other letters we possess are mostly upon professional—physiological topics; though the one addressed from Nuremberg to Caspar Hofmann may, perhaps, be held an exception; for in this letter the manly and candid character of Harvey displays itself conspicuously. In his own city he challenges the Nuremberg professor to the proof. “If you would see with your own eyes the things I assert of the circulation, I promise to show them to you with the opportunity afforded me.” We have seen that Harvey accompanied the Earl of Arundel in his extraordinary embassy to the Emperor, in 1636, and may probably have been one of the party of which three members were barbarously murdered on their way, from Nuremberg to Ratisbon, as Crowne[63] informs us. Hence the solicitude which Hollar, the artist, who also accompanied the ambassador, informed Aubrey the Earl of Arundel expressed for his physician’s safety: “For he would still be making of excursions into the woods, making observations of strange trees, plants, earths, &c., and sometimes like to be lost; so that my lord ambassador would be really angry with him, for there was not only danger of wild beasts but of thieves.”[64]
The burthen of the long and able letter to Siegel, of Hamburg, is still the Circulation. The one addressed to Morison, and the two to Horst, treat of the discovery of the receptaculum chyli and thoracic duct by Pecquet. Harvey has been held wanting to his greatness in having refused his assent to the facts of the distinct existence and special office of the lymphatic system. But, non omnia possumus omnes; Harvey had his own work laid out for him, and the lymphatic system was not a part of it. Aselli’s book on the ‘Lacteal Viens,’[65] was even published before Harvey’s own Exercises on the Heart and Blood had appeared, and must have been familiar to our physiologist; but that he failed to perceive the import of that discovery, and never inquired particularly into it, cannot surely be rightly laid to him as a charge; and then, when the newly-discovered system of vessels acquired extension from the researches of Pecquet, Rudbeck, and Bartholin, Harvey felt that he was both too old and too infirm to enter on the examination of so extensive and delicate an anatomical question. In entire consistency with his noble nature, however, and in striking contrast with his own opponents, he nowhere formally denies the existence of the new lymphatic vessels; nor does he once oppose the authority of his name to the investigation of the truth. On the contrary, he states his objections, “not as being obstinately wedded to his own opinion, but that he may show what can readily be urged in opposition to the advocates of the new ideas. Nor do I doubt,” he proceeds, “but that many things now hidden in the well of Democritus, will by and by be drawn up into day by the ceaseless industry of a coming age.”[66]
The letter to Vlackveld was written the very year, within a few weeks indeed, of his death. It is even touching—it is in vain, he says, to his correspondent, that he would apply the spur; he has already felt his right to demand his release from duty; yet would he still be honorably considered by his contemporaries, and he begs his friend Vlackveld to love him to the last.
We have taken occasion from time to time in the course of our narrative, to glance at the mental and moral constitution, and also at the personal character, of Harvey, principally by way of inference from his conduct on particular occasions, and from what appears in his writings. Happily we have in addition a few particulars from the pen of a contemporary, John Aubrey,[67] which, though perchance they do not harmonize in every respect with the facts in his public life and the portrait he gives us of himself in his works, are nevertheless extremely interesting, and cannot be left unnoticed in a Life of Harvey.
“In person,” Aubrey informs us, “Harvey was not tall, but of the lowest stature; round faced; olivaster (like wainscot) complexion; little eye, round, very black, full of spirit; his hair black as a raven, but quite white 20 years before he died.” The portrait we have of Harvey by Cornelius Jansen, in the library of the Royal College of Physicians, as well as of one, we presume by Bemmel, now in the possession of Dr. Richard Bright, corresponds with this account: the temperament is nervous-bilious; the forehead is compact and square, and of greater width than usual between the temples; the expression is highly intellectual, contemplative, and manly.
“In temper,” Aubrey says, “he was like the rest of his brothers, very choleric, and, in his younger days, he wore a dagger, as the fashion then was, which he would be apt to draw out upon every occasion.” We cannot suppose that this was offensively, but merely in the way of gesticulation, and to lend force to his words; for in his public and literary life, Harvey showed everything but a choleric nature: he seems, indeed, at all times to have had his temper under entire control. The way in which Harvey himself speaks of the robbery of his apartments and the destruction of his papers, has nothing of bitterness or acrimony in it. With the opportunity presenting itself to him—as when he sends Nardi the books on the Troubles in England—he is not tempted to utter even a splenetic word against the party which had been all along opposed to his friends, and by which he had suffered so severely. Harvey was, probably, a marked man by Cromwell and his adherents; but had he been so disposed he could have indulged in a little vituperation without risk of molestation. The government of England in the Protector’s time was still no tyranny.
Harvey appears not to have esteemed the fair sex very highly. He would say, that “we Europeans knew not how to order or govern our women, and that the Turks were the only people who used them wisely.” But, indeed, if Aubrey may be trusted, he did not think very much of mankind in general: he was wont to say, that “man was but a great mischievous baboon.” Harvey, however, wived young, and in his age he seems still to have thought that the old man was best tended by the gentle hand of a woman not too far stricken in years.[68]
Harvey, in his own family circle, must have been affectionate and kind—characteristics of all his brothers—who appear as we have said to have lived together through their lives in perfect amity and peace. But our Harvey’s sympathies were not limited to his immediate relatives: attachment, friendship was an essential ingredient in his nature. His will from first to last is a piece of beautiful humanity, and more than one widow and helpless woman is there provided for. He seems to have been very anxious to live in the memory of his sisters-in-law and of his nephews and nieces, whose legacies are mostly given to the end that they may buy something to keep in remembrance of him. To Dr. Ent he was much attached, and, besides his bookcases, there are ‘five pounds to buy a ring.’ Dr. Scarborough, who also stood high in Harvey’s favour, has his ‘silver instruments of surgery and his best velvet gown.’
We cannot fancy that Harvey was at any time very eager in the pursuit of wealth. Aubrey tells us that, “For twenty years before he died, he took no care of his worldly concerns; but his brother Eliab, who was a very wise and prudent manager, ordered all, not only faithfully, but better than he could have done for himself.” The effect of this good management was that Harvey lived, towards the end of his life, in very easy circumstances. Having no costly establishment to maintain, for he always lived with one or other of his brothers in his latter days, and no family to provide for, he could afford to be munificent, as we have seen him, to the College of Physicians, and at his death he is reported to have left as much as 20,000l. to his faithful steward and kind brother Eliab, who always meets us as the guardian angel of our anatomist, in a worldly and material point of view. Honoured be the name and the memory of Eliab Harvey for his good offices to one so worthy!
Though of competent estate, in the enjoyment of the highest reputation, and trusted by two sovereign Princes in succession, Harvey never suffered his name to be coupled with any of those lower-grade titles that were so freely conferred in the time of both the First and Second Charles. When we associate Harvey’s name with a title at all, it is with the one he fairly won from his masters of Padua: by his contemporaries he is always spoken of as Dr. Harvey; we in the present day rightly class him with our Shakespeares, and our Miltons, and speak of him as Harvey. Harvey, indeed, had no love of ostentation or display. The very buildings he erected, were built “at the suggestion and under the auspices” of others.
Harvey’s mind was largely imbued with the imaginative faculty: how finely he brings in the classical allusion to “the Sicilian sea, dashing among the rocks around Charybdis, hissing and foaming and tossed hither and thither,” in illustration of those who reason against the evidence of their senses, (p. 130.) And then what unbounded confidence he has in Nature (p. 153), and how keenly alive he is to her beauties in every sphere: Nature has not been sedulous