Читать книгу The History of a Mouthful of Bread - Jean Macé - Страница 12

When you were quite little, my dear child, and still a nursling, you had nothing behind your lips but two little rosy bars, which were of no service for gnawing an apple, as they were not supplied with teeth. You had no need of these then, since nothing but milk passed your lips, neither had your nurse bargained for your having teeth to bite with. You see that God provides for everything, as I have already said, and shall often have occasion to point out to you.

But by degrees the little infant grew into a great girl, and it became necessary to think of giving her something more solid than milk to eat; and for this purpose she required teeth. Then some little germs, which had lain dormant, concealed within the jaws, awoke one after another, like faithful workmen when they hear the striking of the clock. Each set to work in his little cell, and with the help of some phosphorus and some lime, it began to make itself a kind of white armour, as hard as a stone, which grew larger from day to day.

You know what lime is; that sort of white pulp which you have seen standing in large troughs where the masons are building houses, andwhich they use in making mortar; it is with this that your little masons build your teeth.

As to phosphorus, I am afraid you may never have seen any; but you may have heard it spoken of. It is sold at the druggist's in the form of little white sticks, about as thick as your finger; they have a disagreeable, garlicky smell, and are obliged to be kept in jars of water, because they seize every opportunity of taking fire; so I advise you, if ever you do see any phosphorus, not to meddle with it—for in burning, it sticks closely to the skin, and there is the greatest difficulty in the world in extinguishing it, and the burns it makes are fearful. I give you this caution, because phosphorus possesses a very curious property, which might attract little girls. Wherever it is rubbed, in the dark, on a door, or on a wall, it leaves a luminous trail of a very peculiar appearance, which has been called phosphorescent, from the name of the substance which produces it. And in this way one can write on walls in letters of fire, to the terror of cowards. Now, come; if you will promise to be very wise, and only to make the experiment when your mamma is present, I will teach you how to make phosphorescent lights without having to go to the druggist's! There is a small quantity of phosphorus in lucifer matches, which their garlicky smell proves. Rub them gently in the dark on a bit of wood, and you will see a ray of light which will shine for some moments. But mind, you must not play at that game when you are alone; it is a dangerous amusement, and one hears every day of terrible accidents caused by disobedient children playing with lucifer matches. And while we are on the subject, let me warn you against putting them into your mouth. Phosphorus is a poison, and such a powerful one that people poison rats with bread-crumb balls in which it has been introduced.

"Oh dear me! and that poison makes part of our teeth?"

Exactly so, and it even forms part of all our bones, and of the bones of all animals; the best proof of which is, that the phosphorus of lucifer matches has been procured out of bones from the slaughter-house. One could make it from the teeth of little girls if one could get enough of them.

Now I see what puzzles you, and well it may. You are asking yourself how those little tooth-makers, the gums, get hold of this terrible phosphorus, which is set on fire by a mere nothing, and which we dare not put into our mouths; where do they find the lime which I also protest is not fit to eat, and yet of which we have stores from our heads to our feet?

It is very surprising, too, to think of its being forthcoming in the jaws just when it is wanted there.

You begin to perceive that there are many things to be learnt before we come to the end of our history, and that we find ourselves checked at every step; now listen, for we are coming to something very important.

In distant country-seats, where people are thrown entirely upon their own resources, they must be provided beforehand with all that is requisite for repairing the building; and there is, accordingly, a person called a steward, who keeps everything under lock and key, and distributes to the workmen whatever materials they may require. Thus, the steward gives tiles to the slater, planks to the carpenter, colors to the painter, lime and bricks to the mason—the very same lime that we have in our teeth—in fact, he has got everything that can be wanted in his storehouse, and it is to him that every one applies in time of need.

Now our body also is a mansion, and has its steward too. But what a steward—how active! what a universal genius I how inefficient by comparison are the stewards of the greatest lords! He goes, he comes, he is everywhere at once; and this really, and not as we use the phrase in speaking of a merely active man: for the being everywhere at once is in this case, a fact. He keeps everything, not in a storehouse, but what is far better, in his very pockets, which he empties by degrees as he goes about, distributing their contents without ever making a mistake, without stopping, without delaying; and returns to replenish his resources in a ceaseless, indefatigable course, which never flags, night nor day. And you can form no idea how many workmen he has under his orders, all laboring without intermission, all requiring different things—not one of them pausing, even for a joke!—not even to say—"Wait a moment;"—they do not understand what waiting means: he must always keep giving, giving, giving. By and by we shall have a long account to give of this wonderful steward, whose name, be it known, if you have not already guessed it, is Blood.

It is he who, one fine day when he was making his round of the jaws, found those little germs I spoke of, awake and eager for work; and he began at once to start them with materials. He knew that phosphorus and lime were what they needed: he drew phosphorus and lime therefore out of his pockets—and, to be very exact, some other little matters too—but these were the most important; but I cannot stop to tell you everything at once.

Now, where did the blood obtain this phosphorus and lime?

I expected you to ask this, but if you want everything explained as we go along, we shall not get very far. In fact, if I answer all your questions I shall be letting out my secret too soon, and telling you the end of my story almost before it is begun.

So be it, however; perhaps you will feel more courage to go on, when you know where we are going.

The steward of a country-house distributes tiles, planks, paint, bricks, lime; but none of these things are his own, as you know; he has received them from his master: and, in the same way, our steward has nothing of his own: everything he distributes comes from the master of the house, and as I have already told you, this master is the stomach. As fast as the steward distributes, therefore, must the master renew the stores—and renew them all, for unless he does this, the work would stop. In proportion as the blood gives out on all sides the contents of his pockets, the stomach must replenish them, and fill them with everything necessary, or there would be a revolution in the house. Now, as there can be nothing in the stomach but what has got into it by the mouth, it behooves us to put into the mouth whatever is needed for the supply of our numerous workmen; and this is why we eat.

I perceive that I have plunged here into an explanation out of which I shall not easily extricate myself, for I can guess what you are going to say next. When you began to cut your teeth, you had eaten neither phosphorus nor lime, as nothing but milk had entered your mouth.

That is true. Neither then, nor since then, have you eaten those things, and what is more, I hope you never will. And yet both must have got into your mouth, for without them your teeth could never have grown. How are we to get out of this puzzle?

Suppose now, for a moment, that instead of phosphorus and lime, thelittle workmen in your jaws had asked the blood for sugar to make the teeth with. Fortunately this is only a supposition; otherwise I should be in great fear for the poor teeth: they would not last very long. Suppose, further, that instead of your eating the lump of sugar which was destined to turn into a tooth, your mamma had melted it in a glass of water, and had given it to you to drink; you could not say you had eaten sugar, and yet the sugar would really have got into your stomach, and there would be nothing very wonderful if the stomach had found it out and given it to the blood, and the blood had carried it off to the place where it was wanted. Now, allowing that the lump of sugar was very small, and the glass of water very large, the sugar might have passed without your perceiving it, and yet the tooth would have grown all the same, and without the help of a miracle.

And this is how it was. In the milk which you drank as a baby there were both phosphorus and lime, though in very small quantities. There were many other things besides; everything of course that the blood required for the use of its work-people, because at that time the stomach was only receiving milk, and yet all the work was going on as usual.

And therefore, my dear child, whenever in the course of our studies, you hear me describe such and such a thing as being within us, say quietly to yourself, "that also was in the milk which nourished me when I was a baby."

Of course, the same things are in what you eat now; only now they come in a form more difficult to deal with, and the labor of detaching them from the surrounding ingredients is much greater. The whole business indeed of this famous machine which we are studying consists in unfastening the links which hold things together, and in laying aside what is useful, to be sent to the blood divested of the refuse. The stomach was too feeble in your infancy to have encountered the work it has to do now. It is for this reason that God devised for the benefit of little children that excellent nourishment—milk—which contains, all ready for use, every ingredient the blood wants; and is almost, in fact, blood ready made.

Only think, my child, what you owe to her who gave you this nourishment! It was actually her blood she was giving you; her blood which entered into your veins, and which wrought within you in the wonderful way which I have been describing. Other people gave you sugar-plums, kisses, and toys; but she gave you the teeth which crunched the sugar-plums, the flesh of the rosy cheeks which got the kisses, and of the little hands which handled the toys. If ever you can forget this, you are ungrateful indeed!

Now, beware of going on to ask me how we know that there are so many sorts of things in milk, or I shall end by getting angry. Question after question; why, you might drive me in this way to the end of the world, and we should never reach the point we are aiming at. We have already traveled far away from the teeth, concerning which I wanted to talk to you at this time, but our lesson is nearly over and we have scarcely said a word about them! One cannot learn everything at once. Upon the point in question you must take my word; and as you may believe, I would not run the risk of being contradicted before you, by those who have authority on the subject.

Let it suffice you, for to-day, to have gained some idea of the manner in which the materials which constitute our bodies are manufactured within us. We have got at this by talking of the teeth; to-morrow, it may be the saliva, the next day something else. What I have now told you will be of use all the way through, and I do not regret the time we have given to the subject. If you have understood that well; the time has not been lost.