No More Learning

Two canine ani-
mals, in a time of dearth, may be truly said to struggle with
each other which shall get food and live. But a plant on the
edge of a desert is said to struggle for life against the drought,
though more properly it should be said to be dependent on the
moisture. A plant which annually produces a thousand seeds, of
which only one on an average comes to maturity, may be more
truly said to struggle with the plants of the same and other
kinds which already clothe the ground. The mistletoe is depend-
ent on the apple and a few other trees, but can only in a far-
fetched sense be said to struggle with these trees, for if too
many of these parasites grow on the same tree, it languishes
and dies. But several seedling mistletoes, growing close to-
gether on the same branch, may more truly be said to struggle
with each other. As the mistletoe is disseminated by birds, its
existence depends on them; and it may metaphorically be said
to struggle with other fruit-bearing plants, in tempting the
birds to devour and thus disseminate its seeds. In these several
senses, which pass into each other, I use for convenience's sake
the general term of Struggle for Existence.
THE GEOMETRICAL RATIO OF INCREASE
From Origin of Species>
A
STRUGGLE for existence inevitably follows from the high rate
at which all organic beings tend to increase. Every being
which during its natural lifetime produces several eggs or
seeds must suffer destruction during some period of its life, and
during some season or occasional year; otherwise, on the princi-
ple of geometrical increase, its numbers would quickly become


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CHARLES ROBERT DARWIN
4417
so inordinately great that no country could support the product.
Hence, as more individuals are produced than can possibly sur-
vive, there must in every case be a struggle for existence, either
one individual with another of the same species, or with the
individuals of distinct species, or with the physical conditions of
life. It is the doctrine of Malthus applied with manifold force
to the whole animal and vegetable kingdoms; for in this case
there can be no artificial increase of food, and no prudential
restraint from marriage. Although some species may be now
increasing, more or less rapidly, in numbers, all cannot do so,
for the world would not hold them.
There is no exception to the rule that every organic being
naturally increases at so high a rate that if not destroyed, the
earth would soon be covered by the progeny of a single pair.
Even slow-breeding man has doubled in twenty-five years; and
at this rate, in less than a thousand years there would literally
not be standing-room for his progeny. Linnæus has calculated
that if an annual plant produced only two seeds-and there is
no plant so unproductive as this-and their seedlings next year
produced two, and so on, then in twenty years there would be a
million plants. The elephant is reckoned the slowest breeder of
all known animals, and I have taken some pains to estimate its
probable minimum rate of natural increase; it will be safest to
assume that it begins breeding when thirty years old: and goes
on breeding till ninety years old, bringing forth six young in
the interval, and surviving till one hundred years old: if this be
so, after a period of from 740 to 750 years there would be
nearly nineteen million elephants alive, descended from the first
pair.
But we have better evidence on this subject than mere theo-
retical calculations, namely, the numerous recorded cases of the
astonishingly rapid increase of various animals in a state of
nature, when circumstances have been favorable to them during
two or three following seasons. Still more striking is the evi-
dence from our domestic animals of many kinds which have run
wild in several parts of the world; if the statements of the rate of
increase of slow-breeding cattle and horses in South America, and
latterly in Australia, had not been well authenticated, they would
have been incredible. So it is with plants; cases could be given
of introduced plants which have become common throughout
whole islands in a period of less than ten years. Several of
VIII-277


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4418
CHARLES ROBERT DARWIN
the plants, such as the cardoon and a tall thistle, which are
now the commonest over the wide plains of La Plata, clothing
square leagues of surface almost to the exclusion of every other
plant, have been introduced from Europe; and there are plants
which now range in India, as I hear from Falconer, from Cape
Comorin to the Himalaya, which have been imported from
America since its discovery. In such cases—and endless others
could be given-no one supposes that the fertility of the animals
or plants has been suddenly and temporarily increased in any
sensible degree. The obvious explanation is that the conditions.
of life have been highly favorable, and that there has conse-
quently been less destruction of the old and young, and that
nearly all the young have been enabled to breed.
Their geo-
metrical ratio of increase, the result of which never fails to be
surprising, simply explains their extraordinarily rapid increase
and wide diffusion in their new homes.
In a state of nature almost every full-grown plant annually
produces seed, and amongst animals there are very few which do
not annually pair. Hence we may confidently assert that all
plants and animals are tending to increase at a geometrical
ratio, that all would rapidly stock every station in which they
could anyhow exist,- and that this geometrical tendency to in-
crease must be checked by destruction at some period of life.
Our familiarity with the larger domestic animals tends, I think,
to mislead us: we see no great destruction falling on them, but
we do not keep in mind that thousands are annually slaughtered
for food, and that in a state of nature an equal number would
have somehow to be disposed of.
The only difference between organisms which annually pro-
duce eggs or seeds by the thousand, and those which produce
extremely few, is that the slow breeders would require a few
more years to people, under favorable conditions, a whole dis-
trict, let it be ever so large. The condor lays a couple of eggs
and the ostrich a score, and yet in the same country the condor
may be the more numerous of the two; the Fulmar petrel lays
but one egg, yet it is believed to be the most numerous bird in
the world. One fly deposits hundreds of eggs, and another, like
the hippobosca, a single one; but this difference does not deter-
mine how many individuals of the two species can be supported
in a district. A large number of eggs is of some importance to
those species which depend on a fluctuating amount of food, for
――――


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CHARLES ROBERT DARWIN
4419
it allows them rapidly to increase in number. But the real
importance of a large number of eggs or seeds is to make up for
much destruction at some period of life; and this period in the
great majority of cases is an early one. If an animal can in any
way protect its own eggs or young, a small number may be
produced, and yet the average stock be fully kept up; but if
many eggs or young are destroyed, many must be produced, or
the species will become extinct. It would suffice to keep up the
full number of a tree which lived on an average for a thousand
years, if a single seed were produced once in a thousand years,
supposing that this seed were never destroyed, and could be
insured to germinate in a fitting place. So that, in all cases, the
average number of any animal or plant depends only indirectly
on the number of its eggs or seeds.
In looking at nature, it is most necessary to keep the fore-
going considerations always in mind-never to forget that every
single organic being may be said to be striving to the utmost to
increase in numbers; that each lives by a struggle at some period
of its life; that heavy destruction inevitably falls either on the
young or old, during each generation or at recurrent intervals.
Lighten any check, mitigate the destruction ever so little, and
the number of the species will almost instantaneously increase to
any amount.
OF THE NATURE OF THE CHECKS TO INCREASE
From The Origin of Species >
THE
HE causes which check the natural tendency of each species.
to increase are most obscure. Look at the most vigorous
species: by as much as it swarms in numbers, by so much
will it tend to increase still further. We know not exactly
what the checks are, even in a single instance. Nor will this
surprise any one who reflects how ignorant we are on this
head, even in regard to mankind, although so incomparably bet-
ter known than any other animal. This subject of the checks to
increase has been ably treated by several authors, and I hope in
a future work to discuss it at considerable length, more especially
in regard to the feral animals of South America. Here I will
make only a few remarks, just to recall to the reader's mind some


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4420
CHARLES ROBERT DARWIN
of the chief points. Eggs or very young animals seem generally
to suffer most, but this is not invariably the case.
With plants
there is a vast destruction of seeds; but from some observations
which I have made, it appears that the seedlings suffer most,
from germinating in ground already thickly stocked with other
plants. Seedlings also are destroyed in vast numbers by various
enemies: for instance, on a piece of ground three feet long and
two wide, dug and cleared, and where there could be no choking
from other plants, I marked all the seedlings of our native weeds
as they came up, and out of 357 no less than 295 were destroyed,
chiefly by slugs and insects. If turf which has long been mown
-and the case would be the same with turf closely browsed by
quadrupeds-be let to grow, the more vigorous plants gradually
kill the less vigorous though fully grown plants; thus out of
twenty species growing on a little plot of mown turf (three feet
by four) nine species perished, from the other species being
allowed to grow up freely.
The amount of food for each species of course gives the ex-
treme limit to which each can increase; but very frequently it is
not the obtaining food, but the serving as prey to other animals,
which determines the average numbers of a species. Thus there
seems to be little doubt that the stock of partridges, grouse, and
hares in any large estate depends chiefly on the destruction of
vermin. If not one head of game were shot during the next
twenty years in England, and at the same time if no vermin
were destroyed, there would in all probability be less game than
at present, although hundreds of thousands of game animals are
now annually shot. On the other hand, in some cases, as with
the elephant, none are destroyed by beasts of prey; for even the
tiger in India most rarely dares to attack a young elephant pro-
tected by its dam.
Climate plays an important part in determining the average
numbers of a species, and periodical seasons of extreme cold or
drought seem to be the most effective of all checks. I estimated
(chiefly from the greatly reduced numbers of nests in the spring)
that the winter of 1854-5 destroyed four-fifths of the birds in my
own grounds; and this is a tremendous destruction, when we
remember that ten per cent. is an extraordinarily severe mor-
tality from epidemics with man. The action of climate seems at
first sight to be quite independent of the struggle for existence;
but in so far as climate chiefly acts in reducing food, it brings


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CHARLES ROBERT DARWIN
4421
on the most severe struggle between the individuals, whether of
the same or of distinct species, which subsist on the same kind
of food. Even when climate,- for instance, extreme cold,- acts
directly, it will be the least vigorous individuals, or those which
have got least food through the advancing winter, which will
suffer most.
When we travel from south to north, or from a damp region
to a dry, we invariably see some species gradually getting rarer
and rarer, and finally disappearing; and the change of climate
being conspicuous, we are tempted to attribute the whole effect
to its direct action. But this is a false view; we forget that
each species, even where it most abounds, is constantly suffering
enormous destruction at some period of its life, from enemies
or from competitors for the same place and food; and if these
enemies or competitors be in the least degree favored by any
slight change of climate, they will increase in numbers; and as
each area is already fully stocked with inhabitants, the other spe-
cies must decrease. When we travel southward and see a species
decreasing in numbers, we may feel sure that the cause lies quite
as much in other species being favored as in this one being hurt.
So it is when we travel northward; but in a somewhat lesser
degree, for the number of species of all kinds, and therefore of
competitors, decreases northward; hence in going northward, or
in ascending a mountain, we far oftener meet with stunted
forms, due to the directly injurious action of climate, than we
do in proceeding southward or in descending a mountain. When
we reach the arctic regions, or snow-capped summits, or abso-
lute deserts, the struggle for life is almost exclusively with the
elements.
That climate acts in main part indirectly by favoring other
species, we clearly see in the prodigious number of plants which
in our gardens can perfectly well endure our climate, but which
never become naturalized, for they cannot compete with our
native plants nor resist destruction by our native animals.
When a species, owing to highly favorable circumstances,
increases inordinately in numbers in a small tract, epidemics-
at least, this seems generally to occur with our game animals—
often ensue; and here we have a limiting check independent of
the struggle for life. But even some of these so-called epidemics
appear to be due to parasitic worms, which have from some
cause, possibly in part through facility of diffusion amongst the


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4422
CHARLES ROBERT DARWIN
crowded animals, been disproportionally favored: and here comes
in a sort of struggle between the parasite and its prey.
On the other hand, in many cases, a large stock of individ-
uals of the same species, relatively to the numbers of its ene-
mies, is absolutely necessary for its preservation. Thus we can
easily raise plenty of corn and rape-seed, etc. , in our fields,
because the seeds are in great excess compared with the number
of birds which feed on them; nor can the birds, though having
a superabundance of food at this one season, increase in number
proportionally to the supply of seed, as their numbers are checked.
during winter; but any one who has tried, knows how trouble-
some it is to get seed from a few wheat or other such plants in
a garden: I have in this case lost every single seed. This view
of the necessity of a large stock of the same species for its
preservation, explains I believe some singular facts in nature,
such as that of very rare plants being sometimes extremely
abundant in the few spots where they do exist; and that of
some social plants being social, that is, abounding in individuals,
even on the extreme verge of their range.
For in such cases,
we may believe that a plant could exist only where the condi-
tions of its life were so favorable that many could exist together
and thus save the species from utter destruction. I should add
that the good effects of inter-crossing, and the ill effects of close
inter-breeding, no doubt come into play in many of these cases;
but I will not here enlarge on this subject.
THE COMPLEX RELATIONS OF ALL ANIMALS AND PLANTS
TO EACH OTHER IN THE STRUGGLE FOR EXISTENCE
From the Origin of Species >
M
ANY cases are on record, showing how complex and unex-
pected are the checks and relations between organic beings
which have to struggle together in the same country.
I will give only a single instance, which though a simple one
interested me. In Staffordshire, on the estate of a relation
where I had ample means of investigation, there was a large
and extremely barren heath which had never been touched by
the hand of man; but several hundred acres of exactly the
same nature had been inclosed twenty-five years previously


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CHARLES ROBERT DARWIN
4423
and planted with Scotch fir. The change in the native vege-
tation of the planted part of the heath was most remarkable,
more than is generally seen in passing from one quite differ-
ent soil to another: not only the proportional numbers of the
heath-plants were wholly changed, but twelve species of plants
(not counting grasses and carices) flourished in the plantations,
which could not be found on the heath. The effect on the
insects must have been still greater, for six insectivorous birds
were very common in the plantations which were not to be
seen on the heath; and the heath was frequented by two or
three distinct insectivorous birds. Here we see how potent has
been the effect of the introduction of a single tree, nothing
whatever else having been done, with the exception of the land
having been inclosed so that cattle could not enter.
But how important an element inclosure is, I plainly saw near
Farnham in Surrey. Here there are extensive heaths with a
few clumps of old Scotch firs on the distant hill-tops: within the
last ten years large spaces have been inclosed, and self-sown
firs are now springing up in multitudes, so close together that
all cannot live. When I ascertained that these young trees had
not been sown or planted, I was so much surprised at their
numbers that I went to several points of view, whence I could
examine hundreds of acres of the uninclosed heath, and literally
I could not see a single Scotch fir except the old planted clumps.
But on looking closely between the stems of the heath, I found
a multitude of seedlings and little trees which had been perpetu-
ally browsed down by the cattle. In one square yard, at a
point some hundred yards distant from one of the old clumps,
I counted thirty-two little trees; and one of them, with twenty-
six rings of growth, had during many years tried to raise its
head above the stems of the heath, and had failed. No wonder
that as soon as the land was inclosed it became thickly clothed
with vigorously growing young firs. Yet the heath was SO
extremely barren and so extensive that no one would ever
have imagined that cattle would have so closely and effectually
searched it for food.
Here we see that cattle absolutely determine the existence of
the Scotch fir; but in several parts of the world insects deter-
mine the existence of cattle. Perhaps Paraguay offers the most
curious instance of this; for here neither cattle nor horses nor
dogs have ever run wild, though they swarm southward and


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CHARLES ROBERT DARWIN
4424
northward in a feral state; and Azara and Rengger have shown
that this is caused by the greater number in Paraguay of a cer-
tain fly, which lays its eggs in the navels of these animals when
first born. The increase of these flies, numerous as they are,
must be habitually checked by some means, probably by other
parasitic insects. Hence if certain insectivorous birds were to de-
crease in Paraguay, the parasitic insects would probably increase;
and this would lessen the number of the navel-frequenting
flies; then cattle and horses would become feral, and this would
certainly greatly alter (as indeed I have observed in parts of
South America) the vegetation; this again would largely affect
the insects; and this, as we have just seen in Staffordshire, the
insectivorous birds,-- and so onwards in ever increasing circles of
complexity. Not that under nature the relations will ever be as
simple as this. Battle within battle must be continually recur-
ring with varying success; and yet in the long run the forces
are so nicely balanced that the face of nature remains for long
periods of time uniform, though assuredly the merest trifle would
give the victory to one organic being over another. Neverthe-
less, so profound is our ignorance and so high our presumption,
that we marvel when we hear of the extinction of an organic
being; and as we do not see the cause, we invoke cataclysms to
desolate the world, or invent laws on the duration of the forms
of life!
OF NATURAL SELECTION; OR THE SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST
From the Origin of Species'
SEVE
EVERAL writers have misapprehended or objected to the term
Natural Selection. Some have even imagined that Natural
Selection induces variability, whereas it implies only the
preservation of such variations as arise and are beneficial to the
being under its conditions of life. No one objects to agricultur-
ists speaking of the potent effects of man's selection; and in this
case the individual differences given by nature, which man for
some object selects, must of necessity first occur. Others have
objected that the term selection implies conscious choice in the
animals which become modified; and it has even been urged that
as plants have no volition, Natural Selection is not applicable to
L
t


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CHARLES ROBERT DARWIN
4425
them! In the literal sense of the word, no doubt, Natural Selec-
tion is a false term; but who ever objected to chemists speaking
of the elective affinities of the various elements? -and yet an
acid cannot strictly be said to elect the base with which it in
preference combines. It has been said that I speak of Natural
Selection as an active power or Deity; but who objects to an
author speaking of the attraction of gravity as ruling the move-
ments of the planets? Every one knows what is meant and is
implied by such metaphorical expressions; and they are almost
necessary for brevity. So again it is difficult to avoid personify-
ing the word Nature; but I mean by nature only the aggregate
action and product of many natural laws, and by laws the
sequence of events as ascertained by us. With a little famil-
iarity such superficial objections will be forgotten.
We shall best understand the probable course of Natural
Selection by taking the case of a country undergoing some slight
physical change; for instance, of climate. The proportional num-
bers of its inhabitants will almost immediately undergo a change,
and some species will probably become extinct. We may con-
clude, from what we have seen of the intimate and complex
manner in which the inhabitants of each country are bound
together, that any change in the numerical proportions of the
inhabitants, independently of the change of climate itself, would
seriously affect the others. If the country were open on its bor-
ders, new forms would certainly immigrate, and this would
likewise seriously disturb the relations of some of the former
inhabitants. Let it be remembered how powerful the influence
of a single introduced tree or mammal has been shown to be.
But in the case of an island, or of a country partly surrounded
by barriers, into which new and better adapted forms could not
freely enter, we should then have places in the economy of
nature which would assuredly be better filled up if some of the
original inhabitants were in some manner modified; for had the
area been open to immigration, these same places would have
been seized on by intruders. In such cases, slight modifications
which in any way favored the individuals of any species by bet-
ter adapting them to their altered conditions, would tend to be
preserved; and Natural Selection would have free scope for the
work of improvement.
We have good reason to believe, as shown in the first chap-
ter, that changes in the conditions of life give a tendency to


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4426
CHARLES ROBERT DARWIN
increased variability; and in the foregoing cases the conditions
have changed, and this would manifestly be favorable to Natural
Selection by affording a better chance of the occurrence of prof-
itable variations. Unless such occur, Natural Selection can do
nothing. Under the term of "variations," it must never be for-
gotten that mere individual differences are included. As man
can produce a great result with his domestic animals and plants
by adding up in any given direction individual differences, so
could Natural Selection, but far more easily from having incom-
parably longer time for action. Nor do I believe that any great
physical change, as of climate, or any unusual degree of isola-
tion to check immigration, is necessary in order that new and
unoccupied places should be left, for Natural Selection to fill up
by improving some of the varying inhabitants. For as all the
inhabitants of each country are struggling together with nicely
balanced forces, extremely slight modifications in the structure or
habits of one species would often give it an advantage over
others; and still further modifications of the same kind would
often still further increase the advantage, as long as the species
continued under the same conditions of life and profited by sim-
ilar means of subsistence and defense. No country can be
named, in which all the native inhabitants are now so perfectly
adapted to each other and to the physical conditions under which
they live, that none of them could be still better adapted or im-
proved; for in all countries the natives have been so far con-
quered by naturalized productions that they have allowed some
foreigners to take firm possession of the land. And as foreign-
ers have thus in every country beaten some of the natives, we
may safely conclude that the natives might have been modified
with advantage, so as to have better resisted the intruders.
As man can produce, and certainly has produced, a great
result by his methodical and unconscious means of selection, what
may not Natural Selection effect? Man can act only on external
and visible characters; Nature, if I may be allowed to personify
the natural preservation or survival of the fittest, cares nothing
for appearances, except in so far as they are useful to any being.
She can act on every internal organ, on every shade of constitu-
tional difference, on the whole machinery of life. Man selects
only for his own good; Nature only for that of the being which
she tends. Every selected character is fully exercised by her, as
is implied by the fact of their selection. Man keeps the natives


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CHARLES ROBERT DARWIN
4427
of many climates in the same country: he seldom exercises each
selected character in some peculiar and fitting manner; he feeds
a long and a short-beaked pigeon on the same food; he does not
exercise a long-backed or long-legged quadruped in any peculiar
manner; he exposes sheep with long and short wool to the same
climate. He does not allow the most vigorous males to struggle
for the females. He does not rigidly destroy all inferior animals,
but protects during each varying season, as far as lies in his
power, all his productions. He often begins his selection by some
half-monstrous form; or at least by some modification prominent
enough to catch the eye or to be plainly useful to him. Under
Nature, the slightest differences of structure or constitution may
well turn the nicely balanced scale in the struggle for life, and
so be preserved. How fleeting are the wishes and efforts of
man! How short his time, and consequently how poor will be
his results, compared with those accumulated by Nature during
whole geological periods! Can we wonder then that Nature's
productions should be far "truer" in character than man's pro-
ductions; that they should be infinitely better adapted to the most
complex conditions of life, and should plainly bear the stamp of
far higher workmanship?
It may metaphorically be said that Natural Selection is daily
and hourly scrutinizing, throughout the world, the slightest varia-
tions; rejecting those that are bad, preserving and adding up all
that are good; silently and insensibly working, whenever and
wherever opportunity offers, at the improvement of each organic
being in relation to its organic and inorganic conditions of life.
We see nothing of these slow changes in progress until the hand
of time has marked the lapse of ages, and then so imperfect is
our view into long-past geological ages, that we see only that the
forms of life are now different from what they formerly were.
In order that any great amount of modification should be
effected in a species, a variety when once formed must again,
perhaps after a long interval of time, vary or present individual
differences of the same favorable nature as before; and these
must be again preserved, and so onward step by step. Seeing
that individual differences of the same kind perpetually recur,
this can hardly be considered as an unwarrantable assumption.
But whether it is true, we can judge only by seeing how far the
hypothesis accords with and explains the general phenomena of
nature. On the other hand, the ordinary belief that the amount


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4428
CHARLES ROBERT DARWIN
of possible variation is a strictly limited quantity, is likewise a
simple assumption.
Although Natural Selection can act only through and for the
good of each being, yet characters and structures, which we are
apt to consider as of very trifling importance, may thus be acted
on. When we see leaf-eating insects green, and bark-feeders
mottled gray; the Alpine ptarmigan white in winter, the red
grouse the color of heather,- we must believe that these tints
are of service to these birds and insects in preserving them from
danger. Grouse, if not destroyed at some period of their lives,
would increase in countless numbers; they are known to suffer
largely from birds of prey; and hawks are guided by eyesight to
their prey - so much so, that on parts of the Continent persons
are warned not to keep white pigeons, as being the most liable
to destruction. Hence Natural Selection might be effective in
giving the proper color to each kind of grouse, and in keeping
that color, when once acquired, true and constant.
Nor ought
we to think that the occasional destruction of an animal of any
particular color would produce little effect: we should remember
how essential it is in a flock of white sheep to destroy a lamb
with the faintest trace of black. We have seen how the color
of hogs which feed on the "paint-root" in Virginia, determines
whether they shall live or die. In plants, the down on the
fruit and the color of the flesh are considered by botanists as
characters of the most trifling importance; yet we hear from
an excellent horticulturist, Downing, that in the United States
smooth-skinned fruits suffer far more from a beetle, a curculio,
than those with down; that purple plums suffer far more from a
certain disease than yellow plums; whereas another disease attacks
yellow-fleshed peaches far more than those with other colored
flesh. If with all the aids of art, these slight differences make a
great difference in cultivating the several varieties, assuredly, in
a state of nature, where the trees would have to struggle with
other trees and with a host of enemies, such differences would
effectually settle which variety, whether a smooth or downy, a
yellow or a purple-fleshed fruit, should succeed.
In looking at many small points of difference between species,
which, as far as our ignorance permits us to judge, seem quite
unimportant, we must not forget that climate, food, etc. , have no
doubt produced some direct effect. It is also necessary to bear
in mind that owing to the law of correlation, when one part
----


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CHARLES ROBERT DARWIN
4429
varies, and the variations are accumulated through Natural
Selection, other modifications, often of the most unexpected
nature, will ensue.
As we see that those variations which under domestication
appear at any particular period of life, tend to reappear in the
offspring at the same period; -for instance, in the shape, size,
and flavor of the seeds of the many varieties of our culinary and
agricultural plants; in the caterpillar and cocoon stages of the
varieties of the silkworm; in the eggs of poultry, and in the
color of the down of their chickens; in the horns of our sheep and
cattle when nearly adult; so in a state of nature Natural
Selection will be enabled to act on and modify organic beings at
any age, by the accumulation of variations profitable at that age,
and by their inheritance at a corresponding age.
If it profit a
plant to have its seeds more and more widely disseminated by
the wind, I can see no greater difficulty in this being effected
through Natural Selection, than in the cotton-planter increasing
and improving by selection the down in the pods on his cotton-
trees. Natural Selection may modify and adapt the larva of an
insect to a score of contingencies wholly different from those
which concern the mature insect; and these modifications may
effect, through correlation, the structure of the adult. So, con-
versely, modifications in the adult may affect the structure of the
larva; but in all cases Natural Selection will insure that they
shall not be injurious: for if they were so, the species would
become extinct.
Natural Selection will modify the structure of the young in
relation to the parent, and of the parent in relation to the
young. In social animals it will adapt the structure of each
individual for the benefit of the whole community, if the com-
munity profits by the selected change. What Natural Selection
cannot do, is to modify the structure of one species, without
giving it any advantage, for the good of another species; and
though statements to this effect may be found in works of nat-
ural history, I cannot find one case which will bear investigation.
A structure used only once in an animal's life, if of high import-
ance to it, might be modified to any extent by Natural Selection;
for instance, the great jaws possessed by certain insects, used
exclusively for opening the cocoon, or the hard tip to the beak
of unhatched birds, used for breaking the eggs. It has been
asserted that of the best short-beaked tumbler-pigeons a greater


## p. 4430 (#200) ###########################################

4430
CHARLES ROBERT DARWIN
number perish in the egg than are able to get out of it; so that
fanciers assist in the act of hatching. Now if Nature had
to make the beak of a full-grown pigeon very short for the
bird's own advantage, the process of modification would be very
slow, and there would be simultaneously the most rigorous selec-
tion of all the young birds within the egg, which had the most
powerful and hardest beaks, for all with weak beaks would inev-
itably perish; or more delicate and more easily broken shells
might be selected, the thickness of the shell being known to
vary like every other structure.
It may be well here to remark that with all beings there
must be much fortuitous destruction, which can have little or no
influence on the course of Natural Selection. For instance, a vast
number of eggs or seeds are annually devoured, and these could
be modified through Natural Selection only if they varied in
some manner which protected them from their enemies. Yet
many of these eggs or seeds would perhaps, if not destroyed,
have yielded individuals better adapted to their conditions of life
than any of those which happened to survive. So again a vast
number of mature animals and plants, whether or not they be
the best adapted to their conditions, must be annually destroyed
by accidental causes, which would not be in the least degree miti-
gated by certain changes of structure or constitution which would
in other ways be beneficial to the species. But let the destruc-
tion of the adults be ever so heavy, if the number which can
exist in any district be not wholly kept down by such causes,
or again, let the destruction of eggs or seeds be so great that
only a hundredth or a thousandth part are developed, yet of
those which do survive, the best adapted individuals, supposing
that there is any variability in a favorable direction, will tend
to propagate their kind in larger numbers than the less well
adapted. If the numbers be wholly kept down by the causes
just indicated, as will often have been the case, Natural Selection
will be powerless in certain beneficial directions; but this is no
valid objection to its efficiency at other times and in other ways;
for we are far from having any reason to suppose that many
species ever undergo modification and improvement at the same
time in the same area.
-----
―――


## p. 4431 (#201) ###########################################

CHARLES ROBERT DARWIN
443I
PROGRESSIVE CHANGE COMPARED WITH INDEPENDENT
CREATION
From the Origin of Species >
A
UTHORS of the highest eminence seem to be fully satisfied
with the view that each species has been independently
created. To my mind it accords better with what we know
of the laws impressed on matter by the Creator, that the pro-
duction and extinction of the past and present inhabitants of the
world should have been due to secondary causes, like those
determining the birth and death of an individual. When I view
all beings not as special creations, but as the lineal descendants
of some few beings which lived long before the first bed of
the Cambrian system was deposited, they seem to me to become
ennobled. Judging from the past, we may safely infer that not
one living species will transmit its unaltered likeness to a distant
futurity. And of the species now living, very few will transmit
progeny of any kind to a far distant futurity; for the manner in
which all organic beings are grouped shows that the greater
number of species in each genus, and all the species in many
genera, have left no descendants, but have become utterly extinct.
We can so far take a prophetic glance into futurity as to foretell
that it will be the common and widely spread species, belonging
to the larger and dominant groups within each class, which will
ultimately prevail and procreate new and dominant species. As
all the living forms of life are the lineal descendants of those
which lived long before the Cambrian epoch, we may feel certain
that the ordinary succession by generation has never once been
broken, and that no cataclysm has desolated the whole world.
Hence we may look with some confidence to a secure future of
great length. And as Natural Selection works solely by and for
the good of each being, all corporeal and mental endowments
will tend to progress towards perfection.
It is interesting to contemplate a tangled bank, clothed with
many plants of many kinds, with birds singing on the bushes,
with various insects flitting about, and with worms crawling
through the damp earth, and to reflect that these elaborately
constructed forms, so different from each other, and dependent
upon each other in so complex a manner, have all been produced
by laws acting around us. These laws, taken in the largest


## p. 4432 (#202) ###########################################

CHARLES ROBERT DARWIN
4432
sense, being Growth with Reproduction; Inheritance, which is
almost implied by reproduction; Variability from the indirect and
direct action of the conditions of life, and from use and disuse:
a Ratio of Increase so high as to lead to a Struggle for Life,
and as a consequence to Natural Selection, entailing Divergence
of Character and the Extinction of less-improved forms. Thus
from the war of nature, from famine and death, the most exalted
object which we are capable of conceiving,- namely, the produc-
tion of the higher animals,- directly follows. There is grandeur
in this view of life, with its several powers, having been origi
nally breathed by the Creator into a few forms or into one; and
that whilst this planet has gone cycling on according to the fixed
law of gravity, from so simple a beginning endiess forms most
beautiful and most wonderful have been and are being evolved.
CREATIVE DESIGN
From The Variation of Animals and Plants under Domestication >
S
SOME authors have declared that natural selection explains
nothing, unless the precise cause of each slight individual
difference be made clear. If it were explained to a savage
utterly ignorant of the art of building, how the edifice had been
raised stone upon stone, and why wedge-formed fragments were
used for the arches, flat stones for the roof, etc. ; and if the use
of each part and of the whole building were pointed out, it would
be unreasonable if he declared that nothing had been made clear
to him, because the precise cause of the shape of each fragment
could not be told. But this is a nearly parallel case with the
objection that selection explains nothing, because we know not
the cause of each individual difference in the structure of each
being.
The shape of the fragments of stone at the base of our
precipice may be called accidental, but this is not strictly correct;
for the shape of each depends on a long sequence of events, all
obeying natural laws: on the nature of the rock, on the lines of
deposition or cleavage, on the form of the mountain, which
depends on its upheaval and subsequent denudation, and lastly
on the storm or earthquake which throws down the fragments.
But in regard to the use to which the fragments may be put,
their shape may be strictly said to be accidental. And here we


## p. 4433 (#203) ###########################################

CHARLES ROBERT DARWIN
4433
are led to face a great difficulty, in alluding to which I
aware that I am traveling beyond my proper province.
An
omniscient Creator must have foreseen every consequence which
results from the laws imposed by him. But can it be reasonably
maintained that the Creator intentionally ordered, if we use the
words in any ordinary sense, that certain fragments of rock
should assume certain shapes so that the builder might erect his
edifice? If the various laws which have determined the shape of
each fragment were not predetermined for the builder's sake, can
it be maintained with any greater probability that he specially
ordained for the sake of the breeder each of the innumerable
variations in our domestic animals and plants; many of these
variations being of no service to man, and not beneficial, far
more often injurious, to the creatures themselves? Did he ordain
that the crop and tail-feathers of the pigeon should vary, in
order that the, fancier might make his grotesque pouter and fan-
tail breeds? Did he cause the frame and mental qualities of the
dog to vary in order that a breed might be formed of indomi-
table ferocity, with jaws fitted to pin down the bull for man's
brutal sport? But if we give up the principle in one case,—if
we do not admit that the variations of the primeval dog were
intentionally guided in order that the greyhound, for instance,
that perfect image of symmetry and vigor, might be formed,—
no shadow of reason can be assigned for the belief that varia-
tions, alike in nature and the result of the same general laws,
which have been the groundwork through natural selection of the
formation of the most perfectly adapted animals in the world,
man included, were intentionally and specially guided. How-
ever much we may wish it, we can hardly follow Professor Asa
Gray in his belief that "variation has been led along certain
beneficial lines," like a stream «< along definite and useful lines of
irrigation. " If we
assume that each particular variation was
from the beginning of all time preordained, then that plasticity
of organization which leads to many injurious deviations of
structure, as well as the redundant power of reproduction which
inevitably leads to a struggle for existence, and as a conse-
quence, to the natural selection or survival of the fittest,- must
appear to us superfluous laws of Nature. On the other hand, an
omnipotent and omniscient Creator ordains everything and fore-
sees everything. Thus we are brought face to face with a diffi-
culty as insoluble as is that of free-will and predestination.
VIII-278


## p. 4434 (#204) ###########################################

CHARLES ROBERT DARWIN
4434
THE ORIGIN OF THE HUMAN SPECIES
From The Descent of Man'
THE
HE main conclusion arrived at in this work-namely, that
man is descended from some lowly organized form-will, I
regret to think, be highly distasteful to many persons. But
there can hardly be a doubt that we are descended from barba-
rians. The astonishment which I felt on first seeing a party of
Fuegians on a wild and broken shore will never be forgotten by
me, for the reflection at once rushed into my mind - Such were
our ancestors. These men were absolutely naked and bedaubed
with paint. . They possessed hardly any arts, and like wild
animals, lived on what they could catch; they had no government,
and were merciless to every one not of their own small tribe.
He who has seen a savage in his native land will not feel much
shame if forced to acknowledge that the blood of some more
humble creature flows in his veins. For my own part, I would
as soon be descended from that heroic little monkey who braved
his dreaded enemy in order to save the life of his keeper; or
from that old baboon who, descending from the mountains, car-
ried away in triumph his young comrade from a crowd of as-
tonished dogs, -as from a savage who delights to torture his
enemies, offers up bloody sacrifices, practices infanticide without
remorse, treats his wives like slaves, knows no decency, and is
haunted by the grossest superstitions.
Man may be excused for feeling some pride at having risen,
though not through his own exertions, to the very summit of the
organic scale; and the fact of his having thus risen, instead of
having been aboriginally placed there, may give him hopes for a
still higher destiny in the distant future. But we are not here
concerned with hopes or fears, only with the truth as far as our
reason allows us to discover it. I have given the evidence to the
best of my ability; and we must acknowledge, as it seems to
me, that Man with all his noble qualities, with sympathy which
feels for the most debased, with benevolence which extends not
only to other men but to the humblest living creature, with his
godlike intellect which has penetrated into the movements and
constitution of the solar system, with all these exalted powers,
Man still bears in his bodily frame the indelible stamp of his
lowly origin.
-


## p. 4434 (#205) ###########################################

ST
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177
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## p. 4434 (#206) ###########################################


ALPHONSE DAUDET.


## p. 4434 (#207) ###########################################

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not c.
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## p. 4434 (#208) ###########################################

1
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## p. 4435 (#209) ###########################################

4435
ALPHONSE DAUDET
(1840-)
BY AUGUSTIN FILON
ORTY years have now elapsed since a lad of seventeen, shiv-
ering under his light summer dress in a cold misty morn-
ing, was waiting, with an empty stomach, for the opening
of a « dairy
» in the Quartier Latin. Young as he was, he looked
still younger: a pale, eager, intellectual face, with flashing eyes, del-
icately
carved features, and a virgin forest of dark hair falling low
on his brow. He had been an usher for a twelvemonth at a small
college in the South of France, and he had just arrived in Paris
after a two-days' journey in a third-class railway carriage, during
which time he had tasted no food and no drink except a few drops
of brandy from the flask of some charitable sailors. And there he
was, with two francs left in his pocket, and an unlimited supply of
courage, cheerfulness, and ambition, fully determined to make the
whole world familiar with the obscure name of Alphonse Daudet.
We
all know how well he has succeeded in winning for himself a
foremost place in the ranks of French contemporary literature, and
indeed of literature in general. There is no doubt that he was
admirably equipped for the great struggle on which he was about to
enter;
but it may be also remarked that he had not to fight it out
alone and with his own solitary resources, but found at the very out-
set useful and strong auxiliaries. He was to have a powerful though
somewhat selfish and indolent patron in the famous Duke of Morny,
who admitted him among his secretaries before he was twenty years
old. Then he had the good fortune to attract the attention and to
take the fancy of Villemessant, the editor of the Figaro, who at first
sight gave him a place in his nursery of young talents. He had a
kind and devoted brother, who cheerfully shared with him the little
money he had to live upon, and thus saved him from the unspeak-
able miseries which would inevitably attend a literary début at such
an early age
and under such inauspicious circumstances. Later on,
he was still more fortunate in securing a loving and intelligent wife,
who was to be to him, in the words of the holy Scriptures,
panion of his rank," a wife who was not only to become a help and
a comfort, but a literary adviser, a moral guide, and a second con-
science far more strict and exacting than his own; a wife who taught
«< a com-


## p. 4436 (#210) ###########################################

4436
ALPHONSE DAUDET
him how to direct and husband his precious faculties,- how to turn
them to the noblest use and highest ends.
But before that was to come, the first thing was to find a pub-
lisher; and after long looking in vain for one throughout the whole
city, he at last discovered the man he wanted, at his door, in the
close vicinity of that Hôtel du Sinat, in the Rue de Tournon, where
the two brothers Daudet had taken up their abode. That publisher
was Jules Tardieu, himself an author of some merit (under the trans-
parent pseudonym of J. T. de St. Germain): a mild, quiet humorist
of the optimistic school, a Topffer on a small scale and with reduced
proportions.
And thus it happened that a few months after the lad's arrival in
Paris an elegant booklet, with the attractive title 'Les Amoureuses'
(Women in Love) printed in red letters on its snow-white cover,
made its appearance under the galeries de l'Odéon, where in the ab-
sence of political emotions, the youth of the Quartier was eagerly
looking for literary novelties, and where Daudet himself had been
wandering often, in the hope of an occasional acquaintance with the
great critics and journalists of the day who made the galeries their
favorite resort.
I have read that the book was a failure; that the young author
was unable to pay the printer, and was accordingly served with
stamped paper at the official residence of Morny, where he was then
acting as secretary; that the duke, far from showing any displeasure
at the occurrence, was delighted to find his secretary in hot water
with the bailiffs, and that he arranged the matter in the most
paternal spirit. This may be a pretty little story, but I fear it is a
"legend. " I cannot reconcile it with the fact that four years after the
first publication, the same publisher gave the public another edition
of 'Les Amoureuses,' and that the young poet dedicated it to him as
a token of respect and gratitude. The truth is that Daudet's little
volume not only did not pass unnoticed, but received a good deal of
attention, chiefly from the young men. Many thought that a new
Musset was born in their midst, only a few months after the real
one had been laid down to his last sleep in the Père Lachaise, under
the trembling shadow of his favorite willow-tree. Young Daudet al-
luded to the unfortunate poet-
་
«<
-
mort de dégoût, de tristesse, et d'absinthe; »
and he tried to imitate the half cynical, half nostalgic skepticism
which had made the author of 'Les Nuits' so powerful over the
minds of the new generation and so dear to their hearts.
But it did not seem perfectly genuine. When Daudet said,
"My heart is old," no one believed it, and he did not believe it


## p. 4437 (#211) ###########################################

ALPHONSE DAUDET
4437
himself, for he entitled the piece Fanfaronnade'; and in fact it was
nothing more than a fanfaronnade. The book was full of the fresh-
ness, buoyancy, and frolicsome petulance of youth. Here and there
a few reminiscences might be traced to the earliest poets of the
sixteenth century, more particularly to Clement Marot. A tinge of
the expiring romanticism lingered in 'Les Amoureuses' with a
much more substantial admixture of the spirit of an age which made
pleasure-hunting its paramount occupation. The precocious child
could modulate the 'Romance à Madame' as well as the page of
Beaumarchais, if not better; but he could also laugh it down in
Gavroche's sneering way; he could intersperse a song of love with
the irony of the boulevard or the more genial humor of his native
South. He was at his best in the tale of Les Prunes'.
"Si vous voulez savoir comment
Nous nous aimâmes pour des prunes >>>
That exquisite little piece survived long the youthful volume of 'Les
Amoureuses. ' In those days, when Coquelin's monologues and saynètes
were yet unknown, the brothers Lionnet, then in the height of their
vogue, delighted the drawing-rooms with the miniature masterpiece.
Still, those who had prophesied the advent of a new poet were
doomed to disappointment. Every one knows what Sainte-Beuve once
said about the short-lived existence, in most of us, of a poet whom
the real man is to survive. Shall we say that this was the case with
Daudet, who never, as far as the world knows, wrote verses after
twenty-five? No; the poet was not to die in him, but lived on and
lives still to this day. Only he has always written in prose.
After his successful début, Daudet felt his way in different direc-
tions. In collaboration with M. Ernest Lepine, who has since made
a reputation under the name of Quatrelles, he had a drama, 'The
Last Idol,' performed at the Odéon theatre, at that same Odéon
which in his first days of Paris seems to have been the centre of his
life and of his ambitions. But he more frequently appeared before
the public as a journalist and a humorist, a writer of light articles
and short stories. Nothing can give a more true, more vivacious, and
on the whole more favorable impression of the Daudet of the period
than the 'Lettres de Mon Moulin' (Letters from My Windmill).
They owe their title to an old deserted windmill where Alphonse
Daudet seems to have lived some time in complete seclusion, forget-
ting, or trying to forget, the excitement of Parisian life. The
preface, most curiously disguised under the form of a mock contract
which is supposed to transfer the ownership from the old proprietor
to the poet, and professes to give the état de lieux or description of
the place, is an amusing parody of legal jargon. The next chapter


## p. 4438 (#212) ###########################################

4438
ALPHONSE DAUDET
describes the installation of the new master in the same happy vein,
with all the odd circumstances attending it.
Throughout the rest of the volume, Daudet disappears and re-
appears, as his fancy prompts him to do. Now he lets himself be
carried back to past memories and distant places; now he gives us a
mediæval tale or a domestic drama of to-day compressed into a few
brief pages, or a picture of rural life, or a glimpse of that literary
hell from which he had just escaped and to which he was soon to
return. He changed his tone and his subject with amazing versatil-
ity, from the bitterest satire to idyllic sweetness, or to a pleasant
kind of clever naïveté which is truly his own. We see him musing
among the firs and the pine-trees of his native Provence, or riding
on the top of the diligence under the scorching sun and listening, in
a Sterne-like fashion, to the conversation which took place between
the facetious baker and the unhappy knife-grinder, or chatting
familiarly with Frederic Mistral, who takes him into the confidence
of his poetical dreams. Then, again, we see him sitting down at
the table of an Algerian sheik; or wandering on the gloomy rocks.
where the Semillante was lost, and trying to revive the awful
tragedy of her last minutes; or shut up in a solitary light-house with
the keepers for weeks and weeks together, content with the society
and with the fare of those poor, rough, uncultivated men, cut off
from the whole world, alone with the stormy winds and his stormy
thoughts. Wherever his morbid restlessness takes him, whatever
part he chooses to assume, whether he wants to move us to laughter
or to tears, we can but follow him fascinated and spell-bound, and
in harmony with his moods. Daudet when he wrote those letters
was already a perfect master of all the resources of the language.
What he had seen or felt, he could make us see and feel. He could
make old words new with the freshness, ardor, and sincerity of the
personal impressions which he was pouring into them unceasingly.
The Letters from My Mill' had been scattered here and there
through different newspapers, and at different times. They were re-
printed in the form of a book in 1868. The year before he had given
to the public 'Le Petit Chose' (A Little Chap), which is better
known, I believe, to the English-speaking races under the rather mis-
leading title of 'My Brother Jack. ' 'Le Petit Chose' was a commer-
cial success, but it is doubtful whether it will rank as high among
Daudet's productions as the 'Lettres de Mon Moulin. ' He began to
compose it in February 1866, during one of those misanthropic fits to
which he was subject at periodical intervals, and which either par-
alyzed altogether, or quickened into fever, his creative faculties. He
finished the work two years later in a very different mood, imme-
diately after his marriage. As might have been expected, the two


## p. 4439 (#213) ###########################################

ALPHONSE DAUDET
4439
parts are very dissimilar, and it must be confessed greatly unequal.
'Le Petit Chose' has reminded more than one reader of 'David Cop-
perfield'; and it cannot be denied that the two works bear some
resemblance both as regards manner and matter. But though Dick-
ens was then widely read and much admired in France, plagiarism is
out of the question. If there is a little of Dickens about 'Le Petit
Chose,' there is a great deal more of Daudet himself in it. Young
Eyssette, the hero of the novel, starts in life as Daudet had done
and at the same period of life, in the quality of an usher at a small
provincial college. Whether we take it as a fiction, with its innumer-
able bits of delicate humor, lovely descriptions of places and glimpses
of characters in humble life, or whether we accept it as an autobi-
ography which is likely to bring us into closer acquaintance with the
inner soul of a great man, the first part is delightful reading. But
we lose sight of him through all the adventures, at once wild and
commonplace, which are crowding in the second part, to culminate
into the most unconvincing dénouement. Even when speaking of
himself, Daudet is sometimes at a disadvantage, perhaps because, as
he justly observed, "it is too early at twenty-five to comment upon
one's own past career. " Only the old man is able to look at his
former self through the distance of years and to see it as it stood
once, in its true light and with its real proportions.
'Tartarin of Tarascon' saw the light for the first time in 1872.
Strange to say, the readers of the Petit Moniteur, to whom it was
first offered in a serial form, did not like it. In consequence of their
marked disapproval, the publication had to be abandoned and was
then resumed through the columns of another newspaper. This time
the mistake was entirely on the side of the public. For-apart from
the fact that the immortal Tartarin was not yet Tartarin, but
answered to the much less typical name of Chapatin-the general
outlines of the character were already visible in all their distinctness
from the beginning, as all those who have read the introductory chap-
ters will readily admit. And the same lines were to be followed
with an undeviating fixity of artistic purpose and with unfailing verve
and spirit to the last. 'The Prodigious Adventures of Tartarin,›
'Tartarin on the Alps,' and 'Port-Tarascon,' form a trilogy; and I
know of no other example in modern French literature of so long and
so well sustained a joke. How is it then that we never grow tired
of Tartarin? It is probably because beneath the surface of Daudet's
playful absurdity there underlies rich substratum of good common-
sense and keen observation. Since 'Don Quixote' was written, no
caricature has ever been more human or more true than Tartarin.
Frenchmen are not, as is frequently asserted by their Anglo-Saxon
critics, totally unfit to appreciate humor, when it is mingled with the


## p. 4440 (#214) ###########################################

ALPHONSE DAUDET
4440
study of man's nature and seasoned with that high-spiced irony of
which they have been so fond at all times, from the days of Villon
to those of Rochefort. Still, Daudet would never have acquired such
a complete mastery over the general public in his own country, if
he had not been able to gratify their taste for that graphic and
faithful description of manners and characters, which in other centu-
ries put the moralists into fashion. Realism never disappears alto-
gether from French literature: it was at that moment all-powerful.
Zola was coming to the front with the first volumes of the well-
known 'Rougon-Macquart,' and Daudet in 1874 entered on the same
path, though in a different spirit, with 'Fromont Jeune et Risler
Aîné. ' The success was immediate and immense. The French bour-
geoisie accepted it at once as a true picture of its vices and its
virtues. The novel might, it is true, savor a little of Parisian cock-
neyism. Fastidious critics might discover in it some mixture of
weak sentimentalism, or a few traces of Dickensian affectation and
cheap tricks in story-telling. Young men of the new social school
might take exception to that old-fashioned democracy which had its
apotheosis in Risler senior. Despite all those objections, it was pro-
nounced a masterpiece of legitimate pathos and sound observation.
Even the minor characters were judged striking, and Delobelle's
name, for instance, occurs at once to our mind whenever we try to
realize the image of the modern cabotin.
'Jack,' which came next, exceeded the usual length of French
novels. "Too much paper, my son! " old Flaubert majestically
observed with a smile when the author presented him with a copy
of his book. As for George Sand, she felt so sick at heart and so
depressed when she had finished reading 'Jack,' that she could work
no more and had to remain idle for three or four days. A painful
book, indeed, a distressing book, but how fascinating! And is not its
wonderful influence over the readers exemplified in the most striking
manner by the fact that it had the power to unnerve and to incapaci-
tate for her daily task that most valiant of all intellectual laborers,
that hardest of hard workers, George Sand?
The lost ground, if there had been any lost at all, was soon
regained with 'Le Nabab' (The Nabob) and 'Les Rois en Exil' (Kings
in Exile). They took the reader to a higher sphere of emotion and
thought, showed us greater men fighting for greater things on a
wider theatre than the middle-class life in which Fromont and Risler
had moved. At the same time they kept the balance more evenly
than 'Jack' had done between the two elements of human drama,
good and evil, hope and despair, laughter and tears. But a higher
triumph was to be achieved with 'Numa Roumestan,' which brought
Daudet's literary fame to its zenith.


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ALPHONSE DAUDET
444I
'Tartarin' had not exhausted all that the author had to say of
meridional ways and manners. The Provençal character has its
dramatic as well as its comic aspect. In 'Numa Roumestan' we
have the farce and the tragedy blended together into a coherent
whole. We have a Tartarin whose power over man and woman is
not a mockery but a reality, who can win love and sympathy and
admiration, not in little Tarascon, mind you, but in Paris; who sends
joy abroad and creates torture at home; a charming companion, a
kind master, a subtle politician, a wonderful talker, but a light-
hearted and faithless husband, a genial liar, a smiling and good-
natured deceiver; the true image of the gifted adventurer who
periodically emerges from the South and goes northward finally to
conquer and govern the whole country.
As Zola has remarked, the author of 'Numa Roumestan' poured
himself out into that book with his double nature, North and South,
the rich sensuous imagination, the indolent easy-going optimism of
his native land, and the stern moral sensitiveness which was partly
characteristic of his own mind, partly acquired by painful and pro-
tracted experience. To depict his hero he had only to consult the
most intimate records of his own lifelong struggle. For he had been
trying desperately to evince Roumestan out of his own being. He
had fought and conquered, but only partially conquered. And on this
partial failure we must congratulate him and congratulate ourselves.
He said once that "Provençal landscape without sunshine is dull and
uninteresting. " The same may be said of his literary genius. It
wants sunshine, or else it loses half its loveliness and its irresistible
charm. Roumestan' is full of sunshine, and there is no other
among his books, except Tartarin,' where the bright and happy
light of the South plays more freely and more gracefully.
The novel is equally strong if you examine it from a different
standpoint. Nothing can be artistically better and more enchanting
than the Farandole scene, or more amusing than Roumestan's in-
trigue with the young opera singer; nothing can be more grand than
old Le Quesnoy's confession of sin and shame, or more affecting than
the closing scene where Rosalie is taught forgiveness by her dying
sister. Other parts in Daudet's work may sound hollow; 'Numa
Roumestan' will stand the most critical scrutiny as a drama, as a
work of art, as a faithful representation of life. Daudet's talents were
then at their best and united in happy combination for that splendid
effort which was not to be renewed.
In 'Sapho' Daudet described the modern courtesan, in 'L'Évan-
géliste' a desperate case of religious madness. In 'L'Immortel' he
gave vent to his feelings against the French Academy, which had 're-
pulsed him once and to which he turned his back forever in disgust.


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ALPHONSE DAUDET
4442
The angry writer pursued his enemy to death. In his unforgiving
mood, he was not satisfied before he had drowned the Academy
in the muddy waters of the Seine, with its unfortunate Secrétaire-
perpetuel, Astier-Réhu. The general verdict was that the vengeance
was altogether out of proportion to the offense; and that despite
all its brilliancy of wit and elaborate incisiveness of style, the satire
was really too violent and too personal to give real enjoyment to un-
biased and unprejudiced readers.
At different periods of his career Daudet had tried his hand as
a dramatist, but never succeeded in getting a firm foot on the
French stage. Play-goers still remember the signal failure of 'Lise
Tavernier,' the indifferent reception of 'L'Arlésienne,' or more re-
cently, of 'L'Obstacle. ' All his successful novels have been drama-
tized, but their popularity in that new form fell far short of the
common expectation. As an explanation of the fact various reasons
may be suggested. Daudet, I am inclined to think, is endowed with
real dramatic powers, not with scenic qualities; and from their con-
ventional point of view, old stagers will pronounce the construction
of his novels too weak for plays to be built upon them. Again, in
the play-house we miss the man who tells the story, the happy
presence - so unlike Flaubert's cheerless impassibility—the generous
anger, the hearty laugh, the delightful humor, that strange some-
thing which seems to appeal to every one of us in particular when
we read his novels. Dickens was once heard to say, on a pub-
lic occasion, that he owed his prodigious world-wide popularity to
this: that he was "so very human. " The words will apply with
equal felicity to Daudet's success. He never troubles to conceal
from his readers that he is a man. When the critic of the future
has to assign him a place and to compare his productions with the
writings of his great contemporary and fellow-worker Émile Zola, it
will occur to him that Daudet never had the steady-going indomi-
table energy, the ox-like patience, the large and comprehensive intel-
lect which are so characteristic in the master of Médan; that he
recoiled from assuming, like the author of Germinal' and 'Lourdes,'
a bold and definite position in the social and religious strife of our
days; that he never dreamt for a moment of taking the survey of a
whole society and covering the entire ground on which it stands with
his books.
Such a task-the critic will say - would have been uncongenial
to him. The scientist is careful to explain everything and to omit
nothing; he aims at completeness. But Daudet is an artist, not a
scientist. He is a poet in the primitive sense of the word, or, as he
styled himself in one of his books, a trouvère. » He has creative
power, but he has at the same time his share of the minor gift of
<<


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ALPHONSE DAUDET
4443
observation. He had to write for a public of strongly realistic tend-
encies, who understood and desired nothing better than the faithful,
accurate, almost scientific description of life. Daudet could supply
the demand, but as he was not born a realist, whatever social influ-
ences he had been subjected to, he remained free from the faults
and excesses of the school. He borrowed from it all that was good
and sound; he accepted realism as a practical method, not as an
ultimate result and a consummation. Again, he was preserved from
the danger of going down too deep and too low into the unclean
mysteries of modern humanity, not so much perhaps by moral deli-
cacy as by an artistic distaste for all that is repulsive and unseemly.
For those reasons, it would not be surprising if - when Death has
made him young again - Alphonse Daudet was destined to outlive
and outshine many who have enjoyed an equal or even greater
celebrity during this century. He will command an ever increasing
circle of admirers and friends, and generations yet unborn will grow
warm in his sunshine.
Augustin Filon
THE TWO TARTARINS
From Tartarin of Tarascon >
Α
NSWER me, you will say, how the mischief is it that Tartarin
of Tarascon never left Tarascon, with all this mania for
adventure, need of powerful sensations, and folly about
travel, rides, and journeys from the Pole to the Equator?
For that is a fact: up to the age of five-and-forty, the dread-
less Tarasconian had never once slept outside his own room.
He had not even taken that obligatory trip to Marseilles which
every sound Provençal makes upon coming of age. The most of
his knowledge included Beaucaire, and yet that's not far from
Tarascon, there being merely the bridge to go over. Unfortu-
nately, this rascally bridge has so often been blown away by
the gales, it is so long and frail, and the Rhône has such a
width at this spot that-well, faith! you understand! Tartarin
of Tarascon preferred terra firma.
We are afraid we must make a clean breast of it: in our hero
there were two very distinct characters. Some Father of the


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ALPHONSE DAUDET
4444
Church has said: "I feel there are two men in me. " He would
have spoken truly in saying this about Tartarin, who carried in
his frame the soul of Don Quixote, the same chivalric impulses,
heroic ideal, and crankiness for the grandiose and romantic; but,
worse is the luck! he had not the body of the celebrated
hidalgo, that thin and meagre apology for a body, on which
material life failed to take a hold; one that could get through
twenty nights without its breast-plate being unbuckled, and
forty-eight hours on a handful of rice.
a handful of rice. On the contrary, Tar-
tarin's body was a stout honest bully of a body, very fat, very
weighty, most sensual and fond of coddling, highly touchy, full of
low-class appetite and homely requirements—the short, paunchy
body on stumps of the immortal Sancho Panza.
Don Quixote and Sancho Panza in the one same man! you
will readily comprehend what a cat-and-dog couple they made!
what strife! what clapperclawing! Oh, the fine dialogue for
Lucian or Saint-Évremond to write, between the two Tartarins —
Quixote-Tartarin and Sancho-Tartarin! Quixote-Tartarin firing
up on the stories of Gustave Aimard, and shouting, "Up and at
'em!