In a short life of 33 years, Fitz-James O'Brien (1828-1862) established himself as a competent and imaginative writer, and was in fact something of an innovator in the frenetic and economically perilous literary life of his day. Some have placed him as the best American writer of short stories between Poe (1809 -1849) and Bret Harte (1836-1902), and he was certainly admired by his literary colleagues.
What O'Brien might have accomplished had he attained even Poe's age it is impossible to know. Apparently, O'Brien suffered from what we would today term a bipolar or manic-depressive illness, not at all uncommon among those who become writers. Although reputed by later scholars at least to have been "something of a drunkard," Fitz seems to have had a happier personal life than many of his literary colleagues. He had hard times during his "gypsy period," living mainly off the charity of friends, but his always-cheerful attitude and enthusiasm for life stands in sharp contrast to the morose and involuted Poe. Though he pushed his deadlines close, he was a fairly prolific writer; unfortunately, much of his energy seems to have gone into poetry which is best left in its present obscurity. He is said to have written "prodigious" poetry all through the night, and to have "tossed off" a story at a moment's notice. Had he not been a casualty of battle, it is entirely possible that O'Brien would have risen to much higher prominence in 19th-century American letters.
His work, at its best, stands for itself. The Diamond Lens could be used as a texbook example of the application of Poe's Philosophy of Composition, with which O'Brien would have had to be familiar: a carefully-crafted tone, an economical style in which few superfluities of language can be detected, and a slow accelerando of pace to a denouement which is inevitable from the beginning, yet still riveting.
Crucial to the success of the story is the blending of hard fact with extreme fantasy, the juxtaposition of technology and mysticism, a convincing and "scientific" setting against which is played an unworldly romance. The story was well received by public and critics, and established O'Brien as a lion of literary New York.
It is important to remember that the impact on fiction-writing -- and public taste -- of Poe's detective stories and his stories dealing with the outre was only beginning to be felt. Critics who cite O'Brien's style as "florid" and "naive when it is not a little pompous and literary" should perhaps give more consideration to the cultural context of the work; the same can be said of Poe even more. Consider, too, that in the literary circles of the time, one wrote for the admiration of one's literary friends as well as for that of the public.
The microscopist, of course -- particularly the microscopist interested in the history of his instrument -- will notice the story's liberal use of specialist information in his field. Anyone who makes a living writing knows the necessity of research -- of becoming a plausible "temporary expert" in whatever discipline is necessary to the story or article. A bit of study of The Diamond Lens reveals that O'Brien researched the field of microscopy more than well enough for the purposes of his story. It seems, to me at least, that he had an actual interest and some solid education in the sciences, particularly if he "tossed off" The Diamond Lens in a continuous fit of creativity. While he could have written the major portion of the story at one stretch and researched specific details later, we will see that the item of specialist knowledge most central to the story is also the item most unlikely to be in the body of knowledge of the pure layman, although every writer cherishes the acquisition of obscure facts ( vide the present article!). Remember, too, that for all the Yankee expertise in technology, pure science was in the hands of the Europeans in the 1850's. Such microscopes as existed in the U.S. at the time were almost entirely of French, German or English manufacture, and were comparatively rare. Surely Fitz would have had to have gone to some length even in New York City at the time to find men who could inform him on the current state of the microcopic art, not to mention the latest biological bones of contention and rivalries which are mentioned in the story.
Early in the story we are met with an array of microscope makers: Field, Higham, Spencer and Natchet. Higham is unknown to me, and I have not located any references to the firm, although this certainly does not mean it did not exist. One possibility is that this was a jobbing firm, or an agent who sold others' instruments under its own name -- not an uncommon practise. If so, it might indicate sloppiness on O'Brien's part, but the many other indications of a solid background which O'Brien supplies militate against this conclusion.
"Linley the Microscopist" chose Spencer's Trunnion Microscope, and he chose well. A sprawling, massive instrument introduced in the early 1850's, the Trunnion Microscope had the stability of a small planet, and optics which included arguably the best objectives in the world at that time.
The first commercial microscope manufactured on this side of the atlantic was that of Charles A. Spencer (1813-1881), an autodidact living in the "backwoods" of New York State who sold his first production instrument to a Dr. Gillman of West Point, N.Y. in the early fall of 1847. This early example of his work obviously owes a great deal to the designs of Chevalier and Pritchard, but Spencer had brought optical quality to a standard which was seldom equalled by European makers.
Spencer, who had already produced some very outstanding objectives almost as a hobby, had made the instrument to challenge a scope which had been made for the good doctor by Chevalier. Apparently the comparison proved favorable to Spencer, who was encouraged by Gillman, his friend the noted American microscopist Prof. J. W. Bailey (who had introduced him to Gillman) and others to set up in the business. Thus was founded the first of the great American microscope-makers.
It is entirely in character with O'Brien's intense patriotism toward his adopted country that his fictional character should have chosen an American instrument, even had it not been among the very finest available. O'Brien became a naturalised citizen as quickly as he could after immigrating to this country, and went to considerable trouble to serve with Federal forces in the Civil War.
O'Brien's protagonist Linley acquires numerous accessories as well as his microscope from "Pike, the celebrated optician," and the list of apparatus is entirely plausible. Fitz certainly spent some time visiting optical shops, and Pike's was a logical one to spend some time in. Benjamin Pike set up shop at 518 Broadway, N.Y. in 1851 and in 1859 was joined by his son, Benjamin Jr. Later (1881) the firm became Benjamin Pike Sons & Co. Although examples of instruments signed "Pike, Maker" are extant, it is generally agreed that the firm was one of the jobbers who imported unsigned instruments from Europe and engraved their names on them -- sort of "store-brand" microscopes. While this practise seems close to deceptive marketing, it was not looked down upon greatly at the time, although many firms which served as agents -- Queen & Co. for example -- honestly added their name as agent to the already-signed stand by the actual maker. In the latter case, of course, Queen & Co. manufactured microscopes on their own account as well as serving as agents for others.
So much for "Linley's" equipment. As to the two biological controversies which were settled by Linley -- that of the monads of Volvox globator and the "rotation in cells and hairs of plants"-- these were in fact hot biological topics of the time, well covered in the literature. Perhaps O'Brien's circle of friends included a biologist who might have provided awareness of these issues and other informational assistance. However, both of these matters were written of in the microscopy texts of the times.
The second edition of Jabez Hogg's "The Micrscope: Its History etc." (1855) discusses the matter of Ehrenberg and the "monads" of Volvox, and the case of the optical illusion of rotation caused by the cilia of the Rotatoria. When I first read the Diamond Lens several decades ago, I thought that the latter was the "singular problem of rotation" putatively resolved by Linley as his second early accomplishment, but on closer reading it is "the singular problem of rotation in the cells and hairs of plants (resolved ) into ciliary attraction" which concerned Linley. This, I assume, refers to cytoplasmic streaming, which is mentioned in connexion with plant hair cells by Asa Gray, the preeminent botanist of his day whose textbooks were widely available and popular in O'Brien's era. I am unaware of any controversy on the subject involving Wenham, however. Although I have not read the paper, perhaps Seifriz' 1943 publication, "Protoplasmic Streaming" (Botanical Reviews 9:49-123) could throw some light on the history of the subject.
To the reading public of O'Brien's time, even the educated reading public, these were surely very arcane controversies, and O'Brien could have got along fine with his story without their inclusion. But just as he places real opticians and real instruments in his story, he provides a hint of a "real" bibliography for Linley as well.
There is a clear demonstration of knowledge of a certain amount of optical physics on the part of the author.The magnifying power of suspended drops of water is and was well known, so the demonstration by Linley's cousin of the simple microscope made from a sheet of copper could be derived from an actual event of O'Brien's childhood. However, construction of such an instrument is mentioned by Hogg and by practically everyone else who wrote a mid-nineteenth century microscopical text. As to the Young Linley's later acquisition of a "Field's simple microscope," this would have been easier for a youth in the UK (Field's being located in Birmingham) than the States, but all microscopes for sale in the States originated on the other side of the Atlantic. It seems entirely possible that the young O'Brien could have actually possessed one in his youth in the UK. Certainly, O'Brien's family had the wherewithal to provide young Fitz with such an instrument if he had shown an interest in the subject
More impressive is O'brien's well-considered choice of a diamond as the substance of his fictional instrument. With a refractive index of 2.47, diamond is a logical place to start. However, even this is not enough: the diamond must be subjected to the electric current. This little touch eliminates artificial realgar (R.I. 2.549) as an alternative candidate, even if the spirit of Leeuwenhoek had known the respective refractive indices and had wished to save the hapless Linley from committing murder. But then we wouldn't have had such a good story, would we?
The nicest touch -- from a microscopist's point of view -- is Linley's pointing out the problem of total internal reflection in such a system. Here, O'Brien is stepping into concepts not quite so commonly known as the water-drop lens. Total internal reflection is not, I believe, explicitly discussed in Hogg, but it is covered very early in Carpenter & Dallinger ( 11th ed., 1901) and I presume in earlier editions of Carpenter which extend back to O'Brien's time. Hogg does give a comparison of refractive indices of various materials, of which diamond is the highest mentioned.
And besides, diamond makes a better title and nessitates a crucial plot element.
In addition to real physics, there is one final reality that exists in The Diamond Lens, and that is a real interest in the subject of microscopy. O'Brien demonstrates a consideration of the everyday practical problems of microscopy -- coating the fateful drop of water with oil of turpentine was particularly good. But to my mind, the author is quite possibly describing a real enthusiasm when he writes:
The dull veil of ordinary existence that hung across the world seemed suddenly to roll away, and to lay bare a land of enchantments. I felt towards my companions as the seer might feel towards the ordinary masses of men. I held conversations with Nature in a tongue which they could not understand. I was in daily communication with living wonders, such as they never imagined in their wildest visions. I penetrated beyond the external portal of things, and roamed through the sanctuaries. Where they beheld only a drop of rain slowly rolling down the window-glass, I saw a universe of beings animated with all the passions common to physical life, and convulsing their minute sphere with struggles as fierce and protracted as those of men. In the common spots of mould, which my mother, good housekeeper that she was, fiercely scooped away from her jam pots, there abode for me, under the name of mildew, enchanted gardens, filled with dells and avenues of the densest foliage and most astonishing verdure, while from the fantastic boughs of these microscopic forests hung strange fruits glittering with green and silver and gold.
It was no scientific thirst that at this time filled my mind. It was the pure enjoyment of a poet to whom a world of wonders has been disclosed. I talked of my solitary pleasures to none. Alone with my microscope, I dimmed my sight, day after day and night after night poring over the marvels which it unfolded to me. I was like one who, having discovered the ancient Eden still existing in all its primitive glory, should resolve to enjoy it in solitude, and never betray to mortal the secret of its locality.The rod of my life was bent at this moment. I destined myself to be a microscopist.
Did O'Brien spend many of his evenings at the microscope? Probably not, but it seems he had spent a few. The question is unimportant, anyway. But speculating on the genesis and development of a short story within its cultural context, including the author's experience, is always an interesting exercise. The success of The Diamond Lens as early science fiction/fantasy clearly shows the period's fascination with then-new technologies, and parallels the fictional and not-so-fictional accounts of rampaging viruses and genetically-engineered horrors which hold a high place in book sales today.
Another popular fascination of the day is exploited by the author in the character of Madame Vulpes. The phenomenon of Spiritism was in the fore of the popular mind at the time. The Fox Sisters of New York State had created a sensation with their "spirit rappings" around 1847, and numerous practitioners of that art had cheerfully presented themselves to meet the pressing need of a public eager to converse with the departed. The Fox Sisters themselves made a good thing of it for a while, but by the time one of the sisters admitted that the whole thing had started because they were bored with rural life and had created the first "phenomena" as a prank, it was too late. People eager to believe in their charade simply would not let the Fox girls be fakes! The enthusiasm for "spirit rapping" spread around the globe, and ultimately Spiritism counted intellectuals such as Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and scientists such as Charles Richet and Sir Oliver Lodge among its adherents.
Obviously, O'Brien knew how to write copy that sold, but on another level the story also epitomises the most fascinating characteristic of the Victorian era: maintaining the impetus of Romanticism in a world becoming powerfully technological. To Linley, the technology with which he hoped to create great good for the world became the agent of his personal destruction -- not an uncommon theme in literature, or for that matter, in reality.
Surely, O'Brien could not help but contemplate the result of his character's realisation of the unsuspected dark underside of the vision of that most mystical Romantic, William Blake:
To see a World in a grain of sand,
And a Heaven in a wild flower,
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand,
And Eternity in an hour.
Copyright 1997 Harry C. Brown
Comments, questions and submissions relating to Antique Microscopy are welcome. Some tediously practical scholars will no doubt point out the triviality of writing a paper such as this; from you I don't wish to hear. I enjoyed doing it, and that's that.
