Brother Gregory: Gene One

by John Hulme



  Brother Gregory: Gene One

  Being the fictionalized story of Brother Gregor Mendel; monk, scientist and the discoverer of genetics.

  How Mendel delivers his famous lecture and first tells the world about genetics.

  by

  John Hulme

  scholar

  Copyright 2014 John Hulme

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

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  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Afterword

  About the Author

  Footnotes

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  Chapter One

  A cold night in Brno

  It was cold. February in Brno [see footnote] is a cruel, bitter month when the winds from the Carpathian Mountains curl around the Austro-Hungarian Empire seeking out the unprotected. Gray streets, gray stone houses and a gray sky blended seamlessly into one another, as they had done all day. From Vienna to the small farmsteads of northern Moravia around Krnov, the winter of 1865 had been a particularly brutal one. Snow-laden storm after snow-laden storm had tracked out of the mountains carried by the perpetual wind. Attendance at the monthly meeting of the Brno Society of Natural Sciences would be small that evening.

  Thomas Makytta pulled his coat tightly around him and started to cross Nadrazni Street. He had been waiting, and sheltering, in the Brno hlavni nadrazi train station for over an hour, but it was now time to move. A retired schoolteacher from Heinzendorf, a tiny, one-square village of 72 households in Moravian Silesia, he did not have enough money for a carriage, even if one of the miserable nags outside the station had been willing to move. So he started to walk.

  This journey had started the day before, when the whole village had turned out to say good-bye. As is the case in small communities, everyone knew he was going on a train journey to Brno, the regional capitol south and west of their village. To the farmers of the Beskydy region even the nearest town of Olomouc, less than 30 kilometers away was a distant, frightening place and Brno was way beyond their most vivid imaginings. None of them had ever traveled, or would ever travel, more than a league from home in their entire lives. But for Makytta, this was a journey he had to make, whatever the cost. He was going to see and hear his star pupil give his first major scientific presentation.

  He had not gone more than a few steps when he heard a voice call out behind him. "Herr Makytta, Herr Makytta."

  He turned to see a well protected, round figure hurrying towards him across Hadrazni Street from the direction of the Petrov hill.

  "Herr Makytta? Welcome, I'm Brother Matthew from the Monastery, Brother Gregory asked me to come and meet you." The speaker was a man of medium height, round of body and face with dark brown eyes and long furrows across his forehead. Wild grey hair was escaping from under his hood. He was wearing heavy boots and a woolen cape pulled up tight around his neck. "Did you have a good journey?"

  Makytta nodded. "The train from Heinzendorf was slow, but warm and I was able to get food at Prerov."

  Brother Matthew looked at his guest. He saw a small man in his late 70's with a wide face and an open countenance. Age sat well on him. Although long retired from his duties as schoolmaster in the local village school of Heinzendorf, Thomas Makytta had not slowed down and continued to take a strong interest in all his pupils, past and present.

  Since his appointment in 1796, Thomas Makytta had always taught large classes in a strong, capable manner. Children had to be given different lessons according to their age and sometimes, when students could not pay the small fee for a class, they helped out in the school garden, or Makytta's own fields. Helped when ever possible by the local priest, Father Schreiber, Makytta had included basic natural history among the subjects he taught. Father Schreiber had once worked at the Kunin Philanthropinum where he had been instrumental in founding a fruit-tree nursery. Jointly the two men they liked to think that they had been somewhat influential in directing their star pupil, Johann Mendel, into a life long interest in the sciences.

  "Come," said the monk striding off across the main street, "we must get to the Realschule. The meeting starts in less than an hour. I was late. I apologize."

  "Not at all," mumbled Makytta hurrying after his guide, risking his neck as the two of them braved the hazardous cobbles that lined Masaryhova Street. Normally this main thoroughfare was crowded with people making their way up to Namesti Svobody, the central square of Brno, but today it was almost deserted. Even the hardy Czechs stayed in doors on days like this, so the two men had an unobstructed view of the Capuchin Crypt as they crossed Josefska and continued north.

  "That's the St. Peter and St. Paul Cathedral," said Brother Matthew pointing to the imposing church on the Petrov hill to their left. Makytta obligingly looked at the needle-sharp Gothic spires that could hardly be missed, for they dominated the skyline for miles around. "During the thirty years war," Brother Matthew continued, "the Swedish general Tortennson besieged our town, but after fruitless months of getting nowhere, he declared that he would give up at mid-day if the town had not surrendered. Our bell-ringer, bless his name, seeing that the town was about to collapse, rang the mid-day bell an hour early. The Swedes gave up their siege and the city was saved. A grateful Habsburg emperor rewarded Brno by making it the capital of Moravia, or so the story goes." He said it with a shrug.

  At the junction with Namesti Svobody square, the two men took a sharp right turn onto Janska Street and walked in the direction of the Loreto Chapel. Continuing his history lesson, Brother Matthew said, "The Realschule, where we are going, was opened in 1851, largely as a result of the efforts of Dr Auspitz, who you will be meeting. He, and Zawadski have had a lot to do with making the Natural History Society a big success, we have over 170 members now, and the number is still growing."

  As they turned the corner, out of the wind, they almost bumped into a small group of men huddled outside the school building where the meeting was to take place. Brother Matthew greeted them warmly, but to a man the group collectively scowled back; the monk was not someone of whom the good German burgers of Brno approved. Brother Matthew Klacel was a known agitator, a Czech nationalist and had stirred up trouble and controversy more than once. But after giving the pair some black looks, they went on with their own conversation. Makytta heard them speak.

  "Bismarck [see footnote] will move against us soon," said one, and the others nodded in agreement.

  These were troubled times in eastern Europe. Just the year before, 1864, the Iron Chancellor of the German Confederation had marched his new Prussian Army into war with Denmark. That tiny country had collapsed almost without a fight, and the Duchies of Schleswig and Holstein had been added to the growing territories controlled by Prussia. Even in the hamlets of Moravia, Makytta knew that the Austrian Empire would be next. He hurried after the monk and inside the school.

  Despite the climate, the spartan building was not heated. The new Realschule on Janska Street had been built by local industrialists in 1859, and they had not wished to spoil their students with too much distracting luxury. In the corridors the temperature was the same as it was outside, but at least the cutting wind stayed hammering on the outside o
f the thin window glass. Makytta followed the sound of voices to the lighted room where the meeting was to be held. Entering the auditorium he saw a janitor carrying a scuttle of coals to a small potbellied stove. It would not help. Nobody would be taking off their coats that evening.

  By the door he caught up with the monk. Brother Matthew was sniffing the air and examining the group of men that had already arrived. "That's Schwippel," he said, pointing to an undistinguished, slightly nervous looking man who was hurrying around the room making agitated gestures. "He's the secretary of our Society, and a natural history teacher at the Brno Gymnasium." (a type of school). He looked around some more.

  "Over there," he pointed to a group of three men, "the tall one with the dark coat, that's Zawadski, he's secretary to the committee and the real brains behind our little group. Without him I doubt we would have ever broken away from the Agricultural Society in '61."

  Makytta looked puzzled, so Brother Matthew explained, "Until quite recently, the Brno Natural History Society was only a subsection of the Agricultural Society, but in '59 we came up with our own constitution, and in '61 or was it '62, we broke away and became independent." Klacel made it sound like the whole thing had been his idea, but then Brother Matthew liked revolutionary movements, and even the breakaway of the Society from its founding group was the sort of action of which he strongly approved.

  With a grin, Brother Matthew threw in a tidbit of gossip, "Zawadski is a physicist and he used to teach at Lemberg University, but, for reasons I cannot tell you, he was deprived of his professorial chair in 1852 or 53, and if it wasn't for Auspitz, he would be out of a job now. But Auspitz hired him to teach in the Realschule in '54, and everyone agrees it was an inspired hiring."

  "I don't see Count von Mittrowski however," he went on, "probably has more sense than to come out on a day like this. He's the President, but we won't see him tonight. Over there, though," he pointed again, "that's Theimer. He's our current vice president and a pharmacist here in Brno. He comes to all our meetings." Then he turned back to his guest.

  "But, I'm forgetting, you came to see Brother Gregory, didn't you?"

  "Yes, yes indeed," Makytta replied, nodding and wondering where his famous pupil was.

  Brother Matthew smiled at the teacher. "I was so glad you could come. It is not often that someone from Hranice is honored in this way." Being an advocate for all things Czech, Klacel had used the Czech name for Mendel's village. "I think you will enjoy seeing Johann Mendel again. But I must warn you, he is not he boy you and Father Schreiber had in your classes. But in other ways he is still the same. He still gets ill every time he takes examinations." At this the pair laughed, Mendel was notorious for failing examinations and becoming ill as a result.

  Has he changed that much? wondered Makytta, thinking back to the thin son of a peasant farmer who had presented himself at the schoolhouse door in 1832. Anton Mendel, the father, had been born in Heinzendorf (as Makytta still liked to think of it because most of the villagers considered themselves ethnic Germans) in 1789 and was a veteran of the Napoleonic wars. Mendel's son, named Johann, had been born on July 22, 1822, and the family had made many sacrifices to get him an education, starting with the village school built and begun by Mendel's great uncle, A. Schwirtlich.

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  Chapter Two

  Enter the Speaker

  Few families, in those days, could afford to educate their children, but Johann had been Anton's only male child and his father had wanted him to succeed. In Thomas Makytta's school, the young Mendel had been an outstanding pupil, and had quickly impressed his two teachers. Schoolteacher Makytta and Father Schreiber soon took notice of young Mendel, and felt it their duty to inform his parents of their gifted child. Without telling Anton Mendel, they sent Johann to the Piarist school in Leipnik, about 25 kilometers from the village, to have him tested. The results were outstanding. Consequently a nervous Johann Mendel entered third grade in 1833 and in the following year moved to the Gymnasium in Opava, which was located even further from home.

  Thomas Makytta could still remember the heartache this move had caused Mendel's family. His father was in debt, was paying off a loan that he had taken to build his house, and worked three days a week for his landlord, this being an obligation in the feudal Habsburg Empire. To supplement his cash income, Anton Mendel used his team of horses, unique in his village at that time, to cart lime from a nearby kiln. But, even so, there was little money left over to educate their son in distant Opava. An ever-hungry Johann could only be offered half-board and his bed, but his mother regularly sent him produce from the farm. Mendel would only see his family, and his two teachers, on holidays when he would make the laborious 36 kilometer journey back to Heinzendorf.

  At the end of each term, the rapidly maturing Mendel would bring home his grades, and proudly show his family the excellent results he was obtaining in subjects such as meteorology and philosophy. This partially reassured Anton and supported his hard decision to educate Johann, for, by now, he had almost given up the idea of his son every taking over the farm. It also made it easier for Johann to give lessons to his less gifted school friends, and so supplement his very meager existence.

  Young Mendel spent six years in Opava, under less than ideal conditions. When, towards the end, things got worse. Makytta vividly remembered the series of disasters that struck Heinzendorf and the Mendel family when Johann was only sixteen. Bad harvests left Anton completely unable to support his son and the only way Mendel could continue his education was if he provided for himself. Fortunately he was able to take a course for School Candidates and Private Teachers, pass an examination and get a strong recommendation. So, for the rest of his time in Opava, Mendel earned a pitiful living as a private tutor.

  Just before he graduated from the Gymnasium, the load on young Johann's shoulders became heavier. Working in his landlord's forest, Anton Mendel suffered a serious injury and at Whitsuntide summoned his son home for the rest of the year. Even so, Mendel finished at the Opava Gymnasium, and graduated in 1840.

  Although he desperately wanted to continue his education, and indeed registered for classes at the Philosophy Institute in Olomouc, he could not find a means to support himself and he fell sick. Father Schreiber helped him return home and 18 year old Johann spent the next year recovering his health on the family farm. It was during this time that Makytta frequently saw the village priest and the serious student working together in the fruit-tree nursery.

  Countess Truchsess-Zeil wanted to improve the stamina and the yield of the fruit trees grown by her villagers, but centuries of tradition had prevented the local farmers from accepting the new fangled varieties she had obtained from France. Father Schreiber, knowing his parishioners well, had issued orders, in the name of the Countess, that the new fruit-tree seedlings were to be strictly guarded and that anyone caught stealing them would be severely punished. Within a few days, all the seedlings had vanished and the villagers grew them and their descendants for many years - with greatly improved results.

  After a year at home, and with his health restored, Mendel continued his studies in the natural sciences at the Philosophical Institute at Olomouc. He needed two years of preparation in 'philosophical study' before he could enter any University in the Habsburg Empire, and by now Mendel knew that he wanted to go to University more than anything.

  There were, however, two major problems; his father was no longer able to work, because of the old injury, and Mendel could speak no Czech. Olomouc was a town were Czech was the dominant language, and his deficiency made it almost impossible for him to teach and so earn a living. Once again he was destitute and unable to pay for the next phase of his education.

  Fortunately his elder sister had just married and the newly weds agreed to take over the family farm. As part of the agreement, Johann was given a 100 florins a year to continue his studies. Secr
etly his youngest sister also helped by offering him part of her dowry, an act of kindness Mendel was able to repay many years later when he supported all her three sons during their studies. Despite the generosity of his family, Mendel still had to teach for extra money, attend twenty hours of classes in a range of subjects, study and meet regularly with his tutors. Over the next two years the strain steadily became too much.

  Fortunately he had a talent for the study of physics. Professor Franz, who taught this subject, liked Mendel and looked for ways of helping him. Once, while working in Brno, Franz had stayed at the Augustinian monastery of Saint Thomas, and had been asked by the new and vigorous Abbot Cyrill Napp to keep an eye open for bright young students. In a letter dated July 14th, 1843, Franz recommended only one student; Johann Mendel.

  Following Franz's advice, Mendel finished his philosophical studies at Olomouc University and applied for admission as a novice in the Augustinian Monastery in Brno. The year was 1843. Financial worries had plagued him throughout his academic career, circumstances he could no longer fight now directed his vocational choice. So long as he fulfilled his clerical duties, the life of a monk at this particular monastery, would offer him the rare opportunity to devote himself to private study in a supportive atmosphere. He applied.

  Out of thirteen candidates, Mendel was shortlisted as one of four for the novitiate, and, despite his weakness in the Czech language, received strong recommendations. On September 7th, 1843, without even coming for the traditional interview, he was accepted into the Brno Monastery and on October 9th began both his novitiate and his new name - Gregor. The years of bitter struggle were behind him and he was now free him to continue his first love - science.

  Thomas Makytta's reminiscences were cut short by a flurry of activity at the doorway. A burst of cold air announced new arrivals.

  "Brother Gregory, Abbot Napp so good of you to come," Secretary Dr Schwippel hurried up to his guests. Makytta turned towards the voice. "Welcome, welcome," hurried on the Secretary, anxiously bobbing up and down. Abbot Napp was a well known and influential figure in Brno; his good opinion was vital to the natural history teacher. Also, it was hard to get speakers for the Society, especially in the middle of a harsh winter. "Come, warm up by the stove."