[One thing, however, afforded him great pleasure at this time. He writes on November 6 to his old friend, Sir J. Hooker:—]
I write just to say what infinite satisfaction the award of the Copley Medal to you has given me. If you were not my dear old friend, it would rejoice me as a mere matter of justice—of which there is none too much in this "— rum world," as Whitworth's friend called it.
[To the reply that the award was not according to rule, inasmuch as it was the turn for the medal to be awarded in another branch of science, he rejoins:—]
I had forgotten all about the business—but he had done nothing to deserve the Copley, and all I can say is that if the present award is contrary to law, the "law's a hass" as Mr. Bumble said. But I don't believe that it is.
[He replies also on November 5 to a clerical correspondent who had written to him on the distinction between sheretz and rehmes, and accused him of "wilful blindness" in his theological controversy of 1886:—]
Let me assure you that it is not my way to set my face against being convinced by evidence.
I really cannot hold myself to be responsible for the translators of the Revised Version of the Old Testament. If I had given a translation of the passage to which you refer on my own authority, any mistake would be mine, and I should be bound to acknowledge it. As I did not, I have nothing to admit. I have every respect for your and Mr. —'s authority as Hebraists, but I have noticed that Hebrew scholars are apt to hold very divergent views, and before admitting either your or Mr. —'s interpretation, I should like to see the question fully discussed.
If, when the discussion is concluded, the balance of authority is against the revised version, I will carefully consider how far the needful alterations may affect the substance of the one passage in my reply to Mr. Gladstone which is affected by it.
At present I am by no means clear that it will make much difference, and in no case will the main lines of my argument as to the antagonism between modern science and the Pentateuch be affected. The statements I have made are public property. If you think they are in any way erroneous I must ask you to take upon yourself the same amount of responsibility as I have done, and submit your objections to the same ordeal.
There is nothing like this test for reducing things to their true proportions, and if you try it, you will probably discover, not without some discomfort, that you really had no reason to ascribe wilful blindness to those who do not agree with you.
[He was now preparing to complete his campaign of the spring on technical education by delivering an address to the Technical Education Association at Manchester on November 29, and looked forward to attending the anniversary meeting of the Royal Society on his way home next day, and seeing the Copley medal conferred upon his old friend, Sir J. Hooker. However, unexpected trouble befell him. First he was much alarmed about his wife, who had been ill more or less ever since leaving Arolla. Happily it turned out that there was nothing worse than could be set right by a slight operation. But nothing had been done when news came of the sudden death of his second daughter on November 19.] "I have no heart for anything just now," [he writes; nevertheless, he forced himself to fulfil this important engagement at Manchester, and in the end the necessity of bracing himself for the undertaking acted on him as a tonic.
It is a trifle, perhaps, but a trifle significant of the disturbance of mind that could override so firmly fixed a habit, that the two first letters he wrote after receiving the news are undated; almost the only omission of the sort I have found in all his letters of the last twenty-five years of his life.
His daughter's long illness had left him without hope for months past, but this, as he confessed, did not mend matters much. In his letters to his two most intimate friends, he recalls her brilliant promise, her happy marriage, her] "faculty for art, which some of the best artists have told me amounted to genius." [But he was naturally reticent in these matters, and would hardly write of his own griefs unbidden even to old friends.]
85 Marina, St. Leonards, November 21, 1887.
My dear Spencer,
You will not have forgotten my bright girl Marian, who married so happily and with such bright prospects half a dozen years ago?
Well, she died three days ago of a sudden attack of pneumonia, which carried her off almost without warning. And I cannot convey to you a sense of the terrible sufferings of the last three years better than by saying that I, her father, who loved her well, am glad that the end has come thus…
My poor wife is well nigh crushed by the blow. For though I had lost hope, it was not in the nature of things that she should.
Don't answer this—I have half a mind to tear it up—for when one is in a pool of trouble there is no sort of good in splashing other people.
Ever yours,
T.H. Huxley.
[As for his plans, he writes to Sir J. Hooker on November 21:—]
I had set my heart on seeing you get the Copley on the 30th. In fact, I made the Manchester people, to whom I had made a promise to go down and address the Technical Education Association, change their day to the 29th for that reason.
I cannot leave them in the lurch after stirring up the business in the way I have done, and I must go and give my address. But I must get back to my poor wife as fast as I can, and I cannot face any more publicity than that which it would be cowardly to shirk just now. So I shall not be at the Society except in the spirit.
Ever yours,
T.H. Huxley.
[And again to Sir M. Foster:—]
You cannot be more sorry than I am that I am going to Manchester, but I am not proud of chalking up "no popery" and running away—for all Evans' and your chaff—and, having done a good deal to stir up the Technical Education business and the formation of the Association, I cannot leave them in the lurch when they urgently ask for my services…
The Delta business must wait till after the 30th. I have no heart for anything just now.
[The letters following were written in answer to letters of sympathy.]
85 Marina, St. Leonards, November 25, 1887.
My dear Mr. Clodd,
Let me thank you on my wife's behalf and my own for your very kind and sympathetic letter.
My poor child's death is the end of more than three years of suffering on her part, and deep anxiety on ours. I suppose we ought to rejoice that the end has come, on the whole, so mercifully. But I find that even I, who knew better, hoped against hope, and my poor wife, who was unfortunately already very ill, is quite heart-broken. Otherwise, she would have replied herself to your very kind letter.
She has never yet learned the art of sparing herself, and I find it hard work to teach her.
Ever yours very faithfully,
T.H. Huxley.
[In the same strain he writes to Dr. Dyster:—]
Rationally we must admit that it is best so. But then, whatever Linnaeus may say, man is not a rational animal—especially in his parental capacity.
85, Marina, St. Leonards, November 25, 1887.
My dear Knowles,
I really must thank you very heartily for your letter. It went to our hearts and did us good, and I know you will like to learn that you have helped us in this grievous time.
My wife is better, but fit for very little; and I do not let her write a letter even, if I can help it. But it is a great deal harder to keep her from doing what she thinks her duty than to get most other people to do what plainly is their duty.
With our kindest love and thanks to all of you.
Ever, my dear Knowles, yours very faithfully,
T.H. Huxley.
Yes, you are quite right about "loyal." I love my friends and hate my enemies, which may not be in accordance with the Gospel, but I have found it a good wearing creed for honest men.
[The "Address on behalf of the National Association for the Promotion of Technical Education," first published in the ensuing number of "Science and Art," and reprinted in "Collected Essays," 3 427-451, was duly delivered in Manchester, and produced a considerable effect.
He writes to Sir M. Foster, December 1:—]
I am glad I resisted the strong temptation to shirk the business. Manchester has gone solid for technical education, and if the idiotic London papers, instead of giving half a dozen lines of my speech, had mentioned the solid contributions to the work announced at the meeting, they would have enabled you to understand its importance.
…I have the satisfaction of having got through a hard bit of work, and am none the worse physically—rather the better for having to pull myself together.
[And to Sir J. Hooker:—]
85 Marina, St. Leonards, December 4, 1887.
My dear Hooker,
x = 8, 6.30. I meant to have written to ask you all to put off the x till next Thursday, when I could attend, but I have been so bedevilled I forgot it. I shall ask for a bill of indemnity.
I was rather used up yesterday, but am picking up. In fact my Manchester journey convinced me that there was more stuff left than I thought for. I travelled 400 miles, and made a speech of fifty minutes in a hot, crowded room, all in about twelve hours, and was none the worse. Manchester, Liverpool, and Newcastle have now gone in for technical education on a grand scale, and the work is practically done. Nunc dimittis!
I hear great things of your speech at the dinner. I wish I could have been there to hear it…
[Of the two following letters, one refers to the account of Sir J.D. Hooker's work in connection with the award of the Copley medal; the other, to Hooker himself, touches a botanical problem in which Huxley was interested.]
St. Leonards, November 25, 1887.
My dear Foster,
…I forget whether in the notice of Hooker's work you showed me there was any allusion made to that remarkable account of the Diatoms in Antarctic ice, to which I once drew special attention, but Heaven knows where?
Dyer perhaps may recollect all about the account in the "Flora Antarctica," if I mistake not. I have always looked upon Hooker's insight into the importance of these things and their skeletons as a remarkable piece of inquiry—anticipative of subsequent deep sea work.
Best thanks for taking so much trouble about H—. Pray tell him if ever you write that I have not answered his letter only because I awaited your reply. He may think my silence uncivil…
Ever yours,
T.H. Huxley.
To Sir J.D. Hooker.
4 Marlborough Place, December 29, 1887.
Where is the fullest information about distribution of Coniferae? Of course I have looked at "Genera Plantarum" and De Candolle.
I have been trying to make out whether structure or climate or paleontology throw any light on their distribution—and am drawing complete blank. Why the deuce are there no Conifers but Podocarpus and Widringtonias in all Africa south of the Sahara? And why the double deuce are about three-quarters of the genera huddled together in Japan and northern China?
I am puzzling over this group because the paleontological record is comparatively so good.
I am beginning to suspect that present distribution is an affair rather of denudation than migration.
Sequoia! Taxodium! Widringtonia! Araucaria! all in Europe, in Mesozoic and Tertiary.
[The following letters to Mr. Herbert Spencer were written as sets of proofs of his Autobiography arrived. That to Sir J. Skelton was to thank him for his book on "Maitland of Lethington," the Scotch statesman of the time of Queen Mary.]
January 18, 1887.
[The first part of this letter is given above.]
My dear Spencer,
I see that your proofs have been in my hands longer than I thought for.
But you may have seen that I have been "starring" at the Mansion
House…
I am immensely tickled with your review of your own book. That is something most originally Spencerian. I have hardly any suggestions to make, except in what you say about the "Rattlesnake" work and my position on board.
Her proper business was the survey of the so-called "inner passage" between the Barrier Reef and the east coast of Australia; the New Guinea work was a hors d'oeuvre, and dealt with only a small part of the southern coast.
Macgillivray was naturalist—I was actually Assistant-Surgeon and nothing else. But I was recommended to Stanley by Sir John Richardson, my senior officer at Haslar, on account of my scientific proclivities. But scientific work was no part of my duty. How odd it is to look back through the vista of years! Reading your account of me, I had the sensation of studying a fly in amber. I had utterly forgotten the particular circumstance that brought us together. Considering what wilful tykes we both are (you particularly), I think it is a great credit to both of us that we are firmer friends now than we were then. Your kindly words have given me much pleasure.
This is a deuce of a long letter to inflict upon you, but there is more coming. The other day a Miss —, a very good, busy woman of whom I and my wife have known a little for some years, sent me a proposal of the committee of a body calling itself the London Liberty League (I think) that I should accept the position of one of three honorary something or others, you and Mrs. Fawcett being the other two.
Now you may be sure that I should be glad enough to be associated with you in anything; but considering the innumerable battles we have fought over education, vaccination, and so on, it seemed to me that if the programme of the League were wide enough to take us both for figure-heads, it must be so elastic as to verge upon infinite extensibility; and that one or other of us would be in a false position.
So I wrote to Miss — to that effect, and the matter then dropped.
Misrepresentation is so rife in this world that it struck me I had better tell you exactly what happened.
On the whole, your account of your own condition is encouraging; not going back is next door to going forward. Anyhow, you have contrived to do a lot of writing.
We are all pretty flourishing, and if my wife does not get worn out with cooks falling ill and other domestic worries, I shall be content.
Now this really is the end.
Ever yours very truly,
T.H. Huxley.
4 Marlborough Place, London, N.W., March 7, 1887.
My dear Skelton [This letter is one of the twelve from T.H.H. already published by Sir John Skelton in his "Table Talk of Shirley" page 295 sq.],
Wretch that I am, I see that I have never had the grace to thank you for "Maitland of Lethington" which reached me I do not choose to remember how long ago, and which I read straight off with lively satisfaction.
There is a paragraph in your preface, which I meant to have charged you with having plagiarised from an article of mine, which had not appeared when I got your book. In that Hermitage of yours, you are up to any Esotericobuddhistotelepathic dodge!
It is about the value of practical discipline to historians. Half of them know nothing of life, and still less of government and the ways of men.
I am quite useless, but have vitality enough to kick and scratch a little when prodded.
I am at present engaged on a series of experiments on the thickness of skin of that wonderful little wind-bag —. The way that second rate amateur poses as a man of science, having authority as a sort of papistical Scotch dominie, bred a minister, but stickit, really "rouses my corruption." What a good phrase that is. I am cursed with a lot of it, and any fool can strike ile.
Ever yours very faithfully,
T.H. Huxley.
Please remember me very kindly to Mrs. Skelton.
11 Eversfield Place, Hastings, November 18, 1887.
My dear Spencer,
I was very glad to get your letter this morning. I heard all about you from Hirst before I left London, now nearly a month ago, and I promised myself that instead of bothering you with a letter I would run over from here and pay you a visit.
Unfortunately, my wife, who had been ill more or less ever since we left Arolla and came here on Clark's advice, had an attack one night, which frightened me a good deal, though it luckily turned out to arise from easily remediable causes.
Under these circumstances you will understand how I have not made my proposed journey to Brighton.
I am rejoiced to hear of your move. I believe in the skill of Dr. B. Potter and her understanding of the case more than I do in all the doctors and yourself put together. Please offer my respectful homage to that eminent practitioner.
You see people won't let me alone, and I have had to tell the Duke to "keep on board his own ship," as the Quaker said, once more. I seek peace, but do not ensue it.
Send any quantity of proofs, they are a good sign. By the way, we move to 85 Marina, St. Leonards, to-morrow.
Wife sends her kind regards.
Ever yours very faithfully,
T.H. Huxley.
85 Marina, St. Leonards, December 1887.
My dear Spencer,
I have nothing to criticise in the enclosed except that the itineraries seem to me rather superfluous.
I am glad to find that you forget things that have happened to you as completely as I do. I should cut almost as bad a figure as "Sir Roger" if I were cross-examined about my past life.
Your allusion to sending me the proofs made me laugh by reminding me of a particularly insolent criticism with which I once favoured you: "No objection except to the whole."
It was some piece of diabolical dialectics, in which I could pick no hole, if the premises were granted—and even then could be questioned only by an ultra-sceptic!
Do you see that the American Association of Authors has adopted a Resolution, which is a complete endorsement of my view of the stamp-swindle?
We have got our operation over, and my wife is going on very well.
Overmuch anxiety has been telling on me, but I shall throw it off.
Ever yours very faithfully,
T.H. Huxley.
CHAPTER 3.3.
1888.
[Huxley had returned to town before Christmas, for the house in St. John's Wood was still the rallying-point for the family, although his elder children were now married and dispersed. But he did not stay long.] "Wife wonderfully better," [he writes to Sir M. Foster on January 8,] "self as melancholy as a pelican in the wilderness." [He meant to have left London on the 16th, but his depressed condition proved to be the beginning of a second attack of pleurisy, and he was unable to start for Bournemouth till the 24th.
Here, however, his recovery was very slow. He was unable to come up to the first meeting of the x Club.] "I trust," [he writes,] "I shall be able to be at the next x—but I am getting on very slowly. I can't walk above a couple of miles without being exhausted, and talking for twenty minutes has the same effect. I suppose it is all Anno Domini."
[But he had a pleasant visit from one of the x, and writes:—]
Casalini, West Cliff, Bournemouth, January 29, 1888.
My dear Hooker,
Spencer was here an hour ago as lively as a cricket. He is going back to town on Tuesday to plunge into the dissipations of the Metropolis. I expect he will insist on you all going to Evans' (or whatever represents that place to our descendants) after the x.
Bellows very creaky—took me six weeks to get them mended last time, so
I suppose I may expect as long now.
Ever yours very faithfully,
T.H. Huxley.
[As appears from the letters which follow, he had been busied with writing an article for the "Nineteenth Century," for February, on the "Struggle for Existence" ("Collected Essays" 9 195.), which on the one hand ran counter to some of Mr. Herbert Spencer's theories of society; and on the other, is noticeable as briefly enunciating the main thesis of his "Romanes Lecture" of 1893.]
85 Marina, St. Leonards, December 13, 1887.
My dear Knowles,
I have to go to town to-morrow for a day, so that puts an end to the possibility of getting my screed ready for January. Altogether it will be better to let it stand over.
I do not know whence the copyright extract came, except that, as
Putnam's name was on the envelope, I suppose they sent it.
Pearsall Smith's practice is a wonderful commentary on his theory. Distribute the contents of the baker's shop gratis—it will give people a taste for bread!
Great is humbug, and it will prevail, unless the people who do not like it hit hard. The beast has no brains, but you can knock the heart out of him.
Ever yours very truly,
T.H. Huxley.
4 Marlborough Place, January 9, 1888.
My dear Donnelly,
Here is my proof. Will you mind running your eye over it?
The article is long, and partly for that reason and partly because the general public wants principles rather than details, I have condensed the practical half.
H. Spencer and "Jus" will be in a white rage with me.
Ever yours very faithfully,
T.H. Huxley.
[To Professor Frankland, February 6:—]
I am glad you like my article. There is no doubt it is rather like a tadpole, with a very big head and a rather thin tail. But the subject is a ticklish one to deal with, and I deliberately left a good deal suggested rather than expressed.
Casalini, West Cliff, Bournemouth, February 9, 1888.
My dear Donnelly,
No! I don't think softening has begun yet—vide "Nature" this week. ["Nature" 37 337 for February 9, 1888: review of his article in the "Nineteenth Century" on the "Industrial Struggle for Existence."] I am glad you found the article worth a second go. I took a vast of trouble (as the country folks say) about it. I am afraid it has made Spencer very angry—but he knows I think he has been doing mischief this long time.
Bellows to mend! Bellows to mend! I am getting very tired of it. If I walk two or three miles, however slowly, I am regularly done for at the end of it. I expect there has been more mischief than I thought for.
How about the Bill?
Ever yours,
T.H. Huxley.
[However, he and Mr. Spencer wrote their minds to each other on the subject, and as Huxley remarks with reference to this occasion,] "the process does us both good, and in no way interferes with our friendship."
[The letter immediately following, to Mr. Romanes, answers an inquiry about a passage quoted from Huxley's writings by Professor Schurman in his "Ethical Import of Darwinism." This passage, made up of sentences from two different essays, runs as follows:—]
It is quite conceivable that every species tends to produce varieties of a limited number and kind, and that the effect of natural selection is to favour the development of some of these, while it opposes the development of others along their predetermined line of modification. ("Collected Essays" 2 223.) A whale does not tend to vary in the direction of producing feathers, nor a bird in the direction of producing whalebone. (In "Mr. Darwin's Critics" 1871 "Collected Essays" 2 181.)
"On the strength of these extracts" (writes Mr. Romanes), "Schurman represents you 'to presuppose design, since development takes place along certain predetermined lines of modification.' But as he does not give references, and as I do not remember the passages, I cannot consult the context, which I fancy must give a different colouring to the extracts."
4 Marlborough Place, January 5, 1888.
My dear Romanes,
They say that liars ought to have long memories. I am sure authors ought to. I could not at first remember where the passage Schurman quotes occurs, but I did find it in the Encyclopaedia Britannica article on "Evolution" ["Collected Essays" 2 223.], reprinted in "Science and Culture," page 307.
But I do not find anything about the "whale" here. Nevertheless I have a consciousness of having said something of the kind somewhere. [In "Mr. Darwin's Critics" 1871 "Collected Essays" 2 181.]
If you look at the whole passage, you will see that there is not the least intention on my part to presuppose design.
If you break a piece of Iceland spar with a hammer, all the pieces will have shapes of a certain kind, but that does not imply that the Iceland spar was constructed for the purpose of breaking up in this way when struck. The atomic theory implies that of all possible compounds of A and B only those will actually exist in which the proportions of A and B by weight bear a certain numerical ratio. But it is mere arguing in a circle to say that the fact being so is evidence that it was designed to be so.
I am not going to take any more notice of the everlasting D—, as you appropriately call him, until he has withdrawn his slanders….
Pray give him a dressing—it will be one of those rare combinations of duty and pleasure.
Ever yours very faithfully,
T.H. Huxley.
[He was, moreover, constantly interested in schemes for the reform of the scientific work of the London University, and for the enlargement of the scope and usefulness of the Royal Society. As for the latter, a proposal had been made for federation with colonial scientific societies, which was opposed by some of his friends in the x Club; and he writes to Sir E. Frankland on February 3:—]
I am very sorry you are all against Evans' scheme. I am for it. I think it a very good proposal, and after all the talk, I do not want to see the Society look foolish by doing nothing.
You are a lot of obstructive old Tories, and want routing out. If I were only younger and less indisposed to any sort of exertion, I would rout you out finely!
[With respect to the former, it had been proposed that medical degrees should be conferred, not by the university, but by a union of the several colleges concerned. He writes:—]
4 Marlborough Place, January 11, 1888.
My dear Foster,
I send back the "Heathen Deutscheree's" (whose ways are dark) letter lest I forget it to-morrow.
Meanwhile perpend these two things:—
1. United Colleges propose to give just as good an examination and require as much qualification as the Scotch Universities. Why then give their degree a distinguishing mark?
2. "Academical distinctions" in medicine are all humbug. You are making a medical technical school at Cambridge—and quite right too. The United Colleges, if they do their business properly, will confer just as much, or as little "academical distinction" as Cambridge by their degree.
3. The Fellowship of the College of Surgeons is in every sense as much an "academical distinction" as the Masterships in Surgery or Doctorate of Medicine of the Scotch and English Universities.
4. You may as well cry for the moon as ask my colleagues in the Senate to meddle seriously with the Matriculation. They are possessed by the devil that cries continually, "There is only the Liberal education, and Greek and Latin are his prophets."
[At Bournemouth he also applied himself to writing the Darwin obituary notice for the Royal Society, a labour of love which he had long felt unequal to undertaking. The manuscript was finally sent off to the printer's on April 6, unlike the still longer unfinished memoir on Spirula, to which allusion is made here, among other business of the "Challenger" Committee, of which he was a member.
On February 12 he writes to Sir J. Evans:—]
Spirula is a horrid burden on my conscience—but nobody could make head or tail of the business but myself.
That and Darwin's obituary are the chief subjects of my meditations when I wake in the night. But I do not get much "forrarder," and I am afraid I shall not until I get back to London.
Bournemouth, February 14, 1888.
My dear Foster,
No doubt the Treasury will jump at any proposition which relieves them from further expense—but I cannot say I like the notion of leaving some of the most important results of the "Challenger" voyage to be published elsewhere than in the official record….
Evans made a deft allusion to Spirula, like a powder between two dabs of jam. At present I have no moral sense, but it may awake as the days get longer.
I have been reading the "Origin" slowly again for the nth time, with the view of picking out the essentials of the argument, for the obituary notice. Nothing entertains me more than to hear people call it easy reading.
Exposition was not Darwin's forte—and his English is sometimes wonderful. But there is a marvellous dumb sagacity about him—like that of a sort of miraculous dog—and he gets to the truth by ways as dark as those of the Heathen Chinee.
I am getting quite sick of all the "paper philosophers," as old Galileo called them, who are trying to stand upon Darwin's shoulders and look bigger than he, when in point of real knowledge they are not fit to black his shoes. It is just as well I am collapsed or I believe I should break out with a final "Fur Darwin."
I will think of you when I get as far as the fossils. At present I am poking over P. sylvestris and P. pinnata in the intervals of weariness.
My wife joins with me in love to you both.
Ever yours very faithfully,
T.H. Huxley.
Snow and cold winds here. Hope you are as badly off at Cambridge.
Bournemouth, February 21, 1888.
My dear Foster,
We have had nothing but frost and snow here lately, and at present half a gale of the bitterest north-easter I have felt since we were at Florence is raging. [Similarly to Sir J. Evans on the 28th]—"I get my strength back but slowly, and think of migrating to Greenland or Spitzbergen for a milder climate."]
I believe I am getting better, as I have noticed that at a particular stage of my convalescence from any sort of illness I pass through a condition in which things in general appear damnable and I myself an entire failure. If that is a sign of returning health you may look upon my restoration as certain.
If it is only Murray's speculations he wants to publish separately, I should say by all means let him. But the facts, whether advanced by him or other people, ought all to be in the official record. I agree we can't stir.
I scented the "goak." How confoundedly proud you are of it. In former days I have been known to joke myself.
I will look after the questions if you like. In my present state of mind I shall be a capital critic—on Dizzy's views of critics…
Ever yours,
T.H. Huxley.
[This year Huxley was appointed a Trustee of the British Museum, an office which he had held ex officio from 1883 to 1885, as President of the Royal Society.
This is referred to in the following letter of March 9:—]
My dear Hooker,
Having nothing to do plays the devil with doing anything, and I suppose that is why I have been so long about answering your letter.
There is nothing the matter with me now except want of strength. I am tired out with a three-mile walk, and my voice goes if I talk for any time. I do not suppose I shall do much good till I get into high and dry air, and it is too early for Switzerland yet….
You see I was honoured and gloried by a trusteeship of the British Museum. [Replying on the 2nd to Sir John Evans' congratulations, he says:—"It is some months since Lord Salisbury made the proposal to me, and I was beginning to wonder what had happened—whether Cantaur had put his foot down for example, and objected to bad company."] These things, I suppose, normally come when one is worn-out. When Lowe was Chancellor of the Exchequer I had a long talk with him about the affairs of the Natural History Museum, and I told him that he had better put Flower at the head of it and make me a trustee to back him. Bobby no doubt thought the suggestion cheeky, but it is odd that the thing has come about now that I don't care for it, and desire nothing better than to be out of every description of bother and responsibility.
Have not Lady Hooker and you yet learned that a large country house is of all places the most detestable in cold weather? The neuralgia was a mild and kindly hint of Providence not to do it again, but I am rejoiced it has vanished.
Pronouns got mixed somehow.
With our kindest regards.
Ever yours,
T.H. Huxley.
More last words:—What little faculty I have has been bestowed on the obituary of Darwin for Royal Society lately. I have been trying to make it an account of his intellectual progress, and I hope it will have some interest. Among other things I have been trying to set out the argument of the "Origin of Species," and reading the book for the nth time for that purpose. It is one of the hardest books to understand thoroughly that I know of, and I suppose that is the reason why even people like Romanes get so hopelessly wrong.
If you don't mind, I should be glad if you would run your eye over the thing when I get as far as the proof stage—Lord knows when that will be.
[A few days later he wrote again on the same subject, after reading the obituary of Asa Gray, the first American supporter of Darwin's theory.]
March 23, 1888.
I suppose Dana has sent you his obituary of Asa Gray.
The most curious feature I note in it is that neither of them seems to have mastered the principles of Darwin's theory. See the bottom of page 19 and the top of page 20. As I understand Darwin there is nothing "Anti-Darwinian" in either of the two doctrines mentioned.
Darwin has left the causes of variation and the question whether it is limited or directed by external conditions perfectly open.
The only serious work I have been attempting lately is Darwin's obituary. I do a little every day, but get on very slowly. I have read the life and letters all through again, and the "Origin" for the sixth or seventh time, becoming confirmed in my opinion that it is one of the most difficult books to exhaust that ever was written.
I have a notion of writing out the argument of the "Origin" in systematic shape as a sort of primer of Darwinismus. I have not much stuff left in me, and it would be as good a way of using what there is as I know of. What do you think?
Ever yours,
T.H. Huxley.
[In reply to this Sir J. Hooker was inclined to make the biographer alone responsible for the confusion noted in the obituary of Asa Gray. He writes:—
March 27, 1888.
Dear Huxley,
Dana's Gray arrived yesterday, and I turned to pages 19 and 20. I see nothing Anti-Darwinian in the passages, and I do not gather from them that Gray did.
I did not follow Gray into his later comments on Darwinism, and I never read his "Darwiniana." My recollection of his attitude after acceptance of the doctrine, and during the first few years of his active promulgation of it, is that he understood it clearly, but sought to harmonise it with his prepossessions, without disturbing its physical principles in any way.
He certainly showed far more knowledge and appreciation of the contents of the "Origin" than any of the reviewers and than any of the commentators, yourself excepted.
Latterly he got deeper and deeper into theological and metaphysical wanderings, and finally formulated his ideas in an illogical fashion.
…Be all this as it may, Dana seems to be in a muddle on page 20, and quite a self-sought one.
Ever yours,
J.D. Hooker.
The following is a letter of thanks to Mrs. Humphry Ward for her novel
"Robert Elsmere."]
Bournemouth, March 15, 1888.
My dear Mrs. Ward,
My wife thanked you for your book which you were so kind as to send us. But that was grace before meat, which lacks the "physical basis" of after-thanksgiving—and I am going to supplement it, after my most excellent repast.
I am not going to praise the charming style, because that was in the blood and you deserve no sort of credit for it. Besides, I should be stepping beyond my last. But as an observer of the human ant-hill—quite impartial by this time—I think your picture of one of the deeper aspects of our troubled time admirable.
You are very hard on the philosophers. I do not know whether Langham or the Squire is the more unpleasant—but I have a great deal of sympathy with the latter, so I hope he is not the worst.
If I may say so, I think the picture of Catherine is the gem of the book. She reminds me of her namesake of Siena—and would as little have failed in any duty, however gruesome. You remember Sodoma's picture.
Once more, many thanks for a great pleasure.
My wife sends her love.
Ever yours very faithfully,
T.H. Huxley.
[Meanwhile, he had been making no progress towards health; indeed, was going slowly downhill. He makes fun of his condition when writing to condole with Mr. Spencer on falling ill again after the unwonted spell of activity already mentioned; but a few weeks later discovered the cause of his weakness and depression in an affection of the heart. This was not immediately dangerous, though he looked a complete wreck. His letters from April onwards show how he was forced to give up almost every form of occupation, and even to postpone his visit to Switzerland, until he had been patched up enough to bear the journey.]
Casalini, West Cliff, Bournemouth, March 9, 1888.
My dear Spencer,
I am very sorry to hear from Hooker that you have been unwell again. You see if young men from the country will go plunging into the dissipations of the metropolis nemesis follows.
Until two days ago, the weather cocks never overstepped North on the one side and East on the other ever since you left. Then they went west with sunshine and most enjoyable softness—but next South with a gale and rain—all ablowin' and agrowin' at this present.
I have nothing to complain of so long as I do nothing; but although my hair has grown with its usual rapidity I differ from Samson in the absence of a concurrent return of strength. Perhaps that is because a male hairdresser, and no Delilah, cut it last! But I waste Biblical allusions upon you.
My wife and Nettie, who is on a visit, join with me in best wishes.
Please let me have a line to say how you are—Gladstonianly on a post-card.
Ever yours very faithfully,
T.H. Huxley.
Bournemouth, April 7, 1888.
My dear Foster,
"Let thy servant's face be white before thee." The obituary of Darwin went to Rix yesterday! [Assistant Secretary of the Royal Society.] It is not for lack of painstaking if it is not worth much, but I have been in a bad vein for work of any kind, and I thought I should never get even this simple matter ended.
I have been bothered with praecordial uneasiness and intermittent pulse ever since I have been here, and at last I got tired of it and went home the day before yesterday to get carefully overhauled. Hames tells me there is weakness and some enlargement of the left ventricle, which is pretty much what I expected. Luckily the valves are all right.
I am to go and devote myself to coaxing the left ventricle wall to thicken pro rata—among the mountains, and to have nothing to do with any public functions or other exciting bedevilments. So the International Geological Congress will not have the pleasure of seeing its Honorary President in September. I am disgusted at having to break an engagement, but I cannot deny that Hames is right. At present the mere notion of the thing puts me in a funk.
I wish I could get out of the chair of the M.B.A. Also…I know that you and Evans and Dyer will do your best, but you are all eaten up with other occupations.
Just turn it over in your mind—there's a dear good fellow—just as if you hadn't any other occupations.
With which eminently reasonable and unselfish request believe me,
Ever yours,
T.H. Huxley.
Bournemouth, April 10, 1888.
My dear Foster,
I send by this post the last—I hope for your sake and for that of the recording angel—of —. [The "Heathen Deutscheree". A paper of his, contributed to the Royal Society, had been under revision.] I agree to all Brady's suggestions.
With all our tinkering I feel inclined to wind up the affair after the manner of Mr. Shandy's summing up of the discussion about Tristram's breeches—"And when he has got 'em he'll look a beast in 'em."
Ever yours,
T.H. Huxley.
[April 12. To the same:—]
I am quite willing to remain at the M.B.A. till the opening. If Evans will be President I shall be happy.
— is a very good man, but you must not expect too much of the "wild-cat" element, which is so useful in the world, in him.
I am disgusted with myself for letting everything go by the run, but there is no help for it. The least thing bowls me over just now.
Casalini, West Cliff, Bournemouth, April 12, 1888.
My dear Hooker,
I plead not guilty. [In the matter of sending out no notices for a meeting of the x Club.] It was agreed at the last meeting that there should be none in April—I suppose by reason of Easter, so I sent no notice. This is what Frankland told me in his letter of the 2nd. However, I see you were present, so I can't make it out.
My continual absence makes me a shocking bad Treasurer, and I am sorry to say that things will be worse instead of better. Ever since this last pleuritic business I have been troubled with praecordial uneasiness. [After an account of his symptoms he continues] so I am off (with my wife) to Switzerland at the end of this month, and shall be away all the summer. We have not seen the Engadine and Tyrol yet, so we shall probably make a long circuit. It is a horrid nuisance to be exiled in this fashion. I have hardly been at home one month in the last ten. But it is of no use to growl.
Under these circumstances, would you mind looking after the x while I am away? There is nothing to do but to send the notices on Saturday previous to the meeting.
I am very grieved to hear about Hirst—though to say truth, the way he has held out for so long has been a marvel to me. The last news I had of Spencer was not satisfactory.
Eheu! the "Table Round" is breaking up. It's a great pity; we were such pleasant fellows, weren't we?
Ever yours,
T.H. Huxley.
Casalini, West Cliff, Bournemouth, April 18, 1888.
My dear Foster,
I am cheered by your liking of the notice of Darwin. I read the "Life and Letters," and the "Origin," Krause's "Life," and some other things over again in order to do it. But I have not much go in me, and I was a scandalous long time pottering over the writing.
I have sent the proof back with a variety of interpolations. I would have brought the "Spirula" notes down here to see what I could do, but I felt pretty sure that if I brought two things I should not do one. Nobody could do anything with it but myself. I will try what I can do when I go to town. How much time is there before the wind-up of the Challenger?
We go up to town Monday next, and I am thinking of being off the Monday following (April 30). I have come to the same conclusion as yourself, that Glion would be better than Grindelwald. I should like very much to see you. Just drop me a line to say when you are likely to turn up.
Poor Arnold's death has been a great shock [Matthew Arnold died suddenly of heart disease at Liverpool, where he had gone to meet his daughter on her return from America.]—rather for his wife than himself—I mean on her account than his. I have always thought sudden death to be the best of all for oneself, but under such circumstances it is terrible for those who are left. Arnold told me years ago that he had heart disease. I do not suppose there is any likelihood of an immediate catastrophe in my own case. I should not go abroad if there were. Imagine the horror of leaving one's wife to fight all the difficulties of sudden euthanasia in a Swiss hotel! I saw enough of that two years ago at Arolla.
Ever yours,
T.H. Huxley.
4 Marlborough Place, April 25, 1888.
My dear Hooker,
All my beautiful Swiss plans are knocked on the head—at any rate for the present—in favour of horizontality and Digitalis here. The journey up on Monday demonstrated that travelling, at present, was impracticable.
Hames is sanguine I shall get right with rest, and I am quite satisfied with his opinion, but for the sake of my belongings he thinks it right to have Clark's opinion to fortify him.
It is a bore to be converted into a troublesome invalid even for a few weeks, but I comfort myself with my usual reflection on the chances of life, "Lucky it is no worse." Any impatience would have been checked by what I heard about Moseley this morning—that he has sunk into hopeless idiocy. A man in the prime of life!
Ever yours,
T.H. Huxley.
4 Marlborough Place, May 4, 1888.
My dear Hooker,
Best thanks for your note and queries.
I remember hearing what you say about Darwin's father long ago, I am not sure from what source. But if you look at page 20 of the "Life and Letters" you will see that Darwin himself says his father's mind "was not scientific." I have altered the passage so as to use these exact words.
I used "malice" rather in the French sense, which is more innocent than ours, but "irony" would be better if "malice" in any way suggests malignity. "Chaff" is unfortunately beneath the dignity of a Royal Society obituary.
I am going to add a short note about Erasmus Darwin's views.
It is a great comfort to me that you like the thing. I am getting nervous over possible senility—63 to-day, and nothing of your evergreen ways about me.
I am decidedly mending, chiefly to all appearance by allowing myself to be stuffed with meat and drink like a Strasburg goose. I am also very much afraid that abolishing tobacco has had something to do with my amendment.
But I am mindful of your maxim—keep a tight hold over your doctor.
Ever yours very faithfully,
T.H. Huxley.
P.S. 1.—Can't say I have sacrificed anything to penmanship, and am not at all sure about lucidity!
P.S. 2.—It is "Friday"—there is a dot over the i—reopened my letter to crow!
[The following letter to Mr. Spencer is in answer to a note of condolence on his illness, in which the following passage occurs:—]
I was grieved to hear of so serious an evil as that which [Hirst] named. It is very depressing to find one's friends as well as one's self passing more and more into invalid life.
Well, we always have one consolation, such as it is, that we have made our lives of some service in the world, and that, in fact, we are suffering from doing too much for our fellows. Such thoughts do not go far in the way of mitigation, but they are better than nothing.
4 Marlborough Place, May 8, 1888.
My dear Spencer,
I have been on the point of writing to you, but put it off for lack of anything cheerful to say.
After I had recovered from my pleurisy, I could not think why my strength did not come back. It turns out that there is some weakness and dilatation of the heart, but lucky no valvular mischief. I am condemned to the life of a prize pig—physical and mental idleness, and corporeal stuffing with meat and drink, and I am certainly improving under the regimen.
I am told I have a fair chance of getting all right again. But I take it as a pretty broad hint to be quiet for the rest of my days. At present I have to be very quiet, and I spend most of my time on my back.
You and I, my dear friend, have had our innings, and carry our bats out while our side is winning. One could not reasonably ask for more. And considering the infinite possibilities of physical and moral suffering which beset us, I, for my part, am well pleased that things are no worse.
Ever yours very faithfully,
T.H. Huxley.
4 Marlborough Place, N.W., June 1, 1888.
My dear Knowles,
I have been living the life of a prize pig for the last six weeks—no exercise, much meat and drink, and as few manifestations of intelligence as possible, for the purpose of persuading my heart to return to its duty.
I am astonished to find that there is a kick left in me—even when your friend Kropotkin pitches into me without the smallest justification. Vide 19, June, page 820.
Just look at 19, February, page 168. I say, "AT THE PRESENT TIME, the produce of the soil does not suffice," etc.
I did not say a word about the capabilities of the soil if, as part and parcel of a political and social revolution on the grandest scale, we all took to spade husbandry.
As a matter of fact, I did try to find out a year or two ago, whether the soil of these islands could, under any circumstances, feed its present population with wheat. I could not get any definite information, but I understood Caird to think that it could.
In my argument, however, the question is of no moment. There must be some limit to the production of food by a given area, and there is none to population.
What a stimulus vanity is!—nothing but the vain dislike of being thought in the wrong would have induced me to trouble myself or bore you with this letter. Bother Kropotkin!
I think his article very interesting and important nevertheless.
I am getting better but very slowly.
Ever yours very truly,
T.H. Huxley.
[In reply, Mr. Knowles begged him to come to lunch and a quiet talk, and further suggested, "as an ENTIRELY UNBIASSED person," that he ought to answer Kropotkin's errors in the "Nineteenth Century," and not only in a private letter behind his back.
The answer is as follows:—]
4 Marlborough Place, June 3, 1888.
My dear Knowles,
Your invitation is tantalising. I wish I could accept it. But it is now some six weeks that my excursions have been limited to a daily drive. The rest of my time I spend on the flat of my back, eating, drinking, and doing absolutely nothing besides, except taking iron and digitalis.
I meant to have gone abroad a month ago, but it turned out that my heart was out of order, and though I am getting better, progress is slow, and I do not suppose I shall get away for some weeks yet.
I have neither brains nor nerves, and the very thought of controversy puts me in a blue funk!
My doctors prophesy good things, as there is no valvular disease, only dilatation. But for the present I must subscribe myself (from an editorial point of view).
Your worthless and useless and bad-hearted friend,
T.H. Huxley.
[The British Association was to meet at Plymouth this year; and Mr. W.F. Collier (an uncle of John Collier, his son-in-law) invited Huxley and any friend of his to be his guest at Horrabridge.]
4 Marlborough Place, June 13, 1888.
My dear Mr. Collier,
It would have been a great pleasure to me to be your guest once more, but the Fates won't have it this time.
Dame Nature has given me a broad hint that I have had my innings, and, for the rest of my time, must be content to look on at the players.
It is not given to all of us to defy the doctors and go in for a new lease, as I am glad to hear you are doing. I declare that your open invitation to any friend of mine is the most touching mark of confidence I ever received. I am going to send it to my great ally Michael Foster, Secretary of the Royal Society. I do not know whether he has made any other arrangements, and I am not quite sure whether he and his wife are going to Plymouth. But I hope they may be able to accept, for you will certainly like them, and they will certainly like you. I will ask him to write directly to you to save time.
With very kind remembrances to Mrs. Collier.
Ever yours very faithfully,
T.H. Huxley.
I forgot to say that I am mending as fast as I can expect to do.
CHAPTER 3.4.
1888.
[It was not till June 23 that Huxley was patched up sufficiently by the doctors for him to start for the Engadine. His first stage was to Lugano; the second by Menaggio and Colico to Chiavenna; the third to the Maloja. The summer visitors who saw him arrive so feeble that he could scarcely walk a hundred yards on the level, murmured that it was a shame to send out an old man to die there. Their surprise was the greater when, after a couple of months, they saw him walking his ten miles and going up two thousand feet without difficulty. As far as his heart was concerned, the experiment of sending him to the mountains was perfectly justified. With returning strength he threw himself once more into the pursuit of gentians, being especially interested in their distribution and hybridism, and the possibility of natural hybrids explaining the apparent connecting links between species. No doubt, too, he felt some gratification in learning from his friend Mr. (now Sir W.) Thiselton Dyer, that the results he had already obtained in pursuing this hobby had been of real value:—
Your important paper "On Alpine Gentians" (writes the latter) has begun to attract the attention of botanists. It has led Baillon, who is the most acute of the French people, to make some observations of his own.
At the Maloja he stayed twelve weeks, but it was not until nearly two months had elapsed that he could write of any decided improvement, although even then his anticipations for the future were of the gloomiest. The "secret" alluded to in the following letter is the destined award to him of the Copley medal:—]
Hotel Kursaal, Maloja, Ober Engadine, August 17, 1888.
My dear Foster,
I know you will be glad to hear that, at last, I can report favourably of my progress. The first six weeks of our stay here the weather was cold, foggy, wet, and windy—in short, everything it should not be. If the hotel had not been as it is, about the most comfortable in Switzerland, I do not know what I should have done. As it was, I got a very bad attack of "liver," which laid me up for ten days or so. A Brighton doctor—Bluett by name, and well up to his work—kindly looked after me.
With the early days of August the weather changed for the better, and for the last fortnight we have had perfect summer—day after day. I soon picked up my walking power, and one day got up to Lake Longhin, about 2000 feet up. That was by way of an experiment, and I was none the worse for it, but usually my walks are of a more modest description. To-day we are all clouds and rain, and my courage is down to zero, with praecordial discomfort. It seems to me that my heart is quite strong enough to do all that can reasonably be required of it—if all the rest of the machinery is in good order, and the outside conditions are favourable. But the poor old pump cannot contend with grit or want of oil anywhere.
I mean to stay here as long as I can; they say it is often very fine up to the middle of September. Then we shall migrate lower, probably on the Italian side, and get home most likely in October. But I really am very much puzzled to know what to do.
My wife has not been very well lately, and Ethel has contrived to sprain her ankle at lawn-tennis. Collier has had to go to Naples, but we expect him back in a few days.
With our united love to Mrs. Foster and yourself.
Ever yours,
T.H. Huxley.
I was very pleased to hear of a secret my wife communicated to me. So long as I was of any use, I did not care much about having the fact recognised, but now that I am used up I like the feather in my cap. "Fuimus." Let us have some news of you.
[Sir M. Foster, who was kept in England by the British Association till September 10, wrote that he was going abroad for the rest of September, and proposed to spend some time at Menaggio, whence he hoped to effect a meeting. He winds up with a jest at his recent unusual occupation:—"I have had no end of righteousness accounted to me for helping to entertain Bishops at Cambridge." Hence the postcript in reply:—]
Hotel Kursaal, Maloja, September 2, 1888.
My dear Foster,
A sharp fall of snow has settled our minds, which have been long wavering about future plans, and we leave this for Menaggio, Hotel Vittoria, on Thursday next, 6th. [He did not ultimately leave till the 22nd.]
All the wiseacres tell us that there are fresher breezes (vento di Lecco) at Menaggio than anywhere else in the Como country, and at any rate we are going to try whether we can exist there. If it does not answer, we will leave a note for you there to say where we are gone. It would be very jolly to forgather.
I am sorry to leave this most comfortable of hotels, but I do not think that cold would suit either of us. I am marvellously well so long as I am taking sharp exercise, and I do my nine or ten miles without fatigue. It is only when I am quiet that I know that I have a heart.
I do not feel at all sure how matters may be 4000 feet lower, but what I have gained is all to the good in the way of general health. In spite of all the bad weather we have had, I have nothing but praise for this place—the air is splendid, excellent walks for invalids, capital drainage, and the easiest to reach of all places 6000 feet up.
My wife sends her love, and thanks Mrs. Foster for her letter, and looks forward to meeting her.
Ever yours,
T.H. Huxley.
Wash yourself clean of all that episcopal contamination or you may infect me!
[But adverse circumstances prevented the meeting.]
Hotel Kursaal, Maloja, September 24, 1888.
My dear Foster,
As ill luck would have it, we went over to Pontresina to-day (for the first time), and have only just got back (5.30). I have just telegraphed to you.
All our plans have been upset by the Fohn wind, which gave us four days' continuous downpour here—upset the roads, and flooded the Chiavenna to Colico Railway. We hear that the latter is not yet repaired.
I was going to write to you at the Vittoria, but thought you could have hardly got there yet. We took rooms there a week ago, and then had to countermand them. If there are any letters kicking about for us, will you ask them to send them on?
By way of an additional complication, my poor wife gave herself an unlucky strain this morning, and even if the railway is mended I do not think she will be fit to travel for two or three days. We are very disappointed. What is to be done?
I am wonderfully better. So long as I am taking active exercise and the weather is dry, I am quite comfortable, and only discover that I have a heart when I am kept quiet by bad weather or get my liver out of order. Here I can walk nine or ten miles up hill and down dale without difficulty or fatigue. What I may be able to do elsewhere is doubtful.
Ever yours,
T.H. Huxley.
It would do you and Mrs. Foster a great deal of good to come up here.
Not out of your way at all! Oh dear no!
Zurich, October 4, 1888.
My dear Foster,
I should have written to you at Stresa, but I had mislaid your postcard, and it did not turn up till too late.
We made up our minds after all that we would as soon not go down to the Lakes—where the ground would be drying up after the inundations—so we went the other way over the Julier to Tiefenkasten, and from T. to Ragatz, where we stayed a week. Ragatz was hot and steamy at first—cold and steamy afterwards—but earlier in the season, I should think, it would be pleasant.
Last Monday we migrated here, and have had the vilest weather until to-day. All yesterday it rained cats and dogs.
To-day we are off to Neuhausen (Schweitzerhof) to have a look at the Rhine falls. If it is pleasant we may stop there a few days. Then we go to Stuttgart, on our way to Nuremberg, which neither of us have seen. We shall be at the "Bavarian Hotel," and a letter will catch us there, if you have anything to say, I daresay up to the middle of the month. After that Frankfort, and then home.