pretty difficult to distinguish between playful imagination and lying.
Let us give Darwin the benefit of the doubt in this instance:
"One little event during this year (1817) has fixed itself very firmly
in my mind, and I hope that it has done so from my conscience having
been afterwards sorely troubled by it; it is curious as showing that
apparently I was interested at this early age in the variability of
plants! I told another little boy (I believe it was Leighton, who
afterwards became a well-known lichenologist and botanist), that I
could produce variously colored polyanthuses and primroses by watering
them with certain colored fluids, which was of course a monstrous
fable, and had never been tried by me."
Darwin's school experiences were not always profitable. He says:
"I had many friends, and got together a good collection of old verses,
which by patching together, sometimes aided by other boys, I could
work into any subject. Much attention was paid to learning by heart
the lessons of the previous day. This I could effect with great
facility, learning forty or fifty lines of Virgil or Homer whilst I
was in morning chapel. But this exercise was utterly useless, for
every verse was forgotten in forty-eight hours. I was not idle, and
with the exception of versification, generally worked conscientiously
at my classics, not using cribs. The sole pleasure I ever received
from such studies, was from some of the odes of Horace, which I
admired greatly."
Of his years at Cambridge he writes:
"During the three years which I spent at Cambridge my time was wasted,
as far as the academical studies were concerned, as completely as at
Edinburgh and at school. I attempted mathematics, and even went,
during the summer of 1828, with a private tutor (a very dull man) to
Barmouth, but I got on very slowly. The work was repugnant to me
chiefly from my not being able to see any meaning in the very early
steps in algebra. This impatience was very foolish, and in after years
I have deeply regretted that I did not proceed far enough at least to
understand something of the great leading principles of mathematics,
for men thus endowed seem to have an extra sense.... In order to pass
the B.A. examination, it was also necessary to get up Paley's
_Evidences of Christianity_, and his _Moral Philosophy_. This was done
in a thorough manner, and I am convinced that I could have written out
the whole of the _Evidences_ with perfect correctness, but not of
course in the clear language of Paley. The logic of this book and, as
I may add, of his _Natural Theology_, gave me as much delight as did
Euclid. The careful study of these works, without attempting to learn
any part by rote, was the only part of the academical course which, as
I then felt and as I still believe, was of the least use to me in the
education of my mind. I did not at that time trouble myself about
Paley's premises, and taking these on trust I was charmed and
convinced by the long line of argumentation."
One of the great opportunities of Darwin's life came to him when, some
time after he had finished his course at Cambridge, he was offered a
place as naturalist on the _Beagle_, a ship sent by the English
government on a survey. At first Darwin thought he could not go
because his father was opposed to the plan. Finally the father said he
would consent if any man of common sense should advise his son to go.
This common sense man "was found in the person of his uncle, a Josiah
Wedgwood, who advised the father to permit his son to go. The voyage
has been described by Darwin, and thousands have been interested and
profited by the reading. Some of the letters that he wrote to his
friends during his trip are also very interesting. Here is one he
sent to his cousin, Fox:
"My mind has been, since leaving England, in a perfect _hurricane_ of
delight and astonishment, and to this hour scarcely a minute has
passed in idleness.... Geology carries the day; it is like the
pleasure of gambling. Speculating, on first arrival, what the rocks
may be, I often mentally cry out, three to one tertiary against
primitive; but the latter has hitherto won all the bets.... My life,
when at sea, is so quiet, that to a person who can employ himself,
nothing can be pleasanter; the beauty of the sky and brilliancy of the
ocean together make a picture. But when on shore, and wandering in the
sublime forests, surrounded by views more gorgeous than Claude ever
imagined, I enjoy a delight which none but those who have experienced
it can understand. If it is to be done, it must be by studying
Humboldt. At our ancient snug breakfasts, at Cambridge, I little
thought that the wide Atlantic would ever separate us; but it is a
rare privilege that with the body, the feelings and memory are not
divided. On the contrary, the pleasantest scenes of my life, many of
which have been at Cambridge, rise from the contrast of the present
the more vividly in my imagination."
From Valparaiso, after he had been two years on the voyage, he writes
to a friend:
"That this voyage must come to a conclusion my reason tells me,
otherwise I see no end to it. It is impossible not bitterly to regret
the friends and other sources of pleasure one leaves behind in
England; in place of it there is much solid enjoyment, some present,
but more in anticipation, when the ideas gained during the voyage can
be compared with fresh ones. I find in Geology a never-failing
interest, as it has been remarked, it creates the same grand ideas
respecting the world which astronomy does for the universe. We have
seen much fine scenery; that of the tropics in its glory and
luxuriance exceeds even the language of Humboldt to describe. A
Persian writer could alone do justice to it, and if he succeeded he
would in England be called the 'Grandfather of all liars.'"
No one can read the life of Darwin without feeling great respect for
his perseverance. His faithful devotion to his work can teach us all a
useful lesson. Says his son:
"No one 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 possible annoyance, and omitted nothing
that might save him trouble, or prevent his 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 this constant and tender care. But it is, I
repeat, a principal 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."
That Darwin himself appreciated the goodness of his wife can be seen
from the following tribute which has appeared in _More Letters of
Charles Darwin_. It does not appear in the _Autobiography_ because
Mrs. Darwin was living at the time of its publication. Where in all
literature can a more tender and beautiful appreciation be found?--
"You all know your mother, and what a good mother she has been to all
of you. She has been my greatest blessing, and I can declare that in
my whole life I have never heard her utter one word I would rather
have been unsaid. She has never failed in kindest sympathy towards me,
and has borne with the utmost patience my frequent complaints of
ill-health and discomfort. I do not believe she has ever missed an
opportunity of doing a kind action to any one near her. I marvel at my
good fortune that she, so infinitely my superior in every single moral
quality, consented to be my wife. She has been my wise adviser and
cheerful comforter throughout life, which without her would have been
during a very long period a miserable one from ill-health. She has
earned the love of every soul near her."
XLIII
ANECDOTES OF HUXLEY
Huxley was more than one of the greatest scientists of the last
century; he was a man of literary ability. By his popular lectures and
clear expositions he probably did more than any other man of the
century to popularize the many and important discoveries of the
scientific world. At first there was much opposition to him, owing to
a lack of information on the part of the public as to the import of
the doctrine of evolution. Ex-President Gilman of Johns Hopkins
University tells what a storm of protest was raised in America when
Huxley was invited to deliver the opening address at the founding of
the new university. Huxley is not even now regarded as an orthodox
man, but much of the former prejudice has given way.
John Fiske, who in so many ways can be regarded as the American
Huxley, has published a magazine article giving his impressions of
Huxley. In this article he gives two versions of a famous Huxley
anecdote. Here is one:
"It was at the meeting of the British Association at Oxford in 1860,
soon after the publication of Darwin's epoch-making book, and while
people in general were wagging their heads at it, that the subject
came up before a hostile and fashionable audience. Samuel Wilberforce,
the plausible and self-complacent Bishop of Oxford, commonly known as
'Soapy Sam,' launched out in a rash speech, conspicuous for its
ignorant mis-statements, and highly seasoned with appeals to the
prejudices of the audience, upon whose lack of intelligence the
speaker relied. Near him sat Huxley, already known as a man of
science, and known to look favorably upon Darwinism, but more or less
youthful withal, only five-and-thirty, so that the bishop anticipated
sport in badgering him. At the close of his speech he suddenly turned
upon Huxley and begged to be informed if the learned gentleman was
really willing to be regarded as the descendant of a monkey. Eager
self-confidence had blinded the bishop to the tactical blunder in thus
inviting a retort. Huxley was instantly upon his feet with a speech
demolishing the bishop's card house of mistakes; and at the close he
observed that since a question of personal preferences had been very
improperly brought into a discussion of a scientific theory, he felt
free to confess that if the alternatives were descent, on the one hand
from a respectable monkey, or on the other from a bishop of the
English church who would stoop to such misrepresentations and sophisms
as the audience had lately listened to, he would declare in favor of
the monkey!... It is curious to read that in the ensuing buzz of
excitement a lady fainted, and had to be carried from the room; but
the audience were in general quite alive to the bishop's blunder in
manners and tactics, and, with the genuine English love of fair play,
they loudly applauded Huxley. From that time forth it was recognized
that he was not the sort of man to be browbeaten. As for Bishop
Wilberforce, he carried with him from the affray no bitterness, but
was always afterwards most courteous to his castigator."
Huxley was a great reader of history, poetry, metaphysics, and
fiction, but this is not what made him a great scientist. Original men
make books, they do not need to read them. Yet Huxley loved to read.
He even in his old age studied Greek to read Aristotle and the New
Testament in the original. But Huxley loved things even more than
books. He had little respect for mere bookish knowledge. "A rash
clergyman once, without further equipment in natural science than
desultory reading, attacked the Darwinian theory in some sundry
magazine articles, in which he made himself uncommonly merry at
Huxley's expense. This was intended to draw the great man's fire, and
as the batteries remained silent the author proceeded to write to
Huxley, calling his attention to the articles, and at the same time,
with mock modesty, asking advice as to the further study of these deep
questions. Huxley's answer was brief and to the point: 'Take a
cockroach and dissect it.'"
Huxley was fond of children and their ways. His son, Leonard, tells us
that Julian, the grandchild of Huxley was a child made up of a
combination of cherub and pickle. Huxley had been in his garden
watering with a hose. The little four-year-old was with him. Huxley
came in and said: "I like that chap! I like the way he looks you
straight in the face and disobeys you. I told him not to go on the
wet grass again. He just looked up boldly straight at me, as much as
to say, 'What do _you_ mean by ordering me about?' and deliberately
walked on to the grass." In the spring the approval was not so
decided. "I like that chap; he looks you straight in the face. But
there's a falling off in one respect since last August--he now does
what he is told."
When Julian, the grandchild, was learning to read and write, he became
interested in _Water-Babies_, a story that has delighted so many
children. In it he found a reference to his grandfather as one who
knew much about water-babies. So he wrote to his grandfather:
Dear Grandpater, have you seen a water baby? Did you put it in
a bottle? Did it wonder if it could get out? Can I see it some
day?
Your loving
JULIAN.
This is the answer to the letter:
March 24, 1892.
MY DEAR JULIAN:
I never could make out about that water-baby. I have seen
babies in water and babies in bottles; but the baby in the
water was not in the bottle and the baby in the bottle was not
in the water.
Ever your loving
GRANDPATER.
Huxley was also fond of cats and dogs and pets of all kind. His son
tells us that once he found his father in an uncomfortable seat, while
the cat had the best chair. He defended himself by saying that he
could not turn the beast away. In 1893 a man, who was writing on the
_Pets of Celebrities_, wrote to him for information concerning his
personal likings. Huxley sent him this letter:
A long series of cats has reigned over my household for the
last forty years or thereabouts; but I am sorry to say that I
have no pictorial or other record of their physical and moral
excellencies.
The present occupant of the throne is a large young gray
tabby, Oliver by name. Not that in any sense he is a
protector, for I doubt whether he has the heart to kill a
mouse. However, I saw him catch and eat the first butterfly of
the season, and trust that the germ of courage thus manifest
may develop, with age, into efficient mousing.
As to sagacity, I should say that his judgment respecting the
warmest place and the softest cushion in the room is
infallible, his punctuality at meal-time is admirable, and his
pertinacity in jumping on people's shoulders till they give
him some of the best of what is going indicates great
firmness.
XLIV
STEVENSON AT VAILIMA
Robert Louis Stevenson, the writer of _Treasure Island_ and many other
exciting romances, was an exile from home during the last few years of
his life. The state of his health demanded a sunny clime and so he was
forced to live in Samoa, a group of islands in the South Pacific.
About three miles behind Apia, on a slight plateau seven hundred feet
above the level of the sea, he cleared the forest and made a house. "I
have chosen the land to be my land, the people to be my people, to
live and die with," said Stevenson in his speech to the Samoan chiefs.
Mr. Lloyd Osbourne, his step-son, thus describes their abode:
"Unbroken forest covered Vailima when first we saw it; not the forest
of the temperate zone with its varied glades and open spaces, but the
thick tangle of the tropics, dense, dark, and cold in even the hottest
day, where one must walk cutlass in hand to slash the lianas and the
red-edged stinging leaves of a certain tree that continually bar one's
path. The murmur of streams and cascades fell sometimes upon our ears
as we wandered in the deep shade, and mingled with the cooing of wild
doves and the mysterious, haunting sound of a native woodpecker at
work. Our Chinaman, who was with us on our first survey, busied
himself with taking samples of the soil, and grew almost incoherent
with the richness of what he called the 'dirty.' We, for our part,
were no less enchanted with what we saw, and could realize, as we
forced our way through the thickets and skirted the deep ravines, what
a noble labor lay before our axes, what exquisite views and glorious
gardens could be carved out of the broken mountain side and the sullen
forest."
As Stevenson was afraid that villas might be made to intervene between
him and the sea, he bought much land that his view might be forever
unobstructed. He entered into the work of clearing the forest with
vigorous delight. For months he lived in pioneer confusion. Gangs of
native workmen worked from morning to night.
"The new house was built," says Mr. Osbourne; "I arrived from England
with the furniture, the library, and other effects of our old home;
the phase of hard work and short commons passed gradually away, and a
form of hollow comfort dawned upon us. I say hollow comfort, for
though we began to accumulate cows, horses, and the general apparatus
of civilized life, the question of service became a vexing one. An
expensive German cooked our meals and quarreled with the white
house-maid; the white overseer said 'that manual labor was the one
thing that never agreed with him,' and that it was an unwholesome
thing for a man to be awakened in the early morning, 'for one ought to
wake up natural-like,' he explained. The white carter 'couldn't bear
with niggers,' and though he did his work well and faithfully, he
helped to demoralize the place and loosen discipline. Everything was
at sixes and sevens, when, on the occasion of Mrs. Stevenson's going
to Fiji for a few months' rest, my sister and I took charge of
affairs. The expensive German was bidden to depart; Mr. Stevenson
discharged the carter; the white overseer (who was tied to us by
contract) was bought off in cold coin, to sleep out his 'natural
sleep' under a kindlier star and to engage himself (presumably) in
intellectual labors elsewhere. There are two sides to 'white
slavery'--that cherished expression of the labor agitator--and with
the departure of our tyrants we began again to raise our diminished
heads. My sister and I threw ourselves into the kitchen, and took up
the labor of cooking with zeal and determination; the domestic
boundaries proved too narrow for our new-found energies, and we
overflowed into the province of entertainment, with decorated menus,
silver plate and finger-bowls! The aristocracy of Apia was pressed to
lunch with us, to commend our independence and to eat our biscuits. It
was a French Revolution in miniature; we danced the carmagnole in the
kitchen and were prepared to conquer the Samoan social world. One
morning, before the ardor and zest of it all had time to be dulled by
custom, I happened to discover a young and very handsome Samoan on our
back veranda. He was quite a dandified youngster, with a red flower
behind his ear and his hair limed in the latest fashion. I liked his
open, attractive face and his unembarrassed manner, and inquired what
propitious fate had brought him to sit upon our ice-chest and radiate
good nature on our back porch. It seemed that Simele, the overseer,
owed him two Chile dollars, and that he was here, bland, friendly, but
insistent, to collect the debt in person. That Simele would not be
back for hours in no way daunted him, and he seemed prepared to swing
his brown legs and show his white teeth for a whole eternity.
"'Chief,' I said, a sudden thought striking me, 'you are he that I
have been looking for so long. You are going to stay in Vailima and be
our cook!'
"'But I don't know how to cook,' he replied.
"'That is no matter,' I said. 'Two months ago I was as you; to-day I
am a splendid cook. I will teach you my skill.'
"'But I don't want to learn,' he said, and brought back the
conversation to Chile dollars.
"'There is no good making excuses,' I said. 'This is a psychological
moment in the history of Vailima. You are the Man of Destiny.'
"'But I haven't my box,' he expostulated.
"'I will send for it,' I returned. 'I would not lose you for twenty
boxes. If you need clothes, why there stands my own chest; flowers
grow in profusion and the oil-bottle rests never empty beside my
humble bed; and in the hot hours of the afternoon there is the
beautifulest pool where one can bathe and wash one's lovely hair.
Moreover, so generous are the regulations of Tusitala's (Stevenson's)
government that his children receive weekly large sums of money, and
they are allowed on Sundays to call their friends to this elegant
house and entertain them with salt beef and biscuit.'
"Thus was Taalolo introduced into the Vailima kitchen, never to leave
it for four years save when the war-drum called him to the front with
a six-shooter and a 'death-tooth'--the Samoan war-cutlass or
head-knife. He became in time not only an admirable chef, but the
nucleus of the whole native establishment and the loyalest of our
whole Samoan family. His coming was the turning-point in the history
of the house. We had achieved independence of our white masters, and
their discontented white faces had disappeared one by one. Honest
brown ones now took their places and we gained more than good servants
by the change."
The following incident illustrates the high regard in which Stevenson
was held by the native Samoans. When Mataafa, a claimant for the
throne of Upolo, was imprisoned by the European powers, Stevenson
visited him in prison and gave him tobacco and other gifts to cheer
the disconsolate chief. He also visited other prisoners who had sided
in the affairs of Mataafa. When they were released they wished to show
their gratitude in some tangible way. So they built a fine wide road
to the home of the famous writer, a work which they disliked but which
their love for Stevenson enabled them to accomplish. They called it
"The Road of the Loving-Heart." Once when his favorite body-servant,
Sosimo, had anticipated some of his master's wants and Stevenson had
complimented him with, "Great is the wisdom!" "Nay," replied Sosimo
with truer insight, "Great is the Love!"
Stevenson's manner of life at Vailima was somewhat like this: At six
o'clock or earlier he arose and began the day's work. By dawn the
rest of the household were up, and at about eight his wife's daughter
began to take his dictation, working from then until noon. The
afternoons were usually spent in some form of recreation--riding was a
favorite pastime. He was fond of strolling through the tropical
forest, and of taking part in any of the numerous outdoor sports.
However, when he was in the height of literary inspiration, he stayed
at his desk all day long.
On Sunday evening the household was always called together for
prayers; a chapter was read from the Samoan Bible, Samoan hymns were
sung and one of Stevenson's own beautiful prayers, one usually written
for the occasion, was read, concluding with the Lord's Prayer in the
tongue of the natives. In the dominant note of these prayers, the call
for courage and cheerfulness, one can hear the cry of the dying
Stevenson's need: "The day returns and brings us the petty round of
irritating concerns and duties. Help us to play the man, help us to
perform them with laughter and kind faces, let cheerfulness abound
with industry.... Give us health, food, bright weather, and light
hearts.... As the sun lightens the world, so let our loving-kindness
make bright the house of our habitation."
Stevenson died as he wished--in the midst of his work. After a day
spent in writing his _Weir of Hermiston_, a day full of life and
gayety, he suddenly fainted and died a short time afterwards. In the
prayer offered the evening before had been this sentence,--"When the
day returns, return to us our sun and comforter, and call us up with
morning faces and with morning hearts, eager to be happy, if
happiness shall be our portion--and if the day be marked for sorrow,
strong to endure it."
On the following morning a group of powerful Samoans bore the coffin
upon their shoulders to the summit of Mount Vaea, where it was the
wish of Mr. Stevenson that he should rest. One of the inscriptions
upon the tomb is his own noble _Requiem_: