never made a journey to see them, while they were trampled under foot
every day by the visitors bathing in Heligoland. They must move. It
was not necessary to go round the world: a holiday journey to the
North Sea or the Mediterranean would suffice. Every cultured man had
always considered that he must make at least one pilgrimage to classic
lands before his education was complete. It was only a question of
changing material. They were not to confine themselves to examining
ruined temples and aqueducts, but to take their microscopes down to
the coast, draw a bucketful of sea-water, and examine its living
contents—the living medusa and sea-urchin, and the living world of the
swarming infusoria. But it was like the rending of the great curtain
of the temple. Zoology seemed to expand ten-fold, a hundred-fold, in a
moment. A room in an obscure inn by the sea, a microscope, and a
couple of glasses of salt-water with sediment every morning—and the
finest studies at Paris and London were as ploughed land, without a
single blade, in face of this revelation. It was a Noah’s ark in the
space of a pinch of snuff.
One day the young medical student heard, in the middle of his histology
and zoology, that Kölliker had come back from Messina. He had been
studying lower marine life there. In 1853, two young men were together
in the Gutenberg forest near Würtzburg. One of them, Karl Gegenbaur, had
been abroad with Kölliker. With his impressions still fresh, he tells
Haeckel about his zoological adventures in the land of the Cyclops.
Gegenbaur, eight years older than Haeckel, was by birth and education a
typical Würtzburger. He, too, had studied medicine, and had practised at
the hospital. But he had already advanced beyond that. His stay at
Messina had been devoted entirely to zoological purposes. A year later
he would be teaching anatomy at Würtzburg, and a year later still he
would be called to Jena. From that time he began to be known as a master
of comparative anatomy—especially after 1859, when his _Elements_ of the
science was published, a classic in its way that still exercises some
influence.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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