Then he told the muddle that Needham would have turned the science of little animals into--if good facts hadn’t been found to beat him. What animals this weird Vegetative Force could make--what tricks it could do--if it had only existed! “It could make,” said Spallanzani, “a microscopic animal found sometimes in infusions, which like a new Protean, ceaselessly changes its form, appearing now as a body thin as a thread, now in an oval or spherical form, sometimes coiled like a serpent, adorned with rays and armed with horns. This remarkable animal furnishes Needham an example, to explain easily how the Vegetative Force produces now a frog and again a dog, sometimes a midge and at others an elephant, to-day a spider and to-morrow a whale, this minute a cow and the next a man.” So ended Needham--and his Vegetative Force. It became comfortable to live once more; you felt sure there was no mysterious sinister Force sneaking around waiting to change you into a hippopotamus. Spallanzani’s name glittered in all the universities of Europe; the societies considered him the first scientist of the day; Frederick the Great wrote long letters to him and with his own hand made him a member of the Berlin Academy; and Frederick’s bitter enemy, Maria Theresa, Empress of Austria, put it over the great king by offering Spallanzani the job of professor in her ancient and run-down University of Pavia, in Lombardy. A pompous commission came, a commission of eminent Privy Councillors weighed down with letters and Imperial Seals and begged Spallanzani to put this defunct college on its feet. There were vast interminable arguments and bargainings about salary--Spallanzani always knew how to feather his nest--bargains that ended in his taking the job of Professor of Natural History and Curator of the Natural History Cabinet of Pavia. Spallanzani went to the Museum, the Natural History Cabinet, and found that cupboard bare. He rolled up his sleeves, he lectured about everything, he made huge public experiments and he awed his students because his deft hands always made these experiments turn out successfully. He sent here and there for an astounding array of queer beasts and strange plants and unknown birds--to fill up the empty Cabinet. He climbed dangerous mountains himself and brought back minerals and precious ores; he caught hammer-head sharks and snared gay-plumed fowl; he went on incredible collecting expeditions for his museum--and to work off that tormenting energy that made him so fantastically different from the popular picture of a calm scientist. He was a Roosevelt with all of Teddy’s courage and appeal to the crowd, but with none of Teddy’s gorgeous inaccuracy.