Charles Darwin never spoke definitely to me about the nature of the sufferings that he so patiently endured. On the occasion of my first visit to him at Down he wrote me a letter (dated August 25th, 1880) in which, after giving the most minute and kindly directions concerning the journey, he arranged that his dog-cart should bring me to the house in time for a 1 o'clock lunch, telling me that to catch a certain train for return, it would be necessary to leave his house a little before 4 o'clock. But he added significantly:—
'But I am bound to tell you that I shall not be able to talk with you or anyone else for this length of time, however much I should like to do so—but you can read newspaper or take a stroll during part of the time.'
His constant practice, whenever I visited him, either at Down or at his brother's or daughter's house in London, was to retire with me, after lunch, to a room where we could 'talk geology' for about three quarters of an hour. At the end of that time, Mrs Darwin would come in smilingly, and though no word was spoken by her, Darwin would at once rise and beg me to read the newspaper for a time, or, if I preferred it, to take a stroll in the garden; and after urging me to stay 'if I could possibly spare the time,' would go away, as I understood to lie down. On his return, about half an hour later, the discussion would be resumed where it had been left off, without further remark.
Mr Francis Darwin has told us that the nature and extent of his father's sufferings—so patiently and uncomplainingly borne—were never fully known, even to his own children, but only to the faithful wife who devoted her whole life to the care of his health. As is well known, Darwin seldom visited at other houses, besides those of immediate relatives, or the hydropathic establishment at which he sought relief from his illness. But he was in the habit of sometimes, when in London, calling upon David Forbes the mineralogist (a younger brother of Edward Forbes) then living in York Street, Portman Square. The bonds of union between Charles Darwin and David Forbes were, first, that they had both travelled extensively in South America, and secondly, that both were greatly interested in methods of preserving and making available for future reference all notes and memoranda collected from various sources. David Forbes devoted to the purpose a large room with the most elaborate system of pigeon-holes, about which he told me that Darwin was greatly excited. He also mentioned to me that, on one or more occasions, while Darwin was in his house, pains of such a violent character had seized him that he had been compelled to lie down for a time and had occasioned his host the greatest alarm.
It must always therefore be remembered, in reading Darwin's works, what were the sad conditions under which they were produced. It seems to be doubtful to what extent his ill-health may be regarded as the result of an almost fatal malady, from which he suffered in South America, or as the effect of the constant and prolonged sea-sickness of which he was the victim during the five years' voyage. But certain it is that his work was carried on under no ordinary difficulties, and that it was only by the exercise of the sternest resolution, in devoting every moment of time that he was free from pain to his tasks, that he was able to accomplish his great undertakings.
I do not think, however, that any unprejudiced reader will regard Darwin's literary work as standing in need of anything like an apology. He always aims—and I think succeeds—at conveying his meaning in simple and direct language; and in all his works there is manifest that undercurrent of quiet enthusiasm, which was so strikingly displayed in his conversation. It was delightful to witness the keen enjoyment with which he heard of any new fact or observation bearing on the pursuits in which he was engaged, and his generous nature always led him to attach an exaggerated value to any discovery or suggestion which might be brought to his knowledge—and to appraise the work of others above his own.
The most striking proof of the excellence and value of Darwin's literary work is the fact that his numerous books have attained a circulation, in their original form, probably surpassing that of any other scientific writings ever produced—and that, in translations, they have appealed to a wider circle of readers than any previous naturalist has ever addressed!
We have seen that the idea of Natural Selection 'flashed on' Darwin's mind in October 1838, and although he was himself inclined to think that his complete satisfaction with it, as a solution of the problem of the origin of species, was delayed to a considerably later date, yet I believe that this was only the result of his over-cautious temperament, and we must accept the date named as being that of the real birth of the hypothesis.
At this early date, too, it is evident that Darwin conceived the idea that he might accomplish for the principle of evolution in the organic world, what Lyell had done, in the Principles, for the inorganic world. To cite his own words, 'after my return to England it appeared to me that by following the example of Lyell in Geology, and by collecting all facts which bore in any way on the variation of animals and plants under domestication and nature, some light might perhaps be thrown on the whole subject[123].' 'In June 1842,' he says, 'I first allowed myself' (how significant is the phrase!) 'the satisfaction of writing a brief abstract of my theory in pencil in 35 pages[124].'
For many years it was thought that this first sketch of Darwin's great work had been lost. But after the death of Mrs Darwin in 1896, when the house at Down was vacated, the interesting MS. was found 'hidden in a cupboard under the stairs which was not used for papers of any value but rather as an overflow of matters he did not wish to destroy[125].' By the pious care of his son, this interesting MS.—hurriedly written and sometimes almost illegible—has been given to the world, and it proves how completely Darwin had, at that early date, thought out the main lines of his future opus magnum.