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PDF American Eden David Hosack Botany and Medicine in The Garden of The Early Republic First Liveright Paperback Edition Hosack Ebook Full Chapter
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For my parents, who love cities and gardens,
—ALEXIS DE TOCQUEVILLE,
NEW YORK CITY,
MAY 1831
CONTENTS
To the Reader
Prologue
...
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Notes
Sources and Bibliography
Illustration Credits
Index
TO THE READER
HOSACK WAS BORN IN 1769 and grew up under the British occupation
of New York City during the Revolutionary War. He came of age just
when the newly independent nation was most in need of his energy,
intellect, and prodigious talent for organizing other people. The
Founding Fathers had secured American independence and framed a
new government. Now it fell to Hosack’s generation to build the civic
institutions that would guarantee the future health and prosperity of
the Republic. Hosack devoted himself to this challenge his whole
adult life.
Hosack was a complex figure. Although he relished family life and
was affectionate with his many children, he pursued endless civic
causes that tore him away from home. He loved remarking that the
more a man took on, the more he accomplished every day. He slept
as little as possible, avoided alcohol, and flirted with vegetarianism.
He could be fiercely competitive one moment and generous the
next. He cared deeply about his fellow Americans and spent his
entire life trying to help them, but he could also be vain and
snobbish. As a young doctor, he enjoyed warm relationships with
several eminent mentors who loved him like a son, yet he didn’t
hesitate to break publicly with their antiquated medical theories—for
which they forgave him.
Hosack devoted his life to bettering his nation, but he insisted on
staying out of party politics, even when his friends tried to persuade
him to run for office. He believed being a good doctor depended on
neutrality. He enjoyed lifelong friendships with famous men who
admired him while hating one another. He revered Alexander
Hamilton and was shattered by his death in the 1804 duel. But
Hosack was so close to Aaron Burr that after the duel he remained in
touch with Burr throughout the years of his disgrace and exile.
Hosack even sent one of his younger brothers, William Hosack, to
Europe as Burr’s traveling companion. While they were abroad,
Hosack cared for Burr’s adored daughter, Theodosia, during a
terrible illness, keeping her father apprised of her condition in
frequent letters.
Hosack’s twin passions were medicine and nature. He was
fascinated by the human body and saw it as an unknown country
whose mysterious terrain called for intrepid new explorers. As a
young medical student he risked his life to defend the controversial
practice of corpse dissection because he knew it was the best
chance doctors had to understand the diseases that killed Americans
in droves every year. He became a mesmerizing public speaker and
one of the most beloved medical professors in the United States,
drawing crowds of students who hung on his every word and wrote
down even his jokes in their notebooks. He performed surgeries
never before documented on American soil and advocated smallpox
vaccination at a time when many people were terrified of the idea.
He pioneered the use of the stethoscope in the United States shortly
after its invention in France in 1816. He published one innovative
medical study after another—on breast cancer, anthrax, tetanus,
obstetrics, the care of surgical wounds, and dozens of other
subjects. In the early twentieth century, a medical journal paid
tribute to Hosack’s many contributions by noting that “there is
perhaps no one person in the nineteenth century to whom New York
medicine is more deeply or widely indebted than to this learned,
faithful, generous, liberal man.”
Yet although Hosack found surgery vital and exciting, he was
convinced that saving lives also depended on knowing the natural
world outside the human body. As a young man, he studied
medicine and botany in Great Britain, and he returned to the United
States convinced that it was at their intersection that Americans
would find the most promising new treatments for the diseases that
regularly swept the country. Hosack talked and wrote constantly
about the natural riches that covered the unexplored North American
continent. The health of the young nation, he argued, would depend
on the health of its citizens, and thus on the skill of its doctors in
using plants to prevent and treat illness. The political strength of the
young nation would depend on its self-sufficiency, and thus on the
ability of its farmers to select and raise the hardiest and most
nourishing crops. The dignity of the young nation would depend on
showing haughty Europe that the New World was abundantly
blessed with natural wealth and scientific talent.
After the night he saved Philip Hamilton’s life with the help of a
medicinal plant—Peruvian bark—Hosack spent every spare second
launching the new nation’s first botanical garden. He lobbied friends,
colleagues, and politicians for the financial support he needed to buy
land, build greenhouses, hire gardeners, and collect plants from all
over the continent and the world. Many people around him could not
grasp what he was trying to do. Some mocked him publicly. He
founded the garden anyway, at great expense to himself, eventually
spending on it more than a million in today’s dollars. He named his
garden the Elgin Botanic Garden, after his father’s hometown of
Elgin, Scotland. Over the next decade, he assembled a collection of
plants so diverse that his species lists make some of the most
accomplished American botanists today shake their heads in
amazement.
Many people now think of a botanical garden above all as a
beautiful place to spend a day, but Hosack was driven by a much
more urgent mission. All around him adults and children were dying
of diseases whose causes no one knew—yellow fever, scarlet fever,
typhus, consumption, and others. The role of microbes in these
diseases would not be discovered until the late nineteenth century
and into the twentieth. When Hosack was a young man at the end of
the eighteenth century, doctors relied on explanations for health and
illness that made sense in their current frameworks. They argued
about spasms of the nervous system, excessive blood in the
circulatory system, jammed digestive tracts, and poisonous gases
emanating from swamps near towns. They shared anecdotal case
notes about their patients, but these couldn’t possibly amount to a
clear picture of the patterns and causes of illness and mortality.
Close inspections of damaged organs and tissues through autopsies
were one way doctors tried to discern how diseases executed their
deadly work—the word autopsy means “see for oneself”—yet corpse
dissections horrified many of Hosack’s contemporaries. Sometimes
available medicines and surgeries helped sick patients, but they
often failed to stop the progress of a disease—or they even
accelerated death. The discovery of new medicines was a scattershot
process of trial and error.
David Hosack, with his botanical garden in the distance
HOSACK’S LIFE SPANNED the precise moment when New York hovered
between a bucolic past that unfurled over rolling fields and a
cosmopolitan future spiked with tightly packed skyscrapers. In
Hosack’s New York, cows wandered the Bowery, Greenwich Village
was out of town, and the meadows of Harlem were filled with
medicinal plants. At the same time, the tensions that governed city
life in his era are familiar to many of us today, as old ways of
interacting with the natural world are transformed by human activity.
Hosack was an urban pioneer who sought to learn from and
celebrate nature in the face of skepticism and sometimes ridicule. He
invited citizen-scientists to help map our native plant species before
they were overrun by invasives. He called for a national system of
agricultural stations eighty years before one was actually
established. He advocated citywide tree planting for beauty and
public health even as his fellow citizens were razing forests to the
ground. He experimented with crops and medicinal plants just
beyond the city’s border. Today, people across the country and
around the world are similarly reinventing what it means to be a city
dweller. People are keeping bees in Brooklyn and farming in Detroit.
Hosack was the original urban gardener, experimenting with fruits
and vegetables by day and mingling with his cosmopolitan friends at
night.
His life tells the story of how Americans learned to think about
both the natural world and their own bodies, but it is also the story
of how one of the world’s greatest cities became just that. During
Hosack’s childhood, Philadelphia—not New York—was the undisputed
center of American culture and learning. New York was most famous
for its shameless commercialism. By the 1820s, when Hosack was in
his fifties, even the men in charge of Philadelphia’s great institutions
were conceding that New York had become the first city in the
nation for the arts, sciences, and philanthropy. Hosack was one of
the main forces in this change. In addition to creating the Elgin
Botanic Garden, which drew international attention and praise, he
founded or helped found many other civic institutions: the New-York
Historical Society, the city’s first museum of natural history, its first
art museum, its first literary society, its first school for the deaf and
mute, its first mental hospital, its first public schools, its first
subsidized pharmacy for the poor, its first obstetrics hospital, and a
homegrown version of the Royal Society of London.
The doctor who went down in history as a shadowy figure at the
edge of the Hamilton–Burr duel was in fact one of the most
influential Americans of his day. When he stood chatting with an
acquaintance on a street corner in lower Manhattan, a surprising
number of passersby would greet him by name. He was the kind of
man who could save a dying child in the morning, deliver a riveting
anatomy lecture in the afternoon, and throw a lavish party that
night. His talent and ambition brought him face-to-face with some of
the most interesting figures of his time. He socialized not only with
Hamilton and Burr but also with Washington Irving, Thomas Cole,
Clement Clarke Moore, Sir Joseph Banks, and the Marquis de
Lafayette. He shared his research on the American prison system
with Alexis de Tocqueville during the latter’s visit to the United
States, and he mentored a young medical student from Hyde Park
named Isaac Roosevelt—Franklin D. Roosevelt’s grandfather—at the
Elgin Botanic Garden. By the time Hosack retired to his stunning
Hudson River estate at Hyde Park (adjacent to the Roosevelt estate),
he had been elected to the Royal Society and was being sought out
in letters and visits by princes, presidents, and famous artists and
scientists.
Even in retirement Hosack continued to shape the way Americans
thought about nature. He was a champion of the Hudson River
School of painters, who did so much to romanticize the American
landscape and inspire generations of conservationists right down to
this day. The landscape design Hosack implemented at his Hyde Park
estate inspired the first professional landscape architect in American
history, Andrew Jackson Downing, who helped launch the careers of
Frederick Law Olmsted and Calvert Vaux, the designers of Central
Park. Hosack is a lost link between eighteenth-century naturalists’
formal, classificatory approach to nature and the artfully lush
landscapes bequeathed to us by Olmsted and Vaux and their heirs.
Hosack’s work influenced the way generations of younger
Americans thought about nature, but his life also alters our inherited
picture of the two elder statesmen who were his friends and his
most famous patients—Alexander Hamilton and Aaron Burr. Thanks
to the painstaking work of historians, we now know a great deal
about how passionate Washington, Adams, Jefferson, and Madison
were about botany (the study of plants) and horticulture (the art and
science of cultivating plants). Hosack’s relationships with Hamilton
and Burr reveal that these two rivals—men whom we regard above
all as political animals—were also fascinated by the natural world in
general and plants in particular.
Burr shared Hosack’s interest in medical botany, considering it so
critical to the education of his young daughter, Theodosia, that he
mailed her study questions on the topic while he was serving in the
Senate in the 1790s. Like Hosack, Burr sensed that American
progress in identifying and conquering specific diseases would come
through sustained inquiry into the medical properties of plants.
Hamilton, too, was interested in botany and horticulture. When he
was laying out his country estate near Harlem in the first few years
of the nineteenth century, he stopped at the Elgin Botanic Garden to
talk with Hosack, who gave him plant cuttings and gardening advice.
Burr’s and Hamilton’s shared interest in the study of the natural
world allied them in support of an effort to found a museum of
natural history in New York City, a campaign that unfolded from May
to early July 1804—thus during the weeks of heated dispute that
culminated in the infamous July 11 duel. Hamilton’s life story ended
with that duel, but Hosack’s relationship with Burr continued. As Burr
retreated from the national political stage, his interest in botany and
natural history blossomed further. After he fled to Europe in 1808, he
made stops at many of the continent’s great gardens and arranged
for specimens to be sent to Hosack for the Elgin Botanic Garden.
Seeing the world of the early Republic through Hosack’s eyes
changes the way we see the infancy of our nation. It shows us that
nature was a constant and vivid presence not only for wealthy
Virginia planters and homespun New England farmers. In the very
heart of New York City, even gentlemen unmoved by the thought of
striding in high summer through a sea of goldenrod could lapse
happily into the minute examination of a single specimen on a library
table. Through Hosack’s eyes, we see Americans turning to nature
for food, beauty, and the raw materials of commerce—but now we
also see them placing in the natural world their best hopes for the
discovery of lifesaving medicines. For Hosack and his circle, nature
meant not only the continent’s forests and prairies but also the
humblest weed plucked from a ditch along Broadway and shoved in
the pocket of an errant child.
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jouissons sont bien douces, et j’en bénis Dieu tous les jours ; tous
les jours, je me trouve heureuse d’avoir des bois, des eaux, des
prés, des moutons, des poules qui pondent, de vivre enfin dans mon
joli et tranquille Cayla avec une famille qui m’aime. Qu’y a-t-il de plus
doux au monde ?
Il ne nous manque que toi, cher membre que le corps réclame.
Quand t’aurons-nous ? Rien ne paraît s’arranger pour cela. Ainsi,
nous passerons la vie sans nous voir. C’est triste, mais résignons-
nous à tout ce que Dieu veut ou permet. J’aime beaucoup la
Providence qui mène si bien toutes choses et nous dispense de
nous inquiéter des événements de ce monde. Un jour nous saurons
tout ; un jour je saurai pourquoi nous sommes séparés, nous deux
qui voudrions être ensemble. Rapprochons-nous, mon ami,
rapprochons-nous de cœur et de pensée en nous écrivant l’un à
l’autre. Cette communication est bien douce, ces épanchements
soulagent, purifient même l’âme comme une eau courante emporte
son limon.
Pour moi, je me trouve mieux après que je me suis laissée couler
ici. Je dis ici, parce que j’y laisse l’intime, sans trop regarder ce que
c’est, même sans le savoir quelquefois. Ce qui se passe en moi
m’est inconnu à certains moments ; ignorance sans doute de l’être
humain. J’ai si peu vu, si peu connu en bien comme en mal !
Cependant, je ne suis pas un enfant. J’aime bien d’écrire à Louise,
mais ce n’est pas comme à toi ; d’ailleurs, mes lettres sont vues et le
cœur n’est pas un livre qu’on veuille ouvrir au public. Merci donc
d’aimer ma correspondance, de me donner le plaisir innocent et tout
fraternel de te dire bien souvent que je t’aime de cette affection vive,
tendre et pure, qui vient de la charité. C’est ainsi qu’on s’aime bien ;
c’est ainsi que Jésus-Christ nous a aimés et veut que nous aimions
nos frères.
Le 27. — Rien ici depuis plusieurs jours ; mais j’ai bien écrit
ailleurs, car je me sens le besoin de me répandre quelque part, j’ai
fait cela avec Louise et devant Dieu : pour se consoler, rien de mieux
que la foi pour l’âme, l’amitié pour le cœur. Tu sais ce qui m’attriste,
c’est de penser que tu as été bien malade, que tu l’es encore. Qui
sait ? à cent lieues de distance ! Mon Dieu, que cet éloignement fait
souffrir ! Je ne puis pas même savoir où tu es, et je voudrais tout
savoir. Le cœur en peine se fait bien désireux et bien souffrant.
Voilà ma journée : ce matin à la messe, écrire à Louise, lire un
peu, et puis dans ma chambrette. Oh ! je ne dis pas tout ce que j’y
fais. J’ai des fleurs dans un gobelet ; j’en ai longtemps regardé deux
dont l’une penchait sur l’autre qui lui ouvrait son calice. C’était doux
à considérer et à se représenter, l’épanchement de l’amitié dans ces
deux petites fleurettes. Ce sont des stellaires, petites fleurs blanches
à longue tige des plus gracieuses de nos champs. On les trouve le
long des haies, parmi le gazon. Il y en a dans le chemin du moulin, à
l’abri d’un tertre tout parsemé de leurs petites têtes blanches. C’est
ma fleur de prédilection. J’en ai mis devant notre image de la Vierge.
Je voudrais qu’elles y fussent quand tu viendras, et te faire voir les
deux fleurs amies. Douce image qui des deux côtés est charmante
quand je pense qu’une sœur est fleur de dessous. Je crois, mon
ami, que tu ne diras pas non. Cher Maurice, nous allons nous voir,
nous entendre ! Ces cinq ans d’absence vont se retrouver dans nos
entretiens, nos causeries, nos dires de tout instant.