A Voyage to the Moon

by Cyrano de Bergerac

Operation of the Senses

[5]"It is performed then, as I imagine, when the Tunicles of the Eye, whose Pores resemble those of Glass, transmitting that fiery Dust which is called Visual Rays, the same is stopt by some opacous Matter which makes it recoil; and then, meeting in its retreat the Image of the Object that forced it back, and that Image being but an infinite number of little Bodies exhaled in an equal Superfice from the Object beheld, it pursues it to our Eye: You'll not fail to Object, I know, that Glass is an Opacous Body, and very Compact; and that nevertheless, instead of reflecting other Bodies, it lets them pass through: But I answer, that the Pores of Glass are shaped in the same Figure as those Atomes are which pass through it; and as a Wheat-Sieve is not proper for Sifting of Oats, nor an Oat-Sieve to Sift Wheat; so a Box of Deal-Board, though it be thin and lets a sound go through it, is impenetrable to the Sight; and a piece of Chrystal, though transparent and pervious to the Eye, is not penetrable to the Touch."

I could not here forbear to interrupt him: "A great Poet and Philosopher[6] of our World," said I, "hath after Epicurus and Democritus[7] spoken of these little Bodies, in the same manner almost as you do; and therefore, you don't at all surprise me by that Discourse: Only tell me, I pray, as you proceed, how, according to your Principles, you'll explain to me the manner of drawing your Picture in a Looking-Glass."

"That's very easie," replied he, "for imagine with your self, that those Fires of our Eyes, having passed through the Glass and meeting behind it an Opacous Body that reverberates them, they come back the way they went; and finding those little Bodies marching in equal Superfices upon the Glass, they repel them to our Eyes; and our Imagination, hotter than the other Faculties of our Soul, attracts the more subtile, wherewith it draws our Picture in little.

"It is as easie to conceive the Act of Hearing, and for Brevities sake, let us only consider it in the Harmony of a Lute, touched by the Hand of a Master. You'll ask me, How can it be, that I perceive at so great a distance a thing which I do not see? Does there a Sponge go out of my Ears, that drinks up that Musick, and brings it back with it again? Or does the Player beget in my Head another little Musician, with another little Lute, who has Orders like an Eccho to sing over to me the same Airs? No; But that Miracle proceeds from this, that the String touched, striking those little Bodies of which the Air is composed, drives it gently into my Brain, with those little Corporeal Nothings that sweetly pierce into it; and according as the String is stretched, the Sound is high, because it more vigorously drives the Atomes; and the Organ being thus penetrated, furnisheth the Fancy wherewith to make a Representation; if too little, then our Memory not having as yet finished its Image, we are forced to repeat the same sound to it again; to the end it may take enough of Materials, which, for Instance, the Measures of a Saraband[8] furnish it with, for finishing the Picture of that Saraband; but that Operation is nothing near so wonderful as those others, which by the help of the same Organ excite us sometimes to Joy, sometimes to Anger.

"And this happens, when in that motion these little Bodies meet with other little Bodies within us moving in the same manner, or whose Figure renders them susceptible of the same Agitation; for then these Newcomers stir up their Landlords to move as they do; & thus, when a violent Air meets with the Fire of our Blood, it inclines it to the same Motion, and animates it to a Sally, which is the thing we call Heat of Courage; if the Sound be softer, and have only force enough to raise a less Flame in greater Agitation, by leading it along the Nerves, Membranes, and through the interstices of our Flesh it excites that Tickling which is called Joy: And so it happens in the Ebullition of the other Passions, according as these little Bodies are more or less violently tossed upon us, according to the Motion they receive by the rencounter of other Agitations, and according as they find Dispositions in us for motion. So much for Hearing.

"Now, I think the Demonstration of Touching will be every whit as easie, if we conceive that out of all palpable Matter there is a perpetual Emission of little Bodies, and that the more we touch them, the more evaporates; because we press them out of the Subject it self, as Water out of a Sponge when we squeez it. The Hard make a report to the Organ of their Hardness; the Soft, of their Softness; the Rough, &c. And since this is so, we are not so quaint in Feeling with Hands used to Labour, because of the Thickness of the Skin, which being neither porous, nor animated, with difficulty transmits the Evaporations of Matter. Some, perhaps, may desire to know where the Organ of Touching has its Residence. For my part, I think it is spread over all the Surface of the Body, seeing in all parts it feels: Yet I imagine, that the nearer the Member, wherewith we touch, be to the Head, the sooner we distinguish; which Experience convinces us of, when with shut Eyes we handle any thing, for then we'll more easily guess what it is; and if on the contrary we feel it with our hinder Feet, it will be harder for us to know it: And the Reason is, because our Skin being all over perforated, our Nerves, which are of no compacter Matter, lose by the way a great many of those little Atomes through the little Holes of their Contexture, before they reach the Brain, which is their Journeys end: It remains, that I speak of the Smelling and Tasting.

"Pray tell me, when I taste a Fruit, is it not because the Heat of my Mouth melts it? Confess to me then, that there being Salts in a Pear, and that they being separated by Dissolution into little Bodies of a different Figure from those which make the Taste of an Apple, they must needs pierce our Pallate in a very different manner: Just so as the thrust of a Pike, that passes through me, is not like the Wound which a Pistol-Bullet makes me feel with a sudden start; and as that Pistol Bullet makes me suffer another sort of Pain than that of a Slug of Steel.

"I have nothing to say, as to the Smelling, seeing the Philosophers themselves confess, that it is performed by a continual Emission of little Bodies.

"Now upon the same Principle will I explain to you the Creation, Harmony, and Influence of the Celestial Globes, with the immutable Variety of Meteors."