Rustic Sounds Part 11

At this conference Darwin delivered various reports, and at the discussion on Hecker's determination of the variation of the vertical by the attraction of the moon and sun, he gave an interesting account of the researches on the same subject made by him and his brother Horace more than 20 years ago, which unfortunately failed from the bad conditions of the places of observation.

In 1912 Sir George, though already over-fatigued by the preparations for the Mathematical Congress in Cambridge, and the exertions entailed by it, nevertheless prepared the different reports on the geodetic work in the British Empire, but, alas, his illness prevented him from a.s.sisting at the conference at Hamburg, where they were presented by other British delegates. The conference thanked him, and sent him its best wishes, but at the end of the year the a.s.sociation had to deplore the loss of the man who in theoretical geodesy as well as in other branches of mathematics and astronomy stood in the first rank, and who for his n.o.ble character was respected and beloved by all his colleagues in the International Geodetic a.s.sociation.

Sir Joseph Larmor writes: {186}

Sir George Darwin's last public appearance was as president of the fifth International Congress of Mathematicians, which met at Cambridge on August 2228, 1912. The time for England to receive the congress having obviously arrived, a movement was initiated at Cambridge, with the concurrence of Oxford mathematicians, to send an invitation to the fourth congress held at Rome in 1908. The proposal was cordially accepted, and Sir George Darwin, as _doyen_ of the mathematical school at Cambridge, became chairman of the organising committee, and was subsequently elected by the congress to be their president. Though obviously unwell during part of the meeting, he managed to discharge the delicate duties of the chair with conspicuous success, and guided with great verve the deliberations of the final a.s.sembly of what turned out to be a most successful meeting of that important body.

Personal Characteristics.

His daughter, Madame Raverat, writes:

I think most people might not realise that the sense of adventure and romance was the most important thing in my father's life, except his love of work. He thought about all life romantically, and his own life in particular; one could feel it in the quality of everything he said about himself. Everything in the world was interesting and wonderful to him, and he had the power of making other people feel it.

He had a pa.s.sion for going everywhere and seeing everything; learning every language, knowing the technicalities of every trade; and all this emphatically _not_ from the scientific or collector's point of view, but from a deep sense of the romance and interest of everything. It was splendid to travel with him; he always learned as much as possible of the language, and talked to everyone; we had to see simply everything there was to be seen, and it was all interesting, like an adventure. For instance, at Vienna I remember being taken to a most improper music hall, and at Schonbrunn hearing from an old forester the whole secret history of the old Emperor's son. My father would tell us the stories of the places we went to with an incomparable conviction and sense of the reality and dramaticness of the events. It is absurd, of course, but in that respect he always seemed to me a little like Sir Walter Scott. {187}

The books he used to read to us when we were quite small, and which we adored, were Percy's _Reliques_ and the _Prologue to the __Canterbury Tales_. He used often to read Shakespeare to himself, I think generally the historical plays; also Chaucer, _Don Quixote_ in Spanish, and all kind of books like Joinville's _Life of St. Louis_ in the old French.

I remember the story of the death of Gordon told so that we all cried, I think; and Gladstone could hardly be mentioned in consequence. All kinds of wars and battles interested him, and I think he liked archery more because it was romantic than because it was a game.

During his last illness his interest in the Balkan war never failed.

Three weeks before his death he was so ill that the doctor thought him dying. Suddenly he rallied from the half-unconscious state in which he had been lying for many hours, and the first words he spoke on opening his eyes were, "Have they got to Constantinople yet?"

This was very characteristic. I often wish he was alive now, because his understanding and appreciation of the glory and tragedy of this war would be like no one else's.

His daughter Margaret writes:

He was absolutely unselfconscious, and it never seemed to occur to him to wonder what impression he was making on others. I think it was this simplicity which made him so good with children. He seemed to understand their point of view, and to enjoy with them in a way that is not common with grown-up people. I shall never forget how when our dog had to be killed he seemed to feel the horror of it just as I did, and how this sense of his really sharing my grief made him able to comfort me as n.o.body else could.

He took a transparent pleasure in the honours that came to him, especially in his membership of foreign Academies, in which he and Sir David Gill had a friendly rivalry or "race," as they called it.

I think this simplicity was one of his chief characteristics, though most important of all was the great warmth and width of his affections. He would take endless trouble about his friends, especially in going to see them if they were lonely or ill; and he was absolutely faithful and generous in his love.

After his mother came to live in Cambridge I believe he hardly ever missed a day in going to see her, even though he might only be able to stay a few minutes. She lived at some distance off, and he was often both busy and tired. This constancy was very characteristic. It was shown once more in his many visits to Jim Harradine, the marker at the tennis court, on what proved to be his death-bed.

His energy and his kindness of heart were shown in many cases of distress. For instance, a guard on the Great Northern Railway was robbed of his savings by an absconding solicitor, and George succeeded in collecting some 300 for him. In later years, when his friend the guard became bedridden, George often went to see him. Another man whom he befriended was a one-legged man at Balsham, whom he happened to notice in bicycling past. He took the trouble to see the village authorities, and succeeded in sending the man to London to be fitted with an artificial leg.

In these and similar cases there was always the touch of personal sympathy. For instance, he pensioned the widow of his gardener, and he often made the payment of her weekly allowance the excuse for a visit.

In another sort of charity he was equally kindhearted, viz., in answering the people who wrote foolish letters to him on scientific subjects-and here as in many points he resembled his father.

His sister, Mrs. Litchfield, has truly said {190} of George, that he inherited his father's power of work and much of his "cordiality and warmth of nature, with a characteristic power of helping others." He resembled his father in another quality, that of modesty. His friend and pupil, Professor E. W. Brown, writes:

He was always modest about the importance of his researches. He would often wonder whether the results were worth the labour they had cost him, and whether he would have been better employed in some other way.

His nephew Bernard, speaking of George's way of taking pains to be friendly and forthcoming to anyone with whom he came in contact, says:

He was ready to take other people's pleasantness and politeness at its apparent value and not to discount it. If they seemed glad to see him, he believed that they _were_ glad. If he liked somebody, he believed that the somebody liked him, and did not worry himself by wondering whether they really did like him.

Of his energy we have evidence in the _amount_ of material contained in his collected works. There was nothing dilatory about him, and here he again resembled his father, who had markedly the power of doing things at the right moment, and thus avoiding waste of time and discomfort to others. George had none of a characteristic which was defined in the case of Henry Bradshaw, as "always doing something else." After an interruption he could instantly reabsorb himself in his work, so that his study was not kept as a place sacred to peace and quiet.

His wife is my authority for saying that although he got so much done, it was not by working long hours. Moreover, the days that he was away from home made large gaps in his opportunities for steady application. His diaries show in another way that his researches by no means took all his time. He made a note of the books he read, and these make a considerable record. Although he read much good literature with honest enjoyment, he had not a delicate or subtle literary judgment. Nor did he care for music. He was interested in travels, history, and biography, and as he could remember what he read or heard, his knowledge was wide in many directions. His linguistic power was characteristic. He read many European languages. I remember his translating a long Swedish paper for my father. And he took pleasure in the Platt Deutsch stories of Fritz Reuter.

The discomfort from which he suffered during the meeting at Cambridge of the International Congress of Mathematicians in August 1912 was, in fact, the beginning of his last illness. An exploratory operation showed that he was suffering from malignant disease. Happily he was spared the pain that gives its terror to this malady. His nature was, as we have seen, simple and direct, with a pleasant residue of the innocence and eagerness of childhood. In the manner of his death these qualities were enn.o.bled by an admirable and most unselfish courage. As his vitality ebbed away his affection only showed the stronger. He wished to live, and he felt that his power of work and his enjoyment of life were as strong as ever, but his resignation to the sudden end was complete and beautiful. He died on December 7, 1912, and was buried at Trumpington.

HONOURS, MEDALS, DEGREES, SOCIETIES, ETC.

_Order_. K.C.B. 1905.

_Medals_. {192a}

1883. Telford Medal of the Inst.i.tution of Civil Engineers.

1884. Royal Medal. {192b}

1892. Royal Astronomical Society's Medal.

1911. Copley Medal of the Royal Society.

1912. Royal Geographical Society's Medal.

_Offices_.

Fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge, and Plumian Professor in the University.

Vice-President of the International Geodetic a.s.sociation, Lowell Lecturer at Boston U.S. (1897).

Member of the Meteorological and Solar Physics Committees.

Past President of the Cambridge Philosophical Society, {193} Royal Astronomical Society, British a.s.sociation.

_Doctorates_, _etc._, _of Universities_.

Oxford, Dublin, Glasgow, Pennsylvania, Padua (Socio onorario), Gottingen, Christiania, Cape of Good Hope, Moscow (honorary member).

_Foreign or Honorary Membership of Academies_, _etc._

Amsterdam (Netherlands Academy), Boston (American Academy), Brussels (Royal Society), Calcutta (Math. Soc.), Dublin (Royal Irish Academy), Edinburgh (Royal Society), Halle (K. Leop.-Carol. Acad.), Kharkov (Math.

Soc.), Mexico (Soc. "Antonio Alzate"), Moscow (Imperial Society of the Friends of Science), New York, Padua, Philadelphia (Philosophical Society), Rome (Lincei), Stockholm (Swedish Academy), Toronto (Physical Society), Washington (National Academy), Wellington (New Zealand Inst.).

_Correspondent of Academies_, _etc._, _at_

Acireale (Zelanti), Berlin (Prussian Academy), Buda Pest (Hungarian Academy), Frankfort (Senckenberg. Natur. Gesell.), Gottingen (Royal Society), Paris, St. Petersburg, Turin, Istuto Veneto, Vienna. {194}