Heroes of science

by P. Martin Duncan

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!”