The first part of the work on the Brazilian Fishes was now completed, and he had the pleasure of sending it to his parents as his own forerunner. After joining a scientific meeting to be held at Heidelberg, in September, he was to pass a month at home before returning to Munich for the completion of his medical studies.
MUNICH, July 4, 1829.
. . .I hope when you read this letter you will have received the first part of my Brazilian Fishes from M.—, of Geneva, to whom Martius had to send a package of plants, with which my book was inclosed. I venture to think that this work will give me a name, and I await with impatience the criticism that I suppose it will receive from Cuvier. . .I think the best way of reaching the various aims I have in view is to continue the career on which I have started, and to publish as soon as possible my natural history of the fresh-water fishes of Germany and Switzerland. I propose to issue it in numbers, each containing twelve colored plates accompanied by six sheets of letter-press. . .In the middle of September there is to be a meeting of all the naturalists and medical men of Germany, to which foreign savants are invited. A similar meeting has been held for the last two or three years in one or another of the brilliant centres of Germany. This year it will take place at Heidelberg. Could one desire a better occasion to make known a projected work? I could even show the original drawings already made of species only found in the environs of Munich, and, so to speak, unknown to naturalists. At Heidelberg will be assembled Englishmen, Danes, Swedes, Russians, and even Italians. If I could before then arrange everything and distribute the printed circulars of my work I should be sure of success. . .
In those days of costly postage one sheet of writing paper was sometimes made to serve for several members of the family. The next crowded letter contains chiefly domestic details, but closes with a postscript from Mme. Agassiz, filling, as she says, the only remaining corner, and expressing her delight in his diploma and in the completion of his book.
August 16, 1829.
. . .The place your brother has left me seems very insufficient for all that I have to say, dear Louis, but I will begin by thanking you for the happiness, as sweet as it is deeply felt, which your success has given us. Already our satisfaction becomes the reward of your efforts. We wait with impatience for the moment when we shall see you and talk with you. Your correspondence leaves many blanks, and we are sometimes quite ashamed that we have so few details to give about your book. You will be surprised that it has not yet reached us. Does the gentleman in Geneva intend to read it before sending it to us, or has he perhaps not received the package? Not hearing we are uneasy. . .Good-by, my dear son; I have no room for more, except to add my tender love for you. An honorable mention of your name in the Lausanne Gazette has brought us many pleasant congratulations. . .
August, 1829.
. . .I hope by this time you have my book. I can the less explain the delay since M. Cuvier, to whom I sent it in the same way, has acknowledged its arrival. I inclose his letter, hoping it will give you pleasure to read what one of the greatest naturalists of the age writes me about it.
PARIS, AU JARDIN DU ROI, August 3, 1829.
. . .You and M. de Martius have done me honor in placing my name at the head of a work so admirable as the one you have just published. The importance and the rarity of the species therein described, as well as the beauty of the figures, will make the work an important one in ichthyology, and nothing could heighten its value more than the accuracy of your descriptions. It will be of the greatest use to me in my History of Fishes. I had already referred to the plates in the second edition of my "Regne Animal." I shall do all in my power to accelerate the sale among amateurs, either by showing it to such as meet at my house or by calling attention to it in scientific journals.
I look with great interest for your history of the fishes of the Alps. It cannot but fill a wide gap in that portion of natural history,—above all, in the different divisions of the genus Salmo. The figures of Bloch, those of Meidinger, and those of Marsigli, are quite insufficient. We have the greater part of the species here, so that it will be easy for me to verify the characters; but only an artist, working on the spot, with specimens fresh from the water, can secure the colors. You will, no doubt, have much to add also respecting the development, habits, and use of all these fishes. Perhaps you would do well to limit yourself at first to a monograph of the Salmones.
With my thanks for the promised documents, accept the assurance of my warm regard and very sincere attachment.
At last comes the moment, so long anticipated, when the young naturalist's first book is in the hands of his parents. The news of its reception is given in a short and hurried note.
ORBE, August 31, 1829.
I hasten, my dear son, to announce the arrival of your beautiful work, which reached us on Thursday, from Geneva. I have no terms in which to express the pleasure it has given me. In two words, for I have only a moment to myself, I repeat my urgent entreaty that you would hasten your return as much as possible. . .The old father, who waits for you with open heart and arms, sends you the most tender greeting. . .
Scientific Meeting at Heidelberg.Visit at Home.Illness and Death of his Grandfather.Return to Munich.Plans for Future Scientific Publications.Takes his Degree of Medicine.Visit to Vienna.Return to Munich.Home Letters.Last Days at Munich.Autobiographical Review of School and University Life.
HEIDELBERG, September 25, 1829.
. . .THE time of our meeting is almost at hand. Relieved from all anxiety about the subjects I had wished to present here, I can now be quietly with you and enjoy the rest and freedom I have so long needed. The tension of mind, forced upon me by the effort to reach my goal in time, has crowded out the thoughts which are most present when I am at peace. I will not talk to you of what I have been doing lately, (a short letter from Frankfort will have put you on my track), nor of the relations I have formed at the Heidelberg meeting, nor of the manner in which I have been received, etc. These are matters better told than written. . .I intend to leave here to-morrow or the day after, according to circumstances. I shall stay some days at Carlsruhe to put my affairs in order, and from there make the journey home as quickly as possible. . .
The following month we find him once more at home in the parsonage of Orbe. After the first pleasure and excitement of return, his time was chiefly spent in arranging his collections at Cudrefin, where his grandfather had given him house-room for them. In this work he had the help of the family in general, who made a sort of scientific fete of the occasion. But it ended sadly with the illness and death of the kind old grandfather, under whose roof children and grandchildren had been wont to assemble.
ORBE, December 3, 1829.
. . .I will devote an hour of this last evening I am to pass in Orbe, to talking with you. You will wonder that I am still here, and that I have not written. You already know that I have been arranging my collections at Cudrefin, and spending very happy days with my grandfather. But he is now very ill, and even should we have better news of him to-day, the thought weighs heavily on my heart, that I must take leave of him when he is perhaps on his death-bed. . .I have just tied up my last package of plants, and there lies my whole herbarium in order,—thirty packages in all. For this I have to thank you, dear Alex, and it gives me pleasure to tell you so and to be reminded of it. What a succession of glorious memories came up to me as I turned them over. Free from all disturbing incidents, I enjoyed anew our life together, and even more, if possible, than in actual experience. Every talk, every walk, was present to me again, and in reviewing it all I saw how our minds had been drawn to each other in an ever-strengthening union. In you I see my own intellectual development reflected as in a mirror, for to you, and to my intercourse with you, I owe my entrance upon this path of the noblest and most lasting enjoyment. It is delightful to look back on such a past with the future so bright before us. . .
Agassiz now returned to Munich to add the title of Doctor of Medicine to that of Doctor of Philosophy. A case of somnambulism, which fell under his observation and showed him disease, or, at least, abnormal action of the brain, under an aspect which was new to him, seems to have given a fresh impulse to his medical studies, and, for a time, he was inclined to believe that the vocation which had thus far been to him one of necessity, might become one of preference. But the naturalist was stronger than the physician. During this very winter, when he was preparing himself with new earnestness for his profession, a collection of fossil fishes was put into his hands by the Director of the Museum of Munich. It will be seen with what ardor he threw himself into this new investigation. His work on the "Poissons Fossiles," which placed him in a few years in the front rank of European scientific men, took form at once in his fertile brain.
MUNICH, January 18, 1830.
. . .My resolve to study medicine is now confirmed. I feel all that may be done to render this study worthy the name of science, which it has so long usurped. Its intimate alliance with the natural sciences and the enlightenment it promises me regarding them are indeed my chief incitements to persevere in my resolution. In order to gain time, and to strike while the iron is hot (don't be afraid it will grow cold; the wood which feeds the fire is good), I have proposed to Euler, with whom I am very intimate, to review the medical course with me. Since then, we pass all our evenings together, and rarely separate before midnight,—reading alternately French and German medical books. In this way, although I devote my whole day to my own work about fishes, I hope to finish my professional studies before summer. I shall then pass my examination for the Doctorate in Germany, and afterward do the same in Lausanne. I hope that this decision will please mama. My character and conduct are the pledge of its accomplishment.
This, then, is my night-work. I have still to tell you what I do by day, and this is more important. My first duty is to complete my Brazilian Fishes. To be sure, it is only an honorary work, but it must be finished, and is an additional means of making subsequent works profitable. This is my morning occupation, and I am sure of bringing it to a close about Easter. After much reflection, I have decided that the best way to turn my Fresh-Water Fishes to account, is to finish them completely before offering them to a publisher. All the expenses being then paid, I could afford, if the first publisher should not feel able to take them on my own terms, to keep them as a safe investment. The publisher himself seeing the material finished, and being sure of bringing it out as a complete work, the value of which he can on that account better estimate, will be more disposed to accept my proposals, while I, on my side, can be more exacting. The text for this I write in the afternoon. My greatest difficulty at first was the execution of the plates. But here, also, my good star has served me wonderfully. I told you that beside the complete drawings of the fishes I wanted to represent their skeletons and the anatomy of the soft parts, which has never been done for this class. I shall thereby give a new value to the work, and make it desirable for all who study comparative anatomy. The puzzle was to find some one who was prepared to draw things of this kind; but I have made the luckiest hit, and am more than satisfied. My former artist continues to draw the fishes, a second draws the skeletons (one who had already been engaged for several years in the same way, for a work upon reptiles), while a young physician, who is an admirable draughtsman, makes my anatomical figures. For my share, I direct their work while writing the text, and thus the whole advances with great strides. I do not, however, stop here. Having by permission of the Director of the Museum one of the finest collections of fossils in Germany at my disposition, and being also allowed to take the specimens home as I need them, I have undertaken to publish the ichthyological part of the collection. Since it only makes the difference of one or two people more to direct, I have these specimens also drawn at the same time. Nowhere so well as here, where the Academy of Fine Arts brings together so many draughtsmen, could I have the same facility for completing a similar work; and as it is an entirely new branch, in which no one has as yet done anything of importance, I feel sure of success; the more so because Cuvier, who alone could do it (for the simple reason that every one else has till now neglected the fishes), is not engaged upon it. Add to this that just now there is a real need of this work for the determination of the different geological formations. Once before, at the Heidelberg meeting, it had been proposed to me; the Director of the Mines at Strasbourg, M. Voltz, even offered to send me at Munich the whole collection of fossil fishes from their Museum. I did not speak to you of this at the time because it would have been of no use. But now that I have it in my power to carry out the project, I should be a fool to let a chance escape me which certainly will not present itself a second time so favorably. It is therefore my intention to prepare a general work on fossil ichthyology. I hope, if I can command another hundred louis, to complete everything of which I have spoken before the end of the summer, that is to say, in July. I shall then have on hand two works which should surely be worth a thousand louis to me. This is a low estimate, for even ephemeral pieces and literary ventures are paid at this price. You can easily make the calculation. They allow three louis for each plate with the accompanying text; my fossils will have about two hundred plates, and my fresh-water fishes about one hundred and fifty. This seems to me plausible. . .
This letter evidently made a favorable impression on the business heads of the family at Neuchatel, for it is forwarded to his parents, with these words from his brother on the last sheet: "I hasten, dear father, to send you this excellent letter from my brother, which has just reached me. They have read it here with interest, and Uncle Francois Mayor, especially, sees both stability and a sound basis in his projects and enterprises."
There is something touching and almost amusing in Agassiz's efforts to give a prudential aspect to his large scientific schemes. He was perfectly sincere in this, but to the end of his life he skirted the edge of the precipice, daring all, and finding in himself the power to justify his risks by his successes. He was of frugal personal habits; at this very time, when he was keeping two or three artists on his slender means, he made his own breakfast in his room, and dined for a few cents a day at the cheapest eating houses. But where science was concerned the only economy he recognized, either in youth or old age, was that of an expenditure as bold as it was carefully considered.
In the above letter to his brother we have the story of his work during the whole winter of 1830. That his medical studies did not suffer from the fact that, in conjunction with them, he was carrying on his two great works on the living and the dead world of fishes may be inferred from the following account of his medical theses. It was written after his death, to his son Alexander Agassiz, by Professor von Siebold, now Director of the Museum in the University of Munich. "How earnestly Agassiz devoted himself to the study of medicine is shown by the theses (seventy-four in number), a list of which was printed, according to the prescribed rule and custom, with his 'Einladung.' I am astonished at the great number of these. The subjects are anatomical, pathological, surgical, obstetrical; they are inquiries into materia medica, medicina forensis, and the relation of botany to these topics. One of them interested me especially. It read as follows. 'Foemina humana superior mare.' I would gladly have known how your father interpreted that sentence. Last fall (1873) I wrote him a letter, the last I ever addressed to him, questioning him about this very subject. That letter, alas! remained unanswered."
In a letter to his brother just before taking his degree, Agassiz says: "I am now determined to pursue medicine and natural history side by side. Thank you, with all my heart, for your disinterested offer, but I shall not need it, for I am going on well with my publisher, M. Cotta, of Stuttgart. I have great hope that he will accept my works, since he has desired that they should be forwarded to him for examination. I have sent him the whole, and I feel very sure he will swallow the pill. My conditions would be the only cause of delay, but I hope he will agree to them. For the fresh-water fishes and the fossils together I have asked twenty thousand Swiss francs. Should he not consent to this, I shall apply to another publisher."
On the 3rd of April he received his degree of Doctor of Medicine. A day or two later he writes to his mother that her great desire for him is accomplished.
MUNICH, April, 1830.
. . .My letter to-day must be to you, for to you I owe it that I have undertaken the work just completed, and I write to thank you for having encouraged my zeal. I am very sure that no letter from me has ever given you greater pleasure than this one will bring; and I can truly say, on my own part, that I have never written one with greater satisfaction. Yesterday I finished my medical examination, after having satisfied every requirement of the Faculty. . .The whole ceremony lasted nine days. At the close, while they considered my case, I was sent out of the room. On my return, the Dean said to me, "The Faculty have been VERY MUCH" (emphasized) "pleased with your answers; they congratulate themselves on being able to give the diploma to a young man who has already acquired so honorable a reputation. On Saturday, after having argued your thesis, you will receive your degree, in the Academic Hall, from the Rector of the University." The Rector then added that he should look upon it as the brightest moment of his Rectorship when he conferred upon me the title I had so well merited. Next Saturday, then, at the very time you receive this letter, at ten o'clock in the morning, the discussion will have begun, and at twelve I shall have my degree. Dear Mother, dismiss all anxiety about me. You see I am as good as my word. . .Write soon; in a few days I go to Vienna for some months. . .
ORBE, April 7, 1830.
I cannot thank you enough, my dear Louis, for the happiness you have given me in completing your medical examinations, and thus securing to yourself a career as safe as it is honorable. It is a laurel added to those you have already won; in my eyes the most precious of all. You have for my sake gone through a long and arduous task; were it in my power I would gladly reward you, but I cannot even say that I love you the more for it, because that is impossible. My anxious solicitude for your future is a proof of my ardent affection for you; only one thing was wanting to make me the happiest of mothers, and this, my Louis, you have just given me. May God reward you by giving you all possible success in the care of your fellow-beings. May the benedictions which honor the memory of a good physician be your portion, as they have been in the highest degree that of your grandfather. Why can he not be here to share my happiness to-day in seeing my Louis a medical graduate!. . .
Agassiz was recalled from Vienna in less than two months by the arrival in Munich of his publisher, M. Cotta, a personal interview with whom seemed to him important. The only letter preserved from the Vienna visit shows that his short stay there was full of interest and instruction.
VIENNA, May 11, 1830.
. . .Since my arrival I have seen so much that I hardly know where to begin my narrative, and what I have seen has suggested reflections on many grave subjects, of a kind I had hardly expected to make here. Nowhere have I seen establishments on broader or more stately foundations, nor do I believe that anywhere are foreigners allowed more liberal use of like institutions. I speak of the university, the hospitals, libraries, and collections of all sorts. Neither have I seen anywhere else such fine churches, and I have more than once felt the difference between worshiping within bare walls, and in buildings more worthy of devotional purposes. In one word, I should be enchanted with my stay in Vienna if I could be free from the idea that I am always surrounded by an imperceptible net, ready to close upon me at the slightest signal. With this exception, the only discomfort to a foreigner here, if he is unaccustomed to it, is that of being obliged to abstain from all criticism of affairs in public places; still more must he avoid commenting upon persons. I am especially satisfied with my visit from a scientific point of view. I have learned, and am still learning, the care of the eyes and how to operate upon them; as to medicine, the physicians, however good, do not surpass those I have already known; and as I do not believe it important that a young physician should familiarize himself with a great variety of curative methods, I try to observe carefully the patient and his disease rather than to remember the medicaments applied in special cases. Surgery and midwifery are poorly provided, but one has a chance to see many interesting cases.
During the last fortnight I have visited the collection of natural history often, generally in the afternoon. To tell you how I have been expected there from the moment I was known to be here, and how I was received on my first visit, and have been feted since (as Ichthyologus primus seculi,—so they say), would, perhaps, tire you and might seem egotistical in me, neither of which do I desire. But it will not be indifferent to you to know that Cotta is disposed to accept my Fishes. He has been at Munich for some days, and Schimper has been talking with him, and has advanced matters more by a few words than I had been able to do by much writing. For this reason I intend returning soon to Munich to complete the business, since Cotta is to be there several weeks longer. Thus I shall have reached my aim, and be provided from this autumn onward with an independent maintenance. I was often very anxious this past winter, in my uncertainty about the means of finally making good such large outlays. If, however, Cotta makes no other condition than that of a certain number of subscribers, I shall be sure of them in six months. You may thus regard what I have done as a speculation happily concluded, and one which places me at the summit of my desires, for it leaves me free, at last, to work upon my projects. . .
A letter to his brother, of the 29th of May, just after his return to Munich, gives a retrospect of the Viennese visit, including the personal details which he had hesitated to write to his father. They are important as showing the position he already, at twenty-three years of age, held among scientific men. "Everything," he says, "was open to me as a foreigner, and to my great surprise I was received as an associate already known. Was it not gratifying to go to Vienna with no recommendation whatever, and to be welcomed and sought by all the scientific men, and afterwards presented and introduced everywhere? In the Museum, not only were the rooms opened for me when I pleased, but also the cases, and even the jars, so that I could take out whatever I needed for examination. At the hospital several professors carried their kindness so far, as to invite me to accompany them in their private visits. You may fancy whether I profited by all this, and how many things I saw." After some account of his business arrangements with Cotta, he adds "Meantime, be at ease about me. I have strings enough to my bow, and need not feel anxious about the future. What troubles me is that the thing I most desire seems to me, at least for the present, farthest from my reach,—namely, the direction of a great Museum. When I have finished with Cotta I shall begin to pack my effects, and shall hope to turn my face homeward somewhere about the end of August. I can hardly leave earlier, because, for the sake of practice, I have begun to deliver zoological lectures, open to all who like to attend, and I want to complete the course before my departure. I lecture without even an outline or headings before me, but this requires preparation. You see I do not lose my time."
The next home letter announces an important change in the family affairs. His father had been called from his parish at Orbe to that of Concise, a small town situated on the south-western shore of the Lake of Neuchatel.
ORBE, July, 1830.
. . .Since your father wrote you on the 4th of June, dear Louis, we have had no news from you, and therefore infer that you are working with especial zeal to wind up your affairs in Germany and come home as soon as possible. Whatever haste you make, however, you will not find us here. Four days ago your father became pastor of Concise, and yesterday we went to visit our new home. Nothing can be prettier, and by all who know the place it is considered the most desirable position in the canton. There is a vineyard, a fine orchard filled with fruit-trees in full bearing, and an excellent kitchen garden. A never-failing spring gushes from a grotto, and within fifty steps of the house is a pretty winding stream with a walk along the bank, bordered by shrubbery, and furnished here and there with benches, the whole disposed with much care and taste. The house also is very well arranged. All the rooms look out upon the lake, lying hardly a gunshot from the windows. There are a parlor and a dining-room on the first floor, beside two smaller rooms; and on the same floor two doors lead out into the flower garden. The kitchen is small, and on one side is a pretty ground where we can dine in the open air in summer. The distribution of rooms in the upper story is the same, with a large additional room for the accommodation of your father's catechumens. A jasmine vine drapes the front of the house and climbs to the very roof. . .
To this quiet pretty parsonage Madame Agassiz became much attached. Her tranquil life is well described in a letter written many years afterward by one of her daughters. "Here mama returned to her spinning-wheel with new ardor. It was a work she much liked, and in which she was very skillful. In former times at grandpapa's every woman in the house, whether mistress or maid, had her wheel, and the young ladies were accustomed to spin and make up their own trousseaus. Later, mama continued her spinning for her children, and even for her grandchildren. We all preserve as a precious souvenir, table linen of her making. We delighted to see her at her wheel, she was so graceful, and the thread of her thought seemed to follow, so to speak, the fine and delicate thread of her work as it unwound itself under her touch from the distaff."
Agassiz was detained by his publishing arrangements and his work longer than he had expected, and November was already advanced before his preparations for leaving Munich were completed.
MUNICH, November 9, 1830.
. . .According to your wish [this refers to a suggestion about a fellow-student in a previous letter] I shall not bring any friend with me. I long to enjoy the pleasure of family life. I shall, however, be accompanied by one person, for whom I should like to make suitable arrangements. He is the artist who makes all my drawings. If there is no room for him in the house he can be lodged elsewhere; but I wish you could give me the use of a well-lighted room, where I could work and he could draw at my side through the day. Do not be frightened; he is not at my charge; but it would be a great advantage to me if I could have him in the house. As I do not want to lose time in the mechanical part of my work, I would beg papa to engage for me some handy boy, fifteen years old or so, whom I could employ in cleaning skeletons and the like. Finally, you will receive several boxes for me; leave them unopened till I come, without even paying the freight upon them,—the most unsatisfactory of all expenses;—and I do not wish you to have an unpleasant association with my collections.
My affairs are all in order with Cotta, and I have even concluded the arrangement more advantageously than I had dared to hope,—a thousand louis, six hundred payable on the publication of the first number, and four hundred in installments, as the publication goeson. If I had not been in haste to close the matter in order to secure myself against all doubt, I might have done even better. But I hope I have reconciled you thereby to Natural History. What remains to be done will be the work of less than half a year, during which I wish also to get together the materials for my second work, on the fossils. Of that I have already spoken with my publisher, and he will take it on more favorable conditions than I could have dictated. Do your best to find me subscribers, that we may soon make our typographical arrangements. . .
His father's answer, full of fun as it is, shows, nevertheless, that the prospect of domesticating not only the naturalist and his collections, but artist and assistant also, was rather startling.
CONCISE, November 16, 1830.
. . .You speak of Christmas as the moment of your arrival; let us call it the New Year. You will naturally pass some days at Neuchatel to be with your brother, to see the Messrs. Coulon, etc.; from there to Cudrefin for a look at your collection; then to Concise, then to Montagny, Orbe, Lausanne, Geneva, etc. M. le Docteur will be claimed and feted by all in turn. And during all these indispensable excursions, for which, to be within bounds, I allow a month at least, it is as clear as daylight that regular work must be set aside, if, indeed, the time be not wholly lost. Now, for Heaven's sake, what will you do, or rather what shall WE do, with your painter, in this interval employed by you elsewhere. Neither is this all. Though the date of Cecile's marriage is not fixed, it is more than likely to take place in January, so that you will be here for the wedding. If you will recollect the overturning of the paternal mansion when your outfit was preparing for Bienne, Zurich, and other places, you can form an idea of the state of our rooms above and below, large and small, when the work of the trousseau begins. Where, in Heaven's name, will you stow away a painter and an assistant in the midst of half a brigade of dress-makers, seamstresses, lace-makers, and milliners, without counting the accompanying train of friends? Where would you, or where could you, put under shelter your possessions (I dare not undertake to enumerate them), among all the taffetas and brocades, linens, muslin, tulles, laces, etc.? But what am I saying? I doubt if these names are still in existence, for quite other appellations are sounding in my ears, each one of which, to the number of some hundred, signifies at least twenty yards in width, to say nothing of the length. For my part, I have already, notwithstanding the approach of winter, put up a big nail in the garret, on which to hang my bands and surplice. Listen, then, to the conclusion of your father. Give all possible care to your affairs in Munich, put them in perfect order, leave nothing to be done, and leave nothing behind EXCEPT THE PAINTER. You can call him in from here, whenever you think you can make use of him.
MUNICH, November 26, 1830.
. . .When you receive this I shall be no longer in Munich; by means of a last draft on M. Eichthal I have settled with every one, and I hope to leave the day after to-morrow. I fully recognize the justice of your observations, my dear father, but as you start from a mistaken point of view, they do not coincide altogether with existing circumstances. I intend to stay with you until the approach of summer, not only with the aim of working upon the text of my book, but chiefly in order to take advantage of all the fossil collections in Switzerland. For that purpose I positively need a draughtsman, who, thanks to my publisher, is not in my pay, and who must accompany me in future wherever I go. Since there is no room at home, please see how he can be lodged in the neighborhood. I have, at the utmost, to glance each day at what he has done. I can even give him work for several weeks in which my presence would be unnecessary. If there is a considerable collection of fossils at Zurich, I shall leave him there till he has finished his work, and then he will rejoin me; all that depends upon circumstances. In any case he must not be a charge to you, still less interfere with our family privacy. That I may spend all my time with you, I shall at present bring with me nothing that is not absolutely necessary. We shall see later where I shall place my museum. As to visits, they are not to be thought of until the spring. I could not bear the idea of interruption before the first number of my "Fishes" is finished.
The artist in question was Mr. Dinkel. His relations with the family became of a truly friendly character. The connection between him and Agassiz, most honorable to both parties, lasted for sixteen years, and was then only interrupted by the departure of Agassiz for America. During this whole period Mr. Dinkel was occupied as his draughtsman, living sometimes in Paris, sometimes in England, sometimes in Switzerland, wherever, in short, there were specimens to be drawn. In a private letter, written long afterward, he says, in speaking of the break in their intercourse caused by Agassiz's removal to America: "For a long time I felt unhappy at that separation. . .He was a kind, noble-hearted friend; he was very benevolent, and if he had possessed millions of money he would have spent them for his researches in science, and have done good to his fellow-creatures as much as possible."
Some passages from Braun's letters complete the chapter of these years in Munich, so rich in purpose and in experience, the prelude, as it were, to the intellectual life of the two friends who had entered upon them together. These extracts show how seriously, not without a certain sadness, they near the end.
MUNICH, November 7, 1830.
Were I to leave Munich now, I must separate myself from Agassiz and Schimper, which would be neither agreeable nor advantageous for me, nor would it be friendly toward them. We will not shorten the time, already too scantly measured, which we may still spend so quietly, so wholly by ourselves, but rather, as long as it lasts, make the best use of it in a mutual exchange of what we have learned, trying to encourage each other in the right path, and drawing more closely together for our whole life to come. Agassiz is to stay till the end of the month; during this time he will give us lectures in anatomy, and I shall learn a good deal of zoology. Beside all this one thing is certain; namely, that we can review our medical work much more quietly and uninterruptedly here than in Carlsruhe. Add to this, the advantage we enjoy here of visiting the hospitals. . . The time passes delightfully with us of late, for Agassiz has received several baskets of books from Cotta, among others, Schiller's and Goethe's complete works, the Conversations-Lexicon, medical works, and works on natural history. How many books a man may receive in return for writing only one! They are, of course, deducted from his share of the profits. Yesterday we did nothing but read Goethe the whole day.
A brief account of Agassiz's university life, dictated by himself, may fitly close the record of this period. He was often urged to put together a few reminiscences of his life, but he lived so intensely in the present, every day bringing its full task, that he had little time for retrospect, and this sketch remained a fragment. It includes some facts already told, but is given almost verbatim, because it forms a sort of summary of his intellectual development up to this date.
"I am conscious that at successive periods of my life I have employed very different means and followed very different systems of study. I may, therefore, be allowed to offer the result of my experience as a contribution toward the building up of a sound method for the promotion of the study of nature.
"At first, when a mere boy, twelve years of age, I did what most beginners do. I picked up whatever I could lay my hands on, and tried, by such books and authorities as I had at my command, to find the names of these objects. My highest ambition, at that time, was to be able to designate the plants and animals of my native country correctly by a Latin name, and to extend gradually a similar knowledge in its application to the productions of other countries. This seemed to me, in those days, the legitimate aim and proper work of a naturalist. I still possess manuscript volumes in which I entered the names of all the animals and plants with which I became acquainted, and I well remember that I then ardently hoped to acquire the same superficial familiarity with the whole creation. I did not then know how much more important it is to the naturalist to understand the structure of a few animals, than to command the whole field of scientific nomenclature. Since I have become a teacher, and have watched the progress of students, I have seen that they all begin in the same way; but how many have grown old in the pursuit, without ever rising to any higher conception of the study of nature, spending their life in the determination of species, and in extending scientific terminology! Long before I went to the university, and before I began to study natural history under the guidance of men who were masters in the science during the early part of this century, I perceived that while nomenclature and classification, as then understood, formed an important part of the study, being, in fact, its technical language, the study of living beings in their natural element was of infinitely greater value. At that age, namely, about fifteen, I spent most of the time I could spare from classical and mathematical studies in hunting the neighboring woods and meadows for birds, insects, and land and fresh-water shells. My room became a little menagerie, while the stone basin under the fountain in our yard was my reservoir for all the fishes I could catch. Indeed, collecting, fishing, and raising caterpillars, from which I reared fresh, beautiful butterflies, were then my chief pastimes. What I know of the habits of the fresh-water fishes of Central Europe I mostly learned at that time; and I may add, that when afterward I obtained access to a large library and could consult the works of Bloch and Lacepede, the only extensive works on fishes then in existence, I wondered that they contained so little about their habits, natural attitudes, and mode of action with which I was so familiar.
"The first course of lectures on zoology I attended was given in Lausanne in 1823. It consisted chiefly of extracts from Cuvier's 'Regne Animal,' and from Lamarck's 'Animaux sans Vertebres.' I now became aware, for the first time, that the learned differ in their classifications. With this discovery, an immense field of study opened before me, and I longed for some knowledge of anatomy, that I might see for myself where the truth was. During two years spent in the Medical School of Zurich, I applied myself exclusively to the study of anatomy, physiology, and zoology, under the guidance of Professors Schinz and Hirzel. My inability to buy books was, perhaps, not so great a misfortune as it seemed to me; at least, it saved me from too great dependence on written authority. I spent all my time in dissecting animals and in studying human anatomy, not forgetting my favorite amusements of fishing and collecting. I was always surrounded with pets, and had at this time some forty birds flying about my study, with no other home than a large pine-tree in the corner. I still remember my grief when a visitor, entering suddenly, caught one of my little favorites between the floor and the door, and he was killed before I could extricate him. Professor Schinz's private collection of birds was my daily resort, and I then described every bird it contained, as I could not afford to buy even a text-book of ornithology. I also copied with my own hand, having no means of purchasing the work, two volumes of Lamarck's 'Animaux sans Vertebres,' and my dear brother copied another half volume for me. I finally learned that the study of the things themselves was far more attractive than the books I so much coveted; and when, at last, large libraries became accessible to me, I usually contented myself with turning over the leaves of the volumes on natural history, looking at the illustrations, and recording the titles of the works, that I might readily consult them for identification of such objects as I should have an opportunity of examining in nature.
"After spending in this way two years in Zurich, I was attracted to Heidelberg by the great reputation of its celebrated teachers, Tiedemann, Leuckart, Bronn, and others. It is true that I was still obliged to give up a part of my time to the study of medicine, but while advancing in my professional course by a steady application to anatomy and physiology, I attended the lectures of Leuckart in zoology, and those of Bronn in paleontology. The publication of Goldfuss's great work on the fossils of Germany was just then beginning, and it opened a new world to me. Familiar as I was with Cuvier's 'Regne Animal,' I had not then seen his 'Researches on Fossil Remains,' and the study of fossils seemed to me only an extension of the field of zoology. I had no idea of its direct connection with geology, or of its bearing on the problem of the successive introduction of animals on the earth. I had never thought of the larger and more philosophical view of nature as one great world, but considered the study of animals only as it was taught by descriptive zoology in those days. At about this time, however, I made the acquaintance of two young botanists, Braun and Schimper, both of whom have since become distinguished in the annals of science. Botany had in those days received a new impulse from the great conceptions of Goethe. The metamorphosis of plants was the chief study of my friends, and I could not but feel that descriptive zoology had not spoken the last word in our science, and that grand generalizations, such as were opening upon botanists, must be preparing for zoologists also. Intimate contact with German students made me feel that I had neglected my philosophical education; and when, in the year 1827, the new University of Munich opened, with Schelling as professor of philosophy, Oken, Schubert, and Wagler as professors of zoology, Dollinger as professor of anatomy and physiology, Martius and Zuccarini as professors of botany, Fuchs and Kobell as professors of mineralogy, I determined to go there with my two friends and drink new draughts of knowledge. During the years I passed at Munich I devoted myself almost exclusively to the different branches of natural science, neglecting more and more my medical studies, because I began to feel an increasing confidence that I could fight my way in the world as a naturalist, and that I was therefore justified in following my strong bent in that direction. My experience in Munich was very varied. With Dollinger I learned to value accuracy of observation. As I was living in his house, he gave me personal instruction in the use of the microscope, and showed me his own methods of embryological investigation. He had already been the teacher of Karl Ernst von Baer; and though the pupil outran the master, and has become the pride of the scientific world, it is but just to remember that he owed to him his first initiation into the processes of embryological research. Dollinger was a careful, minute, persevering observer, as well as a deep thinker; but he was as indolent with his pen as he was industrious with his brain. He gave his intellectual capital to his pupils without stint or reserve, and nothing delighted him more than to sit down for a quiet talk on scientific matters with a few students, or to take a ramble with them into the fields outside the city, and explain to them as he walked the result of any recent investigation he had made. If he found himself understood by his listeners he was satisfied, and cared for no farther publication of his researches. I could enumerate many works of masters in our science, which had no other foundation at the outset than these inspiriting conversations. No one has borne warmer testimony to the influence Dollinger has had in this indirect way on the progress of our science than the investigator I have already mentioned as his greatest pupil,—von Baer. In the introduction to his work on embryology he gratefully acknowledges his debt to his old teacher.
"Among the most fascinating of our professors was Oken. A master in the art of teaching, he exercised an almost irresistible influence over his students. Constructing the universe out of his own brain, deducing from a priori conceptions all the relations of the three kingdoms into which he divided all living beings, classifying the animals as if by magic, in accordance with an analogy based on the dismembered body of man, it seemed to us who listened that the slow laborious process of accumulating precise detailed knowledge could only be the work of drones, while a generous, commanding spirit might build the world out of its own powerful imagination. The temptation to impose one's own ideas upon nature, to explain her mysteries by brilliant theories rather than by patient study of the facts as we find them, still leads us away. With the school of the physio-philosophers began (at least in our day and generation) that overbearing confidence in the abstract conceptions of the human mind as applied to the study of nature, which still impairs the fairness of our classifications and prevents them from interpreting truly the natural relations binding together all living beings. And yet, the young naturalist of that day who did not share, in some degree, the intellectual stimulus given to scientific pursuits by physio-philosophy would have missed a part of his training. There is a great distance between the man who, like Oken, attempts to construct the whole system of nature from general premises and the one who, while subordinating his conceptions to the facts, is yet capable of generalizing the facts, of recognizing their most comprehensive relations. No thoughtful naturalist can silence the suggestions, continually arising in the course of his investigations, respecting the origin and deeper connection of all living beings; but he is the truest student of nature who, while seeking the solution of these great problems, admits that the only true scientific system must be one in which the thought, the intellectual structure, rises out of and is based upon facts. The great merit of the physio-philosophers consisted in their suggestiveness. They did much in freeing our age from the low estimation of natural history as a science which prevailed in the last century. They stimulated a spirit of independence among observers; but they also instilled a spirit of daring, which, from its extravagance, has been fatal to the whole school. He is lost, as an observer, who believes that he can, with impunity, affirm that for which he can adduce no evidence. It was a curious intellectual experience to listen day after day to the lectures of Oken, while following at the same time Schelling's courses, where he was shifting the whole ground of his philosophy from its negative foundation as an a priori doctrine to a positive basis, as an historical science. He unfolded his views in a succession of exquisite lectures, delivered during four consecutive years.
"Among my fellow-students were many young men who now rank among the highest lights in the various departments of science, and others, of equal promise, whose early death cut short their work in this world. Some of us had already learned at this time to work for ourselves; not merely to attend lectures and study from books. The best spirit of emulation existed among us; we met often to discuss our observations, undertook frequent excursions in the neighborhood, delivered lectures to our fellow-students, and had, not infrequently, the gratification of seeing our university professors among the listeners. These exercises were of the highest value to me as a preparation for speaking, in later years, before larger audiences. My study was usually the lecture-room. It would hold conveniently from fifteen to twenty persons, and both students and professors used to call our quarters "The Little Academy." In that room I made all the skeletons represented on the plates of Wagler's "Natural System of Reptiles;" there I once received the great anatomist, Meckel, sent to me by Dollinger, to examine my anatomical preparations and especially the many fish-skeletons I had made from fresh-water fishes. By my side were constantly at work two artists; one engaged in drawing various objects of natural history, the other in drawing fossil fishes. I kept always one and sometimes two artists in my pay; it was not easy, with an allowance of 250 dollars a year, but they were even poorer than I, and so we managed to get along together. My microscope I had earned by writing.
"I had hardly finished the publication of the Brazilian Fishes, when I began to study the works of the older naturalists. Professor Dollinger had presented me with a copy of Rondelet, which was my delight for a long time. I was especially struck by the naivete of his narrative and the minuteness of his descriptions as well as by the fidelity of his woodcuts, some of which are to this day the best figures we have of the species they represent. His learning overwhelmed me; I would gladly have read, as he did, everything that had been written before my time; but there were authors who wearied me, and I confess that at that age Linnaeus was among the number. I found him dry, pedantic, dogmatic, conceited; while I was charmed with Aristotle, whose zoology I have read and re-read ever since at intervals of two or three years. I must, however, do myself the justice to add, that after I knew more of the history of our science I learned also duly to reverence Linnaeus. But a student, already familiar with the works of Cuvier, and but indifferently acquainted with the earlier progress of zoology, could hardly appreciate the merit of the great reformer of natural history. His defects were easily perceived, and it required more familiarity than mine then was with the gradual growth of the science, from Aristotle onward, to understand how great and beneficial an influence Linnaeus had exerted upon modern natural history.
"I cannot review my Munich life without deep gratitude. The city teemed with resources for the student in arts, letters, philosophy, and science. It was distinguished at that time for activity in public as well as in academic life. The king seemed liberal; he was the friend of poets and artists, and aimed at concentrating all the glories of Germany in his new university. I thus enjoyed for a few years the example of the most brilliant intellects, and that stimulus which is given by competition between men equally eminent in different spheres of human knowledge. Under such circumstances a man either subsides into the position of a follower in the ranks that gather around a master, or he aspires to be a master himself.
"The time had come when even the small allowance I received from borrowed capital must cease. I was now twenty-four years of age. I was Doctor of Philosophy and Medicine, and author of a quarto volume on the fishes of Brazil. I had traveled on foot all over Southern Germany, visited Vienna, and explored extensive tracts of the Alps. I knew every animal, living and fossil, in the Museums of Munich, Stuttgart, Tubingen, Erlangen, Wurzburg, Carlsruhe, and Frankfort; but my prospects were as dark as ever, and I saw no hope of making my way in the world, except by the practical pursuit of my profession as physician. So, at the close of 1830, I left the university and went home, with the intention of applying myself to the practice of medicine, confident that my theoretical information and my training in the art of observing would carry me through the new ordeal I was about to meet."
Year at Home.Leaves Home for Paris.Delays on the Road.Cholera.Arrival in Paris.First Visit to Cuvier.Cuvier's Kindness.His Death.Poverty in Paris.Home Letters concerning Embarrassments and about his Work.Singular Dream.
On the 4th of December, 1830, Agassiz left Munich, in company with Mr. Dinkel, and after a short stay at St. Gallen and Zurich, spent in looking up fossil fishes and making drawings of them, they reached Concise on the 30th of the same month. Anxiously as his return was awaited at home, we have seen that his father was not without apprehension lest the presence of the naturalist, with artist, specimens, and apparatus, should be an inconvenience in the quiet parsonage. But every obstacle yielded to the joy of reunion, and Agassiz was soon established with his "painter," his fossils, and all his scientific outfit, under the paternal roof.
Thus quietly engaged in his ichthyological studies, carrying on his work on the fossil fishes, together with that on the fresh-water fishes of Central Europe, he passed nearly a year at home. He was not without patients also in the village and its environs, but had, as yet, no prospect of permanent professional employment. In the mean time it seemed daily more and more necessary that he should carry his work to Paris, to the great centre of scientific life, where he could have the widest field for comparison and research. There, also, he could continue and complete to the best advantage his medical studies. His poverty was the greatest hindrance to any such move. He was not, however, without some slight independent means, especially since his publishing arrangements provided in part for the carrying on of his work. His generous uncle added something to this, and an old friend of his father's, M. Christinat, a Swiss clergyman with whom he had been from boyhood a great favorite, urged upon him his own contribution toward a work in which he felt the liveliest interest. Still the prospect with which he left for Paris in September, 1831, was dark enough, financially speaking, though full of hope in another sense. On the road he made several halts for purposes of study, combining, as usual, professional with scientific objects, hospitals with museums. He was, perhaps, a little inclined to believe that the most favorable conditions for his medical studies were to be found in conjunction with the best collections. He had, however, a special medical purpose, being earnest to learn everything regarding the treatment and the limitation of cholera, then for the first time making its appearance in Western Europe with frightful virulence. Believing himself likely to continue the practice of medicine for some years at least, he thought his observations upon this scourge would be of great importance to him. His letters of this date to his father are full of the subject, and of his own efforts to ascertain the best means of prevention and defense. The following answer to an appeal from his mother shows, however, that his delays caused anxiety at home, lest the small means he could devote to his studies in Paris should be consumed on the road.
CARLSRUHE, November, 1831.
. . .I returned day before yesterday from my trip in Wurtemberg, and though I already knew what precautions had been taken everywhere in anticipation of cholera, I do not think my journey was a useless one, and am convinced that my observations will not be without interest,—chiefly for myself, of course, but of utility to others also I hope. Your letter being so urgent, I will not, however, delay my departure an instant. Between to-day and to-morrow I shall put in order the specimens lent me by the Museum, and then start at once. . .In proportion to my previous anxiety is my pleasure in the prospect of going to Paris, now that I am better fitted to present myself there as I could wish. I have collected for my fossil fishes all the materials I still desired to obtain from the museums of Carlsruhe, Heidelberg, and Strasbourg, and have extended my knowledge of geology sufficiently to join, without embarrassment at least, in conversation upon the more recent researches in that department. Moreover, Braun has been kind enough to give me a superb collection, selected by himself, to serve as basis and guide in my researches. I leave it at Carlsruhe, since I no longer need it. . .I have also been able to avail myself of the Museum of Carlsruhe, and of the mineralogical collection of Braun's father. Beside the drawings made by Dinkel, I have added to my work one hundred and seventy-one pages of manuscript in French (I have just counted them), written between my excursions and in the midst of other occupations. . .I could not have foreseen so rich a harvest.
Thus prepared, he arrived in Paris with his artist on the 16th of December, 1831. On the 18th he writes to his father. . ."Dinkel and I had a very pleasant journey, though the day after our arrival I was so fatigued that I could hardly move hand or foot,—that was yesterday. Nevertheless, I passed the evening very agreeably at the house of M. Cuvier, who sent to invite me, having heard of my arrival. To my surprise, I found myself not quite a stranger, —rather, as it were, among old acquaintances. I have already given you my address, Rue Copeau (Hotel du Jardin du Roi, Numero 4). As it happens, M. Perrotet, a traveling naturalist, lives here also, and has at once put me on the right track about whatever I most need to know. There are in the house other well-known persons besides. I am accommodated very cheaply, and am at the same time within easy reach of many things, the neighborhood of which I can turn to good account. The medical school, for instance, is within ten minutes' walk; the Jardin des Plantes not two hundred steps away; while the Hospital (de la Pitie), where Messieurs Andral and Lisfranc teach, is opposite, and nearer still. To-day or to-morrow I shall deliver my letters, and then set to work in good earnest."
Pleased as he was from the beginning with all that concerned his scientific life in Paris, the next letter shows that the young Swiss did not at once find himself at home in the great French capital.
PARIS, January 15, 1832.
. . .My expectations in coming here have been more than fulfilled. In scientific matters I have found all that I knew must exist in Paris (indeed, my anticipations were rather below than above the mark), and beside that I have been met everywhere with courtesy, and have received attentions of all sorts. M. Cuvier and von Humboldt especially treat me on all occasions as an equal, and facilitate for me the use of the scientific collections so that I can work here as if I were at home. And yet it is not the same thing; this extreme, but formal politeness chills you instead of putting you at your ease; it lacks cordiality, and, to tell the truth, I would gladly go away were I not held fast by the wealth of material of which I can avail myself for instruction. In the morning I follow the clinical courses at the Pitie. . .At ten o'clock, or perhaps at eleven, I breakfast, and then go to the Museum of Natural History, where I stay till dark. Between five and six I dine, and after that turn to such medical studies as do not require daylight. So pass my days, one like another, with great regularity. I have made it a rule not to go out after dinner,—I should lose too much time. . .On Saturday only I spend the evening at M. Cuvier's. . .
The homesickness which is easily to be read between the lines of this letter, due, perhaps, to the writer's want of familiarity with society in its conventional aspect, yielded to the influence of an intellectual life, which became daily more engrossing. Cuvier's kind reception was but an earnest of the affectionate interest he seems from the first to have felt in him. After a few days he gave Agassiz and his artist a corner in one of his own laboratories, and often came to encourage them by a glance at their work as it went on.
This relation continued until Cuvier's death, and Agassiz enjoyed for several months the scientific sympathy and personal friendship of the great master whom he had honored from childhood, and whose name was ever on his lips till his own work in this world was closed. The following letter, written two months later, to his uncle in Lausanne tells the story in detail.
PARIS, February 16, 1832.
. . .I have also a piece of good news to communicate, which will, I hope, lead to very favorable results for me. I think I told you when I left for Paris that my chief anxiety was lest I might not be allowed to examine, and still less to describe, the fossil fishes and their skeletons in the Museum. Knowing that Cuvier intended to write a work on this subject, I supposed that he would reserve these specimens for himself. I half thought he might, on seeing my work so far advanced, propose to me to finish it jointly with him, —but even this I hardly dared to hope. It was on this account, with the view of increasing my materials and having thereby a better chance of success with M. Cuvier, that I desired so earnestly to stop at Strasbourg and Carlsruhe, where I knew specimens were to be seen which would have a direct bearing on my aim. The result has far surpassed my expectation. I hastened to show my material to M. Cuvier the very day after my arrival. He received me with great politeness, though with a certain reserve, and immediately gave me permission to see everything in the galleries of the Museum. But as I knew that he had put together in private collections all that could be of use to himself in writing his book, and as he had never said a word to me of his plan of publication, I remained in a painful state of doubt, since the completion of his work would have destroyed all chance for the sale of mine. Last Saturday I was passing the evening there, and we were talking of science, when he desired his secretary to bring him a certain portfolio of drawings. He showed me the contents; they were drawings of fossil fishes and notes which he had taken in the British Museum and elsewhere. After looking it through with me, he said he had seen with satisfaction the manner in which I had treated this subject; that I had indeed anticipated him, since he had intended at some future time to do the same thing; but that as I had given it so much attention, and had done my work so well, he had decided to renounce his project, and to place at my disposition all the materials he had collected and all the preliminary notes he had taken.
You can imagine what new ardor this has given me for my work, the more so because M. Cuvier, M. Humboldt, and several other persons of mark who are interested in it have promised to speak in my behalf to a publisher (to Levrault, who seems disposed to undertake the publication should peace be continued), and to recommend me strongly. To accomplish my end without neglecting other occupations, I work regularly at least fifteen hours a day, sometimes even an hour or two more; but I hope to reach my goal in good time.
This trust from Cuvier proved to be a legacy. Less than three months after the date of this letter Agassiz went, as often happened, to work one morning with him in his study. It was Sunday, and he was employed upon something which Cuvier had asked him to do, saying, "You are young; you have time enough for it, and I have none to spare." They worked together till eleven o'clock, when Cuvier invited Agassiz to join him at breakfast. After a little time spent over the breakfast table in talk with the ladies of the family, while Cuvier opened his letters, papers, etc., they returned to the working room, and were busily engaged in their separate occupations when Agassiz was surprised to hear the clock strike five, the hour for his dinner. He expressed his regret that he had not quite finished his work, but said that as he belonged to a student's table his dinner would not wait for him, and he would return soon to complete his task. Cuvier answered that he was quite right not to neglect his regular hours for meals, and commended his devotion to study, but added, "Be careful, and remember that WORK KILLS." They were the last words he heard from his beloved teacher. The next day, as Cuvier was going up to the tribune in the Chamber of Deputies, he fell, was taken up paralyzed, and carried home. Agassiz never saw him again.* (* This warning of Cuvier, "Work kills," strangely recalls Johannes Muller's "Blood clings to work;" the one seems the echo of the other. See "Memoir of Johannes Muller", by Rudolf Virchow, page 38.)
In order to keep intact these few data respecting his personal relations with Cuvier, as told in later years by Agassiz himself, the course of the narrative has been anticipated by a month or two. Let us now return to the natural order. The letter to his uncle of course gave great pleasure at home. Just after reading it his father writes (February, 1832), "Now that you are intrusted with the portfolio of M. Cuvier, I suppose your plan is considerably enlarged, and that your work will be of double volume; tell me, then, as much about it as you think I can understand, which will not be a great deal after all." His mother's letter on the same occasion is full of tender sympathy and gratitude.
Meanwhile one daily anxiety embittered his scientific happiness. The small means at his command could hardly be made, even with the strictest economy, to cover the necessary expenses of himself and his artist, in which were included books, drawing materials, fees, etc. He was in constant terror lest he should be obliged to leave Paris, to give up his investigations on the fossil fishes, and to stop work on the costly plates he had begun. The truth about his affairs, which he would gladly have concealed from those at home as long as possible, was drawn from him by an accidental occurrence. His brother had written to him for a certain book, and, failing to receive it, inquired with some surprise why his commission was neglected. Agassiz's next letter, about a month later than the one to his uncle, gives the explanation.
PARIS, March, 1832.
. . .Here is the book for which you asked me,—price, 18 francs. I shall be very sorry if it comes too late, but I could not help it . . .In the first place I had not money enough to pay for it without being left actually penniless. You can imagine that after the fuel bill for the winter is paid, little remains for other expenses out of my 200 francs a month, five louis of which are always due to my companion. Far from having anything in advance, my month's supply is thus taken up at once. . .Beside this cause of delay, you can have no idea what it is to hunt for anything in Paris when you are a stranger there. As I go out only in two or three directions leading to my work, and might not otherwise leave my own street for a month at a time, I naturally find myself astray when I am off this beaten track. . .You have asked me several times how I have been received by those to whom I had introductions. Frankly, after having delivered a few of my letters, I have never been again, because I cannot, in my position, spare time for visits. . . Another excellent reason for staying away now is that I have no presentable coat. At M. Cuvier's only am I sufficiently at ease to go in a frock coat. . .Saturday, a week ago, M. de Ferussac offered me the editorship of the zoological section of the "Bulletin;" it would be worth to me an additional thousand francs, but would require two or three hours' work daily. Write me soon what you think about it. In the midst of all the encouragements which sustain me and renew my ardor, I am depressed by the reverse side of my position.
This letter drew forth the following one.
CONCISE, March, 1832.
. . .Much as your letter to your uncle delighted us, that to your brother has saddened us. It seems, my dear child, that you are painfully straitened in means. I understand it by personal experience, and in your case I have foreseen it; it is the cloud which has always darkened your prospects to me. I want to talk to you, my dear Louis, of your future, which has often made me anxious. You know your mother's heart too well to misunderstand her thought, even should its expression be unacceptable to you. With much knowledge, acquired by assiduous industry, you are still at twenty-five years of age living on brilliant hopes, in relation, it is true, with great people, and known as having distinguished talent. Now, all this would seem to me delightful if you had an income of fifty thousand francs; but, in your position, you must absolutely have an occupation which will enable you to live, and free you from the insupportable weight of dependence on others. From this day forward, my dear child, you must look to this end alone if you would find it possible to pursue honorably the career you have chosen. Otherwise constant embarrassments will so limit your genius, that you will fall below your own capacity. If you follow our advice you will perhaps reach the result of your work in the natural sciences a little later, but all the more surely. Let us see how you can combine the work to which you have already consecrated so much time, with the possibility of self-support. It appears from your letter to your brother that you see no one in Paris; the reason seems to me a sad one, but it is unanswerable, and since you cannot change it, you must change your place of abode and return to your own country. You have already seen in Paris all those persons whom you thought it essential to see; unless you are strangely mistaken in their good-will, you will be no less sure of it in Switzerland than in Paris, and since you cannot take part in their society, your relations with them will be the same at the distance of a hundred leagues as they are now. You must therefore leave Paris for Geneva, Lausanne, or Neuchatel, or any city where you can support yourself by teaching. . .This seems to me the most advantageous course for you. If before fixing yourself permanently you like to take your place at the parsonage again, you will always find us ready to facilitate, as far as we can, any arrangements for your convenience. Here you can live in perfect tranquillity and without expense.
There are two other subjects which I want to discuss with you, though perhaps I shall not make myself so easily understood. You have seen the handsome public building in process of construction at Neuchatel. It will be finished this year, and I am told that the Museum will be placed there. I believe the collections are very incomplete, and the city of Neuchatel is rich enough to expend something in filling the blanks. It has occurred to me, my dear, that this would be an excellent opportunity for disposing of your alcoholic specimens. They form, at present, a capital yielding no interest, requiring care, and to be enjoyed only at the cost of endless outlay in glass jars, alcohol, and transportation, to say nothing of the rent of a room in which to keep them. All this, beside attracting many visitors, is too heavy a burden for you, from which you may free yourself by taking advantage of this rare chance. To this end you must have an immediate understanding with M. Coulon, lest he should make a choice elsewhere. Your brother, being on the spot, might negotiate for you. . .Finally, my last topic is Mr. Dinkel. You are very fortunate to have found in your artist such a thoroughly nice fellow; nevertheless, in view of the expense, you must make it possible to do without him. I see you look at me aghast; but where a sacrifice is to be made we must not do it by halves; we must pull up the tree by the roots. It is a great evil to be spending more than one earns. . .
PARIS, March 25, 1832.
. . .It is true, dear mother, that I am greatly straitened; that I have much less money to spend than I could wish, or even than I need; on the other hand, this makes me work the harder, and keeps me away from distractions which might otherwise tempt me. . .With reference to my work, however, things are not quite as you suppose, as regards either my stay here or my relations with M. Cuvier. Certainly, I hope that I should lose neither his good-will nor his protection on leaving here; on the contrary, I am sure that he would be the first to advise me to accept any professorship, or any place which might be advantageous for me, however removed from my present occupations, and that his counsels would follow me there. But what cannot follow me, and what I owe quite as much to him, is the privilege of examining all the collections. These I can have nowhere but in Paris, since even if he would consent to it I could not carry away with me a hundred quintals of fossil fish, which, for the sake of comparison, I must have before my eyes, nor thousands of fish-skeletons, which would alone fill some fifty great cases. It is this which compels me to stay here till I have finished my work. I should add that M. Elie de Beaumont has also been kind enough to place at my disposition the fossil fishes from the collection at the Mining School, and that M. Brongniart has made me the same offer regarding his collection, which is one of the finest among those owned by individuals in Paris. . .