Читать книгу Queen Of Science - Somerville Mary - Страница 4

Cheerful though wise, though learned, popular,

Liked by the many, valued by the few,

Instructs the world, yet dubbed by none a Blue.

Mary Somerville was one of the most remarkable women of her time, or indeed of any time. During her long life she moved from obscure private life in the little town of Burntisland in Fife, to the celebrity of being an internationally acclaimed mathematician, astronomer, physical scientist and geographer. When she died in her 92nd year, obituaries appeared in newspapers and journals all over Europe and in America: the Morning Post obituary called her, with complete confidence, ‘the Queen of science’ (Mon. 2 Dec. 1872). Throughout her long life she was a respected presence in body or in correspondence on various British, European and American scientific scenes. The work for which she is probably still best remembered is her translation of Laplace’s Mécanique céleste as The Mechanism of the Heavens in 1831; her most ambitious work was probably On the Connexion of the Physical Sciences (1834), which ran to nine British editions in her lifetime; but there is also Physical Geography, two vols. (1848), which, as she points out in her Recollections, ‘went through nine editions, has been translated into German and Italian […] and went through various editions in the United States’ (p. 162); and On Molecular and Microscopic Science, which she published when she was in her 89th year, and which The Morning Post suggests was her magnum opus.

Mary Somerville was born on 26 December 1780 in the manse at Jedburgh, the home of her mother’s sister, who was married to the local minister, the Rev. Dr Thomas Somerville. She was the fifth child of Lieutenant (later Vice-Admiral) William George Fairfax and his second wife, Margaret Charters. Fairfax had just embarked on a long period of sea duty and his pregnant wife was living at her sister’s home when the child was born. Mrs Fairfax was ill after the confinement and the baby, Mary, was suckled by her aunt. Mary Somerville points out that since her second husband was her aunt’s elder son, she was nursed by her mother-in-law (p. 9). The Fairfax family was from Yorkshire and was connected to Sir Thomas Fairfax, commander of the New Model Army, which defeated Charles I; the family also had American connections (p. 150). The Charters family was also an old family, related to several other notable Scottish families.

Four of Margaret Charters’s seven children survived: Samuel, Mary, Margaret and Henry. They were brought up in Burntisland in a house that is still standing. In her Personal Recollections Mary Somerville describes her childhood and adolescence in Burntisland and at school in Musselburgh, as well as her social life as a fairly well-connected young lady in Edinburgh. The explanation of the difficulties she surmounted to acquire the education she craved is best experienced through her own words.

By 1804, when she married her cousin, Samuel Greig, her unconventional desire to learn geometry, algebra and the classics was already well established, in spite of the obstacles placed in her way, even by those who loved her. Greig was the son of Admiral Sir Samuel Greig, who had gone to Russia in 1763 to organise Catherine II’s navy. To allow the young couple to marry, Greig was appointed Russian consul in London and Mary moved into his house there. Neither the house nor the marriage seems to have been very comfortable. Samuel Greig died in 1807, aged only 29, leaving Mary Somerville with two young children, Woronzow, called after the Russian Ambassador in London, and William George. As a widow back in her parents’ home, Mary Somerville had the means and the independence to pursue her studies. And this she did until in 1812 she married again, again to a cousin, William Somerville, an army doctor. The story of this happy union is embedded in the Recollections. There was at first a brief period in Edinburgh, then the family settled in London, where in 1819 William Somerville, after some vicissitudes, became Physician at Chelsea Hospital. During the next two decades the Somervilles played a significant part in the intellectual life of London: their acquaintance embraced the worlds of science, arts and politics.

Mary Somerville was in her late 40s when she embarked on her life as a writer on science. Her first work, the translation of the Mécanique céleste of the French astronomer and mathematician, Laplace, was undertaken, as she explains, at the suggestion of Henry Brougham (p. 131). It was published in 1831 to general acclamation: the trajectory of Mary Somerville’s professional life was set. William Somerville’s health sent the family travelling to Italy in 1838; in 1840 he retired and the Somervilles lived in various locations in Italy. William Somerville died in 1860 and Mary herself in Naples in 1872.

Mary Somerville’s successful life, nevertheless, included private tragedy. William George Greig died at only nine; the first child, a boy, of her second marriage died in infancy; and, worst of all, the Somervilles’ eldest girl, Margaret, from whom they had expected much, died in 1823, aged ten. Woronzow Greig married Agnes Graham in 1837 and became a successful barrister but died without legitimate issue in 1865, seven years before his mother. The remaining daughters, Martha Charters and Mary Charlotte Somerville, died unmarried only a few years after their mother. Her heirs were the children of her younger brother, Henry Fairfax.

The Personal Recollections were published the year after Mary Somerville’s death. According to her daughter and editor, Martha Somerville, they were mostly ‘noted down’ during the last years of her life (p. 2) and they have, even after editing, all the immediacy of a diary – the seeming freshness of youth informs them throughout. It turns out, however, that ‘noted down’ does less than justice to the care with which Mary Somerville prepared her Recollections. They exist in three versions in the Somerville Collection, deposited in the Bodleian Library – a rough outline in an 1859 notebook;1 a first draft, wholly in Mary Somerville’s hand, probably completed about 18692 and a second draft in Martha Somerville’s hand with interpolations in Mary Somerville’s hand.3

Mary Somerville undoubtedly intended the memoirs for publication before or after her death. In the original rough notes, she gives as her reason for writing ‘to prevent others misrepresenting me after my death, and to encourage other women’. There would be little point in such an aim if the autobiography was to remain private. But since she could have changed her mind, it is worth citing a letter from Sir John Herschel, Mary Somerville’s lifelong friend, and adviser on her scientific manuscripts. In March 1869 Sir John writes to Mary Somerville apologising for having taken more than a month to respond to the manuscript of her autobiography, which she had sent to him.4 Herschel is, he says, in almost every respect impressed by the narrative, but he is equivocal about immediate publication, believing that the exemplary life that it unfolds might have more effect on the public, ‘the many-headed monster’, after its subject’s death. He also recommends the excision of some fairly lengthy passages which involve a ‘recital of specific features in the history of scientific progress andmoderndiscovery’: he believes that the lay reader will find them dull and the expert reader inadequate. Both suggestions seem to have been accepted.

Herschel is impressed with the unaffectedness of the autobiography – ‘Nothing can be more pleasing and simple than the personal narration, the account of your strong early interest in those studies which you ultimately pursued with such extraordinary success and your self-taught progress in them under the most discouraging circumstances.’ The case for offering this edition of the Recollections to a new public more than 100 years after original publication depends in part on my belief that Herschel’s comment still holds, that Mary Somerville’s life remains an exemplary one, from which we have much to learn. I presume that the memoirs of a once-celebrated individual will have a special force and interest and additionally Mary Somerville’s representation of the age – and here the age means nearly a century, during which both Europe and the world beyond changed radically – is presented in a clear and penetrating manner in her Recollections.

The Recollections were very well received on their initial publication, reviewed in a number of national and local newspapers and journals. There had been a number of obituaries the year before, Mary Somerville’s achievements were still before the public. Those who were against the further advancement of women could use her example to point out how few women were like her and those who supported women’s causes could argue for how much women could achieve, even under adverse circumstances, if they would but persevere. But, as far as women’s rights were concerned, Mary Somerville was of a previous generation, a previous era indeed, and shortly after her death advocates of the cause closer to the moment were needed. And so it was that her personal life-writing, like her scientific works, fell out of print until AMS Press in 1975 reprinted the American edition of 1876.5 This has not, however, really made the Recollections accessible to a general readership and it is to this readership that the present edition is addressed.

Had Mary Somerville been a literary woman of comparable stature in her field, like George Eliot, or even her own close acquaintance, Harriet Martineau°, or had she led a more adventurous life, like Fanny Kemble, Mary Somerville’s Recollections would almost certainly by now have been republished, or her voluminous correspondence edited. But Mary Somerville was not literary, nor did she lead a dangerous or rackety life. Yet no other memoirist writes quite like Mary Somerville and this is in part because she is not self-consciously literary. Her voice is peculiarly transparent. Her rationale for the memoirs is actually quite aggressive, since to see oneself as an example is not really modest but Martha’s editing tries to turn assertiveness into self-deprecation. Mary Somerville begins, ‘My life has been domestic and quiet. I have no events to record that could interest the public, my only motive in writing it is to show my country women that self education is possible under the most unfavourable and even discouraging circumstances.’6 Martha begins with her voice rather than her mother’s, paraphrasing her mother’s words: ‘The life of a woman entirely devoted to her family duties and to scientific pursuits affords little scope for a biography.’ Thus, what in Mary Somerville’s voice is a challenge to the reader to find her struggle less than interesting becomes in Martha’s voice apologetic. Martha turns what is a contrast between the privacies of a life and the fame and achievements of the woman who lived it into a rather weak insistence that Mary Somerville was first and foremost a wife and mother. How can a new edition cope with this kind of problem?

The autobiography exists in three drafts. First there is the notebook of 1859 which sketches out shape and motivation; then there is an extensive draft entirely in Mary Somerville’s hand; most but not all of this draft reaches the printed version with some changes in arrangement as well as changes in spelling and punctuation. The punctuation of this first version is very light and some additional punctuation is certainly needed for print and, since Mary Somerville is avowedly a bad speller (see p. 97), the corrections of her spelling (probably not as insecure as Joanna Baillie’s) are uncontentious. This first draft peters out towards the end so that there is no firm conclusion to what was still a continuing life. The second draft is largely a copy of the first in Martha Somerville’s hand, with marginal comments and additions in Mary Somerville’s hand, and a few additional sheets wholly in Mary Somerville’s hand. There are also editorial comments in the margin in a third hand, probably Mary Charlotte’s, mostly injunctions to omit or confirmations that something has been omitted, which suggests that the final version was known at this stage. There are some additions in this version, most but not all of which appear in the printed text.

This edition does not pretend to be a complete re-editing of the recollections – indeed this would be impossible at this distance. Mary Somerville’s own final intentions are not completely clear and minor changes are usually not worth commenting upon. The text, as we have it, loses some of the colloquial flow of the first draft, simply by introducing punctuation, but I am persuaded that Mary Somerville would have expected her text to be corrected by the printers (see again her comments on p. 97). There is no doubt, however, that there are some editorial decisions taken by Martha, probably in conjunction with the younger daughter, Mary, but some, more worryingly, on the advice of Frances Power Cobbe, who worshipped Mary Somerville and probably wished to smooth out some of her imperfections. Letters from Frances Cobbe to Martha suggest a fair amount of input into the printed text:

I think your Introduction is most touching and so genuine and honest, it is sure to go straight to the reader’s heart […]. I have only made a few verbal alterations twisting some of the sentences a little (so as to avoid the little colloquialisms you fall into of ending your sentences with a preposition and dividing some of them a little differently). But I would not touch the substance of what you say for anything. […] Dear Martha I feel quite happy now about the work. The book will make the world love your Mother more and not admire her an atom the less.7

The intention of making Mary Somerville loveable has moved well away from Mary Somerville’s own aim.

The most extensive biographical work on Mary Somerville is by Elizabeth Chambers Patterson who has published both a brief account of Mary Somerville’s whole life, Mary Somerville, 1780–1872, 19798 and a scholarly study of the most significant period of Mary Somerville’s professional life, Mary Somerville and the Cultivation of Science, 1815– 1840, 1983.9 The latter is an indispensable vademecum for anyone who wants to look deeper into Mary Somerville’s professional life. Elizabeth Patterson uses the Personal Recollections, as well as the extensive Somerville archive deposited in the Bodleian Library to establish both biographical facts and feelings at any given point. She deals only briefly with the genealogy of the printed text of the Recollections. Here is what she says:

Her last work was an autobiography, begun in her eighty-ninth year and completed before her death in 1872. A heavily edited version of this work was published in 1873 […]. Her daughter, Martha, advised by their friend Frances Power Cobbe (1822–1904), omitted from the printed life markedly scientific sections of the manuscript, as well as many references to persons and events they judged uninteresting or unsuitable as contents. A selection of letters to Mary Somerville from eminent persons was woven into the text. […] Personal Recollections emerges with many Victorian touches that would have been foreign to Mary Somerville herself (EP, 194).

This is true but, nevertheless, the effect of the Victorian touches is most interesting. The processes of the production of the final text, and hence of the version of Mary Somerville that her remaining family and friends wished to present to the world, are in themselves valuable and worth preserving but, at the same time, I think it worth restoring some of the rougher edges of the earlier drafts.

I have not restored the scientific sections that Herschel advised cutting.10 Other omitted passages are, however, too good to lose: I have, therefore, interpolated in the 1873 printed text some passages from first and second drafts. I have added nothing which is not in Mary Somerville’s hand, nor have I added without comment any passages, even though in her hand, if she herself has scored them out. It will be clear that the additional passages are mostly anecdotes which Martha, possibly Mary, and Frances Power Cobbe presumably deemed too trivial to be included but a modern audience may have a different notion of what is trivial. Some of the anecdotes were clearly offensive to a Victorian sensibility, although they did not upset Mary Somerville’s own more robust taste: the story of her being taught to swear as a child seems to have been copied in Martha’s hand into the second draft, but a marginal note says that it ‘must go’ and the offending passage has been snipped out of the manuscript. While the story is not in itself exceptional – what family cannot produce some similar embarrassing account? – the determined excision of it is significant. Other omissions seem minor, yet cumulatively, when added to the printed text, they work to produce a Mary Somerville far more concerned with her outer self, with her appearance. In the drafts Mary Somerville comments fairly regularly on her appearance and, by taking the comments out of her mother’s mouth and putting them into her own, Martha turns legitimate selfconcern, even occasionally self-absorption and vanity, into daughterly eulogy. Similarly, Mary Somerville’s youthful and not so youthful resentments are smoothed away, producing a more emollient personality than appears in the drafts. Occasionally, as with the story of the mean friend (p. 222), there may have been relatives still alive to offend but, more generally, the omissions paper over cracks in Mary Somerville’s serenity that, revealed, make her a little less noble but more congenial. To remember an insult for 50 years, as Mary Somerville does with Mrs Oswald’s outrageous rudeness (p. 44) may not be saintly but it is, to imperfect mortal readers, understandable.

At the same time, it would be another kind of falsification to try to remove the effects of Martha’s editing since the presentation of the mother by the daughter has a special quality in itself: Martha adds as well as taking away. She adds, of course, her own comments on both her parents; insists; just as tartly as her mother, that the obituaries were quite wrong in suggesting that Mary Somerville’s first husband assisted her studies, and she adds letters from contemporaries which act as personal and professional validations ofMary Somerville. I have, therefore, tried to provide a text that can be read simultaneously as the version of a Victorian daughter, Martha, and the production of her mother. The intended result is to offer a plurality ofMary Somervilles, all with their special kind of truth. I should like to look now a little more closely at some of these Mary Somervilles, trying to show that, although plural, they are not separate.

FEMINIST, MATHEMATICIAN, ASTRONOMER,

BOTANIST, GEOGRAPHER – SCIENTIST:

In this section I am particularly indebted to Elizabeth Patterson’s searching study. Its introduction (i–xiii) offers an admirable summation of the changing state of British science in the years 1815 to 1840, roughly the period of Mary Somerville’s London residence (allowing, of course, for her continental tours). Elizabeth Patterson sets out to answer the question: ‘How did Mary Somerville move from self-taught provincial to celebrated scientific lady?’ (EP, xiii), and does so against a wide understanding of the nature and status of science in the period.

How far, then, were the dice loaded against Mary Somerville because of her sex? The declared aim of the autobiography is to show how it is possible for awoman to overcome obstacles and achieve a high place in a male world. The narrative tries to encourage those who might often feel discouraged, for, although female education was easier to obtain when Mary Somerville wrote her Recollections than it was when she began her courses of private study, it remained difficult and many prejudices persisted which showed themselves still in her obituaries and even in the reviews of her Recollections. It was her achievement to be exemplary as a woman and as a scientist, to reach her goals without sacrificing relatively conventional femininity. Indeed, one of the prejudices that she never attacks, in fact probably shares, is the deeply embedded fear that commitment to the life of the mind might produce aggression or frumpishness in a woman.

Most of Mary Somerville’s explicit resentments in the Recollections are reserved for the problems of the early stages of her life. She explains how more or less anything was thought good enough for female education. Her father does not want her to become a ‘savage’ but a little learning is obviously deemed enough to prevent this. She is particularly good on the way in which the production of female deportment at Miss Primrose’s school is a form of torture and of intellectual imprisonment too:

Then a steel rod, with a semi-circle which went under the chin, was clasped to the steel busk in my stays. In this constrained state I, and most of the younger girls, had to prepare our lessons. (p. 18)

When she is released, becoming like a ‘wild animal escaped out of a cage’ (p. 20), she moves closer to a holistic response to the natural world, which is the kind of response that ultimately underpins her scientific thinking. All forms of life-writing are potentially suspect, insofar as they attempt to identify the future in the past but Mary Somerville’s depiction of her response to her natural environment at Burntisland carries the stamp of authenticity:

There was a small pier on the sands for shipping limestone brought from the coal mines inland. I was astonished to see the surface of these blocks of stone covered with beautiful impressions of what seemed to be leaves; how they got there I could not imagine, but I picked up the broken bits, and even large pieces, and brought them to my repository. (p. 21)

The human environment was less kind and Mary Somerville’s struggle against prejudice and indifference to acquire a classical and scientific education is equally authentically presented.

While it was truly hard for Mary Somerville to become proficient in mathematics through private study, there is little doubt nevertheless that once she had done a certain amount herself there were plenty of male practitioners who were anxious to assist her in an unpatronising manner. Her early loneliness and despondency (p. 37 and p. 60) were consequences of the limitations of her family circle but once she had won independence as a widow and, even better, married a second, supportive husband, the scientific world did not try to keep her out. And so, in the end, Mary Somerville got her scientific education in much the same way as any man from an unprivileged background at the time – through the generosity of a developing group of scientific men, amateur and professional, who were anxious not to fence off their patch but rather to invite in those who loved to learn.11 William Wallace, who supported Mary Somerville’s activities in mathematics during her first widowhood (p. 66), and Michael Faraday were both book-binders’ apprentices before their talents and the assistance of richer men placed them in significant positions in the scientific establishment. It is a proper tribute to this network, which shows itself throughout the Recollections, that Mary Somerville’s most ambitious book was On the Connexion of the Physical Sciences, an attempt to do for science itself what all these lovers of truth were doing for each other – establishing a network of connections.

The scientific establishments of Britain and Europe were not, of course, free from competitiveness, aggression and snobbishness. Elizabeth Patterson’s account of the internal struggles between various factions of the Royal Society shows that the struggles at the Royal Society often had a gentlemen-versus-players aspect. But there is very little suggestion in or out of the Recollections of any aggression towards Mary Somerville, any feeling that she was an interloper.

Mary Somerville, then, may have been hindered at home, nagged by her prospective sister-in-law, denounced from the pulpit and spoken against in the House, but the scientific world in London, in Paris, in Geneva and, finally in the relative scientific backwater of Italy,12 opened its arms to her. To her these men were exceptionally civil, an effect perhaps of her own feminine civility.

It was no doubt Mary Somerville’s fortune, in the end, to be little and shy (pp. 48–9). If we look at the letters from scientists and mathematicians included in the volume, they are remarkable for a composite idiom, which I think we owe to a very large extent to the very nature of Mary Somerville. Of course, it is not that before her career scientists obsessively focused on their work in their letters and refused the pleasantries of social intercourse, but, nevertheless, a special tone of civility enters professional letters from Mary Somerville’s correspondents. Also illuminating in terms of epistolary discourse and gender are letters written by scientists to Mary Somerville’s husband. Sir John Herschel’s letter of 17 July 1830 to William Somerville (p. 174) is principally about the recognition of his wife, yet at the same time it is clearly an exchange between ‘chaps’, as it were. It is obvious that William Somerville found himself in no way emasculated by the abilities of his wife and no more did his acquaintance worry about his status, even after he retired because of ill-health.

But perhaps there is a problem with the civility of the letters to Mary Somerville from scientists, perhaps they are altogether too civil. There may well be a line, too fine to discern with security, between the civil and the patronising. Yet the amount of time spent on talking to and writing to Mary Somerville by these men can only be justified by something more than gallantry, and there is also, outside the Recollections, the evidence of the kind of letter that Martha Somerville did not include in her edition because it would be beyond the comprehension of ordinary readers. These letters, full of detailed equations and abstruse speculations, are exchanged with Herschel, Babbage and Lubbock, among many others. Again, with mostly trivial or petulant exceptions, contemporary reviews treat Mary Somerville’s work in a wholly unpatronising manner.13

Mary Somerville, then, both suffers from and profits from her femininity and it can be argued that this has been the constant problem for female achievers. It is a problem that Mary Somerville negotiated with more success than, for example, Mary Wollstonecraft, who continues to be castigated for being too womanly and not womanly enough, or, to choose the same field as Somerville, the unfortunate Ada Lovelace whose ‘womanly’ behaviour brought her close to disgrace and who died in great pain from her woman’s body (see ‘Brief Biographies’ pp. 349– 50). But Mary Somerville is herself insecure about this female body which she cannot quite reconcile with the notion of a sexless mind; she fears, in truth, that the mind, like the body, is gendered, and gendered by the body. The passage that reveals these fears most clearly was cut out of the published text and I have restored it:

In the climax of my great success, the approbation of some of the first scientific men of the age and of the public in general I was highly gratified, but much less elated than might have been expected, for although I had recorded in a clear point of view some of the most refined and difficult analytical processes and astronomical discoveries, I was conscious that I had never made a discovery myself, that I had no originality. I have perseverance and intelligence but no genius, that spark from heaven is not granted to the sex, we are of the earth, earthy, whether higher powers may be alotted to us in another state of existence God knows, original genius, in science at least, is hopeless in this. (p. 145)

Martha and Mary Somerville and Frances Power Cobbe must have felt at the time that this was an unnecessary hostage to fortune. In the obituaries in 1872 there were already signs of a willingness to downgrade her achievement. The Saturday Review, which also credits the erroneous story that her first husband was supportive, insists that she was an interpreter and expounder, not a discoverer:

It is not invidious, still less discourteous, in us to say that the one is to the other as moonlight is to sunlight. Receptive, bright and keen, the mind of woman may give back or diffuse the rays of knowledge for the source or emanation of which a stronger and more original power is necessary.14

In the light of Mary Somerville’s resigned, even depressed, acquiescence in the secondary position of women as innovative scientists, it is obviously important that John Couch Adams told her husband that it was a suggestion from On the Connexion of the Physical Sciences that put it into his head to calculate the orbit of Neptune. Furthermore it was the impact of Mary Somerville’s Connexion of the Physical Sciences that produced the word ‘scientist’ in the first place. Reviewing the book in the Quarterly, William Whewell speaks of Mary Somerville’s laudable insistence on connection at a time when there was an ‘increasing proclivity to separation and dismemberment’ in the sciences and he proposes the use of a new term, one possibility being ‘scientist’, on the model of ‘artist, sciolist, economist and atheist’.15 It is also in this review that Whewell rehearses arguments about female and male intellect that are with us still. He does believe that ‘there is a sex in minds’ and while he does not simply privilege male over female, the sex of his own mind is never far away:

One of the characteristics of the female intellect is a clearness of perception as far as it goes; with them action is the result of feeling; thought of seeing; their practical emotions do not wait for instruction from speculation; their reasoning is undisturbed by the prospect of its practical consequences. (QR, 65)

Diminishing though this seems, Whewell plucks out of it a kind of victory for female intellect:

But, from the peculiar mental character to which we have referred, it follows, that when women are philosophers, they are likely to be lucid ones; that when they extend the range of their speculative views, there will be a peculiar illumination thrown over the prospect. If they attain to the merit of being profound, they will add to this the great excellence of being also clear. (QR, 66)

Yet, as soon as difference is admitted, and both men and women at the time did admit it, it becomes impossible within the historical context to do other than privilege the male in the very act of elevating the female. It cannot really be denied that in spite of all the attention and assistance that Mary Somerville received and the accolades she won, this was still a man’s world. With the exceptions of Mary Somerville herself and Ada Lovelace, most of the other women involved in the scientific world were involved because of the assistance they gave their husbands or because, like Jane Marcet, they were popularisers in a way that Mary Somerville never was. Yet it was Jane Marcet who first inspired Faraday (p. 92), and that is surely something. But Mrs Kater, Mrs Sabine, Mrs Lyell gave their devoted services to their husbands and are remembered as helpmeets, although Elizabeth Sabine translated Humboldt’s Kosmos. Sometimes, indeed, it has been necessary, as with Mrs Lowry, to go to a biography of a husband to get any information about a wife. In this sense, Mary Somerville is assisted by not having had a scientific partner.

The public honours she received, although numerous and welcome, were also usually secondary: she was generally an honorary, not a full, member of learned societies. When Herschel writes to William Somerville (p. 175) that he hears that a recent vote of the Astronomical Society makes Mary Somerville his colleague he is exaggerating, since her membership of the Society, like that of his aunt, Caroline Herschel, was an honorary one. Nevertheless, Mary Somerville’s pension from the Civil List was in line with the awards made to her male contemporaries: she received, as she explains (p. 144), £200 from Robert Peel’s administration and when the succeeding Whig administration added £100 to this, Mary Somerville was in receipt of an amount equivalent to the pensions of Airy, Faraday and Brewster among others (EP, 161).

THE SCOTSWOMAN:

Whewell concludes his review by quoting the verses that I have chosen as my epigraph, which compare Mary Somerville to Hypatia and Madame Agnesi, the only two earlier women believed to be distinguished in mathematics: ‘Three women in three different ages born, /Greece, Italy, and England did adorn.’ Accepting the justice of the claim, Whewell, nevertheless, points out that Madame Agnesi and Mary Somerville were born in the same century and that, ‘though Hypatia talked Greek as Mrs Somerville does English, the former was an Egyptian, and the latter, we are obliged to confess, is Scotch by her birth, though we are very happy to claim her as one of the brightest ornaments of England’ (QR, 68). Mary Somerville was a Scot living outside Scotland at a time when nationality was a peculiarly pressing issue and the positioning of an intellectual north or south of the border was a contentious business. For example, if Mary Somerville could not have been great without leaving Scotland, we might well feel that Scott could not have been great if he had done. But Scott died the year after the Mechanism of the Heavens was published. Scotland’s intellectual heyday was fading despite the continued ascendancy of ‘Scotch Reviewers’.

Mary Somerville’s relationship with her native country was complex. Her closeness to Joanna Baillie may well have derived from the shared sense of both being and not being Scottish. They both retained their Scottish accents: Joanna Baillie’s was apparently even more marked,16 but Mary Somerville was always self-conscious about her accent (p. 97). However far she travelled physically and intellectually from her native land, she carried its continued impress in her speech.

Her religious sense too was shaped by Scotland, both in what underpinned it and in what she rejected. Her love for the natural world, which affected every aspect of her personal and professional life, came out of her early years in Burntisland and Jedburgh. As is, of course, very often the case with memoirs, the sections which deal with childhood experiences are among the most vivid and most moving. It is from these early experiences that she derived a feeling for the history inherent in things and places that anchors her to the beauties of the living world:

Some of the plum and pear trees were very old, and were said to have been planted by the monks. Both were excellent in quality, and very productive. […] The precipitous banks of red sandstone are richly clothed with vegetation, some of the trees ancient and very fine, especially the magnificent one called the capon tree, and the lofty king of the wood, remnants of the fine forests which at one time had covered the country. (p. 30)

And it was in these early days too that she developed the love for birds that she carried with her to the end.

But if Scotland taught her how to love God’s creation, it also gave her much to reject in the narrowness of the Calvinism of some of her religious teaching. On the whole, Mary Somerville makes light of the gloomier and harsher aspects of Scottish Calvinism but clearly it was one of the factors that made her less than wholly sorry to leave her native land. Nevertheless, she carries with her on her first departure from Scotland a sense of democratic community in the ‘Scotch Kirk’ that she misses in the ‘coldness and formality of the Church of England’ (p. 63). That sense of closeness of the individual to the creation and the Creator never left Mary Somerville. She did not need to commit herself to the narrowness of the Evangelical movement to be close to God. And her tolerance of the views of others, even of atheism, derives from an early security in the goodness of Christians like her mother and her uncle and father-in-law, the Rev. Thomas Somerville.

At the same time, she was aware that continued residence in Scotland would have stifled her intellectual life and it was important to her that her second husband, William Somerville, had travelled widely and was ‘emancipated from Scotch prejudices’ (p. 73). A letter written from Scotland in 1837 to her daughters in London recommends them to think hard before marrying Scotsmen and make it quite clear that she regards her departure from her native country as a fortunate escape (EP, 185–86). The letter is crossed ferociously, partly to conceal its contents from a casual glance: it is very difficult to decipher:

I never should have written a word and you two would have been worried to death and stupid [?] like the rest, so all is for the best. Jedburgh my birthplace I saw without pleasure and left without regret, yet the vale is most beautiful but a place however lovely is only agreeable in solitude or good society neither of which charm does it possess. If you marry Scotchmen, take care they are good ones. The Scotch are like foreigners in one respect, the very high alone are tolerable and they not always.17

This is, however, a letter written in surprising bitterness of spirit, full of irritation with some of her Scottish acquaintance and also, alas, with the family of her son’s bride. She quotes her brother Henry as saying that the gentlemen of the new generation are not fit society for Martha and Mary, as feeling that Woronzow’s imminent marriage to Agnes Graham will not bring a good ‘connexion’ and that Woronzow might have done much better. Mary Somerville agrees that her brother is the only gentleman and his wife and her sister the only ladies she has seen since she came, but she believes that Woronzow’s happiness is most important and everyone speaks well of Agnes. There is an uncharacteristic coarseness about this which can perhaps only come out of encounters with our nearest and dearest. The oppressiveness of provincial society is hardly a peculiarly Scottish problem.

Her local places were certainly proud of her. The Kelso Chronicle reviewed her Personal Recollections, entirely unresentful of the occasional slight to Scotland, justly recognising that ‘Mary Somerville lived so as to get the greatest possible amount of happiness out of her long life’ (n.d. after 18 Dec. 1873) and the Kelso Mail (25 March 1874), in its laudatory review, tells a doubtless apocryphal but charming story about Mary Somerville after the planting of a cedar at the residence of the Misses Ramsay, friends of her mother:

One of the Miss Ramsays said, ‘May we again all meet around it.’ ‘May we all meet under it’ was the wish of her sister; and ‘May we all meet above it’ was the characteristic wish of Mrs Somerville.

DAUGHTER, WIFE AND MOTHER:

Although Mary Somerville had to contend with her parents’ disapproval of her studies, and although her father worried, probably half in jest, about her ending up in a straitjacket, she obviously enjoyed close relationships with both of them in her later life and much regretted their deaths. She enjoyed a quiet domestic life with her parents after the death of her first husband and there is no doubt that her mother was later extremely proud of her daughter’s scholarly achievements and delighted by the publication of her books. She writes twice in 1831 expressing her anxiety to hear about the reception of her daughter’s book – ‘I am […] anxious to know how your book is received by the public – write me soon, my dearest Mary.’ Early in the next year she is expressing her pleasure at the book’s success and her daughter’s good health.18 As for her father, Vice-Admiral of the Red, Mary Somerville was extremely proud of him and nothing in his illiberal Tory opinions could obliterate this; she always admired those who, like him, faced the hardships of the sea.

With her siblings and with her children, Mary Somerville suffered, as did most people at the time, from the frequency of infantile and premature deaths. The death of her elder brother, Sam, in India at 21, greatly affected her and the first draft of the autobiography has a double row of dots across the page after the description of his death, as if to signal an irreversible difference in her life. Like so many women of the time, she also had to suffer the pain of the deaths of her children. The most affecting childhood death certainly was that of her eldest daughter, Margaret, who died in 1823 before her eleventh birthday. The Somervilles had obviously invested a great deal in this young girl: ‘She was,’ Mary Somerville says, ‘a child of intelligence and acquirements far beyond her tender age’ (p. 124); indeed, made unscientific perhaps by grief, she feared that she may have overtaxed Margaret’s young mind:

I felt her loss the more acutely because I feared I had strained her young mind too much. My only reason for mentioning this family affliction is to warn mothers against the fatal error I have made.19

Mary Somerville also suffered the sorrow of having her son, Woronzow, predecease her. Of course, her longevity made this the less remarkable: Woronzow was, after all, 60 when he died. Neither of her daughters married and both lived only a few years after their mother’s death. Woronzow Greig had a public life and so it is possible to know more about him than the Recollections reveal,20 but Martha and Mary remain rather shadowy figures in spite of their firmer presence in the Recollections. Going to the letters does give the two girls clearer individual presences. Their own letters reveal quite spirited responses to the wise and the great of their mother’s acquaintance; and they were educated and active women – they sailed their own boat, rode in the Roman Campagna, played instruments, sang and painted. Yet, in the letters of their parents and their friends, they are almost always ‘the girls’ or ‘Martha and Mary’, as if a kind of unit, and it is hard not to feel that they lived their lives mainly for their mother. Martha has her strongest presence as an editor of her mother’s autobiography. Frances Power Cobbe confirms this in her obituary in the Echo: ‘her husband “rose up and called her blessed”, her children devoted their lives to her comfort’ (3 Dec. 1872). It is a commonplace that it is difficult to be the children of famous parents and Mary Somerville’s girls seem to have suffered in this way. There is no shade of resentment about this, either in or out of the published work, and it is quite clear that Mary Somerville wanted her children to be happy and independent. But could she perhaps have tried harder to detach them from her, was she too glad in the end to have them ‘support her tottering steps’ (p. 299)? I do not know; she herself would need to have said more, and more openly, for judgment to be passed and she does refuse openness about intimate family affairs.

In revealing the contents of Mary Somerville’s rather sour letter to her daughters about Scotland and some Scots, I have already violated her insistence on the privacy of correspondence but, since the violation helps us to come closer to her feelings about her country and its people, I cannot summon a great deal of guilt. And we may slightly regret Mary Somerville’s faithfulness to her decision to avoid the intimate details of her family life. Or, at least, we may feel that she regards as intimate much that we might now feel is merely everyday and that we should like to have been told. The early section of the Recollections remains the most delightful because the details of daily life are so sharp and because Mary Somerville’s love for her father and mother and her future father-in-law emerges so clearly at this point. But some silences are verging on the obsessive in their insistence on privacy, and the silences seem to be Mary Somerville’s, not Martha’s. She never mentions, for example, that her mother was William Fairfax’s second wife, his first wife also being from Burntisland (EP, 1). More understandably, perhaps, she fails to mention that William Somerville had been married before, and that he also had a natural child (EP, 7). Yet the existence of James Craig Somerville was never repudiated. William Somerville acknowledged his son and brought him back with him from South Africa, naming him after Sir James Craig and educating him until he graduated as a doctor of medicine from Edinburgh University. Nor did he exclude this son from his life with Mary Somerville: indeed, James Craig Somerville was fairly close to Woronzow Greig, Mary Somerville’s surviving son from her first marriage. Mary Somerville’s mother, writing in July 1831, asks that her ‘kindest love be given to Dr James and his pretty wife’.21

Dr James Craig had certainly been privy to the skeleton in Woronzow’s cupboard that his mother also hides from public view: it came to light at Woronzow’s death that he too had had an illegitimate child, fathered when he was 19 or 20, a daughter to whom he had given financial support but whose existence he kept secret from his wife, Agnes. This obviously caused a fair amount of family commotion. Mary Somerville seems to have been a little tactless, but there was no breach of relations between mother and daughter-in-law. Nor was Mary Somerville particularly shocked, consistent with her principle that charity was to be preferred to chastity; Woronzow had lived a decent Christian life and had helped his natural daughter and her family.22

It does not take a very percipient reader to guess that all was not well with Mary Somerville’s first marriage, although inattention and selfishness seem to have been the problems rather than anything more sinister. The short passages that I have restored from the first draft underline Samuel Greig’s selfishness (p. 62). Frances Power Cobbe, reviewing the Recollections for the Academy claims that Greig was ‘to the last degree harsh, stern, and unsympathising… Mr Greig, we believe, expressing at the last his consciousness that his widow would have had but little reason to regret his memory’ (Sat., 3 Jan. 1874, 2). It is likely, however, that Cobbe was reacting with irritation to obituaries that credited Samuel Greig with assisting his wife in her studies, presumably on the assumption that no woman could master mathematics without male support. Like Martha Somerville and, indeed, Mary Somerville herself (p. 63), Frances Cobbe wants to stress his lack of sympathy and perhaps paints him blacker than he was. At any rate, he had the decency to die quickly and give Mary Somerville the independence she needed.

About the second, happy and supportive, marriage, little more need be done than to point to the testimony of the Recollections. But it is something of an irony that William Somerville’s supportive behaviour towards his talented wife goes along with what we might now feel was an inadequately professional attitude towards his own work. His post at the Chelsea Hospital seems to have been close to a sinecure and certainly permitted a great deal of time off before his final decision to give up the position for health reasons. But, after all, this went largely unremarked at the time. And William Somerville seems to have been a remarkable man in his way. To have moved with ease and without apology through some of the highest intellectual society of Europe, always allowing the superior abilities of his wife without losing anything of his own dignity, must have required a firm sense of self which, nevertheless, seems to have been in no danger of becoming complacent. The story of his good-humoured negotiation of the problems of an over-holy Sunday (p. 178) are characteristic of a personality strong enough to be quietly assertive without giving the outward appearance of being so.

FRIEND

One of the most attractive aspects of the Personal Recollections is its revelation of important friendships. The friendship with Sir John Herschel is, of course, the one that most links the various Mary Somervilles that we have encountered: he is her scientific adviser, but he also writes to her as a father and husband, because she is so clearly herself mother and wife as well as intellectual woman. Female friendships too were of great importance to Mary Somerville, notably those with Maria Edgeworth, Joanna Baillie and, latterly, Frances Power Cobbe. We are grateful that Martha decided to include letters from Maria Edgeworth and Joanna Baillie; the latter, in particular, greatly assist the formation of a whole picture of Mary Somerville. Like Mary Somerville herself, Joanna Baillie was capable of sharp remarks despite also being little and shy.

Among lesser acquaintance, occasionally one feels rather bombarded by noble names. Yet one feels this as an effect of innocence, of a kind of naivety perhaps, and in a moment I want to suggest that this naivety is a positive quality. Nor again is any real distinction made between the high and the low – both are usually part of the everyday. One of the problems for an editor is that it is tempting to spend a disproportionate amount of time trying to find out who everyone mentioned is. Do we need to know that the Somervilles’ medical adviser was Professor Zanetti? And do we need to know if he was ‘someone’? Well, Mary Somerville seems to feel that to mention her medical adviser without mentioning his name would be discourteous. She tries to show proper courtesy to everyone who crosses her path, servant or prince.

It was, as I have already indicated, the wish of Mary Somerville’s daughters to provide a much more seamless version of her than I have permitted. But what does link all the Marys, that no amount of selection or editing seems to be able to fudge, is the special voice of the woman. It is, indeed, remarkable that, through all the daughterly fiddling with her text, this voice refuses to be blurred. Here we may go again to Sir John Herschel to find out what its characteristics were for her coevals. ‘Nothing,’ he wrote, ‘can be more pleasing and simple than the personal narration… nor anything more naive, more natural and unaffected then your account of your own success – no assumption, no vanity – but only an admission (and that rather by implication) of such an amount of private satisfaction, which one must be more or less than human not to feel.’23

We have come to feel that naivety is not a virtue, because it is so often affected, yet to recover its special value brings us closer to Mary Somerville’s unique qualities. If we think of a voice informed by naive wisdom, we go some way to defining what makes it special. This naive wisdom can be discerned in all the Mary Somervilles that I have discussed: the same unpretending clarity informs her dealings with both people and ideas.

Hers is a wholly distinctive voice, which has neither antecedent nor follower. A couple of examples may clarify its special quality: when Somerville is reporting her father’s illiberality, she dramatises with the direct perception of a novelist: ‘By G—, when a man cuts off his queue, the head should go with it’ (p. 36). Here, the very excess of the sentiment makes the speaker more loveable than sinister. And, again, when the cruel practices of the navy are discussed, Somerville writes dispassionately and hence devastatingly. Yet, immediately afterwards, she proceeds to discuss her father’s place in the very institution that she is condemning (pp. 56–58). This sophisticated perception that institutions may contain parts infinitely superior to the whole is made with a clear-mindedness so unaffected, so naive, that it is devastating. Much later, she cites the lady who believed that all those who worshipped in the Temple of Neptune must be ‘in eternal misery’. Somerville asked, ‘How could they believe in Christ when He was not born till many centuries after? I am sure she thought it was all the same’ (p. 101). The absence of fuss in the syntax makes the implicit judgment more telling.

On larger political issues, the same naive wisdom is evident. Garibaldi is a man of genius but potentially injurious to his country (p. 245). On the slave trade and slavery she refuses to compromise (p. 299), but tolerance in religious matters is always for her a virtue (p. 277). On the right of women to education, on the other hand, she is both tart and uncompromising. Science and religion she manages to reconcile by always avoiding, as some of her contemporaries could not, the trick of alternately blaming and denying God.

These balanced judgments are a function of the varied experience of Mary Somerville. Her scientific training had made her the kind of thinker who never rejects but who never quickly becomes a proselyte: her reaction to Darwinism is telling here. Because of his devout beliefs, it took the American geologist and zoologist, James Dana, 15 years to accept a version of Darwinism. Mary Somerville describes Dana as ‘an honour to his country’ (p. 180) but it did not take her as long; it was perhaps easier since she had never been either a fundamentalist or an evangelical but it might still have been possible for a woman of her advanced years to react strongly against Darwin. Instead she approached his discoveries and theories as yet more evidence of what we do not know, of the mystery underlying all phenomena (p. 288). And it is the sense of that mystery that informs her opinions on secular affairs. Those who look for more fire from their pioneering women may be disappointed in her but to embrace and accommodate change may be a wiser mode than to try to force change or its acceptance on the unwilling.

The judgments come out of what, in spite of reticence and shyness, turns out to be a secure sense of identity and place. She negotiated the problems that inevitably arise within families and, although she may have been unsuccessful, she tried to give her children possibilities that she never had or did not easily secure. Mary Somerville never doubted who she was: even at her moments of greatest depression, her sense of an inner strength scarcely wavers. But place? How is it possible to speak of the security of place when she spent the last 30-odd years of her life in a more-or-less nomadic existence in Italy and elsewhere in Europe? But there are two kinds of nomad – those who are at home nowhere and those who are at home everywhere. Mary Somerville belongs to the latter group. She clearly managed with very little fuss to establish homes in the houses of others. Her intellectual baggage she always had with her and the comfort that she derived from this immaterial home seems to have assisted her in maintaining the physical comfort of others. To be sure, latterly Martha directed the household and it is hard to imagine what Mary Somerville would have done without her girls. But they presumably would not themselves have believed they had a home if she was not in it and, indeed, seem sadly not to have wished to linger on after her death.

Finally, it is Mary Somerville’s insistence on the need for connection that makes her an icon for her time and its concerns. The Connexion of the Physical Sciences explicitly pronounces connection as an aim but all her work drives towards connection rather than separatist categorisation, and this emphasis seems characteristic of Somerville as memoirist too. For her, the desirable life is also the connected life and it is a life that does not categorise lest it stigmatise life’s more homely areas. The small number of her contemporaries who tried to diminish Mary Somerville were usually those who did not understand that making marmalade and studying the calculus are not incompatible; that ‘spotting muslin’ is not, in spite of Veitch’s remarks (p. 81), too lowly an activity for an intellectual woman, provided that her aspirations are not inhibited by it. In all areas of her activity Mary Somerville’s appropriate motto was the one she herself assumed for Molecular and Microscopic Science: ‘Deus magnus in magnis, maximus in minimis’: ‘God great in great things, greatest in the least’.24

Dorothy McMillan

I cite pagination in the manner requested by Elizabeth Patterson, whose catalogue I have also gratefully used.

1 Somerville Collection/SC: Dep. c.356, box 2, MSAU-4.

2 SC: Dep. c.355, box 5, MSAU-2.

3 SC: Dep. c.355, box 5, MSAU-3.

4 Royal Society of London Library/RSL: Herschel Papers, 2.378; J. F. W. Herschel to Mary Somerville, 14 March 1869.

5 In Women of Letters, an AMS Reprint Series (New York: AMS Press, 1975).

6 SC: Dep. c.355, box 5, MSAU-2, 1.

7 Somerville Collection, Dep. c.358, box 8, MSFP-19: Frances Power Cobbe to Martha Somerville, Jul. 11 [1873].

8 Elizabeth Chambers Patterson, Mary Somerville, 1780–1872 (Oxford: Somerville College, 1979).

9 Patterson, Mary Somerville and the Cultivation of Science, 1815– 1840 (The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff, 1983). All further references will be to ‘EP’ with page number/s.

10 Indeed, in her reply to his letter Mary Somerville indicates that she has already taken his advice, having struck out passages and added ‘a number of anecdotes of people and things illustrative of the times which will make it more amusing, and others may occur to me as the MS will not be printed till after my death’ (RSL: Herschel Papers, 2.379: Mary Somerville to Herschel, 23 March 1869).

11 It is clear, of course, that a poor lower-class woman could never have done what Mary Somerville did. Success in any intellectual field for working-class women was almost impossible, but in scientific fields it was unthinkable.

12 It must be noted, however, that Italian civility did not extend to allowing a woman into the observatory of the Collegio Romano without an order from the Pope (see p. 193).

13 Perhaps the most egregious example of a disparaging and ignorant review is of The Mechanism of the Heavens in the Athenaeum. Its fire is so scattered as to be ineffective but it displays an unexplained animus against learned women or, as the reviewer would have it, would-be learned women: Athenaeum, 221 (1832), 43–44.

14 Saturday Review, 7 Dec. 1872, 721–2, p.722.

15 William Whewell, review of Mary Somerville’s On the Connexion of the Physical Sciences, 1834: Quarterly Review, li (1834), 154–171.

16 Maria Edgeworth reports in a letter to her mother in 1822 that Mary Somerville had a ‘remarkably soft voice though speaking with a strong Scottish pronunciation – yet it is a well-bred Scotch not like the Baillies’: Maria Edgeworth, Letters from England, 1813–1844, ed. Christina Colvin (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1971).

17 SC: Dep. c.362, box 12, MSIF-10; Mary Somerville to Mary C. Somerville, 19 Sept. 1837 (postmarked: Kelso, 20 Sept. 1837). It seems clear that at this point Mary Somerville was staying with her husband’s family and her own acquired virtue in comparison.

18 SC: Dep. c.357, box 7, MSFP-2; Margaret Charters Fairfax to Mary Somerville.

19 SC: Dep. c.355, box 5, MSAU-2, 150.

20 See John Appleby, ‘Woronzow Greig (1805–1865), F. R. S., and his Scientific Interests’, Notes and Records of the Royal Society of London, 53:1 (1999), 95–107.

21 SC, Dep. c.357, box 7 MSFP-2; Margaret Charters Fairfax to Mary Somerville, 15 July 1831.

22 The story may be pieced together from letters in the Somerville Collection, Dep. c.357, box 7, MSFP-11, 13 letters from Mary Somerville to James Graham [Agnes Greig’s brother] and 18 letters from James Graham to Mary Somerville. It should be stressed that no one acted in any way dishonourably in the affair; Woronzow probably simply put off the moment of revelation and then everyone suffered the tragic nuisance of his sudden death.

23 Herschel Papers, 2.378, 14 March 1869.

24 St Augustine.