invoked, I find an answer quite à-propos in Bailly: the daily
allowance for the patients at the Hôtel Dieu was notably higher than in
other establishments in the capital more charitably organized.
Would any one go so far as to assert that the sick condemned to seek refuge
in the hospitals, having their sensibilities blunted by labour, by misery, by
their daily sufferings, would but faintly feel the effects of the horrible
arrangements that the old Hôtel Dieu revealed to all clear-sighted people? I

will quote from the report of our colleague; "The maladies continue nearly
double the time at the Hôtel Dieu, compared with those at the Charité: the
mortality there is also nearly double!... All the trepanned die in that
hospital; whilst this operation is tolerably successful in Paris, and still more
so at Versailles."
The maladies continue double the time! The mortality there is double! All
those who are trepanned die! The lying-in women die in a frightful
proportion, &c. These are the sinister words that strike the eye periodically
in the statements of the Hôtel Dieu; and yet, let us repeat it, years passed
away, and nothing was altered in the organization of the great hospital! Why
persist in remaining in a condition that so openly wounds humanity? Must
we, together with Cabanis, who also abused the old Hôtel Dieu severely,
"must we exclaim, that abuses known by all the world, against which every
voice is raised, have secret supporters who know how to defend them, in a
manner to tire out well-meaning people? Must we speak of false characters,
perverse hearts, that seemed to regard errors and abuses as their
patrimony?" Let us dare to acknowledge it, Gentlemen, evil is generally
perpetrated in a less wicked manner: it is done without the intervention of
any strong passion; by vulgar, yet all-powerful routine, and ignorance. I
observe the same thought, though couched in the calm and cleverly
circumspect language of Bailly: "The Hôtel Dieu has existed perhaps since
the seventh century, and if this hospital is the most imperfect of all, it is
because it is the oldest. From the earliest date of this establishment, good
has been sought, the desire has been to adhere to it, and constancy has
appeared a duty. From this cause, all useful novelties have with difficulty
found admission; any reform is difficult; there is a numerous administration
to convince; there is an immense mass to move."
The immensity of the mass, however, did not discourage the old
Commissioners of the Academy. Let this conduct serve as an example to
learned men, to administrators, who might be called upon to cast an
investigating eye on the whole of our beneficent and humane
establishments. Undoubtedly, the abuses, if any yet exist, have not
individually any thing to be compared to those to which Bailly's report did
justice; but would it be impossible for them to have sprung up afresh in the
course of half a century, and that in proportion to their multiplicity, they

should still make enormous and deplorable breaches in the patrimony of the
poor?
I shall modify very slightly, Gentlemen, the concluding words of our
illustrious colleague's report, and I shall not in the least alter their innate
meaning, if I say, in finishing this long analysis: "Each poor man is now
laid alone in a bed, and he owes it principally to the gifted, persevering, and
courageous efforts of the Academy of Sciences. The poor man ought to
know it, and the poor man will not forget it." Happy, Gentlemen, happy the
academy that can adorn itself with such reminiscences!

REPORT ON THE SLAUGHTER-HOUSES.

An attentive glance at the past has been, in all ages and in all countries, the
infallible means of rightly appreciating the present. When we direct this
glance to the sanitary state of Paris, the name of Bailly will again present
itself in the first line amongst the promoters of a capital amelioration, which
I shall point out in a few words.
Notwithstanding the numerous acts of parliament,—notwithstanding the
positive police regulations, which dated back to Charles IX., to Henry III.,
to Henry IV., slaughter-houses still existed in the interior of the capital in
1788; for instance, at l'Apport-Paris, La Croix-Rouge, in the streets of the
Butcheries, Mont-Martre, Saint-Martin, Traversine, &c. &c. The oxen were,
consequently, driven in droves through frequented parts of the town;
enraged by the noise of the carriages, by the excitements of the children, by
the attacks or barking of the wandering dogs, they often sought to escape,—
entered houses or alleys, spread alarm everywhere, gored people, and
committed great damage. Fetid gases exhaled from buildings too small and
badly ventilated; the offal that had to be carried away gave out an
insupportable smell; the blood flowed through the gutters of the
neighbourhood, with other remains of the animals, and putrefied there. The
melting of tallow, an inevitable annexation of all slaughter-houses, spread
around disgusting emanations, and occasioned a constant danger of fire.

So inconvenient, so repulsive a state of things, awakened the solicitude of
individuals and of the public administration; the problem was submitted to
our predecessors, and Bailly, as usual, became the reporter of the
Academical Committee. The other members were Messrs. Tillet, Darcet,
Daubenton, Coulomb, Lavoisier, and Laplace.
When Napoleon, wishing to liberate Paris from the dangerous and
insalubrious results of internal slaughter-houses, decreed the construction of
the fine slaughter-houses known by everybody, he found the subject already
well examined, exhibited in all its points of view, in Bailly's excellent work.
"We ask," said the reporter of the Academical Commission in 1788, "we ask
that the shambles be removed to a distance from the interior of Paris;" and
these interior shambles have disappeared accordingly. Does it create
surprise that it required more than fifteen years to obtain the grant of this
most reasonable demand? I will further remark that, unfortunately, there
was nothing exceptional in this; he who sows a thought in a field rank with
prejudices, with private interests, and with routine, must never expect an
early harvest.

BIOGRAPHIES OF COOK AND OF GRESSET.

The publication of the five quarto volumes of which the History of
Astronomy consists, together with the two powerful reports that I have just
described, had worn out Bailly. To relax and amuse his mind, he resumed
the style of composition that had enchanted him in his youth; he wrote some
biographies, amongst others, that of Captain Cook, proposed as a prize-
subject by the Academy of Marseilles, and the Life of Gresset.
The biography of Gresset first appeared anonymously. This circumstance
gave rise to a singular scene, which the author used to relate with a smile. I
will here myself repeat the principal traits of it, if it be only to deter writers,
whoever they may be, from launching their works into the world without
affixing their names to them.

The Marchioness of Créqui was a lady in the high circles of society, to
whom a copy of the eulogium of the author of Vert-Vert was presented as an
offering. Some days after Bailly went to pay her a visit; did he hope to hear
her speak favourably of the new work? I know not. At all events, our
predecessor would have been ill rewarded for his curiosity.
"Do you know," said the great lady as soon as she saw him, "a Eulogy of
Gresset recently published? The author has sent me a copy of it, without
naming himself. He will probably come to see me; he may, perhaps, have
come already. What could I say to him? I do not think any one ever wrote
worse. He mistakes obscurity for profundity; it is the darkness before the
creation."
Notwithstanding all Bailly's efforts to change the subject of the
conversation, perhaps on account of those very efforts, the Marchioness
rose, goes in search of the pamphlet, puts it into the author's hands, and
begs of him to read aloud, if it be but the first page—quite enough, she said,
to enable one to judge of the rest.
Bailly used to read remarkably well. I leave it to be guessed whether, on
this occasion, he was able to exercise this talent. Superfluous trouble!
Madame de Créqui interrupted him at each sentence by the most
disagreeable commentaries, by exclamations such as the following:
"Detestable style!" "Confusion worse confounded!" and other similar
amenities. Bailly did not succeed in extorting any indulgences from
Madame de Créqui, when, fortunately, the arrival of another visitor put an
end to this insupportable torture.
Two years after this, Bailly having become the first personage in the city,
some booksellers collected all his opuscula and published them. This time,
the Marchioness, who had lost all recollection of the scene that I have been
describing, overpowered the Mayor of Paris with compliments and
felicitations on account of this same eulogy, which she had before treated
with such inhuman rigour.
Such a contrast excited the mirth of the author. Still, might I dare to say so,
Madame de Créqui was, perhaps, sincere on both occasions; had the
exaggerations of praise and of criticism been put aside, it would not have
been impossible to defend both opinions. The early pages of the pamphlet

might appear embarrassed and obscure, whilst in the rest there might be
found great refinement, elegance, and appreciations full of taste.

ASSEMBLY OF THE NOTABLES.—BAILLY IS NAMED
FIRST DEPUTY OF PARIS; AND SOON AFTER DEAN OR
SENIOR OF THE DEPUTIES OF THE COMMUNES.

The Assembly of the Notables had no other effect than to show in a stronger
light the disorder of the finances, and the other wounds that were galling
France. It was then that the Parliament of Paris asked for the convocation of
the States General. This demand was unfavourably received by Cardinal de
Brienne. Soon afterwards the convocation became a necessity, and Necker,
now in the ministry, announced, in the month of November, 1788, that it
was decreed in Council, and that the king had even granted to the third
estate a double representation, which had been so imprudently disputed by
the courtiers.
The districts were formed, on the king's convocation, the 21st of April,
1789. That day was the first day of Bailly's political life. It was on the 21st
of April that the Citizen of Chaillot, entering the Hall of the Feuillants,
imagined, he said, that "he breathed a new atmosphere," and regarded "as a
phenomenon that he should have become something in the body-politic,
merely from his being a citizen."
The elections were to be made in two gradations. Bailly was named first
elector of his district. A few days after, at the general meeting, the Assembly
called him to the Board in quality of secretary. Thus it was our fellow-
academician who, in the beginning, drew up the celebrated procès-verbal of
the meetings of the electors of Paris, so often quoted by the historians of the
revolution.
Bailly also took an active part in drawing up the records of his district, and
the records of the body of electors. The part he acted in these two capacities
could not be doubtful, if we judge of it by the three following short
quotations extracted from his memoirs: "The nation must remember that she

is sovereign and mistress to order every thing.... It is not when reason
awakes, that we should allege ancient privileges and absurd prejudices.... I
shall praise the electors of Paris who were the first to conceive the idea of
prefacing the French Constitution with a declaration of the Rights of Man."
Bailly had always been so extremely reserved in his conduct and in his
writings, that it was difficult to surmise under what point of view he would
consider the national agitation of '89. Hence, at the very beginning, the
Abbé Maury, of the French Academy, proposed to unite himself to Bailly,
and that they should reside at Versailles, and have an apartment in common
between them. It is difficult to avoid a smile when one compares the
conduct of the eloquent and impetuous Abbé with the categorical
declarations, so distinct and so progressive, of the learned astronomer.
On Tuesday, the 12th of May, the general assembly of the electors
proceeded to ballot for the nomination of the first deputy of Paris. Bailly
was chosen.
This nomination is often quoted as a proof of the high intelligence, and of
the wisdom of our fathers, two qualities which, since that epoch, must have
been constantly on the decline, if we are to believe the blind Pessimists.
Such an accusation imposed on me the duty of carrying the appreciation of
this wisdom, of this intelligence that is held up against us, even to
numerical correctness. The following is the result: the majority of the votes
was 159; Bailly obtained 173; this was fourteen more than he required. If
fourteen votes had changed sides the result would have been different. Was
this an incident, I ask, to exclaim so much against?
Bailly showed himself deeply affected by this mark of the confidence with
which he was regarded. His sensibility, his gratitude, did not prevent him,
however, from recording in his memoirs the following naïve observation: "I
observed in the Assembly of the Electors a great dislike for literary men,
and for the academicians."
I recommend this remark to all studious men who, by circumstances or by a
sense of duty, may be thrown into the whirlpool of politics. Perhaps I may
yield to the temptation of developing it, when I shall have to characterize
Bailly's connection with his co-laborers in the first municipality of Paris.

The great question on the verification of the powers was already strongly
agitated, the day that Bailly and the other Deputies of Paris for the first time
were able to go to Versailles; our academician had only spoken once in that
majestic assembly, viz: to induce the adoption of the method of voting by
members being seated or standing,—when, on the 3d of June, he was
named Senior of the Deputies of the Communes (or Commons). Formerly,
the right of presiding in the third house of the kingdom belonged to the
provost of the merchants. Bailly in his diffidence thought that the assembly,
in assigning the chair to him, had wished to compensate the capital for the
loss of an old privilege. This consideration induced him to accept of a duty
that he thought above his powers,—he who always depicted himself as
timid to an extreme, and not possessing a facility of speaking.
Men's minds were more animated, more ardent in 1789 than those would
admit who always see in the present a faithful image of the past. But
calumny, that murderous arm of political party, already respected no
position. Knowledge, loyalty, virtue, did not suffice to shelter any one from
its poisoned darts. Bailly experienced it on the very day after his
nomination to such an eminent post as President of the Communes.
On the 29th of May, the Communes had voted an address to the king on the
constantly recurring difficulties that the nobility opposed to the union of the
States General in one assembly. In order to carry out this most solemn
deliberation, Bailly solicited an audience, in which the moderate and
respectful expression of the anxiety of six hundred loyal deputies was to be
presented to the monarch. In the midst of these strifes the Dauphin died.
Without taking the trouble to consult dates, the court party immediately
represented Bailly as a stranger to the commonest proprieties, and totally
deficient in feeling; he ought, they said, to have respected the most
allowable of griefs; his importunities had been barbarous.
I had imagined that such ridiculous accusations were no longer thought of;
the categorical explanations that Bailly himself gave on this topic, seemed
to me as if they would have sufficed to convince the most prejudiced. I was
deceived, Gentlemen; the reproach of violence, of brutal insensibility, has
just been repeated by the pen of a clever and a conscientious man. I will
give his recital: "Scarcely two hours had elapsed since the royal child had
breathed his last sigh, when Bailly, President of the Third Estate, insisted on

admission to the king, who had prohibited any one being allowed to intrude
upon him. But so positive was the demand, that they were obliged to yield,
and Louis XVI. exclaimed, 'There are then no fathers in that chamber of the
Third Estate.' The chamber very much applauded this trait of brutal
insensibility in Bailly, which they termed a trait of Spartan stoicism."
As many errors as words. The following is the truth. The illness of the
Dauphin had not prevented the two privileged orders from being received
by the king. This preference offended the Communes. They ordered the
President to solicit an audience. He discharged his duty with great caution.
All his proceedings were concerted with two ministers, Necker and M. de
Barentin. The king answered, "It is impossible for me to see M. Bailly in
the situation in which I am to-night, nor to-morrow morning, nor to fix a
day for receiving the deputation of the Third Estate." The note ends with
these words: "Show my note to M. Bailly for his vindication."
Thus, on the day of these events the Dauphin was not dead; thus the king
was not obliged to yield, he did not receive Bailly; thus the chamber had no
act of insensibility to applaud; thus Louis XVI. perceived so clearly that the
President of the Communes was fulfilling the duties of his office, that he
felt it requisite to give him an exoneration.
The death of the Dauphin happened on the 4th of June. As soon as the
assembly of the Third Estate were informed of it, they charged the
President, I quote the very words, "to report to their majesties the deep grief
with which this news had penetrated the Communes."
A deputation of twenty members, having Bailly at their head, was received
on the 6th. The President thus expressed himself: "Your faithful Communes
are deeply moved by the circumstance in which your majesty has the
goodness to receive their deputation, and they take the liberty to address to
you the expression of all their regrets, and of their respectful sensibility."
Such language can, I think, be delivered without uneasiness to the
appreciation of all good men.
Let us be correct; the Communes did not obtain at once the audience that
they demanded on account of the difficulties of the ceremonial. They would
have wished to make the Third Estate speak kneeling. "This custom," said

M. de Barentin, "has existed from time immemorial, and if the king
wished...." "And if twenty-five millions of men do not wish it," exclaimed
Bailly, interrupting the minister, "where are the means to force them?" "The
two privileged orders," replied the Guard of the Seals, somewhat stunned
by the apostrophe, "no longer require the Third Estate to bend the knee; but,
after having formerly possessed immense privileges in the ceremonial, they
limit themselves now to asking some difference. This difference I cannot
find." "Do not take the trouble to seek for it," replied the President hastily:
"however slight the difference might be, the Communes will not suffer it."
This digression was required through a grave and recent error. The memory
of Bailly will not suffer by it, since it has afforded me the opportunity of
establishing, beyond any reply, that in our fellow academician a noble
firmness was on occasions allied to urbanity, mildness, and politeness. But
what will be said of the puerilities which I have been obliged to recall, of
the mean pretensions of the courtiers on the eve of an immense revolution?
When the Greeks of the Lower Empire, instead of going on the ramparts
valiantly to repel the attacks of the Turks, remained night and day collected
around some sophists in their lyceums and academies, their sterile debates
at least related to some intellectual questions; but at Versailles, there was
nothing in action, on the part of two out of three orders, but the most
miserable vanity.
By an express arrangement, decreed from the beginning, among the
Members of the Communes, the Dean or President had to be renewed every
week. Notwithstanding the incessant representations of Bailly, this
legislative article was long neglected, so fortunate did the Assembly feel in
having at their head this eminent man, who to undeniable knowledge,
united sincerity, moderation, and a degree of patriotism not less appreciated.
He thus presided over the Third Estate on the memorable days that
determined the march of our great revolution.
On the 17th of June, for instance, when the Deputies of the Communes,
worn out with the tergiversations of the other two orders, showed that in
case of need they would act without their concurrence, and resolutely
adopted the title of National Assembly,—they provided against presumed

projects of dissolution, by stamping as illegal all levies of contribution
which were not granted by the Assembly.
Again, on the 20th of June, when the Members of the National Assembly,
affronted at the Hall having been closed and their meetings suspended
without an official notification, with only the simple form of placards and
public criers, as if a mere theatre was in question, they assembled at a
tennis-court, and "took an oath never to separate, but to assemble wherever
circumstances might render it requisite, until the Constitution of the
Kingdom should be established and confirmed on solid foundations."
Once more, Bailly was still at the head of his colleagues on the 23d of June,
when, by an inexcusable inconsistency, and which perhaps was not without
some influence on the events of that day, the Deputies of the Third Estate
were detained a long time at the servants' door of the Hall of Meeting, and
in the rain; while the deputies of the other two orders, to whom a more
convenient and more suitable entrance had been assigned, were already in
their places.
The account that Bailly gave of the celebrated royal meeting on the 23d of
June, does not exactly agree with that of most historians.
The king finished his speech with the following imprudent words: "I order
you, Gentlemen, to separate immediately."
The whole of the nobility and a portion of the clergy retired; while the
Deputies of the Communes remained quietly in their places. The Grand
Master of the Ceremonies having remarked it, approaching Bailly said to
him, "You heard the king's order, Sir?" The illustrious President answered,
"I cannot adjourn the Assembly until it has deliberated on it." "Is that
indeed your answer, and am I to communicate it to the king?" "Yes, Sir,"
replied Bailly, and immediately addressing the Deputies who surrounded
him, he said, "It appears to me that the assembled nation cannot receive an
order."
It was after this debate, at once both firm and moderate, that Mirabeau
addressed from his place the well-known apostrophe to M. de Brézé. The
President disapproved both of the basis and the form of it; he felt that there
was no sufficient motive; for, said he, the Grand Master of the Ceremonies

made use of no menace; he had not in any way insinuated that there was an
intention to resort to force; he had not, above all, spoken of bayonets. At all
events, there is an essential difference between the words of Mirabeau as
related in almost all the Histories of the Revolution, and those reported by
Bailly. According to our illustrious colleague the impetuous tribune
exclaimed, "Go tell those who sent you, that the force of bayonets can do
nothing against the will of the nation." This is, to my mind, much more
energetic than the common version. The expression, "We will only retire by
the force of bayonets!" had always appeared to me, notwithstanding the
admiration conceded to it, to imply only a resistance which would cease on
the arrival of a corporal and half-a-dozen soldiers.
Bailly quitted the chair of President of the National Assembly on the 2d of
July. His scientific celebrity, his virtue, his conciliating spirit, had not been
superfluous in habituating certain men to see a member of the Communes
preside over an assembly in which there was a prince of the blood, a prince
of the church, the greatest lords of the kingdom, and all the high dignitaries
of the clergy. The first person named to succeed to Bailly was the Duke
d'Orléans. After his refusal, the Assembly chose the Archbishop of Vienne
(Pompignan).
Bailly recalls to mind with sensibility, in his memoirs, the testimonies of
esteem that he obtained through his difficult and laborious presidency. The
3d of July, on the proposition of the Duke de la Rochefoucauld and of the
Archbishop of Bordeaux, the National Assembly sent a deputation to their
illustrious ex-president, to thank him (these are the precise words) "for his
noble, wise, and firm conduct." The electoral body of Bordeaux had been
beforehand with these homages. The Chamber of Commerce of that town,
at the same time, decided that the portrait of the great citizen should
decorate their hall of meeting. The Academy of Sciences, the Academy of
Inscriptions and Belles Lettres, did not remain insensible to the glory that
one of their members had acquired in the career of politics, and testified it
by numerous deputations. Finally, Marmontel, in the name of the French
Academy, expressed to Bailly "how proud that assembly was to count,
among its members an Aristides that no one was tired of calling the Just."
I shall not excite surprise, I hope, by adding, after such brilliant testimonies
of sympathy, that the inhabitants of Chaillot celebrated the return of Bailly

amongst them by fêtes, and fireworks, and that even the curate of the parish
and the churchwardens, unwilling to be surpassed by their fellow-citizens,
nominated the historian of antediluvian astronomy honorary churchwarden.
I will, at all events, repress the smile that might arise from such private
reminiscences, by reminding the reader that a man's moral character is
better appreciated by his neighbours, to whom he shows himself daily
without disguise, than that of more considerable persons, who are only seen
on state occasions, and in official costume.

BAILLY BECOMES MAYOR OF PARIS.—SCARCITY.—
MARAT DECLARES HIMSELF INIMICAL TO THE
MAYOR.—EVENTS OF THE 6TH OF OCTOBER.

The Bastille had been taken on the 14th of July. That event, on which,
during upwards of half a century, there have been endless discussions, on
opposite sides, was characterized in the following way, in the address to the
National Assembly, drawn up by M. Moreau de Saint Méry, in the name of
the City Committee:—
"Yesterday will be for ever memorable by the taking of a citadel,
consequent on the Governor's perfidy. The bravery of the people was
irritated by the breaking of the word of honour. This act (the strongest proof
that the nation who knows best how to obey, is jealous of its just liberties,)
has been followed by incidents that from the public misfortunes might have
been foreseen."
Lally Tollendal said to the Parisians, on the 15th of July: "In the disastrous
circumstances that have just occurred, we did not cease to participate in
your griefs; and we have also participated in your anger; it was just."
The National Assembly solicited and obtained permission from the king on
the 15th of July, to send a deputation to Paris, which they flattered
themselves would restore order and peace in that great city, then in a
convulsed state. Madame Bailly, always influenced by fear, endeavoured,
though vainly, to dissuade her husband from joining the appointed deputies.

The learned academician naïvely replied, "After a presidency that has been
applauded, I am not sorry to show myself to my fellow-citizens." You see,
Gentlemen, that Bailly always admits the future reader of his Posthumous
Memoirs confidentially into his most secret feelings.
The deputation completed its mandate at the Town Hall, to the entire
satisfaction of the Parisian populace; the Archbishop of Paris, its President,
had already proposed to go in procession to the Cathedral to sing Te Deum;
they were preparing to depart, when the Assembly, giving way to a
spontaneous enthusiasm, with an unanimous voice, proclaimed Bailly
Mayor of Paris, and Lafayette Commander-in-Chief of the National Guard,
the creation of which had just been authorized.
The official minutes of the Municipality state, that on being thus
unexpectedly named, Bailly bent forward to the Assembly, his eyes bathed
in tears, and that amidst his sobs he could only utter a few unconnected
words to express his gratitude. The Mayor's own recital differs very little
from this official relation. Still I shall quote it as a model of sincerity and of
modesty.
"I know not whether I wept, I know not what I said; but I remember well
that I was never so surprised, so confused, and so beneath myself. Surprise
adding to my usual timidity before a large assembly, I rose, I stammered out
a few words that were not heard, and that I did not hear myself, but which
my agitation, much more than my mouth, rendered expressive. Another
effect of my sudden stupidity was, that I accepted without knowing what a
burden I was taking on myself."
Bailly having become Mayor, and being tacitly accepted by the National
Assembly, even from the 16th of July, availed himself of his intimacy with
Vicq-d'Azyr, the Queen's physician, to persuade Louis XVI. to show
himself to the Parisians. This advice was listened to. On the 17th the new
magistrate addressed the king near the barrière de la Conférence, in a
discourse that began thus:—
"I bring to your Majesty the keys of your good city of Paris. They are the
same that were presented to Henry IV. He had reconquered his people, here
the people have reconquered their king."

The antithesis: "he had reconquered his people, here the people have
reconquered their king," was universally applauded. But since then, it has
been criticized with bitterness and violence. The enemies of the Revolution
have striven to discover in it an intention of committing an outrage, to
which the character of Bailly, and still more so the first glance at an
examination of the rest of his discourse, give a flat contradiction. I will
acknowledge, Gentlemen, I think that I have even a right to decline the
epithet of "unfortunate," which one of our most respectable colleagues in
the French Academy has pronounced relative to this celebrated phrase,
while doing justice at the same time to the sentiments of the author. The
poison contained in the few words that I have quoted, was very inoffensive,
since more than a year passed without any courtier, though furnished like a
microscope with, all the monarchical susceptibilities, beginning to suspect
its existence.
The Mayor of Paris was at the Hôtel de Ville in the midst of those same
Parisian citizens who inspired him, a few months before, with the
mortifying reflection already quoted: "I remarked in the Assembly of
Electors a dislike to literary people and Academicians." The feeling did not
appear to be changed.
The political movement in 1789, had been preceded by two very serious
physical perturbations which had great influence on the march of events.
Every one is aware, that the excessively rigorous winter of 1788-89 was the
cause of severe sufferings to the people. But it may not be so generally
known, that on the 13th of July, 1788, a fall of hail of unprecedented size
and quantity, in a few hours completely ravaged the two parallel zones lying
between the department of the Charente and the frontiers of the Pays-Bas,
and that in consequence of this frightful hail, the wheat partly failed, both in
the north and in the west of France, until after the harvest of 1789.
The scarcity was already severely felt, when Bailly on the 15th of July
accepted the appointment of Mayor of Paris. That day, it had been
ascertained, from an examination of the quantity of corn at the Market Hall
and of the private stocks of the bakers, that the supply of grain and flour
would be entirely exhausted in three days. The next day, the 16th of July, all
the overseers in the victualling administration had disappeared. This flight,
the natural consequence of the terrible intimidation that hovered over those

who were in any way connected with the furnishing of provisions,
interrupted the operations which had been commenced, and exposed the
city of Paris to famine.
Bailly, a magistrate of only one day's standing, considered that the
multitude understands nothing, hears nothing when bread fails; that a
scarcity, either real or supposed, is the great promoter of riots; that all
classes of the population grant their sympathy to whoever cries, I am
hungry; that this lamentable cry soon unites individuals of all ages, of both
sexes, of every condition, in one common sentiment of blind fury; that no
human power could maintain order and tranquillity in the bosom of a
population that dreads the want of food; he therefore resolved to devote his
days and his nights to provisioning the capital; to deserve, as he himself
said, the title of the Father nourisher of the Parisians,—that title of which
he showed himself always so proud, after having painfully gained it.
Bailly day by day recorded in his Memoirs a statement of his actions, of his
anxieties, and of his fears. It may be good for the instruction of the more
fortunate administrators of the present epoch, to insert here a few lines from
the journal of our colleague.
"18th August. Our provisions are very much reduced. Those of the morrow
depend strictly on the arrangements made on the previous evening; and now
amidst this distress, we learn that our flour-wagons have been stopped at
Bourg-la-Reine; that some banditti are pillaging the markets in the direction
of Rouen, that they have seized twenty wagons of flour that were destined
for us; ... that the unfortunate Sauvage was massacred at Saint Germain-en-
Laye; ... that Thomassin escaped with difficulty from the fury of the
populace at Choisy."
By repeating either these literal words, or something equivalent to them, for
every day of distress throughout the year 1789, an exact idea may be
formed of the anxieties that Bailly experienced from the morning after his
installation as mayor. I deceive myself; to complete the picture we ought
also to record the unreflecting and inconsiderate actions of a multitude of
people whose destiny appeared to be, to meddle with every thing and to
spoil every thing. I will not resist the wish to show one of these self-
important men, starving (or very nearly so) the city of Paris.

"21st August. The store of victuals, Bailly says, was so scanty, that the lives
of the inhabitants of Paris depended on the somewhat mathematical
precision of our arrangements. Having learnt that a barge with eighteen
hundred sacks of flour had arrived at Poissy, I immediately despatched a
hundred wagons from Paris to fetch them. And behold, in the evening, an
officer without powers and without orders, related before me, that having
met some wagons on the Poissy road, he made them go back, because he
did not think that there was a wharf for any loaded barge on the Seine. It
would be difficult for me to describe the despair and the anger into which
this recital threw me. We were obliged to put sentinels at the bakers' doors!"
The despair and the anger of Bailly were very natural. Even now, after more
than half a century, no one thinks without a shudder of that obscure
individual who, from not believing that a loaded barge could get up to
Poissy, was going, on the 21st August, 1789, to plunge the capital into
bloody disorders.
By means of perseverance, devotedness, and courage, Bailly succeeded in
overcoming all the difficulties that the real scarcity, and the fictitious one,
which was still more redoubtable, caused daily to arise. He succeeded, but
his health from that epoch was deeply injured; his mind had undergone
several of those severe shocks that we can never entirely recover from. Our
colleague said, "when I used to pass the bakers' shops during the scarcity,
and saw them besieged by a crowd, my heart sunk within me; and even now
that abundance has been restored to us, the sight of one of those shops
strikes me with a deep emotion."
The administrative conflicts, the source of which lay in the very bosom of
the Council of the Commune, daily drew from Bailly the following
exclamation, a faithful image of his mind: I have ceased to be happy. The
embarrassments that proceeded from external sources touched him much
less, and yet they were far from contemptible. Let us surmount our
repugnance, although a reasonable one; let us cast a firm look on the sink
where the unworthy calumnies were manufactured, of which Bailly was for
some time the object.
Several years before our first revolution, a native of Neufchatel quitted his
mountains, traversed the Jura, and lighted upon Paris. Without means,

without any recognized talent, without eminence of any sort, repulsive in
appearance, of a more than negligent deportment, it seemed unlikely that he
should hope, or even dream, of success; but the young traveller had been
told to have full confidence, although a celebrated academician had not yet
given that singular definition of our country, "France is the home of
foreigners." At all events, the definition was not erroneous in this instance,
for soon after his arrival, the Neufchatelois was appointed physician to the
household of one of the princes of the royal family, and formed strict
intimacies with the greater part of the powerful people about the court.
This stranger thirsted for literary glory. Amongst his early productions, a
medico-philosophical work figured in three volumes, relative to the
reciprocal influences of the mind and the body. The author thought he had
produced a chef d'œuvre; even Voltaire was not thought to be above
analyzing it suitably; let us hasten to say that the illustrious old man,
yielding to the pressing solicitations of the Duke de Praslin, one of the most
active patrons of the Swiss doctor, promised to study the work and give his
opinion of it.
The author was at the acmé of his wishes. After having pompously
announced that the seat of the soul is in the meninges (cerebral membrane),
could there be any thing to fear from the liberal thinker of Ferney? He had
only forgotten that the patriarch was above all a man of good taste, and that
the book on the body and soul offended all the proprieties of life. Voltaire's
article appeared. He began with this severe and just lesson—"We should not
be prodigal of contempt towards others, and of esteem for ourselves, to
such a degree as will be revolting to our readers." The end was still more
overwhelming. "We see harlequin everywhere cutting capers to amuse the
pit."
Harlequin had received a sufficient dose. Not having succeeded in
literature, he threw himself upon the sciences.
On betaking himself to this new career, the doctor of Neufchatel attacked
Newton. But unluckily his criticisms were directed precisely to those points
wherein optics may vie in evidence with geometry itself. This time the
patron was M. de Maillebois, and the tribunal the Academy of Sciences.

The Academy pronounced its judgment gravely, without inflicting a word of
ridicule; for example, it did not speak of harlequin; but it did not therefore
remain the less established that the pretended experiments, intended, it was
said, to upset Newton's, on the unequal refrangibility of variously coloured
rays, and the explanation of the rainbow, &c., had absolutely no scientific
value.
Still the author would not allow himself to have been beaten. He even
conceived the possibility of retaliation; and, availing himself of his intimacy
with the Duke de Villeroy, governor of the second city in the kingdom, he
got the Academy of Lyons to propose for competition all the questions in
optics, which for several years past had been the subjects of its
disquisitions; he even furnished the amount of the prize out of his own
pocket, under an assumed name.
The prize so longed for, and so singularly proposed, was not obtained,
however, by the Duke de Villeroy's candidate, but by the astronomer
Flaugergues. From that instant, the pseudo-physicist became the bitter
enemy of the scientific bodies of the whole universe, of whoever bore the
title of an academician. Putting aside all shame, he no longer made himself
known in the field of natural philosophy, merely by imaginary experiments,
or by juggleries; he had recourse to contemptible practices, with the object
of throwing doubt upon the clearest and best proved principles of science;
for example, the metallic needles discovered by the academician Charles,
and which the foreign doctor had adroitly concealed in a cake of resin, in
order to contradict the common opinion of the electric non-conductibility of
that substance.
These details were necessary. I could not avoid characterizing the journalist
who by his daily calumnies contributed most to undermine the popularity of
Bailly. It was requisite besides, once for all, to strip him in this circle of the
epithet of philosopher, with which men of the world, and even some
historians, inconsiderately gratified him. When a man reveals himself by
some brilliant and intelligent works, the public is pleased to find them
united with good qualities of the heart. Nor should its joy be less hearty on
discovering the absence of all intellectual merit in a man who had before
shown himself despicable by his passions, or his vices, or even only by
serious blemishes of character.

If I have not yet named the enemy of our colleague, if I have contented
myself with recounting his actions, it is in order to avoid as much as I can
the painful feeling that his name must raise here. Judge, Gentlemen, weigh,
my scruples: the furious persecutor of Bailly, of whom I have been talking
to you for some minutes, was Marat.
The revolution of '89 just occurred in time to relieve the abortive author,
physiologist, and physicist from the intolerable position into which he had
been thrown by his inability and his quackery.
As soon as the revolution had assumed a decided movement, great surprise
was occasioned by the sudden transformations excited in the inferior walks
of the political world. Marat was one of the most striking examples of these
hasty changes of principles. The Neufchatel physician had shown himself a
violent adversary to those opinions that occasioned the convocation of the
assembly of Notables, and the national commotion in '89. At that time
democratical institutions had not a more bitter or more violent censor.
Marat liked it to be believed that in quitting France for England, he fled
especially from the spectacle of social renovation which was odious to him.
Yet a month after the taking of the Bastille, he returned to Paris, established
a journal, and from its very beginning left far behind him, even those who,
in the hope of making themselves remarkable, thought they must push
exaggeration to its very farthest limits. The former connection of Marat
with M. de Calonne was perfectly well known; they remembered these
words of Pitt's: "The French must go through liberty, and then be brought
back to their old government by licence;" the avowed adversaries of
revolution testified by their conduct, by their votes, and even by their
imprudent words, that according to them, the worst was the only means of
returning to what they call the good; and yet these instructive comparisons
struck only eight or ten members of our great assemblies, so small a share
has suspicion in the national character, so painful is distrust to French
sincerity. The historians of our troubles themselves have but skimmed the
question that I have just raised—assuredly a very important and very
curious one. In such matters, the part of a prophet is tolerably hazardous;
yet I do not hesitate to predict, that a minute study of the conduct and of the
discourses of Marat, would lead the mind more and more to those chapters
in a treatise on the chase, wherein we see depicted bad species of falcons
and hawks, at first only pursuing the game by a sign from the master, and

for his advantage; but by degrees taking pleasure in these bloody struggles,
and entering on the sport at last with passion and for their own profit.
Marat took good care not to forget that during a revolution, men, naturally
suspicious, act in their more immediate affairs so as to render those persons
suspected whose duty it is to watch over them. The Mayor of Paris, the
General Commandant of the National Guard, were the first objects,
therefore, at which the pamphleteer aimed. As an academician, Bailly had
an extra claim to his hate.
Among men of Marat's disposition, the wounds of self-love never heal.
Without the hateful passions derived from this source, who would believe
that an individual, whose time was divided between the superintendence of
a daily journal, the drawing up of innumerable placards with which he
covered the walls of Paris, together with the struggles of the Convention,
the disputes not less fierce of the clubs; that an individual who, besides, had
given himself the task of imposing an Agrarian law on the country, could
find time to write the very long letters against the old official adversaries of
his bad experiments, his absurd theories, his lucubrations devoid both of
erudition and of talent; letters in which the Monges, the Laplaces, the
Lavoisiers are treated with such an entire neglect of justice and of truth, and
with such a cynical spirit, that my respect for this assembly prevents my
quoting a single expression.
It was not then only the Mayor of Paris whom the pretended friend of the
people persecuted; it was also the Academician Bailly. But the illustrious
philosopher, the virtuous magistrate, gave no hold for positive and decided
criminations. The hideous pamphleteer understood this well; and therefore
he adopted vague insinuations, that allowed of no possible refutation, a
method which, we may remark by the way, has not been without imitators.
Marat exclaimed every day: "Let Bailly send in his accounts!" and the most
powerful figure of rhetoric, as Napoleon said, repetition, finally inspires
doubts in a stupid portion of the public, in some feeble, ignorant, and
credulous minds in the Council of the Commune; and the scrupulous
magistrate wished, in fact, to send in his accounts. Here they are in two
lines: Bailly never had the handling of any public funds. He left the Hôtel
de Ville, after having spent there two thirds of his patrimony. If his
functions had been long protracted, he would have retired completely

ruined. Before the Commune assigned him any salary, the expenses of our
colleague in charities already exceeded 30,000 livres.
That was, Gentlemen, the final result. The details would be more striking,
and the name of Bailly would ennoble them. I could show our colleague
entering only once with his wife, to regulate the furnishing of the
apartments that the Commune assigned him; rejecting all that had the
appearance of luxury or even of elegance; to replace sets of china by sets of
earthenware, new carpets by the half-used ones of M. de Crosnes, writing
tables of mahogany by writing tables of walnut, &c. But all this would
appear an indirect criticism, which is far from my thoughts. From the same
motives, I will not say, that inimical to all sinecures, of all plurality of
appointments, when the functions are not fulfilled, the Mayor of Paris, since
he no longer regularly attended the meetings of the National Assembly, no
longer fingered the pay of a deputy, and that this was proved, to the great
confusion of the idiots, whose minds had been disturbed by Marat's
clamours. Yet I will record that Bailly refused all that in the incomes of his
predecessors had proceeded from an impure source; as, for example, the
allowances from the lotteries, the amount of which was by his orders
constantly paid into the coffers of the Commune.
You see, Gentlemen, that no trouble was required to show that the
disinterestedness of Bailly was great, enlightened, dictated by virtue, and
that it was at least equal to his other eminent qualities. In the series of
accusations that I have extracted from the pamphlets of that epoch, there is
one, however, as to which, all things considered, I will not attempt to
defend Bailly. He accepted a livery from the city; on this point no blame
was attached to him; but the colours of the livery were very gaudy. Perhaps
the inventors of these bright shades had imagined, that the insignia of the
first magistrate of the metropolis, in a ceremony, in a crowd, should, like
the light from a Pharos, strike even inattentive eyes. But these explanations
regard those who would make of Bailly a perfectly rational being, a man
absolutely faultless; I, although his admirer, I resign myself to admit that in
a laborious life, strewed with so many rocks, he committed the horrible
crime, unpardonable let it be called, of having accepted from the Commune
a livery of gaudy colours.

Bailly figured in the events of the month of October 1789, only by the
unsuccessful efforts he made at Paris, to arrange with Lafayette how to
prevent a great crowd of women from going to Versailles. When this crowd,
considerably increased, returned on the 6th October very tumultuously
escorting the carriages of the royal family, Bailly harangued the king at the
Barrière de la Conférence. Three days after, he also complimented the
Queen at the Tuileries in the name of the Municipal Council.
On retiring from the National Assembly, which he then called a Cavern of
Anthropophagi, Lally Tollendal published a letter in which he found bitter
fault with Bailly on account of these discourses. Lally was angry,
recollecting that the day when the king reëntered his capital as a prisoner,
surrounded by a very disrespectful crowd, and preceded by the heads of his
body-guards, had appeared to Bailly a fine day!
If the two heads had been in the procession, Bailly becomes inexcusable;
but the two epochs, or rather hours (to speak more correctly), have been
confounded; the wretched men, who after a conflict with the body-guard,
brought their barbarous trophies to Paris, left Versailles in the morning; they
were arrested and imprisoned, by order of the municipality, as soon as they
had entered the barriers of the capital. Thus the hideous circumstance
reported by Lally was the dream of a wild imagination.

A GLANCE AT THE POSTHUMOUS MEMOIR OF BAILLY.

Bailly's Memoirs have thus far served me as a guide and check; now that
this resource fails me, let us refer to his posthumous work.
I could only consult those Memoirs as far as they related to the public or
private life of our colleague. Historians may consult them in a more general
point of view. They will find some valuable facts in them, related without
prejudice; ample matter for new and fruitful reflections on the way in which
revolutions are generated, increase, and lead to catastrophes. Bailly is less
positive, less absolute, less slashing, than the generality of his
contemporaries, even respecting those events in which circumstances

assigned to him the principal part to be acted; hence when he points out
some low intrigue, in distinct and categorical terms, he inspires full
confidence.
When the occasion will allow of it, Bailly praises with enthusiasm; a noble
action fills him with joy; he puts it together and relates it with relish. This
disposition of mind is sufficiently rare to deserve mention.
The day, still far off, when we shall finally recognize that our great
revolution presented, even in the interior, even during the most cruel
epochs, something besides anarchical and sanguinary scenes: the day when,
like the intrepid fishermen in the Gulf of Persia and on the coasts of Ceylon,
a zealous and impartial writer will consent to plunge head-foremost into the
ocean of facts of all sorts, of which our fathers were witnesses, and
exclusively seize the pearls, disdainfully rejecting the mud,—Bailly's
Memoirs will furnish a glorious contingent to this national work. Two or
three quotations will explain my ideas, and will show, besides, how
scrupulously Bailly registered all that could shed honour on our country.
I will take the first fact from the military annals; a grenadier of the French
Guard saves his commanding officer's life, although the people thought that
they had great reason of complaint against him. "Grenadier, what is your
name?" exclaimed the Duke de Châtelet, full of gratitude. The soldier
replied, "Colonel, my name is that of all my comrades."
I will borrow the second fact from the civil annals: Stephen de Larivière,
one of the electors of Paris, had gone on the 20th of July, to fetch Berthier
de Sauvigny, who had been fatally arrested at Compiègne, on the false
report that the Assembly of the Town Hall wished to prosecute him as
intendant of the army, by which a few days before the capital had been
surrounded. The journey was performed in an open cabriolet, amidst the
insults of a misled population, who imputed to the prisoner the scarcity and
bad quality of the bread. Twenty times, guns, pistols, sabres, would have
put an end to Berthier's life, if, twenty times, the member of the Commune
of Paris had not voluntarily covered him with his body. When they reached
the streets of the capital, the cabriolet had to penetrate through an immense
and compact crowd, whose exasperation bordered on delirium, and who
evidently wished to perpetrate the utmost extremities; not knowing which

of the two travellers was the Intendant of Paris, they betook themselves to
crying out, "let the prisoner take off his hat!" Berthier obeyed, but Larivière
uncovered his head also at the same instant.
All parties would gain by the production of a work, that I desire to see most
earnestly. For my part, I acknowledge, I should be sorry not to see in it the
answer made to Francis II. by one of the numerous officers who committed
the fault, so honestly acknowledged afterwards,—a fault that no one would
commit now,—that of joining foreigners in arms. The Austrian prince, after
his coronation, attempted, at a review, to induce our countrymen to admire
the good bearing of his troops, and finally exclaimed, "There are materials
wherewith to crush the Sans-culottes." "That remains to be seen!" instantly
answered the émigré officer.
May these quotations lead some able writer to erect a monument still
wanting to the glory of our country! There is in this subject, it seems to me,
enough to inspire legitimate ambition. Did not Plutarch immortalize himself
by preserving noble actions and fine sentiments from oblivion?

EXAMINATION OF BAILLY'S ADMINISTRATION AS
MAYOR.

The illustrious Mayor of Paris had not the leisure to continue writing his
reminiscences beyond the date of the 2d of October, 1789. The analysis and
appreciation of the events subsequent to that epoch will remain deprived of
that influential sanction, pure as virtue, concise and precise as truth, which I
found in the handwriting of our colleague. Xenocrates, historians say, who
was celebrated among the Greeks for his honesty, being called to bear
witness before a tribunal, the judges with common consent stopped him as
he was advancing towards the altar according to the usual custom, and said,
"These formalities are not required from you; an oath would add nothing to
the authority of your words." Such, Bailly presents himself to the reader of
his Posthumous Memoirs. None of his assertions leave any room for
indecision or doubt. He needs not high-flown expressions or protestations in

order to convince; nor would an oath add authority to his words. He may be
deceived, but he is never the deceiver.
I will spare no effort to give to the description of the latter part of Bailly's
life, all the correctness which can result from a sincere and conscientious
comparison of the writings published as well by the partisans as by the
enemies of our great revolution. Such, however, is my desire to prevent two
phases, though very distinct, being confounded together, that I shall here
pause, in order to cast a scrupulous glance on the actions and on the various
publications of our colleague. I shall moreover thus have an easy
opportunity of filling up some important lacunæ.
I read in a biographical article, otherwise very friendly, that Bailly was
nominated the very day of, and immediately after, the assassination of M.
de Flesselles; and in this identity the wish was to insinuate that the first
Mayor of Paris received this high dignity from the bloody hands of a set of
wretches. The learned biographer, notwithstanding his good will, has ill
repelled the calumny. With a little more attention he would have succeeded
better. A simple comparison of dates would have sufficed. The death of M.
de Flesselles occurred on the 14th of July; Bailly was nominated two days
after.
I will address the same remark to the authors of a Biographical Dictionary
still more recent, in which they speak of the ineffectual efforts that Bailly
made to prevent the multitude from murdering the governor of the Bastille
(de Launay). But Bailly had no opportunity of making an effort, for he was
then at Versailles; no duty called him to Paris, nor did he become Mayor till
two days after the taking of the fortress. It is really inexcusable not to have
compared the two dates, by which these errors would have been avoided.
Many persons very little acquainted with contemporaneous history, fancy
that during the whole duration of Bailly's administration, Paris was quite a
cut-throat place. That is a romance; the following is the truth:—
Bailly was Mayor during two years and four months. In that time there
occurred four political assassinations; those of Foulon and of Berthier de
Sauvigny, his son-in-law, at the Hôtel de Ville; that of M. Durocher, a
respectable officer of the gendarmerie, killed at Chaillot, by a musket-shot,
in August, 1789; and that of a baker massacred in a riot in the month of

October of the same year. I do not speak of the assassination of two
unfortunate men on the Champ de Mars in July, 1791, as that deplorable
fact must be considered separately.
The individuals guilty of the assassination of the baker were seized,
condemned to death, and executed. The family of the unfortunate victim
became the object of the anxious care of all the authorities, and obtained a
pension.
The death of M. Durocher was attributed to some Swiss soldiers who had
revolted.
The horrible and ever to be deplored assassinations of Foulon and of
Berthier, are among those misfortunes which, under certain given
circumstances, no human power could prevent.
In times of scarcity, a slight word, either true or unfounded, suffices to
create a terrible commotion.
Réveillon is made to say, that a workman can live upon fifteen sous per
diem, and behold his manufactory destroyed from top to bottom.
They ascribe to Foulon the barbarous vaunt; "I will force the people to eat
hay;" and without any order from the constituted authorities, some peasants,
neighbours of the old minister, arrest him, take him to Paris, his son-in-law
experiences the same fate, and the famished populace immolates both of
them.
In proportion as the multitude appear to me unjust and culpable, in
attacking certain men respecting a scarcity of provisions, when it is the
manifest consequence of the severity of the seasons, I should be disposed to
excuse their rage against the authors of factitious scarcities. Well,
Gentlemen, at the time that Foulon was assassinated, the people, deceived
by some impassioned orators of the Assembly, might, or let us rather say,
ought to believe, that they were wilfully famished. Foulon perished the 22d
of July, 1789; on the 15th, that is to say, seven days before, Mirabeau had
addressed the following incendiary words to the inhabitants of the capital,
from the National Tribune:—

"Henry IV. allowed provisions to be taken into besieged and rebellious
Paris; but now, some perverse ministers intercept convoys of provisions
destined for famished and obedient Paris."
Yet people have been so inconsiderate as to be astonished at the
assassinations of Foulon and of Berthier. Going back in thought to the
month of July, 1789, I perceive in the imprudent apostrophe of the eloquent
tribune, more sanguinary disorders than the contemporary history has had to
record.
One of the most honourable, one of the most respectable and the most
respected members of the institute, having been led, in a recent work, to
relate the assassination of Foulon, has thrown on the conduct of Bailly,
under those cruel circumstances, an aspersion that I read with surprise and
grief. Foulon was detained in the Hôtel de Ville. Bailly went down into the
square, and succeeded for a moment in calming the multitude. "I did not
imagine," said the Mayor in his memoirs, "that they could have forced the
Hôtel de Ville, a well-guarded post, and an object of respect to all the
citizens. I therefore thought the prisoner in perfect safety; I did not doubt
but the waves of this storm would finally subside, and I departed."
The honourable author of the History of the Reign of Louis XVI. opposes to
this passage the following words taken from the official minutes of the
Hôtel de Ville: "The electors (those who had accompanied Bailly out to the
square) reported in the Hall the certainty that the calm would not last long."
The new historian adds: "How could the Mayor alone labour under this
delusion? It is too evident, that on such a day, the public tranquillity was
much too uncertain, to allow of the chief magistrate of the town absenting
himself without deserving the reproach of weakness." The remainder of the
passage shows too evidently, that in the author's estimation, weakness here
was synonymous with cowardice.
It is against this, Gentlemen, that I protest with heartfelt earnestness. Bailly
absented himself because he did not think that the Hôtel de Ville could be
forced. The electors in the passage quoted do not enunciate a different
opinion: where then is the contradiction?
Bailly deceived himself in this expectation, for the multitude burst into the
Hôtel de Ville. We will grant that there was an error of judgment in this; but

nothing in the world authorizes us to call in question the courage of the
Mayor.
To decide after the blow, with so little hesitation or consideration, that
Bailly ought not to have absented himself from the House of the Commune,
we must forget that, under such circumstances, the obligations of the first
magistrate of the city were quite imperious and very numerous; it is
requisite, above all, not to remember that each day, the provision of flour
required for the nourishment of seven or eight hundred thousand
inhabitants, depended on the measures adopted on the previous evening. M.
de Crosne, who on quitting the post of Lieutenant of Police, had not ceased
to be a citizen, was during some days a very enlightened and zealous
councillor for Bailly; but on the day that Foulon was arrested, this
dismissed magistrate thought himself lost. He and his family made an
appeal to the gratitude and humanity of our colleague. It was to procure a
refuge for them, that Bailly employed the few hours of absence with which
he was so much reproached: those hours during which that catastrophe
happened which the Mayor could not have prevented, since even the
superhuman efforts of General Lafayette, commanding an armed force,
proved futile. I will add, that to spare M. de Crosne an arbitrary arrest, the
imminent danger of which alas! was too evident in the death of Berthier,
Bailly absented himself again from the Hôtel de Ville on the night of the
22d to the 23d of July, to accompany the former Lieutenant of Police to a
great distance from Paris.
There is not a more distressing spectacle than that of one honest man
wrongfully attacking another honest man. Gentlemen, let us never willingly
leave the satisfaction and the advantage of it to the wicked.
To appreciate the actions of our predecessors with impartiality and justice, it
would be indispensable to keep constantly before our eyes the list of
unheard-of difficulties that the revolution had to surmount, and to
remember the very restricted means of repression placed at the disposal of
the authorities in the beginning.
The scarcity of food gave rise to many embarrassments, to many a crisis;
but causes of quite another nature had not less influence on the march of
events.

In his memoirs, Bailly speaks of the manœuvres of a redoubtable faction
labouring for ... under the name of the.... The names are blank. A certain
editor of the work filled up the lacunæ. I have not the same hardihood, I
only wished to remark that Bailly had to combat at once both the
spontaneous effervescence of the multitude, and the intrigues of a crowd of
secret agents, who distributed money with a liberal hand.
Some day, said our colleague, the infernal genius who directed those
intrigues and le bailleur de fonds will be known. Although the proper names
are wanting, it is certain that some persons inimical to the revolution urged
it to deplorable excesses.
These enemies had collected in the capital thirty or forty thousand
vagabonds. What could be opposed to them? The Tribunals? They had no
moral power, and were declared enemies to the revolution. The National
Guard? It was only just formed; the officers scarcely knew each other, and
moreover scarcely knew the men who were to obey them. Was it at least
permitted to depend on the regular armed force? It consisted of six
battalions of French Guards without officers; of six thousand soldiers who,
from every part of France, had flocked singly to Paris, on reading in the
newspapers the following expressions from General Lafayette: "They talk
of deserters! The real deserters are those men who have not abandoned their
standards." There were finally six hundred Swiss Guards in Paris, deserters
from their regiments; for, let us speak freely, the celebrated monument of
Lucerne will not prevent the Swiss themselves from being recognized by
impartial and intelligent historians, as having experienced the revolutionary
fever.
Those who, with such poor means of repression, flattered themselves that
they could entirely prevent any disorder, in a town of seven or eight
hundred thousand inhabitants in exasperation, must have been very blind.
Those, on the other hand, who attempt to throw the responsibility of the
disorders on Bailly, would prove by this alone, that good people should
always keep aloof from public affairs during a revolution.
The administrator, a being of modern creation, now declares, with the most
ludicrous self-sufficiency, that Bailly was not equal to the functions of a
Mayor of Paris. It is, he says, by undeserved favour that his statue has been

placed on the façade of the Hôtel de Ville. During his magistracy, Bailly did
not create any large square in the capital, he did not open out any large
streets, he elevated no splendid monument; Bailly would therefore have
done better had he remained an astronomer or erudite scholar.
The enumeration of all the public erections that Bailly did not execute is
correct. It might also have been added, that far from devoting the municipal
funds to building, he had the vast and threatening castle of the Bastille
demolished down to its very foundation's; but this would not deprive Bailly
of the honour of having been one of the most enlightened magistrates that
the city of Paris could boast.
Bailly did not enlarge any street, did not erect any palace during the twenty-
eight months of his administration! No, undoubtedly! for, first it was
necessary to give bread to the inhabitants of Paris; now the revenues of the
town, added to the daily sums furnished by Necker, scarcely sufficed for
those principal wants. Some years before, the Parisians had been very much
displeased at the establishment of import dues on all alimentary substances.
The writers of that epoch preserved the burlesque Alexandrine, which was
placarded all over the town, on the erection of the Octroi circumvallation:

"Le mur murant Paris, rend Paris murmurant."[13]

The multitude was not content with murmuring; the moment that a
favourable opportunity occurred, it went to the barriers and broke them
down. These were reëstablished by the administration with great trouble,
and the smugglers often took them down by main force. The Octroi revenue
from the imports, which used to amount to 70,000 francs, now fell to less
than 30,000. Those persons who have considered the figures of the present
revenue, will assuredly not compare such very dissimilar epochs.
But it is said that ameliorations in the moral world may often be effected
without expense. What were those for which the public was indebted to the
direct exertions of Bailly? The question is simple, but repentance will
follow the having asked it. My answer is this: One of the most honourable
victories gained by mathematics over the avaricious prejudices of the
administrations of certain towns has been, in our own times, the radical
suppression of gambling-houses. I will hasten to prove that such a

suppression had already engaged Bailly's attention, that he had partly
effected it, and that no one ever spoke of those odious dens with more
eloquence and firmness.
"I declare," wrote the Mayor of Paris on the 5th of May, 1790, "that the
gambling-houses are in my opinion a public scourge. I think that these
meetings not only should not be tolerated, but that they ought to be sought
out and prosecuted, as much as the liberty of the citizens, and the respect
due to their homes, will admit.
"I regard the tax that has been levied from such houses as a disgraceful
tribute. I do not think that it is allowable to employ a revenue derived from
vice and disorder, even to do good. In consequence of these principles, I
have never granted any permit to gambling-houses; I have constantly
refused them. I have constantly announced that not only they would not be
tolerated, but that they would be sought out and prosecuted."
If I add that Bailly suppressed all spectacles of animal-fighting, at which the
multitude cannot fail to acquire ferocious and sanguinary habits, I shall
have a right to ask of every superficial writer, how he would justify the
epithet of sterile, applied with such assurance to the administration of our
virtuous colleague.
Anxious to carry out in practice that which had been largely recognized
theoretically in the declaration of rights—the complete separation of
religion from civil law,—Bailly presented himself before the National
Assembly on the 14th of May, 1791, and demanded, in the name of the city
of Paris, the abolition of an order of things which, in the then state of men's
minds, gave rise to great abuses. If declarations of births, of marriages, and
of deaths are now received by civil officers in a form agreeing with all
religious opinions, the country is chiefly indebted for it to the intelligent
firmness of Bailly.
The unfortunate beings for whom all public men should feel most
solicitous, are those prisoners who are awaiting in prison the decrees of the
courts of justice. Bailly took care not to neglect such a duty. At the end of
1790, the old tribunals had no moral power; they could no longer act; the
new ones were not yet created. This state of affairs distracted the mind of
our colleague. On the 18th of November, he expressed his grief to the

National Assembly, in terms full of sensibility and kindness. I should be
culpable if I left them in oblivion.
"Gentlemen, the prisons are full. The innocent are awaiting their
justification, and the criminals an end to their remorse. All breathe an
unwholesome air, and disease will pronounce terrible decrees. Despair
dwells there: Despair says, either give me death, or judge me. When we
visit those prisons, that is what the fathers of the poor and the unfortunate
hear; this is what it is their duty to repeat to the fathers of their country. We
must tell them that in those asylums of crime, of misery, and of every grief,
time is infinite in its duration; a month is a century, a month is an abyss the
sight of which is frightful.... We ask of the tribunals to empty the prisons by
the justification of the innocent, or by examples of justice."
Does it not appear to you, Gentlemen, that calm times may occasionally
derive excellent lessons, and, moreover, lessons expressed in very good
language, from our revolutionary epoch?

FOOTNOTE:

[13] "The wall walling Paris, renders Paris wailing."

THE KING'S FLIGHT.—EVENTS ON THE CHAMP DE
MARS.

In the month of April, 1791, Bailly perceived that his influence over the
Parisian population was decreasing. The king had announced that he should
depart on the 18th, and would remain some days at St. Cloud. The state of
his health was the ostensible cause of his departure. Some religious scruples
were probably the real cause; the holy week was approaching, and the king
would have no communications with the ecclesiastics sworn in for his
parish. Bailly was not discomposed at this projected journey; he regarded it
even with satisfaction. Foreign courts, said our colleague, looked upon him
as a prisoner. The sanction he gives to various decrees, appears to them
extorted by violence; the visit of Louis XVI. to Saint Cloud will dissipate
all these false reports. Bailly therefore concerted measures with La Fayette
for the departure of the royal family; but the inhabitants of Paris, less
confiding than their mayor, already saw the king escaping from St. Cloud,
and seeking refuge amidst foreign armies. They therefore rushed to the
Tuileries, and notwithstanding all the efforts of Bailly and his colleague, the
court carriages could not advance a step. The king and queen therefore,
after waiting for an hour and a half in their carriage, reascended into the
palace.
To remain in power after such a check, was giving to the country the most
admirable proof of devotion.
In the night of the 20th to the 21st of June, 1791, the king quitted the
Tuileries. This flight, so fatal to the monarchy, irretrievably destroyed the
ascendency that Bailly had exercised over the capital. The populace usually
judges from the event. The king, they said, with the queen and their two
children, were freely allowed to go out of the palace. The Mayor of Paris

was their accomplice, for he has the means of knowing every thing;
otherwise he might be accused of carelessness, or of the most culpable
negligence.
These attacks were not only echoed in the shops, in the streets, but also in
the strongly organized clubs. The Mayor answered in a peremptory manner,
but without entirely effacing the first impression. During several days after
the king's flight, both Bailly and La Fayette were in personal danger. The
National Assembly had often to look to their safety.
I have now reached a painful portion of my task, a frightful event, that led
finally to Bailly's cruel death; a bloody catastrophe, the relation of which
will perhaps oblige me to allow a little blame to hover over some actions of
this virtuous citizen, whom thus far it has been my delight to praise without
any restriction.
The flight of the king had an immense influence on the progress of our first
revolution. It threw into the republican party some considerable political
characters who, till then, had hoped to realize the union of a monarchy with
democratical principles.
Mirabeau, a short time before his death, having heard this projected flight
spoken of, said to Cabanis: "I have defended monarchy to the last; I defend
it still, although I think it lost.... But, if the king departs, I will mount the
tribune, have the throne declared vacant, and proclaim a Republic."
After the return from Varennes, the project of substituting a republican
government for a monarchical government was very seriously discussed by
the most moderate members of the National Assembly, and we now know
that the Duke de La Rochefoucauld and Dupont (de Némours) for example,
were decidedly in favour of a republic. But it was chiefly in the clubs that
the idea of such a radical change had struck root. When the Commission of
the National Assembly had expressed itself, through M. Muguet, at the
sitting of the 13th of July, 1791, against the forfeiture of Louis XVI., there
was a great fermentation in Paris. Some agents of the Cordeliers
(Shoemakers') Club were the first to ask for signatures to a petition on the
14th of July, against the proposed decision. The Assembly refused to read
and even to receive it. On the motion of Laclos, the club of the Jacobins got
up another. This, after undergoing some important modifications, was to be

signed on the 17th on the Champ de Mars, on the altar of their country.
These projects were discussed openly, in full daylight. The National
Assembly deemed them anarchical. On the 16th of July it called to its bar
the municipality of Paris, enjoining it to have recourse to force, if requisite,
to repress any culpable movements.
The Council of the Commune on the morning of the 17th placarded a
proclamation that it had prepared according to the orders of the National
Assembly. Some municipal officers went about preceded by a trumpeter, to
read it in various public squares. Around the Hotel de Ville, the military
arrangements, commanded by La Fayette, led to the expectation of a
sanguinary conflict. All at once, on the opening of the sitting of the National
Assembly, a report was circulated that two good citizens having dared to
tell the people collected around their country's altar, that they must obey the
law, had been put to death, and that their heads, stuck upon pikes, were
carried through the streets. The news of this attack excited the indignation
of all the deputies, and under this impression, Alexander Lameth, then
President of the Assembly, of his own accord transmitted to Bailly very
severe new orders, a circumstance which, though only said en passant, has
been but recently known.
The municipal body, as soon as it was informed, about eleven o'clock, of
the two assassinations, deputed three of its members, furnished with full
powers, to reëstablish order. Strong detachments accompanied the
municipal officers. About two o'clock it was reported that stones had been
thrown at the National Guard. The Municipal Council instantly had martial
law proclaimed on the Place de Grève, and the red flag suspended from the
principal window of the Hôtel de Ville. At half-past five o'clock, just when
the municipal body was about to start for the Champ de Mars, the three
councillors, who had been sent in the morning to the scene of disorder,
returned, accompanied by a deputation of twelve persons, taken from
among the petitioners. The explanations given on various sides occasioned
a new deliberation of the Council. The first decision was maintained, and at
six o'clock the municipality began its march with the red flag, three pieces
of cannon, and numerous detachments of the National Guard.
Bailly, as chief of the municipality, found himself at this time in one of
those solemn and perilous situations, in which a man becomes responsible

in the eyes of a whole nation, in the eyes of posterity, for the inconsiderate
or even culpable actions of the passionate multitude that surrounds him, but
which he scarcely knows, and over which he has little or no influence.
The National Guard, in that early epoch of the revolution, was very
troublesome to lead and to rule. Insubordination appeared to be the rule in
its ranks; and hierarchical obedience a very rare exception. My remark may
perhaps appear severe: well, Gentlemen, read the contemporary writings,
Grimm's Correspondence, for example, and you will see, under date of
November 1790, a dismissed captain replying to the regrets of his company
in the following style: "Console yourselves, my companions, I shall not quit
you; only, henceforward I shall be a simple fusilier; if you see me resolved
to be no longer your chief, it is because I am content to command in my
turn."
It is allowable besides to suppose that the National Guard of 1791 was
deficient, in the presence of such crowds, of that patience, that clemency, of
which the French troops of the line have often given such perfect examples.
It was not aware that, in a large city, crowds are chiefly composed of the
unemployed and the idly curious.
It was half-past seven o'clock when the municipal body arrived at the
Champ de Mars. Immediately some individuals placed on the glacis
exclaimed: "Down with the red flag! down with the bayonettes!" and threw
some stones. There was even a gun fired. A volley was fired in the air to
frighten them; but the cries soon recommenced; again some stones were
thrown; then only the fatal fusillade of the National Guard began!
These, Gentlemen, are the deplorable events of the Champ de Mars,
faithfully analyzed from the relation that Bailly himself gave of the 18th
July to the Constituent Assembly. This recital, the truth of which no one
assuredly will question any more than myself, labours under some
involuntary but very serious omissions. I will indicate them, when the
march of events leads us, in following our unfortunate colleague, to the
revolutionary tribunal.

BAILLY QUITS THE MAYORALTY THE 12TH OF
NOVEMBER, 1791.—THE ESCHEVINS.—EXAMINATION
OF THE REPROACHES THAT MIGHT BE ADDRESSED
TO THE MAYOR.

I resume the biography of Bailly at the time when he quitted the Hôtel de
Ville after a magistracy of about two years.
On the 12th November, 1791, Bailly convoked the Council of the
Commune, rendered an account of his administration, solemnly entreated
those who thought themselves entitled to complain of him, to say so without
reserve; so resolved was he to bow to any legitimate complaints; installed
his successor Pétion, and retired. This separation did not lead to any of
those heartfelt demonstrations from the co-labourers of the late Mayor,
which are the true and the sweetest recompense to a good man.
I have sought for the hidden cause of such a constant and undisguised
hostility towards the first Mayor of Paris. I asked myself first, whether the
magistrate's manners had possibly excited the susceptibilities of the
Eschevins.[14] The answer is decidedly in the negative. Bailly showed in
all the relations of life a degree of patience, a suavity, a deference to the
opinions of others, that would have soothed the most irascible self-love.
Must we suspect jealousy to have been at work? No, no; the persons who
constituted the town-council were too obscure, unless they were mad, to
attempt to vie in public consideration and glory with the illustrious author
of the History of Astronomy, with the philosopher, the writer, the erudite
scholar who belonged to our three principal academies, an honour that
Fontenelle alone had enjoyed before him.
Let us say it aloud, for such is our conviction, nothing personal excited the
evil proceedings, the acts of insubordination with which Bailly had daily to
reproach his numerous assistants. It is even presumable, that in his position,
any one else would have had to register more numerous and more serious
complaints. Let us be truthful: when the aristocracy of the ground-floor,
according to the expression of one of the most illustrious members of the
French Academy, was called by the revolutionary movements to replace the
aristocracy of the first-floor, it became giddy. Have I not, it said, conducted

the business of the warehouse, the workshop, the counting-house, &c., with
probity and success; why then should I not equally succeed in the
management of public affairs? And this swarm of new statesmen were in a
hurry to commence work; hence all control was irksome to them, and each
wished to be able to say on returning home, "I have framed such or such an
act that will tie the hands of faction for ever; I have repressed this or that
riot; I have, in short, saved the country by proposing such or such a measure
for the public good, and by having it adopted." The pronoun I so agreeably
tickles the ear of a man lately risen from obscurity.
What the thorough-bred Eschevin, whether new or old, dreads above every
thing else, is specialties. He has an insurmountable antipathy towards men,
who have in the face of the world gained the honourable titles of historian,
geometer, mechanician, astronomer, physician, chemist, or geologist, &c....
His desire, his will, is to speak on every thing. He requires, therefore,
colleagues who cannot contradict him.
If the town constructs an edifice, the Eschevin, losing sight of the question,
talks away on the aspect of the façades. He declares with the imperturbable
assurance inspired by a fact that he had heard speak of whilst on the knees
of his nurse, that on a particular side of the future building, the moon, an
active agent of destruction, will incessantly corrode the stones of the
frontage, the shafts of the columns, and that it will efface in a few years all
the projecting ornaments; and hence the fear of the moon's voracity will
lead to the upsetting of all the views, the studies, and the well-digested
plans of several architects. Place a meteorologist on the council, and,
despite the authority of the nurses, a whole scaffolding of gratuitous
suppositions will be crumbled to dust by these few categorical and strict
words of science; the moon does not exert the action that is attributed to it.
At another time, the Eschevin hurls his anathema at the system of warming
by steam. According to him, this diabolical invention is an incessant cause
of damp to the wood-work, the furniture, the papers, and the books. The
Eschevin fancies, in short, that in this way of warming, torrents of watery
vapour enter into the atmosphere of the apartments. Can he love a
colleague, I ask, who after having had the cunning patience to let him come
to the conclusion of his discourse, informs him that, although vapour, the
vehicle of an enormous quantity of latent heat, rapidly conveys this caloric

to every floor of the largest edifice, it has never occasion therefore to escape
from those impermeable tubes through which the circulation is effected!
Amidst the various labours that are required by every large town, the
Eschevin thinks, some one day, that he has discovered an infallible way of
revenging himself of specialties. Guided by the light of modern geology, it
has been proposed to go with an immense sounding line in hand, to seek in
the bowels of the earth the incalculable quantities of water, that from all
eternity circulate there without benefiting human nature, to make them
spout up to the surface, to distribute them in various directions, in large
cities, until then parched, to take advantage of their high temperature, to
warm economically the magnificent conservatories of the public gardens,
the halls of refuge, the wards of the sick in hospitals, the cells of madmen.
But according to the old geology of the Eschevin, promulgated perhaps by
his nurse, there is no circulation in subterranean water; at all events,
subterranean water cannot be submitted to an ascending force and rise to
the surface; its temperature would not differ from that of common well-
water. The Eschevin, however, agrees to the expensive works proposed.
Those works, he says, will afford no material result; but once for all, such
fantastic projects will receive a solemn and rough contradiction, and we
shall then be liberated for ever from the odious yoke under which science
wants to enslave us.
However, the subterranean water appears. It is true that a clever engineer
had to bore down 548 mètres (or 600 yards) to find it; but thence it comes
transparent as crystal, pure as if the product of distillation, warmed as
physical laws had shown that it would be, more abundant indeed than they
had dared to foresee, it shot up thirty-three mètres above the ground.
Do not suppose, Gentlemen, that putting aside wretched views of self-love,
the Eschevin would applaud such a result. He shows himself, on the
contrary, deeply humiliated. And he will not fail in future to oppose every
undertaking that might turn out to the honour of science. Crowds of such
incidents occur to the mind. Are we to infer thence, that we ought to be
afraid of seeing the administration of a town given up to the stationary, and
exclusive spirit of the old Eschevinage—to people who have learnt nothing
and studied nothing? Such is not the result of these long reflections. I
wished to enable people to foresee the struggle, not the defeat. I even hasten

to add, that by the side of the surly, harsh, rude, positive Eschevin, the type
of whom, to say the truth, is fortunately becoming rare, an honourable class
of citizens exists, who, content with a moderate fortune laboriously
acquired, live retired, charm their leisure with study, and magnanimously
place themselves, without any interested views, at the service of the
community. Everywhere similar auxiliaries fight courageously for truth as
soon as they perceive it. Bailly constantly obtained their concurrence; as is
proved by some touching testimonies of gratitude and sympathy. As to the
counsellors who so often occasioned trouble, confusion, and anarchy in the
Hôtel de Ville in the years '89 and '90, I am inclined to blame the virtuous
magistrate for having so patiently, so diffidently endured their ridiculous
pretensions, their unbearable assumption of power.
From the earliest steps in the important study of nature, it becomes evident
that facts unveiled to us in the lapse of centuries, are but a very small
fraction, if we compare them with those that still remain to be discovered.
Placing ourselves in that point of view, deficiency in diffidence would just
be the same as deficiency in judgment. But, by the side of positive
diffidence, if I may be allowed the expression, relative diffidence comes in.
This is often a delusion; it deceives no one, yet occasions a thousand
difficulties. Bailly often confounded them. We may regret, I think, that in
many instances, the learned academician disdained to throw in the face of
his vain fellow-labourers these words of an ancient philosopher: "When I
examine myself, I find I am but a pigmy; when I compare myself, I think I
am a giant."
If I were to cover with a veil that which appeared to me susceptible of
criticism in the character of Bailly, I should voluntarily weaken the praises
that I have bestowed on several acts of his administration. I will not commit
this fault, no more than I have done already in alluding to the
communications of the mayor with the presuming Eschevins.
I will therefore acknowledge that on several occasions, Bailly, in my
opinion, showed himself influenced by a petty susceptibility, if not about
his personal prerogatives, yet about those of his station.
I think also that Bailly might be accused of an occasional want of foresight.

Imaginative and sensitive, the philosopher allowed his thoughts to centre
too exclusively on the difficulties of the moment. He persuaded himself,
from an excess of good-will, that no new storm would follow the one that
he had just overcome. After every success, whether great or small, against
the intrigues of the court, or prejudices, or anarchy, whether President of the
National Assembly or Mayor of Paris, our colleague thought the country
saved. Then his joy overflowed; he would have wished to spread it over all
the world. It was thus that on the day of the definite reunion of the nobility
with the other two orders, the 27th of June, 1789, Bailly going from
Versailles to Chaillot, after the close of the session, leaned half his body out
of his carriage door, and announced the happy tidings with loud
exclamations to all whom he met on the road. At Sèvres, it is from himself
that I borrow the anecdote, he did not see without painful surprise that his
communication was received with the most complete indifference by a
group of soldiers assembled before the barrack door; Bailly laughed much
on afterwards learning that this was a party of Swiss soldiers, who did not
understand a word he said.
Happy the actors in a great revolution, in whose conduct we find nothing to
reprehend until after having entered into so minute an analysis of their
public and private conduct.

FOOTNOTE:

[14] Eschevin was a sort of town-councilman, peculiar to Paris and to
Rotterdam, acting under a mayor.

BAILLY'S JOURNEY FROM PARIS TO NANTES, AND
THEN FROM NANTES TO MÉLUN.— HIS ARREST IN
THE LAST TOWN.—HE IS TRANSFERRED TO PARIS.

After having quitted the Mayorality of Paris, Bailly retired to Chaillot,
where he hoped again to find happiness in study; but upwards of two years
passed amidst the storms of public life had deeply injured his health; it was

therefore requisite to obey the advice of physicians, and undertake a
journey. About the middle of June, 1792, Bailly quitted the capital, made
some excursions in the neighbouring departments, went to Niort to visit his
old colleague and friend, M. de Lapparent, and soon after went on far as
Nantes, where the due influence of another friend, M. Gelée de Prémion,
seemed to promise him protection and tranquillity. Determined to establish
himself in this last town, Bailly and his wife took a small lodging in the
house of some distinguished people, who could understand and appreciate
them. They hoped to live there in peace; but news from Paris soon
dissipated this illusion. The Council of the Commune decreed, that the
house previously occupied, in consequence of a formal decision, by the
Mayor of Paris, and by the public offices of the town, ought to have paid a
tax of 6,000 livres, and strange enough, that Bailly was responsible for it.
The pretended debt was claimed with harshness. They demanded the
payment of it without delay. To free himself Bailly was obliged to sell his
library, to abandon to the chances of an auction that multitude of valuable
books, from which he had sought out, in the silence of his study, and with
such remarkable perseverance, the most recondite secrets of the firmament.
This painful separation was followed by two acts that did not afflict him
less.
The central government (then directed, it must be allowed, by the Gironde
party) placed Bailly under surveillance. Every eight days the venerable
academician was obliged to present himself at the house of the Syndic
Procurator of the Departmental Administration of the Lower-Loire, like a
vile malefactor, whose every footstep it would be to the interest of society
to watch. What was the true motive for such a strange measure? This secret
has been buried in a tomb where I shall not allow myself to dig for it.
Though painful to me to say so, the odious assimilation of Bailly to a
dangerous criminal had not exhausted the rancour of his enemies. A letter
from Roland, the Minister of the Interior, announced very dryly to the
unfortunate proscribed man, that the apartments in the Louvre, which his
family had occupied for upwards of half a century, had been withdrawn
from him. They had even proceeded so far as to furnish a tipstaff with the
order to clear the rooms.

A short time before this epoch, Bailly had found himself obliged to sell his
house at Chaillot. The old Mayor of Paris then had no longer a hearth or a
home in the great city which had been the late scene of his devotion, his
solicitude, and his sacrifices. When this reflection occurred to his mind, his
eyes filled with tears.
But the grief that Bailly experienced on seeing himself the daily object of
odious persecutions, left his patriotic convictions intact. Vainly did they
endeavour several times to transform a legitimate hatred towards
individuals into an antipathy towards principles. They still remember in
Brittany the debate raised, by one of these attempts, between our colleague
and a Vendéan physician, Dr. Blin. Never, in the season of his greatest
popularity, did the president of the National Assembly express himself with
more vivacity; never had he defended our first revolution with more
eloquence. Not long since, in the same place, I pointed out to public
attention another of our colleagues (Condorcet), who already under the
blow of a capital condemnation, devoted his last moments to restore to the
light of day the principles of eternal justice, which the fashions and the
follies of men had but too much obscured. At a time of weak or interested
convictions, and disgraceful capitulations of conscience, those two
examples of unchangeable convictions deserved to be remarked. I am happy
in having found them in the bosom of the Academy of Sciences.
Tranquillity of mind is not less requisite than vigour of intellect, to those
who undertake great works. Thus during his residence at Nantes, Bailly did
not even try to add to his numerous scientific or literary productions. This
celebrated astronomer passed his time in reading novels. He sometimes said
with a bitter smile: "My day has been well occupied; since I got up, I have
put myself in a position to give an analysis of the two, or of the three first
volumes of the new novel that the reading-room has just received." From
time to time these abstractions were of a more elevated tone; he owed them
to two young persons, who having reached an advanced age may now be
listening to my words. Bailly discoursed with them of Homer, of Plato, of
Aristotle, of the principal works in our literature, of the rapid progress of
the sciences, and chiefly of those of astronomy. What our colleague chiefly
appreciated in these two young friends, was a true sensibility, and great
warmth of feeling. I know that years have not effaced or weakened these
rare qualities in the bosoms of those two Brétons. M. Pariset, our colleague,

and M. Villenave, will therefore think it natural in me to thank them here, in
the name of science and literature, in the name of humanity, for the few
moments of sweet peace and happiness that they afforded to our learned
colleague, at a time when the inconstancy and ingratitude of men were
lacerating his heart.
Louis XVI. had perished; dark clouds hung over the horizon; some acts of
odious brutality showed our proscribed philosopher how little he must
thenceforward depend on public sympathy; how much times had changed
since the memorable meeting (of the 7th of October, 1791), at which the
National Assembly decided that the bust of Bailly should be placed in the
hall of their meetings! The storm appeared near and very menacing; even
persons usually of little foresight were meditating where to find shelter.
During these transactions, Charles Marquis de Casaux, known by various
productions on literature and on economical politics, went and requested
our colleague, together with his wife, to take a passage on board a ship that
he had freighted for himself and his family. "We will first go to England,"
said M. Casaux; "we will then, if you prefer it, pass our exile in America.
Have no anxiety, I have property; I can, without inconvenience to myself,
undertake all the expenses. Pythagoras said: 'In solitude the wise man
worships echo;' but this no longer suffices in France; the wise man must fly
from a land that threatens to devour its children."
These warm solicitations, and the prayers of his weeping companion, could
not shake the firm resolution of Bailly. "From the day that I became a public
character," he said, "my fate has become irrevocably united with that of
France; never will I quit my post in the moment of danger. Under any
circumstances my country may depend on my devotion. Whatever may
happen, I shall remain."
By regulating his conduct on such fine generous maxims, a citizen does
himself honour, but he exposes himself to fall under the blows of faction.
Bailly was still at Nantes on the 30th of June, 1793, when eighty thousand
Vendéans, commanded by Cathelineau and Charette, went to besiege that
city.

Let us imagine to ourselves the position of the President of the sitting of the
"Jeu de Paume," of the first Mayor of Paris, in a city besieged by the
Vendéans! We cannot presume that the unfavourable opinion of the
Convention under which he was labouring, and the rigorous surveillance to
which he was subjected, would have saved him from harsh treatment if the
town had been taken. No one can therefore be surprised that after the
victory of Nanteans, our colleague hastened to follow out his project,
formed a short time before, of withdrawing from the insurgent provinces.
Up to the beginning of July 1793, Mélun had enjoyed perfect tranquillity.
Bailly knew it through M. de Laplace, who, living retired in that chief town
of the department, was there composing the immortal work in which the
wonders of the heavens are studied with so much depth and genius. He also
knew that the great geometer, hoping to be still more retired in a cottage on
the banks of the Seine, and out of the town, was going to dispose of his
house in Mélun. It is easy to guess that Bailly would be charmed with the
prospect of residing far away from political agitation, and near to his
illustrious friend!
The arrangements were promptly made, and on the 6th of July, M. and
Madame Bailly quitted Nantes in company with M. and Madame Villenave,
who were going to Rennes.
At this same time, a division of the revolutionary army was marching to
Mélun. As soon as the terrible news was known, Madame Laplace wrote to
Bailly, persuading him, under covert expressions, to give up the intended
project. The house, she said, is at the water's edge: there is extreme
dampness in the rooms: Madame Bailly would die there. A letter so
different from those that had preceded it, could not fail of its effect; such at
least was the hope with which M. and Madame Laplace flattered
themselves, when about the end of July they perceived, with inexpressible
alarm, Bailly crossing the garden path. "Great God, you did not then
understand our last letter!" exclaimed at the same instant our colleague's
two friends. "I understood perfectly," Bailly replied with the greatest calm;
"but on the one hand, the two servants who followed me to Nantes, having
heard that I was going to be imprisoned, quitted me; on the other hand, if I
am to be arrested, I wish it to be in a house that I have occupied some time.

I will not be described in any act as an individual without a domicile!" Can
it be said, after this, that great men are not subject to strange weaknesses?
These minute details will be my only answer to some culpable expressions
that I have met with in a work very widely spread: "M. Laplace," says the
anonymous writer "knew all the secrets of geometry; but he had not the
least notion of the state France was in, he therefore imprudently advised
Bailly to go and join him."
What is to be here deplored as regards imprudence, is, that a writer, without
exactly knowing the facts, should authoritatively pronounce such severe
sentences against one of the most illustrious ornaments of our country.
Bailly did not even enjoy the puerile satisfaction of taking rank among the
domiciled citizens of Mélun. For two days after his arrival in that town, a
soldier of the revolutionary army having recognized him, brutally ordered
him to accompany him to the municipality: "I am going there," coolly
replied Bailly; "you may follow me there."
The municipal body of Mélun had at that time an honest and very
courageous man at its head, M. Tarbé des Sablons. This virtuous magistrate
endeavoured to prove to the multitude, (with which the Hôtel de Ville was
immediately filled by the news, rapidly propagated, of the arrest of the old
Mayor of Paris,) that the passports granted at Nantes, countersigned at
Rennes, showed nothing irregular; that according to the terms of the law, he
could not but set Bailly at liberty, under pain of forfeiture. Vain efforts! To
avoid a bloody catastrophe, it was necessary to promise that reference
would be made to Paris, and that in the mean time he should be guarded—à
vue—in his own house.
The surveillance, perhaps purposely, was not at all strict; to escape would
have been very easy. Bailly utterly discarded the notion. He would not at
any price have compromised M. Tarbé, nor even his guard.
An order from the Committee of Public Safety enjoined the authorities of
Mélun to transfer Bailly to one of the prisons of the capital. On the day of
departure, Madame Laplace paid a visit to our unfortunate colleague. She
represented to him again the possibility of escape. The first scruples no
longer existed; the escort was already waiting in the street. But Bailly was

inflexible. He felt perfectly safe. Madame Laplace held her son in her arms;
Bailly took the opportunity of turning the conversation to the education of
children. He treated the subject, to which he might well have been thought a
stranger, with a remarkable superiority, and ended even with several
amusing anecdotes that would deserve a place in the witty and comic
gallery of "les Enfants terribles."
On arriving at Paris, Bailly was imprisoned at the Madelonnettes, and some
days after at La Force. They there granted him a room, where his wife and
his nephews were permitted to visit him.
Bailly had undergone only one examination of little importance, when he
was summoned as a witness in the trial of the queen.

BAILLY IS CALLED AS A WITNESS IN THE TRIAL OF
THE QUEEN.—HIS OWN TRIAL BEFORE THE
REVOLUTIONARY TRIBUNAL.—HIS CONDEMNATION
TO DEATH.—HIS EXECUTION.—IMAGINARY DETAILS
ADDED BY ILL-INFORMED HISTORIANS TO WHAT
THAT ODIOUS AND FRIGHTFUL EVENT ALREADY
PRESENTED.

Bailly, under the weight of a capital accusation, and precisely on account of
a portion of the acts imputed to Marie Antoinette, was heard as a witness in
the trial of that princess. The annals of tribunals, either ancient or modern,
never offered any thing like this. What did they hope for? To lead our
colleague to make inexact declarations, or to concealments from a feeling
of imminent personal danger? To suggest the thought to him to save his
own head at the expense of that of an unhappy woman? To make virtue
finally stagger? At all events, this infernal combination failed; with a man
like Bailly it could not succeed.
"Do you know the accused?" said the President to Bailly. "Oh! yes, I do
know her!" answered the witness, in a tone of emotion, and bowing

respectfully to Marie Antoinette. Bailly then protested with horror against
the odious imputations that the act of accusation had put into the mouth of
the young dauphin. From that moment Bailly was treated with great
harshness. He seemed to have lost in the eyes of the tribunal the character
of a witness, and to have become the accused. The turn that the debates took
would really authorize us to call the sitting in which the queen was
condemned, (in which she figured ostensibly as the only one accused,) the
trial of Marie Antoinette and of Bailly. What signified, after all, this or that
qualification of this monstrous trial? in the judgment of any man of feeling,
never did Bailly prove himself more noble, more courageous, more worthy,
than in this difficult situation.
Bailly appeared again before the Revolutionary Tribunal, and this time as
the accused, the 10th of November 1793. The accusation bore chiefly on the
pretended participation of the Mayor of Paris in the escape of Louis XVI.
and his family, and in the catastrophe that occurred in the Champ de Mars.
If any thing in the world appeared evident, even in 1793, even before the
detailed revelations of the persons who took a more or less direct part in the
event, it is, that Bailly did not facilitate the departure of the royal family; it
is that, in proportion to the suspicions that reached him, he did all that was
in his power to prevent their departure; it is, that the President of the sitting
of the Jeu de Paume had not, and could never have had in any case, an
intention of going to join the fugitive family in a strange country; it is that,
finally, any act emanating from a public authority in which such
expressions as the following could be found: "The deep wickedness of
Bailly.... Bailly thirsted for the people's blood!" must have excited the
disgust and indignation of good men, whatever might be their political
opinions.
The accusation, as far as it regarded the murderous fusillade on the Champ
de Mars, had more weight; this event had as counterpoises, the 10th of
August and the 31st of May; La Fayette says in his memoirs, that those two
days were a retaliation. It is at least certain that the terrible scenes of the
17th of July cost Bailly his life; they left deep impressions in people's
minds, which were still perceptible after the revolution of 1830, and which,
on more than one occasion, rendered the position of La Fayette one of great
delicacy. I have therefore studied them most attentively, with a very sincere

and lively desire to dissipate, once for all, the clouds that seemed to have
obscured this point, this sole point, in the life of Bailly. I have succeeded,
Gentlemen, without ever having had a wish or occasion to veil the truth. I
do no Frenchman the injustice to suppose that I need define to him an event
of the national history that has been so influential on the progress of our
revolution, but perhaps, there may be some foreigners present at this sitting.
It will be therefore for them only that I shall here relate some details. We
must bring to mind some deplorable circumstances of the evening of the
17th July, when the multitude had assembled on the Champ de Mars or
Champ de la Fédération, around the altar of their country, the remains of the
wooden edifice that had been raised to celebrate the anniversary of the 14th
of July. Part of this crowd signed a petition tending to ask the forfeiture of
the throne by Louis XVI., then lately reconducted from Varennes, and on
whose fate the Constituent Assembly had been enacting regulations. On that
occasion martial law was proclaimed. The National Guard, with Bailly and
La Fayette at their head, went to the Champ de Mars; they were assailed by
clamours, by stones, and by the firing of a pistol; the Guard fired; many
victims fell, without its being possible to say exactly how many, for the
estimates, according to the effect that the reporters wished to produce,
varied from eighty to two thousand!
The Revolutionary Tribunal heard several witnesses relative to the events
on the Champ de Mars: amongst them I find Chaumette, Procurator of the
Commune of Paris; Lullier, the Syndic Procurator General of the
Department; Coffinhal, Judge of the Revolutionary Tribunal; Dufourny,
manufacturer of gunpowder; Momoro, a printer.
All these witnesses strongly blamed the old Mayor of Paris; but who is
there that does not know how much arbitrariness and cruelty these
individuals, whom I have mentioned above, showed during our
misfortunes? Their declarations, therefore, must be received with great
suspicion.
The sincere admirers of Bailly would be relieved of a great weight, if the
event of the Champ de la Fédération had been darkened only by the
testimonies of Chaumettes and Coffinhals. Unfortunately, the public accuser
produced some very grave documents during the debates, which the
impartial historian cannot overlook. Let us say, however, just to correct one

error out of a thousand, that on the day of Bailly's trial, the public accuser
was Naulin, and not Fouquier Tinville, notwithstanding all that has been
written on this subject by persons calling themselves well-informed, and
even some of the accused's intimate friends.
The catastrophe of the Champ de Mars, when impartially examined in its
essential phases, presents some very simple problems:
Was a petition to the Constituent Assembly illegal that was got up on the
17th of July, 1791, against a decree issued on the 15th?
Had the petitioners, by assembling on the Champ de Mars, violated any
law?
Could the two murders committed in the morning be imputed to these men?
Had projects of disorder and rebellion been manifested with sufficient
evidence to justify the proclamation of martial law, and especially the
putting it into practice?
I say it, Gentlemen, with deep grief, these problems will be answered in the
negative by whoever takes the trouble to analyze without passion, and
without preconceived opinions, some authentic documents, which people in
general seem to have made it a point to leave in oblivion. But I hasten to
add, that considering the question as to intention, Bailly will continue to
appear, after this examination, quite as humane, quite as honourable, quite
as pure as we have found him to be in the other phases of a public and
private life, which might serve as a model.
In the best epochs of the National Assembly, no one who belonged to it
would have dared to maintain, that to draw up and sign a petition, whatever
might be the object of it, were rebellious acts. Never, at that time, would the
President of that great Assembly have called down hate, public vengeance,
or a sanguinary repression upon those who attempted, said Charles Lameth,
in the sitting of the 16th of July, "to oppose their individual will to the law,
which is an expression of the national will." The right of petition seemed as
if it ought to be absolute, even if contrary to sanctioned and promulgated
laws in full action, and even more so against legislative arrangements still
under discussion, or scarcely voted.

The petitioners of the Champ de Mars asked the Constituent Assembly to
revise a decree that they had issued two days before. We have no occasion
to examine whether the act was reasonable, opportune, dictated by an
enlightened view of the public good. The question is simple; in soliciting
the Assembly to revise a decree, they violated no law. Perhaps it will be
thought that the petitioners at least committed an unusual act, contrary to all
custom. Even this would be unfounded. In ten various instances, the
National Assembly modified or annulled its own decrees; in twenty others,
it had been entreated to revise them, without any cry of anarchy being
raised.
It is well ascertained, that the crowd on the Champ de Mars availed itself of
a right that the constitution recognized, that of getting up and signing a
petition against a decree which, right or wrong, it thought was opposed to
the true interests of the country. Still, the exercise of the right of petitioning
was always wisely subjected to certain forms. Had these forms been
violated? Was the meeting illegal?
In 1791, according to the decrees, every meeting that wished to exercise the
right of petition must consist of unarmed citizens, and be announced to the
competent authorities twenty-four hours beforehand.
Well, on the 16th of July, twelve persons had gone as a deputation to the
municipality, in order to declare, according to law, that the next day, the
17th, numerous citizens would meet, without arms, on the Champ de Mars,
where they wished to sign a petition. The deputation obtained an
acknowledgment of its declaration from the hand of the syndic procurator
Desmousseaux, who addressed them besides with these solemn words: "The
law shields you with its inviolability."
The acknowledgment was presented to Bailly on the day of his
condemnation.
Had they committed some assassinations? Yes, undoubtedly; they had
committed two; but in the morning, very early; but at the Gros Caillou, and
not on the Champ de Mars. Those horrid murders could not legitimately be
imputed to the petitioners who, eight or ten hours after, surrounded the altar
of their country; to the crowd who fell by the fusillade of the National
Guard. By changing the date of these crimes, and displacing also the

localities where these crimes were committed, some historians of our
revolution, and amongst others the best known of all, have given, without
intending it, to the meeting in the afternoon, a character that cannot be
honestly concurred in.
It is requisite we should know at what hour, in what place, and how, these
misfortunes happened, before we hazard an opinion on the sanguinary acts
of that day, the 17th of July.
A young man had gone that day very early to the altar of his country. This
young man wished to copy several inscriptions. All at once he heard a
singular noise, and very soon after the worm of a wimble shot up from the
planked floor on which he was standing. The youth went and sought the
guard, who raised the plank, and found beneath the altar two ill-looking
individuals, lying down, and furnished with provisions. One of these men
was an invalid with a wooden leg. The guard seized them, and took them to
the Gros Caillou, to the section, to the Commissary of Police. On the way,
the barrel of water with which these unfortunate men had provided
themselves under the altar of their country, was transformed, according to
the ordinary course of things, into a barrel of gunpowder. The inhabitants of
that quarter of the town collected together; it was on a Sunday. The women
especially showed themselves very much irritated when the purpose of the
auger-holes was told them, as declared by the invalid. When the two
prisoners came out of the hall to be conducted to the Hôtel de Ville, the
crowd tore them from the guard, massacred them, and paraded their heads
on pikes!
It cannot be too often repeated, that these hideous assassinations, this
execution of two old vagabonds by the barbarous and blinded population of
the Gros Caillou, evidently had no relation to, no connection with, the
events which, in the evening, carried mourning into the Champ de la
Fédération.
On the evening of the 17th of July, from five to seven o'clock, had the
crowd which was collected around the altar of their country an aspect of
turbulence, giving reason to fear a riot, sedition, violence, or any anarchical
enterprise?

Relative to this point, we have the written declaration of three councillors,
whom the municipality had sent in the morning to the Gros Caillou, on the
first intimation of the two assassinations of which I have just spoken. This
declaration was presented to Bailly on the day of his condemnation. We
read therein, "that the assembled citizens on the Champ de Mars had in no
way acted contrary to law; that they only asked for time to sign their
petition before they retired; that the crowd had shown all possible respect to
the commissaries, and given proofs of submission to the law and its agents."
The Municipal Councillors, on their return to the Hôtel de Ville,
accompanied by a deputation of twelve of the petitioners, protested strongly
against the proclamation of martial law; they declared that if the red flag
was unfurled, they would be regarded, and with some appearance of reason,
as traitors and faithless men.
Vain efforts; the anger of the councillors, confined since the morning at the
Hôtel de Ville, carried the day over the enlightened opinion of those who
had been sent scrupulously to study the state of affairs, who had mixed in
the crowd, who returned after having reassured it by promises.
I might invoke the testimony of one of my honourable colleagues. Led by
the fine weather, and somewhat also by curiosity, towards the Champ de
Mars, he was enabled to observe all; and he has assured me that there never
was a meeting which showed less turbulence or seditious spirit; that
especially the women and children were very numerous. Is it not, besides,
perfectly proved now, that on the morning of the 17th July, the Jacobin club,
by means of printed placards, disavowed any intention of petitioning; and
that the influential men of the Jacobins and of the Cordeliers,—those men
whose presence might have given to this concourse the dangerous character
of a riot,—not only did not appear there, but had started in the night for the
country?
By thus connecting together all the circumstances whence it is proved that
martial law was proclaimed and put in practice on the 17th of July without
legitimate motives, a most terrible responsibility seems at first sight to be
cast on the memory of Bailly. But reassure yourselves, Gentlemen; the
events which are now grouped together, and are exhibited to our eyes with
complete evidence, were not known on that inauspicious day at the Hôtel de
Ville, until they had been distorted by the spirit of party.

In the month of July, 1791, after the king had returned from Varennes, the
monarchy and the republic began for the first time to be dangerously
opposed to each other; in an instant passion took the place of cool reason in
the minds of the respective partisans of the two different forms of
government. The terrible formula: We must make an end of it! was in
everybody's mouth.
Bailly was surrounded by those passionate politicians who, without the least
scruple as to the honesty or legality of the means, are determined to make
an end of the adversaries who annoy them, as soon as circumstances seem
to promise them victory.
Bailly had still near him some Eschevins long accustomed to regard him as
a magistrate for show.
The former gave the Mayor false, or highly coloured intelligence. The
others, by long habit, did not conceive themselves obliged to communicate
any thing to him.
On the bloody day of July, 1791, of all the inhabitants of Paris, perhaps
Bailly was the man who knew with least detail or correctness the events of
the morning and of the evening.
Bailly, with his deep horror for falsehood, would have thought that he was
most cruelly insulting the magistrates, if he had not attributed to them
similar sentiments to his own. His uprightness prevented his being
sufficiently on the watch against the machinations of parties. It was
evidently by false reports that he was induced to unfurl the red flag on the
17th of July: "It was from the reports that followed each other," he said to
the Revolutionary Tribunal, on being questioned by the President, "and
became more and more alarming every hour, that the council adopted the
measure of marching with the armed force to the Champ de Mars."
In all his answers Bailly insisted on the repeated orders he had received
from the President of the National Assembly; on the reproaches addressed
to him for not sufficiently watching the agents of foreign powers; it was
against these pretended agents and their creatures, that the Mayor of Paris
thought he was marching when he put himself at the head of a column of
National Guards.

Bailly did not even know the cause of the meeting; he had not been
informed that the crowd wished to sign a petition; and that the previous
evening, according to the decree of the law, there had been a declaration
made to this effect before the competent authority. His answers to the
Revolutionary Tribunal leave not the least doubt on this point!
Oh Eschevins, Eschevins! when your vain pretensions only were treated of,
the public could forgive you; but the 17th of July, you took advantage of
Bailly's confidence; you induced him to take sanguinary measures of
repression, after having fascinated him with false reports; you committed a
real crime. If it was the duty of the Revolutionary Tribunal, of deplorable
memory, to demand in 1793 from any one an explanation of the massacres
of the Champ de Mars, it was not Bailly assuredly who ought to have been
accused in the first place.
The political party whose blood flowed on the 17th of July, pretended to
have been the victim of a plot concocted by its adversaries. When
interrogated by the President of the Revolutionary Tribunal, Bailly
answered: "I had no knowledge of it, but experience has since given me
reason to think that such a plot did exist at that time."
Nothing more serious has ever been written against the promoters of the
sanguinary violences on the 17th of July.
The blame that has been thrown on the events of the Champ de Mars has
not been confined solely to the fact of proclaiming martial law; the
repressive measures that followed that proclamation have been criticized
with equal bitterness.
The municipal administration was especially reproached for having hoisted
a red flag much too small; a flag that was called in the Tribunal a pocket
flag; for not having placed this flag at the head of the column, as the law
commands, but in such a position, that the public on whom the column was
advancing could not see it; for having made the armed force enter the
Champ de Mars, by all the gates on the side towards the town, a manœuvre
that seemed rather intended to surround the multitude, than to disperse it;
for having ordered the National Guard to load their arms, even on the Place
de Grève; for having made the guard fire before the three required
summonses were made, and fire upon the people around the altar, whilst the

stones and the pistol shot, which were assigned as the motive for the
sanguinary order, came from the steps and benches; for allowing some
people who were endeavouring to escape on the side towards l'Ecole
Militaire, and others who had actually jumped into the Seine, to be pursued,
shot, and bayonetted.
It results clearly from one of Bailly's publications, from his answers to the
questions put to him by the President of the Revolutionary Tribunal, from
the writings of the day:
That the Mayor of Paris gave no order for the troops to be collected on the
17th of July; that he had had no conference on that day with the military
authority; that if any arrangements, culpable and contrary to law were
adopted, as to the situation of the cavalry, of the red flag, and of the
Municipal Body, in the column marching on the Champ de Mars, they
could not without injustice be imputed to him; that Bailly was not aware of
the National Guard having loaded their muskets with ball before quitting
the square of the Hôtel de Ville; that he was not aware even of the existence
of the red flag, with whose small dimensions he had been so severely
reproached; that the National Guard fired without his order; that he made
every effort to stop the firing, to stop the pursuit, and make the soldiers
resume their ranks; that he congratulated the troops of the line, who under
the command of Hulin, entered by the gate of l'Ecole Militaire, and not only
did not fire, but tore many of the unfortunate people from the hands of the
National Guard, whose exasperation amounted to delirium. In short, it
might he asked, relative to any want of exactness attributable to Bailly in
that unfortunate affair, whether it was just to impute it to him who, in his
letters to Voltaire on the origin of the sciences, wrote as follows in 1776:
"I am unfortunately short-sighted. I am often humiliated in the open
country. Whilst I with difficulty can distinguish a house at the distance of a
hundred paces, my friends relate to me what they see at the distance of five
or six hundred. I open my eyes, I fatigue myself without seeing any thing,
and I am sometimes inclined to think that they amuse themselves at my
expense."
You begin to see, Gentlemen, the advantage that a firm and able lawyer
might have drawn from the authentic facts that I have just been relating. But

Bailly knew the pretended jury before whom he had to appear. This jury
was not a collection of drunken cobblers, whatever some passionate writers
may have asserted; it was worse than that, Gentlemen, notwithstanding the
deservedly celebrated names that were occasionally interspersed among
them: it was—let us cut the subject short—an odious, commission.
The very circumscribed list from which chance in 1793 and 1794 drew the
juries of the Revolutionary Tribunals, did not embrace, as the sacred word
jury seems to imply, all one class of citizens. The authorities formed it, after
a prefatory and very minute inquiry, of their adherents only. The
unfortunate defendants were thus judged not by impartial persons free from
any preconceived system, but by political enemies, which is as much as to
say, by that which is the most cruel and remorseless in the world.
Bailly would not be defended. After his appearance as a witness in the trial
of Marie Antoinette, the ex-Mayor only wrote and had printed for
circulation, a paper entitled Bailly to his fellow-citizens. It closes with these
affecting words:
"I have only gained by the Revolution that which my fellow-citizens have
gained: liberty and equality. I have lost by it some useful situations, and my
fortune is nearly destroyed. I could be happy with what remains of it to me
and a clear conscience; but to be happy in the repose of my retreat, I
require, my dear fellow-citizens, your esteem: I know well that, sooner or
later, you will do me justice; but I require it while I live, and while I am yet
amongst you."
Our colleague was unanimously condemned. We should despair of the
future, unless such a unanimity struck all friends of justice and humanity
with stupor, if it did not increase the number of decided adversaries to all
political tribunals.
When the President of the Tribunal interrogated the accused, already
declared guilty, as to whether he had any reclamations to make relative to
the execution of the sentence, Bailly answered:
"I have always carried out the law; I shall know how to submit myself to it,
since you are its organ."
The illustrious convict was led back to his cell.

Bailly had said in his éloge on M. de Tressan: "French gaiety produces the
same effect as stoicism." These words occurred to my memory at the time
when I was gathering from various sources the proof that on reëntering the
Conciergerie after his condemnation, Bailly showed himself at once both
gay and stoical.
He desired his nephew, M. Batbéda, to play a game at piquet with him as
usual. He thought of all the circumstances connected with the frightful
morrow with such coolness, that he even said with a smile to M. Batbéda
during the game: "Let us rest awhile, my friend, and take a pinch of snuff;
to-morrow I shall be deprived of this pleasure, for I shall have my hands
tied behind my back."
I will quote some words which, while testifying to a similar degree Bailly's
serenity of mind, are more in harmony with his grave character, and more
worthy of being preserved in history.
One of the companions of the illustrious academician's captivity, on the
evening of the 11th of November, with tears in his eyes and moved by a
tender veneration, exclaimed: "Why did you let us fancy there was a
possibility of acquittal? You deceived us then?"—Bailly answered: "No, I
was teaching you never to despair of the laws of your country."
In the paroxysms of wild despair, some of the prisoners reviewing the past,
went so far as to regret that they had never infringed the laws of the strictest
honesty.
Bailly brought back these minds, erring for the moment from the path of
duty, by repeating to them maxims which both in form and substance would
not disparage the collections of the most celebrated moralists:
"It is false, very false, that a crime can ever be useful. The trade of an
honest man is the safest, even in times of revolution. Enlightened egotism
suffices to put any intelligent individual into the path of justice and truth.
Whenever innocence can be sacrificed with impunity, crime is not sure of
succeeding. There is so great a difference between the death of a good man
and that of a wicked man, that the multitude is incapable of estimating it."
Cannibals devouring their vanquished enemies seem to me less hideous,
less contrary to nature, than those wretches, the refuse of the population of

large towns, who, too often alas! have carried their ferocity so far, as to
disturb by their clamorous and infamous raillery the last moments of the
unhappy victims about to be struck by the sword of the law. The more
humiliating this picture of the degradation of the human species may be, the
more we should beware of overcharging the colouring. With few
exceptions, the historians of Bailly's last agony appear to me to have
forgotten this duty. Was the truth, the strict truth, not sufficiently
distressing? Was it requisite, without any sort of proof, to impute to the
mass of the people the infernal cynicism of cannibals? Should they lightly
make just sentiments of disgust and indignation rest upon an immense class
of citizens? I think not, Gentlemen, and I will therefore avoid the cruelty
and poignancy of chaining the thoughts for a long time on such scenes; I
will prove that by rendering the drama a little less atrocious, I have only
sacrificed imaginary details, which are the envenomed fruits of the spirit of
the party.
I will not shut my ears to the questions that already hum around me. People
will say to me, What are your claims for daring to modify a page of our
revolutionary history, on which every one seemed agreed? What right have
you to weaken contemporary testimonies, you, who at the time of Bailly's
death, were scarcely born; you, who lived in an obscure valley of the
Pyrenees, two hundred and twenty leagues from the capital?
These questions do not embarrass me at all. In short, I do not ask that the
relation of what seems to me to be the expression of the truth, should be
adopted upon my word. I enumerate my proofs, I express my doubts.
Within these limits there is no one but has claims to bring forward; the
discussion is open to all the world, the public will pronounce its definitive
judgment.
As a general thesis, I will add that by concentrating our researches on one
circumscribed and special object, we have a better chance of seeing it
correctly and knowing it well, all other things being equal, than by
scattering our attention in all directions.
As to the merit of contemporaneous narratives, it seems to me very dubious.
Political passions do not allow us to see objects in their real dimensions, nor
in their true forms, nor in their natural colours. Moreover, have not

unpublished and very valuable documents come to shed bright colours, just
where the spirit of party had spread a thick veil?
The account that Riouffe gave of the death of Bailly has almost blindly led
all the historians of our revolution. What does it consist of "at bottom." The
prisoner of la Conciergerie said it himself; of tales related by executioners'
valets, repeated by turnkeys.
I would willingly allow this account to be set against me, notwithstanding
the horrid sewer from which Riouffe had been obliged to draw, if it were
not evident that this clever writer saw all the revolutionary events through
the just anger that an ardent and active young man must feel after an
iniquitous imprisonment; if this current of sentiments and ideas had not led
him into some manifest errors.
Who has not, for example, read with tears in their eyes, in the Mémoires sur
les Prisons, what the author relates of the fourteen girls of Verdun? "Of
those girls," he said, "of unparalleled fairness, and who appeared like young
virgins dressed for a public fête. They disappeared," added Riouffe, "all at
once, and were mowed down in the spring of life. The court occupied by the
women the day after their death, had the appearance of a garden that had
been despoiled of its flowers by a storm. I have never seen amongst us a
despair equal to that excited by this barbarity."
Far be from me the intention to weaken the painful feelings which the
catastrophe related by Riouffe must naturally inspire; but every one has
remarked that the report of this writer is very circumstantial; the author
appears to have seen all with his own eyes. Yet he has been guilty of the
gravest inaccuracy.
Out of the fourteen unfortunate women who were sentenced after Verdun
was retaken from the Prussians, two girls of seventeen years of age were
not condemned to death on account of their youth.
This first circumstance was well worth recording. Let us go farther. A
historian having lately consulted the official journals of that epoch, and the
bulletin of the Revolutionary Tribunal, discovered with some surprise that
among the twelve young girls who were condemned, there were seven
either married or widows, whose ages varied from forty-one to sixty-nine!

Contemporary accounts then, even those of Riouffe, may be submitted
without irreverence to earnest discussion. When a tenth part of the funds
annually devoted to researches in and examination of old chronicles, is
applied to making extracts from the registers relative to the French
Revolution, we shall certainly see many other hideous circumstances that
revolt the soul, disappear from our contemporary history. Look at the
massacres of September! The historians most in vogue report the number of
victims that fell in that butchery to have been from six to twelve thousand;
whilst a writer who has lately taken the trouble to analyze the prison
registers in the gaoler's books, cannot make the whole amount to one
thousand. Even this number is very large; but, for my part, I thank the
author of this recent publication for having reduced the number of
assassinations in September to less than a tenth part of what had been
generally admitted.
When the discussion which I have here undertaken becomes known to the
public, it will be seen how many and how important are the retrenchments
to be made from that lugubrious page of our history. Another important
circumstance may be appreciated, which appears to me to arise from all
these facts. After having weighed my proofs, every one I hope will join me
in seeing that the wretches around the scaffold of Bailly were but the refuse
of the population, fulfilling for pay the part that had been assigned them by
three or four wealthy cannibals.
The sentence pronounced against Bailly by the Revolutionary Tribunal was
to be executed on the 12th of November, 1793. The reminiscences recently
published by a fellow-prisoner of our colleague, the reminiscences of M.
Beugnot, will enable us to penetrate into the Conciergerie, on the morning
of that inauspicious day.
Bailly had risen early, after having slept as usual, the sleep of the just. He
took some chocolate, and conversed a long time with his nephew. The
young man was a prey to despair, but the illustrious prisoner preserved all
his serenity. The previous evening in returning from the Tribunal, he
remarked, with admirable coolness, though springing from a certain
disquietude, "that the spectators of his trial had been strongly excited
against him. I fear," he added, "that the mere execution of the sentence will
no longer satisfy them, which might be dangerous in its consequences.

Perhaps the police will provide against it." These reflections having
recurred to Bailly's mind on the 12th, he asked for, and drank hastily, two
cups of coffee without milk. These precautions were a sinister omen. To his
friends who surrounded him at this awful moment, and were sobbing aloud,
he said, "Be calm; I have rather a difficult journey to perform, and I distrust
my constitution. Coffee excites and reanimates; I hope, however, to reach
the end properly."
Noon had just struck. Bailly addressed a last and tender adieu to his
companions in captivity, wished them a better fate, followed the
executioner without weakness as well as without bravado, mounted the fatal
cart, his hands tied behind his back. Our colleague was accustomed to say:
"We must entertain a bad opinion of those who, in their dying moments,
have not a look to cast behind them." Bailly's last look was towards his
wife. A gendarme of the escort feelingly listened to his last words, and
faithfully repeated them to his widow. The procession reached the entrance
to the Champ de Mars, on the side towards the river, at a quarter past one
o'clock. This was the place where, according to the words of the sentence,
the scaffold had been raised. The blinded crowd collected there, furiously
exclaimed that the sacred ground of the Champ de la Fédération should not
be soiled by the presence and by the blood of him whom they called a great
criminal. Upon their demand (I had almost said their orders), the scaffold
was taken down again, and carried piecemeal into one of the fosses, where
it was put up afresh. Bailly remained the stern witness of these frightful
preparations, and of these infernal clamours. Not one complaint escaped
from his lips. Rain had been falling all the morning; it was cold; it drenched
the body, and especially the bare head, of the venerable man. A wretch saw
that he was shivering, and cried out to him, "Thou tremblest, Bailly."—"I
am cold, my friend," mildly answered the victim. These were his last words.
Bailly descended into the moat, where the executioner burnt before him the
red flag of the 17th July; he then with a firm step mounted the scaffold. Let
us have the courage to say it, when the head of our venerable colleague fell,
the paid witnesses whom this horrid execution had assembled on the Champ
de Mars burst into infamous acclamations.
I had announced a faithful recital of the martyrdom of Bailly; I have kept
my word. I said that I should banish many circumstances without reality,

and that the drama would thus become less atrocious. If I am to trust your
aspect, I have not accomplished the second part of my promise. The
imagination perhaps cannot reach beyond the cruel facts on which I have
been obliged to dilate. You ask what I can have retrenched from former
relations, whilst what remains is so deplorable.
The order for execution addressed by Fouquier Tinville to the executioner
has been seen by several persons now living. They all declare that if it
differs from the numerous orders of a similar nature that the wretch sent off
daily, it was only by the substitution of the following words: "Esplanade du
Champ de Mars," for the usual designation of "Place de la Revolution."
Now, the Revolutionary Tribunal has deserved many anathemas, but I never
remarked its being reproached with not having known how to enforce
obedience.
I felt myself relieved from an immense weight, Gentlemen, when I could
dispel from my thoughts the image of a melancholy march on foot of two
hours, because with it there disappeared two hours of corporeal ill-usage,
which, according to those same accounts, our virtuous colleague must have
endured from the Conciergerie to the Champ de Mars.
An illustrious writer asserts that they conducted Bailly to the Place de la
Revolution, that the scaffold there was taken to pieces on the multitude
demanding it, and that the victim was then led to the Champ de Mars. This
relation is not correct. The sentence expressed in positive terms, that, as an
exception, the Square of the Revolution was not to be the scene of Bailly's
execution. The procession went direct to the place designated.
The historian already quoted affirms that the scaffold on being put up again
on the bank of the Seine was erected on a heap of rubbish; that this
operation lasted some hours, and that Bailly meanwhile was drawn round
the Champ de Mars several times.
These promenades are imaginary. Those men who on the arrival of the
lugubrious procession vociferated that the presence of the old Mayor of
Paris would soil the Champ de la Fédération, could not the next minute
force him to make the circuit of it. In fact, the illustrious victim remained in
the road. The cruel idea, so knowingly attributed to the actors of those
hideous scenes, to raise the fatal instrument on a heap of rubbish on the

river bank, so that Bailly might in his last moments see the house at Chaillot
where he had composed his works, was so far from occurring to the mind of
the multitude, that the sentence was executed in the moat between two
walls.
I have not thought it my duty, Gentlemen, to represent the condemned man
forced to carry some parts of the scaffold himself, because he had his hands
tied behind his back. In my recital nobody waves the burning red flag over
Bailly's head, because this barbarity is not mentioned in the narratives,
otherwise so shocking, drawn up by some friends of our colleague shortly
after the event; nor have I consented, with the author of The History of the
French Revolution, to represent one of the soldiers forming the escort
asking the question that led the victim to make, we must say so, the
theatrical answer: "Yes, I tremble, but it is with cold;" but the more
touching answer, so characteristic of Bailly; "Yes, my friend, I am cold."
Far be it from me, Gentlemen, to suppose that no soldier in the world would
be capable of a despicable and culpable act. I do not ask, assuredly, the
suppression of all courts-martial; but to be induced to attribute to a man
dressed in a military uniform, a personal part in this frightful drama, proofs
or contemporary testimonies would be required, of which I have found no
trace.
If the fact had occurred, its results would certainly have become known to
the public. I take to witness an event which is found related in Bailly's
Memoirs.
On the 22d of July, 1789, on the square of the Hôtel de Ville, a dragoon
with his sabre mutilated the corpse of Berthier. His comrades, feeling
outraged by this barbarity, all showed themselves instantly resolved to fight
him in succession, and so wash out in his blood the disgrace he had thrown
on the whole corps. The dragoon fought that same evening and was killed.
In his History of Prisons, Riouffe says that "Bailly exhausted the ferocity of
the populace, of whom he had been the idol, and was basely abandoned by
the people, though they had never ceased to esteem him."
Nearly the same idea is found expressed in The History of the Revolution,
and in several other works.

What is called the populace rarely read and did not write. To attack it and
calumniate it therefore was a convenient thing, since no refutation need to
be feared. I am far from supposing that the historians whose works I have
quoted, ever gave way to such considerations; but I affirm, with entire
certainty, that they have deceived themselves. In the sanguinary drama that
has been unrolled before your eyes, the atrocities had a quite different
source from the sentiments common to the barbarians that were swarming
in the dregs of society and always ready to soil it with every crime; in
plainer words, it is not to the unfortunate people who have neither property,
nor capital, living by the work of their hands, to the prolétaires, that we are
to impute the deplorable incidents which marked Bailly's last moments. To
put forward an opinion so remote from received opinions, is imposing on
one's self the duty of proving its truth.
After his condemnation, our colleague exclaimed, says La Fayette: "I die
for the sitting of the Jeu de Paume, and not for the fatal day at the Champ
de Mars." I do not here intend to expound these mysterious words in the
glimpses they give us by a half-light; but, whatever meaning we may
attribute to them, it is evident that the sentiments and passions of the lower
class have no share in them; it is a point beyond discussion.
On reëntering the Conciergerie, the evening before his death, Bailly spoke
of the efforts that must have been made to excite the passions of the
auditors, who followed the various phases of his trial. Factitious excitement
is always the produce of corruption. The working classes are without
money;, they then cannot have been the corruptors or direct promoters of
the distressing scenes of which Bailly complained.
The implacable enemies of the former President of the National Assembly
had procured for pay some auxiliaries among the turnkeys of the
Conciergerie. M. Beugnot informs us that when the venerable magistrate
was consigned to the gendarmes who were to conduct him to the Tribunal,
"these wretches pushed him violently, sending him from one to the other
like a drunken man, calling out: Hold there, Bailly! Catch, Bailly, there! and
that they laughed and shouted at the grave demeanour the philosopher
maintained amidst the insults of those cannibals."

To confirm my statement that these violences (in comparison with which, in
truth, those of the Champ de Mars lose their virulence,) were fomented by
pay, I have more than the formal declaration of our colleague's fellow
prisoner. For in fact I find that no other prisoner or convict underwent such
treatment; not even the man called the Admiral, when he was taken to the
Conciergerie for having attempted to assassinate Collot-d'Herbois.
Besides, it is not only on indirect considerations that my decided opinion is
founded relative to the intervention of rich and influential people in those
scenes of indescribable barbarity on the Champ de Mars. Mérard St. Just,
the intimate friend of Bailly, has alluded by his initials to a wretch who, the
very day of our colleague's death, publicly boasted of having electrified the
few acolytes who, together with him, insisted on the removal of the
scaffold; the day after the execution, the meeting of the Jacobins reëchoed
with the name of another individual of the Gros Caillou, who also claimed
his share of influence in the crime.
I have progressively unrolled before you the series of events in our
revolution, in which Bailly took an active part; I have scrupulously
searched out the smallest circumstances of the deplorable affair on the
Champ de Mars; I have followed our colleague in his proscription to the
Revolutionary Tribunal, and to the foot of the scaffold. We had seen him
before, surrounded by esteem, by respect, and by glory, in the bosom of our
principal academies. Yet the work is not complete; several essential traits
are still wanting.
I will therefore claim a few more minutes of your kind attention. The moral
life of Bailly is like those masterpieces of ancient sculpture, that deserve to
be studied in every point of view, and in which new beauties are continually
discovered, in proportion as the contemplation is prolonged.

PORTRAIT OF BAILLY.—HIS WIFE.

Nature did not endow Bailly generously with those exterior advantages that
please us at first sight. He was tall and thin. His visage compressed, his eyes

small and sunk, his nose regular, but of unusual length, and a very brown
complexion, constituted an imposing whole, severe and almost glacial.
Fortunately, it was easy to perceive through this rough bark, the
inexhaustible benevolence of the good man; the kindness that always
accompanies a serene mind, and even some rudiments of gayety.
Bailly early endeavoured to model his conduct on that of the Abbé de
Lacaille, who directed his first steps in the career of astronomy. And
therefore it will be found that in transcribing five or six lines of the very
feeling eulogy that the pupil dedicated to the memory of his revered master,
I shall have made known at the same time many of the characteristic traits
of the panegyrist:
"He was cold and reserved towards those of whom he knew little; but
gentle, simple, equable, and familiar in the intercourse of friendship. It is
there that, throwing off the grave exterior which he wore in public, he gave
himself up to a peaceful and amiable gayety."
The resemblance between Bailly and Lacaille goes no farther. Bailly
informs us that the great astronomer proclaimed truth on all occasions,
without disquieting himself as to whom it might wound. He would not
consent to put vice at its ease, saying:
"If good men thus showed their indignation, bad men being known, and
vice unmasked, could no longer do harm, and virtue would be more
respected." This Spartan morality could not accord with Bailly's character;
he admired but did not adopt it.
Tacitus took as a motto: "To say nothing false, to omit nothing true." Our
colleague contented himself in society with the first half of the precept.
Never did mockery, bitterness, or severity issue from his lips. His manners
were a medium between those of Lacaille and the manners of another
academician who had succeeded in not making a single enemy, by adopting
the two axioms: "Every thing is possible, and everybody is in the right."
Crébillon obtained permission from the French Academy to make his
reception discourse in verse. At the moment when that poet, then almost
sixty years of age, said, speaking of himself,

"No gall has ever poisoned my pen,"

the hall reëchoed with approbation.
I was going to apply this line by the author of Rhadamistus to our
colleague, when accident offered to my sight a passage in which Lalande
reproaches Bailly for having swerved from his usual character, in 1773, in a
discussion that they had together on a point in the theory of Jupiter's
Satellites. I set about the search for this discussion; I found the article by
Bailly in a journal of that epoch, and I affirm that this dispute does not
contain a word but what is in harmony with all our colleague's published
writings. I return therefore to my former idea, and say of Bailly, with
perfect confidence,

"No gall had ever poisoned his pen."

Diffidence is usually the trait that the biographers of studious men
endeavour most to put in high relief. I dare assert, that in the common
acceptation, this is pure flattery. To merit the epithet of diffident, must we
think ourselves beneath the competitors of whom we are at least the equals?
Must we, in examining ourselves, fail in the tact, in the intelligence, in the
judgment, that nature has awarded us, and of which we make so good a use
in appreciating the works of others? Oh! then, few learned men can be said
to be diffident. Look at Newton: his diffidence is almost as celebrated as his
genius. Well, I will extract from two of his letters, scarcely known, two
paragraphs which, put side by side, will excite some surprise; the first
confirms the general opinion; the second seems with equal force to
contradict it. Here are the two passages:
"We are diffident in the presence of Nature."
"We may nobly feel our own strength in the face of man's works."
In my opinion, the opposition in these two passages is only apparent; it will
he explained by means of a distinction which I have already slightly
indicated.
Bailly's diffidence required the same distinction. When people praised him
to his face on the diversity of his knowledge, our colleague did not

immediately repel the compliment; but soon after, he would stop his
panegyrist, and whisper in his ear with an air of mystery: "I will confide a
secret to you, pray do not take advantage of it: I am only a very little less
ignorant than another man."
Never did a man act more in harmony with his principles. Bailly was led to
reprimand severely a man belonging to the humblest and poorest class of
society. Anger does not make him forget that he speaks to a citizen, to a
man. "I ask pardon," says the first magistrate of the capital, addressing
himself to a rag-gatherer; "I ask your pardon, if I am angry; but your
conduct is so reprehensible, that I cannot speak to you otherwise."
Bailly's friends were wont to say that he devoted too much of his patrimony
to pleasure. This word was calumniously interpreted. Mérard Saint Just has
given the true sense of it: "Bailly's pleasure was beneficence."
So eminent a mind could not fail to be tolerant. Such in fact Bailly
constantly showed himself in politics, and what is almost equally rare, in
regard to religion. In the month of June, 1791, he checked in severe terms
the fury with which the multitude appeared to be excited, at the report that
at the Théatines some persons had taken the Communion two or three times
in one day. "The accusation is undoubtedly false," said the Mayor of Paris;
"but if it were true, the public would not have a right to inquire into it.
Every one should have the free choice of his religion and his creed."
Nothing would have been wanting in the picture, if Bailly had taken the
trouble to remark how strange it was, that these violent scruples against
repeated Communions emanated from persons who probably never took the
Sacrament at all.
The reports on animal magnetism, on the hospitals, on the slaughter-houses,
had carried Bailly's name into regions, whence the courtiers knew very
cleverly how to discard true merit. Madame then wished to attach the
illustrious academician to her person as a cabinet secretary. Bailly accepted.
It was an entirely honorary title. The secretary saw the princess only once,
that was on the day of his presentation.
Were more important functions reserved for him? We must suppose so; for
some influential persons offered to procure Bailly a title of nobility and a
decoration. This time the philosopher flatly refused, saying, in answer to the

earnest negotiators: "I thank you, but he who has the honour of belonging to
the three principal academies of France is sufficiently decorated,
sufficiently noble in the eyes of rational men; a cordon, or a title, could add
nothing to him."
The first secretary of the Academy of Sciences had, some years before,
acted as Bailly did. Only he gave his refusal in such strong terms, that I
could not easily believe them to have been written by the timid pen of
Fontenelle, if I did not find them in a perfectly authentic document, in
which he says: "Of all the titles in this world, I have never had any but of
one sort, the titles of Academician, and they have not been profaned by an
admixture of any others, more worldly and more ostentatious."
Bailly married, in November, 1787, an intimate friend of his mother's,
already a widow, only two years younger than himself. Madame Bailly, a
distant relation of the author of the Marseillaise, had an attachment for her
husband that bordered on adoration. She lavished on him the most tender
and affectionate attention. The success that Madame Bailly might have had
in the fashionable world by her beauty, her grace, by her ineffable
goodness, did not tempt her. She lived in almost absolute retirement, even
when the learned academician was most in society. The Mayor's wife
appeared only at one public ceremony: the day of the benediction of the
colours of the sixty battalions of the National Guard by the Archbishop of
Paris, she accompanied Madame de Lafayette to the Cathedral. She said:
"My husband's duty is to show himself in public wherever there is any good
to be done, or sound advice to be given; mine is to remain at home." This
rare retiring and respectable conduct did not disarm some hideous
pamphleteers. Their impudent sarcasms were continually attacking the
modest wife on her domestic hearth, and troubling her peace of mind. In
their logic of the tavern they fancied that an elegant and handsome woman,
who avoided society, could not fail to be ignorant and stupid. Thence arose
a thousand imaginary stories, ridiculous both as to their matter and form,
thrown out daily to the public, more, indeed, to offend and disgust the
upright magistrate than to humble his companion.
The axe that ended our colleague's life, with the same stroke, and almost as
completely, crushed in Madame Bailly, after so many poignant agitations
and unexampled misfortunes, all that was left of strength of mind and

power of intellect. A strange incident also aggravated the sadness of
Madame Bailly's situation. On a day of trouble, during her husband's
lifetime, she had placed the assignats resulting from the sale of their house
at Chaillot, amounting to about thirty thousand francs, in the wadding of a
dress. The enfeebled memory of the unfortunate widow did not recall to her
the existence of this treasure, even in the time of her greatest distress. When
the age of the material which had secreted them began to reveal them to
daylight, they were no longer of any value.
The widow of the author of one of the best works of the age, of the learned
member of our three great academies, of the first President of the National
Assembly, of the first Mayor of Paris, found herself thus reduced, by an
unheard-of turn of fortune, to implore help from public pity. It was the
geometer Cousin, member of this academy, who by his incessant
solicitations got Madame Bailly's name inserted at the Board of Charity in
his arrondissement. The support was distributed in kind. Cousin used to
receive the articles at the Hôtel de Ville, where he was a Municipal
Councillor, and carried them himself to the street de la Sourdière. It was, in
short, in the street de la Sourdière that Madame Bailly had obtained two
rooms gratis, in the house of a compassionate person, whose name I very
much regret not having learnt. Does it not appear to you, Gentlemen, that
the academician Cousin, who crossed the whole of Paris, with the bread
under his arm and the meat and the candle, intended for the unfortunate
widow of an illustrious colleague, did himself more honour than if he had
come to one of the sittings bringing in his portfolio the results of some fine
scientific research? Such noble actions are certainly worth good "Papers."
Affairs proceeded thus up to the revolution of the 18th Brumaire. On the
21st, the public criers were announcing everywhere, even in the street de la
Sourdière, that General Bonaparte was Consul, and M. de Laplace Minister
of the Interior. This name, so well known by the respectable widow, reached
even the room that she inhabited, and caused her some emotion. That same
evening, the new minister (this was a noble beginning, Gentlemen) asked
for a pension of 2000 francs for Madame Bailly. The Consul granted the
demand, adding to it this express condition, that the first half year should be
paid in advance, and immediately. Early on the 22d, a carriage stopped in
the street de la Sourdière; Madame de Laplace descends from it, carrying in
her hand a purse filled with gold. She rushed to the staircase, runs to the

humble abode, that had now for several years witnessed irremediable
sorrow and severe misery; Madame Bailly was at the window: "My dear
friend, what are you doing there so early?" exclaimed the wife of the
minister. "Madam," replied the widow, "I heard the public crier yesterday,
and I was expecting you!"
If after having, from a sense of duty, expatiated upon anarchical, odious,
and sanguinary scenes, the historian of our civil discords has the good
fortune to meet on his progress with an incident that gratifies the mind,
raises the soul, and fills the heart with pleasing emotions, he stops there,
Gentlemen, as the African traveller halts in an oasis!

HERSCHEL.
William Herschel, one of the greatest astronomers that ever lived in any age
or country, was born at Hanover, on the 15th of November, 1738. The name
of Herschel has become too illustrious for people to neglect searching back,
up the stream of time, to learn the social position of the families that have
borne it. Yet the just curiosity of the learned world on this subject has not
been entirely satisfied. We only know that Abraham Herschel, great-
grandfather of the astronomer, resided at Mähren, whence he was expelled
on account of his strong attachment to the Protestant faith; that Abraham's
son Isaac was a farmer in the vicinity of Leipzig; that Isaac's eldest son,
Jacob Herschel, resisted his father's earnest desire to see him devote himself
to agriculture, that he determined on being a musician, and settled at
Hanover.
Jacob Herschel, father of William, the astronomer, was an eminent
musician; nor was he less remarkable for the good qualities of his heart and
of his mind. His very limited means did not enable him to bestow a
complete education on his family, consisting of six boys and four girls. But
at least, by his care, his ten children all became excellent musicians. The
eldest, Jacob, even acquired a rare degree of ability, which procured for him
the appointment of Master of the Band in a Hanoverian regiment, which he
accompanied to England. The third son, William, remained under his
father's roof. Without neglecting the fine arts, he took lessons in the French
language, and devoted himself to the study of metaphysics, for which he
retained a taste to his latest day.
In 1759, William Herschel, then about twenty-one years old, went over to
England, not with his father, as has been erroneously published, but with his
brother Jacob, whose connections in that country seemed likely to favour
the young man's opening prospects in life. Still, neither London nor the
country towns afforded him any resource in the beginning, and the first two
or three years after his expatriation were marked by some cruel privations,
which, however, were nobly endured. A fortunate chance finally raised the
poor Hanoverian to a better position; Lord Durham engaged him as Master

of the Band in an English regiment which was quartered on the borders of
Scotland. From this moment the musician Herschel acquired a reputation
that spread gradually, and in the year 1765 he was appointed organist at
Halifax (Yorkshire). The emoluments of this situation, together with giving
private lessons both in the town and the country around, procured a degree
of comfort for the young William. He availed himself of it to remedy, or
rather to complete, his early education. It was then that he learnt Latin and
Italian, though without any other help than a grammar and a dictionary. It
was then also that he taught himself something of Greek. So great was the
desire for knowledge with which he was inspired while residing at Halifax,
that Herschel found means to continue his hard philological exercises, and
at the same time to study deeply the learned but very obscure mathematical
work on the theory of music by R. Smith. This treatise, either explicitly or
implicitly, supposed the reader to possess some knowledge of algebra and
of geometry, which Herschel did not possess, but of which he made himself
master in a very short time.
In 1766, Herschel obtained the appointment of organist to the Octagon
Chapel at Bath. This was a more lucrative post than that of Halifax, but new
obligations also devolved on the able pianist. He had to play incessantly
either at the Oratorios, or in the rooms at the baths, at the theatre, and in the
public concerts. Then, being immersed in the most fashionable circle in
England, Herschel could no longer refuse the numerous pupils who wished
to be instructed in his school. It is difficult to imagine how, among so many
duties, so many distractions of various kinds, Herschel could continue so
many studies, which already at Halifax had required in him so much
resolution, so much perseverance, and a very uncommon degree of talent.
We have already seen that it was by music that Herschel was led to
mathematics; mathematics in their turn led him to optics, the principal and
fertile source of his illustrious career. The hour finally struck, when his
theoretic knowledge was to guide the young musician into a laborious
application of principles quite foreign to his habits; and the brilliant success
of which, as well as their excessive hardihood, will excite reasonable
astonishment.
A telescope, a simple telescope, only two English feet in length, falls into
the hands of Herschel during his residence at Bath. This instrument,
however imperfect, shows him a multitude of stars in the sky that the naked

eye cannot discern; shows him also some of the known objects, but now
under their true dimensions; reveals forms to him that the richest
imaginations of antiquity had never suspected. Herschel is transported with
enthusiasm. He will, without delay, have a similar instrument but of larger
dimensions. The answer from London is delayed for some days: these few
days appear as many centuries to him. When the answer arrives, the price
that the optician demands proves to be much beyond the pecuniary
resources of a mere organist. To any other man this would have been a clap
of thunder. This unexpected difficulty on the contrary, inspired Herschel
with fresh energy; he cannot buy a telescope, then he will construct one
with his own hands. The musician of the Octagon Chapel rushes
immediately into a multitude of experiments, on metallic alloys that reflect
light with the greatest intensity, on the means of giving the parabolic figure
to the mirrors, on the causes that in the operation of polishing affect the
regularity of the figure, &c. So rare a degree of perseverance at last receives
its reward. In 1774 Herschel has the happiness of being able to examine the
heavens with a Newtonian telescope of five English feet focus, entirely
made by himself. This success tempts him to undertake still more difficult
enterprises. Other telescopes of seven, of eight, of ten, and even of twenty
feet focal distance, crown his efforts. As if to answer in advance those
critics who would have accused him of a superfluity of apparatus, of
unnecessary luxury, in the large size of the new instruments, and his
extreme minutiæ in their execution, Nature granted to the astronomical
musician, on the 13th of March 1781, the unheard-of honour of
commencing his career of observation with the discovery of a new planet,
situated on the confines of our solar system. Dating from that moment,
Herschel's reputation, no longer in his character of musician, but as a
constructor of telescopes and as an astronomer, spread throughout the
world. The King, George III., a great lover of science, and much inclined
besides to protect and patronize both men and things of Hanoverian origin,
had Herschel presented to him; he was charmed with the simple yet lucid
and modest account that he gave of his repeated endeavours; he caught a
glimpse of the glory that so penetrating an observer might reflect on his
reign, ensured to him a pension of 300 guineas a year, and moreover a
residence near Windsor Castle, first at Clay Hall and then at Slough. The
visions of George III. were completely realized. We may confidently assert,
relative to the little house and garden of Slough, that it is the spot of all the

world where the greatest number of discoveries have been made. The name
of that village will never perish; science will transmit it religiously to our
latest posterity.
I will avail myself of this opportunity to rectify a mistake, of which
ignorance and idleness wish to make a triumphant handle, or, at all events,
to wield in their cause as an irresistible justification. It has been repeated to
satiety, that at the time when Herschel entered on his astronomical career he
knew nothing of mathematics. But I have already said, that during his
residence at Bath, the organist of the Octagon Chapel had familiarized
himself with the principles of geometry and algebra; and a still more
positive proof of this is, that a difficult question on the vibration of strings
loaded with small weights had been proposed for discussion in 1779:
Herschel undertook to solve it, and his dissertation was inserted in several
scientific collections of the year 1780.
The anecdotic life of Herschel, however, is now closed. The great
astronomer will not quit his observatory any more, except to go and submit
the sublime results of his laborious vigils to the Royal Society of London.
These results are contained in his memoirs; they constitute one of the
principal riches of the celebrated collection known under the title of
Philosophical Transactions.
Herschel belonged to the principal Academies of Europe, and about 1816 he
was named Knight of the Guelphic order of Hanover. According to the
English habit, from the time of that nomination the title of Sir William took
the place, in all this illustrious astronomer's memoirs, already honoured
with so much celebrity, of the former appellation of Doctor William.
Herschel had been named a Doctor (of laws) in the University of Oxford in
1786. This dignity, by special favour, was conferred on him without any of
the obligatory formalities of examination, disputation, or pecuniary
contribution, usual in that learned corporation.
I should wound the elevated sentiments that Herschel professed all his life,
if I were not here to mention two indefatigable assistants that this fortunate
astronomer found in his own family. The one was Alexander Herschel,
endowed with a remarkable talent for mechanism, always at his brother's
orders, and who enabled him to realize without delay any ideas that he had

conceived;[15] the other was Miss Caroline Herschel, who deserves a still
more particular and detailed mention.
Miss Caroline Lucretia Herschel went to England as soon as her brother
became special astronomer to the king. She received the appellation there of
Assistant Astronomer, with a moderate salary. From that moment she
unreservedly devoted herself to the service of her brother, happy in
contributing night and day to his rapidly increasing scientific reputation.
Miss Caroline shared in all the night-watches of her brother, with her eye
constantly on the clock, and the pencil in her hand; she made all the
calculations without exception; she made three or four copies of all the
observations in separate registers; coördinated, classed, and analyzed them.
If the scientific world saw with astonishment how Herschel's works
succeeded each other with unexampled rapidity during so many years, they
were specially indebted for it to the ardour of Miss Caroline. Astronomy,
moreover, has been directly enriched by several comets through this
excellent and respectable lady. After the death of her illustrious brother,
Miss Caroline retired to Hanover, to the house of Jahn Dietrich Herschel, a
musician of high reputation, and the only surviving brother of the
astronomer.
William Herschel died without pain on the 23d of August 1822, aged
eighty-three. Good fortune and glory never altered in him the fund of
infantine candour, inexhaustible benevolence, and sweetness of character,
with which nature had endowed him. He preserved to the last both his
brightness of mind and vigour of intellect. For some years Herschel enjoyed
with delight the distinguished success of his only son,[16] Sir John
Herschel. At his last hour he sunk to rest with the pleasing conviction that
his beloved son, heir of a great name, would not allow it to fall into
oblivion, but adorn it with fresh lustre, and that great discoveries would
honour his career also. No prediction of the illustrious astronomer has been
more completely verified.
The English journals gave an account of the means adopted by the family of
William Herschel, for preserving the remains of the great telescope of
thirty-nine English feet (twelve metres) constructed by that celebrated
astronomer.

The metal tube of the instrument carrying at one end the recently cleaned
mirror of four feet ten inches in diameter, has been placed horizontally in
the meridian line, on solid piers of masonry, in the midst of the circle,
where formerly stood the mechanism requisite for manœuvring the
telescope. The first of January 1840, Sir John Herschel, his wife, their
children, seven in number, and some old family servants, assembled at
Slough. Exactly at noon, the party walked several times in procession round
the instrument; they then entered the tube of the telescope, seated
themselves on benches that had been prepared for the purpose, and sung a
requiem, with English words composed by Sir John Herschel himself. After
their exit, the illustrious family ranged themselves around the great tube, the
opening of which was then hermetically sealed. The day concluded with a
party of intimate friends.
I know not whether those persons who will only appreciate things from the
peculiar point of view from which they have been accustomed to look, may
think there was something strange in several of the details of the ceremony
that I have just described. I affirm at least that the whole world will applaud
the pious feeling which actuated Sir John Herschel; and that all the friends
of science will thank him for having consecrated the humble garden where
his father achieved such immortal labours, by a monument more expressive
in its simplicity than pyramids or statues.

FOOTNOTES:

[15] When age and infirmities obliged Alexander Herschel to give up his
profession as a musician, he quitted Bath, and returned to Hanover, very
generously provided by Sir William with a comfortable independence for
life.
[16] Sir W. Herschel had married Mary, the widow of John Pitt, Esq.,
possessed of a considerable jointure, and the union proved a remarkable
accession of domestic happiness. This lady survived Sir William by several
years. They had but this son.—Translator's Note.

CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE OF THE MEMOIRS OF
WILLIAM HERSCHEL.[17]

1780. Philosophical Transactions, vol. lxx.—Astronomical
Observations on the Periodical Star in the Neck of the Whale.—
Astronomical Observations relative to the Lunar Mountains.
1781. Phil. Trans., vol. lxxi.—Astronomical Observations on the
Rotation of the Planets on their Axes, made with a View to decide
whether the Daily Rotation of the Earth be always the same.—On the
Comet of 1781, afterwards called the Georgium Sidus.
1782. Phil. Trans., vol. lxxii.—On the Parallax of the Fixed Stars.—
Catalogue of Double Stars.—Description of a Lamp Micrometer, and
the Method of using it.—Answers to the Doubts that might be raised to
the high magnifying Powers used by Herschel.
1783. Phil. Trans., vol. lxxiii.—Letter to Sir Joseph Banks on the
Name to be given to the new Planet.—On the Diameter of the
Georgium Sidus, followed by the Description of a Micrometer with
luminous or dark Disks.—On the proper Motion of the Solar System,
and the various Changes that have occurred among the Fixed Stars
since the Time of Flamsteed.
1784. Phil. Trans., vol. lxxiv.—On some remarkable Appearances in
the Polar Regions of Mars, the Inclination of its Axis, the Position of
its Poles, and its Spheroïdal Form.—Some Details on the real
Diameter of Mars, and on its Atmosphere.—Analysis of some
Observations on the Constitution of the Heavens.
1785. Phil. Trans., vol. lxxv.—Catalogue of Double Stars.—On the
Constitution of the Heavens.
1786. Phil Trans., vol., lxxvi.—Catalogue of a Thousand Nebulæ and
Clusters of Stars.—Researches on the Cause of a Defect of Definition
in Vision, which has been attributed to the Smallness of the Optic
Pencils.

1787. Phil. Trans., vol. lxxvii.—Remarks on the new Comet.—
Discovery of Two Satellites revolving round George's Planet.—On
Three Volcanoes in the Moon.
1788. Phil. Trans., vol. lxxviii.—On George's Planet (Uranus) and its
Satellites.
1789. Phil. Trans., vol. lxxix.—Observations on a Comet. Catalogue
of a Second Thousand new Nebulæ and Clusters of Stars.—Some
Preliminary Remarks on the Constitution of the Heavens.
1790. Phil. Trans., vol. lxxx.—Discovery of Saturn's Sixth and
Seventh Satellites; with Remarks on the Constitution of the Ring, on
the Planet's Rotation round an Axis, on its Spheroïdal Form, and on its
Atmosphere.—On Saturn's Satellites, and the Rotation of the Ring
round an Axis.
1791. Phil. Trans., vol. lxxxi.—On the Nebulous Stars and the
Suitableness of this Epithet.
1792. Phil. Trans., vol. lxxxii.—On Saturn's Ring, and the Rotation of
the Planet's Fifth Satellite round an Axis.—Mixed Observations.
1793. Phil. Trans., vol. lxxxiii.—Observations on the Planet Venus.
1794. Phil. Trans., vol. lxxxiv.—Observations on a Quintuple Band in
Saturn.—On some Peculiarities observed during the last Solar Eclipse.
—On Saturn's Rotation round an Axis.
1795. Phil. Trans., vol. lxxxv.—On the Nature and Physical
Constitution of the Sun and Stars.—Description of a Reflecting
Telescope forty feet in length.
1796. Phil. Trans., vol. lxxxvi.—Method of observing the Changes
that happen to the Fixed Stars; Remarks on the Stability of our Sun's
Light.—Catalogue of Comparative Brightness, to determine the
Permanency of the Lustre of Stars.—On the Periodical Star α Herculis,
with Remarks tending to establish the Rotatory Motion of the Stars on
their Axes; to which is added a second Catalogue of the Brightness of
the Stars.

1797. Phil. Trans., vol. lxxxvii.—A Third Catalogue of the
comparative Brightness of the Stars; with an Introductory Account of
an Index to Mr. Flamsteed's Observations of the Fixed Stars, contained
in the Second Volume of the Historia Cœlestis to which are added
several useful Results derived from that Index.—Observations of the
changeable Brightness of the Satellites of Jupiter, and of the Variation
in their apparent Magnitudes; with a Determination of the Time of
their rotary Motions on their Axes, to which is added a Measure of the
Diameter of the Second Satellite, and an Estimate of the comparative
Size of the Fourth.
1798. Phil. Trans., vol. lxxxviii.—On the Discovery of Four additional
Satellites of the Georgium Sidus. The retrograde Motion of its old
Satellites announced; and the Cause of their Disappearance at certain
Distances from the Planet explained.
1799. Phil. Trans., vol. lxxxix.—A Fourth Catalogue of the
comparative Brightness of the Stars.
1800. Phil. Trans., vol. xc.—On the Power of penetrating into Space
by Telescopes, with a comparative Determination of the Extent of that
Power in Natural Vision, and in Telescopes of various Sizes and
Constructions; illustrated by select Observations.—Investigation of the
Powers of the Prismatic Colours to heat and illuminate Objects; with
Remarks that prove the different Refrangibility of radiant Heat; to
which is added an Inquiry into the Method of viewing the Sun
advantageously with Telescopes of large Apertures and high
magnifying Powers.—Experiments on the Refrangibility of the
Invisible Rays of the Sun.—Experiments on the Solar and on the
Terrestrial Rays that occasion Heat; with a comparative View of the
Laws to which Light and Heat, or rather the Rays which occasion
them, are subject, in order to determine whether they are the same or
different.
1801. Phil. Trans., vol. xci.—Observations tending to investigate the
Nature of the Sun, in order to find the Causes or Symptoms of its
variable Emission of Light and Heat; with Remarks on the Use that
may possibly be drawn from Solar Observations.—Additional

Observations tending to investigate the Symptoms of the variable
Emission of the Light and Heat of the Sun; with Trials to set aside
darkening Glasses, by transmitting the Solar Rays through Liquids,
and a few Remarks to remove Objections that might be made against
some of the Arguments contained in the former paper.
1802. Phil. Trans., vol. xcii.—Observations on the two lately
discovered celestial Bodies (Ceres and Pallas).—Catalogue of 500 new
Nebulæ and Clusters of Stars, with Remarks on the Construction of the
Heavens.
1803. Phil. Trans., vol. xciii.—Observations of the Transit of Mercury
over the Disk of the Sun; to which is added an Investigation of the
Causes which often prevent the proper Action of Mirrors.—Account of
the Changes that have happened during the last Twenty-five Years in
the relative Situation of Double Stars; with an Investigation of the
Cause to which they are owing.
1804. Phil. Trans., vol. xciv.—Continuation of an Account of the
Changes that have happened in the relative Situation of Double Stars.
1805. Phil. Trans., vol. xcv.—Experiments for ascertaining how far
Telescopes will enable us to determine very small Angles, and to
distinguish the real from the spurious Diameters of Celestial and
Terrestrial Objects: with an Application of the Result of these
Experiments to a Series of Observations on the Nature and Magnitude
of Mr. Harding's lately discovered Star.—On the Direction and
Velocity of the Motion of the Sun and Solar System.—Observation on
the singular Figure of the Planet Saturn.
1806. Phil. Trans., vol. xcvi.—On the Quantity and Velocity of the
Solar Motion.—Observations on the Figure, the Climate, and the
Atmosphere of Saturn and its Ring.
1807. Phil. Trans., vol. xcvii.—Experiments for investigating the
Cause of the Coloured Concentric Rings, discovered by Sir Isaac
Newton between two Object-glasses laid one upon another.—
Observations on the Nature of the new celestial Body discovered by

Dr. Olbers, and of the Comet which was expected to appear last
January in its Return from the Sun.
1808. Phil. Trans., vol. xcviii.—Observations of a Comet, made with a
view to investigate its Magnitude, and the Nature of its Illumination.
To which is added, an Account of a new Irregularity lately perceived in
the Apparent Figure of the Planet Saturn.
1809. Phil. Trans., vol. xcix.—Continuation of Experiments for
investigating the Cause of Coloured Concentric Rings, and other
Appearances of a similar Nature.
1810. Phil. Trans., vol. c.—Supplement to the First and Second Part of
the Paper of Experiments for investigating the Cause of Coloured
Concentric Rings between Object-glasses, and other Appearances of a
similar Nature.
1811. Phil. Trans., vol. ci.—Astronomical Observations relating to the
Construction of the Heavens, arranged for the Purpose of a critical
Examination, the Result of which appears to throw some new Light
upon the Organization of the Celestial Bodies.
1812. Phil. Trans., vol. cii.—Observations of a Comet, with Remarks
on the Construction of its different Parts.—Observations of a Second
Comet, with Remarks on its Construction.
1814. Phil. Trans., vol. civ.—Astronomical Observations relating to
the Sidereal Part of the Heavens, and its Connection with the Nebulous
Part; arranged for the Purpose of a critical Examination.
1815. Phil. Trans., vol. cv.—A Series of Observations of the Satellites
of the Georgian Planet, including a Passage through the Node of their
Orbits; with an Introductory Account of the Telescopic Apparatus that
has been used on this Occasion, and a final Exposition of some
calculated Particulars deduced from the Observations.
1817. Phil. Trans., vol. cvii.—Astronomical Observations and
Experiments tending to investigate the Local Arrangement of the
Celestial Bodies in Space, and to determine the Extent and Condition
of the Milky Way.

1818. Phil. Trans., vol. cviii.—Astronomical Observations and
Experiments selected for the Purpose of ascertaining the relative
Distances of Clusters of Stars, and of investigating how far the Power
of Telescopes may be expected to reach into Space, when directed to
ambiguous Celestial Objects.
1822. Memoirs of the Astronomical Society of London.—On the
Positions of 145 new Double Stars.

The chronological and detailed analysis of so many labours would throw us
into numerous repetitions. A systematic order will be preferable; it will
more distinctly fix the eminent place that Herschel will never cease to
occupy in the small group of our contemporary men of genius, whilst his
name will reëcho to the most distant posterity. The variety and splendour of
Herschel's labours vie with their extent. The more we study them, the more
we must admire them. It is with great men, as it is with great movements in
the arts, we cannot understand them without studying them under various
points of view.
Let us here again make a general reflection. The memoirs of Herschel are,
for the greater part, pure and simple extracts from his inexhaustible journals
of observations at Slough, accompanied by a few remarks. Such a table
would not suit historical details. In these respects the author has left almost
every thing to his biographers to do for him. And they must impose on
themselves the task of assigning to the great astronomer's predecessors the
portion that legitimately belongs to them, out of the mass of discoveries,
which the public (we must say) has got into an erroneous habit of referring
too exclusively to Herschel.
At one time I thought of adding a note to the analysis of each of the
illustrious observer's memoirs, containing a detailed indication of the
improvements or corrections that the progressive march of science has
brought on. But in order to avoid an exorbitant length in this biography, I
have been obliged to give up my project. In general I shall content myself
with pointing out what belongs to Herschel, referring to my Treatise on
Popular Astronomy for the historical details. The life of Herschel had the
rare advantage of forming an epoch in an extensive branch of astronomy; it

would require us almost to write a special treatise on astronomy, to show
thoroughly the importance of all the researches that are due to him.

FOOTNOTE:

[17] These titles are copied direct from the Philosophical Transactions,
instead of being retranslated.—Translator's Note.

IMPROVEMENTS IN THE MEANS OF OBSERVATION.

The improvements that Herschel made in the construction and management
of telescopes have contributed so directly to the discoveries with which that
observer enriched astronomy, that we cannot hesitate to bring them forward
at once.
I read the following passage in a Memoir by Lalande, printed in 1783, and
forming part of the preface to vol. viii. of the Ephemerides of the Celestial
Motions.
"Each time that Herschel undertakes to polish a mirror (of a telescope), he
condemns himself to ten, or twelve, or even fourteen hours' constant work.
He does not quit his workshop for a minute, not even to eat, but receives
from the hands of his sister that nourishment without which one could not
undergo such prolonged fatigue. Nothing in the world would induce
Herschel to abandon his work; for, according to him, it would be to spoil
it."
The advantages that Herschel found in 1783, 1784, and 1785, in employing
telescopes of twenty feet and with large apertures, made him wish to
construct much larger still. The expense would be considerable; King
George III. provided for it. The work, begun about the close of 1785, was
finished in August, 1789. This instrument had an iron cylindrical tube,
thirty-nine feet four inches English in length, and four feet ten inches in
diameter. Such dimensions are enormous compared with those of telescopes
made till then. They will appear but small, however, to persons who have

heard the report of a pretended ball given in the Slough telescope. The
propagators of this popular rumour had confounded the astronomer
Herschel with the brewer Meux, and a cylinder in which a man of the
smallest stature could scarcely stand upright, with certain wooden vats, as
large as a house, in which beer is made and kept in London.
Herschel's telescope, forty English feet[18] in length, allowed of the
realization of an idea, the advantages of which would not be sufficiently
appreciated if I did not here recall to mind some facts.
In any telescope, whether refracting or reflecting, there are two principal
parts: the part that forms the aërial images of the distant objects, and the
small lens by the aid of which these images are enlarged just as if they
consisted of radiating matter. When the image is produced by means of a
lenticular glass, the place it occupies will be found in the prolongation of
the line that extends from the object to the centre of the lens. The
astronomer, furnished with an eye-piece, and wishing to examine that
image, must necessarily place himself beyond the point where the rays that
form it have crossed each other; beyond, let us carefully remark, means
farther off from the object-glass. The observer's head, his body, cannot then
injure the formation or the brightness of the image, however small may be
the distance from which we have to study it. But it is no longer thus with
the image formed by means of reflection. For the image is now placed
between the object and the reflecting mirror; and when the astronomer
approaches in order to examine it, he inevitably intercepts, if not the
totality, at least a very considerable portion of the luminous rays, which
would otherwise have contributed to give it great splendour. It will now be
understood, why in optical instruments where the images of distant objects
are formed by the reflection of light, it has been necessary to carry the
images, by the aid of a second reflection, out of the tube that contains and
sustains the principal mirror. When the small mirror, on the surface of
which the second reflection is effected, is plane, and inclined at an angle of
45° to the axis of the telescope; when the image is reflected laterally,
through an opening made near the edge of the tube and furnished with an
eye-piece; when, in a word, the astronomer looks definitively in a direction
perpendicular to the line described by the luminous rays coming from the
object and falling on the centre of the great mirror, then the telescope is
called Newtonian. But in the Gregorian telescope, the image formed by the

principal mirror falls on a second mirror, which is very small, slightly
curved, and parallel to the first. The small mirror reflects the first image and
throws it beyond the large mirror, through an opening made in the middle of
that principal mirror.
Both in the one and in the other of these two telescopes, the small mirror
interposed between the object and the great mirror forms relative to the
latter a sort of screen which prevents its entire surface from contributing
towards forming the image. The small mirror, also, in regard to intensity,
gives some trouble.
Let us suppose, in order to clear up our ideas, that the material of which the
two mirrors are made, reflects only half of the incident light. In the course
of the first reflection, the immense quantity of rays that the aperture of the
telescope had received, may be considered as reduced to half. Nor is the
diminution less on the small mirror. Now, half of half is a quarter. Therefore
the instrument will send to the eye of the observer only a quarter of the
incident light that its aperture had received. These two causes of diminished
light not existing in a refracting telescope, it would give, under parity of
dimensions, four times more[19] light than a Newtonian or Gregorian
telescope gives.
Herschel did away with the small mirror in his large telescope. The large
mirror is not mathematically centred in the large tube that contains it, but is
placed rather obliquely in it. This slight obliquity causes the images to be
formed not in the axis of the tube, but very near its circumference, or outer
mouth, we may call it. The observer may therefore look at them there direct,
merely by means of an eye-piece. A small portion of the astronomer's head,
it is true, then encroaches on the tube; it forms a screen, and interrupts some
incident rays. Still, in a large telescope, the loss does not amount to half by
a great deal; which it would inevitably do if the small mirror were there.
Those telescopes, in which the observer, placed at the anterior extremity of
the tube, looks direct into the tube and turns his back to the objects, were
called by Herschel front view telescopes. In vol. lxxvi. of the Philosophical
Transactions he says, that the idea of this construction occurred to him in
1776, and that he then applied it unsuccessfully to a ten-foot telescope; that
during the year 1784, he again made a fruitless trial of it in a twenty-foot

telescope. Yet I find that on the 7th of September 1784, he recurred to a
front view in observing some nebulæ and groups of stars. However
discordant these dates may be, we cannot without injustice neglect to
remark, that a front view telescope was already described in 1732, in
volume vi. of the collection entitled Machines and Inventions approved by
the Academy of Sciences. The author of this innovation is Jaques Lemaire,
who has been unduly confounded with the English Jesuit, Christopher
Maire, assistant to Boscovitch, in measuring the meridian comprised
between Rome and Rimini. Jaques Lemaire having only telescopes of
moderate dimensions in view, was obliged, in order not to sacrifice any of
the light, to place the great mirror so obliquely, that the image formed by its
surface should fall entirely outside the tube of the instrument. So great a
degree of inclination would certainly deform the objects. The front view
construction is admissible only in very large telescopes.
I find in the Transactions for 1803, that in solar observations, Herschel
sometimes employed telescopes, the great mirror of which was made of
glass. It was a telescope of this sort that he used for observing the transit of
Mercury on the 9th of November, 1802. It was seven English feet long, and
six inches and three tenths in diameter.
Practical astronomers know how much the mounting of a telescope
contributes to produce correct observations. The difficulty of a solid yet
very movable mounting, increases rapidly with the dimensions and weight
of an instrument. We may then conceive that Herschel had to surmount
many obstacles, to mount a telescope suitably, of which the mirror alone
weighed upwards of 1000 kilogrammes (a ton). But he solved this problem
to his entire satisfaction by the aid of a combination of spars, of pulleys,
and of ropes, of all which a correct idea may be formed by referring to the
woodcut we have given in our Treatise on Popular Astronomy (vol. i.). This
great apparatus, and the entirely different stands that Herschel imagined for
telescopes of smaller dimensions, assign to that illustrious observer a
distinguished place amongst the most ingenious mechanics of our age.
Persons in general, I may even say the greater part of astronomers, know
not what was the effect that the great forty-foot telescope had in the labours
and discoveries of Herschel. Still, we are not less mistaken when we fancy
that the observer of Slough always used this telescope, than in maintaining

with Baron von Zach (see Monatliche Correspondenz, January, 1802), that
the colossal instrument was of no use at all, that it did not contribute to any
one discovery, that it must be considered as a mere object of curiosity.
These assertions are distinctly contradicted by Herschel's own words. In the
volume of Philosophical Transactions for the year 1795 (p. 350), I read for
example: "On the 28th of August 1789, having directed my telescope (of
forty feet) to the heavens, I discovered the sixth satellite of Saturn, and I
perceived the spots on that planet, better than I had been able to do before."
(See also, relative to this sixth satellite, the Philosophical Transactions for
1790, p. 10.) In that same volume of 1790, p. 11, I find: "The great light of
my forty-foot telescope was then so useful, that on the 17th of September
1789, I remarked the seventh satellite, then situated at its greatest western
elongation."
The 10th of October, 1791, Herschel saw the ring of Saturn and the fourth
satellite, looking in at the mirror of his forty-foot telescope, with his naked
eye, without any sort of eye-piece.
Let us acknowledge the true motives that prevented Herschel from oftener
using his telescope of forty feet. Notwithstanding the excellence of the
mechanism, the manœuvring of that instrument required the constant aid of
two labourers, and that of another person charged with noting the time at
the clock. During some nights when the variation of temperature was
considerable, this telescope, on account of its great mass, was always
behindhand with the atmosphere in thermometric changes, which was very
injurious to the distinctness of the images.
Herschel found that in England, there are not above a hundred hours in a
year during which the heavens can be advantageously observed with a
telescope of forty feet, furnished with a magnifying power of a thousand.
This remark led the celebrated astronomer to the conclusion, that, to take a
complete survey of the heavens with his large instrument, though each
successive field should remain only for an instant under inspection, would
not require less than eight hundred years.
Herschel explains in a very natural way the rare occurrence of the
circumstances in which it is possible to make good use of a telescope of
forty feet, and of very large aperture.

A telescope does not magnify real objects only, but magnifies also the
apparent irregularities arising from atmospheric refractions; now, all other
things being equal, these irregularities of refraction must be so much the
stronger, so much the more frequent, as the stratum of air is thicker through
which the rays have passed to go and form the image.
Astronomers experienced extreme surprise, when in 1782, they learned that
Herschel had applied linear magnifying powers of a thousand, of twelve
hundred, of two thousand two hundred, of two thousand six hundred, and
even of six thousand times, to a reflecting telescope of seven feet in length.
The Royal Society of London experienced this surprise, and officially
requested Herschel to give publicity to the means he had adopted for
ascertaining such amounts of magnifying power in his telescopes. Such was
the object of a memoir that he inserted in vol. lxxii. of the Philosophical
Transactions; and it dissipated all doubts. No one will be surprised that
magnifying powers, which it would seem ought to have shown the Lunar
mountains, as the chain of Mont Blanc is seen from Maçon, from Lyons,
and even from Geneva, were not easily believed in. They did not know that
Herschel had never used magnifying powers of three thousand, and six
thousand times, except in observing brilliant stars; they had not
remembered that light reflected by planetary bodies, is too feeble to
continue distinct under the same degree of magnifying power as the actual
light of the fixed stars does.
Opticians had given up, more from theory than from careful experiments,
attempting high magnifying powers, even for reflecting telescopes. They
thought that the image of a small circle cannot be distinct, cannot be sharp
at the edges, unless the pencil of rays coming from the object in nearly
parallel lines, and which enters the eye after having passed through the eye-
piece, be sufficiently broad. This being once granted, the inference
followed, that an image ceases to be well defined, when it does not strike at
least two of the nervous filaments of the retina with which that organ is
supposed to be overspread. These gratuitous circumstances, grafted on each
other, vanished in presence of Herschel's observations. After having put
himself on his guard against the effects of diffraction, that is to say, against
the scattering that light undergoes when it passes the terminal angles of
bodies, the illustrious astronomer proved, in 1786, that objects can be seen

well defined by means of pencils of light whose diameter does not equal
five tenths of a millimetre.
Herschel looked on the almost unanimous opinion of the double lens eye-
piece being preferable to the single lens eye-piece, as a very injurious
prejudice in science. For experience proved to him, notwithstanding all
theoretic deductions, that with equal magnifying powers, in reflecting
telescopes at least (and this restriction is of some consequence), the images
were brighter and better defined with single than with double eye-pieces.
On one occasion, this latter eye-piece would not show him the bands of
Saturn, whilst by the aid of a single lens they were perfectly visible.
Herschel said: "The double eye-piece must be left to amateurs and to those
who, for some particular object, require a large field of vision."
(Philosophical Transactions, 1782, pages 94 and 95.)
It is not only relative to the comparative merit of single or double eye-
pieces that Herschel differs from the general opinions of opticians; he
thinks, moreover, that he has proved by decisive experiments, that concave
eye-pieces (like that used by Galileo) surpass the convex eye-piece by a
great deal, both as regards clearness and definition.
Herschel assigns the date of 1776 to the experiments which he made to
decide this question. (Philosophical Transactions, year 1815, p. 297.)
Plano-concave and double concave lenses produced similar effects. In what
did these lenses differ from the double convex lenses? In one particular
only: the latter received the rays reflected by the large mirror of the
telescope, after their union at the focus, whereas the concave lenses
received the same rays before that union. When the observer made use of a
convex lens, the rays that went to the back of the eye to form an image on
the retina, had crossed each other before in the air; but no crossing of this
kind took place when the observer used a concave lens. Holding the double
advantage of this latter sort of lens over the other, as quite proved, one
would be inclined, like Herschel, to admit, "that a certain mechanical effect,
injurious to clearness and definition, would accompany the focal crossing of
the rays of light."[20]
This idea of the crossing of the rays suggested an experiment to the
ingenious astronomer, the result of which deserves to be recorded.

A telescope of ten English feet was directed towards an advertisement
covered with very small printing, and placed at a sufficient distance. The
convex lens of the eye-piece was carried not by a tube properly so called,
but by four rigid fine wires placed at right angles. This arrangement left the
focus open in almost every direction. A concave mirror was then placed so
that it threw a very condensed image of the sun laterally on the very spot
where the image of the advertisement was formed. The solar rays, after
having crossed each other, finding nothing on their route, went on and lost
themselves in space. A screen, however, allowed the rays to be intercepted
at will before they united.
This done, having applied the eye to the eye-piece and directed all his
attention to the telescopic image of the advertisement, Herschel did not
perceive that the taking away and then replacing the screen made the least
change in the brightness or definition of the letters. It was therefore of no
consequence, in the one instance as well as in the other, whether the
immense quantity of solar rays crossed each other at the very place where,
in another direction, the rays united that formed the image of the letters. I
have marked in Italics the words that especially show in what this curious
experiment differs from the previous experiments, and yet does not entirely
contradict them. In this instance the rays of various origin, those coming
from the advertisement and from the sun, crossed each other respectively in
almost rectangular directions; during the comparative examination of the
stars with convex and with concave eye-pieces, the rays that seemed to have
a mutual influence, had a common origin and crossed each other at very
acute angles. There seems to be nothing, then, in the difference of the
results at which we need to be much surprised.
Herschel increased the catalogue, already so extensive, of the mysteries of
vision, when he explained in what manner we must endeavour to
distinguish separately the two members of certain double stars very close to
each other. He said if you wish to assure yourself that η Coronæ is a double
star, first direct your telescope to α Geminorum, to ζ Aquarii, to μ Draconis,
to ρ Herculis, to α Piscium, to ε Lyræ. Look at those stars for a long time, so
as to acquire the habit of observing such objects. Then pass on to ξ Ursæ
majoris, where the closeness of the two members is still greater. In a third
essay select ι Bootis (marked 44 by Flamsteed and i in Harris's maps)[21],
the star that precedes α Orionis, n of the same constellation, and you will

then be prepared for the more difficult observation of η Coronæ. Indeed η
Coronæ is a sort of miniature of ι Bootis, which may itself be considered as
a miniature of α Gem. (Philosophical Transactions, 1782, p. 100.)
As soon as Piazzi, Olbers, and Harding had discovered three of the
numerous telescopic planets now known, Herschel proposed to himself to
determine their real magnitudes; but telescopes not having then been
applied to the measurement of excessively small angles, it became requisite,
in order to avoid any illusion, to try some experiments adapted to giving a
scale of the powers of those instruments. Such was the labour of that
indefatigable astronomer, of which I am going to give a compressed
abridgment.
The author relates first, that in 1774, he endeavoured to ascertain
experimentally, with the naked eye and at the distance of distinct vision,
what angle a circle must subtend to be distinguished by its form from a
square of similar dimensions. The angle was never smaller than 2' 17";
therefore at its maximum it was about one fourteenth of the angle subtended
by the diameter of the moon.
Herschel did not say, either of what nature the circles and squares of paper
were that he used, nor on what background they were projected. It is a
lacuna to be regretted, for in those phenomena the intensity of light must be
an important feature. However it may have been, the scrupulous observer
not daring to extend to telescopic vision what he had discovered relative to
vision with the naked eye, he undertook to do away with all doubt, by direct
observations.
On examining some pins' heads placed at a distance in the open air, with a
three-foot telescope, Herschel could easily discern that those bodies were
round, when the subtended angles became, after their enlargement, 2' 19".
This is almost exactly the result obtained with the naked eye.
When the globules were darker; when, instead of pins' heads, small globules
of sealing-wax were used, their spherical form did not begin to be distinctly
visible till the moment when the subtended magnified angles, that is, the
moment when the natural angle multiplied by the magnifying power,
amounted to five minutes.

In a subsequent series of experiments, some globules of silver placed very
far from the observer, allowed their globular form to be perceived, even
when the magnified angle remained below two minutes.
Under equality of subtended angle, then, the telescopic vision with strong
magnifying powers showed itself superior to the naked eye vision. This
result is not unimportant.
If we take notice of the magnifying powers used by Herschel in these
laborious researches, powers that often exceeded five hundred times, it will
appear to be established that the telescopes possessed by modern
astronomers, may serve to verify the round form of distant objects, the form
of celestial bodies even when the diameters of those bodies do not subtend
naturally (to the naked eye), angles of above three tenths of a second: and
500, multiplied by three tenths of a second, give 2' 30".
Refracting telescopes were still ill understood instruments, the result of
chance, devoid of certain theory, when they already served to reveal
brilliant astronomical phenomena. Their theory, in as far as it depended on
geometry and optics, made rapid progress. These two early phases of the
problem leave but little more to be wished for; it is not so with a third
phase, hitherto a good deal neglected, connected with physiology, and with
the action of light on the nervous system. Therefore, we should search in
vain in old treatises on optics and on astronomy, for a strict and complete
discussion on the comparative effect that the size and intensity of the
images, that the magnifying power and the aperture of a telescope may
have, by night and by day, on the visibility of the faintest stars. This lacuna
Herschel tried to fill up in 1799; such was the aim of the memoir entitled,
On the space-penetrating Power of Telescopes.
This memoir contains excellent things; still, it is far from exhausting the
subject. The author, for instance, entirely overlooks the observations made
by day. I also find, that the hypothetical part of the discussion is not perhaps
so distinctly separated from the rigorous part as it might be; that disputable
numbers, though given with a degree of precision down to the smallest
decimals, do not look well as terms of comparison with some results which;
on the contrary, rest on observations bearing mathematical evidence.

Whatever may be thought of these remarks, the astronomer or the physicist
who would like again to undertake the question of visibility with telescopes,
will find some important facts in Herschel's memoir, and some ingenious
observations, well adapted to serve them as guides.

FOOTNOTES:

[18] Conforming to general usage, and to Sir W. Herschel himself, we shall
allude to this instrument as the forty-foot telescope, though M. Arago
adheres to thirty-nine feet and drops the inches, probably because the
Parisian foot is rather longer than the English.—Translator's Note.
[19] It would be more correct to say four times as much light.—Translator.
[20] On comparing the Cassegrain telescopes with a small convex mirror, to
the Gregorian telescopes with a small concave mirror, Captain Kater found
that the former, in which the luminous rays do not cross each other before
falling on the small mirror, possess, as to intensity, a marked advantage over
the latter, in which this crossing takes place.
[21] In the selection of ι Bootis as a test, Arago has taken the precaution of
giving its corresponding denomination in other catalogues, and Bailey
appends the following note, No. 2062, to 44 Bootis. "In the British
Catalogue this star is not denoted by any letter: but Bayer calls it ι, and on
referring to the earliest MS. Catalogue in MSS. vol. xxv., I find it is there so
designated; I have therefore restored the letter." (See Bailey's Edition of
Flamsteed's British Catalogue of Stars, 1835.) The distance between the two
members of this double star is 3".7 and position 23°.5. See "Bedford
Cycle."—Translator.

LABOURS IN SIDEREAL ASTRONOMY.

The curious phenomenon of a periodical change of intensity in certain stars,
very early excited a keen attention in Herschel. The first memoir by that
illustrious observer presented to the Royal Society of London and inserted
in the Philosophical Transactions treats precisely of the changes of
intensity of the star o in the neck of the Whale.
This memoir was still dated from Bath, May, 1780. Eleven years after, in
the month of December, 1791, Herschel communicated a second time to

that celebrated English Society the remarks that he had made by sometimes
directing his telescopes to the mysterious star. At both those epochs the
observer's attention was chiefly applied to the absolute values of the
maxima and minima of intensity.
The changeable star in the Whale was not the only periodical star with
which Herschel occupied himself. His observations of 1795 and of 1796
proved that α Herculis also belongs to the category of variable stars, and
that the time requisite for the accomplishment of all the changes of
intensity, and for the star's return to any given state, was sixty days and a
quarter. When Herschel obtained this result, about ten changeable stars were
already known; but they were all either of very long or very short periods.
The illustrious astronomer considered that, by introducing between two
groups that exhibited very short and very long periods, a star of somewhat
intermediate conditions,—for instance, one requiring sixty days to
accomplish all its variations of intensity,—he had advanced the theory of
these phenomena by an essential step; the theory at least that attributes
every thing to a movement of rotation round their centres which the stars
may undergo.
Sir William Herschel's catalogues of double stars offer a considerable
number to which he ascribes a decided green or blue tint. In binary
combinations, when the small star appears very blue or very green, the large
one is usually yellow or red. It does not appear that the great astronomer
took sufficient interest in this circumstance. I do not find, indeed, that the
almost constant association of two complementary colours (of yellow and
blue, or of red and green), ever led him to suspect that one of those colours
might not have any thing real in it, that it often might be a mere illusion, a
mere result of contrast. It was only in 1825, that I showed that there are
stars whose contrast really explains their apparent colour; but I have proved
besides, that blue is incontestably the colour of certain insulated stars, or
stars that have only white ones, or other blue ones in their vicinity. Red is
the only colour that the ancients ever distinguished from white in their
catalogues.
Herschel also endeavoured to introduce numbers in the classification of
stars as to magnitude; he has endeavoured, by means of numbers, to show

the comparative intensity of a star of first magnitude, with one of second, or
one of third magnitude, &c.
In one of the earliest of Herschel's memoirs, we find, that the apparent
sidereal diameters are proved to be for the greater part factitious, even when
the best made telescopes are used. Diameters estimated by seconds, that is
to say, reduced according to the magnifying power, diminish as the
magnifying power is increased. These results are of the greatest importance.
In the course of his investigation of sidereal parallax, though without
finding it, Herschel made an important discovery; that of the proper motion
of our system. To show distinctly the direction of the motion of the solar
system, not only was a displacement of the sidereal perspective required,
but profound mathematical knowledge, and a peculiar tact. This peculiar
tact Herschel possessed in an eminent degree. Moreover, the result deduced
from the very small number of proper motions known at the beginning of
1783, has been found almost to agree with that found recently by clever
astronomers, by the application of subtile analytical formulæ, to a
considerable number of exact observations.
The proper motions of the stars have been known and proved for more than
a century, and already Fontenelle used to say in 1738, that the sun probably
also moved in a similar way. The idea of partly attributing the displacement
of the stars to a motion of the sun, had suggested itself to Bradley and to
Mayer. And Lambert especially had been very explicit on the subject. Until
then, however, there were only conjectures and mere probabilities. Herschel
passed those limits. He himself proved that the sun positively moves; and
that, in this respect also, that immense and dazzling body must be ranged
among the stars; that the apparently inextricable irregularities of numerous
sidereal proper motions arise in great measure from the displacement of the
solar system; that, in short, the point of space towards which we are
annually advancing, is situated in the constellation of Hercules.
These are magnificent results. The discovery of the proper motion of our
system will always be accounted among Herschel's highest claims to glory,
even after the mention that my duty as historian has obliged me to make of
the anterior conjectures by Fontenelle, by Bradley, by Mayer, and by
Lambert.

By the side of this great discovery we should place another, that seems
likely to expand in future. The results which it allows us to hope for will be
of extreme importance. The discovery here alluded to was announced to the
learned world in 1803; it is that of the reciprocal dependence of several
stars, connected the one with the other, as the several planets and their
satellites of our system are with the sun.
Let us to these immortal labours add the ingenious ideas that we owe to
Herschel on the nebulæ, on the constitution of the Milky-way, on the
universe as a whole; ideas which almost by themselves constitute the actual
history of the formation of the worlds, and we cannot but have a deep
reverence for that powerful genius that has scarcely ever erred,
notwithstanding an ardent imagination.

LABOURS RELATIVE TO THE SOLAR SYSTEM.

Herschel occupied himself very much with the sun, but only relative to its
physical constitution. The observations that the illustrious astronomer made
on this subject, the consequences that he deduced from them, equal the
most ingenious discoveries for which the sciences are indebted to him.
In his important memoir in 1795, the great astronomer declares himself
convinced that the substance by the intermediation of which the sun shines,
cannot be either a liquid, or an elastic fluid. It must be analogous to our
clouds, and float in the transparent atmosphere of that body. The sun has,
according to him, two atmospheres, endowed with motions quite
independent of each other. An elastic fluid of an unknown nature is being
constantly formed on the dark surface of the sun, and rising up on account
of its specific lightness, it forms the pores in the stratum of reflecting
clouds; then, combining with other gases, it produces the wrinkles in the
region of luminous clouds. When the ascending currents are powerful, they
give rise to the nuclei, to the penumbræ, to the faculæ. If this explanation of
the formation of solar spots is well founded, we must expect to find that the
sun does not constantly emit similar quantities of light and heat. Recent
observations have verified this conclusion. But large nuclei, large