Part 12

While still in Geneva, Dumas, as has been said, made numerous determinations of the densities of allied substances, with a view to discovering the relations of what he called their molecular or atomic volumes; and it is no wonder to us that the problem proved too complex to be solved at that time. After his removal to Paris he took up the much simpler problem which the relations of the molecular volumes of aëriform substances present, and his paper "On Some Points of the Atomic Theory," which was published in the "Annales de Chimie et de Physique" for 1826, had an important influence in developing our modern chemical philosophy. Gay-Lussac had previously observed, not only that the relative weights of the several factors and products concerned in a chemical process bear to each other definite proportions, but also that, when the materials are aëriform, the relative volumes preserve an equally definite and still simpler ratio. Moreover, on the physical side, Avogadro, and afterward Ampère, had conceived the theory, that in the state of gas all molecules must have the same volume. It was Dumas who first saw that these principles furnished an important means of verifying the molecular and atomic weights.

"I am engaged," he writes, "in a series of experiments intended to fix the atomic weights of a considerable number of bodies, by determining their density in the state of gas or vapor. There remains in this case but one hypothesis to be made, which is accepted by all physicists. It consists in supposing that, in all elastic fluids observed under the same conditions, the molecules are placed at equal distances, i. e., that they are present in them in equal numbers. An immediate consequence of this mode of looking at the question has already been the subject of a learned discussion on the part of Ampère"--and Avogadro, as the author subsequently adds--"to which, however, chemists, with the exception perhaps of M. Gay-Lussac, appear to have given as yet but little attention. It consists in the necessity of considering the molecules of the simplest gases as capable of a further division--a division occurring in the moment of combination, and varying with the nature of the compound."

Here, it is obvious, are the very conceptions which form the basis of our modern chemical philosophy; and at first we are surprised that they did not lead Dumas at once to the full realization of the consequences which the doctrine of equal molecular volumes involves in the interpretation of the constitution of chemical compounds, and to the clear distinction between "the physically smallest particles" and "the chemically smallest particles," or the molecules and the atoms, as we now call the physical and the chemical units. This distinction is implied throughout Dumas's paper already quoted, and is illustrated by a striking example in the introduction to his treatise on "Chemistry applied to the Arts," published two years later; but the ground was not yet prepared to receive the seed, and more than a quarter of a century must pass before the full harvest of this fruitful hypothesis could be reaped.

There were, however, two important incidental results of this investigation from which chemical science immediately profited. One was a simple method of determining with accuracy the vapor densities of volatile substances which has since been known by Dumas's name. The other was a radical change in the formula of the silicates. On the authority of Berzelius, who based his opinion chiefly on the analogy between the silicates and the sulphates, the formula SiO_{3}, had been accepted as representing the constitution of silica. But from the density of both the chloride and the fluoride of silicon Dumas concluded that the formula was SiO_{2}, a conclusion which is now seen to be in complete harmony with the scheme of allied compounds. To Berzelius, however, the new views appeared wholly out of harmony with the system of chemistry which he had so greatly assisted in developing, and he opposed them with the whole weight of his powerful influence, and so far succeeded as to prevent their general adoption for many years. Still, "the new mode of looking at the constitution of silicic acid slowly but surely gained ground, and it is now so firmly rooted in our convictions, that the younger generation of chemists will scarcely understand the pertinacity with which this innovation was resisted."[M]

[M] Hofmann, _loc. cit._

But if this investigation of gas and vapor densities brought a great strain upon the dualistic system, the second of the three great investigations of Dumas, to which we have referred, led to its complete overthrow. The experimental results of this investigation would not be regarded at the present day as remarkable, and can not be compared either in breadth or intricacy with the results of numerous investigations of a similar character which have since been made. The most important of these results were the substitution products obtained by the action of chlorine gas on acetic acid. They were published in a series of papers entitled "Sur les Types Chimiques," and the capital point made was that chlorine could be substituted in acetic acid for a large part of the hydrogen without destroying the acid relations of the product; and the inference was, that the qualities of a compound substance depend not simply on the nature of the elements of which it consists, but also on the manner or type according to which these elements are combined.

To the chemists of the present day these results and inferences seem so natural that it is difficult to understand the spirit with which they were received forty years ago. But it must be remembered that at that time the conceptions of chemists were wholly molded in the dualistic system. It was thought that chemical action depended upon the antagonism between metals and metalloids, bases and acids, acid salts and basic salts, and that the qualities of the products resulted from the blending of such opposite virtues. That chlorine should unite with hydrogen was natural, for no two substances could be more unlike; but that chlorine should supply the place of hydrogen in a chemical compound was a conception which the dualists scouted as absurd. Even Liebig, the "father of organic chemistry," warmly controverted the interpretation which Dumas had given to the facts he had discovered. Liebig himself had successfully investigated the chemical relations of a large class of organic products. He had, however, worked on the lines of the dualistic system, showing that organic substances might be classed with similar inorganic substances, if we assume that certain groups of atoms, which he called "compound radicals," might take the place of elementary substances. In the edition of the organic part of Turner's "Chemistry" bearing his name, organic chemistry is defined as the "chemistry of compound radicals," and the formulas of organic compounds are represented on the dualistic system. Liebig's conceptions were therefore naturally opposed to those advanced by Dumas; but it is pleasant to know that the controversy which arose never disturbed the friendly relations between these two noble men of science, who could approach the same truth from different sides, and yet have faith that each was working for the same great end. In his commemorative address on Pelouze, Dumas expresses toward Liebig sentiments of affectionate regard, and Liebig dedicates to Dumas, with equal warmth, the German edition of his "Letters on Chemistry."

By the second investigation, as by the first, although Dumas gave a most fruitful conception to chemistry, he only took the first step in developing it. His conception of chemical types was very indefinite, and Laurent wrote of it, a few years later: "Dumas's theory is too general; by its poetic coloring, it lends itself to false interpretations; it is a programme of which we await the realization." Laurent himself helped toward this realization, and in his early death left the work to his associate and friend Gerhardt, who pushed it forward with great zeal, classifying chemical compounds according to the four types of hydrochloric acid, water, ammonia, and marsh-gas. Hofmann, Williamson, Wurtz, and many others, greatly aided in this work by realizing many of the possibilities which these types suggested; and thus modern Structural Chemistry gradually grew up, in which the types of Dumas and Gerhardt have been in their turn superseded by the larger views which the doctrine of quantivalence has opened out to the scientific imagination. It is a singular fact, however, that, while the growth began in France, the harvest has been chiefly reaped by Germans; and that, although in its inception the movement was strongly opposed in Germany, its legitimate conclusions are now repudiated by the most influential school of French chemists.

The third great investigation of Dumas was his revision of the atomic weights of many of the chemical elements, and in none of his work did he show greater experimental skill. His determination of the atomic weight of oxygen by the synthesis of water, and of that of carbon by the synthesis of carbonic dioxide, are models of quantitative experimental work. To this investigation, as to all his other work, Dumas was directed by his vivid scientific imagination. In his teaching, from the first, he had aimed to exhibit the relations of the elementary substances by classing them in groups of allied bodies; and at the meeting of the British Association in 1851 he had delighted the chemical section by the eloquence and force with which he exhibited such relations, especially triads of elementary substances; such as chlorine, bromine, and iodine; oxygen, sulphur, and selenium; phosphorus, arsenic, and antimony; calcium, barium, and strontium: in which not only the atomic weight, but also the qualities of the middle member of the triad, were the mean of those of the other two members. Later, he came to regard these triads as parts of more extended series, in each of which the atomic weights increased from the first to the last element of the series, by determinate, but not always by equal differences, the values being, if not exact multiples of the hydrogen atom according to the hypothesis of Prout, at least multiples of one half or one quarter of that weight. There can be no doubt that these speculations were more fanciful than sound, and that Dumas did not do full justice to earlier theories of the same kind; but with him these speculations were merely the ornaments, not the substance of his work, and they led him to fix more accurately the constants of chemistry, and thus to lay a trustworthy foundation upon which the superstructure of science could safely be built.

That exuberance of fancy to which we have referred made Dumas one of the most successful of teachers, and one of the most fascinating of lecturers. It was the privilege of the writer to attend the larger part of two of his courses of lectures given in Paris, in the winters of 1848 and 1851, and he remembers distinctly the impression produced. Besides the well-arranged material and the carefully prepared experiment, there was an elegance and pomp of circumstance which added greatly to the effect. The large theatre of the Sorbonne was filled to overflowing long before the hour. The lecturer always entered at the exact moment, in full evening dress, and held to the end of a two hours' lecture the unflagging attention of his audience. The manipulations were entirely left to the care of a number of assistants, who brought each experiment to a conclusion at the exact moment when the illustration was required. An elegance of diction, an appropriateness of illustration, and a beauty of exposition, which could not be excelled, were displayed throughout, and the enthusiasm of a French audience added to the animation of the scene.

To the writer the lectures of Dumas were brought in contrast to those of Faraday. Both were perfect of their kind, but very different. Faraday's method was far more simple and natural, and he excelled Dumas in bringing home to young minds abstruse truths by the logic of well-arranged consecutive experiment. With Dumas there was no attempt to popularize science; he excelled in clearness and elegance of exposition. He exhausted the subject which he treated, and was able to throw a glow of interest around details which by most teachers would have been made dry and profitless.

Two volumes of Dumas's lectures have been published; one comprises his course on the "Philosophy of Chemistry," delivered at the College of France in 1836; the other contains only a single lecture, accompanied by notes, entitled "The Balance of Organic Life," which was delivered at the Medical School of Paris, August 20, 1841. In both these volumes will be found the beauty of exposition and the elegance of diction of which we have spoken, and they are models of literary style. But of course the sympathetic enthusiasm of the great man's presence can not be reproduced by written words.

The lecture on "The Balance of Organic Life" was probably the most remarkable of Dumas's literary efforts. It dealt simply with the relations which the vegetable sustains to the animal kingdom through the atmosphere, which, though now so familiar, were then not generally understood; and the late Dr. Jeffries Wyman, who heard the lecture, always spoke of it with the greatest enthusiasm.

As might be expected, Dumas's oratory found an ample field in the Chamber of Deputies and in the Senate; and whether setting forth a project of recasting the copper coinage or a law of drainage, or ridiculing the absurd theories of homoeopathy, he riveted the attention of his colleagues as completely as he had entranced the students at the Sorbonne.

In the early part of his life, Dumas was a voluminous writer, and in 1828 published the "Traité de Chimie appliquée aux Arts," in eight large octavo volumes, with an atlas of plates in quarto. But besides this extended treatise, the two volumes of lectures just referred to are his only important literary works. He published numerous papers in scientific journals, which, as we have seen, produced a most marked effect on the growth of chemical science. But the number of his monographs is not large compared with those of many of his contemporaries, and his work is to be judged by its importance and influence rather than by the extent of the field which it covers.

In his capacity of President of the Municipal Council at Paris, of Minister of Agricultural Commerce, of Vice-President of the High Council of Education, and of Perpetual Secretary of the Academy of Sciences, Dumas had abundant opportunity for the exercise of his administrative ability, and no one has questioned his great powers in this direction; but in regard to his political career we could not expect the same unanimity of opinion. That he was a liberal under Louis Philippe, and a reactionist under Louis Napoleon, may possibly be reconciled with a fixed political faith and an unswerving aim for the public good; but his scheme for "civilian billeting" (by which wealthy people having rooms to spare in their houses would have been compelled to billet artisans employed in public works) leads one to infer that his statesmanship was not equal to his science. Nevertheless, there can be no question about his large-hearted charity. He instituted the "Crédit Foncier," which flourishes in great prosperity to this day; he also founded the "Caisse de Rétraite pour la Vieillesse," and several other agricultural charities, which, though less successful, afford great assistance to aged workmen. Louis Napoleon used to say in jest that the whole of the War Minister's budget would not have been enough to realize M. Dumas's benevolent schemes; and once, half-dazzled, half-amused, by one of the chemist's vast sanitary projects, he called him "the poet of hygiene."

It was to be expected that a man working with such eminent success in so many spheres of activity, and at one of the chief centers of the world's culture, should be loaded with medals, and marks of distinction of every kind. It would be idle to enumerate the orders of knighthood, or the learned societies, to which he belonged, for, so far from their honoring him, he honored them in accepting their membership. It is a pleasure, however, to remember that he lived to realize his highest ambitions and to enjoy the fruits of his well-earned renown. France has added his name in the Pantheon

"AUX GRANDS HOMMES LA PATRIE RECONNAISSANTE."

IX.

THE GREEK QUESTION.[N]

The question whether the college faculty ought to continue to insist on a limited study of the ancient Greek language, as an essential prerequisite of receiving the A. B. degree, has been under consideration at Cambridge for a long time; and, since the opinions of those with whom I naturally sympathize have been so greatly misrepresented in the desultory discussion which has followed Mr. Adams's Phi Beta Kappa oration, I am glad of the opportunity to say a few words on the "Greek question."

[N] Remarks made at the dinner of the Harvard Club of Rhode Island, Newport, August 25, 1883.

This question is by no means a new one. For the last ten years it has been under discussion at most, if not at all, of the great universities of the world; and, among others, the University of Berlin, which stands in the very front rank, has already conceded to what we may call the new culture all that can reasonably be asked.

Let me begin by asserting that the responsible advocates of an expansion of the old academic system do not wish in the least degree to diminish the study of the Greek language, the Greek literature, or the Greek art. On the contrary, they wish to encourage such studies by every legitimate means. For myself I believe that the old classical culture is the best culture yet known for the literary professions; and among the literary professions I include both law and divinity. Fifty years ago I should have said that it was the only culture worthy of the recognition of a university. But we live in the present, not in the past, and a half-century has wholly changed the relations of human knowledge. Regard the change with favor or disfavor, as you please, the fact remains that the natural sciences have become the chief factors of our modern civilization; and--which is the important point in this connection--they have given rise to new professions that more and more every year are opening occupations to our educated men. The professions of the chemist, of the mining engineer, and of the electrician, which have entirely grown up during the lifetime of many here present, are just as "learned" as the older professions, and are recognized as such by every university. Moreover, the old profession of medicine, which, when, as formerly, wholly ruled by authority or traditions, might have been classed with the literary professions, has come to rest on a purely scientific basis.

In a word, the distinction between the literary and the scientific professions has become definite and wide, and can no longer be ignored in our systems of education. Now, while they would accord to their classical associates the right to decide what is the best culture for a literary calling, the scientific experts claim an equal right to decide what is the best culture for a scientific calling. Ever since the revival of Greek learning in Europe the literary scholars have been working out an admirable system of education. In this system most of us have been trained. I would pay it all honor, and I would here bear my testimony to the acknowledged facts that in no departments of our own university have the methods of teaching been so much improved during the last few years as in the classical. I should resist as firmly as my classical colleagues any attempt to emasculate the well-tried methods of literary culture, and I have no sympathy whatever with the opinion that the study of the modern languages as polite accomplishments can in any degree take the place of the critical study of the great languages of antiquity. To compare German literature with the Greek, or, what is worse, French literature with the Latin, as means of culture, implies, as it seems to me, a forgetfulness of the true spirit of literary culture.

But literature and science are very different things, and "what is one man's meat may be another man's poison," and the scientific teachers claim the right to direct the training of their own men. It is not their aim to educate men to clothe thought in beautiful and suggestive language, to weave argument into correct and persuasive forms, or to kindle enthusiasm by eloquence. But it is their object to prepare men to unravel the mysteries of the universe, to probe the secrets of disease, to direct the forces of nature, and to develop the resources of this earth. These last aims may be less spiritual, lower on your arbitrary intellectual scale, if you please, than the first; but they are none the less legitimate aims which society demands of educated men: and all we claim is that the astronomers, the physicists, the chemists, the biologists, the physicians, and the engineers, who have shown that they are able to answer these demands of society, should be intrusted with the training of those who are to follow them in the same work.

Now, such is the artificial condition of our schools, and so completely are they ruled by prescription, that, when we attempt to lay out a proper course of training for the scientific professions, we are met at the very outset by the Greek question. Greek is a requisition for admission to college, and the only schools in which a scientific training can be had do not teach Greek, and, what is more, can not be expected to teach it.

This brings us to the root of the whole difficulty with which the teachers of natural science have been contending, and which is the cause of the present movement. We can not obtain any proper scientific training from the classical schools, and the present requisitions for admission to college practically exclude students prepared at any others. At Cambridge we have vainly tried to secure some small measure of scientific training in the classical schools: first, by establishing summer courses in practical science especially designed for training teachers, and chiefly resorted to by such persons; and, secondly, by introducing some science requisitions into the admission examinations. But the attempt has been an utter failure. The science requisitions have been simply "crammed," and the result has been worse than useless; because, instead of securing any training in the methods of science, it has in most cases given a distaste for the whole subject. True science-teaching is so utterly foreign to all their methods that the requisitions have merely hampered the classical schools, and the sooner they are abandoned the better. Both the methods and the spirit of literary and scientific culture are so completely at variance that we can not expect them to be successfully united in the same preparatory school.