What did Cleopatra and Darwin have in common?

In 1831, whilst the November Uprising was raging in Poland, a young theology graduate fascinated by nature – Charles Darwin – boarded the small but nimble ship HMS Beagle. It was customary for the British Navy at the time to name ships after animals, and beagles, spotted hounds, were known for their tenacity and intelligence. The name proved prophetic. The Beagle ploughed its way through storms, reefs and equators with determination, and its crew brought back unexpected, valuable finds.

During the voyage, Darwin noticed in the Galápagos that the same finches had different beaks on different islands. In Patagonia, he unearthed fossils of enormous mammals that looked a bit like modern sloths in an XXL version. In Brazil and southern Chile, he collected plants that no one in Europe had ever heard of before. For example, the tricolour nasturtium (Tropaeolum tricolor) – a striking, three-coloured climbing plant with flowers shaped like intricate Chinese kites. Among the wild plants of the Amazon, he came across the sensitive plant (Mimosa pudica), which folds its leaves when touched. These discoveries led him to view nature, its forces and processes, in a manner very different from what had previously been accepted.

Darwin did not devise the theory of evolution on board the Beagle. It took him years to piece everything together. It was not until 1859 that he published On the Origin of Species – a book that turned the world of contemporary biology, theology and the sense of human uniqueness on its head.

A true explorer never ceases his quest for knowledge. In his 70s, Charles turned his attention and scientific rigour towards… earthworms. His research into earthworms, conducted in his own garden (and living room), was an extension of the central question that had accompanied him throughout his life – how nature works and what within it is 'intentional' and what is not. He was interested in how earthworms shape the soil and contribute to natural processes, but more importantly, he wanted to see how 'low' down the evolutionary chain one could find signs of conscious action.

With his characteristic meticulousness, he decided to test whether earthworms possess intellect. Can they make decisions? Do they have preferences? He would lay out food on pieces of aluminium foil on the ground in his garden so that the earthworms would not stumble upon it by chance, but would have to sniff it out. His notes suggest that they were fond of wild cherries and carrots, and that raw fat was preferred to raw meat – 'judging by their enthusiasm for certain types of food, they must derive pleasure from eating,' he wrote.

Although earthworms have no ears, Darwin wanted to test whether they could hear. He whistled above their heads with a metal whistle, his son played the bassoon, and he himself shouted at the pots. The result? None, unless his breath blew against their bodies – then they moved. But when he placed the pots containing the earthworms on the piano and began to play at full volume, they immediately started wriggling. The conclusion? They cannot hear, but they can feel. Vibrations.

In his final and best-selling book, *The Formation of Soil from Vegetable Matter through the Activity of Earthworms*, the father of evolutionary theory reached a surprising conclusion. Earthworms, though 'low in the hierarchy of organisms', demonstrate the ability to learn, adapt and act purposefully.

The usefulness of these "landscape architects", as Charles Darwin called them, had been noted centuries earlier. Aristotle called them "the bowels of the earth". Three hundred years later, the Queen of Egypt – Cleopatra VII Philopator – is said to have regarded them as sacred and forbidden their export from the country on pain of death.

In ancient Egypt, where the life of the entire state depended on the Nile floods and the fertility of the soil, earthworms may have been more valuable than they seem. Unfortunately, there is no evidence that such a law actually existed. No clear records have been found in historical texts confirming that Cleopatra did indeed place earthworms under her protection. The story of the sanctity of earthworms, though often cited in articles, blogs, and even in serious texts, remains more of an anecdotal illustration of ancient civilisations' respect for the cycles of nature than a fact. Although farmers and gardeners have noted since the dawn of time that soils rich in earthworms yield better crops, it was only Darwin's meticulous 19th-century research that gave us a solid scientific basis for understanding why this is so.