What Makes a Good Experiment

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WHAT MAKES A GOOD EXPERIMENT?
ALLAN FRANKLIN

REASONS
& ROLES
IN SCIENCE

University of Pittsburgh Press EXPE

 WHAT
MAKES
A GOOD
RIMENT?
Published by the University of Pittsburgh Press, Pittsburgh, Pa., 15260
Copyright © 2016, University of Pittsburgh Press
All rights reserved
Manufactured in the United States of America
Printed on acid-free paper
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

ISBN 13: 978-0-8229-4441-6

ISBN 10: 0-8229-4441-3

Cataloging-in-Publication data is avaiable from the Library of Congress

 CONTENTS

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS vii
INTRODUCTION 1

PART I. CONCEPTUALLY IMPORTANT EXPERIMENTS

THOSE THAT LEAD TO SIGNIFICANT CHANGES IN THEORY
1. Gregor Mendel, “Experiments in Plant Hybridization”:
The Best Experiments Ever Done! 11
2. The Discovery of Parity Nonconservation 29
3. The Meselson-Stahl Experiment
“The Most Beautiful Experiment in Biology” 41
4. CP or Not CP
A Convincing Experiment 57
5. The Nondiscovery of Parity Nonconservation
A Missed Opportunity 69
PART II. MEASURING A QUANTITY OF IMPORTANCE
6. Measuring a Quantity of Importance and Testing an Equation
Millikan and Planck’s Constant 83
7. Robert Millikan and the Charge of the Electron 112
vi CONTENTS

PART III. EVIDENCE FOR ENTITIES

8. “Observing” the Neutrino
The Reines-Cowan Experiments 127
9. The Discovery of the η Meson 147
10. Is There a Second Neutrino? 152
  1 1. The Missing Piece of the Puzzle
The Discovery of the Higgs Boson 163

PART IV. SOLVING A VEXING PROBLEM

12. William Wilson and the Absorption of β Rays 181
13. Ellis and Wooster, the Continuous Energy Spectrum in β Decay
Something Is Missing 197
14. The Solar-Neutrino Problem 214

PART V. MEASURING NOTHING

15. The Disappearance of the 17-keV Neutrino 229
16. The Michelson-Morley Experiment 241
  17. A Tale of Two Experiments:
Is There a Fifth Force? 266
18. The Search for Magnetic Monopoles 281

CONCLUSION 296
NOTES 307
REFERENCES 339
INDEX 359
 ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

IN large high-energy physics groups there are criteria for who may be
an author of a paper. The criteria do not require that an author actually
participated in the writing of the paper, but rather that the scientist has
participated in a significant way in the production of the experimental
result. This may include design and construction of the experimental
apparatus, or the writing of computer programs to acquire or analyze the
experimental data, or analyzing the data, or writing the paper. Thus, the
paper announcing the discovery of the Higgs boson by the Compact Muon
Solenoid (CMS) collaboration at the Large Hadron Collider had 2,897
authors. If I used somewhat different criteria such as those whose work
has informed my work, colleagues and friends who have read my work at
various stages and offered constructive criticisms and suggestions, and
those who have provided valuable discussions, the number of authors of
this book, while not close to the number of CMS authors, would surely
exceed a hundred. A reasonable approximation to such an author list might
be obtained by looking at the acknowledgments sections of my previous
work, although I am sure it would omit a fair number of people who should
be on the list. The conventions of academic life outside high-energy physics
suggest that, as the person who has actually written this book, I should be
the sole author and receive all of the credit or blame for its contents.
I will, nevertheless, acknowledge those friends and colleagues who
have made specific contributions to this book. As those who have read my

vii
viii ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

previous work already know, and new readers of this book will learn, these
include the usual suspects, the members of the high-energy physics group at
the University of Colorado. They are always available to answer questions,
provide valuable discussions, and to inform me of recent developments
in the field. The experimentalists include Bill Ford, Kevin Stenson, Steve
Wagner, and Eric Zimmerman. In particular, I want to thank John Cumalat
and Alysia Marino, who read the chapters on the discovery of the Higgs
boson and on the Sudbury Neutrino Observatory (SNO) experiment that
solved the solar neutrino problem and checked them for any errors. Any
errors that remain are, of course, my responsibility. The theorists include
Shanta de Alwis, Tom DeGrand, Oliver DeWolfe, and Anna Hasenfratz.
I would also like to thank Gerald Holton and Michel Janssen, both of
whom read the chapter on the Michelson-Morley experiment and provided
helpful suggestions and whose work informed that chapter.
A significant portion of this work was done while I was the senior
visiting fellow at the Center for Philosophy of Science at the University of
Pittsburgh. I want to thank the center director, John Norton, and his staff,
Karen Kovalchick, Joyce McDonald, Cheryl Greer, and Yoichi Ishida, for
providing an atmosphere in which all I had to do was work on my own
research. John also put up with my numerous interruptions and puns and
provided very valuable discussions. I would also like to thank my fellow
fellows at the Center, Aristidis Arageorgis, Ori Belkin, Melinda Fagan,
Carrie Figdor, Lucia Foglia, Marco Giovanelli, Leah Henderson, Douglas
Kutach, Arnaud Pocheville, and Joshua Rosaler, for valuable discussions,
for their presentations and comments at our fellows’ meetings and at the
center seminars.
I also wish to thank Slobodan Perović and Kent Staley for carefully
reading the entire manuscript and for their valuable criticisms and
suggestions. I am also grateful to my editors at the University of Pittsburgh
Press, Abby Collier and Alex Wolfe. Their work made this book better than
my original manuscript.
Last, but certainly not least, I thank Cyndi Betts, my wife and best
friend. Without her encouragement and support, this work would not have
been possible.
WHAT MAKES A GOOD EXPERIMENT?
 INTRODUCTION

One cannot take away integrity in the search for evidence and honesty
in declaring one’s results and still have science; one cannot take away a
willingness to listen to anyone’s scientific theories and findings irre-
spective of race, creed, or social eccentricity and still have science; one
cannot take away the readiness to expose one’s findings to criticism and
debate and still have science; one cannot take away the idea that the best
theories will be able to specify the means by which they could be shown
to be wrong and still have science; one cannot take away the idea that a
lone voice might be right while all the rest are wrong and still have sci-
ence; one cannot take away the idea that good experimentation or theoriza-
tion usually demand high levels of craft skills and still have science; and one
cannot take away the idea that, in virtue of their experience, some are
more capable than others at both producing scientific knowledge and at
criticizing it and still have science. These features of science are “essen-
tial,” not derivative.
—Harry Collins (2004, 156; emphasis added)

IN 1981 I published an article titled, “What Makes a Good Experiment?”

(Franklin 1981). At the time I, along with many other philosophers of sci-
ence, believed that the only significant role of experiment in science was
to test theories. Since that time we have recognized that experiment plays
many other significant roles in science. These other roles include: explor-
atory experiments, designed to investigate a subject for which a theory
does not exist so that a theory may be formulated; experiments that help to
articulate an existing theory; experiments that call for a new theory either
by demonstrating the existence of a new phenomenon in need of explana-
tion or by demonstrating that an existing theory is wrong; experiments
that provide evidence for the entities involved in our theories or new enti-

1
2 INTRODUCTION

ties; experiments that measure quantities that are of physical interest such
as Planck’s constant or the charge of the electron; and experiments that
have a life of their own, independent of high-level theory. An experiment
may also correct previous incorrect or misinterpreted results. Experiments
may also play a role in providing reasons for pursuit, the further investiga-
tion of a theory or a phenomenon. Yet another role for experiment is that
of an enabling experiment, an experiment that may give an incorrect result
but demonstrates that the quantity of interest can be measured.1 A related
role is that an experiment may demonstrate a successful new experimen-
tal technique. Following the suggestions by Pontecorvo (1960) and by
Schwartz (1960), a neutrino beam was constructed that led to the discov-
ery of two different kinds of neutrino (see chapter 10). The same beamline
technique is used in many neutrino experiments to this day. From this list,
it is clear that the roles of experiment include far more than only the testing
of theory. I do not, however, believe that this list of the varying roles that
experiments play is exclusive or exhaustive. As we shall see, a single exper-
iment can play several roles.
In that 1981 article, I also discussed various ways in which an exper-
iment can be good. I distinguished between “conceptually important”
experiments and “technically good” experiments. The former were classi-
fied primarily by their relationship to theory. Among the roles played by
conceptually important experiments are testing theory, deciding between
competing theories (crucial experiments), calling for a new theory, or
demonstrating that an existing theory is incorrect.
I might distinguish here between the ways in which an experiment can
be good and the role that it played from the attributes that it had. For ex-
ample, the Michelson-Morley experiment (1887; see chapter 16) was not
conceptually important in the genesis of Einstein’s special theory of rela-
tivity. The results did, however, at least in principle, call for either a new
theory or for a significant modification of existing theory. As Oliver Lodge,
a supporter of the ether theory remarked, “This experiment might have to
be explained away” (1893, 753). Similarly, Millikan’s (1916a) measurement
of Planck’s constant (see chapter 6) is, in retrospect and in textbooks, re-
garded as providing strong support for Einstein’s photon theory of light. At
the time, however, it was regarded as confirming Einstein’s photoelectric
equation.
Technically good experiments are those that measure a quantity of
physical interest with greater accuracy and precision than had been done
previously. My use of “technically good” is meant to apply either to an ex-
periment in which there have been previous measurements of the quantity
of interest and/or to those experiments in which there has been a signifi-
INTRODUCTION 3

cant advance in experimental technique. An illustration is Millikan’s mea-

surement of Planck’s constant. In that episode there were several previous
measurements and, as we shall see, Millikan made improvements to the
experiment so that the measurement was more accurate and precise than
any previous measurement. Because of that improvement he was also able
to decide between different interpretations of the previous experimental
results. Similarly, in Millikan’s (1911) experiment to measure the charge
of the electron (see chapter 7), he was able to make his measurements on a
single oil drop, an innovation that allowed him to obtain a far better value
for the electron charge. Previous experiments had only been able to obtain
an average value from a cloud of drops.
There are, of course, instances of experiments that are both concep-
tually important and technically good. Gregor Mendel’s experiments on
hybridization in pea plants (see chapter 1) and Robert Millikan’s measure-
ment of the charge of the electron (see chapter 7) are two such examples.2
In my earlier paper I also discussed “methodologically good” experiments,
those that provided good reasons for belief in their results.
To these I would add “pedagogically important” experiments. These are
experiments that play a didactic or explanatory role in textbooks, which
they may or may not have played in the actual history. Examples are the
Michelson–Morley experiment (see chapter 16), which textbooks often
say played a significant role in the genesis of the special theory of relativity
but, as we shall see, did not actually play such a role. On the other hand,
Mendel’s experiments (see chapter 1) established the basic laws of genetics
and are extensively discussed in every introductory textbook on genetics
that I have seen. I might suggest that other experiments, such as the Ellis–
Wooster experiment (1927; see chapter 13), should be pedagogically im-
portant, but they are only infrequently mentioned.
I do not believe that either of these lists exhausts the roles that exper-
iment plays in science or the ways in which an experiment can be good.
What I will present is a number of examples of experiments that are good in
various ways and that play different roles. It is in the details of experiments
that we can observe and judge their quality.
If experiments are to play the important roles mentioned above then
we must have good reasons to believe their results. I have previously ar-
gued that there exists an epistemology of experiment, a set of strategies
that can be and are used to argue for the correctness of an experimental
result (Franklin 2007, 220–25; Franklin 2002a, chap. 6). It is the use of
these strategies that make an experiment methodologically good. These
strategies include:
4 INTRODUCTION

1. Experimental checks and calibration, in which the experimental

apparatus reproduces known phenomena;
2. Reproducing artifacts that are known in advance to be present;
3. Elimination of plausible sources of error and alternative explana-
tions of the result (the Sherlock Holmes strategy);3
4. Using the results themselves to argue for their validity. In
this case one argues that there is no plausible malfunction of
the apparatus, or background effect, that would explain the
observations;
5. Using an independently well-corroborated theory of the phenom-
ena to explain the results;
6. Using an apparatus based on a well-corroborated theory;
7. Using statistical arguments;
8. Manipulation, in which the experimenter manipulates the object
under observation and predicts what they would observe if the
apparatus was working properly. Observing the predicted effect
strengthens belief in both the proper operation of the experimen-
tal apparatus and in the correctness of the observation;
9. The strengthening of one’s belief in an observation by indepen-
dent confirmation; and
10. Using “blind” analysis, a strategy for avoiding possible exper-
imenter bias, by setting the selection criteria for “good” data
independent of the final result.

This set of strategies is also neither exclusive nor exhaustive. No single

strategy, or group of strategies, is necessary to argue for the correctness of
an experimental result. Nevertheless, the use of such strategies is, I believe,
necessary to establish the credibility of a result. I call experiments that do
so “methodologically good” experiments. Most reports of experimental re-
sults do, in fact, include such arguments.4
“Conceptually important” experiments and “technically good” exper-
iments must, of course, be methodologically good. An experiment can-
not be important if we don‘t have good reasons to believe the result. Not
all conceptually important experiments are, however, technically good.
Sometimes even a rough measurement may be sufficient. Similarly a mea-
surement may be technically good because it demonstrates that a quantity
of interest can be measured. These are enabling experiments.5 It is also true
that experiments that may appear to be conceptually important at the time
may not, however, be so in the long run.6 Experiments sometimes disagree,
INTRODUCTION 5

an indication that at least one of them must be incorrect. Because virtually

all experiments do, I believe, apply the epistemological strategies discussed
earlier, some of those applications must be incorrect (for illustrative cases
see Franklin 2002a, chaps. 7–10).
I admit that the above lists are rather too dry and abstract. What are
needed are the details of actual good experiments. As Stephen Jay Gould
remarked, “I concentrate upon details . . . because I don’t believe that im-
portant concepts should be discussed tendentiously in the abstract. . . .
People, as curious primates, dote on concrete objects that can be seen and
fondled. God dwells among the details, not in the realm of pure generality.
We must tackle and grasp the larger, encompassing themes of our universe,
but we make our best approach through small curiosities that rivet our at-
tention—all those pretty pebbles on the shoreline of knowledge” (Gould
1989, 51–52). I will provide such details in the rest of this book.
Although contemporary high-energy physicists require a five-
standard-deviation effect (five sigmas [σ]) before they will claim a discov-
ery,7 I do not believe that satisfying a fixed statistical criterion should be a
requirement for a good experiment.8 As noted earlier, a result needs only to
be good enough for the intended purpose. Sometimes even a rough mea-
surement may be sufficient. For example, the first measurement of the K e2+
branching ratio, the fraction of all K+ mesons that decay into a positron and
a neutrino, gave a result of 2.1+1.8–1.3 × 10–5 (Bowen et al. 1967). This showed
that the quantity could be measured, albeit with a large experimental un-
certainty. It also provided information about the mathematical form of the
weak interaction responsible for this decay. The theoretical predictions for
the K e2+ branching ratio were explicit. If the interaction was pure axial vec-
tor (A) the predicted ratio of K e2+ to K μ2+ decays was 2.6 × 10–5, correspond-
ing to a branching ratio of 1.6 × 10–5. Pure pseudoscalar (P) coupling, on
the other hand, predicted a K e2+ to K μ2+ ratio of 1.02. If even only a small
amount of pseudoscalar interaction were present, along with the dominant
axial vector interaction, the K e2+ branching ratio would be much larger. For
example, adding only one part in a thousand of pseudoscalar interaction to
the axial vector interaction would increase the expected branching ratio by
a factor of four. Thus, even a rough measurement of the K e2+ branching ratio
would be a stringent test for the presence of any pseudoscalar interaction
in the decay and of the V-A theory in general. The best previous measure-
ment of the K e2+/K μ2+ ratio had set an upper limit of 2.6 × 10 –3, a factor of
one hundred larger than that predicted by V-A theory. This experiment was
good enough to help articulate the theory of weak interactions.9
“Good enough” is a criterion that may vary with both subject and
time. In his mythical experiment on bodies falling from the Leaning
6 INTRODUCTION

Tower of Pisa,10 Galileo supposedly found only a hands-breadth dif-

ference in the fall of two bodies of very unequal weight. This demon-
strated that the Aristotelian law of fall, which stated that the velocity of
a falling body was proportional to its weight, was incorrect. Many ex-
perimental papers do not even cite statistics. William Wilson (1909; see
chapter 12) demonstrated that the absorption of β rays was linear and
not exponential by presenting two graphs. Similarly, Pevsner and collab-
orators (1961; see chapter 9) presented only a graph and the number of
total and estimated background events as evidence for their discovery, al-
though their results would have satisfied the current five-sigma criterion.11
Two other important experimental results in high-energy physics in the
1960s and 1970s did not use an explicit statistical criterion for a discovery
claim. The 1964 discovery of the Ω – hyperon (Barnes et al. 1964), an im-
portant confirmation of the quark model and the eight-fold way, demon-
strated that the single observed event fit the expected mass, charge, and
strangeness of the particle, the expected production mechanism and a
complex decay mode, as evidence for the new particle. Implicitly, the ex-
perimenters were stating that such an event was unlikely to be produced
by any background process. “In view of the properties of charge (Q = –1),
strangeness (S = –3), and mass (M = 1686 ± 12 → MeV/c2) established for
particle 3, we feel justified in identifying it with the sought-for Ω–” (Barnes
et al. 1964, 206).12
The 1973 observation of a single neutrino-electron scattering event
confirmed the existence of the weak-neutral currents predicted by the
Weinberg–Salam unified theory of electroweak interactions. The experi-
menters estimated, using both measurements and calculations, that the ex-
pected background for such an event was 0.03 ± 0.02. This meant that the
observation of even a single background event was very unlikely: “We con-
clude that the probability that the single event observed in the ν¯ film is due
to non-neutral current background is less than 3%” (Hasert et al. 1973, 124).
This is a far cry from the 2.9 × 10–5 percent probability of a five-sigma effect,
or even the 0.27 percent probability of a three-sigma effect. It was, however,
sufficient, at the time, to argue for the existence of weak-neutral currents.
(To be fair, there was also evidence from another experiment performed
at the same time, with the same bubble chamber, that also showed the
presence of weak-neutral currents [for details see Galison 1987, chap. 4].)
It is interesting to note that the five-sigma criterion is now being ap-
plied in other fields of physics. The recent BICEP2 (Background Imaging
of Cosmic Extragalactic Polarization) result, “BICEP2 I: Detection of
B-mode Polarization at Degree Angular Scales” (Ade et al. 2014) noted
that they found “an excess of B-mode power over the base lensed-ΛCDM
INTRODUCTION 7

[the standard cosmological model] in the range 30 < 1 < 150, incon-
sistent with the null hypothesis at a significance of > 5σ” (1). If correct,
this is an important result that confirms both inflationary cosmology and
the existence of gravitational waves “Although highly successful, the in-
flationary paradigm represents a vast extrapolation from well-tested re-
gimes in physics. It invokes quantum effects in highly curved spacetime
at energies near 1016 GeV and timescales less than 10 –32 s. A definitive
test of this paradigm would be of fundamental importance. Gravitational
waves generated by inflation have the potential to provide such a defini-
tive test” (Ade et al. 2014, 2). The experimenters remarked that inflation
theory predicts the existence of gravitational waves that would produce a
polarization pattern: “The detection of B-mode polarization of the CMB
[Cosmic Microwave Background] at large angular scales would provide a
unique confirmation of inflation” (2). Furthermore, the “observed B-mode
power spectrum is well-fit by a lensed-ΛCDM + tensor theoretical model
with tensor-scalar ratio r = 0.20+0.07–0.05, with r = 0 disfavored at 7σ” (1).13
A discussion of the five-sigma criterion also formed a significant part of
the discussion as to whether gravitational waves had been observed by the
Laser Interferometer Gravitational Wave Observatory (LIGO). The discus-
sion was complicated by the fact that the observed signal might have been
either a real signal or a blind injection, a simulated signal injected into the
data stream to test whether the analysis procedures would detect such a
signal (see Collins 2013 for the fascinating details).
I think it’s worth stating again that, despite the increasing presence of
the five-sigma criterion in physics, I do not believe that any fixed statistical
criterion should be a necessary requirement for a good experiment.
In this book I will revisit the question “What makes a good experi-
ment?” and will provide more extensive discussions of various exemplars
of the types of good experiment discussed above. These discussions will in-
clude the stated purpose of the experiment, how the results were used, and
the arguments given for the correctness of the results. My aim is to provide
a better and more extensive answer to that question than I did in 1981.
The set of experiments included in this book is not intended as a com-
pilation of the eighteen best experiments. One of them, Peter Thieberger’s
(1987a, 1987b) experiment on the Fifth Force (see chapter 17), produced a
result that is generally regarded as incorrect. Nevertheless, I will argue that
it is still a good experiment. These experiments were selected because they
illustrated both the various ways in which an experiment can be good and
because they also illustrate the different roles that experiment can play.
In presenting the experiments chosen, I have organized them into five
parts, according to what I believe is their primary role in science. These
8 INTRODUCTION

are: Conceptually important experiments, those that lead to significant

changes in theory; Experiments that measure a quantity of importance;
Experiments that provide evidence for entities; Experiments that provide a
solution to a vexing problem; and Experiments that measure nothing, null
experiments. In the discussions of the experiments, I will try, as much as
possible, to allow the scientists to speak for themselves so that the reader
will have the original thoughts and not a latter-day interpretation.
PART I
CONCEPTUALLY
IMPORTANT
EXPERIMENTS

Those That Lead to

Significant Changes in Theory
 I GREGOR MENDEL,
“EXPERIMENTS IN PLANT HYBRIDIZATION”
The Best Experiments Ever Done!

MENDEL’S (1865) experiments on hybridization in pea plants are con-

ceptually important in several ways and are both technically and method-
ologically good. They are a set of almost perfect experiments. They not only
suggested the laws of segregation and independent assortment, which are
the basis of modern genetics, but also provided strong evidence for those
laws.1 The former law states that variation for contrasting traits is associ-
ated with a pair of factors that segregate to individual reproductive cells.
The latter states that two or more of these factor-pairs assort independently
to individual reproductive cells. The experiments also provided evidence
for those factors, which we now call genes, of two types, dominant and
recessive. They were both exploratory, because no theory of plant hybrid-
ization existed at the time, and also called for such a theory by demonstrat-
ing the existence of phenomena that called for explanation, which Mendel
himself provided. The experiments were also technically good in their de-
sign, which led the reader quite carefully through the hypotheses and the
evidence, and they provided strong statistical evidence for his theory. The
design of the experiments was methodologically good because Mendel pro-
vided a clear connection between the theory and the evidence. Mendel also
provided answers to objections that could have been raised concerning the
evidence.
Mendel began his experiments on garden peas (Pisum sativum L.) in
1856 and continued them until 1863, a period of approximately eight years

11
12 GREGOR MENDEL, “EXPERIMENTS IN PLANT HYBRIDIZATION”

(Mendel 1865). His stated purpose was to investigate whether there was a
general law for the formation and development of hybrids, something he
noted had not yet been formulated. He stated:
Those who survey the work in this department will arrive at the conviction
that among all the numerous experiments made, not one has been carried
out to such an extent and in such a way as to make it possible to determine
the number of different forms under which the offspring of hybrids appear,
or to arrange these forms with certainty according to their separate genera-
tions, or definitely to ascertain their statistical relations.
It requires indeed some courage to undertake a labour of such far-
reaching extent; this appears however, to be the only right way by which
we can finally reach the solution of a question the importance of which
cannot be overestimated in connection with the history of the evolution
of organic forms. (qtd. in Bateson 1909, 318) 2

Mendel proposed to remedy the situation and did so. His paper is a
model of both clarity and organization. As R. A. Fisher remarked, “Men-
del’s paper is, as has been frequently noted, a model in respect of the order
and lucidity with which the successive relevant facts are presented” (1936,
119).
In order to carry out such experiments successfully, Mendel required
that “the experimental plants must necessarily: 1. Possess constant differ-
entiating characters. 2. The hybrids of such plants must, during the flower-
ing period, be protected from the influence of all foreign pollen or be easily
capable of such protection. The hybrids and their offspring should suffer no
marked disturbance in their fertility in successive generations” (Bateson
1909, 319). He further noted that “in order to discover the relations in
which the hybrid forms stand towards each other and towards their pro-
genitors, it appears to be necessary that all members of the series developed
in each successive generation should be, without exception, subjected to
observation” (319).

(F2) THE FIRST GENERATION [BRED] FROM THE HYBRIDS

Mendel began with thirty-four varieties of peas, from which he selected
twenty-two varieties for further experiments. He had confirmed previ-
ously, in two years of experimentation, that these varieties bred true. He
thus established that his experiments satisfied an important criterion for
investigation of the subject. He reported experiments on seven characters
that had two easily distinguishable characteristics. These were (dominant
form listed first):3
GREGOR MENDEL, “EXPERIMENTS IN PLANT HYBRIDIZATION” 13

1. Seed shape: round or wrinkled

2. Cotyledon color: yellow or green
3. Seed coat color: colored (grey, grey-brown, or leather-brown) or
white. The former was always associated with violet flower color
and reddish markings at the leaf axils. The latter was associated
with white flowers.
4. Pod shape: inflated or constricted
5. Pod color: green or yellow
6. Flower position: axial (along the stem) or terminal (at the end of
the stem)
7. Stem length: long (6 to 7 feet) or short (3/4 to 1 foot)
The first two are seed characters because they are observed in seed cotyle-
dons, which consist of embryonic tissue. Each seed is thus a genetically dif-
ferent individual and such characters may differ among the seeds produced
on a heterozygous plant. Both yellow and green seeds may be observed on
a single such plant. One may, in fact, observe these characters for the next
generation without the necessity of planting the seeds. The latter five are
plant characters. As William Bateson remarked, “It will be observed that
the [last] five are plant-characters. In order to see the result of crossing, the
seeds must be sown and allowed to grow into plants. The [first] two char-
acters belong to the seeds themselves. The seeds of course are members of
a generation later than that of the plant which bears them” (1909, 12). Be-
cause of this, Mendel would have had a reasonable expectation of what the
results of his plant character experiments would be from his observations
of the seed characters, before the plants of the next generation were grown.
Mendel’s first experiment was to breed a generation of hybrids from his
true breeding plants for each of the seven characters. His results for this
generation (F1) clearly showed dominance. He remarked that “in the case
of each of the seven crosses the hybrid-character resembles that of one of
the parental forms so closely that the other either escapes observation com-
pletely or cannot be detected with certainty” (Bateson 1909, 324).
He then allowed these monohybrids to self-fertilize. He found a 3:1 ra-
tio for plants that showed the dominant character to those that possessed
the recessive character in this F2 generation. He found that this ratio held
for all the characters observed in the experiments and that “transitional
forms were not observed in any experiment” (326). His results are shown in
table 1.1. He concluded that “if now the results of the whole of the experi-
ments be brought together, there is found, as between the number of forms
with the dominant character and recessive characters, an average ratio of
14 GREGOR MENDEL, “EXPERIMENTS IN PLANT HYBRIDIZATION”

TABLE 1.1. MENDEL’S RESULTS FOR THE F2 GENERATION OF MONOHYBRID EXPERIMENTS

(Mendel 1865, in Bateson 1909, 328)
Expected Ratio 3:1
Trait Dominant Number Recessive Number Ratio
1. Seed shape Round 5,474 Angular 1,859 2.96
2. Cotyledon color Yellow 6,022 Green 2,001 3.01
3. Seed coat color Colored 705 White 224 3.15
4. Pod shape Inflated 882 Constricted 299 2.95
5. Pod color Green 428 Yellow 152 2.82
6. Flower position Axial 651 Terminal 207 3.14
7. Stem length Long 787 Short 277 2.89

Total Dominant 14,949 Recessive 5,010 2.98

2.98 to 1, or 3 to 1” (328). This is the result his model predicted. It is not

clear whether Mendel had this model of dominant and recessive characters
in mind before he began his experiments, but he certainly had that model
by the end of these F2 generation experiments. In modern notation, self-
fertilization of a heterozygous plant is genetically equivalent to the cross
Aa × Aa → AA + 2Aa + aa. Both the AA and Aa plants will display the dom-
inant character, whereas an aa plant will display the recessive character,4
thus giving a 3:1 ratio for dominant to recessive.

Mendel noted that the distribution of characters varied in both indi-

vidual plants and in individual pods. He illustrated this with data from the
first ten plants in the seed character experiments (table 1.2). The variation
in both the ratios of the characters and in the number of seeds per plant is
considerable. Mendel also presented the extreme variations: “As extremes
in the distribution of the two seed characters in one plant, there were ob-
served in Expt. 1, an instance of 43 round and only 2 wrinkled, and another
of 14 round and 15 wrinkled seeds. In Expt. 2 there was a case of 32 yellow
and only 1 green seed, but also one of 20 yellow and 19 green” (327). Men-
del was clearly willing to present data that deviated considerably from his
expectations. Mendel noted that care must be taken in these experiments.
He stated that:
GREGOR MENDEL, “EXPERIMENTS IN PLANT HYBRIDIZATION” 15

TABLE 1.2. MENDEL’S RESULTS FOR THE FIRST TEN PLANTS IN THE EXPERIMENTS ON SEED SHAPE AND
SEED COLOR (Mendel 1865, in Bateson 1909, 327)

EXPERIMENT 1 EXPERIMENT 2
shape of seeds coloration of albumen
plant round wrinkled yellow green
1 45 12 25 11
2 27 8 32 7
3 24 7 14 5
4 19 10 70 27
5 32 11 24 13
6 26 6 20 6
7 88 24 32 13
8 22 10 44 9
9 28 6 50 14
10 25 7 44 18

ratio 3.33:1 3.08:1

Note: The fact that the number of seeds in each plant differs for each numbered
plant shows clearly that the plants for Experiments 1 and 2 are different plants. Thus,
plant 1 in Experiment 1 has 57 seeds, whereas plant 1 in Experiment 2 has 36 seeds.

These two experiments are important for the determination of the average
ratios, because with a smaller number of experimental plants they show
that very considerable fluctuations may occur. In counting the seeds, also,
especially in Expt. 2, some care is requisite, since in some of the seeds
of many plants the green colour of the albumen is less developed, and at
first may be easily overlooked. . . . In luxuriant plants this appearance was
frequently noted. Seeds which are damaged by insects during their devel-
opment often vary in colour and form, but, with a little practice in sorting,
errors are easily avoided.” (327–28)

Mendel was remarking on the statistical significance of his results. He also

noted a possible problem with his classification of seeds and stated how it
could be solved.

(F 3) THE SECOND GENERATION [BRED] FROM THE HYBRIDS 5

At the end of the section describing the first generation experiments,
Mendel remarked that the observed dominant character could have a “dou-
16 GREGOR MENDEL, “EXPERIMENTS IN PLANT HYBRIDIZATION”

ble significance.” It could be either a pure parental (dominant) character or

a hybrid character: “In which of the two significations it appears in each
separate case can only be determined by the following generation. As a pa-
rental character it must pass over unchanged to the whole of the offspring;
as a hybrid-character, on the other hand, it must maintain the same be-
havior as in the first generation” (329).6 He further noted that those plants
that show the recessive character in the first generation (F2 ) do not vary
in the second generation (F3). They breed true. That was not the case for
those plants showing the dominant character: “Of these, two-thirds yield
offspring which display the dominant and the recessive characters in the
proportion of 3 to 1, and thereby show exactly the same ratio as the hybrid
forms, while only one-third remains with the dominant character” (329). In
other words, of those F2 generation plants showing the dominant character,
two-thirds were heterozygous (Aa), or hybrid, and one-third homozygous
(AA). For the seed characters, Mendel reported the following results: 1)
From 565 plants raised from round seeds, 372 produced both round and
wrinkled seeds in the proportion of 3 to 1, whereas 193 yielded only round
seeds, a ratio of 1.93 to 1. 2) For plants raised from yellow seeds, 353 yielded
both yellow and green seeds in the proportion 3 to 1, whereas 166 yielded
only yellow seeds, a ratio of 2.13 to 1.
The experiments on plant characters required more effort: “For each
separate trial in the following experiments [on plant characters], 100 plants
were selected which displayed the dominant character in the first genera-
tion [F2], and in order to ascertain the significance of this, 10 [F3] seeds of
each plant were cultivated” (330).7 A plant was classified as homozygous if
all of the ten offspring had the dominant character and classified as hetero-
zygous otherwise.8 Mendel’s results for the plant characteristics are shown
in table 1.3. Mendel noted that the first two experiments on seed characters
were of special importance because of the large number of plants that could
be compared. Those experiments yielded a total of 725 hybrid plants and
359 dominant plants, which “gave together almost exactly the average ratio
of 2 to 1” (330). Experiment 6 also yielded almost the exact ratio expected,
whereas for the other experiments, as Mendel noted, “the ratio varies more
or less, as was only to be expected in view of the smaller number of 100
trial plants” (330). Mendel was, however, concerned about Experiment 5
(the color of unripe pods), whose result was 60 to 40, which he regarded
as deviating too much from the expected 2 to 1 ratio.9 He repeated the ex-
periment and obtained a ratio of 65 to 35 and was satisfied that “the average
ratio of 2 to 1 appears, therefore, as fixed with certainty” (330). Mendel did
not attempt to hide any of his results and, in particular, those that deviated
from his expectations, because he presented the results for both the origi-
GREGOR MENDEL, “EXPERIMENTS IN PLANT HYBRIDIZATION” 17

TABLE 1.3. MENDEL’S RESULTS FOR THE HETEROZYGOUS-HOMOZYGOUS EXPERIMENT (THE 2:1
EXPERIMENT) (Mendel 1865, in Bateson 1909, 330)
experiment dominant hybrid
3. seed coat color (grey-brown or white) 36 64
4. pod shape (smooth or constricted) 29 71
5. pod color (green or yellow) 40 60
6. flower location (axillary or terminal) 33 67
7. stem length (long or short) 28 72
8. repetition of Experiment 5 35 65
total 201 399

ratio (hybrid to dominant) 1.99

nal Experiment 5 as well as its repetition. The sum totals for the six plant
characteristic experiments, including the repetition of Experiment 5, was
399 (hybrid) to 201 (dominant) or 1.99 to 1. Mendel’s conclusion was quite
clear:
The ratio of 3 to 1, in accordance with which the distribution of the domi-
nant and recessive characters results in the first generation, resolves itself
into a ratio of 2:1:1, if the dominant character be differentiated according
to its significance as a hybrid-character or as a parental one: “Since the
members of the first generation [F2] spring directly from the seed of the
hybrids [F1], it is now clear that the hybrids form seeds having one or the other
of the two differentiating characters, and of these one half develop again the hy-
brid form, while the other half yield plants which remain constant and receive
the dominant or the recessive characters, [respectively], in equal numbers.”
(330–31)

THE SUBSEQUENT GENERATIONS [BRED] FROM THE HYBRIDS

Mendel suspected that the results he had obtained from the first and
second generations produced from monohybrids were probably valid for all
of the subsequent progeny. He continued the experiments on the two seed
characters, shape and color, for six generations, the experiments on seed
coat color and stem length for five generations, and the remaining three
experiments on pod shape, color of pods, and position of flowers for four
18 GREGOR MENDEL, “EXPERIMENTS IN PLANT HYBRIDIZATION”

generations, “and no departure from the rule has been perceptible. The off-
spring of the hybrids separated in each generation in the ratio of 2:1:1 into
hybrid and constant forms [pure dominant and pure recessive]” (331). He
did not, however, present his data for the experiments on the subsequent
generations.10 He went on to state, “If A be taken as denoting one of the two
constant characters, for instance, the dominant, a, the recessive, and Aa the
hybrid form in which both are conjoined, the expression A + 2Aa + a shows
the terms in the series for the progeny of the hybrids of two differentiating
characters” (331).

THE OFFSPRING OF HYBRIDS IN WHICH SEVERAL DIFFERENTIATING CHARACTERS ARE ASSOCIATED

Mendel’s next task, as he put it, was to investigate whether the laws he
had found for monohybrid plants also “applied to each pair of differentiat-
ing characters when several diverse characters are united in the hybrid by
crossing” (332).
He went on to describe the experiments: “Two experiments were made
with a considerable number of plants. In the first experiment the parental
plants differed in the form of the seed and in the colour of the albumen; in
the second in the form of the seed, in the colour of the albumen, and in the
colour of the seed-coats. Experiments with seed characters give the result
in the simplest and most certain way” (333). He was no doubt referring to
the greater number of seeds than plants, which provides data with greater
statistical significance, and also to the fact that the shape of the seeds and
the color of albumen (cotyledons) could be seen in the second generation,
without the need to plant a third generation.
In these experiments Mendel distinguished between the differing char-
acters in the seed plant and the pollen plant. A, B, and C represented the
dominant characters of the seed plant and a, b, c the recessive characters of
the pollen plant, with hybrids represented as Aa, Bb, and Cc.11

First Experiment (Bifactorial)

Mendel’s first experiment used two seed characters in which the seed
plant (AB) was A (round shape) and B (yellow cotyledon), and the pollen
plant (ab) was a (wrinkled shape) and b (green albumen). The fertilized
seeds were all round and yellow, as expected. He then raised plants from
these seeds and obtained 15 plants with 556 seeds distributed as follows:
315 round and yellow
101 wrinkled and yellow
108 round and green
32 wrinkled and green12
Another random document with
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parmi les guides les plus actifs de la civilisation contemporaine, en
bien comme en mal.
— … Pas plus qu’un représentant qualifié du travail, de cette
formidable puissance qui s’appelle « les syndicats ouvriers ». Le
camarade Jouhaux n’a jamais songé à se présenter, et nul n’y pense
pour lui. L’Académie échantillonne les anciennes forces dirigeantes
de la communauté, non pas celles qui ne sont apparues que depuis
Richelieu. En cela elle manque d’imagination. Mais cela viendra un
jour. Par degrés. Très lentement. Comme toutes les vieilles
institutions, l’Académie ne peut évoluer qu’en ayant l’air de ne pas
évoluer. A cet égard elle est presque logée à la même enseigne que
l’Église catholique.
— Et, poursuivit Pamphile, est-ce qu’elle sert à quelque chose,
l’Académie ? J’avoue que je ne discerne pas bien à quoi. Vous
n’allez point, n’est-ce pas, me parler du Dictionnaire. Il serait
dérisoire d’assembler depuis quatre siècles quarante personnes, en
aucune façon du reste, pour la plus grande part, préparées par leur
profession à ce travail, et de les habiller en vert pomme, uniquement
pour rédiger un Dictionnaire !
— Rien de plus certain. Mais, Pamphile, à quoi sert aux Anglais
de mettre, dans l’abbaye de Westminster, les statues de leurs
grands hommes, dont la plupart ne se recommandent point des
mérites de leurs sculpteurs ?
— L’Angleterre les veut ainsi honorer ; ce faisant, elle s’honore
elle-même. Cela lui donne, aux yeux des étrangers et de ses
propres citoyens, quelque grandeur.
— L’Académie Française, pareillement, est une sorte de musée,
mais de personnages encore en vie. Et voyez un peu, entre
parenthèses, l’évolution qui s’est faite dans l’esprit national : en
associant lorsqu’elle fut créée, de grands seigneurs et de simples
écrivains, son fondateur entendait relever ceux-ci devant l’opinion ;
du moins c’est ainsi qu’on le considéra bientôt. A cette heure, c’est
plutôt la présence des écrivains qui relève, devant l’opinion, la
qualité de ceux de ses membres qui ne sont point des
professionnels de la pensée écrite. De là vient même cette erreur
générale, dont vous venez de vous faire l’écho, que pour faire partie
de l’Académie, l’on devrait être auteur. Cela prouve l’éminente
situation des écrivains dans la société contemporaine — en France,
car il n’en est pas tout à fait de même ailleurs. On peut dire que les
lettres de noblesse de la profession littéraire, chez nous, datent de
1635, année, comme chacun sait, de la fondation de l’Académie.
C’est pourquoi les écrivains tiennent tant à en être ; et la sélection
distinguée de la compagnie lui vaut, à l’étranger, une estime qui
n’est pas sans exercer une salutaire influence. L’Académie, on l’a vu
pendant la guerre, et depuis, est un excellent agent de propagande
nationale.
— Voilà pour l’étranger. Mais à l’intérieur ?
— A l’intérieur, au point de vue strictement littéraire, il est bien
possible qu’elle ne serve pas à grand’chose, malgré les
récompenses dont elle est dispensatrice. Indirectement, il n’en est
pas de même.
— Indirectement ?
— Elle agit comme frein régulateur. Il n’est pas d’écrivain de
quelque mérite, c’est-à-dire de quelque ambition, qui ne se figure
avoir l’épée d’académicien dans son plumier. Cela n’est pas sans
exercer une action, après tout bienfaisante, sur sa manière de
concevoir l’œuvre d’art, et son respect de la langue. Par essence, la
profession est anarchique, elle se place au-dessus des conventions
morales et sociales. Il arrive qu’on s’en aperçoive un peu trop, bien
qu’il ne me semble pas mauvais, en somme, qu’il en soit ainsi. Mais
son désordre et, si j’ose dire, son irrespect souvent heureux,
seraient bien plus grands encore si les écrivains ne songeaient
parfois à se réserver, le temps venu, les faveurs de celle qu’entre
eux ils appellent « la vieille dame ».
— Cela me paraît vrai… et je n’y avais point pensé.
— Mon cher Pamphile, ce qu’il y a toujours de plus difficile à
distinguer, c’est ce qu’on a quotidiennement sous les yeux,
justement parce qu’on a l’habitude de le voir, et qu’alors on n’y fait
plus attention. Telles sont les actions et les réactions des différents
éléments de la société contemporaine les uns sur les autres.
— Vous parliez tout à l’heure des prix, si nombreux, que
l’Académie distribue chaque année. Vous n’avez pas l’air d’y porter
grand intérêt.
— C’était pour aller vite, et parce que j’avais autre chose à dire.
En réalité, ils aident à vivre quelques modestes et sérieux
travailleurs que leurs ouvrages n’enrichissent pas, dans le domaine
de l’histoire, même littéraire, et de la morale. Pour ceux de pure
littérature, il n’en va pas tout à fait ainsi, par cette raison sans doute
qu’il y en a trop, et que l’attention s’y égare. Peut-être aussi parce
que, agissant, comme je l’ai dit, à la manière d’un frein, l’Académie
suit de loin le goût du public et les tendances des auteurs, au lieu de
les provoquer.
— Mais il y a aussi les prix de vertu, les prix d’encouragement
aux familles nombreuses, que sais-je encore !
— Oui. Cela est, en principe, excellent. Toutefois je n’envisage
pas sans une certaine inquiétude ce développement des attributions
de l’Académie. Son budget est considérable, elle dispose d’une
large fortune, qui va sans cesse en grandissant. Elle en fait, certes,
le meilleur usage. Pourtant je redoute que, comme celle des
congrégations, cette fortune ne finisse par susciter des convoitises
administratives, encouragées par quelques éléments extrêmes de
l’opinion publique.
— Et alors ?
— Alors, il y aura une crise de l’Académie, extérieure à elle, et
peut-être intérieure.
— Vous le regretteriez ?
— Je l’avoue. L’Académie demeure, quoi qu’on puisse dire, une
jolie plume au chapeau de la communauté française. Elle fait
quelque bien, et nul mal. Elle est connue, du moins de nom, du
dernier des paysans et des ouvriers. Elle est la preuve antique, et
toujours vivante à leur regard, qu’il est chez nous d’autres
puissances que celles de l’argent et de la politique. Cela n’est pas
rien.

— Mais enfin, demanda Pamphile, est-il exact qu’il existe, à

l’Académie, une droite et une gauche ?
— Il n’y a guère là qu’une apparence. La vérité est que, dans une
compagnie qui se recrute par cooptation, il faut bien voter pour ou
contre quelqu’un, et par conséquent former des groupes qui
s’accordent chacun, un peu d’avance, sur le choix d’un candidat.
Sinon le scrutin offrirait des résultats encore plus imprévus que ceux
dont, parfois, s’étonne le public. Ce n’est que dans ce sens que l’on
peut dire, parlant grossièrement, qu’il existe une droite et une
gauche à l’Académie.
— Alors l’Académie ne fait pas de politique ?
— Certes non ! A quoi cela lui servirait-il ? Elle ne peut exercer,
en cette matière, aucune action. Il faut se souvenir seulement que,
depuis trois quarts de siècle, elle agit, ou prétend agir, à la manière
d’un frein, comme je vous l’ai dit — ce qui tient un peu, sans doute, à
l’âge moyen de ses membres, assez élevé, et à leurs origines
sociales. C’est ainsi qu’elle tend ordinairement à l’opposition. Sous
le second Empire, elle était libérale. Sous le régime actuel, elle est
plutôt conservatrice.
« Je souhaiterais vous faire observer que, du temps du second
Empire, son attitude prenait une certaine importance politique, du fait
que les discours de ses membres étaient une des rares
manifestations d’opinion qui parvinssent aux Français. Les
délibérations mêmes du corps législatif n’étaient pas publiques. Mais
aujourd’hui que tout le monde peut dire n’importe quoi à l’occasion
de n’importe quoi et au sujet de n’importe qui, un discours
académique demeure, dans tous les sens du terme, « académique »,
et voilà tout. A peine s’émeut-on légèrement quand un immortel
qualifie le coup d’État du 2 décembre « d’opération de police un peu
rude ».
 « Pour en revenir aux élections à l’Académie, et à cette fameuse
division en droite et en gauche, il est à noter que, dans les moments
mêmes où les augures déclarent gravement que la majorité
appartient à la droite, cela n’empêche jamais un candidat passant
pour être « de gauche » d’être élu ; et réciproquement. C’est que les
relations personnelles entre un candidat et ses électeurs, et aussi la
prise en considération sérieuse de ses titres, jouent au bout du
compte un plus grand rôle que cette prétendue division politique.
Seulement…
— Seulement quoi ?
— Pamphile, avez-vous remarqué qu’il est souvent beaucoup
plus aisé, surtout avec le scrutin uninominal, de prévoir le résultat
d’une élection au suffrage universel que d’une élection au suffrage
restreint — d’un député que d’un sénateur ? C’est que, plus le corps
électoral est réduit, et plus les possibilités de combinaisons, plus les
tractations, secrètes ou avouées, sont nombreuses. C’est ce qui se
passe, malgré le secours de l’Esprit Saint, pour l’élection d’un pape.
C’est ce qui arrive aussi quelquefois aux élections académiques
pour certains fauteuils.
— Et cela est décevant pour la galerie !
— Rassurez-vous. Si le candidat battu est académisable, il aura
bientôt sa revanche.
— Mais qu’est-ce qu’un candidat véritablement académisable ?
— Ah ! vous m’en demandez trop !… On est académisable pour
des titres non littéraires, un rang distingué dans l’armée, la
diplomatie, l’Église, la politique. On n’est pas académisable, même
si l’on est un écrivain, un historien, un philosophe de valeur, sans
une certaine « tenue » mondaine, ou tout au moins bourgeoise…
Verlaine n’était pas académisable, et M. Jean Aicard l’était… Encore
une fois l’Académie est un cercle : on ne doit pas donner à craindre
par ses mœurs, ses fréquentations, son caractère, que l’on
compromettra, aux yeux du vulgaire, la réputation du cercle.
— Vous venez de me dire que les fonctions d’homme politique
rendent académisable. Le public s’en étonne.
 — Il en fut toujours ainsi. C’est une vieille tradition. Il peut arriver
seulement que, à de certains instants, il y ait trop d’hommes
politiques à l’Académie. Mais c’est que celle-ci, comme tous les
autres corps électoraux, est sujette à des engouements…
« Par ailleurs, il est des candidats non académisables qui sont
malgré tout candidats. Il en est dont on s’amuse. Il en est aussi de
charmants. Je veux, demain, que vous fassiez la connaissance de
mon ami Covielle : il est candidat, par principe, à tous les fauteuils
vacants.

— Il n’est jamais entré dans ma pensée, nous dit Covielle, même

au cas où je devrais vivre plus longtemps qu’Arganthonius, roi de
Gadar, lequel, au dire de Pline l’Ancien, vit briller l’aurore de sa cent
quatre-vingtième année, que je serais véritablement un jour de
l’Académie. Je me présente infatigablement : ce qui n’est pas du tout
la même chose.
« Je me présente parce que j’ai fait une découverte. C’est que les
membres de l’Académie Française sont les seuls humains, en
France, chez lesquels on puisse pénétrer, sur simple lettre
d’audience, sans avoir jamais eu l’honneur de leur avoir été
présenté ! Quand on n’a pas de relations, ou bien uniquement,
comme moi, des relations ennuyeuses, c’est un avantage
inappréciable. Une tradition bienveillante, ancienne et généreuse,
veut qu’ils ne puissent refuser d’accueillir aucun candidat. J’imagine
pourtant que ces immortels sont aussi occupés que les ordinaires
mortels ; tout le monde, de notre temps, a quelque chose à faire, les
minutes sont comptées. Cependant je crois qu’il est sans exemple
qu’un académicien ait jamais refusé le quart d’heure d’usage à
n’importe quel candidat, même au candidat que je suis : cela est
admirable et touchant.
« Il ne saurait y avoir façon plus agréable d’employer son temps.
Il doit y avoir un art de recevoir les impétrants à l’Académie qui
s’apprend peu à peu, et dont les principes se sont transmis, tendant
à la perfection, pendant quatre cents ans. Aucun de ceux que j’ai
vus ne m’a promis sa voix. Ils sont incapables d’une telle erreur de
goût, dérisoire et grossière. Ils m’ont fait savoir, au contraire, qu’ils
ne me l’accorderaient point. Mais avec quel souci des nuances,
quelle courtoisie ! Depuis que je suis né, je n’avais entendu dire si
grand bien de moi ; même il ne m’est jamais arrivé d’en penser
autant.
« Je ne serai jamais de l’Académie. Je n’ai jamais nourri cette
illusion. Mais j’en viens parfois à songer que c’est dommage : parce
que, si j’en étais, une grâce particulière descendrait peut-être sur ma
tête, qui me prêterait le talent d’inspirer un si subtil et délicat plaisir
en vous disant « non ». Les femmes elles-mêmes ne le possèdent
pas à ce point. Ajoutez à cela qu’après vous avoir parlé de vous, de
façon si flatteuse, on vous parle quelquefois des autres — des
autres candidats. On ne vous en dit jamais de mal : cela serait
contraire aux principes. Mais on ne vous en dit pas de bien ; on y
met une gentille malice. Et puis, cinq minutes encore, on vous parle
d’autre chose, et l’on vous en parle d’une manière divine. J’ai trouvé
là ce que j’ai souhaité toute ma vie, et ce qui, toute ma vie, m’avait
manqué, une conversation.
« Je crois me souvenir que vous écrivez dans les journaux. Je
vous supplie de ne point rapporter ces confidences : trop de gens
après cela voudraient être candidats, et je répugne à imposer ce
surcroît de charges à ceux dont je garde un si reconnaissant
souvenir. Ce serait, vous l’estimerez sûrement comme moi, mal
payer l’agrément si rare dont j’ai joui. Je préfère d’ailleurs, par pur
égoïsme, garder pour moi ce secret délicieux, et en user.
« Car je veux être candidat à l’Académie jusqu’à ma mort. J’y
suis fermement décidé ; cette vocation s’est révélée à mon esprit et
à mon cœur. Réfléchissez qu’il y a toujours de trente à trente-cinq
visites à faire, chaque fois — quatre cent vingt-cinq minutes de cette
causerie d’où l’on sort rasséréné, avec l’impression qu’on est
quelqu’un. Pour retomber dans la plate réalité, pour recommencer à
se juger à sa mince valeur, il faut se retrouver avec des gens qui ne
sont pas académiciens, tels que vous. Tandis que là, même les
regards, ô miracle, même les regards ne vous découragent point.
 « Je vais vous avouer une chose : même si je pouvais être de
l’Académie, je ne le voudrais pas, afin d’avoir l’occasion de me
représenter. Et je compte recommencer toutes les fois que
l’occasion s’en offrira. Ce sera désormais ma carrière. »
 CHAPITRE XXI

OÙ L’ON VA…

Pamphile vient de publier son premier roman. Il est à cette heure

le poulain, ou l’un des poulains, d’un éditeur actif ; il sait, à vingt-
quatre ans, soigner ses intérêts d’écrivain avec une intelligence et
un bonheur qui m’émerveillent, en me choquant un peu ; il collabore
à quelques-unes de ces revues où les jeunes gens d’aujourd’hui
s’appliquent à couvrir des apparences d’une intellectualité grave un
lyrisme sous-jacent, peut-être plus amoral et individualiste encore
que celui des générations précédentes — toutefois aristocratique et
anti-démocratique. Enfin il s’efforce d’être de son temps. C’est bien
naturel, je ne songe pas un instant à le lui reprocher.
J’ai lu son ouvrage avec curiosité, et aussi avec intérêt. Un
intérêt véritable, je vous assure. D’abord ce n’est pas ça du tout que
j’aurais écrit, je n’y aurais jamais pensé. C’est bien quelque chose.
S’il faisait ce que j’ai fait, à quoi servirait-il qu’il eût pris la plume ?
Son roman n’est nullement à mettre de côté, encore qu’il ne soit pas
entièrement satisfaisant. Il est imparfaitement composé, il montre, à
côté de trouvailles, d’expressions neuves et ingénieuses, des
faiblesses singulières, une méconnaissance parfois inquiétante du
génie de la langue. Il unit, dans un mauvais mariage, ainsi que l’a
déjà marqué M. Robert Lejeune au sujet de quelques-uns de ses
contemporains émules, « au style à images vives et incohérentes,
très mauvais pour les yeux fatigués, le style en sauts de carpe, où
des tronçons de phrases se tordent, se retournent, échantillons de
toutes les inversions, ellipses, anacoluthes, possibles en français ».
Ce qui me paraît plus inquiétant encore, c’est qu’il emploie les
mots à contresens, ou tout au moins de façon fort plate, parce qu’il
ignore leur origine et leur histoire, qu’il ne connaît point l’art de leur
rendre leur fraîcheur et leur jeunesse en les allant retremper à ces
sources. Nous sommes en vérité à une époque où, en toute
occurrence, la monnaie de papier, dont la valeur change à chaque
instant, a remplacé l’étalon d’or.
Tout cela me gêne. Tout cela me donne le sentiment d’une chose
qui n’est pas faite pour durer, d’une œuvre qui n’a pas le souci d’être
un chef-d’œuvre, mais seulement un objet de consommation
immédiate — le sentiment, enfin, de « la mode » remplaçant « l’art ».
C’est fait pour cette année-ci, non pour l’éternité. Ça n’est pas en
bronze ni en marbre, mais en soie légère.
Et pourtant c’est plein de qualités ! D’abord cela constitue, sur
notre époque, un précieux document. C’est vu avec des yeux de
sauvage qui parle comme il voit. Cela révèle des tas de choses que
je n’aurais su ni discerner ni décrire avec mes vieux outils, ces outils
d’un si bon métal, et dont la trempe a résisté aux siècles. C’est
assez creux dans l’invention générale, et d’une construction lâche,
mais si riche dans l’observation du détail, de « l’accident ». Et c’est
l’accident qui fait la réalité. Et puis, c’est amusant ! Il n’y a pas à dire,
c’est amusant ! Peut-être seulement comme la dernière création d’un
grand couturier, non pas d’un grand sculpteur ni d’un grand peintre.
Mais c’est toujours ça. Et j’y sens davantage la manifestation directe
d’un tempérament, malgré l’insuffisance de la technique, peut-être
même à cause de cette insuffisance comme chez beaucoup de
peintres de nos jours.
Enfin, chose curieuse, les ouvrages mêmes de ceux qui
s’affirment, avec le plus d’assurance, anti-romantiques, semblent
bien souvent beaucoup plus anti-classiques qu’anti-romantiques. Je
veux dire qu’on n’y rencontre guère le souci de la mesure et de la
composition. Marcel Proust lui-même est un écrivain rare et
remarquable. Mais si, comme on le voulait aux époques classiques
— et du reste comme le voulaient encore les grands romantiques, —
l’art consiste dans le choix, où est l’art, dans cette prose qui veut tout
dire, et ne choisit rien ? Pourtant elle en a. Mais ce n’est pas celui-ci.
Autre caractère à signaler. Cette littérature de jeunes,
singulièrement intelligente, manque singulièrement de jeunesse et
d’ingénuité. Souvent d’humanité. Ce sont des qualités qu’on
rencontre toutefois dans le Nono de Gaston Roupnel, dans la Nêne
de Pérochon. Mais c’est justement peut-être parce que ces œuvres
en manifestent qu’elles paraissent discutables, qu’elles n’ont pas,
dans notre France contemporaine, la place qu’on leur accorderait
ailleurs, en Angleterre par exemple. Le courant ne se dirige pas de
ce côté.
C’est par cette recherche, excessive parfois, et comme
« cocaïnique » de l’intelligence, et par ce défaut d’ingénuité, que les
tendances de notre littérature contemporaine diffèrent en effet de
celles de la littérature contemporaine anglo-saxonne ; et c’est,
j’imagine, pour cette cause qu’elle a tant de peine, malgré tous ses
efforts, à paraître une littérature « d’action ». Elle a parfois une
propension malheureuse à confondre le roman d’action et le roman
d’aventures.
Il serait assez facile de démontrer que c’est juste le contraire.
Mais, d’un point de vue tout extérieur, qui n’est point cependant
sans signification, ces deux littératures, l’anglaise et la française,
offrent de nos jours une apparence commune : l’abondance de la
production.
Cela vient d’abord de ce que, dans les deux pays, la
« demande » est très supérieure à ce qu’elle était il y a un demi-
siècle. Beaucoup plus de personnes ont appris à lire, et lisent en
effet. En même temps les classes qui ont, assez récemment, appris
à lire, bénéficient de plus gros salaires et de plus de loisirs. Dans les
deux pays ce progrès de l’instruction générale, et ces loisirs, sont le
fruit du développement des institutions démocratiques. Il ne semble
pas, en France du moins, que tous les écrivains en témoignent à
celles-ci une égale gratitude.
Mais il n’y a pas que cet accroissement du nombre des lecteurs.
Il y a aussi augmentation du nombre des auteurs.
Dans les pays anglo-saxons ceux-ci, depuis longtemps, ne se
recrutaient pas uniquement dans la peu nombreuse aristocratie qui a
passé par les établissements secondaires de Harrow, d’Eton, de
Rugby ou de Windsor, par les grandes universités de Cambridge et
d’Oxford ; ou aux États-Unis, dans les écoles analogues. Ils venaient
d’un peu partout : témoin Kipling, Wells, Conrad, Jack London, Mark
Twain et tant d’autres.
Notre belle langue écrite, depuis quatre siècles, est une plante de
culture intensive, qui n’a pu croître que sur le terrain des études
classiques, et, par suite, jusqu’à l’époque actuelle, à la faveur d’un
enseignement secondaire fondé sur la connaissance plus ou moins
approfondie — plutôt moins que plus — des langues anciennes. Cet
enseignement n’était donné qu’aux enfants de la bourgeoisie. C’est
lui qui formait presque tous nos écrivains. On compterait sur les
doigts d’une seule main ceux qui, au XIXe siècle, et même au XXe
siècle, ne sont point sortis d’un lycée, d’un collège — ou d’un
séminaire. Tout cela, je l’ai déjà signalé au début de ce petit livre.
Cependant supputez la population de ces établissements
d’enseignement secondaire en 1850 et de nos jours : en trois quarts
de siècle, elle a triplé. Cela tient à deux causes : il y a plus de
familles en état de faire donner cet enseignement à leurs enfants ; et
il y a, en raison des sollicitudes du régime, plus de bourses
accordées à des enfants pauvres. La concurrence des
établissements religieux élargit encore le chiffre de cette population.
Il est clair, que, si l’on apprend à écrire à un plus grand nombre
de jeunes gens, il y en aura aussi un plus grand nombre qui écriront.
Il existe donc en somme, de nos jours, plus d’hommes de lettres,
pour la même raison qu’il y a plus d’avocats, de médecins et
d’ingénieurs.
 Il faut ajouter à cela que l’enseignement primaire, par ses écoles
normales, a créé une culture primaire supérieure, qui a produit elle-
même quelques écrivains, et de mérite : tel ce Pergaud, dont la
guerre nous a privés.
C’est donc une floraison extrêmement drue à laquelle nous
assistons. Elle donne des fleurs de toutes sortes, qui n’ont pas
toutes le même parfum, ni le même éclat, ni la même rareté. On en
discerne toutefois appartenant à des espèces neuves, encore non
classées, et dont un botaniste dirait, à tout le moins, qu’on en
pourrait tirer quelque chose en la cultivant, car l’impression générale
est celle-ci :
Beaucoup d’œuvres, plus qu’auparavant, montrent une
personnalité forte, des mérites d’ordres divers, annonçant, en
quelque mesure, un renouveau. Fort peu — peut-être moins
qu’auparavant — qui soient entièrement satisfaisantes, offrent un
caractère définitif… On dirait de la littérature d’une démocratie qui
s’aristocratise.
 TABLE DES MATIÈRES

CHAPITRE I.
CONSULTATION 5
CHAPITRE II.
LES DÉBUTS DE PAMPHILE 11
CHAPITRE III.
L’AMATEUR 17
CHAPITRE IV.
LA PROFESSION « SECONDE » 22
CHAPITRE V.
PREMIERS ESSAIS, PREMIERS ÉCHECS 28
CHAPITRE VI.
EXPÉRIENCES PERSONNELLES 34
CHAPITRE VII.
LE CONTE 39
CHAPITRE VIII.
DU JOURNALISME 44
CHAPITRE IX.
TYPES DE JOURNALISTES 50
CHAPITRE X.
POLÉMIQUES LITTÉRAIRES CONTEMPORAINES 55
CHAPITRE XI.
UNE OPINION POLITIQUE POUR L’ÉCRIVAIN 59
CHAPITRE XII.
 ESPOIRS ET REGRETS 64
CHAPITRE XIII.
VACHES GRASSES ET VACHES MAIGRES 69
CHAPITRE XIV.
PUBLICITÉ LITTÉRAIRE 75
CHAPITRE XV.
LA CRITIQUE 80
CHAPITRE XVI.
PRIX LITTÉRAIRES 86
CHAPITRE XVII.
L’ÉCRIVAIN ET L’ARGENT 91
CHAPITRE XVIII.
LE MARIAGE DE L’ÉCRIVAIN. L’ÉCRIVAINE 97
CHAPITRE XIX.
SALONS LITTÉRAIRES 101
CHAPITRE XX.
L’ÉCRIVAIN ET L’ACADÉMIE 107
CHAPITRE XXI.
OÙ L’ON VA… 118
IMPRIMERIE CRÉTÉ
CORBEIL (S.-ET-O.)
5527-25
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