1850-1851.
[In the Huxley Lecture for 1898 ("Times," October 4) Professor Virchow
takes occasion to speak of the effect of Huxley's service in the
"Rattlesnake" upon his intellectual development:--
When Huxley himself left Charing Cross Hospital in 1846, he had enjoyed
a rich measure of instruction in anatomy and physiology. Thus trained,
he took the post of naval surgeon, and by the time that he returned,
four years later, he had become a perfect zoologist and a keen-sighted
ethnologist. How this was possible any one will readily understand who
knows from his own experience how great the value of personal
observation is for the development of independent and unprejudiced
thought. For a young man who, besides collecting a rich treasure of
positive knowledge, has practised dissection and the exercise of a
critical judgment, a long sea-voyage and a peaceful sojourn among
entirely new surroundings afford an invaluable opportunity for original
work and deep reflection. Freed from the formalism of the schools,
thrown upon the use of his own intellect, compelled to test each single
object as the prevailing system and becomes, first a sceptic, and then
an investigator. This change, which did not fail to affect Huxley, and
through which arose that Huxley whom we commemorate to-day, is no
unknown occurrence to one who is acquainted with the history, not only
of knowledge, but also of scholars.
But he was not destined to find his subsequent path easy. Once in
England, indeed, he did not lose any time. No sooner had the
"Rattlesnake" touched at Plymouth than Commander Yule, who had succeeded
Captain Stanley in the command of the ship, wrote to the head of the
Naval Medical Department stating the circumstances under which Huxley's
zoological investigations had been undertaken, and asking the sanction
of the Admiralty for their publication. The hydrographer, in sending the
formal permission, says:--
But I have to add that their Lordships will not allow any charge to be
made upon the public funds towards the expense. You will, however,
further assure Mr. Huxley that any assistance that can be supplied from
this office shall be most cheerfully given to him, and that I heartily
hope, from the capacity and taste for scientific investigation for which
you give him credit, that he will produce a work alike creditable to
himself, to his late Captain, by whom he was selected for it, and to Her
Majesty's service.
Personally, the hydrographer took a great interest in science; but as
for the department, Huxley somewhat bitterly interpreted the official
meaning of this well-sounding flourish to be made: "Publish if you can,
and give us credit for granting every facility except the one means of
publishing."
Happily there was another way of publishing, if the Admiralty would
grant him time to arrange his papers and superintend their publication.
The Royal Society had at their disposal an annual grant of money for the
publication of scientific works. If the Government would not contribute
directly to publish the researches made under their auspices, the
favourable reception which his preliminary papers had met with led
Huxley to hope that his greater work would be undertaken by the Royal
Society. If the leading men of science attested the value of his work,
the Admiralty might be induced to let him stay in England with the
nominal appointment as assistant surgeon to H.M.S. "Fisguard" at
Woolwich, for "particular service," but with leave of absence from the
ship so that he could live and pursue his avocations in London. There
was a precedent for this course in the case of Dr. Hooker, when he had
to work out the scientific results of the voyage of the "Erebus" and
"Terror."
In this design he was fortified by his old Haslar friend, Dr.
(afterwards Sir John) Watt Reid, who wrote: "They cannot, and, I am
sure, will not wish to stand in your way at Whitehall." Meanwhile, the
first person, naturally, he had thought of consulting was his old chief,
Sir John Richardson, who had great weight at the Admiralty, and to him
he wrote the following letter before leaving Plymouth.]
To Sir John Richardson.
October 31, 1850.
I regret very much that in consequence of our being ordered to be paid
off at Chatham, instead of Portsmouth, as we always hoped and expected,
I shall be unable to submit to your inspection the zoological notes and
drawings which I have made during our cruise. They are somewhat numerous
(over 180 sheets of drawings), and I hope not altogether valueless,
since they have been made with as great care and attention as I am
master of--and with a microscope, such as has rarely, if ever, made a
voyage round the world before. A further reason for indulging in this
hope consists in the fact that they relate for the most part to animals
hitherto very little known, whether from their rarity or from their
perishable nature, and that they bear upon many curious physiological
points.
I may thus classify and enumerate the observations I have made:--
1. Upon the organs of hearing and circulation in some of the transparent
Crustacea, and upon the structure of certain of the lower forms of
Crustacea.
2. Upon some very remarkable new forms of Annelids, and especially upon
the much contested genus Sagitta, which I have evidence to show is
neither a Mollusc nor an Epizoon, but an Annelid.
3. Upon the nervous system of certain Mollusca hitherto imperfectly
described--upon what appears to me to be an urinary organ in many of
them--and upon the structure of Firola and Atlanta, of which latter I
have a pretty complete account.
4. Upon two perfectly new (ordinally new) species of Ascidians.
5. Upon Pyrosoma and Salpa. The former has never been described (I
think) since Savigny's time, and he had only specimens preserved in
spirits. I have a great deal to add and alter. Then as to Salpa, whose
mode of generation has always been so great a bone of contention, I have
a long series of observations and drawings which I have verified over
and over again, and which, if correct, must give rise to quite a new
view of the matter. I may mention as an interesting fact that in these
animals so low in the scale I have found a PLACENTAL CIRCULATION,
rudimentary indeed, but nevertheless a perfect model on a small scale of
that which takes place in the mammalia.
6. I have the materials for a monograph upon the Acalephae and
Hydrostatic Acalephae. I have examined very carefully more than forty
genera of these animals--many of them very rare, and some quite new. But
I paid comparatively little attention to the collection of new species,
caring rather to come to some clear and definite idea as to the
structure of those which had indeed been long known, but very little
understood. Unfortunately for science, but fortunately for me, this
method appears to have been somewhat novel with observers of these
animals, and consequently everywhere new and remarkable facts were to be
had for the picking up.
It is not to be supposed that one could occupy one's self with the
animals for so long without coming to some conclusion as to their
systematic place, however subsidiary to observation such considerations
must always be regarded, and it seems to me (although on such matters I
can of course only speak with the greatest hesitation) that just as the
more minute and careful observations made upon the old "Vermes" of
Linnaeus necessitated the breaking up of that class into several very
distinct classes, so more careful investigation requires the breaking up
of Cuvier's "Radiata" (which succeeded the "Vermes" as a sort of
zoological lumber-room) into several very distinct and well-defined new
classes, of which the Acalephae, Hydrostatic Acalephae, actinoid and
hydroid polypes, will form one. But I fear that I am trespassing beyond
the limits of a letter. I have only wished to state what I have done in
order that you may judge concerning the propriety or impropriety of what
I propose to do. And I trust that you will not think that I am presuming
too much upon your kindness if I take the liberty of thus asking your
advice about my own affairs. In truth, I feel in a manner responsible to
you for the use of the appointment you procured for me; and furthermore,
Captain Stanley's unfortunate decease has left the interests of the ship
in general and my own in particular without a representative.
Can you inform me, then, what chance I should have either (1) of
procuring a grant for the publication of my papers, or (2) should that
not be feasible, to obtain a nominal appointment (say to the "Fisguard"
at Woolwich, as in Dr. Hooker's case) for such time as might be
requisite for the publication of my papers and drawings in some other
way?
I shall see Professors Owen and Forbes when I reach London, and I have a
letter of introduction to Sir John Herschel (who has, I hear, a great
penchant for the towing-net). Supposing I could do so, would it be of
any use to procure recommendations from them that my papers should be
published?
[[Half-erased] To Sir F. Beaufort also I have a letter.] Would it not be
proper also to write to Sir W. Burnett acquainting him with my views,
and requesting his acquiescence and assistance?
Begging an answer at your earliest convenience, addressed either to the
"Rattlesnake" or to my brother, I remain, your obedient servant,
T.H. Huxley.
41 North Bank.
[He received a most friendly reply from "Old John." He was willing to do
all in his power to help, but could recommend Government aid better if
he had seen the drawings. Meantime a certificate should be got from
Forbes, the best man in this particular branch of science, backed, if
possible, by Owen. He would speak to some officials himself, and give
Huxley introductions to others, and if he could get up to town, would
try to see the collections and add his name to the certificate.
Both Forbes and Owen were ready to help. The former wrote a most
encouraging letter, singling out the characteristics which gave a
peculiar value to these papers:--
I have had very great pleasure in examining your drawings of animals
observed during the voyage of the "Rattlesnake," and have also fully
availed myself of the opportunity of going over the collections made
during the course of the survey upon which you have been engaged. I can
say without exaggeration that more important or more complete zoological
researches have never been conducted during any voyage of discovery in
the southern hemisphere. The course you have taken of directing your
attention mainly to impreservable creatures, and to those orders of the
animal kingdom respecting which we have least information, and the care
and skill with which you have conducted elaborate dissections and
microscopic examinations of the curious creatures you were so fortunate
as to meet with, necessarily gives a peculiar and unique character to
your researches, since thereby they fill up gaps in our knowledge of the
animal kingdom. This is the more important, since such researches have
been almost always neglected during voyages of discovery. The value of
some of your notes was publicly acknowledged during your absence, when
your memoir on the structure of the Medusae, communicated to the Royal
Society, was singled out for publication in the "Philosophical
Transactions." It would be a very great loss to science if the mass of
new matter and fresh observation which you have accumulated were not to
be worked out and fully published, as well as an injustice to the merits
of the expedition in which you have served.
The latter offered to write to the Admiralty on his behalf, giving the
weight of his name to the suggestion that the work to be done would take
at least twelve months, and that therefore his appointment to the
"Fisguard" should not be limited to any less period.] "They might be
disposed," [wrote Huxley to him,] "to cut anything I request down--on
principle." [Moreover, Owen, Forbes, Bell, and Sharpey, all members of
the Committee of Recommendation of the Royal Society, had expressed
themselves so favourably to his views that in his application he was
able to relieve the economic scruples of the Admiralty by telling them
that he had a means of publishing his papers through the Royal Society.
The result of his application, thus backed, was that he obtained his
appointment on November 29. It was for six months, subject to extension
if he were able to report satisfactory progress with his work.
A long letter to his sister, now settled in Tennessee, gives a good idea
of his aims and hopes at this time.]
41 North Bank, Regent's Park.
November 21, 1850.
My dearest Lizzie,
We have been at home now nearly three weeks, and I have been a free man
again twelve days. Her Majesty's ships have been paid off on the 9th of
this month. Properly speaking, indeed, we have been at home longer, for
we touched at Plymouth and trod English ground and saw English green
fields on the 23rd of October, but we were allowed to remain only
twenty-four hours, and to my great disgust were ordered round to Chatham
to be paid off. The ill-luck which had made our voyage homeward so long
(we sailed from Sydney on the 2nd of May) pursued us in the Channel, and
we did not reach Chatham until the 2nd of November; and what do you
think was one of the first things I did when we reached Plymouth? Wrote
to Eliza K. asking news of a certain naughty sister of mine, from whom I
had never heard a word since we had been away--and if perchance there
should be any letter, begging her to forward it immediately to Chatham.
And so, when at length we got there, I found your kind long letter had
been in England some six or seven months; but hearing of the likelihood
of our return, they had very judiciously not sent it to me.
Your letter, my poor Lizzie, justifies many a heartache I have had when
thinking over your lot, knowing, as I well do, what emigrant life is in
climates less trying than that in which you live. I have seen a good
deal of bush life in Australia, and it enables me fully to sympathise
with and enter into every particular you tell me--from the baking and
boiling and pigs squealing, down to that ferocious landshark Mrs.
Gunther, of whose class Australia will furnish fine specimens. Had I
been at home, too, I could have enlightened the good folks as to the
means of carriage in the colonies, and could have told them that the two
or twenty thousand miles over sea is the smallest part of the difficulty
and expense of getting anything to people living inland; as it is, I
think I have done some good in the matter; their meaning was good but
their discretion small. But the obtuseness of English in general about
anything out of the immediate circle of their own experience is
something wonderful.
I had heard here and there fractional accounts of your doings from Eliza
K. and my mother--not of the most cheery description--and therefore I
was right glad to get your letter, which, though it tells of sorrow and
misfortune enough and to spare, yet shows me that the brave woman's
heart you always had, my dearest Lizzie, is still yours, and that you
have always had the warm love of those immediately around you, and now,
as the doctor's letter tells us, you have one more source of joy and
happiness, and this new joy must efface the bitterness--I do not say the
memory, knowing how impossible that would be--of your great loss. [The
death of her little daughter Jessie]. God knows, my dear sister, I could
feel for you. It was as if I could see again a shadow of the great
sorrow that fell upon us all years ago.
Nothing can bind me more closely to your children than I am already, but
if the christening be not all over you must let me be godfather; and
though I fear I am too much of a heretic to promise to bring him up a
good son of the church--yet should ever the position which you prophesy,
and of which I have an "Ahnung" (though I don't tell that to anybody but
Nettie), be mine, he shall (if you will trust him to me) be cared for as
few sons are. As things stand, I am talking half nonsense, but I mean
it--and you know of old, for good and for evil, my tenacity of purpose.
Now, as to my own affairs--I am not married. Prudently, at any rate, but
whether wisely or foolishly I am not quite sure yet, Nettie and I
resolved to have nothing to do with matrimony for the present. In truth,
though our marriage was my great wish on many accounts, yet I feared to
bring upon her the consequences that might have occurred had anything
happened to me within the next few years. We had a sad parting enough,
and as is usually the case with me, time, instead of alleviating,
renders more disagreeable our separation. I have a woman's element in
me. I hate the incessant struggle and toil to cut one another's throat
among us men, and I long to be able to meet with some one in whom I can
place implicit confidence, whose judgment I can respect, and yet who
will not laugh at my most foolish weaknesses, and in whose love I can
forget all care. All these conditions I have fulfilled in Nettie. With a
strong natural intelligence, and knowledge enough to understand and
sympathise with my aims, with firmness of a man, when necessary, she
combines the gentleness of a very woman and the honest simplicity of a
child, and then she loves me well, as well as I love her, and you know I
love but few--in the real meaning of the word, perhaps, but two--she and
you. And now she is away, and you are away. The worst of it is I have no
ambition, except as means to an end, and that end is the possession of a
sufficient income to marry upon. I assure you I would not give two
straws for all the honours and titles in the world. A worker I must
always be--it is my nature--but if I had 400 pounds sterling a year I
would never let my name appear to anything I did or shall ever do. It
would be glorious to be a voice working in secret and free from all
those personal motives that have actuated the best. But, unfortunately,
one is not a "vox et praeterea nihil," but with a considerable
corporality attached which requires feeding, and so while my inner man
is continually indulging in these anchorite reflections, the outer is
sedulously elbowing and pushing as if he dreamed of nothing but gold
medals and professors' caps.
I am getting on very well--better I fear than I deserve. One of my
papers was published in 1849 in the "Philosophical Transactions,"
another in the "Zoological Transactions," and some more may be published
in the "Linnean" if I like--but I think I shall not like. Then I have
worked pretty hard, and brought home a considerable amount of drawings
and notes about new or rare animals, all particularly nasty slimy
things, and they will most likely be published as a separate work by the
Royal Society.
Owens, Forbes, Bell, and Sharpey (the doctor will tell you of what
weight these names are) are all members of the committee which disposes
of the money, and are all strongly in favour of my "valuable researches"
(cock-a-doodle-doo!!) being published by the Society. From various
circumstances I have taken a better position than I could have expected
among these grandees, and I find them all immensely civil and ready to
help me on, tooth and nail, particularly Professor Forbes, who is a
right good fellow, and has taken a great deal of trouble on my behalf.
Owen volunteered to write to the "First Lord" on my behalf, and did so.
Sharpey, when I saw him, reminded me, as he always does, of my great
contest with Stocks (do you remember throwing the shoe?), and promised
me all the assistance in his power. Professor Bell, who is secretary to
the Royal, and has great influence, promised to help me in every way,
and asked me to dine with him and meet a lot of nobs. I take all these
things quite as a matter of course, but am all the while considerably
astonished. The other day I dined at the Geological Club and met Lyell,
Murchison, de la B[eche] Horner, and a lot more, and last evening I
dined with a whole lot of literary and scientific people.
Owen was, in my estimation, great, from the fact of his smoking his
cigar and singing his song like a brick.
I tell you all these things to show you clearly how I stand. I am under
no one's PATRONAGE, nor do I ever mean to be. I have never asked, and I
never will ask, any man for his help from mere motives of friendship. If
any man thinks that I am capable of forwarding the great cause in ever
so small a way, let him just give me a helping hand and I will thank
him, but if not, he is doing both himself and me harm in offering it,
and if it should be necessary for me to find public expression to my
thoughts on any matter, I have clearly made up my mind to do so, without
allowing myself to be influenced by hope of gain or weight of authority.
There are many nice people in this world for whose praise or blame I
care not a whistle. I don't know and I don't care whether I shall ever
be what is called a great man. I will leave my mark somewhere, and it
shall be clear and distinct:
T.H.H., HIS MARK,
and free from the abominable blur of cant, humbug, and self-seeking
which surrounds everything in this present world--that is to say,
supposing that I am not already unconsciously tainted myself, a result
of which I have a morbid dread. I am perhaps overrating myself. You must
put me in mind of my better self, as you did in your last letter, when
you write.
But I must come to the close of my epistle, as I have one to enclose
from my mother. My next shall be longer, and I hope I shall then be able
to tell you what I am doing. At any rate I hope to be in England for
twelve months.
I am very much ashamed of myself for not having written to you for so
long--open confession is good for the soul, they say, and I will
honestly confess that I was half puzzled, half piqued, and altogether
sulky at your not having answered my last letter containing my love
story, of which I wrote you an account before anybody. You must not
suppose my affection was a bit the less because I was half angry.
Nettie, who knows you well, could tell you otherwise. Indeed, now that I
know all, I consider myself a great brute, and I will give you leave, if
you will but write soon, to scold me as much as you like. All the family
are well. My father is the only one who is much altered, and that in
mind and strength, not in bodily health, which is very good. My mother
has lost her front teeth, but is otherwise just the same amusing,
nervous, distressingly active old lady she always was.
Our cruisers visit New Orleans sometimes, and if ever I am on the West
India station, who knows, I may take a run up to see you all. Kindest
love to the children. Tell Florry that I could not get her the bird with
the long tail, but that some day I will send her some pictures of
copper-coloured gentlemen with great big wigs and no trousers, and tell
her her old uncle loves her very much and never forgets her nor anybody
else.
God bless you, dearest Lizzie. Write soon.
Ever your brother,
Tom.
[Thus within a month of landing in England, Huxley had secured his
footing in the scientific world. He was freed for the time from the more
irksome part of his profession; his service in the navy had become a
stepping-stone to the pursuits in which his heart really was. He had
long been half in despair over the work which he had sent out like the
dove from the ark, if haply it might find him some standing ground in
the world; no news of it had reached him till he was about to start on
his homeward voyage, but he returned to discover that at a single stroke
it had placed him in the front rank of naturalists.]
41 North Bank, Regent's Park.
January 3, 1851.
My progress [he writes (When not otherwise specified, the extracts in
this chapter are from letters to his future wife.)], must necessarily be
slow and uncertain. I cannot see two steps forwards. Much depends upon
myself, much upon circumstances. Hitherto all has gone as well as I
could wish. I have gained each object that I had set before myself--that
is, I have my shore appointment, I have found a means of publishing what
I have done creditably, and I have continued to come into communication
with some of the first men in England in my department of science. But,
as I have found to be the case in all things that are gained, from money
to friendship, it is not so much getting as keeping. It is by no means
difficult if you are decently introduced, have tolerably agreeable
manners, and some smattering of science, to take a position among these
folks, but it is a mighty different affair to keep it and turn it to
account. Not like the man who, at the Enchanted Castle, had the courage
to blow the horn but not to draw the sword, and was consequently shot
forth from the mouth of the cave by which he entered with most
ignominious haste,--one must be ready to fight immediately after one's
arrival has been announced, or be blown into oblivion.
I HAVE drawn the sword, but whether I am in truth to beat the giants and
deliver my princess from the enchanted castle is yet to be seen.
[For several months he lived with his brother George and his wife at
North Bank, St. John's Wood (the house was pulled down in 1896 for the
Great Central Railway), but the surroundings were too easy, and not
conducive to hard work.]
I must, I fear, emigrate to some "two pair back," which shall have the
feel and manner of a workshop, where I can leave my books about and
dissect a marine nastiness if I think fit, sallying forth to meet the
world when necessary, and giving it no more time than necessary. If it
were not for a fear that P. would take it unkindly I should go at once.
I must summon up moral courage somehow (how difficult when it is to pain
those we love!) and trust to her good sense for the rest.
[And later:--]
...I have been very busy looking about for the last two days, and have
been in fifty houses if I have been in one. I want some place with a
decent address, cheap, and beyond all things, clean. The dirty holes
that some of these lodgings are! such tawdry finery and such servants,
with their faces and hands not merely dirty, but absolutely macadamised.
And they all make this confounded great Exhibition a plea for about
doubling the rent.
[So in April 1851 he removed to lodgings hard by, at 1 Hanover Place,
Clarence Gate, Regent's Park] ("which sounds grand, but means nothing
more than a sitting-room and bedroom in a small house"), [then to St.
Anne's Gardens, and after that to Upper York Place, while making a
second home with his brother. His other great friends already in London
were the Fannings, who had left Australia a few months before his own
return. In the scientific world he soon made acquaintance with most of
the leading men, and began a close friendship with Edward Forbes, with
George Busk (then surgeon to H.M.S. "Dreadnought" at Greenwich,
afterwards President of the College of Surgeons) and his accomplished
wife, and later in the year with both Hooker and Tyndall. The Busks,
indeed, showed him the greatest kindness throughout this period of
struggle, and the sympathy and intellectual stimulus he received from
their society were of the utmost help. They were always ready to welcome
him at Greenwich, and he not only often ran down there for a week-end,
but would spend part of his vacations with them at Lowestoft or Tenby,
where naturalists could find plenty of occupation.
But from a worldly point of view, it was too soon clear that science was
sadly unprofitable. There seemed no speedy prospect of making enough to
marry on. As early as March 1851 he writes:--]
The difficulties of obtaining a decent position in England in anything
like a reasonable time seem to me greater than ever they were. To
attempt to live by any scientific pursuit is a farce. Nothing but what
is absolutely practical will go down in England. A man of science may
earn great distinction, but not bread. He will get invitations to all
sorts of dinners and conversaziones, but not enough income to pay his
cab fare. A man of science in these times is like an Esau who sells his
birthright for a mess of pottage. Again, if one turns to practice, it is
still the old story--wait; and only after years of working like a
galley-slave and intriguing like a courtier is there any chance of
getting a decent livelihood. I am not at all sure if...it would be the
most prudent thing to stick by the Service: there at any rate is
certainty in health and in sickness.
[Nevertheless he was mightily encouraged in the work of bringing out his
"Rattlesnake" papers by a notable success in a quarter where he scarcely
dared to hope for it. The Royal Society had for some time set itself to
become a body of working men of science; to exclude for the future all
mere dilettanti, and to admit a limited number of men whose work was
such as to deserve recognition. Thanks to the initiative of Forbes, he
now found this recognition accorded to him on the strength of his
"Medusa" paper. He writes in February:--]
The F.R.S. that you tell me you dream of being appended to my name is
nearer than one might think, to my no small surprise...I had no idea
that it was at all within my reach, until I found out the other day,
talking with Mr. Bell, that my having a paper in the "Transactions" was
one of the best of qualifications.
My friend Forbes, to whom I am so much indebted, has taken the matter in
hand for me, and I am told I am sure of getting it this year or the
next. I do not at all expect it this year, as there are a great many
candidates, far better men than I...I shall think myself lucky if I get
it next year. Don't say anything about the matter till I tell you...As
the old proverb says, there is many a slip 'twixt the cup and the lip.
[There were thirty-eight candidates; of these the Council would select
fifteen, and submit their names for election at a general meeting of the
Society. He was not yet twenty-six years of age, and certainly the
youngest and least known of the competitors. Others probably had been up
before--possibly many times before; nevertheless, on this, his first
candidature, he was placed among the selected. The formal election did
not took place till June 5, but on a chance visit to Forbes he heard the
great news. The F.R.S. was a formal attestation of the value of the work
he had already done; it was a token of success in the present, an augury
of greater success in the future. No wonder the news was exciting.]
To-day [he writes on April 14] I saw Forbes at the Museum of Practical
Geology, where I often drop in on him. "Well," he said, "I am glad to be
able to tell you you are all right for the Royal Society; the selection
was made on Friday night, and I hear that you are one of the selected. I
have not seen the list, but my authority is so good that you may make
yourself easy about it." I confess to having felt a little proud, though
I believe I spoke and looked as cool as a cucumber. There were
thirty-eight candidates, out of whom only fifteen could be selected, and
I fear that they have left behind much better men than I. I shall not
feel certain about the matter until I receive some official
announcement. I almost wish that until then I had heard nothing about
it. Notwithstanding all my cucumbery appearance, I will confess to you
that I could not sit down and read to-day after the news. I wandered
hither and thither restlessly half over London...Whether I have it or
not, I can say one thing, that I have left my case to stand on its own
strength; I have not asked for a single vote, and there are not on my
certificate half the names that there might be. If it be mine, it is by
no intrigue.
[Again, on May 4, 1851]
I am twenty-six to-day...and it reminds me that I have left you now a
whole year. It is perfectly frightful to think how the time is slipping
by, and yet seems to bring us no nearer.
What have I done with my twenty-sixth year? Six months were spent at
sea, and therefore may be considered as so much lost; and six months I
have had in England. That, I may say, has not been thrown away
altogether without fruit. I have read a good deal and I have written a
good deal. I have made some valuable friends, and have found my work
more highly estimated than I had ventured to hope. I must tell you
something, because it will please you, even if you think me vain for
doing so.
I was talking to Professor Owen yesterday, and said that I imagined I
had to thank him in great measure for the honour of the F.R.S. "No," he
said, "you have nothing to thank but the goodness of your own work." For
about ten minutes I felt rather proud of that speech, and shall keep it
by me whenever I feel inclined to think myself a fool, and that I have a
most mistaken notion of my own capacities. The only use of honours is as
an antidote to such fits of the "blue devils." Of one thing, however,
which is by no means so agreeable, my opportunities for seeing the
scientific world in England force upon me every day a stronger and
stronger conviction. It is that there is no chance of living by science.
I have been loth to believe it, but it is so. There are not more than
four or five offices in London which a Zoologist or Comparative
Anatomist can hold and live by. Owen, who has a European reputation,
second only to that of Cuvier, gets as Hunterian Professor 300 pounds
sterling a year! which is less than the salary of many a bank clerk. My
friend Forbes, who is a highly distinguished and a very able man, gets
the same from his office of Paleontologist to the Geological Survey of
Great Britain. Now, these are first-rate men--men who have been at work
for years laboriously toiling upward--men whose abilities, had they
turned them into the many channels of money-making, must have made large
fortunes. But the beauty of Nature and the pursuit of Truth allured them
into a nobler life--and this is the result...In literature a man may
write for magazines and reviews, and so support himself; but not so in
science. I could get anything I write into any of the journals or any of
the Transactions, but I know no means of thereby earning five shillings.
A man who chooses a life of science chooses not a life of poverty, but,
so far as I can see, a life of NOTHING, and the art of living upon
nothing at all has yet to be discovered. You will naturally think, then,
"Why persevere in so hopeless a course?" At present I cannot help
myself. For my own credit, for the sake of gratifying those who have
hitherto helped me on--nay, for the sake of truth and science itself, I
must work out fairly and fully complete what I have begun. And when that
is done, I will courageously and cheerfully turn my back upon all my old
aspirations. The world is wide, and there is everywhere room for honesty
of purpose and earnest endeavour. Had I failed in attaining my wishes
from an overweening self-confidence,--had I found that the obstacles
after all lay within myself--I should have bitterly despised myself,
and, worst of all, I should have felt that you had just ground of
complaint.
So far as the acknowledgment of the value of what I have done is
concerned, I have succeeded beyond my expectations, and if I have failed
on the other side of the question, I cannot blame myself. It is the
world's fault and not mine.
[A few months more, and he was able to report another and still more
unexpected testimony to the value of his work--another encouragement to
persevere in the difficult pursuit of a scientific life. He found
himself treated as an equal by men of established reputation; and the
first-fruits of his work ranked on a level with the maturer efforts of
veterans in science. He was within an ace of receiving the Royal Medal,
which was awarded him the following year. Of this, he writes:--]
November 7, 1851.
I have at last tasted what it is to mingle with my fellows--to take my
place in that society for which nature has fitted me, and whether the
draught has been a poison which has heated my veins or true nectar from
the gods, life-giving, I know not, but I can no longer rest where I once
could have rested. If I could find within myself that mere personal
ambition, the desire of fame, present or posthumous, had anything to do
with this restlessness, I would root it out. But in those moments of
self-questioning, when one does not lie even to oneself, I feel that I
can say it is not so--that the real pleasure, the true sphere, lies in
the feeling of self-development--in the sense of power and of growing
ONENESS with the great spirit of abstract truth.
Do you understand this? I know you do; our old oneness of feeling will
not desert us here...
To-day a most unexpected occurrence came to my knowledge. I must tell
you that the Queen places at the disposal of the Royal Society once a
year a valuable gold medal to be given to the author of the best paper
upon either a physical, chemical, or anatomical or physiological
subject. One of these branches of science is chosen by the Royal Society
for each year, and therefore for any given subject--say anatomy and
physiology; it becomes a triennial prize, and is given to the best
memoir in the "Transactions" for three years.
It happens that the Royal Medal, as it is called, is this year given in
Anatomy and Physiology. I had no idea that I had the least chance of
getting it, and made no effort to do so. But I heard this morning from a
member of the Council that the award was made yesterday, and that I was
within an ace of getting it. Newport, a man of high standing in the
scientific world, and myself were the two between whom the choice
rested, and eventually it was given to him, on account of his having a
greater bulk of matter in his papers, so evenly did the balance swing.
Had I only had the least idea that I should be selected they should have
had enough and to spare from me. However, I do not grudge Newport his
medal; he is a good sort and a worthy competitor, old enough to be my
father, and has long had a high reputation. Except for its practical
value as a means of getting a position I care little enough for the
medal. What I do care for is the justification which the being marked in
this position gives to the course I have taken. Obstinate and
self-willed as I am...there are times when grave doubts overshadow my
mind, and then such testimony as this restores my self-confidence.
To let you know the full force of what I have been saying, I must tell
you that this "Royal Medal" is what such men as Owen and Faraday are
glad to get, and is indeed one of the highest honours in England.
To-day I had the great pleasure of meeting my old friend Sir John
Richardson (to whom I was mainly indebted for my appointment in the
"Rattlesnake"). Since I left England he has married a third wife, and
has taken a hand in joining in search of Franklin (which was more
dreadful?), like an old hero as he is; but not a feather of him is
altered, and he is as grey, as really kind, and as seemingly abrupt and
grim, as ever he was. Such a fine old polar bear!