Heroes of science

by P. Martin Duncan

Our Carl was the firstborn child of this marriage. The family of Linnæus had been peasants, and a remarkably lofty linden tree, growing near their native place, is reputed to have given origin to the names of Lindelius, or Tiliander (linden tree man). This origin of surnames taken from natural objects is not uncommon in Sweden.

Of his father, Linnæus has given us a few glimpses in his diary, which prepossess us in his favour, and make us wish that we knew more of the worthy pastor. He was brought up by his maternal uncle, Sven Tiliander, himself a clergyman, who educated the lad with his own children, and, being fond of plants and gardening, inspired in his nephew also a love for horticulture; so that this predilection appears to have been, in some degree, hereditary. Young Nils was sent, in due time, to school, and afterwards to the University of Lund, where he had to struggle, for some years, with poverty, and to apply very diligently to his studies, in order that he might qualify himself for the profession of his choice. Returning to his native place, he was admitted to holy orders, and was first curate, and afterwards co-pastor. Soon after he attained to this degree, he was married to the eldest daughter of the pastor, Christina Brodersonia, of whom her son says—“She possessed all the virtues of her sex, and was an excellent economist.” No doubt she found ample room for the exercise of this her distinguishing excellence, for her husband’s stipend was small, and she brought him a goodly family of two sons and three daughters. We may well believe that thrift and frugality were necessary in the ménage of this small household. Linnæus tells us that the young couple welcomed their firstborn with joy, and reared him with the tenderest solicitude, “devoting the utmost attention to impressing on his mind the love of virtue, both in precept and example.” He has drawn a charming picture of his birthplace; it was situated in a very pleasant valley adjoining the lake Möklen, which formed a bay, in the centre of which stood the parish church of Stenbrohult. On the banks of this fine lake, surrounded by hills and valleys, woods and cultivated grounds, the father of Linnæus dwelt; his garden and his fields yielding him, at the same time, both amusement and profit. The young Carl had no sooner left his cradle than he was constantly in the garden, in which, to use his own expression, he almost lived, delighted with the brilliant hues and fragrance of the beauteous shrubs and flowers which flourished there.

In a letter to Baron Haller, written at the time of his father’s death, Linnæus says: “He was an uncommon lover of plants, and had a select garden of numerous rare species.” The favourite taste of the father was quickly imbibed by the child, who was his constant companion while he cultivated the choice parterre, and eagerly tried to yield such slight aid as his childish powers permitted. He has recorded the first occasion when this innate passion was decidedly displayed, or rather, perhaps, when it sprung into consciousness. He was hardly four years old when he chanced to accompany his father to a rural fête at Möklen, and in the evening, it being a pleasant season of the year, the guests seated themselves on the flowery turf and listened to the good pastor, who entertained them with remarks on the names and properties of the plants which grew around them, showing them the roots of succisa, tormentilla, orchides, etc. The little Carl attended with the utmost eagerness to all he saw and heard, and “from that time never ceased harassing his father with questions about the name, qualities, and nature of every plant he met with.” An unlooked-for result of the evening lecture, and which seems to have cost the worthy man no small trouble, for the child (not unlike other children, for that matter) very often asked more than his father was able to answer; in addition to which he “used immediately to forget all he had learned, and especially the names of plants.” To cure him of this mischievous habit of inattention his father refused to answer his questions unless he would promise to remember what was told him, which judicious management wrought a speedy and effectual cure, insomuch that he tells us he ever afterwards retained with ease, whatever he heard. Besides this retentiveness of memory he possessed an “astonishing quickness of sight,” an almost necessary qualification for the study of his favourite science.

When the boy was eight years old a separate plot of ground was assigned him by his father, which was called “Carl’s garden,” and which he soon stored with collections of plants and wild flowers, gathered from the woods and fields around his dwelling. At the same time he introduced a variety of weeds, a treasure which it afterwards cost his father no small pains to eradicate from his flower-beds. The enterprising youngster even tried the experiment of establishing a swarm of wild bees and wasps in the garden, the result of which was a devastating warfare waged against the domestic hives.

At length it was thought desirable that these flowery pursuits should give way to more serious occupations, and he was committed to the charge of a private tutor, whom he calls “a passionate and morose man, better calculated for extinguishing a youth’s talents than for improving them.” Nor did he fare any better in his next remove, which was to the grammar school at Wexiö, where the masters “pursued the same methods, preferring stripes and punishments to encouragements and admonitions.” Probably the boy evinced his distaste for such coercive measures, since we find him soon removed from school to the care of another private teacher, of whose mild and gentle disposition he speaks in terms of approval. Nevertheless, he too failed to inspire in his pupil a love for the studies which were considered necessary as preparatory to admission into holy orders; for Nils Linnæus, desirous that his eldest son should become his assistant and eventually his successor, designed him for the Church. The boy had to work for three years before he was promoted to a higher “form” in the school, called the “circle;” and the principal use he seems to have made of the greater liberty allowed him in this new rank, was to shun the usual exercises and give himself up to the study of his favourite pursuit—the knowledge of flowers. He acknowledges that his time was chiefly spent in wandering about the outskirts of the town, and making himself acquainted with all the plants he could find. According to the system then pursued in Sweden, it was necessary that youths should pass from the schools or private tutors to a superior seminary, called the Gymnasium, where the higher branches of literature were taught; and accordingly, at the age of seventeen, the young Linnæus was removed thither. But the original predilections of his mind were then still more strikingly evinced and matured. He showed the strongest distaste for theological studies. In the metaphysics, ethics, Greek and Hebrew, and theology his companions far outstripped him; but in mathematics, and particularly physics, he as much excelled them. His favourite science, botany, which at that time was wholly neglected, still continued to be his most engrossing pursuit, and he soon contrived to form a small library of books in that branch. Among others he mentions the “Chloris Gothica” of Bromelius, and Rudbeck’s “Hortus Upsaliensis,” which he confesses his inability then to comprehend clearly. Nevertheless he says he “continued to read them day and night, and committed them to memory.” His own copies of these books, “used with the utmost care and neatness,” were preserved among his library, and after his death were sold with his collection. The zeal and eagerness he evinced in these studies procured him, both among masters and scholars, the name of “the Little Botanist.”

At the end of two years his father went to Wexiö, “hoping to hear from the preceptors the most flattering account of his beloved son’s progress in his studies and morals.” But he was sorely disappointed at learning that, unexceptionable as the general behaviour of the youth had been, he was evidently quite unfit for a divine; and, indeed, in the opinion of the authorities, it was a pity to incur any further expense towards giving him a learned education, some manual employment being far more suitable for him. The youth, they thought, would be well placed as apprentice to some tailor or shoemaker!

Grieved at having thus lost his labour, and supported his son at school for twelve years (an expense he could very ill afford) to no purpose, the venerable clergyman went his way, pondering what course to pursue. It chanced that he was suffering from a complaint which required medical advice, and he betook himself to the house of Dr. Rothmann, the provincial physician, also a lecturer in physics, to whom, in the course of conversation, he mentioned his perplexity with reference to his son Carl. Rothmann suggested that, though the opinions of his colleagues might be correct as to the boy’s inaptitude for theological studies, there was good reason to believe he might distinguish himself in the profession of medicine, and possibly that he might accomplish great things in the pursuit of natural history. At the same time he liberally offered, in case the father’s circumstances did not permit him to maintain his son in a course of studies, to take him into his own house, and provide for him during the year he must remain at the gymnasium.

This generous proposal was gratefully accepted, and the result was most satisfactory. Linnæus received from his benefactor a course of private instructions in physiology with so much success, that the youth was able to give a most accurate report of all he had been taught. At the same time, this worthy teacher put him into the right method of studying botany, showing the necessity of proceeding in a scientific manner, and directing his attention to the system of Tournefort. The very imperfections he found in this work stimulated his desire for something more perfect, and were, in this way, of use to the future naturalist.

The year following (1727) Linnæus proceeded to the University at Lund, furnished, as he has himself recorded, with a “not very creditable certificate.” This curiosity, after its kind, was to the effect that youth at school may be compared to plants, which sometimes baffle all the skill of the gardener, but, being transplanted to a different soil, occasionally turn out well. With this view, and no other, the bearer was sent to the University, which, possibly, might prove propitious to his progress!