These things, belonging to the domain of the senses, possess a relative æsthetic value, subordinated to the organism that judges them. Certainly the Venus of Melos and the Apollo Belvedere are superb works; but even so it takes a special eye to appreciate them. [[19]]Micromégas, if he saw them, would be full of pity for the leanness of human forms. To him the beautiful calls for something other than our sorry, frog-like anatomy.
Show him, on the other hand, that sort of abortive windmill by means of which Pythagoras, echoing the wise men of Egypt, teaches us the fundamental properties of the right-angled triangle. Should the good giant, contrary to our expectation, happen not to know about it, explain to him what the windmill means. Once the light has entered his mind, he will find, just as we do, that there is beauty there, real beauty, not certainly in that horrible hieroglyphic, the figure, but in the unchangeable relation between the lengths of the three sides; he will admire as much as we do geometry the eternal balancer of space.
There is, therefore, a severe beauty, belonging to the domain of reason, the same in every world, the same under every sun, whether the suns be single or many, white or red, blue or yellow. This universal beauty is order. Everything is done by weight and measure, a great statement whose truth breaks upon us all the more vividly as we probe more deeply into the mystery of things. [[20]]
Is this order, upon which the equilibrium of the universe is based, the predestined result of a blind mechanism? Does it enter into the plans of an Eternal Geometer, as Plato had it? Is it the ideal of a supreme lover of beauty, which would explain everything?
Why all this regularity in the curve of the petals of a flower, why all this elegance in the chasings on a Beetle’s wing-cases? Is that infinite grace, even in the tiniest details, compatible with the brutality of uncontrolled forces? One might as well attribute the artist’s exquisite medallion to the steam-hammer which makes the slag sweat in the melting.
These are very lofty thoughts concerning a miserable cylinder which will bear a crop of caterpillars. It cannot be helped. The moment one tries to dig out the least detail of things, up starts a why which scientific investigation is unable to answer. The riddle of the world has certainly its explanation otherwhere than in the little truths of our laboratories. But let us leave Micromégas to philosophize and return to the commonplaces of observation.
The Pine Bombyx has rivals in the art of [[21]]gracefully grouping her egg-beads. Among their number is the Neustrian Bombyx, whose caterpillar is known by the name of “Livery,” because of his costume. Her eggs are assembled in bracelets around little branches varying greatly in nature, apple- and pear-branches chiefly. Any one seeing this elegant work for the first time would be ready to attribute it to the fingers of a skilled stringer of beads. My small son Paul opens eyes wide with surprise and utters an astonished “Oh!” each time that he comes upon the dear little bracelet. The beauty of order forces itself upon his dawning attention.
Though not so long and marked above all by the absence of any wrapper, the ring of the Neustrian Bombyx reminds one of the other’s cylinder, stripped of its scaly covering. It would be easy to multiply these instances of elegant grouping, contrived now in one way, now in another, but always with consummate art. It would take up too much time, however. Let us keep to the Pine Bombyx.
The hatching takes place in September, a little earlier in one case, a little later in another. So that I may easily watch the new-born caterpillars in their first labours, I have [[22]]placed a few egg-laden branches in the window of my study. They are standing in a glass of water which will keep them properly fresh for some time.
The little caterpillars leave the egg in the morning, at about eight o’clock. If I just lift the scales of the cylinder in process of hatching, I see black heads appear, which nibble and burst and push back the torn ceilings. The tiny creatures emerge slowly, some here and some there, all over the surface.