The Friends of Charles Darwin

From Darwin's Beagle Diary, 1st April, 1832:

April 1^st

All hands employed in making April fools. — at midnight almost nearly all the watch below was called up in their shirts; carpenters for a leak: quarter masters that a mast was sprung. — midshipmen to reef top-sails; All turned in to their hammocks again, some growling some laughing. — The hook was much too easily baited for me not to be caught: Sullivan cried out, "Darwin, did you ever see a Grampus: Bear a hand then". I accordingly rushed out in a transport of Enthusiasm, & was received by a roar of laughter from the whole watch. —

They must have had a whale of a time aboard HMS Beagle.

Well, in St Peter's Basilica, to be precise—but close enough.

I've already written about this on my other website, but, on reflection, it really belongs here. For a brief moment on my visit to St Peter's Basilica the other week, I was amazed to see a sculpture on none other than Charles Darwin, supported by a brace of cherubs.

On closer inspection, it turned out to be former pope and current saint Dionysius (???—268):

St Dionysius

Darwin

Uncanny is what I call it.

Curlews returned to the moors above our house on Monday, followed on Thursday by lapwings. This afternoon, in truly glorious weather, I heard a familar, long-anticipated call and looked up to see three swallows freshly returned from Africa. It was like seeing old friends.

It looks as if summer has officially arrived in the Pennines.

What are the odds we have snow next week?

Early this morning, I stepped out into my garden with a mug of tea to admire the view in the unseasonally glorious Easter Sunday weather. I was about to return to the house when I spotted a brown hare (Lepus europaeus) in the adjacent field. I have seen hares on the moors above my house many times, but this was a new one as far as species spotted from my garden was concerned. A good start to the day.

Hare watercolour by Albrecht Durer, 1502

"An Easter Bunny," joked my partner, Jen, when I told her about the hare.

Which got me wondering what on earth the Easter Bunny was all about. It wasn't something I remembered from my childhood. Some silly, new-fangled American 'tradition' like trick or treat and pumpkins at Halloween, I thought. I couldn't have been more wrong:

It turns out that the impressive fecundity of hares (they breed like rabbits), and their famous courtship boxing in early spring, meant they were associated with the Anglo-Saxon goddess of spring, Eostre, whose name and festival was appropriated by the Christians and evolved into Easter. Some European countries still associate Easter with hares and not rabbits.

So Jen was right: I had seen a genuine Easter Bunny.

I am delighted to report that the Friends of Charles Darwin's 950th member is Anne Henslow of Langley, British Columbia, Canada.

Anne is the great, great granddaughter of Charles Darwin's close friend and mentor, John Stevens Henslow.

Hot on the heels of our first Henslow (from British Columbia) comes our first actual Colombian member: David Fajardo Chica. Welcome, David.

This means the Friends of Charles Darwin now have members in 48 countries.

Natural History Museum: Wallace's treasures go online

Lost treasures that belonged to Alfred Russel Wallace, the co-discoverer of the process of evolution by natural selection, are online for the first time through the Natural History Museum's website.

The newly digitised items in Wallace Online give a rare and personal insight into Wallace's life as a naturalist, collector, family man, spiritualist, social commentator and great thinker.

The Wallace Collection contains, amongst other things, images and transcripts of original, handwritten letters, such as this one from Wallace to his brother, John, showing an uncharacteristic lack of modesty:

… I do not know if you have seen the wonderful book of Mr Darwin's "The Origin of Species" published about four years ago, which has revolutionised Natural History & caused more discussion & excitement than any other book <.....> on a scientific subject during the present century, I have some little share in the work myself having discovered the main principle on which the work depends, called by Mr. D. Natural Selection, & communicated it to him before the work was published.

This internet thing is going to turn into a really useful resource some day soon.

BBC: Joan of Arc remains 'are fakes'

Bones thought to be the holy remains of 15th Century French heroine Joan of Arc were in fact made from an Egyptian mummy and a cat, research has revealed.

Another victory for science over religious dogma, we might think, but we shouldn't smirk: remember Piltdown Man? OK, I know the debunking of Piltdown Man was also a victory for science, which is supposed to continually challenge its own theories and data, but egg was definitely left on certain faces.

I don't get it with bodily relics, I really don't. Fascinated though I am by Charles Darwin, if someone were to offer me a peek at his skull buried beneath the flagstones of Westminster Abbey (assuming it hasn't crumbled to dust by now), I would politely decline. Let the poor man rest in peace! And as for Einstein's brain, sliced, diced and pickled in assorted jars, no thank you very much. It's damn morbid.

While there's an outside possibility that an analysis of Darwin's remains might give us some clue as to the mysterious illness that plagued his life following the Beagle voyage, and Einstein's brain has supposedly been used for scientific research into the nature of genius, I simply don't get the (usually, but not exclusively, religious) fascination with preserving and worshipping bodily fragments from the great and the good.

Galileo's finger
IMSS, Florence

Last month, I visited Florence, Italy, where I encountered a genuine, scientific 'holy' relic. In a glass case in the frankly wonderful Museum of the History of Science, I gazed upon the middle finger of the right hand of Galileo Galilei. The finger the great scientist raised metaphorically at his former ally Pope Urban VIII while rather patronisingly pointing out the weaknesses of the church's geocentric view of the universe.

Galileo's memorial,
Santa Croce.
(cc) Richard Carter

There is, of course, quite a story behind how Galileo's finger came to be preserved in a museum in Florence:

When the heretic Galileo died in 1642, the Roman Catholic church could not bring itself to let his remains be buried in consecrated ground. Ninety-five years later, however, the church relented, and his remains were exhumed, relocated to the church of Santa Croce in Florence, and placed inside an impressive marble memorial, directly opposite a similar memorial to Michelangelo (another local who had his fair share of run-ins with the pope).

During the exhumation of Galileo's remains, on 12th March, 1737, the antiquary Anton Francesco Gori removed the middle finger of Galileo's right hand. The finger was later placed it inside a glass cup and set upon an alabaster plinth bearing a verse by Tommaso Perelli, which translates from the original Latin as follows:

This is the finger, belonging to the illustrious hand
That ran through the skies,
Pointing at the immense spaces, and singling out new stars,
Offering to the senses a marvellous apparatus
Of crafted glass,
And with wise daring they could
Reach where neither Enceladus nor Tiphaeus ever reached

That's antiquaries for you, I guess.

Galileo's lens
IMSS, Florence

But sitting right next to Galileo's finger in the museum display case was a proper scientific relic—an artefact far more important and moving than a few desiccated carpal bones: the actual piece of crafted glass referred to in Perelli's poem; the original objective lens from the telescope Galileo used to discover the first four satellites of Jupiter, thereby proving beyond doubt to any reasonable person that not all heavenly bodies orbit the Earth.

The sights Galileo saw through that small piece of glass shook the world.

And then, in the next room, there they were: a couple of Galileo's original telescopes. Holy crap!

Galileo's lenses and telescopes are surely the right kinds of scientific relics to gawp at in awe; not some pseudo-religious bone fragments.

Damn! It would appear that one of my all-time favourite nuggets of Darwinian trivia in nothing but hot air.

For years, I have been telling people about the terrible flatulence Darwin suffered throughout his life following the Beagle voyage. I would explain how embarrassed he was of his uncontrollable farts, and I would then invariably point out that the name Charles Robert Darwin is, rather aptly it seemed, an anagram of rectal winds abhorrer. Hell, I've even made this witty observation in comments on one or two far more popular Darwin-related weblogs.

Languages, like species, evolve. The spelling of words can change—and so can their meanings.

Yesterday, I was catching up on a small backlog of New Scientist magazines, when I came across a short piece about the online publication of Emma Darwin's diaries (mentioned briefly on this weblog last month). According to New Scientist (my emphasis added):

… [Emma Darwin's diary] entries reveal that the young Charles was already suffering soon after his return from the Beagle voyage and their marriage. Over the course of several months in 1840, for example, Emma described Darwin as "exhausted", "overtired + trembling", "languid" and suffering "great flatulence" (which then meant burping), symptoms that plagued him until his death more than 40 years later.

Damn! Darwin wasn't a farter; he was a belcher. And my clever anagram is ruined.

Is nothing sacred? Is there no end to the myths that surround Charles Darwin?

The answer, my friend, is blowing in the wind.

As I have written elsewhere, Charles Darwin was a great one for strange, little experiments. Here's a description of a nice one from when he was investigating the distribution of plants:

Charles Darwin to Joseph Dalton Hooker, 26th July, 1856

… I have let 3 x 4 sq^e feet [*] of old Lawn grow up, & 18 plants in 17 genera have flowered during this summer. Exactly same numbers as in whole Keeling Islands, though so many miles in length!—

I was delighted to learn that an experiment very similar to the one described by Darwin is being carried out by Patrick Roper, a consultant ecologist from Sedlescombe, East Sussex, England. Patrick began his experiment in September, 2003, and is recording developments as they happen on the experiment's weblog, The square metre at TQ7828618846. Patrick has a number of similar weblogs, including one about his Windowbox Wildlife and his Ramblings of a Naturalist.

Great stuff! If only Darwin had been able to keep a weblog. But he wrote an awful lot of letters, which is pretty close.

Female sparrowhawk over her kill

One of the local sparrowhawks [Accipiter nisus] made another kill in my garden on Thursday.

I managed to get quite close to her this time and fire off some photos. As usual, however, the sparrowhawk had taken its kill (a male blackbird) into a gloomy corner, and I was shooting into the sun, so severe photo enhancements (and cropping) were the order of the day.

Still, at least it wasn't snowing this time.

While dipping into my copy of Volume 5 (1851–1855) of The Correspondence of Charles Darwin yesterday, looking for a quote about Darwin's lawn experiment, I came across the following amusing snippet:

Charles Darwin to Joseph Dalton Hooker, 27th May, 1855

… You ask about my Photograph; I have been done at the Club; but if I really have as bad an expression, as my photograph gives me, how I can have one single friend is surprising. My Brother has a large drawing of me, by Lawrence, of which he has had some photographs made & no doubt, if anyone really wished, others could be made.—

Hooker had evidently asked for a photograph of Darwin (the letter containing his request, as far as I can tell, does not survive), but Darwin didn't much like his recent photograph—one of a series of photographs for the Literary and Scientific Portrait Club by Maull and Polyblank, who had also photographed Hooker—preferring a slightly earlier portrait in chalk by Samuel Laurence (not Lawrence).

Charlie 'No Mates' Darwin c.1855
by Maull and Polyblank

Darwin in 1853
by Samuel Laurence

I can't say I blame him. The Maull and Polyblank photograph doesn't do Darwin any favours: his expression is uptight, bordering on stern. Look at those glowering eyes! There's a man who isn't used to having his photograph taken. It's the sort of photograph he might well have put on the mantelpiece to keep the kids away from the fire.

The Laurence portrait is far kinder to Darwin: although the trademark, ape-like brows are still there, the artist has captured a man deep in thought; a man who has worked out the meaning of life, but has told practically nobody about it yet. What on earth is going on inside that head?

Perhaps it isn't so surprising that a man so worried about what the world would one day think of him should have cared two hoots about how he looked in a photograph, but I find it amusing that Darwin, like so many other people then and now, should have thought he didn't photograph well.

Vanity, thy name was Darwin.

On this day in 1851:

Charles Darwin to Emma Darwin, 23rd April 1851

My dear dearest Emma

I pray God Fanny's note may have prepared you. She went to her final sleep most tranquilly, most sweetly at 12 oclock today. Our poor dear dear child has had a very short life but I trust happy, & God only knows what miseries might have been in store for her. She expired without a sigh. How desolate it makes one to think of her frank cordial manners. I am so thankful for the daguerreotype. I cannot remember ever seeing the dear child naughty. God bless her. We must be more & more to each other my dear wife— Do what you can to bear up & think how invariably kind & tender you have been to her.— I am in bed not very well with my stomach. When I shall return I cannot yet say. My own poor dear dear wife.

C. Darwin

Anne Elizabeth Darwin (Annie)
1841–1851

Darwin was writing from Dr James Gully's hydropathic establishment in Great Malvern, Worcestershire, where he had taken his desperately ill daughter in the vain hope that she might make a recovery. The heavily pregnant Emma had had to remain at home.

Darwin's references to God were surely calculated to comfort his wife: whatever vestigial religious belief he might have had at that point died with poor Annie.

The Friends of Charles Darwin have their first member from Pakistan: Shakeela Nadir of Peshawar. Welcome!

This means we now have members in 49 countries.

New Scientist: New hope for Galapagos' 'Lonesome George'

The rarest living creature - a giant tortoise thought to be the last of his kind - may not be alone after all, say geneticists. The revelation gives new hope to "Lonesome George" as conservationists consider a proposal to get him to breed in captivity…

[Jeff] Powell [of Yale University] and colleagues analysed the DNA of 27 tortoises from Wolf Volcano on Isabela. One of these appears to be a cross between a Pinta male and an Isabela female, they discovered. Unfortunately, it is also male. But its mere existence raises the intriguing possibility there might be a female carrying Pinta genes that would make a suitable match for Lonesome George.

I fear this is a false hope, but it is fascinating how modern genetic techniques can reveal complex species relationships like this.