Heroes of science

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.