Charles Darwin: His Life in an Autobiographical Chapter Part 10

If the character of my father's working life is to be understood, the conditions of ill-health, under which he worked, must be constantly borne in mind. He bore his illness with such uncomplaining patience, that even his children can hardly, I believe, realise the extent of his habitual suffering. In their case the difficulty is heightened by the fact that, from the days of their earliest recollections, they saw him in constant ill-health,--and saw him, in spite of it, full of pleasure in what pleased them. Thus, in later life, their perception of what he endured had to be disentangled from the impression produced in childhood by constant genial kindness under conditions of unrecognised difficulty.

No one indeed, except my mother, knows the full amount of suffering he endured, or the full amount of his wonderful patience. For all the latter years of his life she never left him for a night; and her days were so planned that all his resting hours might be shared with her. She shielded him from every avoidable annoyance, and omitted nothing that might save him trouble, or prevent him becoming overtired, or that might alleviate the many discomforts of his ill-health. I hesitate to speak thus freely of a thing so sacred as the life-long devotion which prompted all this constant and tender care. But it is, I repeat, a princ.i.p.al feature of his life, that for nearly forty years he never knew one day of the health of ordinary men, and that thus his life was one long struggle against the weariness and strain of sickness. And this cannot be told without speaking of the one condition which enabled him to bear the strain and fight out the struggle to the end.

FOOTNOTES:

[52] From the _Century Magazine_, January 1883.

[53] The figure in _Insectivorous Plants_ representing the aggregated cell-contents was drawn by him.

[54] _Life and Letters_, vol. iii. frontispiece.

[55] The basket in which she usually lay curled up near the fire in his study is faithfully represented in Mr. Parson's drawing given at the head of the chapter.

[56] Cf. Leslie Stephen's _Swift_, 1882, p. 200, where Swift's inspection of the manners and customs of servants are compared to my father's observations on worms, "The difference is," says Mr. Stephen, "that Darwin had none but kindly feelings for worms."

[57] The words, "A good and dear child," form the descriptive part of the inscription on her gravestone. See the _Athenaeum_, Nov. 26, 1887.

[58] Some pleasant recollections of my father's life at Down, written by our friend and former neighbour, Mrs. Wallis Nash, have been published in the _Overland Monthly_ (San Francisco), October 1890.

[59] _Darwin considere au point de vue des causes de son succes_ (Geneva, 1882).

[60] My father related a Johnsonian answer of Erasmus Darwin's: "Don't you find it very inconvenient stammering, Dr. Darwin?" "No, Sir, because I have time to think before I speak, and don't ask impertinent questions."

[61] This is not so much an example of superabundant theorising from a small cause as of his wish to test the most improbable ideas.

[62] That is to say, the s.e.xual relations in such plants as the cowslip.

[63] The racks in which the portfolios were placed are shown in the ill.u.s.tration at the head of the chapter, in the recess at the right-hand side of the fire-place.

[64] He departed from his rule in his "Note on the Habits of the Pampas Woodp.e.c.k.e.r, _Colaptes campestris_," _Proc. Zool. Soc._, 1870, p. 705: also in a letter published in the _Athenaeum_ (1863, p. 554), in which case he afterwards regretted that he had not remained silent. His replies to criticisms, in the latter editions of the _Origin_, can hardly be cla.s.sed as infractions of his rule.

CHAPTER V.

CAMBRIDGE LIFE.--THE APPOINTMENT TO THE 'BEAGLE.'

My father's Cambridge life comprises the time between the Lent Term, 1828, when he came up to Christ's College as a Freshman, and the end of the May Term, 1831, when he took his degree[65] and left the University.

He "kept" for a term or two in lodgings, over Bacon[66] the tobacconist's; not, however, over the shop in the Market Place, so well known to Cambridge men, but in Sydney Street. For the rest of his time he had pleasant rooms on the south side of the first court of Christ's.[67]

What determined the choice of this college for his brother Erasmus and himself I have no means of knowing. Erasmus the elder, their grandfather, had been at St. John's, and this college might have been reasonably selected for them, being connected with Shrewsbury School.

But the life of an undergraduate at St. John's seems, in those days, to have been a troubled one, if I may judge from the fact that a relative of mine migrated thence to Christ's to escape the hara.s.sing discipline of the place.

Darwin seems to have found no difficulty in living at peace with all men in and out of office at Lady Margaret's elder foundation. The impression of a contemporary of my father's is that Christ's in their day was a pleasant, fairly quiet college, with some tendency towards "horsiness"; many of the men made a custom of going to Newmarket during the races, though betting was not a regular practice. In this they were by no means discouraged by the Senior Tutor, Mr. Shaw, who was himself generally to be seen on the Heath on these occasions.

Nor were the ecclesiastical authorities of the College over strict. I have heard my father tell how at evening chapel the Dean used to read alternate verses of the Psalms, without making even a pretence of waiting for the congregation to take their share. And when the Lesson was a lengthy one, he would rise and go on with the Canticles after the scholar had read fifteen or twenty verses.

It is curious that my father often spoke of his Cambridge life as if it had been so much time wasted,[68] forgetting that, although the set studies of the place were barren enough for him, he yet gained in the highest degree the best advantages of a University life--the contact with men and an opportunity for mental growth. It is true that he valued at its highest the advantages which he gained from a.s.sociating with Professor Henslow and some others, but he seemed to consider this as a chance outcome of his life at Cambridge, not an advantage for which _Alma Mater_ could claim any credit. One of my father's Cambridge friends was the late Mr. J. M. Herbert, County Court Judge for South Wales, from whom I was fortunate enough to obtain some notes which help us to gain an idea of how my father impressed his contemporaries. Mr.

Herbert writes:--

"It would be idle for me to speak of his vast intellectual powers ...

but I cannot end this cursory and rambling sketch without testifying, and I doubt not all his surviving college friends would concur with me, that he was the most genial, warm-hearted, generous, and affectionate of friends; that his sympathies were with all that was good and true; and that he had a cordial hatred for everything false, or vile, or cruel, or mean, or dishonourable. He was not only great, but pre-eminently good, and just, and lovable."

Two anecdotes told by Mr. Herbert show that my father's feeling for suffering, whether of man or beast, was as strong in him as a young man as it was in later years: "Before he left Cambridge he told me that he had made up his mind not to shoot any more; that he had had two days'

shooting at his friend's, Mr. Owen of Woodhouse; and that on the second day, when going over some of the ground they had beaten on the day before, he picked up a bird not quite dead, but lingering from a shot it had received on the previous day; and that it had made and left such a painful impression on his mind, that he could not reconcile it to his conscience to continue to derive pleasure from a sport which inflicted such cruel suffering."

To realise the strength of the feeling that led to this resolve, we must remember how pa.s.sionate was his love of sport. We must recall the boy shooting his first snipe,[69] and trembling with excitement so that he could hardly reload his gun. Or think of such a sentence as, "Upon my soul, it is only about a fortnight to the 'First,' then if there is a bliss on earth that is it."[70]

His old college friends agree in speaking with affectionate warmth of his pleasant, genial temper as a young man. From what they have been able to tell me, I gain the impression of a young man overflowing with animal spirits--leading a varied healthy life--not over-industrious in the set studies of the place, but full of other pursuits, which were followed with a rejoicing enthusiasm. Entomology, riding, shooting in the fens, suppers and card-playing, music at King's Chapel, engravings at the Fitzwilliam Museum, walks with Professor Henslow--all combined to fill up a happy life. He seems to have infected others with his enthusiasm. Mr. Herbert relates how, while on a reading-party at Barmouth, he was pressed into the service of "the science"--as my father called collecting beetles:--

"He armed me with a bottle of alcohol, in which I had to drop any beetle which struck me as not of a common kind. I performed this duty with some diligence in my const.i.tutional walks; but, alas! my powers of discrimination seldom enabled mo to secure a prize--the usual result, on his examining the contents of my bottle, being an exclamation, 'Well, old Cherbury'[71] (the nickname he gave me, and by which he usually addressed me), 'none of these will do.'" Again, the Rev. T. Butler, who was one of the Barmouth reading-party in 1828, says: "He inoculated me with a taste for Botany which has stuck by me all my life."

Archdeacon Watkins, another old college friend of my father's, remembered him unearthing beetles in the willows between Cambridge and Grantchester, and speaks of a certain beetle the remembrance of whose name is "Crux major."[72] How enthusiastically must my father have exulted over this beetle to have impressed its name on a companion so that he remembers it after half a century!

He became intimate with Henslow, the Professor of Botany, and through him with some other older members of the University. "But," Mr. Herbert writes, "he always kept up the closest connection with the friends of his own standing; and at our frequent social gatherings--at breakfast, wine or supper parties--he was ever one of the most cheerful, the most popular, and the most welcome."

My father formed one of a club for dining once a week, called the Glutton Club, the members, besides himself and Mr. Herbert (from whom I quote), being Whitley of St. John's, now Honorary Canon of Durham;[73]

Heaviside of Sydney, now Canon of Norwich; Lovett Cameron of Trinity, sometime vicar of Sh.o.r.eham; R. Blane of Trinity,[74] who held a high post during the Crimean war, H. Lowe[75] (afterwards Sherbrooke) of Trinity Hall; and F. Watkins of Emmanuel, afterwards Archdeacon of York.

The origin of the club's name seems already to have become involved in obscurity; it certainly implied no unusual luxury in the weekly gatherings.

At any rate, the meetings seemed to have been successful, and to have ended with "a game of mild vingt-et-un."

Mr. Herbert speaks strongly of my father's love of music, and adds, "What gave him the greatest delight was some grand symphony or overture of Mozart's or Beethoven's, with their full harmonies." On one occasion Herbert remembers "accompanying him to the afternoon service at King's, when we heard a very beautiful anthem. At the end of one of the parts, which was exceedingly impressive, he turned round to me and said, with a deep sigh, 'How's your backbone?'" He often spoke in later years of a feeling of coldness or shivering in his back on hearing beautiful music.

Besides a love of music, he had certainly at this time a love of fine literature; and Mr. Cameron tells me that my father took much pleasure in Shakespeare readings carried on in his rooms at Christ's. He also speaks of Darwin's "great liking for first-cla.s.s line engravings, especially those of Raphael Morghen and Muller; and he spent hours in the Fitzwilliam Museum in looking over the prints in that collection."

My father's letters to Fox show how sorely oppressed he felt by the reading for an examination. His despair over mathematics must have been profound, when he expresses a hope that Fox's silence is due to "your being ten fathoms deep in the Mathematics; and if you are, G.o.d help you, for so am I, only with this difference, I stick fast in the mud at the bottom, and there I shall remain." Mr. Herbert says: "He had, I imagine, no natural turn for mathematics, and he gave up his mathematical reading before he had mastered the first part of algebra, having had a special quarrel with Surds and the Binomial Theorem."

We get some evidence from my father's letters to Fox of his intention of going into the Church. "I am glad," he writes,[76] "to hear that you are reading divinity. I should like to know what books you are reading, and your opinions about them; you need not be afraid of preaching to me prematurely." Mr. Herbert's sketch shows how doubts arose in my father's mind as to the possibility of his taking Orders. He writes, "We had an earnest conversation about going into Holy Orders; and I remember his asking me, with reference to the question put by the Bishop in the Ordination Service, 'Do you trust that you are inwardly moved by the Holy Spirit, &c.,' whether I could answer in the affirmative, and on my saying I could not, he said, 'Neither can I, and therefore I cannot take orders.'" This conversation appears to have taken place in 1829, and if so, the doubts here expressed must have been quieted, for in May 1830, he speaks of having some thoughts of reading divinity with Henslow.

The greater number of his Cambridge letters are addressed by my father to his cousin, William Darwin Fox. My father's letters show clearly enough how genuine the friendship was. In after years, distance, large families, and ill-health on both sides, checked the intercourse; but a warm feeling of friendship remained. The correspondence was never quite dropped and continued till Mr. Fox's death in 1880. Mr. Fox took orders, and worked as a country clergyman until forced by ill-health to leave his living in Delamere Forest. His love of natural history was strong, and he became a skilled fancier of many kinds of birds, &c. The index to _Animals and Plants_, and my father's later correspondence, show how much help he received from his old College friend.

_C. D. to J. M. Herbert._ September 14, 1828.[77]

MY DEAR OLD CHERBURY,--I am about to fulfil my promise of writing to you, but I am sorry to add there is a very selfish motive at the bottom.

I am going to ask you a great favour, and you cannot imagine how much you will oblige me by procuring some more specimens of some insects which I dare say I can describe. In the first place, I must inform you that I have taken some of the rarest of the British Insects, and their being found near Barmouth, is quite unknown to the Entomological world: I think I shall write and inform some of the crack entomologists.

But now for business. _Several_ more specimens, if you can procure them without much trouble, of the following insects:--The violet-black coloured beetle, found on Craig Storm,[78] under stones, also a large smooth black one very like it; a bluish metallic-coloured dung-beetle, which is _very_ common on the hill-sides; also, if you _would_ be so very kind as to cross the ferry, and you will find a great number under the stones on the waste land of a long, smooth, jet-black beetle (a great many of these); also, in the same situation, a very small pinkish insect, with black spots, with a curved thorax projecting beyond the head; also, upon the marshy land over the ferry, near the sea, under old sea weed, stones, &c., you will find a small yellowish transparent beetle, with two or four blackish marks on the back. Under these stones there are two sorts, one much darker than the other; the lighter coloured is that which I want. These last two insects are _excessively rare_, and you will really _extremely_ oblige me by taking all this trouble pretty soon. Remember me most kindly to Butler,[79] tell him of my success, and I dare say both of you will easily recognise these insects. I hope his caterpillars go on well. I think many of the Chrysalises are well worth keeping. I really am quite ashamed [of] so long a letter all about my own concerns; but do return good for evil, and send me a long account of all your proceedings.

In the first week I killed seventy-five head of game--a very contemptible number--but there are very few birds. I killed, however, a brace of black game. Since then I have been staying at the Fox's, near Derby; it is a very pleasant house, and the music meeting went off very well. I want to hear how Yates likes his gun, and what use he has made of it.

If the bottle is not large you can buy another for me, and when you pa.s.s through Shrewsbury you can leave these treasures, and I hope, if you possibly can, you will stay a day or two with me, as I hope I need not say how glad I shall be to see you again. Fox remarked what deuced good natured fellows your friends at Barmouth must be; and if I did not know that you and Butler were so, I would not think of giving you so much trouble.

In the following January we find him looking forward with pleasure to the beginning of another year of his Cambridge life: he writes to Fox, who had pa.s.sed his examination:--