THE LIFE OF LINNÆUS (_Continued_).
The publication and reception of the artificial system of
classifying plants.
Linnæus had many difficulties to contend with, however. He found his old
rival, Rosen, at work; and Linnæus accuses this man of the meanness of
obtaining, partly by entreaty, partly by threats, his manuscript lectures
on botany, which he valued more than anything he possessed, and which
he afterwards detected his rival in copying. This formidable enemy next
proceeded to prevent Linnæus from obtaining the means of subsistence.
There was no room for the young botanist at Upsala, and, indeed, botany
appeared to be a bad profession. So he turned again to mineralogy, and
got up a students’ expedition to Fahlun and Dalecarlia. He settled down
at Fahlun for a while as a teacher, and found himself as it were in a
new world, where everybody loved and assisted him. He earned money by
his medical knowledge. The Bishop of Abo asked Linnæus to give him
some instruction in botany and mineralogy, and became much attached
to the young man. The bishop advised Linnæus to go abroad and get his
doctor’s degree, and also to marry. The last was as difficult as the
first, but being more to his taste at the time, he wooed the daughter
of Dr. John Morœa, a man of considerable property. The young student
made his proposals with considerable trepidation, and had he not been
satisfied that the lady was willing, he would have let the matter alone.
The worthy doctor thought well of Linnæus, but not of his prospects in
life, but he decided that after a lapse of three years he would give his
reply. Thus, at the age of twenty-nine, Linnæus found himself with a
betrothed, no occupation, and a great deal of knowledge and perseverance.
He had to live, and so he determined to stick to physic, and to get a
doctor’s degree. He contrived to scrape together £15, and went on his
way to the University of Harderwyk. First, like a good son, he went to
see his father, and to console him on the loss of the mother—a loss
greatly felt by the young man at this critical period of his life. Then
Linnæus journeyed to the south, and arrived at Hamburg, where his whole
time was employed in viewing the fine garden, and everything else worthy
of attention. The public library he examined, and also the principal
cabinets of natural history, and he read there for the first time the
botanical works of Ray, whom he esteemed as one of the most penetrating
observers of the natural affinity of plants. Amsterdam was the next
place, and then Harderwyk, where, after being examined, and publishing
a paper on the cure of intermittent fever, he was dubbed M.D. He left
for Leyden, and met Dr. Gronovius, to whom he showed his classification.
Gronovius was so delighted with it that he had it published at his own
expense in eight large sheets. He called on the celebrated Boerhaave, and
after eight days’ waiting obtained an audience. Boerhaave took a liking
to the young man, and recommended him to Dr. Burmann, of Amsterdam, in
whose house he remained for many months. During that time Linnæus printed
his “Fundamenta Botanica,” of which a great writer has said, “it contains
the very essence of botanical philosophy, and has never been superseded
nor refuted.” He commended his book to his friend Artedi, who had just
finished a work on Fishes. Death put an end to this friendship with
Artedi, who was accidentally drowned.
This stay at Amsterdam determined the future career of Linnæus, for he
was introduced there to an English banker, Mr. Clifford, whose garden
at Hartecoup was one of the finest in the world. Linnæus removed to Mr.
Clifford’s house, where he said he lived like a prince, had one of the
finest gardens in the world under his inspection, permission to procure
all the plants that were wanted in the garden and such books as were not
to be found in the library, and of course enjoyed all the advantages he
could wish for, in his botanical studies, to which he devoted himself day
and night. He got his description of the plants of Lapland printed, and
everybody recognized the charms of the descriptions in the book.
In the year 1736, Linnæus paid a visit to England. He did so by the
request, and at the expense, of Mr. Clifford, who was desirous to procure
various plants for his collection, and that he should communicate
with the most celebrated botanists and horticulturists of the day. He
carried with him a letter from Boerhaave to Sir Hans Sloane, who was
a mere rich collector in natural history, and afterwards founder of
the British Museum. This letter is still preserved among the archives
of that institution, and it is written in the strongest language of
recommendation. Notwithstanding such an honourable introduction, however,
the old baronet, who was a sort of highly cultivated curiosity-shop
keeper and not a scientific man, was indisposed to do justice to the
merits of a young man whose innovations on established systems he
viewed with suspicion and dislike. He therefore treated the stranger
with coldness, and dismissed him without any marks of regard. One of
the principal objects of interest to Linnæus, in this country, was the
botanical garden at Chelsea; and from the keeper of that collection,
Philip Miller, an excellent botanist, he experienced much attention,
and was supplied with many rare plants. The garden at Chelsea was the
first in Great Britain that was subsequently arranged according to the
Linnæan system. Dr. Shaw, the Oriental traveller, Professor Martyn,
Peter Collinson, and many other men of true science, received Linnæus
consistently with his testimonials, and admiring his genius, forwarded
his objects by all the means in their power, and, on his return to
the Continent, continued to correspond with him on subjects of mutual
interest in science.
From London our traveller proceeded to Oxford, where he paid his respects
to the celebrated Dillenius, justly considered one of the first botanists
of the time. This learned man was not by any means disposed to regard
Linnæus favourably. He had received from Gronovius a sheet of the “Genera
Plantarum,” and conceiving it to be written in opposition to him, was
irate, and, pointing to the young Swede, said to a gentleman who chanced
to be in his company at the moment of Linnæus’s entry, “See, this is the
young man who confounds all botany!” Linnæus did not understand English,
but the word “confound,” so similar to the Latin _confundere_, let him
into the secret of the professor’s words. He, however, showed no sign of
comprehending him.
Linnæus almost despaired of gaining the friendship of this learned man,
and obtaining from him the plants he wanted. At length, on the third
day of his visit to Oxford, he went to take leave of Dillenius, and, in
parting, said, “I have but one request to make of you; will you tell me
why you called me, the other day, the person who confounds all botany?”
Unable to evade so direct a question, Dillenius took him to his library,
and showed him the sheet of his genera which he had obtained. It was
marked in sundry places with notes of query. “What signify these marks?”
said Linnæus. “They signify all the false genera of plants in your book,”
answered the other. This challenge led to an explanation, in which
Linnæus proved his accuracy in every instance. The result was an entire
change on the part of Dillenius, who afterwards detained Linnæus with him
a month, and found so much satisfaction in his company that he kept him
always in close converse, scarce leaving him an hour to himself. At last
he parted from him with tears in his eyes, after making him the offer to
stay and share his salary, which would have sufficed for them both.
Linnæus never learned any language, not even Dutch, although he lived
three years in Holland. “Nevertheless,” he says, “I found my way
everywhere well and happily.” Despite this great obstacle, Linnæus
appears to have counted among his friends and correspondents some of
the fair sex, in several countries. Lady Ann Monson in London, and
Mrs. Blackburne at Oxford, were among this number; and he had a most
enthusiastic admirer in Miss Jane Colden, of America, who was introduced
to his notice by one of his correspondents, as the only lady known to be
scientifically acquainted with the Linnæan system. She had drawn and
described four hundred plants, according to his method, using English
terms.
Pleased with the favour and interest thus manifested, Linnæus
acknowledged his sense of them, by preserving the names of these ladies
in the vegetable kingdom, and, among others, he named two genera of
beautiful plants, Monsonia and Coldenia. The study of botany was so
greatly promoted and facilitated by the easy and pleasant method
introduced by Linnæus, that it is no wonder the ladies acknowledged,
with gratitude, their obligation to the naturalist who first originated
a method by which this delightful study could be brought within the
attainment of all who loved it.
Linnæus wished to visit Paris, and travelled by way of Leyden, where he
enjoyed the society of Lieberkühn, a professor possessed of “incomparable
microscopes.” He stopped there until the spring of 1738, and not long
before his departure, he had an affecting interview with the great
Boerhaave, then on his death-bed. This illustrious man, who had proved
himself so generous a friend to the young naturalist, took a sorrowful
and affectionate leave of him. His parting words were: “I have lived out
my time, and done what I could; may God preserve thee, from whom the
world expects much more. Farewell, dear Linnæus!” Linnæus fell ill, and
was attended by his fellow-labourer, Von Swieten, and on his recovery Mr.
Clifford sent him for a tour into Brabant. Thence he went to Paris, saw
the Jussieus and Réaumur, and was admitted a corresponding member of the
Academy of Science. Leaving Paris, he went northwards to see his father,
and then to his love. The course of true love had run very crookedly, for
a mutual friend, who had been the medium of the correspondence of the
lovers, fell in love with the lady himself. She was true, however, and
they were finally betrothed. It was strange that the greatest botanist
of the day could not get a living out of his science, and it is not to
the credit of his native country. Again Linnæus had to take to physic,
and settling at Stockholm, found that the people would not trust him with
the cure of their dogs, much less with that of themselves. Abroad he had
been honoured everywhere, and in his own country he was a nobody. All of
a sudden things changed, he cured somebody, and everybody went to him to
be cured. Then his star began to shine, the people of Upsala began to
remember him. Count Tessin, who had been tutor to the King of Sweden, and
who was a lover of natural history, procured him a salary of two hundred
ducats a year, on condition that he would give public lectures on botany
and mineralogy. Linnæus wrote of this good friend: “He received me, a
stranger, on my return; he obtained me a salary from the States, the
appointment of physician to the Admiralty, the professorship of Botany
at Upsala, the title of Dean of the College of Physicians, the favour of
two kings, and recommended me by a medal, to posterity.” Having a good
income at last, Linnæus entreated that his marriage might not longer
be delayed. He married Sara Elizabeth Morœa, at her father’s home near
Fahlun.
One of Linnæus’s biographers says, “He was fonder, on the whole, of
meddling with plants than with patients;” and in the true spirit of
science, Linnæus gave up his lucrative practice to settle down as
Professor of Botany to the University of Upsala. It was the summit of his
wishes, and in 1741 he began to reside at Upsala, which was to be his
future home.
His zeal, talents, and widespread renown soon produced the desired
effect, and in a few years the garden at Upsala ranked equal, if not
superior, to similar institutions in Europe. Contributions to its
stores continually poured in from all quarters, and the most celebrated
botanists vied with each other in presenting the treasures of every
region and climate of the globe to its distinguished superintendent.
Six years after the establishment of this garden, the new professor
published its description. The numbers of the foreign species of plants
in it at that time, amounted to one thousand one hundred. He was filled
with delight when he beheld these fruits of his labours. As a teacher and
lecturer, Linnæus distinguished himself in a particular manner. His old
students always spoke well of his teaching, and he trained some of the
most distinguished botanists in Europe.
The names of Kalm, Thunberg, Sparrman, Solander, and Fabricius, for
instance, are well known in the scientific world; and there is perhaps
nothing more truly honourable to the memory of their great master,
than the fact that he was the founder of such a school of able and
enterprising men.
Linnæus impressed upon his students, and took care to remember in his
own writings, that it was absolutely necessary to be exact in botanical
descriptions—that the genus should be properly named, and that it should
represent an idea into which certain species could enter.
To the poor, and even to the rich, foreign students who resided at Upsala
entirely on his account, he was most generous, refusing the perquisites
which he should have received for his lectures. To the former he remitted
the money from purely benevolent motives, while he declined it from
the others, that he might convince them how truly proud he was of his
science, so that he would fain make it free of cost to those who sought
after it. One of them having repeatedly urged Linnæus to accept a Swedish
bank-note as an acknowledgment for the pains he had taken to teach him,
he said, “Tell me candidly, are you rich, and can you afford it? Can you
well spare this money on your return to Germany? If you can, then give
the note to my wife; but, if you be poor, so help me Heaven, I will take
not a single farthing from you.” “You are the only Swiss that visits
me, and I feel a pleasure in telling you all I know, gratis,” was his
answer to another, who importuned him in the same manner. It was evident
that he was never so much at home, so entirely happy, as in his garden,
and while searching into the secrets and hidden properties and workings
of nature. Hence he reckoned it among the choicest favours vouchsafed
him by Providence, that he had been “inspired with an inclination for
science so passionate, as to become the source of highest delight to
him.” His diligence and minute observation were continually adding to
his knowledge, and imparting some fresh light in the study he loved.
Indeed, after mentioning with evident satisfaction the honours showed
him, Linnæus somewhat significantly, and very curtly, adds, “Thus was
he obliged to be a courtier, contrary to his inclination.” From his own
account of his personal appearance we learn that he was a little below
the standard height, and of a strong and compact figure. He rather
stooped in walking, having contracted this habit from the frequent
examination of plants and other objects. His head was large, and a good
deal raised behind, and there was a wart on the side of his cheek. His
hair was of a dark brown, till silvered by age, when his brow became much
furrowed and wrinkled. His eyes were brown, bright and piercing, and
his sight exceedingly keen. His ear, too, was very acute, and quick in
catching every sound, except that of music, in which he took no delight.
His natural temperament, he tells us, was vivacious; prompt to joy,
sorrow, and anger, but the latter was speedily appeased, and he was
so averse to disputes that he never would answer any of his numerous
assailants. In his early days he was full of energy and spirit, and
through life his movements were rapid and agile. In his habits he
observed the strictest temperance and method. He never delayed anything
he had to do, and noted down immediately what he wished to remember. He
has recorded that he never neglected a lecture; and by rigid economy of
time, and a regular and exact distribution of the hours, he completed
those extraordinary labours which remain lasting proofs of his talents,
acuteness, and industry.
Of his wife, Linnæus makes honourable mention, and numbers her as among
the choice gifts bestowed on him. “She was,” he says, “the wife for
whom he most wished, and who managed his household affairs while he was
engaged in laborious studies.”
The year 1764 was marked by several events of domestic interest in
the life of Linnæus. Early in the spring he was attacked by a violent
pleurisy, which threatened to cut short his existence. He relates how,
with great difficulty, and through the kind assistance and consummate
skill of Rosen, his present friend and old enemy, he was brought
safely through the crisis. It is truly pleasing to read in his private
memoranda, the gratitude he felt to his old rival, and the expressions
of intimate regard which thenceforward prevailed between them. Recovered
from this illness, Linnæus retired to Hammarby, to enjoy the fresh
invigorating air of the country, and to celebrate his “Silfer Bröllop,”
a Swedish custom of commemorating the twenty-fifth return of the wedding
day. One of his most celebrated pupils, Professor Fabricius, has given
some interesting particulars respecting his eminent master at this period
of his life.
“For two whole years,” he says, “I was so fortunate as to enjoy his
instruction, guidance, and confidential friendship. When I became
acquainted with the Chevalier von Linné, although he had not attained
his sixtieth year, increasing age had already furrowed his brow with
wrinkles. His countenance was open, almost constantly serene, and bore
great resemblance to his portrait in the book called Species Plantarum.
But his eyes, of all the eyes I ever saw, were the most beautiful.
They certainly were but small, but they shone with a brilliancy, and
had a degree of penetration, such as I never observed in another man.
His mind was noble and elevated, though I well know some persons have
accused him of several faults. But his greatest excellence consisted
in the systematic order of his thoughts. Whatever he did or said was
faithful to order, truth, and regularity. His passions were strong
and violent, his heart open to every impression of joy, and he loved
jocularity, conviviality, and good living. An excellent companion, he
was pleasant in conversation, and full of entertaining stories; at the
same time, suddenly roused to anger, he was boisterous and violent, but
immediately his displeasure subsided, and he was all good-humour again.
His friendship was sure and invariable, science being generally its
basis; and every one who knew him must be aware what concern he always
manifested for his pupils, and with how much zeal they returned his
friendship. In summer we followed him into the country. Our life was then
much happier. Our dwelling was about a quarter of a league distant from
his house at Hammarby, in a farm. He rose very early in summer, mostly
about four o’clock. At six he came to us, because his house was then
building, breakfasted with us, and gave lectures upon the natural orders
of plants as long as he pleased, and generally till about ten o’clock.
We then wandered about among the neighbouring rocks, the productions
of which afforded us plenty of entertainment. In the afternoon we went
to his garden, and in the evening mostly played at the Swedish game of
trissett, in company with the ladies. Occasionally, the whole family
came to spend the day with us, and then we sent for a peasant, who
played on an instrument resembling a violin, to which we danced in the
barn of our farm-house; and though the company was but small, and the
dances superlatively rustic, we passed the time merrily. While we danced,
Linnæus sat looking on, and smoking his pipe; sometimes, though very
rarely, he danced a Polish dance, in which he excelled every one of us
young men. He was exceedingly delighted when he saw us in high glee,
nay, even if we became noisy. His only anxiety was, that we might be
well entertained. Those days, those hours, will never be erased from my
memory, and every remembrance of them is grateful to my heart!”
He seems, before sending it, to have added at the close a sort of
summary of his deeds, his merits, his honours, and his obligations.
With the scrupulous care, and love of truth and justice, which always
characterized him, he reckoned up, under the latter head, the various
aids afforded him by his pupils and friends; and, conscious of his higher
obligations, he enumerated the favours he had received from the Divine
hand which he acknowledged had led and prospered him. He had permitted
him to visit His secret council chambers, and to see more of the creation
than any mortal before him, and given him greater knowledge of natural
history than any one had hitherto acquired. Even beneath the pressure of
increasing infirmities, the fondness of Linnæus for his beloved studies
continued undiminished, and his desire of adding to his knowledge was
keen as ever. Some of his letters at this period are full of vivacity,
and strikingly express the ardour of his zeal. An idea of their spirit
may be gained from a short extract taken from one, dated August 8th,
1771. “I received an hour ago,” he writes, “yours of the 16th July, nor
did I ever get a more welcome letter, as it contains the happy tidings
of my dear Solander’s safe return. Thanks and glory to God, who has
protected him through the dangers of such a voyage. If I were not bound
fast here, by sixty-four years of age and a worn-out body, I would this
very day set out for London, to see this great hero in botany. Moses was
not permitted to enter Palestine, but only to view it from a distance; so
I conceive an idea in my mind of the acquisitions and treasures of those
who have visited every part of the globe.”
In the spring of 1774, while lecturing in the Botanic Garden, he suffered
an attack of apoplexy, the debilitating effects of which obliged him to
relinquish all active professional duties, and to close his literary
occupations. In 1776 a second seizure supervened, which rendered him
paralytic on the right side, and impaired his mental powers so much that
he became a distressing spectacle. Yet, even then, with the natural
flow of cheerfulness so peculiar to him, he thus described his own
situation:—“Linnæus limps, can hardly walk, speaks unintelligibly, and
is scarce able to write.” Nature remained, to the last, his sole comfort
and relief. He used to be carried to his museum, where he gazed on the
treasures he had collected with so much care and labour, and as long
as possible he continued to manifest peculiar delight in examining the
rarities and new productions which had been latterly added to them by
some of his pupils.
It is scarcely possible to find a more striking illustration of the
“ruling passion strong in death,” than is afforded in the instance of
Linnæus. Lingering and painful were the last twelve months of his
existence; but at length, on the 10th January, 1778, he gently expired
in his sleep, in the seventy-first year of his age. The death of Linnæus
was regarded, in Sweden, as a national calamity. The whole University
went into mourning, and all the professors, doctors, and students then
at Upsala, attended his funeral. The king, in his speech to the States
in the same year, publicly lamented his death, and ordered a medal to be
struck in his honour; and in 1798 a monument was erected to him in the
cathedral at Upsala, where he was interred.
Such a life needs but little comment. It speaks for itself to the youth
leaving school and knowing not what to do, to the young man struggling
for existence and position, to the middle-aged man in his wealth and
influence, and to the old man who cares to leave a good name behind him.
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