Charlotte M. Yonge - "Young Folks' History of England"

Laurence Sterne - "A Sentimental Journey"

Rabindranath Tagore - "The Fugitive"

George MacDonald - "Thomas Wingfold, Curate V3"

The Life and Letters of Charles Darwin, Volume I

h >> his son >> The Life and Letters of Charles Darwin, Volume I




Perhaps this incident shows what I think is the truth, that the memory of
his father he loved the best, was that of him as an old man. Mrs.
Litchfield has noted down a few words which illustrate well his feeling
towards his father. She describes him as saying with the most tender
respect, "I think my father was a little unjust to me when I was young, but
afterwards I am thankful to think I became a prime favourite with him."
She has a vivid recollection of the expression of happy reverie that
accompanied these words, as if he were reviewing the whole relation, and
the remembrance left a deep sense of peace and gratitude.

What follows was added by Charles Darwin to his autobiographical
'Recollections,' and was written about 1877 or 1878.

"I may here add a few pages about my father, who was in many ways a
remarkable man.

"He was about 6 feet 2 inches in height, with broad shoulders, and very
corpulent, so that he was the largest man whom I ever saw. When he last
weighed himself, he was 24 stone, but afterwards increased much in weight.
His chief mental characteristics were his powers of observation and his
sympathy, neither of which have I ever seen exceeded or even equalled. His
sympathy was not only with the distresses of others, but in a greater
degree with the pleasures of all around him. This led him to be always
scheming to give pleasure to others, and, though hating extravagance, to
perform many generous actions. For instance, Mr. B--, a small manufacturer
in Shrewsbury, came to him one day, and said he should be bankrupt unless
he could at once borrow 10,000 pounds, but that he was unable to give any
legal security. My father heard his reasons for believing that he could
ultimately repay the money, and from [his] intuitive perception of
character felt sure that he was to be trusted. So he advanced this sum,
which was a very large one for him while young, and was after a time
repaid.

"I suppose that it was his sympathy which gave him unbounded power of
winning confidence, and as a consequence made him highly successful as a
physician. He began to practise before he was twenty-one years old, and
his fees during the first year paid for the keep of two horses and a
servant. On the following year his practice was large, and so continued
for about sixty years, when he ceased to attend on any one. His great
success as a doctor was the more remarkable, as he told me that he at first
hated his profession so much that if he had been sure of the smallest
pittance, or if his father had given him any choice, nothing should have
induced him to follow it. To the end of his life, the thought of an
operation almost sickened him, and he could scarcely endure to see a person
bled--a horror which he has transmitted to me--and I remember the horror
which I felt as a schoolboy in reading about Pliny (I think) bleeding to
death in a warm bath...

"Owing to my father's power of winning confidence, many patients,
especially ladies, consulted him when suffering from any misery, as a sort
of Father-Confessor. He told me that they always began by complaining in a
vague manner about their health, and by practice he soon guessed what was
really the matter. He then suggested that they had been suffering in their
minds, and now they would pour out their troubles, and he heard nothing
more about the body...Owing to my father's skill in winning confidence he
received many strange confessions of misery and guilt. He often remarked
how many miserable wives he had known. In several instances husbands and
wives had gone on pretty well together for between twenty and thirty years,
and then hated each other bitterly; this he attributed to their having lost
a common bond in their young children having grown up.

"But the most remarkable power which my father possessed was that of
reading the characters, and even the thoughts of those whom he saw even for
a short time. We had many instances of the power, some of which seemed
almost supernatural. It saved my father from ever making (with one
exception, and the character of this man was soon discovered) an unworthy
friend. A strange clergyman came to Shrewsbury, and seemed to be a rich
man; everybody called on him, and he was invited to many houses. My father
called, and on his return home told my sisters on no account to invite him
or his family to our house; for he felt sure that the man was not to be
trusted. After a few months he suddenly bolted, being heavily in debt, and
was found out to be little better than an habitual swindler. Here is a
case of trustfulness which not many men would have ventured on. An Irish
gentleman, a complete stranger, called on my father one day, and said that
he had lost his purse, and that it would be a serious inconvenience to him
to wait in Shrewsbury until he could receive a remittance from Ireland. He
then asked my father to lend him 20 pounds, which was immediately done, as
my father felt certain that the story was a true one. As soon as a letter
could arrive from Ireland, one came with the most profuse thanks, and
enclosing, as he said, a 20 pound Bank of England note, but no note was
enclosed. I asked my father whether this did not stagger him, but he
answered 'not in the least.' On the next day another letter came with many
apologies for having forgotten (like a true Irishman) to put the note into
his letter of the day before...(A gentleman) brought his nephew, who was
insane but quite gentle, to my father; and the young man's insanity led him
to accuse himself of all the crimes under heaven. When my father
afterwards talked over the matter with the uncle, he said, 'I am sure that
your nephew is really guilty of...a heinous crime.' Whereupon [the
gentleman] said, 'Good God, Dr. Darwin, who told you; we thought that no
human being knew the fact except ourselves!' My father told me the story
many years after the event, and I asked him how he distinguished the true
from the false self-accusations; and it was very characteristic of my
father that he said he could not explain how it was.

"The following story shows what good guesses my father could make. Lord
Shelburne, afterwards the first Marquis of Lansdowne, was famous (as
Macaulay somewhere remarks) for his knowledge of the affairs of Europe, on
which he greatly prided himself. He consulted my father medically, and
afterwards harangued him on the state of Holland. My father had studied
medicine at Leyden, and one day [while there] went a long walk into the
country with a friend who took him to the house of a clergyman (we will say
the Rev. Mr. A--, for I have forgotten his name), who had married an
Englishwoman. My father was very hungry, and there was little for luncheon
except cheese, which he could never eat. The old lady was surprised and
grieved at this, and assured my father that it was an excellent cheese, and
had been sent her from Bowood, the seat of Lord Shelburne. My father
wondered why a cheese should be sent her from Bowood, but thought nothing
more about it until it flashed across his mind many years afterwards,
whilst Lord Shelburne was talking about Holland. So he answered, 'I should
think from what I saw of the Rev. Mr. A--, that he was a very able man, and
well acquainted with the state of Holland.' My father saw that the Earl,
who immediately changed the conversation was much startled. On the next
morning my father received a note from the Earl, saying that he had delayed
starting on his journey, and wished particularly to see my father. When he
called, the Earl said, 'Dr. Darwin, it is of the utmost importance to me
and to the Rev. Mr. A-- to learn how you have discovered that he is the
source of my information about Holland.' So my father had to explain the
state of the case, and he supposed that Lord Shelburne was much struck with
his diplomatic skill in guessing, for during many years afterwards he
received many kind messages from him through various friends. I think that
he must have told the story to his children; for Sir C. Lyell asked me many
years ago why the Marquis of Lansdowne (the son or grand-son of the first
marquis) felt so much interest about me, whom he had never seen, and my
family. When forty new members (the forty thieves as they were then
called) were added to the Athenaeum Club, there was much canvassing to be
one of them; and without my having asked any one, Lord Lansdowne proposed
me and got me elected. If I am right in my supposition, it was a queer
concatenation of events that my father not eating cheese half-a-century
before in Holland led to my election as a member of the Athenaeum.

"The sharpness of his observation led him to predict with remarkable skill
the course of any illness, and he suggested endless small details of
relief. I was told that a young doctor in Shrewsbury, who disliked my
father, used to say that he was wholly unscientific, but owned that his
power of predicting the end of an illness was unparalleled. Formerly when
he thought that I should be a doctor, he talked much to me about his
patients. In the old days the practice of bleeding largely was universal,
but my father maintained that far more evil was thus caused than good done;
and he advised me if ever I was myself ill not to allow any doctor to take
more than an extremely small quantity of blood. Long before typhoid fever
was recognised as distinct, my father told me that two utterly distinct
kinds of illness were confounded under the name of typhus fever. He was
vehement against drinking, and was convinced of both the direct and
inherited evil effects of alcohol when habitually taken even in moderate
quantity in a very large majority of cases. But he admitted and advanced
instances of certain persons who could drink largely during their whole
lives without apparently suffering any evil effects, and he believed that
he could often beforehand tell who would thus not suffer. He himself never
drank a drop of any alcoholic fluid. This remark reminds me of a case
showing how a witness under the most favourable circumstances may be
utterly mistaken. A gentleman-farmer was strongly urged by my father not
to drink, and was encouraged by being told that he himself never touched
any spirituous liquor. Whereupon the gentleman said, 'Come, come, Doctor,
this won't do--though it is very kind of you to say so for my sake--for I
know that you take a very large glass of hot gin and water every evening
after your dinner.' (This belief still survives, and was mentioned to my
brother in 1884 by an old inhabitant of Shrewsbury.--F.D.) So my father
asked him how he knew this. The man answered, 'My cook was your kitchen-
maid for two or three years, and she saw the butler every day prepare and
take to you the gin and water.' The explanation was that my father had the
odd habit of drinking hot water in a very tall and large glass after his
dinner; and the butler used first to put some cold water in the glass,
which the girl mistook for gin, and then filled it up with boiling water
from the kitchen boiler.

"My father used to tell me many little things which he had found useful in
his medical practice. Thus ladies often cried much while telling him their
troubles, and thus caused much loss of his precious time. He soon found
that begging them to command and restrain themselves, always made them weep
the more, so that afterwards he always encouraged them to go on crying,
saying that this would relieve them more than anything else, and with the
invariable result that they soon ceased to cry, and he could hear what they
had to say and give his advice. When patients who were very ill craved for
some strange and unnatural food, my father asked them what had put such an
idea into their heads; if they answered that they did not know, he would
allow them to try the food, and often with success, as he trusted to their
having a kind of instinctive desire; but if they answered that they had
heard that the food in question had done good to some one else, he firmly
refused his assent.

"He gave one day an odd little specimen of human nature. When a very young
man he was called in to consult with the family physician in the case of a
gentleman of much distinction in Shropshire. The old doctor told the wife
that the illness was of such a nature that it must end fatally. My father
took a different view and maintained that the gentleman would recover: he
was proved quite wrong in all respects (I think by autopsy) and he owned
his error. He was then convinced that he should never again be consulted
by this family; but after a few months the widow sent for him, having
dismissed the old family doctor. My father was so much surprised at this,
that he asked a friend of the widow to find out why he was again consulted.
The widow answered her friend, that 'she would never again see the odious
old doctor who said from the first that her husband would die, while Dr.
Darwin always maintained that he would recover!' In another case my father
told a lady that her husband would certainly die. Some months afterwards
he saw the widow, who was a very sensible woman, and she said, 'You are a
very young man, and allow me to advise you always to give, as long as you
possibly can, hope to any near relative nursing a patient. You made me
despair, and from that moment I lost strength.' My father said that he had
often since seen the paramount importance, for the sake of the patient, of
keeping up the hope and with it the strength of the nurse in charge. This
he sometimes found difficult to do compatibly with truth. One old
gentleman, however, caused him no such perplexity. He was sent for by
Mr.P--, who said, 'From all that I have seen and heard of you I believe
that you are the sort of man who will speak the truth, and if I ask, you
will tell me when I am dying. Now I much desire that you should attend me,
if you will promise, whatever I may say, always to declare that I am not
going to die.' My father acquiesced on the understanding that his words
should in fact have no meaning.

"My father possessed an extraordinary memory, especially for dates, so that
he knew, when he was very old, the day of the birth, marriage, and death of
a multitude of persons in Shropshire; and he once told me that this power
annoyed him; for if he once heard a date, he could not forget it; and thus
the deaths of many friends were often recalled to his mind. Owing to his
strong memory he knew an extraordinary number of curious stories, which he
liked to tell, as he was a great talker. He was generally in high spirits,
and laughed and joked with every one--often with his servants--with the
utmost freedom; yet he had the art of making every one obey him to the
letter. Many persons were much afraid of him. I remember my father
telling us one day, with a laugh, that several persons had asked him
whether Miss --, a grand old lady in Shropshire, had called on him, so that
at last he enquired why they asked him; and he was told that Miss --, whom
my father had somehow mortally offended, was telling everybody that she
would call and tell 'that fat old doctor very plainly what she thought of
him.' She had already called, but her courage had failed, and no one could
have been more courteous and friendly. As a boy, I went to stay at the
house of --, whose wife was insane; and the poor creature, as soon as she
saw me, was in the most abject state of terror that I ever saw, weeping
bitterly and asking me over and over again, 'Is your father coming?' but
was soon pacified. On my return home, I asked my father why she was so
frightened, and he answered he was very glad to hear it, as he had
frightened her on purpose, feeling sure that she would be kept in safety
and much happier without any restraint, if her husband could influence her,
whenever she became at all violent, by proposing to send for Dr. Darwin;
and these words succeeded perfectly during the rest of her long life.

"My father was very sensitive, so that many small events annoyed him or
pained him much. I once asked him, when he was old and could not walk, why
he did not drive out for exercise; and he answered, 'Every road out of
Shrewsbury is associated in my mind with some painful event.' Yet he was
generally in high spirits. He was easily made very angry, but his kindness
was unbounded. He was widely and deeply loved.

"He was a cautious and good man of business, so that he hardly ever lost
money by an investment, and left to his children a very large property. I
remember a story showing how easily utterly false beliefs originate and
spread. Mr. E --, a squire of one of the oldest families in Shropshire,
and head partner in a bank, committed suicide. My father was sent for as a
matter of form, and found him dead. I may mention, by the way, to show how
matters were managed in those old days, that because Mr. E -- was a rather
great man, and universally respected, no inquest was held over his body.
My father, in returning home, thought it proper to call at the bank (where
he had an account) to tell the managing partners of the event, as it was
not improbable that it would cause a run on the bank. Well, the story was
spread far and wide, that my father went into the bank, drew out all his
money, left the bank, came back again, and said, 'I may just tell you that
Mr. E -- has killed himself,' and then departed. It seems that it was then
a common belief that money withdrawn from a bank was not safe until the
person had passed out through the door of the bank. My father did not hear
this story till some little time afterwards, when the managing partner said
that he had departed from his invariable rule of never allowing any one to
see the account of another man, by having shown the ledger with my father's
account to several persons, as this proved that my father had not drawn out
a penny on that day. It would have been dishonourable in my father to have
used his professional knowledge for his private advantage. Nevertheless,
the supposed act was greatly admired by some persons; and many years
afterwards, a gentleman remarked, 'Ah, Doctor, what a splendid man of
business you were in so cleverly getting all your money safe out of that
bank!'

"My father's mind was not scientific, and he did not try to generalize his
knowledge under general laws; yet he formed a theory for almost everything
which occurred. I do not think I gained much from him intellectually; but
his example ought to have been of much moral service to all his children.
One of his golden rules (a hard one to follow) was, 'Never become the
friend of any one whom you cannot respect.'"

Dr. Darwin had six children (Of these Mrs. Wedgwood is now the sole
survivor.): Marianne, married Dr. Henry Parker; Caroline, married Josiah
Wedgwood; Erasmus Alvey; Susan, died unmarried; Charles Robert; Catherine,
married Rev. Charles Langton.

The elder son, Erasmus, was born in 1804, and died unmarried at the age of
seventy-seven.

He, like his brother, was educated at Shrewsbury School and at Christ's
College, Cambridge. He studied medicine at Edinburgh and in London, and
took the degree of Bachelor of Medicine at Cambridge. He never made any
pretence of practising as a doctor, and, after leaving Cambridge, lived a
quiet life in London.

There was something pathetic in Charles Darwin's affection for his brother
Erasmus, as if he always recollected his solitary life, and the touching
patience and sweetness of his nature. He often spoke of him as "Poor old
Ras," or "Poor dear old Philos"--I imagine Philos (Philosopher) was a relic
of the days when they worked at chemistry in the tool-house at Shrewsbury--
a time of which he always preserved a pleasant memory. Erasmus being
rather more than four years older than Charles Darwin, they were not long
together at Cambridge, but previously at Edinburgh they lived in the same
lodgings, and after the Voyage they lived for a time together in Erasmus'
house in Great Marlborough Street. At this time also he often speaks with
much affection of Erasmus in his letters to Fox, using words such as "my
dear good old brother." In later years Erasmus Darwin came to Down
occasionally, or joined his brother's family in a summer holiday. But
gradually it came about that he could not, through ill health, make up his
mind to leave London, and then they only saw each other when Charles Darwin
went for a week at a time to his brother's house in Queen Anne Street.

The following note on his brother's character was written by Charles Darwin
at about the same time that the sketch of his father was added to the
'Recollections.':--

"My brother Erasmus possessed a remarkably clear mind with extensive and
diversified tastes and knowledge in literature, art, and even in science.
For a short time he collected and dried plants, and during a somewhat
longer time experimented in chemistry. He was extremely agreeable, and his
wit often reminded me of that in the letters and works of Charles Lamb. He
was very kind-hearted...His health from his boyhood had been weak, and as a
consequence he failed in energy. His spirits were not high, sometimes low,
more especially during early and middle manhood. He read much, even whilst
a boy, and at school encouraged me to read, lending me books. Our minds
and tastes were, however, so different, that I do not think I owe much to
him intellectually. I am inclined to agree with Francis Galton in
believing that education and environment produce only a small effect on the
mind of any one, and that most of our qualities are innate."

Erasmus Darwin's name, though not known to the general public, may be
remembered from the sketch of his character in Carlyle's 'Reminiscences,'
which I here reproduce in part:--

"Erasmus Darwin, a most diverse kind of mortal, came to seek us out very
soon ('had heard of Carlyle in Germany, etc.') and continues ever since to
be a quiet house-friend, honestly attached; though his visits latterly have
been rarer and rarer, health so poor, I so occupied, etc., etc. He had
something of original and sarcastically ingenious in him, one of the
sincerest, naturally truest, and most modest of men; elder brother of
Charles Darwin (the famed Darwin on Species of these days) to whom I rather
prefer him for intellect, had not his health quite doomed him to silence
and patient idleness...My dear one had a great favour for this honest
Darwin always; many a road, to shops and the like, he drove her in his cab
(Darwingium Cabbum comparable to Georgium Sidus) in those early days when
even the charge of omnibuses was a consideration, and his sparse
utterances, sardonic often, were a great amusement to her. 'A perfect
gentleman,' she at once discerned him to be, and of sound worth and
kindliness in the most unaffected form." (Carlyle's 'Reminiscences,' vol.
ii. page 208.)

Charles Darwin did not appreciate this sketch of his brother; he thought
Carlyle had missed the essence of his most lovable nature.

I am tempted by the wish of illustrating further the character of one so
sincerely beloved by all Charles Darwin's children, to reproduce a letter
to the "Spectator" (September 3, 1881) by his cousin Miss Julia Wedgwood.

"A portrait from Mr. Carlyle's portfolio not regretted by any who loved the
original, surely confers sufficient distinction to warrant a few words of
notice, when the character it depicts is withdrawn from mortal gaze.
Erasmus, the only brother of Charles Darwin, and the faithful and
affectionate old friend of both the Carlyles, has left a circle of mourners
who need no tribute from illustrious pen to embalm the memory so dear to
their hearts; but a wider circle must have felt some interest excited by
that tribute, and may receive with a certain attention the record of a
unique and indelible impression, even though it be made only on the hearts
of those who cannot bequeath it, and with whom, therefore, it must speedily
pass away. They remember it with the same distinctness as they remember a
creation of genius; it has in like manner enriched and sweetened life,
formed a common meeting-point for those who had no other; and, in its
strong fragrance of individuality, enforced that respect for the
idiosyncracies of human character without which moral judgment is always
hard and shallow, and often unjust. Carlyle was one to find a peculiar
enjoyment in the combination of liveliness and repose which gave his
friend's society an influence at once stimulating and soothing, and the
warmth of his appreciation was not made known first in its posthumous
expression; his letters of anxiety nearly thirty years ago, when the frail
life which has been prolonged to old age was threatened by serious illness,
are still fresh in my memory. The friendship was equally warm with both
husband and wife. I remember well a pathetic little remonstrance from her
elicited by an avowal from Erasmus Darwin, that he preferred cats to dogs,
which she felt a slur on her little 'Nero;' and the tones in which she
said, 'Oh, but you are fond of dogs! you are too kind not to be,' spoke of
a long vista of small, gracious kindnesses, remembered with a tender
gratitude. He was intimate also with a person whose friends, like those of
Mr. Carlyle, have not always had cause to congratulate themselves on their
place in her gallery,--Harriet Martineau. I have heard him more than once
call her a faithful friend, and it always seemed to me a curious tribute to
something in the friendship that he alone supplied; but if she had written
of him at all, I believe the mention, in its heartiness of appreciation,
would have afforded a rare and curious meeting-point with the other
'Reminiscences,' so like and yet so unlike. It is not possible to transfer
the impression of a character; we can only suggest it by means of some
resemblance; and it is a singular illustration of that irony which checks
or directs our sympathies, that in trying to give some notion of the man
whom, among those who were not his kindred, Carlyle appears to have most
loved, I can say nothing more descriptive than that he seems to me to have
had something in common with the man whom Carlyle least appreciated. The
society of Erasmus Darwin had, to my mind, much the same charm as the
writings of Charles Lamb. There was the same kind of playfulness, the same
lightness of touch, the same tenderness, perhaps the same limitations. On
another side of his nature, I have often been reminded of him by the
quaint, delicate humour, the superficial intolerance, the deep springs of
pity, the peculiar mixture of something pathetic with a sort of gay scorn,
entirely remote from contempt, which distinguish the Ellesmere of Sir
Arthur Helps' earlier dialogues. Perhaps we recall such natures most
distinctly, when such a resemblance is all that is left of them. The
character is not merged in the creation; and what we lose in the power to
communicate our impression, we seem to gain in its vividness. Erasmus
Darwin has passed away in old age, yet his memory retains something of a
youthful fragrance; his influence gave much happiness, of a kind usually
associated with youth, to many lives besides the illustrious one whose
records justify, though certainly they do not inspire, the wish to place
this fading chaplet on his grave."

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