CHAPTER IV.

BLOOD-FLOWER.

At the heart of the globe, in the warm waters of the Line, and upon their volcanic bottoms, the sea so superabounds in life that it seems impossible for it to balance its multitudinous creations. Overpassing purely vegetable life, its earliest products are organized, sensitive, living.

But these animals adorn themselves with a singular splendor of botanic beauty, the splendid liveries of an eccentric and most luxuriant Flora. Far as the eye can reach, you see what, judging from the forms and colors, you take for flowers, and shrubs, and plants. But those plants have their movements, those shrubs are irritable, those flowers shrink and shudder with an incipient sensitiveness which promises, perception and _will_.

Charming oscillation, fascinating motion, most graceful equivoque! On the confines of the two kingdoms of animal and vegetable life, Mind, under those faëry oscillations gives token of its first awakening, its dawn, its morning twilight, to be followed by a glorious and glowing noon. Those brilliant colors, those pearly and enamelled flashings, tell at once of the past night and the thought of the dawning day.

Thought! may we venture to call it so? No, it is still a Dream, which by degrees will clear up into Thought.

Already, in the north of Africa, over the other side of the Cape, the vegetable kingdom, which reigns alone in the temperate zone, sees itself rivalled, surpassed. The great enchantment progresses, increases, as we near the Equator. On the land,--tree, shrub, flower, weed, are proud and gorgeous, flaming in every bright color, delicate in every soft shade, and beneath the waters' slime and the ruddy corals. Beside parterres, that display rainbow beauties of every color and every tint, commence the stone plants; the madrepores, whose branches (should we not rather say their hands and fingers?) flourish in a rose-tinted snow; like peach or apple blossoms. Seven hundred leagues on either side of the Equator, you sail through this faëry land of magical illusion and wondrous beauty.

There are doubtful creatures, the Corallines, for instance, that are claimed by all the three kingdoms. They tend towards the animal, they tend towards the mineral, and, finally, are assigned to the vegetable. Perchance they form the real point at which Life obscurely and mysteriously rises from the slumber of the stone, without utterly quitting that rude starting-point, as if to remind us, so high placed and so haughty, of the right of even the humble mineral to rise into animation, and of the deep and eternal aspiration that lies buried, but busy, in the bosom of Nature.

"The fields and forests of our dry land," says Darwin, "appear sterile and empty, if we compare them with those of the sea." And, in fact, all who traverse the marvellous transparent Indian seas are thrilled, stirred, startled, by the phantasmagoria that flashes up from their far clear depths. Especially surprising is the interchange between animal and vegetable life of their especial and characteristic appearances. The soft impressible gelatinous plants, with rounded organs, that are neither precisely leaves nor precisely stalks, the delicacy of their animal curves--those Hogarthian "lines of beauty," seem to ask us to believe that they are veritable animals, while the real animals, on the other hand, in form, in color, in all, seem to do their utmost to be mistaken for vegetables. Each kingdom skilfully imitates the other. These have the solidity, the quasi permanence, of the tree; the others alternately expand and fade like the evanescent flower. Thus the sea Anemone opens as a roseate and pearly flower, or as a granite star with deep blue eyes; but when her corollæ have given forth an Anemone daughter, you see the fair mother droop, fade, die.

Far otherwise variable, that Proteus of the waters, the Halcyon, takes every form and every color. Now plant, now flower, it spreads itself out into a fanlike beauty, becomes a bushy hedge, or rounds itself into a graceful bouquet. But all this is so ephemeral, so fugitive, so timid, so shrinking, that at the slightest touch of the softest breath it disappears, and returns on the instant into the womb of the common mother. In these slight and fugitive forms you at once recognize the twin sisters of the sensitive plants of our earth; closing up, as they close at the first breath of evening.

When you gaze down upon a coral reef, you see the depths carpeted, many colored flowers with fungi, masses of snowy brilliancy; every hill, every valley, of the great deep, is variegated with a thousand forms, and a thousand colors, from the ruddy and outstretched branches of the coral, to the deep, rich, velvety green of the Cariophylles or violets, which seek their food by the gentle motion of the richly golden stamens. Above this lower world, as if to shade them from the too glowing kiss of the ardent sun, waves a whole forest of giant and dwarf trees and shrubs, and from tree to tree feathery spirals stretch and interlace like the loving and embracing tendrils of the vine, but finer in tendril and infinitely more splendid in their variegated and contrasting, yet singularly harmonizing colors.

This glorious sight inspires, yet agitates us; it is a dream, a vertigo; that Fay of the shifting mirage, the Sea, adding to these colors her own prismatic tints, fading, reappearing, now here, now gone, a capricious and fitful inconstancy, a hesitation, a doubt. Have we really seen it, this lovely scene? No, it was not so. Was it an entity, or a delusion? Yes, yes, it must be real, there are certainly very real beings there, for I see whole hosts of them lodged there and sporting there. The molluscs confide in that reality, for there you can see their pearly shells reflecting lights, now flashing and brilliant, and anon of a most tender delicacy; and the crab, too, believes in it, for see how he hastens on his sidelong path. Strange fish, vast and curious monsters of the deep, move hither and thither in their many colored vesture of purple and gold, and deep azure and delicate pink; and that delicate star, the Ophiure agitates his delicate and elegant arms.

In this phantasmagoria the arborescent Madrepore more gravely displays his less brilliant colors. His beauty is chiefly that of form.

But the chief attraction of the aspect of this vast community is in its entirety; the individual is humble, but the republic is imposing. Here you have the strong assemblage of aloes and cactus; there you have the superbly branching antlers of the Deer; and anon, you see the vast stretch of the vigorous branches of the giant cedar stretching at first horizontally, but tending to advance upward and upward still.

Those forms at present despoiled of the thousands and tens of thousands of living flowers, which should cover and enliven them have, perhaps, in that stern nudity an additional attraction for the mind. I love to look upon the trees in winter, when their bared boughs tell us and show us what they really are. And thus it is with the Madrepores. In their present nudity, when from pictures they have become statues, it seems as though they were about to reveal to us the whole secret of the minute populations of which they are at once the creation and the monument. Many of them seem to write to us in strange characters, to speak to us in strange tones. Their interlacings evidently have a something to tell us, could we but understand them. But who shall be their interpreter; who shall give us the keynote to their harmony, mysterious harmony--but Harmony doubtless?

How much less significant is the Bee architecture in its cold, severe, geometry! That is the produce of life, but here we look upon life itself. The stone was not simply the base and shelter of this people; it was itself a previous people, an anterior generation, which, gradually overtopped by the younger, assumed its present consistence. And all the movements of that first community are still strikingly visible, as details of another Herculaneum, or Pompeii. But here everything is accomplished without catastrophe, without violence, by orderly and natural progress; all testifies to serenity and peace.

Every sculptor will here admire the forms of a marvellous art which has achieved such infinite variety of forms, improving upon all arts of ornamentation. But we have to reflect upon something far beyond mere form. The arborescent variety on which the activity of these laborious tribes has been so wonderfully employed, is the effort of a thought, of a captive liberty, seeking the guiding thread in the deep and mazy labyrinth, and timidly feeling its way upward towards the light, and gently and gracefully working out its emancipation from communist life.

I have in my possession two of these little trees differing from each other, but of like species. No vegetable is comparable to them. One, purely white as the most immaculate alabaster, has an inexhaustible wealth of buds, and blossoms and flowers, on every one of its many spreading branches. The other, less white and less spreading, has also its whole world upon its branches. Exquisitely beautiful are they both; alike yet unlike, twins of innocence and fraternity. Oh who shall explain to us the mystery of the infant soul that created these faëry things! We feel that it must be at work, captive and yet free; captive in a captivity so beloved that though still tending upward towards freedom, it yet cares not fully to achieve it.

The arts have not yet seized upon those wonders from which the world has derived so much benefit. The beautiful statue of Nature (at the entrance of the Jardin des Plantes) should have been surrounded by them; Nature should only be exhibited as she ever lives, amidst faëry triumphs, enthroning her on a mountain of her own beauties. Her first born, the Madrepores, would have furnished the lower strata with their meanders, their stars and their alabaster branches; while above, their sisters, with their bodies and their fine hair would have made a living bed, softly to embrace with caressing love the divine Mother in her dream of eternal maternity.

Painting has succeeded in these things no better than sculpture. Her animated flowers have neither the expression nor the true, pure, delicate coloring of the animated flowers, of the nature of which our colored engravings give but a poor and mechanical idea, altogether destitute of the unctuous softness, suppleness, and warm emotion of the flowers of the fields, the woods, the gardens, or animated flowers of the seas. Enamels, even attempted as by Palissy, are too hard and cold; admirable for reptiles and the scales of fish, they are too glaring to resemble these tender and soft creatures that have not even a skin. The little exterior lungs of the annelides, the slight net work in which certain of the Polypes float, the sensitive and ever-moving hairs which support the Medusæ, are objects not merely delicate to sight, but affecting to imagination. They are of every shade, fine and vague, yet warm; as though a balmy breath had become visible. You see an ever-varying, ever-moving rainbow that delights your eye; but for them it is a very serious matter, the creating of that marvellous rainbow, of various forms and colors; it is their blood and their weak life converted into changing hues and tints, and lights and shades. Take care! Do not stifle that little floating soul, which mutely, but oh how eloquently, tells you its secret in those varying and palpitating colors.

The colors do not long survive, and their creators, the Madrepores, themselves survive only in their base, which has been called inorganic, but which in reality is condensed and solidified life.

Women, who have a more delicate and penetrating sense of the beautiful than we have, do not thus mistake; they have, at the least, confusedly divined that one of these trees, the coral, is a living thing, and thence the just favor in which they hold it. Vainly did science tell them that coral was mere stone, and then that it was a plant, they knew quite differently.

"Madame, why is it that you prefer this tree of a dubious red, to all the precious stones?"

"Monsieur, it suits my complexion. Rubies are too vivid, they make me look pale, while this, somewhat duller, rather more favorably contrasts fairness."

The lady is quite right; the coral and the lady are related. In the coral, as in the lip and the cheek of the lady, it is iron, according to Voyel, which makes the one red and the others roseate.

"But, Madame, these brilliant stones have an incomparable polish, and dazzling lustre."

"Yes, but the coral has something of the softness and even the warmth of the skin. As soon as I put it on, it seems to become a part of myself."

"But Madame, there are much finer reds than that of your coral necklace."

"Doctor, leave me this, I love it. Why? That I know not; or if there is a reason, that which will do as well as any, is that its Eastern and true name is 'the Blood-Flower.'"