The Curious Death of Peter Artedi Page 4

  Next it was HASSELQUIST, always delicate and badly off, if not sickly, never fit for strenuous work, but whom, despite his frailty, I sent to Egypt in 1749. At Smyrna, three years later, at the tender age of 30, he succumbed to fever, dying like a lamp whose oil is consumed, in consequence of his excursions and fatigues in the Holy Land. Unhappily, he left a debt of a rather large sum—14,000 copper dalers, to be exact—which I was forced to pay, although some relief was had by petition to the Royal Scientific Society. The personal loss to me was considerable, and was made up for only in part by recovery of his manuscripts, which, when I began to read them I could not stop before I read them all. I must say I never held anything before that was so greatly filled with new and real observations as these—they penetrated me as God’s word penetrates a deacon. Works such as this had never come out before and, once edited by me, I longed for their appearance in published form like a lover for the wedding day. No trouble was spared over my reworking of the text and, although my many other obligations put the final result off until the year 1757, the book was printed in Stockholm under my authorship with title Iter Palestinum (Journey to Palestine).

  And so it was much the same with the others: LÖFLING, my most beloved pupil, who, among all my disciples, none had gone as far as he, was laid up in a tertian ague, after which be became dropsical and died miserably at the Mission at Merercuri, in Guiana, in 1756, forfeiting his life for FLORA and her lovers who bitterly mourned his loss. I grieved for him mightily, but luckily his manuscripts and travel journal survived, the best part of which I published in 1758—a lively read that I chose to call Iter Hispanicum (Journey to New Spain), in which the descriptions of new American plants take up a full 185 pages.

  Sweet FORSSKÅL in Arabia, while I most desperately grieved his loss, sent me, very fortunately, just before he died of malaria in 1763, a stalk and flower of an unknown tree, a plant then wholly new to science, later named by me Amyris gileadensis from which is extracted the Balm of Gilead. By favor of this gift I was deeply gratified, for this very species was the object for which I specially charged this faithful apostle.

  Then there was JOHAN FALCK—not to be confounded with his younger brother ANDERS FALCK, the astronomer—whom I sent to Russia, the Caucasus, West Siberia, and Kazan. It was at the latter place, for reasons known only to him, but afflicted certainly with hypochondria and sufferings of every other kind, not to mention opium addiction—some say also he had by that time completely lost his sanity—that he slit his own throat and thereby took his life in the month of March of 1774. And finally, I might include in this list of tragedies, ANDERS BERLIN, who, while collecting for me in Senegal in 1773, and before there was any chance to send to his teacher the objects of his labors, was attacked and hacked to death at a tender age of 27 by the local inhabitants of that strange and wild country.

  In all of this, amidst the melancholy fate of these my sacrificial lambs, each cut off in the flower of their days, there were, of course, the more fortunate, but in no way less daring of my apostles, who struck out for distant foreign lands. By safe reappearance in their welcoming homeland, they were thus able to enjoy the untold rewards of their success during their own lifetimes. The best of these was PETER KALM, an excellent naturalist, born to the rigors of natural history, who in 1748, journeyed to North America, visiting the British colonies of Pennsylvania—where in Philadelphia he called upon that able scientist BENJAMIN FRANKLIN—Delaware, New Jersey, and New York, and venturing as far as southern Canada. Returning to Sweden in 1751, he delivered to me an extraordinary collection of dried plants and seeds, which specimens happily found their places in the pages of many of my publications, most especially my Species Plantarum (Species of Plants) of 1753, which, you will remember, included more than 700 species in total, of which about 90 were due to the diligence of this brave servant of botany. In no small thanks for this effort, I immortalized KALM with the naming of Kalmia for the mountain laurel.

  Then there was ROLANDER who upon my instruction went to Surinam and St. Eustache in 1755. He managed to return to me in 1756, but by this time his mental faculties were completely deranged, claiming most emphatically that he had discovered a bush in Surinam that produced real pearls, and how these pearls were the elixir of life. He brought back with him little more than several dozen long-desired cochineal insects alive in a jar, all of which died before I could see them, disappointing me greatly. The fault for this considerable loss lay with the gardener, who, upon receiving the jar, opened it, took out the plant, cleansed it from the dirt—and as well from the insects—and replaced it back in the jar, so that the insects, though they arrived alive, were then destroyed in the garden, before I could even get sight of them. Thus, this unfortunate error removed all my hopes of rearing them to advantage in the conservatory. As it were, the procurement of living cochineals, being the chief reason for sending ROLANDER to Surinam, had been for many years primary on my list of desires to add to my entomological studies. Thus to lose them now when so close was grievous to me beyond description—for many weeks thereafter I suffered the most dreadful fits of migraine, made only worse by this ungrateful pupil who gave what remained of his collections to my competitors and thus proceeded to slander me everywhere he went.

  Let me mention also in this tribute PEHR OSBECK, who I sent to Canton and Java in 1750 as a ship’s chaplain for the Swedish East India Company. I well recall my nervous impatience when fully a year after his departure I had received no word from him. Fearing that some dreadful event had removed him from this life, and that all my good efforts on his behalf had been wasted, you can imagine my great relief, to learn by letter dated 27 November 1751 of his success in obtaining Melastoma—a genus within which are classified certain shrubs and trees, the curious berries of which stain the mouth black when chewed—the very thing for which I had specifically sent him so far. I responded quickly with profound joy, promising upon his return to make crowns with the flowers he would bring back, to adorn the heads of the priests of the temple of FLORA and the altars of the goddess. I pledged to him also that his name would be inscribed on substances as durable and indestructible as diamonds, and that I would be pleased to dedicate to him some very rare Osbeckia that would be enrolled in FLORA’S army. In closing my epistle, I commanded that he hoist his sails and tow with all his might; but bade him heed not to return to Sweden without the choicest spoils, or I would invoke NEPTUNE to hurl him and all his company into the depths of the Taenarum. I was later to be amply rewarded as a result of my warning, for whence in summer 1752 he did grace my place again, he delivered to me an extraordinarily rich Chinese herbarium of some six hundred specimens, among which was a most beautiful Javanese orchid that I later named Epidendrum amabile and described in my Species Plantarum of 1753.

  Finally, and not to dwell any longer on the more successful of the rest, there was LARS MONTIN who went to Lapland in 1745. Then there was OLOF TORÉN who in 1750 explored Malabar and Surat, and who, like OSBECK, went as chaplain aboard a vessel of the Swedish East India Company, which position he owed solely to my recommendation. BERGIUS went to the Island of Gotland, and KÄHLER to Italy, both in 1752, the latter returning heavily laden with plants. DANIEL SOLANDER, my most favorite, went to Russia, Lapland, and the Canary Islands between 1753 and 1756, and later in 1768 sailed with COOK and BANKS round the world aboard HMS Endeavour. I sent MARTIN to Spitzbergen in 1758. KÖNIG went to Siam, Ceylon, and India in 1767, and for reasons fully unknown to me, he decided to remain in Tranquebar until his death in 1785, for which reason I got little out of him in return for all my efforts. Alströmer traveled through Europe in the 1760s. NIEBUHR accompanied FORSSKÅL to Arabia in 1761, being the only one to survive that ill-fated expedition. THUNBERG went to the Cape in 1771, continuing on to Ceylon, Java, and Japan in 1775, sending back most invaluable information about Japanese medicinal plants. He is at this moment still in that country, gone from me these past eight years; I am desperate to live long enough to witness the joy of his ret
urn, to be present on that great day, and to touch with my hands the laurels that will crown his brow. Finally, there is SPARRMANN, who traveled longer and farther than most, venturing to China and several times to Africa, joining COOK’S second circumnavigation of the globe in 1772, and returning to Sweden in 1776, thoroughly exhausted and, I dare to say, almost dead.

  These and many others not mentioned filled the ranks of my army of devoted naturalists and thus it was that I had pupils in all parts of the world. In this manner my herbarium increased at a rate beyond compare, quickly rivaling any other such collection in the world. And whom to thank for this rich bounty but our Almighty God? Each time upon their leaving, in fear for their safety, my heart went out to these my gentle adventurers. Yet, each time too, I did not hesitate, from the comfort and security of my chair in Uppsala, to console them as to the task ahead. I instructed them, in all sincerity, not to have fear of exposing themselves to some degree of danger, for anyone who hopes to attain a glorious goal must take risks. I assured them too, in my fatherly way, that, in all truth, these journeys are not as perilous as some people here would have them believe. Always sick with worry, I eagerly awaited news of these disciples and, somewhat more impatiently, for the arrival of plants. In my many letters, sent to them in far-away places, I gave them every encouragement that I could muster, praying to God at the same time for their safe return, and begging that I might not be forgotten. It was this last worry that I feared the most, the horrible thought that my gentle confessors and apostles of the faith might forget their good master, the father who made everything possible for them. Thus, I implored them in my letters, and I beseeched them in my dreams at night, to think of me, to “think of me as often as I think of you, which is whenever I touch your plants; when I study them it is as if I were talking to you.”

  * * *

  Though he was not the first by any means, KOULAS, the young German medical student whom Dr. STOBAEUS had taken into his house as a secretary, was surely one of the more important to me. I, of course, was living there as well, that kindly doctor, who later became Professor of Medicine and Physician to the King, having offered me lodging during my early days at the University of Lund. KOULAS resided there like a son and had ready access to the doctor’s excellent museum and library. Well aware of my uncontrollable desire to see that precious and delightful cabinet of curios, the minerals, shells, stuffed birds, and dried plants glued onto paper that had been so lovingly assembled by my host—permission for which I was loath to request on my own—KOULAS most obligingly allowed me secret access. Knowing also that I had no money to buy books and that I was eager to examine those things to which I was not privy—for the library was otherwise always kept well locked—he began, on that pretense, to bring books to me in late evening. This, KOULAS did every night, until STOBAEUS’S mother, who was very old, and a bad sleeper, became aware of a light constantly burning in my window and warned her son that I often went to sleep with my candle still lit, thus seriously endangering the house, which like all dwellings were made of wood and thus highly susceptible to fire. She, being deathly afraid of fire, a fear not at all unreasonable, desired her son to chide me severely for my extreme carelessness. Two nights later, at eleven o’clock, STOBAEUS burst into my apartment, expecting to find me soundly sleeping, with my candle still flickering, but to his astonishment he discovered the gentle KOULAS and me in bed diligently pouring over his books, the works of CESALPINI, the brothers BAUHIN, TOURNEFORT, in addition to others. So it was in this way that we were duly found out and, alas, the sweet nightly visits ceased abruptly.

  In the spring of 1728, I went on a botanizing expedition with my young brother botanist MATTHIAS BENZELSTIERNA, to a most pleasant location at Fågle-sång, where, the two of us, having taken off our clothes because of the heat, took, for our afternoon remission, to lying in the meadow. There I was most violently bitten in the right arm by a worm—some want to insist it was instead a kind of fly, but in this claim they are quite emphatically in error—which insidious parasite I later named Furia infernalis, causing the most discomforting pain and swelling. My arm, in fact, became so full with vile inflammation that my life was severely endangered. But, thanks to Dr. SCHNELL, who attended to me in STOBAEUS’S absence, the latter having set off to rest in the mineral waters of Helsinborg, I was cured by the rendering of an incision that extended the full length of my appendage. My confidant BENZELSTIERNA, having apparently interpreted this calamity as a sure sign from God of wrong doing, quickly packed up, never to be seen by me again.

  Then there was ELIAS PREUTZ. At Uppsala in early 1724, when old RUDBECK was given leave of his public teaching duties so that he might further pursue his study of philology and thus complete his ill-fated Thesaurus, his lectures were taken over, but not very well, by his son-in-law Dr. PETRUS MARTIN, who unfortunately died rather suddenly in 1727. MARTIN was replaced by NILS ROSÉN, RUDBECK’S capable assistant, of whom we shall soon hear more. But ROSÉN, who had been appointed Adjunctus to the Faculty of Medicine at Uppsala, was abroad at the time, in Holland to be exact, for the purpose of obtaining a doctor’s degree and doing what he could to improve himself in his profession. In the meantime, his place was supplied in turn by PREUTZ, who, by almost universal agreement, was conceited and wholly incompetent. Although he was somewhat older, I, perhaps alone among our colleagues, found a liking for him and made it be known to him that I was a friend in whom he could confide, and he often came to me in confidence for this comfort. But, there was no helping it: being a person for whose abilities the students entertained a most marked contempt, many of them—and I can list in this category LETSTRÖM, ELVIUS, SOHLBERG, VOIGTLENDER, and RUDBECK’S son JOHAN OLOF, not to mention several others—turned elsewhere for instruction, putting themselves under my own private tutoring. Thus, in this way, I most seriously caused the position and authority of my despised friend to be undermined. In the end, however, I was brought forward and, having been duly examined by the faculty, was judged worthy—despite the strong objections of Professor ROBERG, who thought it rather hazardous to give a teacher’s job to a lad who had not yet been three years a student—of being placed in that very situation, in PREUTZ’S stead. I must say, the monetary remunerations of this new and wholly welcome arrangement were quite beneficial, allowing me to assume a more decent appearance in my dress, not to mention other things. But on the bad side of it, strong resentment, might I say jealous hatred, grew in PREUTZ, it becoming acute to the point that our friendship was ended.

  In this same way, and only shortly thereafter, my relations with NILS ROSÉN were all but extinguished. Soon after his return to Uppsala from his sojourn abroad, medical degree in hand, we embarked on a close friendship, a quite delightful but brief interlude that was soon broken too by his uncontrollable jealousy of my meteoric success. Only one year older, but provided abundantly with opportunities that I never enjoyed, he had, even by this early time in his career, shown himself to be a brilliant doctor, destined to make his name especially in the field of pediatrics, and later even to be ennobled as ROSÉN VON ROSENSTEIN. Taking over Professor RUDBECK’S lectures on anatomy and, I must admit, bringing welcome new life to the Medical School, he made it rather clear to all that he hoped to eventually succeed the old gentleman in his post, as there was no other competitor so highly qualified, unless, of course, consideration was given to me. In so working toward his primary goal, and observing that I came forward more and more, and fearing lest I should become a dangerous competitor, he did his best to wrench away the public lectures on botany and the associated demonstrations in the Botanical Garden, which both at the time were under my sole purview. But, to his good credit, old RUDBECK, who still had the authority to say so, would not hear of it, unwilling to trust this department to ROSÉN who had never studied it. Once then rebuffed, ROSÉN came to me directly to do his best to persuade me to give up to him spontaneously those duties that I so loved, asking that I lend him my lecture notes on botany that I had composed myself and
which I valued more than anything else that belonged to me. To this, in part, I consented, in all good faith, but learning shortly thereafter that ROSÉN had copied the first set, I was loath to lend the remainder. When pressed by him to give him more, I agreed to bend to his unworthy intimidation, but only if RUDBECK thought it to be appropriate—and of course he did not. So, once again, a closeness was lost forever for reasons that seemed trivial to me.

  Looking back from old age now, it seems I scarcely surmounted poverty before I became an object of envy—a passion that oft played me too many tricks, which are of no use to mention further here. But no matter this last departure of ROSÉN: I hardly had time to grieve my loss, for very soon thereafter I had ARTEDI, who quickly became my best and most faithful companion, my brother in flesh, and my best friend on earth. Nothing so comforted me like his presence—we loved like DAVID and JONATHAN.

  Chapter 3

  Our Friendly Rivalry

  It is a sad truth that, in science as elsewhere in this world, the mediocre man in higher position must hate and if possible persecute the superior man in lower station, and that for his very superiority, if for nothing else.

  —EDWARD LEE GREENE, Carolus Linnaeus, 1912

  I HAVE, TO DATE, enumerated the many similarities between the two of us, a remarkable sameness of background, history, and early circumstance; but in divers other ways we were as different as continents separated by a vast ocean, both in person and disposition. ARTEDI was of a more tall and handsome figure; whereas, I was rather short in stature, yet stout, neither fat nor thin. He had a more retiring and quiet disposition than I, more seriously minded and logical, more attentive to details, slower in observation and in everything he did, but, on the other hand, often more accurate. As for me, I was, some might say, boisterous and more likely to be overexcited than not. I never ventured to procrastinate, for I considered time as the most uncertain thing in the world. I did not linger, but walked quickly and did everything promptly. In fact, I was decidedly quicker and more deliberate in the actual doing of any piece of work, ARTEDI being somewhat sluggish and prone to postpone to an ample extent. It did not seldom happen, however, that he had the laugh of me, by reason of my having to begin my work all over again because some important fact in my haste had escaped my memory. He was an individualist, living a quiet and lonely life—as a habit, he went to the tavern from three to nine, was at work from nine to three in the night, and slept from three till noon. I, in contrast, was marked by a quick and easy friendliness, eagerly seeking engagement with my fellow men, always wanting and requiring the company and attention of others. While ARTEDI was never one to tell a joke, I was blessed with a dry droll humor, always of ready wit. He pursued his favorite studies, chemistry and especially alchemy, with the same ardor as I devoted myself to botany. Neither of us, however, was altogether ignorant in the other’s branch of pursuit, but, with a noble spirit of emulation, as soon as one found himself unequal to the progress of the other in one department of study, he dedicated himself to another. Thus we contrived to divide the kingdoms and provinces of nature between us. Certainly we both began to study fishes and insects together, but in a very short time, despite my protracted effort to attain a premier position in the department of ichthyology, I yielded to ARTEDI in that aquatic realm—not being personally so particularly partial to those cold and slippery denizens of NEPTUNE’S world, but wanting to hold onto them nevertheless—and he, after some struggle, finally acknowledged me, quite rightly, to be his superior in entomology. ARTEDI took to reducing the chaos that then existed within the amphibians and reptiles, and I the birds, under a mutually agreed, regular arrangement. In mineralogy and the study of quadrupeds, we kept fairly abreast of one another. But in spite of all this open congeniality, it was inevitable that a certain degree of good-natured rivalry should assert itself now and then between the two of us. This rivalry encouraged us in our efforts and spurred us on to greater industry and diligence in our work. However, at the same time, there grew in fact a certain steady and creeping jealousy that caused each of us to keep secret the discoveries that we made. This secrecy, however, never lasted for any great length of time, since not a day passed, I eagerly going to him or he coming to me, notwithstanding the great distance between our respective dwellings, without one surprising the other by narrating some newly discovered fact. We made our reports to each other without reservation, whatever our thoughts, whatever personal events took place, whether it was of a happy or sorrowful nature. To this, however, I must admit with some chagrin, I held back a considerable amount of my more profound scientific thoughts, but never did I suspect that ARTEDI did the same. He was always naively most forthcoming. Thus, I gleaned from him all that I could.