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diff --git a/30269-0.txt b/30269-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7c41b17 --- /dev/null +++ b/30269-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8577 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 30269 *** + +MY AUTOBIOGRAPHY + + [Illustration: _F. Max Müller Aged 4._] + + + + +MY AUTOBIOGRAPHY + +A FRAGMENT + + +BY THE + + +RT. HON. PROFESSOR F. MAX MÜLLER, K.M. + + +_WITH PORTRAITS_ + + +New York +CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS +1901 + + +COPYRIGHT, 1901, BY +CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS + + +TROW DIRECTORY +PRINTING AND BOOKBINDING COMPANY +NEW YORK + + + + +PREFACE + + +For some years past my father had, in the intervals of more serious +work, occupied his leisure moments in jotting down reminiscences of +his early life. In 1898 and 1899 he issued the two volumes of _Auld +Lang Syne_, which contained recollections of his friends, but very +little about his own life and career. In the Introductory Chapter to +the Autobiography he explains fully the reasons which led him, at his +advanced age, to undertake the task of writing his own Life, and he +began, but alas! too late, to gather together the fragments that he +had written at different times. But even during the last two years of +his life, and after the first attack of the illness which finally +proved fatal, he would not devote himself entirely to what he +considered mere recreation, as can be seen from such a work as his +_Six Systems of Indian Philosophy_ published in May, 1889, and from +the numerous articles which continued to appear up to the very time of +his death. + +During the last weeks of his life, when we all knew that the end could +not be far off, the Autobiography was constantly in his thoughts, and +his great desire was to leave as much as possible ready for +publication. Even when he was lying in bed far too weak to sit up in a +chair, he continued to work at the manuscript with me. I would read +portions aloud to him, and he would suggest alterations and dictate +additions. I see that we were actually at work on this up to the 19th +of October, and on the 28th he was taken to his well-earned rest. One +of the last letters that I read to him was a letter from Messrs. +Longmans, his lifelong publishers, urging the publication of the +fragments of the Autobiography that he had then written. + +My father’s object in writing his Autobiography was twofold: firstly, +to show what he considered to have been his mission in life, to lay +bare the thread that connected all his labours; and secondly, to +encourage young struggling scholars by letting them see how it had +been possible for one of themselves, without fortune, a stranger in a +strange land, to arrive at the position to which he attained, without +ever sacrificing his independence, or abandoning the unprofitable and +not very popular subjects to which he had determined to devote his +life. + +Unfortunately the last chapter takes us but little beyond the +threshold of his career. There is enough, however, to enable us to see +how from his earliest student days his leanings were philosophical and +religious rather than classical; how the study of Herbart’s philosophy +encouraged him in the work in which he was engaged as a mere student, +the Science of Language and Etymology; how his desire to know +something special, that no other philosopher would know, led him to +explore the virgin fields of Oriental literature and religions. With +this motive he began the study of Arabic, Persian, and finally +Sanskrit, devoting himself more especially to the latter under +Brockhaus and Rückert, and subsequently under Burnouf, who persuaded +him to undertake the colossal work of editing the Rig-veda. + +The Autobiography breaks off before the end of the period during which +he devoted himself exclusively to Sanskrit. It is idle to speculate +what course his life’s work might have taken, had he been elected to +the Boden Professorship of Sanskrit; but he lived long enough to +realize that his rejection for that chair in 1860, which was so hard +to bear at the time, was really a blessing in disguise, as it enabled +him to turn his attention to more general subjects, and devote himself +to those philological, philosophical, religious and mythological +studies, which found their expression in a series of works commencing +with his _Lectures on the Science of Language_, 1861, and terminating +with his _Contributions to the Science of Mythology_, 1897,—“the +thread that connects the origin of thought and language with the +origin of mythology and religion.” + +As to his advice to struggling scholars, the self-depreciation, +which, as Professor Jowett said, is one of the greatest dangers of an +autobiography, makes my father rather conceal the real causes of his +success in life. He even goes so far as to say, “everything in my +career came about most naturally, not by my own effort, but owing to +those circumstances or to that environment, of which we have heard so +much of late”: or again, “it was really my friends who did everything +for me and helped me over many a stile and many a ditch.” No doubt in +one sense this is true, but not in the sense in which it would have +been true had he, when at the University, accepted the offer which he +tells us a wealthy cousin made him, to adopt him and send him into the +Austrian diplomatic service, and even to procure him a wife and a +title into the bargain. The friends who helped him, men such as +Humboldt, Burnouf, Bunsen, Stanley, Kingsley, Liddell, to mention only +a few, were men whose very friendship was the surest proof of my +father’s merits. The real secret of his success lay not in his +friends, but in himself;—in the knowledge that his success or failure +in life depended entirely on his own efforts; in the fixity of purpose +which made him refuse all offers that would lead him from the pathway +that he had laid down for himself; and in the unflagging industry with +which he strove to reach the goal of his ambition. “My very +struggles,” he writes, “were certainly a help to me.” + +When I came to examine the manuscript with a view to sending it to +press, I found that there was a good deal of work necessary before it +could be published in book form. The fragments were in many cases +incomplete; there was no division into chapters, no connexion between +the various periods and episodes of his life; important incidents were +omitted; while, owing to the intermittent way in which he had been +writing, there were frequent repetitions. My father was always most +critical of his own style, and would often, when correcting his +proof-sheets, alter a whole page, because a word or a phrase +displeased him, or because some new idea, some happier mode of +expression, occurred to him; but in the case of his Autobiography, the +only revision that he was able to give, was on his deathbed, while I +read the manuscript aloud to him. + +My father points out how rarely the sons of great musicians or great +painters become distinguished in the same line themselves. “It seems,” +he says, “almost as if the artistic talent were exhausted by one +generation or one individual”; and I fear that, in my case at all +events, the same remark applies to literary talent. I have done my +best to string the fragments together into one connected whole, only +making such insertions, elisions and alterations as appeared strictly +necessary. Any deficiency in literary style that may be noticeable in +portions of the book should be ascribed to the inexperience of the +editor. + +I have thought it right to insert the last chapter, which I call “A +Confession,” though I am not sure that my father intended it to be +included in his Autobiography. It will, however, explain the attitude +which he observed throughout his life, in keeping aloof, as far as +possible, from the arena of academic contention at Oxford. He was +never chosen a member of the Hebdomadal Council, he rarely attended +meetings of Convocation or Congregation; he felt that other people, +with more leisure at their disposal, could be of more use there; but +he never refused to work for his University, when he felt that he was +able to render good service, and he acted for years as a Curator of +the Bodleian Library and of the Taylorian Institute, and as a Delegate +of the Clarendon Press. + +With reference to the illustrations, it may be of interest to readers +to know that the portraits of my grandfather and grandmother are taken +from pencil-drawings by Adolf Hensel, the husband of Mendelssohn’s +sister Fanny, herself a great musician, who, as my father tells us in +_Auld Lang Syne_, really composed several of the airs that Mendelssohn +published as his _Songs without Words_. The last portrait of my father +is from a photograph taken soon after his arrival in Oxford by his +great friend Thomson, afterwards Archbishop of York. + +Nothing now remains for me but to acknowledge the debt that I owe +personally to this book. “Work,” my father used often to say to me, +“is the best healer of sorrow. In grief or disappointment, try hard +work; it will not fail you.” And certainly during these three sad +months, I have proved the truth of this saying. He could not have left +me a surer comfort or more welcome distraction than the duty of +preparing for press these pages, the last fruits of that mind which +remained active and fertile to the last. + + W. G. MAX MÜLLER. + + OXFORD, _January_, 1901. + + + + +CONTENTS + + +CHAPTER PAGE + + I. INTRODUCTORY 1 + + II. CHILDHOOD AT DESSAU 46 + + III. SCHOOL-DAYS AT LEIPZIG 97 + + IV. UNIVERSITY 115 + + V. PARIS 162 + + VI. ARRIVAL IN ENGLAND 188 + + VII. EARLY DAYS AT OXFORD 218 + +VIII. EARLY FRIENDS AT OXFORD 272 + + IX. A CONFESSION 308 + + INDEX 319 + + + + +LIST OF PORTRAITS + + +F. MAX MÜLLER, AGED FOUR _Frontispiece_ + + FACING PAGE + +MY FATHER 46 + +MY MOTHER 58 + +F. MAX MÜLLER, AGED FOURTEEN 106 + + " " AGED TWENTY 156 + + " " AGED THIRTY 268 + + + + +MY AUTOBIOGRAPHY + + + + +CHAPTER I + +INTRODUCTORY + + +After the publication of the second volume of my _Auld Lang Syne_, +1899, I had a good deal of correspondence, of public criticism, and of +private communings also with myself, whether I should continue my +biographical records in the form hitherto adopted, or give a more +personal character to my recollections. Some of my friends were +evidently dissatisfied. “The recollections of your friends and the +account of the influence they exercised on you,” they said, “are +interesting, no doubt, as far as they go, but we want more. We want to +know the springs, the aspirations, the struggles, the failures, and +achievements of your life. We want to know how you yourself look at +yourself and at your past life and its various incidents.” What they +really wanted was, in fact, an autobiography. “No one,” as a friend of +mine, not an Irishman, said, “could do that so well as yourself, and +you will never escape a biographer.” I confess that did not frighten +me very much. I did not think the danger of a biography very +imminent. Besides, I had already revised two biographies and several +biographical notices even during my lifetime. No sensible man ought to +care about posthumous praise or posthumous blame. Enough for the day +is the evil thereof. Our contemporaries are our right judges, our +peers have to give their votes in the great academies and learned +societies, and if they on the whole are not dissatisfied with the +little we have done, often under far greater difficulties than the +world was aware of, why should we care for the distant future? Who was +a greater giant in philosophy than Hegel? Who towered higher than +Darwin in natural science? Yet in one of the best German reviews[1] +the following words of a young German biologist[2] are quoted, and not +without a certain approval: “Darwinism belongs now to history, like +that other _curiosum_ of our century, the Hegelian philosophy. Both +are variations on the theme, How can a generation be led by the nose? +and they are not calculated to raise our departing century in the eyes +of later generations.” + + [1] _Deutsche Rundschau_, Feb., 1900, p. 249. + + [2] Driesch, _Biologisches Centralblatt_, 1896, p. 335. + +If I was afraid of anything, it was not so much the severity of future +judges, as the extreme kindness and leniency which distinguish most +biographies in our days. It is true, it would not be easy for those +who have hereafter to report on our labours to discover the red +thread that runs through all of them from our first stammerings to our +latest murmurings. It might be said that in my own case the thread +that connects all my labours is very visible, namely, the thread that +connects the origin of thought and languages with the origin of +mythology and religion. Everything I have done was, no doubt, +subordinate to these four great problems, but to lay bare the +connecting links between what I have written and what I wanted to +write and never found time to write, is by no means easy, not even for +the author himself. Besides, what author has ever said the last word +he wanted to say, and who has not had to close his eyes before he +could write Finis to his work? There are many things still which I +should like to say, but I am getting tired, and others will say them +much better than I could, and will no doubt carry on the work where I +had to leave it unfinished. We owe much to others, and we have to +leave much to others. For throwing light on such points an +autobiography is, no doubt, better adapted than any biography written +by a stranger, if only we can at the same time completely forget that +the man who is described is the same as the man who describes. + +“Friends,” as Professor Jowett said, “always think it necessary +(except Boswell, that great genius) to tell lies about their deceased +friend; they leave out all his faults lest the public should +exaggerate them. But we want to know his faults,—hat is probably +the most interesting part of him.” + +Jowett knew quite well, and he did not hesitate to say so, that to do +much good in this world, you must be a very able and honest man, +thinking of nothing else day and night; and he adds, “you must also be +a considerable piece of a rogue, having many reticences and +concealments; and I believe a good sort of roguery is never to say a +word against anybody, however much they may deserve it.” + +Now Professor Jowett has certainly done some good work at Oxford, but +if any one were to say that he also was a considerable piece of a +rogue, what an outcry there would be among the sons of Balliol. Jowett +thought that the only chance of a good biography was for a man to +write memoirs of himself, and what a pity that he did not do so in his +own case. His friends, however, who had to write his Life were wise, +and he escaped what of late has happened to several eminent men. He +escaped the testimonials for this, and testimonials for another life, +such as they are often published in our days. + +Testimonials are bad enough in this life, when we have to select one +out of many candidates as best fitted for an office, and it is but +natural that the electors will hardly ever look at them, but will try +to get their information through some other channel. But what are +called _post obit_ testimonials really go beyond everything yet known +in funeral panegyrics. Of course, as no one is asked for such +testimonials except those who are known to have been friends of the +departed, these testimonials hardly ever contain one word of blame. +One feels ashamed to write such testimonials, but if you are asked, +what can you do without giving offence? We are placed altogether in a +false position. Let any one try to speak the truth and nothing but the +truth, and he will find that it is almost impossible to put down +anything that in the slightest way might seem to reflect on the +departed. The mention of the most innocent failings in an obituary +notice is sure to offend somebody, the widow or the children, or some +dear friend. I thought that my Recollections had hitherto contained +nothing that could possibly offend anybody, nothing that could not +have been published during the lifetime of the man to whom it +referred. But no; I had ever so many complaints, and I gladly left +out, in later editions, names which in many cases were really of no +consequence compared with what they said and did. + +Surely every man has his faults and his little and often ridiculous +weaknesses, and these weaknesses belong quite as much to a man’s +character as his strength; nay, with the suppression of the former the +latter would often become almost unintelligible. + +I like the biographies of such friends of mine as Dean Stanley, +Charles Kingsley, and Baron Bunsen. But even these are deficient in +those shadows which would but help to bring out all the more clearly +the bright points in their character. We should remember the words of +Dr. Wendell Holmes: “We all want to draw perfect ideals, and all the +coin that comes from Nature’s mint is more or less clipped, filed, +‘sweated,’ or bruised, and bent and worn, even if it was pure metal +when stamped, which is more than we can claim, I suppose, for anything +human.” True, very true; and what would the departed himself say to +such biographies as are now but too common,—most flattering pictures +no doubt, but pictures without one spot or wrinkle? In Germany it was +formerly not an uncommon thing for the author of a book to write a +self-review (Selbst-Kritik), and these were generally far better than +reviews written by friends or enemies. For who knows the strong and +weak points of a book so well as the author? True; but a whole life is +more difficult to review and to criticize than a single book. +Nevertheless it must be admitted that an autobiography has many +advantages, and it might be well if every man of note, nay, every man +who has something to say for himself that he wishes posterity to know, +should say it himself. This would in time form a wonderful archive for +psychological study. Something of the kind has been done already at +Berlin in preserving private correspondences. Of course it is +difficult to keep such archives within reasonable limits, but here +again I am not afraid of self-laudation so much as of self-depreciation. + +Professor Jowett, who did not write his own biography, was quite +right in saying that there is great danger of an autobiography being +rather self-depreciatory; there is certainly something so nauseous in +self-praise that most people would shrink far more from self-praise +than from self-blame. There may be some kind of subtle self-admiration +even in the fault-finding of an outspoken autobiographer; but who can +dive into those deepest depths of the human soul? To me it seems that +if an honest man takes himself by the neck, and shakes himself, he can +do it far better than anybody else, and the castigation, if well +deserved, comes certainly with a far better grace from himself than if +administered by others. + +Few men, I believe, know their real goodness and greatness. Some of +the most handsome women, so we are assured, pass through life without +ever knowing from their looking-glass that they are handsome. And it +is certainly true that men, from sad experience, know their weak +points far better than their good points, which they look on as no +more than natural. + +The Autos, for instance, described by John Stuart Mill, has no cause +to be grateful to the Autos that wrote his biography. Mill had been +threatened by several future biographers, and he therefore wrote the +short biographical account of himself almost in self-defence. But +besides the truly miraculous, and, if related by anybody else, hardly +credible achievements of his early boyhood and youth, his great +achievements in later life, the influence which he exercised both by +his writings and still more by his personal and public character, +would have found a far more eloquent and truthful interpreter in a +stranger than in Mill himself. I remember another case where a most +distinguished author tried to escape the oil and the blessings, +perhaps the opposite also, from the hands of his future biographers. +Froude destroyed the whole of his correspondence, and he wished +particularly that all letters written to him in the fullest confidence +should be burnt,—and they were. I think it was a pity, for I know +what valuable letters were destroyed in that _auto da fé_; and yet +when he had done all this, he seems to have been seized with fear, and +just before he returned to Oxford as Regius Professor of Modern +History he began to write a sketch of his own life, which was found +among his papers. Interesting it certainly was, but fortunately his +best friends prevented its publication. It would have added nothing to +what we know of him in his writings, and would never have put his real +merits in their proper light. Besides, it came to an end with his +youth and told us little of his real life. + +I flattered myself that I had found the true way out of all these +difficulties, by writing not exactly my own life, but recollections of +my friends and acquaintances who had influenced me most, and guided me +in my not always easy passage through life. As in describing the +course of a river, we cannot do better than to describe the shores +which hem in and divert the river and are reflected on its waves, I +thought that by describing my environment, my friends, and fellow +workers, I could best describe the course of my own life. I hoped also +that in this way I myself could keep as much as possible in the +background, and yet in describing the wooded or rocky shores with +their herds, their cottages, and churches, describe their reflected +image on the passing river. + +But now I am asked to give a much fuller account of myself, not only +of what I have seen, but also of what I have been, what were the +objects or ideals of my life, how far I have succeeded in carrying +them out, and, as I said, how often I have failed to accomplish what I +had sketched out as my task in life. People wished to know how a boy, +born and educated in a small and almost unknown town in the centre of +Germany, should have come to England, should have been chosen there to +edit the oldest book of the world, the Veda of the Brahmans, never +published before, whether in India or in Europe, should have passed +the best part of his life as a professor in the most famous and, as it +was thought, the most exclusive University in England, and should +actually have ended his days as a Member of Her Majesty’s most +honourable Privy Council. I confess myself it seems a very strange +career, yet everything came about most naturally, not by my own +effort, but owing again to those circumstances or to that environment +of which we have heard so much of late. + +Young, struggling men also have written to me, and asked me how I +managed to keep my head above water in that keen struggle for life +that is always going on in the whirlpool of the learned world of +England. They knew, for I had never made any secret of it, how poor I +was in worldly goods, and how, as I said at Glasgow, I had nothing to +depend on after I left the University, but those fingers with which I +still hold my pen and write so badly that I can hardly read my +manuscript myself. When I arrived I had no family connections in +England, nor any influential friends, “and yet,” I was told, “in a +foreign country, you managed to reach the top of your profession. Tell +us how you did it; and how you preserved at the same time your +independence and never forsook the not very popular subjects, such as +language, mythology, religion, and philosophy, on which you continued +to write to the very end of your life.” + +I generally said that most of these questions could best be answered +from my books, but they replied that few people had time to read all I +had written, and many would feel grateful for a thread to lead them +through this labyrinth of books, essays, and pamphlets, which have +issued from my workshop during the last fifty years.[3] + + [3] As giving a clear and complete abstract of my writings I + may now recommend M. Montcalm’s _L’origine de la Pensée et de + la Parole_, Paris, 1900. + +All I could say was that each man must find his own way in life, but +if there was any secret about my success, it was simply due to the +fact that I had perfect faith, and went on never doubting even when +everything looked grey and black about me. I felt convinced that what +I cared for, and what I thought worthy of a whole life of hard work, +must in the end be recognized by others also as of value, and as +worthy of a certain support from the public. Had not Layard gained a +hearing for Assyrian bulls? Did not Darwin induce the world to take an +interest in Worms, and in the Fertilization of Orchids? And should the +oldest book and the oldest thoughts of the Aryan world remain despised +and neglected? + +For many years I never thought of appointments or of getting on in the +world in a pecuniary sense. My friends often laughed at me, and when I +think of it now, I confess I must have seemed very Quixotic to many of +those who tried for this and that, got lucrative appointments, married +rich wives, became judges and bishops, ambassadors and ministers, and +could hardly understand what I was driving at with my Sanskrit +manuscripts, my proof-sheets and revises. Perhaps I did not know +myself. Still I was not quite so foolish as they imagined. True, I +declined several offers made to me which seemed very advantageous in a +worldly sense, but would have separated me entirely from my favourite +work. + +When at last a professorship of Modern Literature was offered me at +Oxford, I made up my mind, though it was not exactly what I should +have liked, to give up half of my time to studies required by this +professorship, keeping half of my time for the Veda and for Sanskrit +in general. This was not so bad after all. People often laughed at me +for being professor of the most modern languages, and giving so much +of my time and labour to the most ancient language and literature in +the world. Perhaps it was not quite right my giving up so much of my +time to modern languages, a subject so remote from my work in life, +but it was a concession which I could make with a good conscience, +having always held that language was one and indivisible, and that +there never had been a break between Sanskrit, Latin, and French, or +Sanskrit, Gothic, and German. One of my first lectures at Oxford was +“On the antiquity of modern languages,” so that I gave full notice to +the University as to how I meant to treat my subject, and on the whole +the University seems to have been satisfied with my professorial work, +so that when afterwards for very good reasons, whether financial, +theological, or national, I, or rather my friends, failed to secure a +majority in Convocation for a professorship of Sanskrit, the +University actually founded for me a Professorship of Comparative +Philology, an honour of which I had never dreamt, and to secure which +I certainly had never taken any steps. + +Here is all my secret. At first, as I said, it required faith, but it +also required for many years a perfect indifference as to worldly +success. And here again in my career as a Sanskrit scholar, mere +circumstances were of great importance. They were circumstances which +I was glad to accept, but which I could never have created myself. It +was surely a mere accident that the Directors of the Old East India +Company voted a large sum of money for printing the six large quartos +of the Rig-veda of about a thousand pages each. It was at the time +when the fate of the Company hung in the balance, and when Bunsen, the +Prussian Minister, made himself _persona grata_ by delivering a speech +at one of the public dinners in the City, setting forth in eloquent +words the undeniable merits of the Old Company and the wonderful work +they had achieved. It was likewise a mere accident that I should have +become known to Bunsen, and that he should have shown me so much +kindness in my literary work. He had himself tried hard to go to India +to discover the Rig-veda, nay, to find out whether there was still +such a thing as the Veda in India. The same Bunsen, His Excellency +Baron Bunsen, the Prussian Minister in London, on his own accord went +afterwards to see the Chairman and the Directors of the East India +Company, and explained to them what the Rig-veda was, and that it +would be a real disgrace if such a work were published in Germany; and +they agreed to vote a sum of money such as they had never voted +before for any literary undertaking. Though after the mutiny nothing +could save them, I had at least the satisfaction of dedicating the +first volume of my edition of the Rig-veda to the Chairman and the +Directors of the much abused East India Company,—much abused though +splendidly defended also by no less a man than John Stuart Mill. + +This is what I mean by friends and circumstances, and that is the +environment which I wished to describe in my Recollections instead of +always dwelling on what I meant to do myself and what I did myself. +Small and large things work wonderfully together. It was the change +threatening the government of India, and a mighty change it was, that +gave me the chance of publishing the Veda, a very small matter as it +may seem in the eyes of most people, and yet intended to bring about +quite as mighty a change in our views of the ancient people of the +world, particularly of their languages and religions. This, too—the +development of language and religion—seems of importance to some +people who do not care two straws for the East India Company, +particularly if it helps us to learn what we really are ourselves, and +how we came to be what we are. + +In one sense biographies and autobiographies are certainly among the +most valuable materials for the historian. Biography, as Heinrich +Simon, not Henri Simon, said, is the best kind of history, and the +life of one man, if laid open before us with all he thought and all he +did, gives us a better insight into the history of his time than any +general account of it can possibly do. + +Now it is quite true that the life of a quiet scholar has little to do +with history, except it may be the history of his own branch of study, +which some people consider quite unimportant, while to others it seems +all-important. This is as it ought to be, till the universal historian +finds the right perspective, and assigns to each branch of study and +activity its proper place in the panorama of the progress of mankind +towards its ideals. Even a quiet scholar, if he keeps his eyes open, +may now and then see something that is of importance to the historian. +While I was living in small rooms at Leipzig, or lodging _au +cinquième_ in the Rue Royale at Paris, or copying manuscripts in a +dark room of the old East India House in Leadenhall Street, I now and +then caught glimpses of the mighty stream of history as it was rushing +by. At Leipzig I saw much of Robert Blum who was afterwards _fusillé_ +at Vienna by Windischgrätz in defiance of all international law, for +he was a member of the German Diet, then sitting at Frankfurt. From my +windows at Paris I looked over the _Boulevard de la Madeleine_, and +down on the right to the _Chambre des Députés_, and I saw from my +windows the throne of Louis Philippe carried along by its four legs by +four women on horseback, with Phrygian caps and red scarfs, and I saw +the next morning from the same windows the stretchers carrying the +dead and wounded from the Boulevards to a hospital at the back of my +street. In my small study at the East India House I saw several of the +Directors, Colonel Sykes and others, and heard them discussing the +fate of the East India Company and of the vast empire of India too, +and at the same time the private interests of those who hoped to be +Members of the new India Council, and those who despaired of that +distinction. I was the first to bring the news of the French +Revolution in February to London, and presented a bullet that had +smashed the windows of my room at Paris, to Bunsen, who took it in the +evening to Lord Palmerston. After I had seen the Revolution in Paris +and the flight of the King and the Duchesse d’Orléans, I was in time +to see in London the Chartist Deputation to Parliament, and the +assembled police in Trafalgar Square, when Louis Napoleon served as a +Special Constable, and I heard the Duke of Wellington explain to +Bunsen, that though no soldier was seen in the streets there was +artillery hidden under the bridges, and ready to act if wanted. I +could add more, but I must not anticipate, and after all, to me all +these great events seemed but small compared with a new manuscript of +the Veda sent from India, or a better reading of an obscure passage. +_Diversos diversa iuvant_, and it is fortunate that it should be so. + +All these things, I thought, should form part of my Recollections, +and my own little self should disappear as much as possible. Even the +pronoun I should meet the reader but seldom, though in Recollections +it was as impossible to leave it out altogether as it would be to take +away the lens from a photographic camera. Now I believe I have always +been most willing to yield to my friends, and I shall in this matter +also yield to them so far that in the Recollections which follow there +will be more of my inward and outward struggles; but I must on the +whole adhere to my old plan. I could not, if I would, neglect the +environment of my life, and the many friends that advised and helped +me, and enabled me to achieve the little that I may have achieved in +my own line of study. + +If my friends had been different from what they were, should I not +have become a different man myself, whether for good or for evil? And +the same applies to our natural surroundings also. And here I must +invoke the patience of my readers, if I try to explain in as few words +as possible what I think about _environment_, and what about +_heredity_ or _atavism_. + +I was a thorough Darwinian in ascribing the shaping of my career to +environment, though I was always very averse to atavism, of which we +have heard so much lately in most biographies. Even with respect to +environment, however, I could not go quite so far as certain of our +Darwinian friends, who maintain that everything is the result of +environment, or translated into biographical language, that everybody +is a creature of circumstances. No, I could not go so far as that. +Environment may shape our course and may shape us, but there must be +something that is shaped, and allows itself to be shaped. I was once +seriously asked by one who considers himself a Darwinian whether I did +not know that the Mammoth was driven by the extreme cold of the +Pleiocene Period to grow a thick fur in his struggle for life. That he +grew then a thicker fur, I knew, but that surely does not explain the +whole of the Mammoth, with and without a thick fur, before and after +the fur. It is really a pity to see for how many of these downright +absurdities Darwin is made responsible by the Darwinians. He has +clearly shown how in many cases the individual may be modified almost +beyond recognition by environment, but the individual must always have +been there first. Before we had a spaniel and a Newfoundland dog there +must have been some kind of dog, neither so small as the spaniel nor +so large as the Newfoundland, and no one would now doubt that these +two belonged to the same species and presupposed some kind of a less +modified canine creature. It is equally true that every individual man +has been modified by his surroundings or environment, if not to the +same extent as certain animals, yet very considerably, as in the case +of Kaspar Hauser, the man with the iron mask, or the mutineers of the +_Bounty_ in the Pitcairn Islands. But there must have been the man +first, before he could be so modified. Now it was this very +individual, my own self in fact, the spiritual self even more than the +physical, that interested my critics, while I thought that the +circumstances which moulded that self would be of far greater interest +than the self itself. Of course all the modifications that men now +undergo are nothing if compared to the early modifications which +produced what we speak of as racial, linguistic, or even national +peculiarities. That we are English or German, that we are white or +black, nay, if you like, that we are human beings at all, all this has +modified our self, or our germ-plasm, far more powerfully than +anything that can happen to us as individuals now. + +When my friends and readers assured me that an account of my early +struggles in the battle of life would be useful to many a young, +struggling man, all I could say was that here again it was really my +friends who did everything for me, and helped me over many a stile, +and many a ditch, nay, without whom I should never have done whatever +I did for the Sciences of Language, of Mythology, and Religion, in +fact for Anthropology in the widest sense of that word. My very +struggles were certainly a help to me, even my opponents were most +useful to me. The subjects on which I wrote had hardly been touched on +in England, at least from the historical point of view which I took, +and I had not only to overcome the indifference of the public, but to +disarm as much as possible the prejudices often felt, and sometimes +expressed also, against anything made in Germany! Now I confess I +could never understand such a prejudice among men of science. Was I +more right or more wrong because I was born in Germany? Is scientific +truth the exclusive property of one nation, of Germany, or of England? +If I say two and two make four in German, is that less true because it +is said by a German? and if I say, no language without thought, no +thought without language, has that anything to do with my native +country? The prejudice against strangers and particularly against +Germans is, no doubt, much stronger now than it was at the time when I +first came to England. I had spent nearly two years in Paris, and +there too there existed then so little of unfriendly feeling towards +Germany, that one of the best reviews to which the rising scholars and +best writers of Paris contributed was actually called _Revue +Germanique_. Who would now venture to publish in Paris such a review +and under such a title? If there existed such an anti-German feeling +anywhere in England when I arrived here in the year 1846, one would +suppose that it existed most strongly at Oxford. And so it did, no +doubt, particularly among theologians. With them German meant much the +same as unorthodox, and unorthodox was enough at that time to taboo a +man at Oxford. In one of the sermons preached in these early days at +St. Mary’s, German theologians such as Strauss and Neander (_sic_) +were spoken of as fit only to be drowned in the German Ocean, before +they reached the shores of England. I do not add what followed: the +story is too well known. I was chiefly amused by the juxtaposition of +Strauss and Neander, whose most orthodox lectures on the history of +the Christian Church I had attended at Berlin. Neander was certainly +to us at Berlin the very pattern of orthodoxy, and people wondered at +my attending his lectures. But they were good and honest lectures. He +was quite a character, and I feel tempted to go a little out of my way +in speaking of him. By birth a Jew, he became one of the most learned +Christian divines. Ever so many stories were told of him, some true, +some no doubt invented. I saw him often walking to and from the +University to give his lectures in a large fur coat, with high black +polished boots beneath, but showing occasionally as he walked along. +It was told that he once sent for a doctor because he was lame. The +doctor on examining his feet, saw that one boot was covered with mud, +while the other was perfectly clean. The Professor had walked with one +foot on the pavement, with the other in the gutter, and was far too +much absorbed in his ideas to discover the true cause of his +discomfort. He lived with his sister, who took complete care of him +and saw to his wardrobe also. She knew that he wore one pair of +trousers, and that on a certain day in the year the tailor brought him +a new pair. Great was her amazement when one day, after her brother +had gone to the University, she discovered his pair of trousers lying +on a chair near his bed. She at once sent a servant to the Professor’s +lecture-room to inquire whether he had his trousers on. The hilarity +of his class may be imagined. The fact was it was the very day on +which the tailor was in the habit of bringing the new pair of +trousers, which the Professor had put on, leaving his usual garment +behind. + +Many more stories of his absent-mindedness were _en vogue_ about Dr. +Neander, but that this man, a pillar of strength to the orthodox in +Germany, who was looked up to as an infallible Pope, should have his +name coupled with that of Strauss certainly gave one a little shock. +Yet it was at Oxford that I pitched my tent, chiefly in order to +superintend the printing of my Rig-veda at the University Press there, +and never dreaming that a fellowship, still less a professorship in +that ancient Tory University, would ever be offered to me. + +For me to go to Oxford to get a fellowship or professorship would have +seemed about as absurd as going to Rome to become a Cardinal or a +Pope; and yet in time I was chosen a Fellow of All Souls, and the +first married Fellow of the College, and even a professorship was +offered to me when I least expected it. The fact is, I never thought +of either, and no one was more surprised than myself when I was asked +to act as deputy, and then as full Taylorian Professor; no one could +have mistrusted his eyes more than I did, when one of the Fellows of +All Soul’s informed me by letter that it was the intention of the +College to elect me one of its fellows. My ambition had never soared +so high. I was thinking of returning to Leipzig as a _Privat-docent_, +to rise afterwards to an extraordinary and, if all went well, to an +ordinary professorship. + +But after these two appointments at Oxford had secured to me what I +thought a fair social and financial position in England, I did not +feel justified in attempting to begin life again in Germany. I had not +asked for a professorship or fellowship. They were offered me, and my +ambition never went beyond securing what was necessary for my +independence. In Germany I was supposed to have become quite wealthy; +in England people knew how small my income really was, and wondered +how I managed to live on it. They did not suppose that I had chiefly +to depend on my pen in order to live as a professor is expected to +live at Oxford. I could not see anything anomalous in a German holding +a professorship in England. There were several cases of the same kind +in Germany. Lassen (1800-1876), our great Sanskrit professor at Bonn, +was a Norwegian by birth, and no one ever thought of his nationality. +What had that to do with his knowledge of Sanskrit? Nor was I ever +treated as an alien or as intruder at Oxford, at least not at that +early time. As to myself, I had now obtained what seemed to me a small +but sufficient income with perfect independence. The quiet life of a +quiet student had been from my earliest days my ideal in life. Even at +school at Dessau, when we boys talked of what we hoped to be, I +remember how my ideal was that of a monk, undisturbed in his +monastery, surrounded by books and by a few friends. The idea that I +should ever rise to be a professor in a university, or that any career +like that of my father, grandfather, and other members of my family +would ever be open to me, never entered my mind then. It seemed to me +almost disloyal to think of ever taking their places. Even when I saw +that there were no longer any Protestant monks, no Benedictines, the +place of an assistant in a large library, sitting in a quiet corner, +was my highest ambition. + +I do not see why it should have been so, for all my relations and +friends occupied high places in the public service, but as I had no +father to open my eyes, and to stimulate my ambition—he having died +before I was four years old—my ideas of life and its possibilities +were evidently taken from my young widowed mother, whose one desire +was to be left alone, much as the world tempted her, then not yet +thirty years old, to give up her mourning and to return to society. +Thus it soon became my own philosophy of life, to be left alone, free +to go my own way, or like Diogenes, to live in my own tub. Here we see +what I call the influence of circumstances, of surroundings, or as +others call it, of environment. This, however, is very different from +atavism, as we shall see presently. Atavism also has been called a +kind of environment, attacking us and influencing us from the past, +and as it were, from behind, from the North in fact instead of the +South, the East, and the West, and from all the points of the compass. + +But atavism means really a very different thing, if indeed it means +anything at all. + +I must ease my conscience once for all on this point, and say what I +feel about atavism and environment. Environment in the shape of +friends, of locality, and other material circumstances, has certainly +influenced my life very much, and I could never see why such a hybrid +word as environment should be used instead of surroundings or +circumstances. Creatures of circumstances would be far better +understood than creatures of environment; but environment, I suppose, +would sound more scientific. Atavism also is a new word, instead of +family likeness, but unless carefully defined, the word is very apt to +mislead us. + +When it is said[4] that children often resemble their grandfathers or +grandmothers more than their immediate parents, and that this +propensity is termed atavism, this does not seem quite correct even +etymologically, for atavus in Latin did not mean father or +grandfather, but at first great-great-great-grandfather, and then +only ancestors; and what should be made quite clear is that this +mysterious atavism should not be used by careful speakers, to express +the supposed influence of parents or even grandparents, but that of +more distant ancestors only, and possibly of a whole family. + + [4] _Oxford Dictionary_, s. v.; J. Rennie, _Science of + Gardening_, p. 113. + +Many biographers, such is the fashion now, begin their works with a +long account not only of father and mother, but of grandparents and of +ever so many ancestors, in order to show how these determined the +outward and inward character of the man whose life has to be written. +Who would deny that there is some truth, or at least some +plausibility, in atavism, though no one has as yet succeeded in giving +an intelligible account of it? It is supposed to affect the moral as +well as the physical peculiarities of the offspring, and that here, +too, physical and moral qualities often go together cannot be denied. +A blind person, for instance, is generally cautious, but happy and +quite at his ease in large societies. A deaf person is often +suspicious and unhappy in society. In inheriting blindness, therefore, +a man could well be said to have inherited cautiousness; in inheriting +deafness, suspiciousness would seem to have come to him by +inheritance. + +But is blindness really inherited? Is the son of a father who has lost +his eyesight blind, and necessarily blind? We must distinguish between +atavistic and parental influences. Parental influences would mean the +influence of qualities acquired by the parents, and directly +bequeathed to their offspring; atavistic influences would refer to +qualities inherited and transmitted, it may be, through several +generations, and engrained in a whole family. In keeping these two +classes separate, we should only be following Weismann’s example, who +denies altogether that acquired qualities are ever heritable. His +examples are most interesting and most important, and many Darwinians +have had to accept his amendment. Besides, we should always consider +whether certain peculiarities are constant in a family or inconstant. +If a father is a drunkard, surely it does not follow that his sons +must be drunkards. Neither does it follow that all the children must +be sober if the parents are sober. Of course, in ordinary conversation +both parental and ancestral influences seem clear enough. But if a +child is said to favour his mother, because like her he has blue eyes +and fair hair, what becomes of the heritage from the father who may +have brown eyes and dark hair? Whatever may happen to the children, +there is always an excuse, only an excuse is not an explanation. If +the daughter of a beautiful woman grows up very plain, the Frenchman +was no doubt right when he remarked, _C’était alors le père qui +n’était pas bien_, and if the son of a teetotaller should later in +life become a drunkard, the conclusion would be even worse. In fact, +this kind of atavistic or parental influence is a very pleasant +subject for gossips, but from a scientific point of view, it is +perfectly futile. If it is not the father, it is the mother; if it is +not the grandmother, it is the grandfather; in fact, family influences +can always be traced to some source or other, if the whole pedigree +may be dug up and ransacked. But for that very reason they are of no +scientific value whatever. They can neither be accounted for, nor can +they be used to account for anything themselves. Even of twins, though +very like each other in many respects, one may be phlegmatic, the +other passionate. Some scientists, such as Weismann and others, have +therefore denied, and I believe rightly, that any acquired characters, +whether physical or mental, can ever be inherited by children from +their parents. Whatever similarity there is, and there is plenty, is +traced back by him to what he calls the germ-plasm, working on +continuously in spite of all individual changes. If that germ-plasm is +liable to certain peculiar modifications in the father or grandfather, +it is liable to the same or similar modifications in the offspring, +that is, if the father could become a drunkard, so could the son, only +we must not think that the _post hoc_ is here the same as the _propter +hoc_. If we compare the germ-plasm to the molecules constituting the +stem or branches of a vine, its grapes and leaves in their similarity +and their variety would be comparable to the individuals belonging to +the same family, and springing from the same family tree. But then the +grape we see would not be what the grape of last year, or the grape +immediately preceding it on the same branch, had made it, though there +can be no doubt that the antecedent possibilities of the new grape +were the same as those of the last. If one grape is blue, the next +will be blue too, but no one would say that it was blue because the +last grape was blue. The real cause would be that the molecules of the +protoplasm have been so affected by long continued generation, that +some of the peculiar qualities of the vine have become constant. + +The child of a negro must always be a negro; his peculiarities are +constant, though it may be quite true that the negro and other races +are not different species, but only varieties rendered constant by +immense periods of time. What the cause of these constant and +inconstant peculiarities may be, not even Weismann has yet been able +to explain satisfactorily. + +The deafness of my mother and the prevalence of the misfortune in +numerous members of her family acted on me as a kind of external +influence, as something belonging to the environment of my life; it +never frightened me as an atavistic evil. It justified me in being +cautious and in being prepared for the worst, and so far it may be +said to have helped in shaping or narrowing the course of my life. +Fortunately, however, this tendency to deafness seems now to have +exhausted itself. In my own generation there is one case only, and the +next two generations, children and grandchildren of mine, show no +signs of it. If, on the other hand, my son was congratulated when +entering the diplomatic service, on being the son of his father, it is +clear that the difference between inherited and acquired qualities, so +strongly insisted on by Weismann, had not been fully appreciated by +his friends. Besides, my own power of speaking foreign languages has +always been very limited, and I have many times declined the +compliment of being a second Mezzofanti.[5] I worked at languages as a +musician studies the nature and capacities of musical instruments, +though without attempting to perform on every one of them. There was +no time left for acquiring a practical familiarity with languages, if +I wanted to carry on my researches into the origin, the nature and +history of language. My own study of languages could therefore have +been of very little use to me, nor did my son himself perceive such an +advantage in learning to converse in French, Spanish, Turkish, &c. The +facts were wrong, and the theory of atavism perfectly unreasonable as +applied to such a case. + + [5] _Science of Language_, vol. i. p. 24 (1861). + +If the theory of atavism were stretched so far, it would soon do away +with free will altogether. That heredity has something to do with our +moral character, no one would deny who knows the influence of our +national, nay even of racial character. We are Aryan by heredity; we +might be Negroes or Chinese, and share in their tendencies. Animals +also have their instincts. Only while animals, like serpents for +instance, would never hesitate to follow their innate propensity, man, +when he feels the power of what we may call inherited human instinct, +feels also that he can fight against it, and preserve his freedom, +even while wearing the chains of his slavery. This may have removed +some of Dr. Wendell Holmes’ scruples in writing his powerful story, +_Elsie Venner_, and may likewise quiet the fears of his many critics. + +I believe that language also—our own inherited language—exercises +the most powerful influence on our reason and our will, far more +powerful than we are aware of. + +A Greek speaking Greek and a Roman speaking Latin would certainly have +been very different beings from the Romance and French descendants of +a Horace or a Cicero, and this simply on account of the language which +they had to speak, whether Greek, Latin, French, or Spanish. We cannot +tell whether the original differentiation of language, symbolized by +the story of the Tower of Babel, took place before or after the racial +differentiation of men. Anyhow it must have taken place in quite +primordial times. Without speaking positively on this point, I +certainly hold as strongly as ever that language makes the man, and +that therefore for classificatory purposes also language is far more +useful than colour of skin, hair, cranial or gnathic peculiarities. +Whether it be true that with every new language we speak we become +new men, certain it is that language prepares for us channels in which +our thoughts have to run, unless they are so powerful as to break all +dams and dykes, and to dig for themselves new beds. + +For a long time people would not see that languages can be classified; +and as languages always presuppose speakers of language, these +speakers also can be classified accordingly. It is quite true that +some of these Aryan speakers may in some cases have Negro blood and +Negro features, as when a Negro becomes an English bishop. Conquered +tribes also may in time have learnt to speak the language of their +conquerors, but this too is exceptional, and if we call them Aryas, we +do not commit ourselves to any opinion as to their blood, their bones, +or their hair. These will never submit to the same classification as +their speech, and why should they? Nor should it be forgotten that +wherever a mixture of language takes place, mixed marriages also would +most likely take place at the same time. But whatever confusion may +have arisen in later times in language and in blood, no language could +have arisen without speakers, and we mean by Aryas no more than +speakers of Aryan languages, whatever their skulls or their hair may +have been. An Octoroon, and even a Quadroon, may have blonde waving +hair, but if he speaks English he would be classified as Aryan, if +Berber as a Negro. But who is injured by such a classification? Let +blood and skulls and hair and jaws be classified by all means, but let +us speak no longer of Aryan skulls or Semitic blood. We might as well +speak of a prognathic language. + +While fully admitting, therefore, the influence which family, +nationality, race, and language exercise on us, it should be clearly +perceived that habits acquired by our parents are not heritable, that +the sons of drunkards need not be drunkards, as little as the sons of +sober people must be sober. But though biographers may agree to this +in general they seem inclined, to hold out very strongly for what are +called _special talents in certain families_. This subject is +decidedly amusing, but it admits of no scientific treatment, as far as +I can see. + +The grandfather of Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy for instance, though +not a composer, was evidently a man of genius, a philosopher of +considerable intellectual capacity and moral strength. The father of +the composer was a rich banker at Berlin, and he used to say: “When I +was young I was the son of the great Mendelssohn, now that I am old, I +am the father of the great Mendelssohn; then what am I?” Even a poor +man to become a rich banker must be a kind of genius, and so far the +son may be said to have come of a good stock. But the great musical +talent that was developed in the third generation both in Felix and +his sisters, failed entirely in his brother, who, to save his life, +could never have sung “God save the Queen.” In the little theatrical +performances of the whole family for which Felix composed the music, +and his sister Fanny (Hensel) some of the songs, the unmusical +brother—was it not Paul?—had generally to be provided with some such +part as that of a night watchman, and he managed to get through his +song with as much credit as the _Nachtwächter_ in the little town of +Germany, where he sang or repeated, as I well remember, in his cracked +voice: + + “Hört, ihr Herren, und lasst euch sagen, + Die Glock’ hat zwölf geschlagen; + Wahret das Feuer und auch das Licht, + Dass Keinem kein Schade geschicht.” + + “Listen, gents, and let me tell, + The clock struck twelve by its last knell; + Watch o’er the fire and o’er the light + That no one suffer any plight.” + +I have known in my life many musicians and their families, but I +remember very few instances indeed, where the son of a distinguished +musician was a great musician himself. If the children take to music +at all they may become very fair musicians, but never anything +extraordinary. The Bach family may be quoted against me, but music, +before Sebastian Bach, was almost like a profession, and could be +learned like any other handicraft. + +Nor are the cases of painters being the sons of great painters, or of +poets being the sons of great poets, more numerous. It seems almost as +if the artistic talent was exhausted by one generation or one +individual, so that we often see the sons of great men by no means +great, and if they do anything in the same line as their fathers, we +must remember that there was much to induce them to follow in their +steps without admitting any atavistic influences. + +For the present, I can only repeat the conclusion I arrived at after +weighing all the arguments of my friends and critics, namely, to +continue my Recollections much as I began them, to try to explain what +made me what I am, to describe, in fact, my environment; though as my +years advance, and my labours and plans grow wider and wider, I shall, +no doubt, have to say a great deal more about myself than in the +volumes of _Auld Lang Syne_. In fact, my Recollections will become +more and more of an autobiography, and the I and the Autos will appear +more frequently than I could have wished. + +In an autobiography the painter is of course supposed to be the same +as the sitter, but quite apart from the metaphysical difficulties of +such a supposition, there is the physical difficulty when the writer +is an old man, and the model is a young boy. Is the old man likely to +be a fair judge of the young man, whether it be himself or some one +else? As a rule, old men are very indulgent, while young men are apt +to be stern and strict in their judgments. The very fact that they +often invent excuses for themselves shows that they feel that they +want excuses. The words of the Preacher, vii. 16: “Be not righteous +over much; neither make thyself over wise: why shouldest thou destroy +thyself? Be not over much wicked, neither be thou foolish: why +shouldest thou die before thy time?” are evidently the words of an old +man when judging of himself or of others. A young man would have +spoken differently. He would have made no allowance; for anything like +compassion for an erring friend is as yet unknown to him. In an +autobiography written by an old man there is therefore a double +danger, first the indulgence of the old man, and secondly the kindly +feeling of the writer towards the object of his remarks. + +All these difficulties stand before me like a mountain wall. And it +seems better to confess at once that an old man writing his own life +can never be quite just, however honest he tries to be. He may be too +indulgent, but he may also be too strict and stern. To say, for +instance, of a man that he has not kept his promise, would be a very +serious charge if brought against anybody else. Yet my oldest friend +in the world knows how many times he has made a promise to himself, +and has not only not kept it but has actually found excuses why he did +not keep it. The more sensitive our conscience becomes, the more +blameworthy many an act of our life seems to be, and what to an +ordinary conscience is no fault at all, becomes almost a sin under a +fiercer light. + +This changes the moral atmosphere of youth when painted by an old man, +but the physical atmosphere also assumes necessarily a different hue. +Whether we like it or not, distance will always lend enchantment to +the view. If the azure hue is inseparable from distant mountains and +from the distant sky, we need not wonder that it veils the distant +paradise of youth. A man who keeps a diary from his earliest years, +and who as an old man simply copies from its yellow pages, may give us +a very accurate black and white image of what he saw as a boy, but as +in old faded photographs, the life and light are gone out of them, +while unassisted memory may often preserve tints of their former +reality. There is life and light in such recollections, but I am +willing to admit that memory can be very treacherous also. Thus in my +own case I can vouch that whatever I relate is carefully and +accurately transcribed from the tablets of my memory, as I see them +now, but though I can claim truthfulness to myself and to my memory, I +cannot pretend to photographic accuracy. I feel indeed for the +historian who uses such materials unless he has learnt to make +allowance for the dim sight of even the most truthful narrators. + +I doubt whether any historian would accept a statement made thirty +years after the event without independent confirmation. I could not +give the date of the battle of Sadowa, though I well remember reading +the full account of it in the _Times_ from day to day. I can of +course get at the date from historical books, and from that kind of +artificial memory which arises by itself without any _memoria +technica_. There is a favourite German game of cards called Sixty-six, +and it was reported that when the French in 1870 shouted _À Berlin_, +the then Crown-Prince who had won the battle of Sadowa, or Königgrätz, +said: “Ah, they want another game of Sixty-six!” that is they want a +battle like that of Sadowa. In this way I shall always remember the +date of that decisive battle. But I could not give the date of the +Crimean battles nor a trustworthy account of the successive stages of +that war. I doubt whether even my old friend, Sir William H. Russell, +could do that now without referring to his letters in the _Times_. +After thirty years no one, I believe, could take an oath to the +accuracy of any statement of what he saw or heard so many years ago. + +All then that I can vouch for is that I read my memory as I should the +leaves of an old MS. from which many letters, nay, whole words and +lines have vanished, and where I am often driven to decipher and to +guess, as in a palimpsest, what the original uncial writing may have +been. I am the first to confess that there may be flaws in my memory, +there may be before my eyes that magic azure which surrounds the +distant past; but I can promise that there shall be no invention, no +_Dichtung_ instead of _Wahrheit_, but always, as far as in me lies, +truth. I know quite well that even a certain dislocation of facts is +not always to be avoided in an old memory. I know it from sad +experience. As the spires of a city—of Oxford for instance—arrange +themselves differently as we pass the old place on the railway, so +that now one and now the other stands in the centre and seems to rise +above the heads of the rest, so it is with our friends and +acquaintances. Some who seemed giants at one time assume smaller +proportions as others come into view towering above them. The whole +scenery changes from year to year. Who does not remember the trees in +our garden that seemed like giants in our childhood, but when we see +them again in our old age, they have shrunk, and not from old age +only? + +And must I make one more confession? It is well known that George the +Fourth described the battle of Waterloo so often that at last he +persuaded himself that he had been present, in fact that he had won +that battle. I also remember Dr. Routh, the venerable president of +Magdalen College, who died in his hundredth year, and who had so often +repeated all the circumstances of the execution of Charles I, that +when Macaulay expressed a wish to see him, he declined “because that +young man has given quite a wrong account of the last moments of the +king,” which he then proceeded to relate, as if he had been an +eye-witness throughout. + +Are we not liable to the same hallucination, though, let us hope, in a +more mitigated form? Have we never told a story as if it were our +own, not from any wish to deceive, but simply because it seemed +shorter and easier to do so than to explain step by step how it +reached us? And after doing that once or twice, is there not great +danger of our being surprised at somebody else claiming the story as +his own, or actually maintaining that it was he who told it to us? + +Not very long ago I remember reading in a journal a story of the Duke +of Wellington. His servant had been sent before to order dinner for +him at an out-of-the-way hotel, and in order to impress the landlord +with the dignity of his coming guest, he had recited a number of the +Duke’s titles, which were very numerous. The landlord, thinking that +the Duke of Vittoria, the Prince of Waterloo, the Marquis of Torres +Vedras, and all the rest, were friends invited to dine with the Duke +of Wellington, ordered accordingly a very sumptuous banquet to the +great dismay of the real Duke. This may or may not be a very old and a +very true story; all I know is that much the same thing was told at +Oxford of Dr. Bull, who was Canon of Christ Church, Canon of Exeter, +Prebendary of York, Vicar of Staverton, and lastly, the Rev. Dr. Bull +himself. Dinner was provided for each of these persons, and we are +told that the reverend pluralist had to eat all the dishes on the +table and pay for them. This also may have been no more than one of +the many “Common-roomers” which abounded in Oxford when Common Rooms +were more frequented than they are now. But what I happen to know as a +fact is that Dean Stanley received no less than four invitations to a +hall at Blenheim, addressed A. P. Stanley, Esq., the Rev. A. P. +Stanley, Canon Stanley, Professor Stanley, all evidently copied from +some books of reference. + +I may perhaps claim one advantage in trying to describe what happened +to myself in my passage through life. From the earliest days that I +can recollect, I felt myself as a twofold being—as a subject and an +object, as a spectator and as an actor. I suppose we all talk to +ourselves, and say to our better and worse selves, O thou fool! or, +Well done, my boy! Well this inward conversation began with me at a +very early time, and left the impression that I was the coachman, but +at the same time the horse too which he drove and sometimes whipped +very cruelly. And this phase of thought, or rather this state of +feeling, seems soon to have led me on to another view which likewise +dates from a very early time, though it afterwards vanished. As a +little boy, when I could not have the same toys which other boys +possessed, I could fully enjoy what they enjoyed, as if they had been +my own. There is a German phrase, “Ich freue mich in deiner Seele,” +which exactly expressed what I often felt. It was not the result of +teaching, still less of reasoning—it was a sentiment given me and +which certainty did not leave me till much later in life, when +competition, rivalry, jealousy, and envy seemed to accentuate my own I +as against all other I’s or Thou’s. I suppose we all remember how the +sight of a wound of a fellow creature, nay even of a dog, gives us a +sharp twitch in the same part of our own body. That bodily sympathy +has never left me, I suffer from it even now as I did seventy years +ago. And is there anybody who has not felt his eyes moisten at the +sudden happiness of his friends? All this seems to me to account, to a +certain extent at least, for that feeling of identity with so-called +strangers, which came to me from my earliest days, and has returned +again with renewed strength in my old age. The “know thyself,” +ascribed to Chilon and other sages of ancient Greece, gains a deeper +meaning with every year, till at last the I which we looked upon as +the most certain and undoubted fact, vanishes from our grasp to become +the Self, free from the various accidents and limitations which make +up the I, and therefore one with the Self that underlies all +individual and therefore vanishing I’s. What that common Self may be +is a question to be reserved for later times, though I may say at once +that the only true answer given to it seems to me that of the +Upanishads and the Vedanta philosophy. Only we must take care not to +mistake the moral Self, that finds fault with the active Self, for the +Highest Self that knows no longer of good or evil deeds. + +Long before I had worked and thought out this problem as the +fundamental truth of all philosophy, it presented itself to me as if +by intuition, long before I could have fathomed it in its metaphysical +meaning. I had just heard of the death of a dear little child, and was +standing in our garden, looking at a rose-bush, covered in summer with +hundreds of rose-buds and rose-flowers. While I was looking I broke +off one small withered bud from the midst of a large cluster of roses, +and after I had done so a question came to me, and I said to myself, +What has happened? Is it only that one small bud is dead and gone, or +have not all the other roses been touched by the breath of death that +fell on it? Have they not all suffered from the death of their sister, +for they all spring from the same stem, they all have their life from +the same source? And if one rose suffers, must not all the others +suffer with it? Then all the buds and flowers of the cluster seemed to +me to become one, as it were a family of roses, and each single bud +seemed but the repetition of the same thing, the manifestation of the +same thought, namely the thought of the rose. But my eyes were carried +still further, and the stem from which the bunch of roses sprang was +lost with other stems in a branch, and it was that branch on which all +the roses of the branchlets and stems depended, and without which they +could not flower or exist. The single roses thus became identified +with the branch from which they had sprung, and by which they lived. I +wondered more and more, and after another look all the branches with +all their branchlets became absorbed in the stem, and the stem was the +tree, and the tree sprang from a seed, or as it is now called, the +protoplasm; but beyond that seed there was nothing else that the eye +could see or the mind could grasp. And while this vision floated +before my eyes I thought of my little friend, and the home from which +she had been broken off, and the same vision which had changed the +rose-bush with all its flowers, and buds, and branchlets, and +branches, into a stem and a tree, and at last into one invisible germ +and seed, seemed now to change my little friend and her brothers and +sisters, her parents too and all her family, into one being which, +like an old oak tree, started from an invisible stem, or an invisible +seed, or from an invisible thought, and that divine thought was man, +as the other divine thought had been rose. + +Perhaps I did not see it so fully then as I see it now, and I +certainly did not reason about it. I simply felt that in the death of +my little friend, something of myself had gone, though she was no +relation, but only a stray human friend. We see many things as +children which we cannot see as grown-up men and women, for, as +Longfellow said, “the thoughts of youth are long long thoughts.” Nay, +I feel convinced that He who spoke the parable of the vine had seen +the same vision when He said: “I am the vine, ye are the branches. +Abide in Me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit of itself +except it abide in the vine, no more can ye, except ye abide in Me.” +And it is on this vision, or this parable of the vine, that +immediately afterwards follows the lesson, “Love one another, as I +have loved you.” In loving one another we are in truth loving the +others as ourselves, as one with ourselves; and while we are loving +Him who is the vine, we are loving the branches, ourselves—aye, even +our own little selves. + +Such vague visions or intuitions often remain with us for life, but +while they seem to be the same, they vary as we vary ourselves. We +imagine we saw their deepest meaning from the first, but, like a +parable, they gain in meaning every time they come back to us. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +CHILDHOOD AT DESSAU + + +In a small town such as Dessau was when I lived there as a child and +as a boy, one lived as in an enchanted island. The horizon was very +narrow, and nothing happened to disturb the peace of the little oasis. +The Duchy was indeed a little oasis in the large desert of Central +Germany. The landscape was beautiful: there were rivers small and +large—the Mulde and the Elbe; there were magnificent oak forests; +there were regiments of firs standing in regular columns like so many +grenadiers; there were parks such as one sees in England only. The +town, the capital of the Duchy of Anhalt-Dessau, had been cared for by +successive rulers—men mostly far in advance of their time—who had +read and travelled, and brought home the best they could find abroad. +Their old castle, centuries old, over-awed the town; it was by far the +largest building, though there were several other smaller places in +the town for members of the ducal family. All the public buildings, +theatres, libraries, schools, and barracks, had been erected by the +Dukes, as well as several private residences intended for some of the +higher officials. The whole town was, in fact, the creation of the +Dukes; the whole ground on which it stood had been originally their +property, but it was mostly held as freehold by those who had built +their own private houses on it. No one would have built a house on +leasehold land, and several of the houses were of so substantial a +character that one saw they had been intended to last for more than +ninety-nine years. The same family often remained in their house for +generations, and the different stories were occupied by three +generations at the same time—by grandparents, parents, and children. +In this small town I was born on December 6, 1823. My father, Wilhelm +Müller, was Librarian of the Ducal Library, and one of the most +popular poets in Germany. A national monument was erected to his +memory at Dessau in the year 1891, nearly a hundred years after his +birth. + + [Illustration: MY FATHER] + +What a blessing it would be if such a rule were followed with all +great men, who seem so great at the time of their death, and who, a +hundred years later, are almost forgotten, or at all events +appreciated by a small number of admirers only. This Monument- and +Society-mania is indeed becoming very objectionable, for if for some +time there has been no room for tombs and statues in Westminster +Abbey, there will soon be no room for them in the streets of London. +The result is that many of the people who walk along the Thames +Embankment, particularly foreigners, often ask, “Cur?” when looking at +the human idols in bronze and marble put up there; while historians, +remembering the really great men of England, would ask quite as often, +“Cur non?” There is a curious race of people, who, as soon as a man of +any note dies, are ready to found anything for him—a monument, a +picture, a school, a prize, a society—to keep alive his memory. Of +course these societies want presidents, members of council, +committees, secretaries, &c., and at last, subscriptions also. Thus it +has happened that the name of founder (_Gründer_) has assumed, +particularly in Germany, a perfume by no means sweet. Those who are +asked to subscribe to such testimonials know how disagreeable it is to +decline to give at least their name, deeply as they feel that in +giving it they are offending against all the rules of historical +perspective. I should not say that my father was one of the great +poets of Germany, though Heine, no mean critic, declared that he +placed his lyric poetry next to that of Goethe. Besides, he was barely +thirty-three when he died. He had been a favourite pupil of F. A. +Wolf, and had proved his classical scholarship by his _Homerische +Vorschule_, and other publications. His poems became popular in the +true sense of the word, and there are some which the people in the +street sing even now without being aware of the name of their author. +Schubert’s compositions also have contributed much to the wide +popularity of his _Schöne Müllerin_ and his _Winterreise_, so that +though it might truly be said of him that he wanted no monument in +bronze or stone, it seemed but natural that a small town like Dessau +should wish to honour itself by honouring the memory of one of its +sons. In the company of Mendelssohn, the philosopher, and of F. +Schneider, the composer, a monument of my father in the principal +street of his native town, and before the school in which he had been +a pupil and a teacher, could hardly seem out of place. That the Greek +Parliament voted the Pentelican marble for the poet of the +_Griechenlieder_, as it had done for Lord Byron, was another +inducement for his fellow citizens to do honour to their honoured +poet. He died when I was hardly four years old, so that my +recollection of him is very faint and vague, made up, I believe, to a +great extent, of pictures, and things that my mother told me. I seem +to remember him as a bright, sunny, and thoroughly joyful man, +delighted with our little naughtinesses. One book I still possess +which he bought for me and which was to be the first book of my +library. It was a small volume of Horace, printed by Pickering in +1820. It has now almost vanished among the 12,000 big volumes that +form my library, but I am delighted that I am still able, at +seventy-six, to read it without spectacles. I think I remember my +father taking my sister and me on his knees, and telling us the most +delightful stories, that set us wondering and laughing and crying till +we could laugh and cry no longer. He had been a fellow worker with the +brothers Grimm, and the stories he told were mostly from their +collection, though he knew how to embellish them with anything that +could make a child cry and laugh. + +People have little idea how great and how lasting an influence such +popular stories about kings and queens, and princesses and knights, +about ogres and witches, about men that have been changed into +animals, and about animals that talk and behave like human beings, +exercise on the imagination of young children. While we listened, a +new world seemed to open before us, and anything like doubt as to the +reality of these beings never existed. What was reality or unreality +to young children of four and five? How few people know what real +reality is, even after they have reached the age of fifty or sixty. +For children, such names as reality and unreality do not exist, nor +the ideas which they express. They listen to what their father tells +them, and they cannot see any difference between what he tells them of +Frederick Barbarossa, of Romulus and Remus suckled by a wolf, or of +the dwarfs that guarded the coffin of Schneewittchen. + +Some people, however, have thought that from an educational point of +view, a belief in this imaginary world must be mischievous. I doubt +it, and it would be easy to show that originally these stories and +fables were really meant to inculcate right and good principles. +Luther declared that he would not lose these wonderful stories of his +tender childhood for any sum of money, and Camerarius (_Fabulae +Aesopeae_, p. 406, Lipsiae, 1570) speaks of these German fables as +filling the minds of the people, and particularly of children, with +terror, hope, and religion. The oldest collections in which some of +these Aesopean fables occur, the Pantschatantra and Hitopadesa in +Sanskrit, were distinctly intended for the education of princes, and +though they may make the young listeners inclined to be superstitious, +such superstitiousness is not likely to last long. Children delight in +_Märchen_ as in a kind of pantomime, and when the curtain has fallen +on that fairy world they often think of it as of a beautiful dream +that has passed away. The stories are certainly more impressive than +the proverbs and wise saws which many of them were meant to +illustrate, without always saying, _haec fabula docet_. Even if some +of these stories touch sometimes on what may not seem to us quite +correct, it is done to make children laugh rather at the silliness +than cry at the downright wickedness of some of the heroes. It is by +no means uncommon, for instance, that a good-for-nothing fellow +succeeds, while his virtuous companions fail. But there is either a +reason for it, or the injustice provokes the indignation of children, +long before they have learnt that in real life also virtue does not +always receive its reward, while falsehood often prospers, at least +for a time. There is no harm, I think, in a certain dreaminess in +children. I remember that I have often laughed with all my heart at +Rumpelstilzchen, and shed bitter tears at Brüderchen and +Schwesterchen. I seemed to see brother and sister driven into the +wood, the brother being changed into a deer, and the sister sleeping +with her head on his warm fur, till at last the deer was killed by a +huntsman, and the little sister had to travel on quite alone in the +forest. Of course in the end she became a princess, and the brother a +prince who married a queen, and all ended in great joy and jubilation +in which we all joined. How good for children that they should for a +time at least have lived in such a dreamland, in which truthfulness +was as a rule rewarded, and falsehood punished in the end. + +It was like a recollection of a Paradise, and such a recollection, +even if it brought out the contrast between the dream-world and the +real world, would often set children musing on what ought and what +ought not to be. They did not long believe in Dornröschen and +Schneewittchen, they learnt but too soon that Dornröschen and +Schneewittchen belonged to another world. They may even have come to +learn that Dornröschen (thorn-rose) and Schneewittchen (snow-white) +were meant originally for the sleep or death of nature in her +snow-white shroud, and the return of the sun; but woe to the boy who +on first learning these stories should have declared that they were +mere bosh, or, as Sir Walter Scott says, the detritus of nature-myths. + +My father’s father, whom I never knew, seems not to have been +distinguished in any way. He was, however, a useful tradesman and a +respected citizen of Dessau, and, as I see, the founder of the first +lending library in that small town. He married a second time, a rich +widow, chiefly, as I was told, to enable him to give his son, my +father, a liberal education. She grew to be very old, and I well +remember her, to me, forbidding and terrifying appearance. She quite +belonged to a past generation, and when I saw her again after having +been in England, she asked me whether I had seen Napoleon who had been +taken prisoner and sent to England, but had lately escaped and resumed +his throne in Paris. She evidently mixed up the two Napoleons, and I +did not contradict her. To me her conversation was interesting as +showing how little the traditions of the people can be relied on, and +how easily, by the side of real history, a popular history could grow +up. After all, the poems of Charlemagne besieging Jerusalem owed their +origin very likely to some similar confusion in the minds of old +women. My sister and I were always terrified when we were sent to +visit her, for with her dishevelled grey hair, her thin white face, +and her piercing eyes, she was to us the old grandmother, or the witch +of Grimm’s stories; and the language she used was such that, if we +repeated it at home, we were severely reprimanded. She knew very +little about my father, but her memory about her first husband and +about her own youth and childhood was very clear, though not always +edifying. Her stories about ghosts, witches, ogres, nickers, and the +whole of that race were certainly enough to frighten a child, and some +of them clung to me for a very long time. On my mother’s side my +relations were more civilized, and they had but little social +intercourse with my grandmother and her relatives. My mother’s father +was von Basedow, the President, that is Prime Minister of the Duchy of +Anhalt-Dessau, a position in which he was succeeded by his eldest son, +my uncle. He was the first man in the town; the Duke and he really +ruled the Duchy exactly as they pleased. There was no check on them of +any kind, and yet no one, as far as I know, ever complained of any +tyranny. My grandfather’s father again was the famous reformer of +public education in Germany. He (1723-1790) had to brave the +conservative and clerical parties throughout the country. His home at +Hamburg was burnt in a riot, and it was then that he migrated to +Dessau, to become the founder of the _Philanthropinum_, and at the +same time the path-breaker for men such as Pestalozzi (1746-1827) and +Froebel (1782-1852). Considering his lifelong struggles, he deserved a +better monument at Dessau than he has found there. No doubt he was a +passionate and violent man, and his outbreaks are still remembered at +Dessau, while his beneficial activity has almost been forgotten. I was +often told that I took after my mother’s family, whatever that may +mean, and this was certainly the case in outward appearance, though I +hope not in temper. My great grandfather, the Pedagogue as he was +called, was a friend of Goethe’s, and is mentioned in his poems. + +My childhood at home was often very sad. My mother, who was left a +widow at twenty-eight with two children, my sister and myself, was +heart-broken. The few years of her married life had been most bright +and brilliant. My father was a rising poet, and such was his +popularity that he was able to indulge his tastes as he liked, whether +in travelling or in making his house a pleasant centre of social life. +Contemporaries and friends of my father, particularly Baron Simolin, a +very intimate friend, who spent the Christmas of 1825 in our house, +have written of the bright gaiety, the whole-hearted enjoyment of life +that reigned there, and have told how, though his income was to say +the least of it small, Wilhelm Müller’s home was the rallying-point +for all the cultivated, scientific, and artistic society of Dessau, +who felt attracted by the simple and unaffected yet truly genial +disposition of the master of the house. + +It would be interesting to know how much an author could make at that +time by his pen. Publishers seem to have been far more liberal then +than they are now. The circumstances were different. The number of +writers was of course much smaller, and the sale of really popular +books probably much larger. Anyhow, my father, whose salary was +minute, seems to have been able to enjoy the few years of his married +life in great comfort. The thought of saving money, however, seems +never to have entered his poetical mind, and after his unexpected +death, due to paralysis of the heart, it was found that hardly any +provision had been made for his family. Even the life insurance, which +is obligatory on every civil servant, and the pension granted by the +Duke, gave my mother but a very small income, fabulously small, when +one considers that she had to bring up two children on it. It has been +a riddle to me ever since how she was able to do it. + +However, it was done, and could only have been done in a small town +like Dessau, where education was as good as it was cheap, and where +very little was expected by society. We must also take into account +the very low prices which then ruled at Dessau with regard to almost +all the necessaries of life. I see from the old newspapers that beef +sold at about threepence a pound (two groschen), mutton at about +twopence. Wine was sold at seven to eight groschen a bottle, a better +sort for twelve to fourteen groschen—a groschen being about a penny. +People drank mostly beer, and this was sold under Government +inspection at two to three groschen per quart. Fish was equally cheap, +and such, at the beginning of the century, was the abundance of salmon +caught in the Elbe, and even in the Mulde at Dessau, that it was +stipulated as in Scotland, that servants should not have salmon more +than twice or thrice in the week. The lowest price for salmon was +then twopence halfpenny a pound. As a boy I can remember seeing the +salmon in large numbers leap over a weir in the very town of Dessau, +and though they had travelled for so many miles inland, the fish was +very good, though not so good as Severn salmon. Game also was very +cheap, and sold for not much more than mutton, nay, at certain times +it was given away; it could not be exported. Corn was sold at three +shillings per _Scheffel_, and by corn was chiefly meant rye. No one +took wheaten bread, and the bread was therefore called brown bread and +black bread. White bread was only taken with coffee, and peasants in +the villages would not have touched it, because it was not supposed to +make such strong bones as rye-bread. With such prices we can +understand that a salary of £300 was considered sufficient for the +highest officers of state. + +My mother’s relations, who were all high in the public service, my +grandfather, as I said, being the Duke’s chief minister, made life +more easy and pleasant for us; but for many years my mother never went +into society, and our society consisted of members of our own family +only. All I remember of my mother at that time was that she took her +two children day after day to the beautiful _Gottesacker_ (God’s +Acre), where she stood for hours at our father’s grave, and sobbed and +cried. It was a beautiful and restful place, covered with old acacia +trees. The inscription over the gateway was one of my earliest +puzzles. _Tod ist nicht Tod, ist nur Veredlung menschlicher Natur_ +(Death is not death, ’tis but the ennobling of man’s nature). On each +side there stood a figure, representing the genius of sleep and the +genius of death. All this was the work of the old Duke, Leopold +Friedrich Franz, who tried to educate his people as he had educated +himself, partly by travel, partly by intercourse with the best men he +could attract to Dessau. + + [Illustration: MY MOTHER] + +At home the atmosphere was certainly depressing to a boy. I heard and +thought more about death than about life, though I knew little of +course of what life or death meant. I had but few pleasures, and my +chief happiness was to be with my mother. I shared her grief without +understanding much about it. She was passionately devoted to her +children, and I was passionately fond of her. What there was left of +life to her, she gave to us, she lived for us only, and tried very +hard not to deprive our childhood of all brightness. She was certainly +most beautiful, and quite different from all other ladies at Dessau, +not only in the eyes of her son, but as it seemed to me, of everybody. +Then she had a most perfect voice, and when I first began music she +helped and encouraged me in every possible way. We played _à quatre +mains_, and soon she made me accompany her when she sang. As far as I +can recollect, I was never so happy as when I could be with her. She +read so much to us that I was quite satisfied, and saw perhaps less of +my young friends than I ought. When my mother said she wished to +die, and to be with our father, I feel sure that my sister and I were +only anxious that she should take us with her, for there were few +golden chains that bound us as yet to this life. I see her now, +sitting on a winter’s evening near the warm stove, a candle on the +table, and a book from which she read to us in her hands, while the +spinning-wheel worked by the servant-maid in the corner went on +humming all the time. She read Paul Gerhard’s translation of St. +Bernard’s: + + “Salve caput cruentatum, + Totum spinis coronatum, + Conquassatum, vulneratum, + Arundine verberatum, + Facies sputis illita.” + + “O Haupt voll Blut und Wunden, + Voll Schmerz und voller Hohn! + O Haupt zu Spott gebunden + Mit einer Dornenkron, + O Haupt sonst schön gezieret + Mit höchster Ehr und Zier, + Jetzt aber hoch schimpfiret: + Gegrüsset seist du mir!” + +Though the German translation does not come near the powerful majesty +of the original, yet such was the effect produced on me that I saw the +bleeding head before my eyes, and cried and cried until my mother had +to comfort me by assuring me that the sufferer was now in Heaven and +that it was only a song to be sung in church. How deeply such scenes +seem engraved on the memory; how vividly they return when the rubbish +of many years is swept away and all is again as it was then, and the +_caput cruentatum_ looks down on us once more, as it did then, with +the human eyes full of divine love, so truly human that one could say +with St. Bernard, “Tuum caput huc inclina, in meis pausa brachiis.” +But willingly as I listened to these readings at home, and full as my +heart was of love to Christ, I suffered intensely when I was taken to +church as a young boy. It was a very large church, and in winter +bitterly cold. Even though I liked the singing, the long sermon was +real torture to me. I could not understand a word of it, and being +thinly clad my teeth would have chattered if I had not been told that +it was wrong “to make a noise in church.” Oh! what misery is inflicted +on childhood by this enforced attendance at church. When a church can +be warmed the suffering is less intense, but a huge whitewashed church +that feels like an ice-cellar is about the worst torture that human +ingenuity could have invented to make children hate the very name of +church. These early impressions often remain for life, and the worst +of it is that the idea remains in the minds of children, and of +grown-up people too, that by going to church and repeating the same +prayers over and over again, and listening to long and often dreary +sermons, they are actually doing a service to God (_Gottesdienst_). +Why does no new prophet arise and say in the name of God, as David did +in the name of Jehovah, “Sermons and long prayers ‘thou didst not +desire’”? + +Many years later I had to discuss the same question with Keshub +Chunder Sen, the Indian Reformer. He wanted to know what kind of +service should be adopted by his new church, the Brahmo Somaj; his +friends thought of sermons, singing, and processions with flags and +flowers through the streets. “No,” I said to him, “service of God +should be service of men; if you want divine service, let it be a real +service, such as God would approve of. Let other people go to church, +to their mosques or their temples, but take you your own friends on +certain days of the week to whatever you like to call your +meeting-place, and after a short prayer or a few words of advice send +some of them to the poorest streets in the city, others to the +prisons, others to the hospitals. Let them pray with all who wish to +pray, but let them speak words of true love and comfort also, and when +they can, let them help them with their alms. That would be a real +Divine Service and a divine Sunday for you, and you would all come +home, it may be sadder, but certainly wiser and better men.” + +I am afraid he did not agree with me. He did not think that true +religion was to visit the poor and the afflicted. That might do for a +practical people like the English, but the Hindu wanted something +else, he wanted some outward show and ceremony for the people, and at +the same time some silent communion with God. Who can tell what +different people understand by religion? and who can prescribe the +spiritual food that is best for them? “Only,” I said, “do not call it +practical to encourage millions of people to waste hours and hours in +mere repetition, and to spend millions and millions in supplying this +cold comfort, when next door to the magnificent cathedral there are +squalid streets, and squalid houses, and squalid beds to lie and die +on.” + +The religious and devotional element is very strong in Germany, but +the churches are mostly empty. A German keeps his religion for +weekdays rather than for Sunday. When the German regiments marched, +and when they made ready for battle, they did not sing ribald songs, +they sang the songs of Luther and Paul Gerhard, which they knew by +heart and which strengthened them to face death as it ought to be +faced. + +Fortunately, while enforced attendance at church was apt to produce +the strongest aversion in the young heart against anything that was +called religion, religious instruction both at home and at school too +was excellent, and undid much of the mischief that had been done +during cold winter days. True religious sentiments can be planted in +the soul at home only, by a mother better even than by a father. The +sense of a divine presence everywhere, πἁντα πλἡρη θεὡν, once planted +in the heart of a child remains for life. Of course the child soon +begins to argue, and says to his mother that God cannot be at the same +time in two rooms. But only let a mother show to the child the rays of +the sun in the sky, in the streets, and in every corner of the house, +and it will begin to understand that nothing can be hid from the eyes +of Him who is greater than the sun. And when a child doubts whether +the voice of conscience can be the voice of God, and asks how he could +hear that voice without seeing the speaker, ask him only whose voice +it can be that tells him not to do what he himself wishes to do, and +not to say what he could say without any fear of men; and his idea of +God will be raised from that of a visible being like the sun, to the +concept of a presence that never vanishes, that is not only without, +in the sky, in the mountains, and in the storm, but nearer also +within, in the sense of fear, in the sense of shame, and in the hope +of pardon and love. + +At school our religious teaching was chiefly historical and moral. +There was no difficulty in finding proper teachers for that, and there +were no attempts on the part of parents to interfere with religious +instruction or to demand separate teaching for each sect. It is true +that religious sects are not so numerous in Germany as they are in +England. Some, though by no means all, children of Roman Catholic and +Jewish parents were allowed to be absent from religious lessons. But +most parents knew that the history of the Jewish religion would be +taught at school in so impartial and truly historical a spirit as +never to offend Jewish children. Respect for historical truth, and an +implanted sense of the reverence due to children, would keep any +teacher from making the history of the Christian Church, whether +before or after the Reformation, an excuse for offending one of the +little ones committed to his care. If Jews or Roman Catholics wished +for any special religious instruction it was given by their own +priests or Rabbis, and was given without any interference on the part +of the Government. But such was at my time the state of public feeling +that I hardly knew at school who among my young friends were Roman +Catholics, or Lutherans, or Reformed. I must admit, however, that the +very name of Luther might have offended Roman Catholics. He was +represented to us as a perfect saint, almost as inspired and +infallible. His hymns sung in church seemed to us little different +from the Psalms of David, and I well remember what a shock it gave me +when at Oxford, much later in life, I heard Luther spoken of like any +other mortal, nay, as a heretic, and a most dangerous heretic too. +When I was a boy I remember that in some places the same building had +to be used for Protestant and Roman Catholic services. All that, I am +afraid, is now changed, and the old liberal and tolerant feeling then +prevailing on all sides is now often stigmatized as indifference, and +by other ugly names. It should really be called the golden age of +Christianity, and this so-called indifference should be classed among +the highest Christian virtues, and as the fullest realization of the +spirit of Christ. + +Thus we grew up from our earliest youth, being taught to look upon +Christianity as an historical fact, on Christ and His disciples as +historical characters, on the Old and New Testaments as real +historical books. Though we did not understand as yet the deeper +meaning of Christ and of His words, we had at least nothing to unlearn +in later times, or to feel that our parents had ever told us what they +themselves could not have held to be true. Our simple faith was not +shaken by mere questions of criticism, or by the problem how any human +being could take upon himself to declare any book to be revealed, +unless he claimed for himself a more than human insight. The simplest +rules of logic should make such a declaration impossible, whatever the +sacred book may be to which it is applied. Granted that the Pope was +infallible, how could the Cardinals know that he was, unless they +claimed for themselves the same or even greater infallibility? It is +far more easy to be inspired than to know some one else is or was +inspired; the true inspiration is, and always has been, the spirit of +truth within, and this is but another name for the spirit of God. It +is truth that makes inspiration, not inspiration that makes truth. +Whoever knows what truth is, knows also what inspiration is: not only +_theopneustos_, blown into the soul by God, but the very voice of God, +the real presence of God, the only presence in which we, as human +beings, can ever perceive Him. + +How often have I in later life tried to explain this to my friends in +France and in England who endured mental agonies before they could +arrive at the simple conclusion that revelation can never be +objective, but must always be subjective. I may return to this +question at a later period of my life, when I had to discuss with +Renan, at Paris, with Froude, Kingsley, and Liddon, in England, and +tried to show how entirely self-made some of their difficulties were. +At present I have only to explain how it was that I had never to +extricate myself from a net in which so many honest thinkers find +themselves entangled without any fault of their own; as Samson, when +he awoke, found himself bound with seven green withs and had to break +them with all his might before he could hope to escape from the +Philistines. The Philistines never bound me. During my early +school-days these difficulties did not exist, but I have often been +grateful in after life that the seven locks of my head have never been +woven with the web. + +I remember a number of small events in my school-life at Dessau, but +though they were full of interest to me, nay, full of meaning, and not +without an influence on my later life, they would have no meaning and +no interest for others, and may remain as if they had never been. The +influence which music exercised on my mind, and, I believe, on my +heart also, I have related in my _Musical Recollections_. The image of +those passing years, though its general tone was melancholy, chiefly +owing to my mother’s melancholy, seemed to me at the time free from +all unhappiness. My work at school and at home was not too heavy; I +was fond of it, and very fond of books. Books were scarce then, and +whoever possessed a new and valuable book was expected to lend it to +his friends in the little town. If a man was known to possess, say, +Goethe’s works or Jean Paul’s works, the consequence was that one went +to him or to her to ask for the loan of them. And not only books, but +paper and pens also were scarce. The first steel pens came in when I +was still in the lower school, and bad as they were they were looked +upon as real treasures by the schoolboys who possessed them. Paper was +so dear that one had to be very sparing in its use. Every margin and +cover was scribbled over before it was thrown away, and I felt often +so hampered by the scarcity of paper that I gladly accepted a set of +copybooks instead of any other present that I might have asked for on +my birthday or at Christmas. I am sorry to say I have had to suffer +all my life from the inefficiency of our writing master, or maybe from +the fact that my thoughts were too quick for my pen. In other subjects +I did well, but though I was among the first in each class, I was by +no means cleverer than other boys. In the lower school work was more +like conversation or like hearing news from our teachers. The idea of +effort did not yet exist. The drudgery began, however, when I entered +the upper school, the gymnasium, and learnt the elements of Latin and +Greek. Though our teachers were very conscientious, they tried to make +our work no burden to us, and the constant change of places in each +class kept up a lively rivalry among the boys, though I am not sure +that it did not make me rather ambitious and at times conceited. +Still, I had few enemies, and it seemed of much more consequence who +could knock down another boy than who could gain a place above him. I +feel sure I could have done a great deal more at school than I did, +but it was partly my music and partly my incessant headaches that +interfered with my school work. + +I remember as a boy that certain streets were inhabited exclusively by +Jewish families. A large number of Jews had been received at Dessau by +a former Duke; but though he granted them leave to settle at Dessau +when they were persecuted in other parts of Germany, he stipulated +that they should only settle in certain streets. These streets were by +no means the worst streets of the town; on the contrary they showed +greater comfort and hardly any of the squalor which disgraced the +Jewish quarters in other towns in Germany. As children we were brought +up without any prejudice against the Jews, though we had, no doubt, a +certain feeling that they were tolerated only, and were not quite on +the same level with ourselves. We also felt the religious difficulty +sometimes very strongly. Were not the Jews the murderers of Christ? +and had they not said: “the blood be on us and on our children”? But +as we were told that it was wrong to harbour feelings of revenge, we +boys soon forgot and forgave, and played together as the best friends. +I remember picking up a number of Jewish words which would not have +been understood anywhere else. I was hardly aware that they were +Jewish and used them like any other words. But I once gave great +offence to my friend Professor Bernays, who was a Jew. He had uttered +some quite incredible statement, and I exclaimed, “Sind Sie denn ganz +maschukke?”—Hebrew for “mad.” I meant no harm, but he was very much +hurt. + +I knew several Jewish families, and received much kindness from them +as a boy. Many of these families were wealthy, but they never +displayed their wealth, and in consequence excited no envy. All that +is changed now. The children of the Jews who formerly lived in a very +quiet style at Dessau, now occupy the best houses, indulge in most +expensive tastes, and try in every way to outshine their non-Jewish +neighbours. They buy themselves titles, and, when they can, stipulate +for stars and orders as rewards for successful financial operations, +carried out with the money of princely personages. Hence the +revulsion of feeling all over Germany, or what is called +Anti-Semitism, which has assumed not only a social but a political +significance. I doubt whether there is anything religious in it, as +there was when we were boys. The Anti-Semitic hatred is the hatred of +money-making, more particularly of that kind of money-making which +requires no hard work, but only a large capital to begin with, and +boldness and astuteness in speculating, that is in buying and selling +at the right moment. The sinews of war for that kind of financial +warfare were mostly supplied by the fathers and grandfathers of the +present generation. Sometimes, no doubt, the capital was lost, and in +those cases it must be said that the Jewish speculator disappears from +the stage without a sigh or a cry. He begins again, and if he should +have to do what his grandfather did, walk from house to house with a +bag on his back, he does not whine. + +One cannot blame the Jews or any other speculators for using their +opportunities, but they must not complain either if they excite envy, +and if that envy assumes in the end a dangerous character. The Jews, +so far from suffering from disabilities, enjoy really certain +privileges over their Christian competitors in Germany. They belong to +a _regnum_, but also to a _regnum in regno_. They have, so to say, our +Sunday and likewise their Sabbath. Jew will always help Jew against a +Christian; and again who can blame them for that? All one can say is +that they should not complain of their unpopularity, but take into +account the risk they are running. No one hated the Jews such as they +were in Dessau fifty years ago. They had their own schools and +synagogues, and no one interfered with them when they built their +bowers in the streets at the time of their Feast of Tabernacles, and +lived, feasted, and slept in them to keep up the memory of their +sojourning in the desert. They indulged in even more offensive +practices, such as, for instance, putting three stones in the coffins +to be thrown by the dead at the Virgin Mary, her husband, and their +Son. No one suspected or accused them of kidnapping Christian +children, or offering sacrifices with their blood. They were known too +well for that. Conversions of Jews were not infrequent, and converted +Jews were not persecuted by their former co-religionists as they are +now. Even marriages between Christians and Jews were by no means +uncommon, particularly when the young Jewesses were beautiful or rich, +still better if they were both. Disgraceful as the Anti-Semitic riots +have been in Germany and Russia, there can be no doubt that in this as +in most cases both sides were to blame, and there is little prospect +of peace being re-established till many more heads have been broken. + +What helped very much to keep the peace in the small town of Dessau, +as it did all over Germany, nay, all over the world, till about the +year 1848, was the small number of newspapers. In my childhood and +youth their number was very small. In Dessau I only knew of one, which +was then called the _Wochenblatt_, afterwards the _Staatsanzeiger_. At +that time newspapers were really read for the news which they +contained, not for leading or misleading articles and all the rest. +What a happy time it was when a newspaper consisted of a sheet, or +half a sheet in quarto, with short paragraphs about actual events, +which had often taken place weeks and months before. A battle might +have been fought in Spain or Turkey, in India or China, and no one +knew of it till some official information was vouchsafed by the +respective Governments or by Jewish bankers. War-correspondents or +regular reporters did not exist, and the old telegraphic dispatches +were sent by wooden telegraphs fixed on high towers, which from a +distance looked like gallows on which a criminal was hanging and +gesticulating with arms and feet. Anybody who watched these signals +could decipher them far more easily than a hieroglyphic inscription. + +The peace of Europe, nay, of the whole world, was then in the keeping +of sovereigns and their ministers, and Prince Metternich might +certainly take some credit for having kept what he called the Thirty +Years’ Peace. Shall we ever, as long as there are newspapers, have +peace again—peace between the great nations of the world, and peace +at home between contending parties, and peace in our mornings at home +which are now so ruthlessly broken in upon, nay, swallowed up by +those paper-giants, most unwelcome yet irresistible callers, just when +we want to settle down to a quiet day’s work? It is no use protesting +against the inevitable, nor can we quite agree with those who maintain +that no newspaper carries the slightest weight or exercises the +smallest influence on home or foreign politics. A very influential +statesman and wise thinker used to say that we should never have had +Christianity if newspapers had existed at the time of Augustus. When +unsuccessful _littérateurs_ or bankrupt bankers’ clerks were the chief +contributors to the newspapers, their influence might have been small; +but when Bismarcks turned journalists, and Gortchakoffs prompted, +newspapers could hardly be called _quantités négligeables_. + +The horizon of Dessau was very narrow, but within its bounds there was +a busy and happy life. Everybody did his work honestly and +conscientiously. There were, of course, two classes, the educated and +the uneducated. The educated consisted of the members of the +Government service, the clergy, the schoolmasters, doctors, artists, +and officers; the uneducated were the tradesmen, mechanics, and +labourers. The trade was mostly in the hands of Jews, it had become +almost a Jewish monopoly. When one of these tradesmen went bankrupt, +there was a commotion over the whole town, and I remember being taken +to see one of these bankrupt shops, expecting to find the whole house +broken up and demolished, and being surprised to see the tradesman +standing whole, and sound, and smiling, in his accustomed place. My +etymological tastes must have developed very early, for I had asked +why this poor Jew was called a bankrupt, and had been duly informed +that it was because his bank had been broken, _banca rotta_, which of +course I took in a literal sense, and expected to see all the +furniture broken to pieces. The commercial relations of our Dessau +tradesmen did not extend much beyond Leipzig, Berlin, possibly Hamburg +and Cologne. If a burgher of Dessau travelled to these or to more +distant parts the whole town knew of it and talked about it, whereas a +journey to Paris or London was an event worthy to be mentioned and +discussed in the newspapers. These old newspapers are full of curious +information. We find that if a person wished to travel to Cologne or +further, he advertised for a companion, and it was for the Burgomaster +to make the necessary arrangements for him. + +French was studied and spoken, particularly at Court, but English was +a rare acquirement, still more Italian or Spanish. There was, however, +a small inner circle where these languages were studied, chiefly in +order to read the master-works of modern literature. And this was all +the more creditable because there were no good teachers to be found at +Dessau, and people had to learn what they wished to learn by +themselves, with the help of a grammar and dictionary. We learnt +French at school, but the result was deplorable. As in all public +schools, the French master who had to teach the language at the Ducal +Gymnasium could not keep order among the boys. He of course spoke +French, but that was all. He did not know how to teach, and could not +excite any interest in the boys, who insisted on pronouncing French as +if it were German. The poor man’s life was made a burden to him. His +name was Noel, and he had all the pleasing manners of a Frenchman, but +that served only to rouse the antagonism of the young barbarians. The +result was that we learnt very little, and I was sent to an old Jew to +learn French and a little English. That old Jew, called Levy Rubens, +was a perfect gentleman. He probably had been a commercial traveller +in his early days, though no one knew exactly where he came from or +how he had learnt languages. He had taught my father and grandfather +and he was delighted to teach the third generation. He certainly spoke +French and English fluently, but with the strongest Jewish accent, and +this was inherited by all his pupils at Dessau. I feel ashamed when I +think of the tricks we played the old man—putting mice into his +pockets, upsetting inkstands over his table, and placing crackers +under his chairs. But he never lost his temper; he never would have +dared to punish us as we deserved; but he went on with his lesson as +if nothing had happened. He took his small pay, and was satisfied +when his lessons were over and he could settle down to his long pipe +and his books. He lived quite alone and died quite alone, a +hardworking, honest, poor Jew, not exactly despised or persecuted, but +not treated with the respect which he certainly deserved, and which he +would have received if he had not been a Jew. + +Our public school was as good as any in Germany. These small duchies +generally followed the example of Prussia, and they carried out the +instructions issued by the Ministry of Education at Berlin according +to the very letter. Besides, several of the reigning dukes had taken a +very warm and personal interest in popular education, and at the +beginning of the century the eyes of the whole of Germany, nay, of +Europe, were turned towards the educational experiments carried on by +my great-grandfather, Basedow,[6] at the so-called Philanthropinum at +Dessau under the patronage of the Duke and of several of the more +enlightened sovereigns of Europe, such as the Empress Catherine of +Russia, the King of Denmark, the Emperor Joseph of Austria, Prince +Adam Czartoryski, &c. Even after Basedow’s death the interest in +education was kept alive in Dessau, and all was done that could be +done in so small a town to keep the different schools—elementary, +middle-class, and high schools—on the highest possible level of +efficiency. + + [6] Johann Bernhard Basedow, von seinem Urenkel, F. M. M. + (Essays, Band IV). + +Bathing was a very healthful recreation, though I very nearly came to +grief from trusting to my seniors. They could swim and I could not +yet. But while bathing with two of my friends in a part of the river +which was safe, they swam along and asked me to follow them. Having +complete confidence in them I jumped in from the shore, but very soon +began to sink. My shouts brought my friends back, and they rescued me, +not without some difficulty, from drowning. + +In an English school the influence of the master is, of course, more +constant, because one of the masters is always within call, while in +Germany he is visible during school-hours only. If a master is fond of +his pupils, and takes an interest in them individually, he can do them +more good than parents at home, or the teacher at a day school. The +boys at a German school are, no doubt, a very mixed crew, but that +cannot be helped. This mixture of classes may be a drawback in some +respects, but from an educational point of view the sons of very rich +parents are by no means more valuable than the poor boys. Far from it. +Many of the evils of schoolboy life come from the sons of the rich, +while the sons of poor parents are generally well behaved. But for all +that, there was a rough and rude tone among some of the boys at +school, arising from defects in the education at home, and this +sometimes embittered what ought to be the happiest time of life, +particularly in the case of delicate boys. The son of a Minister has +often to sit by the side of the son of a wealthy butcher, and the very +fact that he is the son of a gentleman often exposes the more refined +boy to the bullying of his muscular neighbour. I was fortunate at +school. I could hold my own with the boys, and as to the masters, +several of them had known my father or had been his pupils, and they +took a personal interest in me. + +I remember more particularly one young master who was very kind to me, +and took me home for private lessons and for giving me some good +advice. There was something sad and very attractive about him, and I +found out afterwards that he knew that he was dying of consumption, +and that besides that he was liable to be prosecuted for political +liberalism, which at that time was almost like high treason. I believe +he was actually condemned and sent to prison like many others, and he +died soon after I had left Dessau. His name was Dr. Hönicke, and he +was the first to try to impress on me that I ought to show myself +worthy of my father, an idea which had never entered my mind before, +nay, which at first I could hardly understand, but which, +nevertheless, slumbered on in my mind till years afterwards it was +called out and became a strong influence for the whole of my life. I +still have some lines which he wrote for my album. They were the +well-known lines from Horace, which, at the time, I had great +difficulty in construing, but which have remained graven in my memory +ever since: + + “Fortes creantur fortibus et bonis, + Est in iuvencis est in equis patrum + Virtus nec imbellem feroces + Progenerant aquilae columbam. + Doctrina sed vim promovet insitam, + Rectique cultus pectora roborant; + Utcunque defecere mores, + Dedecorant bene nata culpae.” + +In my childhood I had to pass through the ordinary illnesses, but it +was the faith in our doctor that always saved me. The doctor was to my +mind the man who was called in to make me well again, and while my +mother was agitated about her only son, I never dreamt of any danger. +The very idea of death never came near me till my grandfather died +(1835), but even then I was only about twelve years old, and though I +had seen much of him, particularly during the years that my mother +lived again in his house, yet he was too old to take much share in his +grandchildren’s amusements. He left a gap, no doubt, in our life, but +that gap was filled again with new figures in the life of a boy of +twelve. He was only sixty-one years old when he died, and yet my idea +of him was always that of a very old man. Everything was done for him, +his servant dressed him every morning, he was lifted into his carriage +and out of it, and he certainly lived the life of an invalid, such as +I should not consent to own to at seventy-six. He made no secret that +he cared more for the son of his son who was the heir, and was to +perpetuate the name of von Basedow, than for the son of his daughter. +He was very fond of driving and of shooting, and he frequently took my +cousin out shooting with him. When my cousin came home with a hare he +had shot, I confess I was sometimes jealous, but I was soon cured of +my wish to go with my grandfather into the forest. Once when I was +with him in his little carriage, my grandfather, not being able to see +well, had the misfortune to kill a doe which had come out with her two +little ones. The misery of the mother and afterwards of her two young +ones, was heart-rending, and from that day on I made up my mind never +to go out shooting, and never to kill an animal. And I have kept my +word, though I was much laughed at. It may be that later in life and +after my grandfather’s death I had little opportunity of shooting, but +the cry of the doe and the whimpering of the young ones who tried to +get suck from their dead mother have remained with me for life. + +My grandfather, though he aged early, remained in harness as Prime +Minister to the end of his life, and it was his great desire to +benefit his country by new institutions. It was he who, at the time +when people hardly knew yet what railroads meant, succeeded in getting +the line from Berlin to Halle and Leipzig to pass by Dessau. He +offered to build the bridge across the Elbe and to give the land and +the wood for the sleepers gratis, and what seemed at the time a far +too generous offer has proved a blessing to the duchy, making it as it +were the centre of the great railway connecting Berlin, Leipzig, +Magdeburg, the Elbe, Hanover, Bremen, nay, Cologne also, the Rhine, +and Western Europe. He was in his way a good statesman, though we are +too apt to measure a man’s real greatness by the circumstances in +which he moves. + +As far back as I can remember I was a martyr to headaches. No doctor +could help me, no one seemed to know the cause. It was a migraine, and +though I watched it carefully I could not trace it to any fault of +mine. The idea that it came from overwork was certainly untrue. It +came and went, and if it was one day on the right side it was always +the next time on the left, even though I was free from it sometimes +for a week or a fortnight, or even longer. It was strange also that it +seldom lasted beyond one day, and that I always felt particularly +strong and well the day after I had been prostrate. For prostrate I +was, and generally quite unable to do anything. I had to lie down and +try to sleep. After a good sleep I was well, but when the pain had +been very bad I found that sometimes the very skin of my forehead had +peeled off. In this way I often lost two or three days in a week, and +as my work had to be done somehow, it was often done anyhow, and I was +scolded and punished, really without any fault of my own. After all +remedies had failed which the doctor and nurses prescribed (and I well +remember my grandmother using massage on my neck, which must have +been about 1833 to 1835) I was handed over to Hahnemann, the founder +of homeopathy. Hahnemann (born 1755) had been practising as doctor at +Dessau as early as 1780—that is somewhat before my time—but had left +it, and when in 1820 he had been prohibited by the Government from +practising and lecturing at Leipzig, he took refuge once more in the +neighbouring town of Coethen. From there he paid visits to Dessau as +consulting physician, and after I had explained to him as well as I +could all the symptoms of my chronic headache, he assured my mother +that he would cure it at once. He was an imposing personality—a +powerful man with a gigantic head and strong eyes and a most +persuasive voice. I can quite understand that his personal influence +would have gone far to effect a cure of many diseases. People forget +too much how strong a curative power resides in the patient’s faith in +his doctor, in fact how much the mind can do in depressing and in +reinvigorating the body. I shall never forget in later years +consulting Sir Andrew Clarke, and telling him of ever so many, to my +mind, most serious symptoms. I had lost sleep and appetite, and +imagined myself in a very bad state indeed. He examined me and knocked +me about for full three quarters of an hour, and instead of +pronouncing my doom as I fully expected, he told me with a bright look +and most convincing voice that he had examined many men who had worked +their brains too much, but had never seen a man at my time of life so +perfectly sound in every organ. I felt young and strong at once, and +meeting my old friend Morier on my way home, we ate some dozens of +oysters together and drank some pints of porter without the slightest +bad effect. In fact I was cured without a pill or a drop of medicine. + +And who does not know how, if one makes up one’s mind at last to have +a tooth pulled out, the pain seems to cease as soon as we pull the +bell at the dentist’s? + +However, Hahnemann did not succeed with me. I swallowed a number of +his silver and gold globules, but the migraine kept its regular +course, right to left and left to right, and this went on till about +the year 1860. Then my doctor, the late Mr. Symonds of Oxford, told me +exactly what Hahnemann had told me—that he would cure me, if I would +go on taking some medicine regularly for six months or a year. He told +me that he and his brother had made a special study of headaches, and +that there were ever so many kinds of headache, each requiring its own +peculiar treatment. When I asked him to what category of headaches +mine belonged, I was not a little abashed on being told that my +headache was what they called the Alderman’s headache. “Surely,” I +said, “I don’t overeat, or overdrink.” I had thought that mine was a +mysterious nervous headache, arising from the brain. But no, it seemed +to be due to turtle soup and port wine. However, the doctor, seeing my +surprise, comforted me by telling me that it was the nerves of the +head which affected the stomach, and thus produced indirectly the same +disturbance in my digestion as an aldermanic diet. Whether this was +true or was only meant as a _solatium_ I do not know. But what I do +know is, that by taking the medicine regularly for about half a year, +the frequency and violence of my headaches were considerably reduced, +while after about a year they vanished completely. I was a new being, +and my working time was doubled. + +One lesson may be learnt from this, namely, that the English system of +doctoring is very imperfect. In England we wait till we are ill, then +go to a doctor, describe our symptoms as well as we can, pay one +guinea, or two, get our prescription, take drastic medicine for a +month and expect to be well. My German doctor, when he saw the +prescription of my English doctor, told me that he would not give it +to a horse. If after a month we are not better we go again; he +possibly changes our medicine, and we take it more or less regularly +for another month. The doctor cannot watch the effect of his medicine, +he is not sure even whether his prescriptions have been carefully +followed; and he knows but too well that anything like a chronic +complaint requires a chronic treatment. The important thing, however, +was that my headaches yielded gradually to the continued use of +medicine; it would hardly have produced the desired effect if I had +taken it by fits and starts. All this seems to me quite natural; but +though my English doctor cured me, and my German doctors did not, I +still hold that the German system is better. Most families have their +doctor in Germany, who calls from time to time to watch the health of +the old and young members of the family, particularly when under +medical treatment, and receives his stipulated annual payment, which +secures him a safe income that can be raised, of course, by attendance +on occasional patients. Perhaps the Chinese system is the best; they +pay their doctor while they are well, and stop payment as long as they +are ill. I know the unanswerable argument which is always thrown at my +head whenever I suggest to my friends that there are some things which +are possibly managed better in Germany than in England. If my remarks +refer to the study and practice of medicine I am asked whether more +men are killed in England than in Germany; if I refer to the study and +practice of law I am assured that quite as many murderers are hanged +in England as in Germany; and if I venture to hint that the study of +theology might on certain points be improved at Oxford, I am told that +quite as many souls are saved in England as in Germany, nay, a good +many more. As I cannot ascertain the facts from trustworthy +statistics, I have nothing to reply; all I feel is that most nations, +like most individuals, are perfect in their own eyes, but that those +are most perfect who are willing to admit that there is something to +be learnt from their neighbours. + +But to return to Hahnemann. He was very kind to me, and I looked up to +him as a giant both in body and in mind. But he could not deliver me +from my enemy, the ever recurrent migraine. The cures, however, both +at Dessau and at Coethen, where he had been made a _Hofrath_ by the +reigning Duke, were very extraordinary. Hahnemann remained in Coethen +till 1835, and in that year, when he was eighty, he married a young +French lady, Melanie d’Hervilly, and was carried off by her to Paris, +where he soon gained a large practice, and died in 1843, that is at +the age of eighty-eight. Much of his success, I feel sure, was due to +his presence and to the confidence which he inspired. How do I know +that Sir Andrew Clarke, seeing that I was in low spirits about my +health, did not think it right to encourage me, and by encouraging me +did certainly make me feel confident about myself, and thus raised my +vitality, my spirits, or whatever we like to call it? “Thy faith hath +made thee whole” is a lesson which doctors ought not to neglect. + +How little we know the effect of the environment in which we grow up. +My old granny has drawn deeper furrows through my young soul than all +my teachers and preachers put together. I am not going to add a +chapter to that most unsatisfactory of all studies, child-psychology. +It is an impossible subject. The victim—the child—cannot be +interrogated till it is too late. The influences that work on the +child’s senses and mind cannot be determined; they are too many, and +too intangible. The observers of babies, mostly young fathers proud of +their first offspring, remind me always of a very learned friend of +mine, who presented to the Royal Society most laborious pages +containing his lifelong observations on certain deviations of the +magnetic needle, and who had forgotten that in making these +observations he always had a pair of steel spectacles on his nose. +However, I have nothing to say against these observations, nor against +their more or less successful interpretations. But the real harm +begins when people imagine that in studying the ways of infants they +can discover what man was like in his original condition, whether as a +hairy or a hairless creature. To imagine that we can learn from the +way in which children begin to use our old words, how the primitive +language of mankind was formed, seems to me like imagining that +children playing with counters would teach us how and for what purpose +the first money was coined. There is no doubt a grain of truth in this +infantile psychology, but it requires as many caveats as that which is +called ethnological psychology, which makes us see in the savages of +the present day the representation of the first ancestors of our race, +and would teach us to discover in their superstitions the antecedents +of the mythology and religion of the Aryan or Semitic races. The same +philosophers who constantly fall back on heredity and atavism in +order to explain what seems inexplicable in the beliefs and customs +of the Brahmans, Greeks, or Romans, seem quite unconscious of the many +centuries that must needs have passed over the heads of the +Patagonians of the present day as well as of the Greeks at the time of +Homer. They look upon the Patagonians as the _tabula rasa_ of +humanity, and they forget that even if we admitted that the ancestors +of the Aryan race had once been more savage than the Patagonians, it +would not follow that their savagery was identical with that of the +people of Tierra del Fuego. Why should not the distance between +Patagonian and Vedic Rishis have been at least as great as that +between Vedic Rishis and Homeric bards? If there are ever so many +kinds of civilized life, was there only one and the same savagery? + +To take, for instance, the feeling of fear; is it likely that we shall +find out whether it is innate in human nature or acquired and +intensified in each generation, by shaking our fists in the face of a +little baby, to see whether it will wink or shrink or shriek? Some +children may be more fearless than others, but whether that +fearlessness arises from ignorance or from stolidity is again by no +means easy to determine. A burnt child fears the fire, an unburnt +child might boldly grasp a glowing coal, but all this would not help +us to determine whether fear is an innate or an acquired tendency or +habit. + +All I can say for myself is that my young life and even my later years +were often rendered miserable by the foolish stories of one of my +grandmothers, and that I had to make a strong effort of will before I +could bring myself to walk across a churchyard in the dark. This shows +how much our character is shaped by circumstances, even when we are +least aware of it. I did not believe in ghosts and I was not a coward, +but I felt through life a kind of shiver in dark passages and at the +sound of mysterious noises, and the mere fact that I had to make an +effort to overcome these feelings shows that something had found its +way into my mental constitution that ought never to have been there, +and that caused me, particularly in my younger days, many a moment of +discomfort. + +All such experiences constitute what may be called the background of +our life. My first ideas of men and women, and of the world at large, +that is of the unknown world, were formed within the narrow walls of +Dessau, for Dessau was still surrounded by walls, and the gates of the +city were closed every night, though the fears of a foreign enemy were +but small. Of course the views of life prevailing at Dessau were very +narrow, but they were wide enough for our purposes. Though we heard of +large towns like Dresden or Berlin, and of large countries like France +and Italy, my real world was Dessau and its neighbourhood. We had no +interests outside the walls of our town or the frontiers of our +duchy. If we heard of things that had happened at Leipzig or Berlin, +in Paris or London, they had no more reality for us than what we had +read about Abraham, or Romulus and Remus, or Alexander the Great. To +us the pulse of the world seemed to beat in the _Haupt- und +Residenzstadt_ of Dessau, though we knew perfectly well how small it +was in comparison with other towns. + +And this, too, has left its impression on my thoughts all through +life, if only by making everything that I saw in later life in such +towns as Leipzig, Berlin, Paris, and London, appear quite +overwhelmingly grand. Boys brought up in any of these large towns +start with a different view of the world, and with a different measure +for what they see in later life. I do not know that they are to be +envied for that, for there is pleasure in admiration, pleasure even in +being stunned by the first sight of the life in the streets of Paris +or London. I certainly have been a great admirer all my life, and I +ascribe this disposition to the small surroundings of my early years +at Dessau. + +And so it was with everything else. Having admired our +Cavalier-Strasse, I could admire all the more the Boulevards in Paris, +and Regent Street in London. Having enjoyed our small theatre, I stood +aghast at the Grand Opera, and at Drury Lane. This power of admiration +and enjoyment extended even to dinners and other domestic amusements. +Having been brought up on very simple fare, I fully enjoyed the +dinners which the Old East India Company gave, when we sat down about +400 people, and, as I was told, four pounds was paid for each guest. I +mention this because I feel that not only has the Spartan diet of my +early years given me a relish all through life for convivial +entertainments, even if not quite at four pounds a head, but that the +general self-denial which I had to exercise in my youth has made me +feel a constant gratitude and sincere appreciation for the small +comforts of my later years. + +I remember the time when I woke with my breath frozen on my bedclothes +into a thin sheet of ice. We were expected to wash and dress in an +attic where the windows were so thickly frozen as to admit hardly any +light in the morning, and where, when we tried to break the ice in the +jug, there were only a few drops of water left at the bottom with +which to wash. No wonder that the ablutions were expeditious. After +they were performed we had our speedy breakfast, consisting of a cup +of coffee and a _semmel_ or roll, and then we rushed to school, often +through the snow that had not yet been swept away from the pavement. +We sat in school from eight to eleven or twelve, rushed home again, +had our very simple dinner, and then back to school, from two to four. +How we lived through it I sometimes wonder, for we were thinly clad +and often wet with rain or snow; and yet we enjoyed our life as boys +only can enjoy it, and had no time to be ill. One blessing this early +roughing has left me for life—a power of enjoying many things which +to most of my friends are matters of course or of no consequence. The +background of my life at Dessau and at Leipzig may seem dark, but it +has only served to make the later years of my life all the brighter +and warmer. + +The more I think about that distant, now very distant past, the more I +feel how, without being aware of it, my whole character was formed by +it. The unspoiled primitiveness of life at Dessau as it was when I was +at school there till the age of twelve, would be extremely difficult +to describe in all its details. Everybody seemed to know everybody and +everything about everybody. Everybody knew that he was watched, and +gossip, in the best sense of the word, ruled supreme in the little +town. Gossip was, in fact, public opinion with all its good and all +its bad features. Still the result was that no one could afford to +lose caste, and that everybody behaved as well as he could. I really +believe that the private life of the people of Dessau at the beginning +of the century was blameless. The great evils of society did not +exist, and if now and then there was a black sheep, his or her life +became a burden to them. Everybody knew what had happened, and society +being on the whole so blameless, was all the more merciless on the +sinners, whether their sins were great or small. So from the very +first my idea was that there were only two classes—one class quite +perfect and pure as angels, the other black sheep, and altogether +unspeakable. There was no transition, no intermediate links, no +shading of light and dark. A man was either black or white, and this +rigid rule applied not only to moral character, but intellectual +excellence also was measured by the same standard. A work of art was +either superlatively beautiful, or it was contemptible. A man of +science was either a giant or a humbug. Some people spoke of Goethe as +the greatest of all poets and philosophers the world had ever known; +others called him a wicked man and an overvalued poet.[7] + + [7] That this was not only the case at Dessau, may be seen by a + number of contemporary reviews of Goethe’s works republished + some years ago and the exact title of which I cannot find. + +It is dangerous, no doubt, to go through life with so imperfect a +measure, and I have for a long time suffered from it, particularly in +cases where I ought to have been able to make allowance for small +failings. But as I had been brought up to approach people with a +complete trust in their rectitude, and with an unlimited admiration of +their genius, it took me many years before I learnt to make allowance +for human weaknesses or temporary failures. I have lost many a +charming companion and excellent friend in my journey through life, +because I weighed them with my rusty Dessau balance. I had to learn by +long experience that there may be a spot, nay, several spots on the +soft skin of a peach, and yet the whole fruit may be perfect. I acted +very much like the merchant who tested a whole field of rice by the +first handful of grains, and who, if he found one or two bad grains, +would have nothing to do with the whole field. I had to learn what +was, perhaps, the most difficult lesson of all, that a trusted friend +could not always be trusted, and yet need not therefore be altogether +a reprobate. What was most difficult for me to digest was an untruth: +finding out that one who professed to be a friend had said and done +most unfriendly things behind one’s back. Still, in a long life one +finds out that even that may not be a deadly sin, and that if we are +so loth to forgive it, it is partly because the falsehood affected our +own interests. Thus only can we explain how a man whom we know to have +been guilty of falsehoods towards ourselves may be looked upon as +perfectly honest, straightforward, and trustworthy, by a large number +of his own friends. We see this over and over again with men occupying +eminent positions in Church and State. We see how a prime minister or +an archbishop is represented by men who know him as a liar and a +hypocrite, while by others he is spoken of as a paragon of honour and +honesty, and a true Christian. My narrow Dessau views became a little +widened when I went to school at Leipzig; still more when I spent two +years and a half at the University of Leipzig, and afterwards at +Berlin. Still, during all this time I saw but little of what is called +society, I only knew of people whom I loved and of people whom I +disliked. There was no room as yet for indifferent people, whom one +tolerates and is civil to without caring whether one sees them again +or not. Of the simplest duties of society also I was completely +ignorant. No one ever told me what to say and what to do, or what not +to say and what not to do. What I felt I said, what I thought right I +did. There was, in fact, in my small native town very little that +could be called society. One lived in one’s family and with one’s +intimate friends without any ceremony. It is a pity that children are +not taught a few rules of life-wisdom by their seniors. I know that +the Jews do not neglect that duty, and I remember being surprised at +my young Jewish friends at Dessau coming out with some very wise saws +which evidently had not been grown in their own hot-houses, but had +been planted out full grown by their seniors. The only rules of +worldly wisdom which I remember, came to me through proverbs and +little verses which we had either to copy or to learn by heart, such +as: + + “Wer einmal lügt, dem glaubt man nicht + Und wenn er auch die Wahrheit spricht.” + + “Morgenstunde hat Gold im Munde.” + + “Kein Faden ist so fein gesponnen, + Er kommt doch endlich an die Sonnen.” + + “Jeder ist seines Glückes Schmied.” + +Some lines which hung over my bed I have carried with me all through +life, and I still think they are very true and very terse: + + “Im Glück nicht jubeln und im Sturm nicht zagen, + Das Unvermeidliche mit Würde tragen, + Das Rechte thun, am Schönen sich erfreuen, + Das Leben lieben und den Tod nicht scheuen, + Und fest an Gott und bessere Zukunft glauben, + Heisst leben, heisst dem Tod sein Bitteres rauben.” + +Still, all this formed a very small viaticum for a journey through +life, and I often thought that a few more hints might have preserved +me from the painful process of what was called rubbing off one’s +horns. Again and again I had to say to myself, “That would have done +very well at home, but it was a mistake for all that.” My social +rawness and simplicity stuck to me for many years, just as the Dessau +dialect remained with me for life; at least I was assured by my +friends that though I had spoken French and English for so many years, +they could always detect in my German that I came from Dessau or +Leipzig. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +SCHOOL-DAYS AT LEIPZIG + + +It was certainly a poor kind of armour in which I set out from Dessau. +My mother, devoted as she was to me, had judged rightly that it was +best for me to be with other boys and under the supervision of a man. +I had been somewhat spoiled by her passionate love, and also by her +passionate severity in correcting the ordinary naughtinesses of a boy. +So having risen from form to form in the school at Dessau, I was sent, +at the age of twelve, to Leipzig, to live in the house of Professor +Carus and attend the famous Nicolai-Schule with his son, who was of +the same age as myself and who likewise wanted a companion. It was +thought that there would be a certain emulation between us, and so, no +doubt, there was, though we always remained the best of friends. The +house in which we lived stood in a garden and was really an +orthopaedic institution for girls. There were about twenty or thirty +of these young girls living in the house or spending the day there, +and their joyous company was very pleasant. Of course the names and +faces of my young friends have, with one or two exceptions, vanished +from my memory, but I was surprised when a few years ago (1895) I was +staying with Madame Salis-Schwabe at her delightful place on the Menai +Straits, and discovered that we had known each other more than fifty +years before in the house of Professor Carus at Leipzig. Though we had +met from time to time, we never knew of our early meeting at Leipzig, +till in comparing notes we discovered how we had spent a whole year in +the same house and among the same friends. Hers has been a life full +of work and entirely devoted to others. To the very end of her days +she was spending her large income in founding schools on the system +recommended by Froebel, not only in England, but in Italy. She died at +Naples in 1896, while visiting a large school that had been founded by +her with the assistance of the Italian Government. Her own house in +Wales was full of treasures of art, and full of memorials of her many +friends, such as Bunsen, Renan, Mole, Ary Scheffer, and many more. How +far her charity went may be judged by her being willing to part with +some of the most precious of Ary Scheffer’s pictures, in order to keep +her schools well endowed, and able to last after her death, which she +felt to be imminent. + +Public schools are nearly all day schools in Germany. The boys live at +home, mostly in their own families, but they spend six hours every day +at school, and it is a mistake to imagine that they are not attached +to it, that they have no games together, and that they do not grow up +manly or independent. Most schools have playgrounds, and in summer +swimming is a favourite amusement for all the boys. There were two +good public schools at Leipzig, the Nicolai School and the Thomas +School. There was plenty of _esprit de corps_ in them, and often when +the boys met it showed itself not only in words but in blows, and the +discussions over the merits of their schools were often continued in +later life. I was very fortunate in being sent to the Nicolai School, +under Dr. Nobbe as head master. He was at the same time Professor at +the University of Leipzig, and is well known in England also as the +editor of Cicero. He was very proud that his school counted Leibniz[8] +among its former pupils. He was a classical scholar of the old school. +During the last three years of our school life we had to write plenty +of Latin and Greek verse, and were taught to speak Latin. The speaking +of Latin came readily enough, but the verses never attained a very +high level. Besides Nobbe we had Forbiger, well known by his books on +ancient geography, and Palm, editor of the same Greek Dictionary +which, in the hands of Dr. Liddell, has reached its highest +perfection. Then there was Funkhänel, known beyond Germany by his +edition of the Orations of Demosthenes, and his studies on Greek +orators. We were indeed well off for masters, and most of them seemed +to enjoy their work and to be fond of the boys. Our head master was +very popular. He was a man of the old German type, powerfully built, +with a large square head, very much like Luther, and, strange to say, +when in 1839 a great Luther festival was celebrated all over Germany, +he published a book in which he proved that he was a direct descendant +of Luther. + + [8] His own spelling of his name. + +The school was carried on very much on the old plan of teaching +chiefly classics, but teaching them thoroughly. Modern languages, +mathematics, and physical science had a poor chance, though they +clamoured for recognition. Latin and Greek verse were considered far +more important. In the two highest forms we had to speak Latin, and +such as it was it seemed to us much easier than to speak French. +Hebrew was also taught as an optional subject during the last four +years, and the little I know of Hebrew dates chiefly from my +school-days. Schoolboys soon find out what their masters think of the +value of the different subjects taught at school, and they are apt to +treat not only the subjects themselves but the teachers also according +to that standard. Hence our modern language and our physical science +masters had a hard time of it. They could not keep their classes in +order, and it was by no means unusual for many of the boys simply to +stay away from their lessons. The old mathematical master, before +beginning his lesson, used to rub his spectacles, and after looking +round the half empty classroom, mutter in a plaintive voice: “I see +again many boys who are not here to-day.” When the same old master +began to lecture on physical science, he told the boys to bring a frog +to be placed under a glass from which the air had been extracted by an +air-pump. Of course every one of the twenty or thirty boys brought two +or three frogs, and when the experiment was to be made all these frogs +were hopping about the lecture-room, and the whole army of boys were +hopping after them over chairs and tables to catch them. No wonder +that during this tumult the master did not succeed with his +experiment, and when at last the glass bowl was lifted up and we were +asked to see the frog, great was the joy of all the boys when the frog +hopped out and escaped from the hands of its executioner. Such was the +wrath excited by these new-fangled lectures among the boys that they +actually committed the vandalism of using one of the forms as a +battering-ram against the enclosure in which the physical science +apparatus was kept, and destroyed some of the precious instruments +supplied by Government. Severe punishments followed, but they did not +serve to make physical science more popular. + +We certainly did very well in Greek and Latin, and read a number of +classical texts, not only critically at school, but also cursorily at +home, having to give a weekly account of what we had thus read by +ourselves. I liked my classics, and yet I could not help feeling that +there was a certain exaggeration in the way in which every one of +them was spoken of by our teachers, nay, that as compared to German +poets and prose writers they were somewhat overpraised. Still, it +would have been very conceited not to admire what our masters admired, +and as in duty bound we went into the usual raptures about Homer and +Sophocles, about Horace and Cicero. Many things which in later life we +learn to admire in the classics could hardly appeal to the taste of +boys. The directness, the simplicity and originality of the ancient, +as compared with modern writers, cannot be appreciated by them, and I +well remember being struck with what we disrespectful boys called the +cheekiness of Horace expecting immortality (_non omnis moriar_) for +little poems which we were told were chiefly written after Greek +patterns. We had to admit that there were fewer false quantities in +his Latin verses than in our own, but in other respects we could not +see that his odes were so infinitely superior to ours. His hope of +immortality has certainly been fulfilled beyond what could have been +his own expectations. With so little of ancient history known to him, +his idea of the immortality of poetry must have been far more modest +in his time than in our own. He may have known the past glories of the +Persian Empire, but as to ancient literature, there was nothing for +him to know, whether in Persia, in Babylonia, in Assyria, or even in +Egypt, least of all in India. Literary fame existed for him in Greece +only, and in the Roman Empire, and his own ambition could therefore +hardly have extended beyond these limits. The exaggeration in the +panegyrics passed on everything Greek or Latin dates from the +classical scholars of the Middle Ages, who knew nothing that could be +compared to the classics, and who were loud in praising what they +possessed the monopoly of selling. Successive generations of scholars +followed suit, so that even in our time it seemed high treason to +compare Goethe with Horace, or Schiller with Sophocles. Of late, +however, the danger is rather that the reaction should go too far and +lead to a promiscuous depreciation even of such real giants as +Lucretius or Plato. The fact is that we have learnt from them and +imitated them, till in some cases the imitations have equalled or even +excelled the originals, while now the taste for classical correctness +has been wellnigh supplanted by an appetite for what is called +realistic, original, and extravagant. + +With all that has been said or written against making classical +studies the most important element in a liberal education, or rather +against retaining them in their time-honoured position, nothing has as +yet been suggested to take their place. For after all, it is not +simply in order to learn two languages that we devote so large a share +of our time to the study of Greek and Latin; it is in order to learn +to understand the old world on which our modern world is founded; it +is in order to think the old thoughts, which are the feeders of our +own intellectual life, that we become in our youth the pupils of +Greeks and Romans. In order to know what we are, we have to learn how +we have come to be what we are. Our very languages form an unbroken +chain between us and Cicero and Aristotle, and in order to use many of +our words intelligently, we must know the soil from which they sprang, +and the atmosphere in which they grew up and developed. + +I enjoyed my work at school very much, and I seem to have passed +rapidly from class to class. I frequently received prizes both in +money and in books, but I see a warning attached to some of them that +I ought not to be conceited, which probably meant no more than that I +should not show when I was pleased with my successes. At least I do +not know what I could have been conceited about. What I feel about my +learning at school is that it was entirely passive. I acquired +knowledge such as it was presented to me. I did not doubt whatever my +teachers taught me, I did not, as far as I can recollect, work up any +subject by myself. I find only one paper of mine of that early time, +and, curiously enough, it was on mythology; but it contains no inkling +of comparative mythology, but simply a chronological arrangement of +the sources from which we draw our knowledge of Greek mythology. I see +also from some old papers, that I began to write poetry, and that +twice or thrice I was chosen at great festivities to recite poems +written by myself. In the year 1839 three hundred years had passed +since Luther preached at Leipzig in the Church of St. Nicolai, and the +tercentenary of this event was celebrated all over Germany. My poem +was selected for recitation at a large meeting of the friends of our +school and the notables of the town, and I had to recite it, not +without fear and trembling. I was then but sixteen years of age. + +In the next year, 1840, Leipzig celebrated the invention of printing +in 1440. It was on this occasion that Mendelssohn wrote his famous +_Hymn of Praise_. I formed part of the chorus, and I well remember the +magnificent effect which the music produced in the Church of St. +Thomas. Again a poem of mine was selected, and I had to recite it at a +large gathering in the Nicolai-Schule on July 18, 1840. + +On December 23 another celebration took place at our school, at which +I had to recite a Latin poem of mine, _In Schillerum_. Lastly, there +was my valedictory poem when I left the school in 1841, and a Latin +poem “Ad Nobbium,” our head master. + +I have found among my mother’s treasures the far too often flattering +testimonial addressed to her by Professor Nobbe on that occasion, +which ends thus: “I rejoice at seeing him leave this school with +testimonials of moral excellence not often found in one of his +years—and possessed of knowledge in more than one point, first-rate, +and of intellectual capacities excellent throughout. May his young +mind develop more and more, may the fruits of his labours hereafter be +a comfort to his mother for the sorrows and cares of the past.” + +It was rather hard on me that I had to pass my examination for +admission to the University (_Abiturienten-Examen_) not at my own +school, but at Zerbst in Anhalt. This was necessary in order to enable +me to obtain a scholarship from the Anhalt Government. The schools in +Anhalt were modelled after the Prussian schools, and laid far more +stress on mathematics, physical science, and modern languages than the +schools in Saxony. I had therefore to get up in a very short time +several quite new subjects, and did not do so well in them as in Greek +and Latin. However, I passed with a first class, and obtained my +scholarship, small as it was. It was only the other day that I +received a letter from a gentleman who was at school at Zerbst when I +came there for my examination. He reminds me that among my examiners +there were such men as Dr. Ritter, the two Sentenis, and Professor +Werner, and he says that he watched me when I came upstairs and +entered the locked room to do my paper work. My friend’s career in +life had been that of Director of a Life Insurance Company, probably a +more lucrative career than what mine has been. + + [Illustration: _F. Max Müller Aged 14._] + +During my stay at Leipzig, first in the house of Professor Carus, and +afterwards as a student at the University, my chief enjoyment was +certainly music. I had plenty of it, perhaps too much, but I pity +the man who has not known the charm of it. At that time Leipzig was +really the centre of music in Germany. Felix Mendelssohn was there, +and most of the distinguished artists and composers of the day came +there to spend some time with him and to assist at the famous +Gewandhaus Concerts. I find among my letters a few descriptions of +concerts and other musical entertainments, which even at present may +be of some interest. I was asked to be present at some concerts where +quartettes and other pieces were performed by Mendelssohn, Hiller, +Kaliwoda, David, and Eckart. Liszt also made his triumphant entry into +Germany at Leipzig, and everybody was full of expectation and +excitement. His concert had been advertised long before his arrival. +It was to consist of an Overture of Weber’s; a Cavatina from _Robert +le Diable_, sung by Madame Schlegel; a Concerto of Weber’s, to be +played by Liszt, the same which I had shortly before heard played by +Madame Pleyel; Beethoven’s Overture to _Prometheus_; Fantasia on _La +Juive_; Schubert’s _Ave Maria_ and _Serenade_, as arranged by Liszt. I +was the more delighted because I had myself played some of these +pieces. But suddenly there appeared a placard stating that Liszt, on +hearing that tickets were sold at one thaler (three shillings), had +declared he would play a few pieces only and without an orchestra. In +spite of that disappointment, the whole house was full, the staircase +crowded from top to bottom, and when we had pushed our way through, we +found that about 300 places had been retained for one and a half +thalers (four shillings and sixpence), while tickets at the box-office +were sold for two thalers (six shillings). Nevertheless, I managed to +get a very good place, by simply not seeing a number of ladies who +were pushing behind me. When Liszt appeared there was a terrible +hissing—he looked as if petrified, glanced like a demon at the +public, but nevertheless began to play the Scherzo and Finale of the +Pastoral Symphony. Then there burst out a perfect thunder of applause, +and all seemed pacified, while Madame Schmidt sang a song accompanied +by a certain Mr. Kermann. As soon as that was over, a new storm of +hisses arose, which was meant for this Mr. Kermann, who was a pupil, +but at the same time the man of business of Liszt. He and three other +men had made all arrangements, and Liszt knew nothing about them, as +he cared very little for the money, which went chiefly to his +managers. A Fantasia by Liszt followed, and lastly a _Galop +Chromatique_—but the public would not go away, and at length Liszt +was induced to play _Une grande Valse_. It was no doubt a new +experience; but I could not go into ecstasies like others, for after +all it was merely mechanical, though no doubt in the highest +perfection. The day after Liszt advertised that his original Programme +would be played, but at six o’clock Professor Carus, with whom I +lived, was called to see Liszt, who was said to be ill; the fact being +he had only sold fifty tickets at the raised prices. Many strangers +who had come to Leipzig to hear him went away, anything but pleased +with the new musical genius. At one concert, where he appeared in +Magyar costume, the ladies offered him a golden laurel wreath and +sword. He had just published his arrangement of _Adelaida_, which he +promised to play in one of the concerts. + +Another very musical family at Leipzig was that of Professor Fröge. He +was a rich man, and had married a famous singer, Fräulein Schlegel. +One evening the _Sonnambula_ was performed in their house, which had +been changed into a theatre. She acted the Sonnambula, and her singing +as well as her acting was most finished and delightful. Mendelssohn +was much in their house, and made her sing his songs as soon as they +were written and before they were published. They were great friends, +the bond of their friendship being music. He actually died when +playing while she was singing. People talked as they always will talk +about what they cannot understand, but they evidently did not know +either Mendelssohn or Madame Fröge. + +The house of Professor Carus was always open to musical geniuses, and +many an evening men like Hiller, Mendelssohn, David, Eckart, &c., came +there to play, while Madame Carus sang, and sang most charmingly. I +too was asked sometimes to play at these evening parties. I see that +Ernst gave a concert at Leipzig, and no doubt his execution was +admirable. Still, I could not understand what David meant when he +declared that after hearing Ernst he would throw his own instrument +into the fire. + +Mendelssohn, who was delighted with Liszt—and no one could judge him +better than he—gave a soirée in honour of him. About 400 people were +invited—I among the rest, being one of the tenors who sang in the +Oratorio that Hiller was then rehearsing for the first performance. I +think it was the _Destruction of Babylon_. There was a complete +orchestra at Mendelssohn’s party, and we heard a symphony of Schubert +(posthumous), Mendelssohn’s psalm “As the hart pants,” and his +overture _Meeresstille und glückliche Fahrt_. After that there was +supper for all the guests, and then followed a chorus from his _St. +Paul_, and a triple concerto of Bach, played on three pianofortes by +Mendelssohn, Liszt, and Hiller. It was a difficult piece—difficult to +play and difficult to follow. Lastly, Liszt played his new fantasia on +_Lucia di Lammermoor_, and his arrangement of the _Erlkönig_. All was +really perfect; and hearing so much music, I became more and more +absorbed in it. I even gave some concerts with Grabau, a great +violoncellist, at Merseburg, and at a Count Arnim’s, a very rich +nobleman near Merseburg, who had invited Liszt for one evening and +paid him 100 ducats. This seemed at that time a very large sum, +almost senseless. As a ducat was about nine shillings, it was after +all only £45, which would not seem excessive at present for an artist +such as Liszt. + +I also heard Thalberg at Leipzig. They all came to see Mendelssohn, +and I believe did their best to please him. At that time my idea of +devoting myself altogether to the study of music became very strong; +and as Professor Carus married again, I proposed to leave Leipzig, and +to enter the musical school of Schneider at Dessau. But nothing came +of that, and I think on the whole it was as well. + +While at school at Leipzig I had but little opportunity of travelling, +for my mother was always anxious to have me home during the holidays, +and I was equally anxious to be with her and to see my relations at +Dessau. Generally I went in a wretched carriage from Leipzig to +Dessau. It was only seven German miles (about thirty-five English +miles), but it took a whole day to get there; and during part of the +journey, when we had to cross the deep and desert-like sands, walking +on foot was much more expeditious than sitting inside the carriage. +But then we paid only one thaler for the whole journey, and sometimes, +in order to save that, I walked on foot the whole way. That also took +me a whole day; but when I tried it the first time, being then quite +young and rather delicate in health, I had to give in about an hour +before I came to Dessau, my legs refusing to go further, and my +muscles being cramped and stiff from exertion, I had to sit down by +the road. During one vacation I remember exploring the valley of the +Mulde with some other boys. We travelled for about a fortnight from +village to village, and lived in the simplest way. A more ambitious +journey I took in 1841 with a friend of mine, Baron von Hagedorn. He +was a curious and somewhat mysterious character. He had been brought +up by a great-aunt of mine, to whom he was entrusted as a baby. No one +knew his parents, but they must have been rich, for he possessed a +large fortune. He had a country place near Munich, and he spent the +greater part of the year in travelling about, and amusing himself. He +had been brought up with my mother and other members of our family, +and he took a very kind interest in me. I see from my letters that in +1841 he took me from Dessau to Coethen, Brunswick, and Magdeburg. At +Brunswick we saw the picture gallery, the churches, and the tomb of +Schill, one of the German volunteers in the War of Independence +against France. We also explored Hildesheim, saw the rose-tree +planted, as we were told, by Charlemagne; then proceeded to Göttingen, +and saw its famous library. We passed through Minden, where the Fulda +and Werra join, and arrived late at Cassel. From Cassel we explored +Wilhelmshöhe, the beautiful park where thirty years later Napoleon III +was kept as a prisoner. + +Hagedorn, with all his love of mystery and occasional exaggeration, +was certainly a good friend to me. He often gave me good advice, and +was more of a father to me than a mere friend. He was a man of the +world; and he forgot that I never meant to be a man of the world, and +therefore his advice was not always what I wanted. He was also a great +friend of my cousin who was married to a Prince of Dessau, and they +had agreed among themselves that I should go to the Oriental Academy +at Vienna, learn Oriental languages, and then enter the diplomatic +service. As there were no children from the Prince’s marriage, I was +to be adopted by him, and, as if the princely fortune was not enough +to tempt me, I was told that even a wife had been chosen for me, and +that I should have a new name and title, after being adopted by the +Prince. To other young men this might have seemed irresistible. I at +once said no. It seemed to interfere with my freedom, with my studies, +with my ideal of a career in life; in fact, though everything was +presented to me by my cousin as on a silver tray, I shook my head and +remained true to my first love, Sanskrit and all the rest. Hagedorn +could not understand this; he thought a brilliant life preferable to +the quiet life of a professor. Not so I. He little knew where true +happiness was to be found, and he was often in a very melancholy mood. +He did not live long, but I shall never forget how much I owed him. +When I went to Paris, he allowed me to live in his rooms. They were, +it is true, _au cinquième_, but they were in the best quarter of +Paris, in the Rue Royale St. Honoré, opposite the Madeleine, and very +prettily furnished. This kept me from living in dusty lodgings in the +Quartier Latin, and the five flights of stairs may have strengthened +my lungs. I well remember what it was when at the foot of the +staircase I saw that I had forgotten my handkerchief and had to toil +up again. But in those days one did not know what it meant to be +tired. Whether my friends grumbled, I cannot tell, but I myself pitied +some of them who were old and gouty when they arrived at my door out +of breath. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +UNIVERSITY + + +In order to enable me to go to the University, my mother and sister +moved to Leipzig and kept house for me during all the time I was +there—that is, for two years and a half. In spite of the _res angusta +domi_, I enjoyed my student-life thoroughly, while my home was made +very agreeable by my mother and sister. My mother was full of +resource, and she was wise enough not to interfere with my freedom. My +sister, who was about two years older than myself, was most +kind-hearted and devoted both to me and to our mother. There was +nothing selfish in her, and we three lived together in perfect love, +peace, and harmony. My sister enjoyed what little there was of +society, whereas I kept sternly aloof from it. She was much admired, +and soon became engaged to a young doctor, Dr. A. Krug, the son of the +famous professor of philosophy at Leipzig, whose works, particularly +his _Dictionary of Philosophy_, hold a distinguished place in the +history of German philosophy. He was a thorough patriot, and so public +spirited that he thought it right to leave a considerable sum of money +to the University, without making sufficient provision for his +children. However, the young married couple lived happily at Chemnitz, +and my sister was proud in the possession of her children. It was the +sudden death of several of these children that broke her heart and +ruined her health; she died very young. Standing by the grave of her +children, she said to me shortly before her death, “Half of me is dead +already, and lies buried there; the other half will soon follow.” + +Of society, in the ordinary sense of the word, I saw hardly anything. +I am afraid I was rather a bear, and declined even to invest in +evening dress. I joined a student club which formed part of the +_Burschenschaft_, but which in order to escape prosecution adopted the +title of _Gemeinschaft_. I went there in the evening to drink beer and +smoke, and I made some delightful acquaintances and friendships. What +fine characters were there, often behind a very rough exterior! My +dearest friend was Prowe, of Thorn in East Prussia—so honest, so +true, so straightforward, so over-conscientious in the smallest +things. He was a classical scholar, and later on entered the Prussian +educational service. As a master at the principal school at Thorn his +time was fully occupied, and of course he was cut off there from the +enlivening influences of literary society. Still he kept up his +interest in higher questions, and published some extremely valuable +books on Copernicus, a native of Thorn, for which he received the +thanks of astronomers and historians, and flattering testimonials +from learned societies. We met but seldom later in life, and my own +life in England was so busy and full that even our correspondence was +not regular. But I met him once more at Ems with a charming wife, and +decidedly happy in his own sphere of activity. These early friendships +form the distant landscape of life on which we like to dwell when the +present ceases to absorb all our thoughts. Our memory dwells on them +as a golden horizon, and there remains a constant yearning which makes +us feel the incompleteness of this life. After all, the number of our +true friends is small; and yet how few even of that small number +remain with us for life. There are other faces and other names that +rise from beyond the clouds which more and more divide us from our +early years. + +There were some wild spirits among us who fretted at the narrow-minded +policy which went by the name of the Metternich system. Repression was +the panacea which Metternich recommended to all the governments of +Germany, large and small. No doubt the system of keeping things quiet +secured to Germany and to Europe at large a thirty years’ peace, but +it could not prevent the accumulation of inflammable material which, +after several threatenings, burst forth at last in the conflagration +of 1848. Among my friends I remember several who were ready for the +wildest schemes in order to have Germany united, respected abroad, +and under constitutional government at home. Splendid fellows they +were, but they either ended their days within the walls of a prison, +or had to throw up everything and migrate to America. What has become +of them? Some have risen to the surface in America, others have +yielded to the inevitable and become peaceful citizens at home; nay, I +am grieved to say, have even accepted service under Government to spy +on their former friends and fellow-dreamers. But not a few saw the +whole of their life wrecked either in prison or in poverty, though +they had done no wrong, and in many cases were the finest characters +it has been my good fortune to know. They were before their time, the +fruit was not ripe as it was in 1871, but Germany certainly lost some +of her best sons in those miserable years; and if my father escaped +this political persecution, it was probably due to the influence of +the reigning Duke and the Duchess, a Princess of Prussia, who knew +that he was not a dangerous man, and not likely to blow up the German +Diet. + +I myself got a taste of prison life for the offence of wearing the +ribbon of a club which the police regarded with disfavour. I cannot +say that either the disgrace or the discomfort of my two days’ durance +vile weighed much with me, as my friends were allowed free access to +me, and came and drank beer and smoked cigars in my cell—of course at +my expense—but what I dreaded was the loss of my stipendium or +scholarship, which alone enabled me to continue my studies at +Leipzig, and which, as a rule, was forfeited for political offences. +On my release from prison I went to the Rector of the University and +explained to him the circumstances of the case—how I had been +arrested simply for membership of a suspected club. I assured him that +I was innocent of any political propaganda, and that the loss of my +stipendium would entail my leaving the University. Much to my relief, +the old gentleman replied: “I have heard nothing about this; and if I +do, how am I to know that it refers to you, there are many Müllers in +the University?” Fortunately the distinctive prefix Max had not yet +been added to my name. + +I must confess that I and my boon companions were sometimes guilty of +practices which in more modern days, and certainly at Oxford or +Cambridge, would be far more likely to bring the culprits into +collision with the authorities than mere membership of societies in +which comparatively harmless political talk was indulged in. + +Duelling was then, as it is now, a favourite pastime among the +students; and though not by nature a brawler, I find that in my +student days at Leipzig I fought three duels, of two of which I carry +the marks to the present day. + +I remember that on one occasion before the introduction of cabs we +hired all the sedan-chairs in Leipzig, with their yellow-coated +porters, and went in procession through the streets, much to the +astonishment of the good citizens, and annoyance also, as they were +unable to hire any means of conveyance till a peremptory stop was put +to our fun. Not content with this exploit, when the first cabs were +introduced into Leipzig, thirty or forty being put on the street at +first, I and my friends secured the use of all of them for the day, +and proceeded out into the country. The inhabitants who were eagerly +looking forward to a drive in one of the new conveyances were +naturally annoyed at finding themselves forestalled, and the result +was that a stop was put to such freaks in future by the issue of a +police regulation that nobody was allowed to hire more than two cabs +at a time. + +Very innocent amusements, if perhaps foolish, but very happy days all +the same; and it must be remembered that we had just emerged from the +strict discipline of a German school into the unrestricted liberty of +German university life. + +It is in every respect a great jump from a German school to a German +university. At school a boy even in the highest form, has little +choice. All his lessons are laid down for him; he has to learn what he +is told, whether he likes it or not. Few only venture on books outside +the prescribed curriculum. There is an examination at the end of every +half-year, and a boy must pass it well in order to get into a higher +form. Boys at a public school (gymnasium), if they cannot pass their +examination at the proper time, are advised to go to another school, +and to prepare for a career in which classical languages are of less +importance. + +I must say at once that when I matriculated at Leipzig, in the summer +of 1841, I was still very young and very immature. I had determined to +study philology, chiefly Greek and Latin, but the fare spread out by +the professors was much too tempting. I read Greek and Latin without +difficulty; I often read classical authors without ever attempting to +translate them; I also wrote and spoke Latin easily. Some of the +professors lectured in Latin, and at our academic societies Latin was +always spoken. I soon became a member of the classical seminary under +Gottfried Hermann, and of the Latin Society under Professor Haupt. +Admission to these seminaries and societies was obtained by submitting +essays, and it was no doubt a distinction to belong to them. It was +also useful, for not only had we to write essays and discuss them with +the other members, generally teachers, and with the professor, but we +could also get some useful advice from the professor for our private +studies. In that respect the German universities do very little for +the students, unless one has the good fortune to belong to one of +these societies. The young men are let loose, and they can choose +whatever lectures they want. I still have my _Collegien-Buch_, in +which every professor has to attest what lectures one has attended. +The number of lectures on various subjects which I attended is quite +amazing, and I should have attended still more if the honorarium had +not frightened me away. Every professor lectured _publice_ and +_privatim_, and for the more important courses, four lectures a week, +he charged ten shillings, for more special courses less or nothing. +This seems little, but it was often too much for me; and if one added +these honoraria to the salary of a popular professor, his income was +considerable, and was more than the income of most public servants. I +have known professors who had four or five hundred auditors. This gave +them £250 twice a year, and that, added to their salary, was +considered a good income at that time. All this has been much changed. +Salaries have been raised, and likewise the honoraria, so that I well +remember the case of Professor von Savigny, who, when he was chosen +Minister of Justice at Berlin, declared that he would gladly accept if +only his salary was raised to what his income had been as Professor of +Law. Of course, professors of Arabic or Sanskrit were badly off, and +_Privatdocenten_ (tutors) fared still worse, but the _professores +ordinarii_, particularly if they lectured on an obligatory subject and +were likewise examiners, were very well off. In fact, it struck me +sometimes as very unworthy of them to keep a _famulus_, a student who +had to tell every one who wished to hear a distinguished professor +once or twice, that he would not allow him to come a third time. + +One great drawback of the professorial system is certainly the small +measure of personal advice that a student may get from the professors. +Unless he is known to them personally, or has gained admission to +their societies or seminaries, the young student or freshman is quite +bewildered by the rich fare in the shape of lectures that is placed +before him. Some students, no doubt, particularly in their early +terms, solve this difficulty by attending none at all, and there is no +force to make them do so, except the examinations looming in the +distance. But there are many young men most anxious to learn, only +they do not know where to begin. I open my old _Collegien-Buch_ and I +find that in the first term or Semester I attended the following +lectures, and I may say I attended them regularly, took careful notes, +and read such books as were recommended by the professors. I find + + 1. The first book of Thucydides Gottfried Hermann. + 2. On Scenic Antiquities The same. + 3. On Propertius P. M. Haupt. + 4. History of German Literature The same. + 5. The Ranae of Aristophanes Stallbaum. + 6. Disputatorium (in Latin) Nobbe. + 7. Aesthetics Weisse. + 8. Anthropology Lotze. + 9. Systems of Harmonic Composition Fink. + 10. Hebrew Grammar Fürst. + 11. Demosthenes Westermann. + 12. Psychology Heinroth. + +This was enough for the summer half-year. Except Greek and Latin, the +other subjects were entirely new to me, and what I wanted was to get +an idea of what I should like to study. It may be interesting to add +the other Semesters as far as I have them in my _Collegien-Buch_. + + 13. Aeschyli Persae Hermann. + 14. On Criticism The same. + 15. German Grammar Haupt. + 16. Walther von der Vogelweide The same. + 17. Tacitus, Agricola, and De Oratoribus The same. + 18. On Hegel Weisse. + 19. Disputatorium (Latin) Nobbe. + 20. Modern History Wachsmuth. + 21. Sanskrit Grammar Brockhaus. + 22. Latin Society Haupt. + +Then follows the summer term of 1842. + + 23. Pindar Hermann. + 24. Nibelungen Haupt. + 25. Nala Brockhaus. + 26. History of Oriental Literature The same. + 27. Arabic Grammar Fleischer. + 28. Latin Society Haupt. + 29. Plauti Trinumus Becker. + +Winter term, 1842. + + 30. Prabodha Chandrodaya Brockhaus. + 31. History of Indian Literature The same. + 32. Aristophanes’ Vespae Hermann. + 33. Plauti Rudens The same. + 34. Greek Syntax The same. + 35. Juvenal Becker. + 36. Metaphysics and Logic Weisse. + 37. Philosophy of History The same. + 38. Greek and Latin Seminary Hermann & Klotze. + 39. Latin Society Haupt. + 40. Philosophical Society Weisse. + 41. Philosophical Society Drobisch. + +Summer term, 1843. + + 42. Greek and Latin Seminary Hermann & Klotze. + 43. Philosophical Society Drobisch. + 44. Philosophical Society Weisse. + 45. Soma-deva Brockhaus. + 46. Hitopadesa The same. + 47. History of Greeks and Romans Wachsmuth. + 48. History of Civilization The same. + 49. History after the Fifteenth Century Flathe. + 50. History of Ancient Philosophy Niedner. + +Winter term, 1843-4. + + 51. Rig-veda Brockhaus. + 52. Elementa Persica Fleischer. + 53. Greek and Latin Seminary Hermann & Klotze. + +Here my _Collegien-Buch_ breaks off, the fact being that I was +preparing to go to Berlin to hear the lectures of Bopp and Schelling. + +It will be clear from the above list that I certainly attempted too +much. I ought either to have devoted all my time to classical studies +exclusively, or carried on my philosophical studies more +systematically. I confess that, delighted as I was with Gottfried +Hermann and Haupt as my guides and teachers in classics, I found +little that could rouse my enthusiasm for Greek and Latin literature, +and I always required a dose of that to make me work hard. Everything +seemed to me to have been done, and there was no virgin soil left to +the plough, no ruins on which to try one’s own spade. Hermann and +Haupt gave me work to do, but it was all in the critical line—the +genealogical relation of various MSS., or, again, the peculiarities of +certain poets, long before I had fully grasped their general +character. What Latin vowels could or could not form elision in +Horace, Propertius, or Ovid, was a subject that cost me much labour, +and yet left very small results as far as I was personally concerned. +One clever conjecture, or one indication to show that one MS. was +dependent on the other, was rewarded with a Doctissime or +Excellentissime, but a paper on Aeschylus and his view of a divine +government of the world received but a nodding approval. + +They certainly taught their pupils what accuracy meant; they gave us +the new idea that MSS. are not everything, unless their real value has +been discovered first by finding the place which they occupy in the +pedigree of the MSS. of every author. They also taught us that there +are mistakes in MSS. which are inevitable, and may safely be left to +conjectural emendation; that MSS. of modern date may be and often are +more valuable than more ancient MSS., for the simple reason that they +were copied from a still more ancient MS., and that often a badly +written and hardly legible MS. proves more helpful than others +written by a calligraphist, because it is the work of a scholar who +copied for himself and not for the market. All these things we learnt +and learnt by practical experience under Hermann and Haupt, but what +we failed to acquire was a large knowledge of Greek and Latin +literature, of the character of each author and of the spirit which +pervaded their works. I ought to have read in Latin, Cicero, Tacitus, +and Lucretius; in Greek, Herodotus, Thucydides, Plato, and Aristotle; +but as I read only portions of them, my knowledge of the men +themselves and their objects in life remained very fragmentary. For +instance, my real acquaintance with Plato and Aristotle was confined +to a few dialogues of the former and some of the logical works of the +latter. The rest I learnt from such works as Ritter and Preller’s +_Historia Philosophiae Graecae et Romanae ex fontium locis contexta_, +and from the very useful lectures of Niedner on the history of ancient +philosophy. However, I thought I had to do what my professors told me, +and shaped my reading so that they should approve of my work. + +This must not be understood as in any way disparaging my teachers. +Such an idea never entered my head at the time. People have no idea in +England what kind of worship is paid by German students to their +professors. To find fault with them or to doubt their _ipse dixit_ +never entered our minds. What they said of other classical scholars +from whom they differed, as Hermann did from Otfried Müller, or Haupt +from Orelli, was gospel, and remained engraved on our memory for a +long time. Once when attending Hermann’s lectures, another student who +was sitting at the same table with me made disrespectful remarks about +old Hermann. I asked him to be quiet, and when he went on with his +foolish remarks, I could only stop him by calling him out. As soon as +the challenge was accepted he had of course to be quiet, and a few +days after we fought our duel without much damage to either of us. I +only mention this because it shows what respect and admiration we felt +for our professor, also because it exemplifies the usefulness of +duelling in a German university, where after a challenge not another +word can be said or violence be threatened even by the rudest +undergraduate. A duel for a Greek conjecture may seem very absurd, but +in duels of this kind all that is wanted is really a certain knowledge +of fencing, care being taken that nothing serious shall happen. And +yet, though that is so, the feeling of a possible danger is there, and +keeps up a certain etiquette and a certain proper behaviour among men +taken from all strata of society. Nor can I quite deny that when I +went in the morning to a beautiful wood in the neighbourhood of +Leipzig, certain misgivings were difficult to suppress. I saw myself +severely wounded, possibly killed, by my antagonist, and carried to a +house where my mother and sister were looking for me. This went off +when I met the large assembly of students, beautifully attired in +their club uniforms, the beer barrels pushed up on one side, the +surgeon and his instruments waiting on the other. There were ever so +many, thirty or forty couples I think, waiting to fight their duels +that morning. Some fenced extremely well, and it was a pleasure to +look on; and when one’s own turn came, all one thought of was how to +stand one’s ground boldly, and how to fence well. Some of the +combatants came on horseback or in carriages, and there was a small +river close by to enable us to escape if the police should have heard +of our meeting. For popular as these duels are, they are forbidden and +punished, and the severest punishment seemed always to be the loss of +our uniforms, our arms, our flags, and our barrels of beer. However, +we escaped all interference this time, and enjoyed our breakfast in +the forest thoroughly, nothing happening to disturb the hilarity of +the morning. + +Not being satisfied with what seemed to me a mere chewing of the cud +in Greek and Latin, I betook myself to systematic philosophy, and even +during the first terms read more of that than of Plato and Aristotle. +I belonged to the philosophical societies of Weisse, of Drobisch, and +of Lotze, a membership in each of which societies entailed a +considerable amount of reading and writing. + +At Leipzig, Professor Drobisch represented the school of Herbart, +which prided itself on its clearness and logical accuracy, but was +naturally less attractive to the young spirits at the University who +had heard of Hegel’s Idea and looked to the dialectic process as the +solution of all difficulties. I wished to know what it all meant, for +I was not satisfied with mere words. There is hardly a word that has +so many meanings as Idea, and I doubt whether any of the raw recruits, +just escaped from school, and unacquainted with the history of +philosophy, could have had any idea of what Hegel’s Idea was meant +for. Yet they talked about it very eloquently and very positively over +their glasses of beer; and anybody who came from Berlin and could +speak mysteriously or rapturously about the Idea and its evolution by +the dialectic process, was listened to with silent wonder by the young +Saxons, who had been brought up on Kant and Krug. The Hegelian fever +was still very high at that time. It is true Hegel himself was dead +(1831), and though he was supposed to have declared on his deathbed +that he left only one true disciple, and that that disciple had +misunderstood him, to be a Hegelian was considered a _sine qua non_, +not only among philosophers, but quite as much among theologians, men +of science, lawyers, artists, in fact, in every branch of human +knowledge, at least in Prussia. If Christianity in its Protestant form +was the state-religion of the kingdom, Hegelianism was its +state-philosophy. Beginning with the Minister of Instruction down to +the village schoolmaster, everybody claimed to be a Hegelian, and +this was supposed to be the best road to advancement. Though +Altenstein, who was then at the head of the Ministry of Instruction, +began to waver in his allegiance to Hegel, even he could not resist +the rush of public and of official opinion. It was he who, when a new +professor of philosophy was recommended to him either by Hegel himself +or by some of his followers, is reported to have said: “Gentlemen, I +have read some of the young man’s books, and I cannot understand a +word of them. However, you are the best judges, only allow me to say +that you remind me a little of the French officer who told his tailor +to make his breeches as tight as possible, and dismissed him with the +words: ‘Enfin, si je peux y entrer, je ne les prendrai pas.’ This +seems to me very much what you say of your young philosopher. If I can +understand his books, I am not to take him.” This Hegelian fever was +very much like what we have passed through ourselves at the time of +the Darwinian fever; Darwin’s natural evolution was looked upon very +much like Hegel’s dialectic process, as the general solvent of all +difficulties. The most egregious nonsense was passed under that name, +as it was under the name of evolution. Hegel knew very well what he +meant, so did Darwin. But the empty enthusiasm of his followers became +so wild that Darwin himself, the most humble of all men, became quite +ashamed of it. The master, of course, was not responsible for the +folly of his so-called disciples, but the result was inevitable. +After the bow had been stretched to the utmost, a reaction followed, +and in the case of Hegelianism, a complete collapse. Even at Berlin +the popularity of Hegelianism came suddenly to an end, and after a +time no truly scientific man liked to be called a Hegelian. These +sudden collapses in Germany are very instructive. As long as a German +professor is at the head of affairs and can do something for his +pupils, his pupils are very loud in their encomiums, both in public +and in private. They not only exalt him, but help to belittle all who +differ from him. So it was with Hegel, so it was at a later time with +Bopp, and Curtius, and other professors, particularly if they had the +ear of the Minister of Education. But soon after the death of these +men, particularly if another influential star was rising, the change +of tone was most sudden and most surprising; even the sale of their +books dwindled down, and they were referred to only as landmarks, +showing the rapid advance made by living celebrities. Perhaps all this +cannot be helped, as long as human nature is what it is, but it is +nevertheless painful to observe. + +I had the good fortune of becoming acquainted with Hegelianism through +Professor Christian Weisse at Leipzig, who, though he was considered a +Hegelian, was a very sober Hegelian, a critic quite as much as an +admirer of Hegel. He had a very small audience, because his manner of +lecturing was certainly most trying and tantalizing. But by being +brought into personal contact with him one was able to get help from +him wherever he could give it. Though Weisse was convinced of the +truth of Hegel’s Dialectic Method, he often differed from him in its +application. This Dialectic Method consisted in showing how thought is +constantly and irresistibly driven from an affirmative to a negative +position, then reconciles the two opposites, and from that point +starts afresh, repeating once more the same process. Pure being, for +instance, from which Hegel’s ideal evolution starts, was shown to be +the same as empty being, that is to say, nothing, and both were +presented as identical, and in their identity giving us the new +concept of Becoming (_Werden_), which is being and not-being at the +same time. All this may appear to the lay reader rather obscure, but +could not well be passed over. + +So far Weisse followed the great thinker, and I possess still, in his +own writing, the picture of a ladder on which the intellect is +represented as climbing higher and higher from the lowest concept to +the highest—a kind of Jacob’s ladder on which the categories, like +angels of God, ascend and descend from heaven to earth. We must +remember that the true Hegelian regarded the Ideas as the thoughts of +God. Hegel looked upon this evolution of thought as at the same time +the evolution of Being, the Idea being the only thing that could be +said to be truly real. In order to understand this, we must remember +that the historical key to Hegel’s Idea was really the Neo-Platonic +or Alexandrian Logos. But of this Logos we ignorant undergraduates, +sitting at the feet of Prof. Weisse, knew absolutely nothing, and even +if the Idea was sometimes placed before us as the Absolute, the +Infinite, or the Divine, it was to us, at least to most of us, myself +included, _vox et praeterea nihil_. We watched the wonderful +evolutions and convolutions of the Idea in its Dialectic development, +but of the Idea itself or himself we had no idea whatever. It was all +darkness, a vast abyss, and we sat patiently and wrote down what we +could catch and comprehend of the Professor’s explanations, but the +Idea itself we never could lay hold of. It would not have been so +difficult if the Professor had spoken out more boldly. But whenever he +came to the relation of the Idea to what we mean by God, there was +always even with him, who was a very honest man, a certain theological +hesitation. Hegel himself seems to shrink occasionally from the +consequence that the Idea really stands in the place of God, and that +it is in the self-conscious spirit of humanity that the ideal God +becomes first conscious of himself. Still, that is the last word of +Hegel’s philosophy, though others maintain that the Idea with Hegel +was the thought of God, and that human thought was but a repetition of +that divine thought. With Hegel there is first the evolution of the +Idea in the pure ether of logic from the simplest to the highest +category. Then follows Hegel’s Philosophy of Nature, that is, the +evolution of the Idea in nature, the Idea having by the usual +dialectic process negatived itself and entered into its opposite +(_Anderssein_), passing through a new process of space and time, and +ending in the self-conscious human soul. Thus nature and spirit were +represented as dominated by the Idea in its logical development. +Nature was one manifestation of the Idea, History the other, and it +became the task of the philosopher to discover its traces both in the +progress of nature and in the historical progress of thought. + +And here it was where the strongest protests began to be heard. +Physical Science revolted, and Historical Research soon joined the +rebellion. Professor Weisse also, in spite of his great admiration for +Hegel, protested in his Lectures against this idealization of history, +and showed how often Hegel, if he could not find the traces he was +looking for in the historical development of the Idea, was misled by +his imperfect knowledge of facts, and discovered what was not there, +but what he felt convinced ought to have been there. Nowhere has this +become so evident as in Hegel’s _Philosophy of Religion_. The +conception was grand of seeing in the historical development of +religion a repetition of the Dialectic Progress of the Idea. But facts +are stubborn things, and do not yield even to the supreme command of +the Idea. Besides, if the historical facts of religion were really +such as the Dialectic Process of the Idea required, these facts are +no longer what they were before 1831, and what would become then of +the Idea which, as he wrote in his preface to his _Metaphysics_, could +not possibly be changed to please the new facts? It was this part of +Weisse’s lectures, it was the protest of the historical conscience +against the demands of the Idea, that interested me most. I see as +clearly the formal truth as the material untruth of Hegel’s +philosophy. The thorough excellence of its method and the desperate +baldness of its results, strike me with equal force. Though I did not +yet know what kind of thing or person the Idea was really meant for, I +knew myself enough of ancient Greek philosophy and of Oriental +religions to venture to criticize Hegel’s representation and +disposition of the facts themselves. I could not accept the answer of +my more determined Hegelian friends, _Tant pis pour les faits_, but +felt more and more the old antagonism between what ought to be and +what is, between the reasonableness of the Idea, and the +unreasonableness of facts. I found a strong supporter in a young +Privat-Docent who at that time began his brilliant career at Leipzig, +Dr. Lotze. He had made a special study of mathematics and physical +science, and felt the same disagreement between facts and theories in +Hegel’s _Philosophy of Nature_ which had struck me so much in reading +his _Philosophy of Religion_. I joined his philosophical society, and +I lately found among my old papers several essays which I had written +for our meetings. They amused me very much, but I should be sorry to +see them published now. It is curious that after many years I, as a +Delegate of the University Press at Oxford, was instrumental in +getting the first English translation of Lotze’s _Metaphysics_ +published in England; and it is still more curious that Mark Pattison, +the late Rector of Lincoln, should have opposed it with might and main +as a useless book which would never pay its expenses. I stood up for +my old teacher, and I am glad to say to the honour of English +philosophers, that the translation passed through several editions, +and helped not a little to establish Lotze’s position in England and +America. He died in 1881. + +It is extraordinary how the young minds in German universities survive +the storms and fogs through which they have to pass in their academic +career. I confess I myself felt quite bewildered for a time, and began +to despair altogether of my reasoning powers. Why should I not be able +to understand, I asked myself, what other people seemed to understand +without any effort? We speak the same language, why should we not be +able to think the same thought? I took refuge for a time in +history—the history of language, of religion, and of philosophy. +There was a very learned professor at Leipzig, Dr. Niedner, who +lectured on the History of Greek Philosophy, and whose _Manual for the +History of Philosophy_ has been of use to me through the whole of my +life. Socrates said of Heraclitus: “What I have understood of his +book is excellent, and I suppose therefore that even what I have not +understood is so too; but one must be a Delian swimmer not to be +drowned in it.” I tried for a long time to follow this advice with +regard to Hegel and Weisse, and though disheartened did not despair. I +understood some of it, why should not the rest follow in time? Thus, I +never gave up the study of philosophy at Leipzig and afterwards at +Berlin, and my first contributions to philosophical journals date from +that early time, when I was a student in the University of Leipzig. My +very earliest, though very unsuccessful, struggles to find an entrance +into the mysteries of philosophy date even from my school-days. + +I remember some years before, when I was quite young, perhaps no more +than fifteen years of age, listening with bated breath to some +professors at Leipzig who were talking very excitedly about philosophy +in my presence. I had no idea what was meant by philosophy, still less +could I follow when they began to discuss Kant’s _Kritik der reinen +Vernunft_. One of my friends, whom I looked up to as a great +authority, confessed that he had read the book again and again, but +could not understand the whole of it. My curiosity was much excited, +and once, while he was taking a walk with me, I asked him very timidly +what Kant’s book was about, and how a man could write a book that +other men could not understand. He tried to explain what Kant’s book +was about, but it was all perfect darkness before my eyes; I was +trying to lay hold of a word here and there, but it all floated before +my mind like mist, without a single ray of light, without any way out +of all that maze of words. But when at last he said he would lend me +the book, I fell on it and pored over it hour after hour. The result +was the same. My little brain could not take in the simplest ideas of +the first chapters—that space and time were nothing by themselves; +that we ourselves gave the form of space and time to what was given us +by the senses. But though defeated I would not give in; I tried again +and again, but of course it was all in vain. The words were here and I +could construe them, but there was nothing in my mind which the words +could have laid hold on. It was like rain on hard soil, it all ran +off, or remained standing in puddles and muddles on my poor brain. + +At last I gave it up in despair, but I had fully made up my mind that +as soon as I went to the University I would find out what philosophy +really was, and what Kant meant by saying that space and time were +forms of our sensuous intuition. I see that, accordingly, in the +summer of 1841, I attended lectures on Aesthetics by Professor Weisse, +on Anthropology by Lotze, and on Psychology by Professor Heinroth, and +I slowly learnt to distinguish between what was going on within me, +and what I had been led to imagine existed outside me, or at least +quite independent of me. But before I had got a firm grasp of Kant, +of his forms of intuition, and the categories of the understanding, I +was thrown into Hegelianism. This, too, was at first entire darkness, +but I was not disheartened. I attended Professor Weisse’s lectures on +Hegel in the winter of 1841-2, and again in the winter of 1842-3 I +attended his lectures on Logic and Metaphysics, and on the Philosophy +of History. He took an interest in me, and I felt most strongly +attracted by him. Soon after I joined his Philosophical Society, and +likewise that of Professor Drobisch. In these societies every member, +when his turn came, had to write an essay and defend it against the +professor and the other members of the society. All this was very +helpful, but it was not till I had heard a course of lectures on the +History of Philosophy, by Professor Niedner, that my interest in +Philosophy became strong and healthy. While Weisse was a leading +Hegelian philosopher, and Drobisch represented the opposite philosophy +of Herbart, Niedner was purely historical, and this appealed most to +my taste. Still, my philosophical studies remained very disjointed. At +last I was admitted to Lotze’s Philosophical Society also, and here we +chiefly read and discussed Kant’s _Kritik_. Lotze was then quite a +young man, undecided as yet himself between physical science and pure +philosophy. + +Weisse was certainly the most stirring lecturer, but his delivery was +fearful. He did not read his lectures, as many professors did, but +would deliver them _extempore_. He had no command of language, and +there was a pause after almost every sentence. He was really thinking +out the problem while he was lecturing; he was constantly repeating +his sentences, and any new thought that crossed his mind would carry +him miles away from his subject. It happened sometimes in these +rhapsodies that he contradicted himself, but when I walked home with +him after his lecture to a village near Leipzig where he lived, he +would readily explain how it happened, how he meant something quite +different from what he had said, or what I had understood. In fact he +would give the whole lecture over again, only much more freely and +more intelligibly. I was fully convinced at that time that Hegel’s +philosophy was the final solution of all problems; I only hesitated +about his philosophy of history as applied to the history of religion. +I could not bring myself to admit that the history of religion, nor +even the history of philosophy as we know it from Thales to Kant, was +really running side by side with his Logic, showing how the leading +concepts of the human mind, as elaborated in the Logic, had found +successive expression in the history and development of the schools of +philosophy as known to us. Weisse was strong both in his analysis of +concepts and in his knowledge of history, and though he taught Hegel +as a faithful interpreter, he always warned us against trusting too +much in the parallelism between Logic and History. Study the writings +of the good philosophers, he would say, and then see whether they will +or will not fit into the Procrustean bed of Hegel’s Logic. And this +was the best lesson he could have given to young men. How well founded +and necessary the warning was I found out myself, the more I studied +the religion and philosophies of the East, and then compared what I +saw in the original documents with the account given by Hegel in his +_Philosophy of Religion_. It is quite true that Hegel at the time when +he wrote, could not have gained a direct or accurate knowledge of the +principal religions of the East. But what I could not help seeing was +that what Hegel represented as the necessity in the growth of +religious thought, was far away from the real growth, as I had watched +it in some of the sacred books of these religions. This shook my +belief in the correctness of Hegel’s fundamental principles more than +anything else. + +At that time Herbart’s philosophy, as taught by Drobisch at Leipzig, +came to me as a most useful antidote. The chief object of that +philosophy is, as is well known, the analysing and clearing, so to +speak, of our concepts. This was exactly what I wanted, only that +occupied as I was with the problems of language, I at once translated +the object of his philosophy into a definition of words. Henceforth +the object of my own philosophical occupations was the accurate +definition of every word. All words, such as reason, pure reason, +mind, thought, were carefully taken to pieces and traced back, if +possible, to their first birth, and then through their further +developments. My interest in this analytical process soon took an +historical, that is etymological, character in so far as I tried to +find out why any words should now mean exactly what, according to our +definition, they ought to mean. For instance, in examining such words +as _Vernunft_ or _Verstand_, a little historical retrospect showed +that their distinction as reason and understanding was quite modern, +and chiefly due to a scientific definition given and maintained by the +Kantian school of philosophy. Of course every generation has a right +to define its philosophical terms, but from an historical point of +view Kant might have used with equal right _Vernunft_ for _Verstand_, +and _Verstand_ for _Vernunft_. Etymologically or historically both +words have much the same meaning. _Vernunft_, from _Vernehmen_, meant +originally no more than perception, while _Verstand_ meant likewise +perception, but soon came to imply a kind of understanding, even a +kind of technical knowledge, though from a purely etymological +standpoint it had nothing that fitted it more for carrying the +meaning, which is now assigned to it in German in distinction to +_Vernunft_, than understanding had as distinguished from reason. It +requires, of course, a very minute historical research to trace the +steps by which such words as reason and understanding diverge in +different directions, in the language of the people and in +philosophical parlance. This teaches us a very important distinction, +namely that between the popular development of the meaning of a word, +and its meaning as defined and asserted by a philosopher or by a poet +in the plenitude of his power. Etymological definition is very useful +for the first stages in the history of a word. It is useful to know, +for instance, that _deus_, God, meant originally bright, bright +whether applied to sky, sun, moon, stars, dawn, morning, dayspring, +spring of the year, and many other bright objects in nature, that it +thus assumed a meaning common to them all, splendid, or heavenly, +beneficent, powerful, so that when in the Veda already we find a +number of heavenly bodies, or of terrestrial bodies, or even of +periods of time called Devas, this word has assumed a more general, +more comprehensive, and more exalted meaning. It did not yet mean what +the Greeks called θεοἱ or gods, but it meant something common to all +these θεοἱ, and thus could naturally rise to express what the Greeks +wanted to express by that word. There was as yet no necessity for +defining deva or θεὁς, when applied to what was meant by gods, but of +course the most opposite meanings had clustered round it. While a +philosophical Greek would maintain that θεὁς meant what was one and +never many, a poetical Greek or an ordinary Greek would hold that it +meant what was by nature many. But while in such a case philosophical +analysis and historical genealogy would support each other, there are +ever so many cases where etymological analysis is as hopeless as +logical analysis. Who is to define _romantic_, in such expressions as +romantic literature. Etymologically we know that romantic goes back +finally to Rome, but the mass of incongruous meanings that have been +thrown at random into the caldron of that word, is so great that no +definition could be contrived to comprehend them all. And how should +we define _Gothic_ or _Romanic_ architecture, remembering that as no +Goths had anything to do with pointed arches, neither were any Romans +responsible for the flat roofs of the German churches of the Saxon +emperors. + +Enough to show what I meant when I said that Professor Drobisch, in +his Lectures on Herbart, gave one great encouragement in the special +work in which I was already engaged as a mere student, the Science of +Language and Etymology. If Herbart declared philosophy to consist in a +thorough examination (_Bearbeitung_) of concepts, or conceptual +knowledge, my answer was, Only let it be historical, nay, in the +beginning, etymological; I was not so foolish as to imagine that a +word as used at present, meant what it meant etymologically. _Deus_ no +longer meant brilliant, but it should be the object of the true +historian of language to prove how _Deus_, having meant originally +brilliant, came to mean what it means now. + +For a time I thought of becoming a philosopher, and that sounded so +grand that the idea of preparing for a mere schoolmaster, teaching +Greek and Latin, seemed to me more and more too narrow a sphere. Soon, +however, while dreaming of a chair of philosophy at a German +University, I began to feel that I must know something special, +something that no other philosopher knew, and that induced me to learn +Sanskrit, Arabic, and Persian. I had only heard what we call in German +the chiming, not the striking of the bells of Indian philosophy; I had +read Frederick Schlegel’s explanatory book _Über die Sprache und +Weisheit der Indier_ (1808), and looked into Windischmann’s _Die +Philosophie im Fortgange der Weltgeschichte_ (1827-1834). These books +are hardly opened now—they are antiquated, and more than antiquated; +they are full of mistakes as to facts, and mistakes as to the +conclusions drawn from them. But they had ushered new ideas into the +world of thought, and they left on many, as they did on me, that +feeling which the digger who prospects for minerals is said to have, +that there must be gold beneath the surface, if people would only dig. +That feeling was very vague as yet, and might have been entirely +deceptive, nor did I see my way to go beyond the point reached by +these two dreamers or explorers. The thought remained in the +rubbish-chamber of my mind, and though forgotten at the time, broke +forth again when there was an opportunity. It was a fortunate +coincidence that at that very time, in the winter of 1841, a new +professorship was founded at Leipzig and given to Professor Brockhaus. +Uncertain as I was about the course I had to follow in my studies, I +determined to see what there was to be learnt in Sanskrit. There was a +charm in the unknown, and, I must confess, a charm also in studying +something which my friends and fellow students did not know. I called +on Professor Brockhaus, and found that there were only two other +students to attend his lectures, one Spiegel, who already knew the +elements of Sanskrit, and who is still alive in Erlangen,[9] as a +famous professor of Sanskrit and Zend, though no longer lecturing, and +another, Klengel; both several years my seniors, but both extremely +amiable to their younger fellow student. Klengel was a scholar, a +philosopher, and a musician, and though after a term or two he had to +give up his study of Sanskrit, he was very useful to me by his good +advice. He encouraged me and praised me for my progress in Sanskrit, +which was no doubt more rapid than his own, and he confirmed me in my +conviction that something might be made of Sanskrit by the philologist +and by the philosopher. It should not be forgotten that at that time +there was a strong prejudice against Sanskrit among classical +scholars. The number of men who stood up for it, though it included +names such as W. von Humboldt, F. and A. W. von Schlegel, was still +very small. Even Herder’s and Goethe’s prophetic words produced +little effect. It is said that when the Government had been persuaded, +chiefly by the two Humboldts, to found a chair of Sanskrit at the +University of Würzburg, and had nominated Bopp as its first occupant, +the philological faculty of the University protested against such a +desecration, and the appointment fell through. It is true, no doubt, +that in their first enthusiasm the students of Sanskrit had uttered +many exaggerated opinions. Sanskrit was represented as the mother of +all languages, instead of being the elder sister of the Aryan family. +The beginning of all language, of all thought, of all religion was +traced back to India, and when Greek scholars were told that Zeus +existed in the Veda under the name of Dyaus, there was a great flutter +in the dovecots of classical scholarship. Many of these enthusiastic +utterances had afterwards to be toned down. How we did enjoy those +enthusiastic days, which even in their exaggerated hopes were not +without some use. Problems such as the beginning of language, of +thought, of mythology and religion, were started with youthful hope +that the Veda would solve them all, as if the Vedic Rishis had been +present at the first outburst of roots, of concepts, nay, that like +Pelops and other descendants of Zeus, those Vedic poets had enjoyed +daily intercourse with the gods, and had been present at the +mutilation of Ouranos, or at the over-eating of Kronos. We may be +ashamed to-day of some of the dreams of the early spring of man’s +sojourn on earth, but they were enchanting dreams, and all our +thoughts of man’s nature and destiny on earth were tinged with the +colours of a morning that threw light over the grey darkness which +preceded it. It was delightful to see that Dyaus meant originally the +bright sky, something actually seen, but something that had to become +something unseen. All knowledge, whether individual or possessed by +mankind at large, must have begun with what the senses can perceive, +before it could rise to signify something unperceived by the senses. +Only after the blue aether had been perceived and named, was it +possible to conceive and speak of the sky as active, as an agent, as a +god. Dyaus or Zeus might thus be called the most sublime, he who +resides in the aether, αἰθἑρι ναἱων ὑψἱζυγος, the heavenly one, or +οὐρἁνιος ὕπατος and ὕψιστος, the highest, and at last _Iupiter Optimus +Maximus_, a name applied even to the true God. When Zeus had once +become like the sky, all seeing or omniscient (ἐπὁψιος), would he not +naturally be supposed to see, not only the good, but the evil deeds of +men also, nay, their very thoughts, whether pure or criminal? And if +so, would he not be the avenger of evil, the watcher of oaths +(ὅρκιος), the protector of the helpless (ἱκἑσιος)? Yet, if conceived, +as for a long time all the gods were conceived and could only be +conceived, namely, as human in their shape, should we not necessarily +get that strange amalgamation of a human being doing superhuman +work—hurling the thunderbolt, shouting in thunder, hidden by dark +clouds, and smiling in the serene blue of the sky with its brilliant +scintillations? All this and much more became perfectly intelligible, +the step from the visible to the invisible, from the perceived to the +conceived, from nature to nature’s gods, and from nature’s god to a +more sublime unseen and spiritual power. All this seemed to pass +before our very eyes in the Veda, and then to be reflected in Homer +and Pindar. + + [9] Herr Geheimrath von Spiegel now lives at Munich. + +Some details of this restored picture of the world of gods and men in +early times, nay, in the very spring of time, may have to be altered, +but the picture, the eidyllion remained, and nothing could curb the +adventurous spirit and keep it from pushing forward and trying to do +what seemed to others almost impossible, namely, to watch the growth +of the human mind as reflected in the petrifactions of language. +Language itself spoke to us with a different voice, and a formerly +unsuspected meaning. + +We knew, for instance, that _ewig_ meant eternal, but whence eternal. +Nothing eternal was ever seen, and it seemed to the philosopher that +eternal could be expressed by a negation only, by a negation of what +was temporary. But we now learnt that _ewig_ was derived in word and +therefore in thought from the Gothic _aiwar_, time. _Ewigkeit_ was +therefore originally time, and “for all time” came naturally to mean +“for all eternity.” Eternity also came from _aeternus_, that is +_aeviternus_, for time, i. e. for all time, and thus for eternity, +while _aevum_ meant life, lifetime, age. But now came the question, if +_aevum_ shows the growth of this word, and its origin, and how it +arrives in the end at the very opposite pole, life and time coming to +mean eternity, could we not by the same process discover the origin +and growth of such short Greek words as ἀεἱ and aἰeἱ? It seems almost +impossible, yet remembering that _aevum_ meant originally life, we +find in Vedic Sanskrit _eva_, course, way, life, the same as _aevum_, +while the Sanskrit _âyush_, likewise derived from _i_, to go, forms +its locative _âyushi_. _Âyushi_, or originally _âyasi_, would mean “in +life, in time,” and turned into Greek would regularly become then +aἰeἱ, lifelong, or ever. It was not difficult to find fault with this +and other etymologies, and to ask for an explanation of αἰἑν and αἰἑς, +as derived from the same word _âyus_. It is curious that people will +not see that etymologies, and particularly the gradual development in +the form and meaning of words, can hardly ever be a matter of +mathematical certainty. + +Historical, nay, even individual, influences come in which prevent the +science of language from becoming purely mechanical. Pott, and +Curtius, and others stood up against Bopp and Grimm, maintaining that +there could be nothing irregular in language, particularly in phonetic +changes. If this means no more than that under the same circumstances +the same changes will always take place, it would be of course a mere +truism. The question is only whether we can ever know all the +circumstances, and whether there are not some of these circumstances +which cause what we are apt to call irregularities. When Bopp said +that Sanskrit _d_ corresponds to a Greek δ, but often also to a Greek +θ, I doubt whether this is often the case. All I say is, if _deva_ +corresponds to θεὁς, we must try to find the reason or the +circumstances which caused so unusual a correspondence. If no more is +meant than that there must be a reason for all that seems irregular, +no one would gainsay that, neither Bopp nor Grimm, and no one ever +doubted that as a principle. But to establish these reasons is the +very difficulty with which the Science of Language has to deal. + +There is no word that has not an etymology, only if we consider the +distance of time that separates us from the historical facts we are +trying to account for, we should sometimes be satisfied with +probabilities and not always stipulate for absolute certainty. Many of +Bopp’s, Grimm’s, and Pott’s etymologies have had to be surrendered, +and yet our suzerainty over that distant country which they conquered, +over the Aryan home, remains. If there is an etymology containing +something irregular, and for which no reason has as yet been found, we +must wait till some better etymology can be suggested, or a reason be +found for that apparent irregularity. If the etymological meaning of +_duhitar_, daughter, as milkmaid, is doubted, let us have a better +explanation, not a worse; but the general picture of the early family +among the Aryans “somewhere in Asia” is not thereby destroyed. The +father, Sk. _pitar_, remains the protector or nourisher, though the +_i_ for _a_ in _pater_ and πατἡρ is irregular. The mother, _mâtar_, +remains the bearer of children, though _mâ_ is no longer used in that +sense in any of the Aryan languages. _Pati_ is the lord, the strong +one—therefore the husband; _vadhû_, the yoke-fellow, or the wife as +brought home, possibly as carried off by force. _Vis_ or _vesa_ is the +home, οἰκος or _vicus_, what was entered for shelter. _Svasura_, +ἑκυρὁς, _Socer_, the father-in-law, is the old man of the _svas_, the +_famuli_, or the family, or the clients, though the first _s_ is +irregular, and can be defended only on the ground of mistaken analogy. +_Bhrâtar_, _frater_, brother, was the supporter; _svastar_, _soror_, +sister, the comforter, &c. + +What do a few objections signify? The whole picture remains, as if we +could look into the _vesa_, the οἰκος the _veih_, the home, the +village of the ancient Aryans, and watch them, the _svas_, the people, +in their mutual relations. Even compound words, such as _vis-pati_, +lord of a family or a village, have been preserved to the present day +in the Lithuanian _Veszpats_, lord, whether King or God. It is enough +for us to see that the relationship between husband and wife, between +parents and children, between brothers and sisters, nay, even between +children-in-law and parents-in-law, had been recognized and sanctified +by names. That there are, and always will be, doubts and slight +differences of opinion on these prehistoric thoughts and words, is +easily understood. We were pleased for a long time to see in _vidua_, +widow, the Sanskrit _vidua_, i. e. without a man or a husband. We now +derive _vi-dhavâ_, widow, from _vidh_, to be separated, to be without +(cf. _vido_ in _divido_, and Sk. _vidh_), but the picture of the Aryan +family remains much the same. + +When these and similar antiquities were for the first time brought to +light by Bopp, Grimm, and Pott, what wonder that we young men should +have jumped at them, and shouted with delight, more even than the +diggers who dug up Babylonian palaces or Egyptian temples! No one did +more for these antiquarian finds and restorations than A. Kuhn, a +simple schoolmaster, but afterwards a most distinguished member of the +Berlin Academy. How often did I sit with him in his study as he +worked, surrounded by his Greek, Latin, and Sanskrit books. In later +times also, when I had made some discoveries myself as to the +mythological names or beings identical in Vedic and Greek writings, +how pleasant was it to see him rub his hands or shake his head. Long +before I had published my identifications they were submitted to him, +and he communicated to me his own guesses as I communicated mine to +him. Kuhn would never appropriate what belonged to anybody else, and +even in cases where we agreed, he would always make it clear that we +had both arrived independently at the same result. + +It is in the nature of things that every new generation of scholars +should perfect their tools, and with these discover flaws in the work +left by their predecessors. Still, what is the refined chiselling of +later scholars compared with the rough-hewn stones of men like Bopp or +Grimm? If the Cyclopean stones of the Pelasgians are not like the +finished works of art by Phidias, what would the Parthenon be without +the walls ascribed to the Cyclops? It is the same in all sciences, and +we must try to be just, both to the genius of those who created, and +to the diligence of those who polished and refined. + +For all this, however, I met with but small sympathy and encouragement +at Leipzig; nay, I had to be very careful in uttering what were +supposed to be heretical or unscholarlike opinions in the seminary of +Gottfried Hermann, or in the Latin society of Haupt. The latter +particularly, though he knew very well how much light had been spread +on the growth of language by the researches of Bopp, Grimm, and Pott, +and though Grimm was his intimate friend of whom he always spoke with +real veneration, could not bear his own pupils dabbling in this +subject. And of course at that time my knowledge of comparative +philology was a mere dabbling. If he could discover a false quantity +in any etymology, great was his delight, and his sarcasm truly +withering, particularly as it was poured out in very classical Latin. +Gottfried Hermann was a different character. He saw there was a new +light and he would not turn his back to it. He knew how lightly his +antagonist, Otfried Müller, valued Sanskrit in his mythological +essays, and he set to work, and in one of his last academical programs +actually gave the paradigms of Sanskrit verbs as compared with those +of Greek. He saw that the coincidences between the two could not be +casual, and if they were so overwhelming in the mere termination of +verbs, what might we not expect in words and names, even in +mythological names? He by no means discouraged me, nay, he was sorry +to lose me, when in my third year I went to Berlin. He showed me great +kindness on several occasions, and when the time came to take my +degree of M.A. and Ph.D., he, as Dean of the Faculty, invited me to +return to Leipzig, offering me an exhibition to cover the expenses of +the Degree. + + [Illustration: F. MAX MÜLLER _Aged Twenty_] + +My wish to go to Berlin arose partly from a desire to hear Bopp, but +yet more from a desire to make the acquaintance of Schelling. My +inclination towards philosophy had become stronger and stronger; I had +my own ideas about the mythological as a necessary form of ancient +philosophy, and when I saw that the old philosopher had advertised his +lectures or lecture on mythology, I could not resist, and went to +Berlin in 1844. I must say at once that Professor Bopp, though he was +extremely kind to me, was at that time, if not old—he was only +fifty-three—very infirm. In his lectures he simply read his +_Comparative Grammar_ with a magnifying glass, and added very little +that was new. He lent me some manuscripts which he had copied in Latin +in his younger days, but I could not get much help from him when I +came to really difficult passages. This, I confess, puzzled me at the +time, for I looked on every professor as omniscient. The time comes, +however, when we learn that even at fifty-three a man may have +forgotten certain things, nay, may have let many books and new +discoveries even in his own subject pass by, because he has plenty to +do with his own particular studies. We remember the old story of the +professor who, when charged by a young and rather impertinent student +with not knowing this or that, replied: “Sir, I have forgotten more +than you ever knew.” And so it is indeed. Human nature and human +memory are very strong during youth and manhood, but even at fifty +there is with many people a certain decline of mental vigour that +tells chiefly on the memory. Things are not exactly forgotten, but +they do not turn up at the right time. They just leave a certain +knowledge of where the missing information can be found; they leave +also a kind of feeling that the ground is not quite safe and that we +must no longer trust entirely to our memory. In one respect this +feeling is very useful, for instead of writing down anything, trusting +to our memory as we used to do, we feel it necessary to verify many +things which formerly were perfectly clear and certain in our memory +without such reference to books. + +I remember being struck with the same thing in the case of Professor +Wilson, the well-known Oxford Professor of Sanskrit. He was kind +enough to read with me, and I certainly was often puzzled, not only by +what he knew, but also by what he had forgotten. I feel now that I +misjudged him, and that his open declaration, “I don’t know, let us +look it up,” really did him great honour. I still have in my +possession a portion of Pânini’s Vedic grammar translated by him. I +put by the side of it my own translation, and he openly acknowledged +that mine, with the passages taken from the Veda, was right. There was +no humbug about Wilson. He never posed as a scholar; nay, I remember +his saying to me more than once, “You see, I am not a scholar, I am a +gentleman who likes Sanskrit, and that is all.” He certainly did like +Sanskrit, and he knew it better than many a professor, but in his own +way. He had enjoyed the assistance of really learned Pandits, and he +never forgot to record their services. But he had himself cleared the +ground—he had really done original work. In fact, he had done nothing +but original work, and then he was abused for not having always found +at the first trial what others discovered when standing on his +shoulders. Again, he was found fault with for not having had a +classical education. His education was, I believe, medical, but when +once in the Indian Civil Service, he made himself useful in many ways, +educational and otherwise. When he left India he was Master of the +Mint. Such a man might not know Greek and Latin like F. A. von +Schlegel, or any other professor, but he knew his own subject, and it +is simply absurd if classical scholars imagine that anybody can carry +on his Greek and Latin and at the same time make himself a perfect +scholar in Sanskrit. Such a feeling is natural among small +schoolmasters, but it is dying out at last among real scholars. I have +known very good Sanskrit scholars who knew no Greek at all, and very +little Latin. And I have also known Greek scholars who knew no +Sanskrit and yet attempted comparisons between the two. When Lepsius +was made a Member of the Berlin Academy, Lachmann, who ought to have +known better, used to say of him: “He knows many things which nobody +knows, but he also is ignorant of many things which everybody knows.” +Such remarks never speak well for the man who makes them. + +Another disadvantage from which the aged scholar suffers is that he is +blamed for not having known in his youth what has been discovered in +his old age, and is still violently assailed for opinions he may have +uttered fifty years ago. When quite a young man I wrote, at Baron +Bunsen’s request, a long letter on the Turanian Languages. It was +published in 1854, but it still continues to be criticized as if it +had been published last year. Of course, considering the rapid advance +of linguistic studies, a great part of that letter became antiquated +long ago; but at the time of its first appearance it contained nearly +all that could then be known on these allophylian, that is, non-Aryan +and non-Semitic languages; and I may, perhaps, quote the opinion of +Professor Pott, no mean authority at that time, who, after severely +criticizing my letter, declared that it belonged to the most important +publications that had appeared on linguistic subjects for many years. +And yet, though I have again and again protested that I could not +possibly have known in 1854 what has been discovered since as to a +number of these Turanian languages, everybody who writes on any of +them seems to be most anxious to show that in 1894 he knows more than +I did in 1854. No astronomer is blamed for not having known the planet +Neptune before its discovery in 1846, or for having been wrong in +accounting for the irregularities of Saturn. But let that pass; I only +share the fate of others who have lived too long. + +After all, all our knowledge, whatever show we may make of it, is very +imperfect, and the more we know the better we learn how little it is +that we do know, and how much of unexplored country there is beyond +the country which we have explored. We must judge a man by what he has +done—by his own original work. There are many scholars, and very +useful they are in their own way, but if their books are examined, one +easily finds the stores from which they borrowed their materials. They +may add some notes of their own and even some corrections, +particularly corrections of the authors from whom they have borrowed +most; but at the end where is the fresh ore that they have raised; +where is the gold they have extracted and coined? There are cases +where the original worker is quite forgotten, whereas the retailers +flourish. Well, facts are facts, whether known or not known, and the +triumphal chariot of truth has to be dragged along by many hands and +many shoulders. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +PARIS + + +My stay in Paris from March, 1845, to June, 1846, was a very useful +intermezzo. It opened my mind and showed me a new world; showed me, in +fact, that there was a world besides Germany, though even of Germany +and German society I had seen as yet very little. I had been working +away at school and university, but with the exception of my short stay +in Berlin, I had little experience of men and manners outside the +small sphere of Dessau and Leipzig. + +I had been at Berlin some nine months when, in December, 1844, my old +friend Baron Hagedorn came to see me, and invited me to spend some +time with him in Paris. He had his own apartments there, and promised +to look after me. At the same time my cousin, Baroness Stolzenberg, +whom I have mentioned before as wishing me to enter the Austrian +diplomatic service, offered to send me to England at her expense as a +teacher. I hesitated for some days between these two offers. I knew +that my own patrimony had been nearly spent at Leipzig and Berlin, and +the time had come for me to begin to support myself; and how was I to +do that in Paris? On the other hand, I had long felt that for +continuing my Sanskrit studies a stay in Paris, and later perhaps in +London also, was indispensable. I had also to consider the feelings of +my mother, whose whole heart was absorbed in her only son. However, +Sanskrit, and my love of an independent life won the day, and I +decided to accept Hagedorn’s proposal. My mind once made up, I wanted +to be off at once, but Hagedorn could not fix the exact time when he +would be free to leave, and told me to keep myself in readiness to +start whenever he found himself free to go. I accordingly went to stay +with my mother and my married sister at Chemnitz, and indulged in +idleness and the unwonted dissipations of parties, dances, and long +skating expeditions. At last, feeling I could not afford to wait any +longer, I went off to Dessau to see Hagedorn, and found to my great +disappointment that he was detained by important legal business in +connection with his property near Munich, and could not yet fix a date +for his departure. So it was settled that I was to go on to Paris +without him, and instal myself in his apartment, 25, Rue Royale St. +Honoré. + +I got my passport wherein I was carefully described with all my +particular marks, and started off on my foreign travels. At first all +went well. I stopped a few days at Bonn, and again at Brussels, where +I had my first experience of hearing a foreign language spoken round +me, and found that my French was sadly deficient. But from Brussels +on, my experiences were anything but agreeable. The journey to Paris +took twenty-four hours, and we travelled day and night without any +stop for meals. Most of the passengers were well provided with food +and wine, but had it not been for the kindness of some old ladies, my +fellow-travellers, I should really have starved. When we crossed the +frontier the luggage of all passengers was carefully examined. But the +_douanier_, in trying to open my portmanteau, broke the lock, and then +began a fearful cursing and swearing. I was perfectly helpless. I +could hardly understand what the French _douaniers_ said, still less +make them understand what I had to say. They had done the damage, but +would do nothing to remedy it. The train would not wait, and I should +certainly have been left behind if the other travellers had not taken +my part, and I was allowed to go on to Paris. I looked a mere boy, +very harmless, not at all the clever smuggler the officials took me to +be. If they had forced the portmanteau open they would have found +nothing but the most essential wearing apparel and a few books and +papers all in Sanskrit. + +But my miseries were not yet over, on the contrary, they became much +worse. On my arrival in Paris I got a _fiacre_ and told the man to +drive to 25, Rue St. Honoré; _Royale_ I considered of no importance; +but, alas! at the right number of the Rue St. Honoré, the _concierge_ +stared at me, telling me that no Baron Hagedorn lived there. Try +Faubourg St. Honoré, they said, but here the same thing happened. And +all this was on a rainy afternoon, I being tired out with travelling +and fasting, and perfectly overwhelmed by the immensity of Paris. I +knew nobody at Paris, having trusted for all such things to Baron +Hagedorn, in fact I was _au désespoir_. Then as I was driving along +the Boulevard des Italiens, looking out of window, I saw a familiar +figure—a little hunchback whom I had known at Dessau, where he +studied music under Schneider. It was M. Gathy, a man well known by +his musical writings, particularly his _Dictionary of Music_. I +shrieked Gathy! Gathy! and he was as much surprised when he recognized +the little boy from Dessau, as I was when in this vast Paris I +discovered at last a face which I knew. I jumped out of my carriage, +told Gathy all that had happened to me, being all the time between +complete despair and perfect delight. He knew Hagedorn and his rooms +very well. It was the Rue Royale St. Honoré. The _concierge_ was quite +prepared for my arrival, and took us both to the rooms which were _au +cinquième_, but large and extremely well furnished. I was so tired +that I lay down on the sofa, and called out in my best French, +_Donnez-moi quelque chose à manger et à boire_. This was not so easily +done as said, but at last, after toiling up and down five flights of +stairs, he brought me what I wanted; I restored myself in the true +sense of the word, and then began to discuss the most necessary +matters with M. Gathy. He was the most charming of men, half German, +half French, full of _esprit_, and, what was more important to me, +full of real kindness and love. As soon as I saw him I felt I was +safe, and so I was, though I had still some battles to fight. First of +all, I had taken but little money with me, looking upon Hagedorn as my +banker. Fortunately I remembered the name of one of his friends, about +whom Hagedorn had often spoken to me and who was in Rothschild’s Bank. +I went there to find that he was away, but another gentleman there +told me that I could have as much as I liked till Hagedorn or his +friend came back. So I was lucky, unlucky as I had been before. + +The next step I had to consider was what I should do for my breakfast, +luncheon, and dinner. Breakfast I could have at home, but for the +other meals I had to go out and get what I wanted wherever I could. It +was not always what I wanted, for it had to be cheap, and even a +dinner _à deux francs_ in the Palais Royal seemed to me extravagant. I +became more knowing by-and-by, and discovered smaller and simpler +restaurants, where Frenchmen dined and had arranged for a less showy +but more wholesome diet. + +The impression that my first experience of life in one of the great +capitals of the world made on me is still fresh in my memory. My +principal amusement at first was to go on voyages of discovery through +the town. The beauty of the city itself, and the rush and crowd in +the streets delighted me, and I remember specially a few days after my +arrival, when I went to watch “le tout Paris” going out to the races +at Longchamps, that I was so struck by the difference between these +streets full of equipages of all sorts, ladies in resplendent dresses, +and well-groomed gentlemen, and the quiet streets that I had been +accustomed to in Dessau and Leipzig, that I could hardly keep myself +from laughing out loud. However, when the novelty wore off there was +another contrast that struck me, and made me more inclined to cry this +time than to laugh, and that was, that while at home I knew almost +every face I passed, here in these crowds I was a stranger and knew no +one, and I suffered cruelly from the solitude at first. + +I began my work, however, at once, and on the third day after my +arrival I was at the Bibliothèque Royale armed with a letter of +introduction from Humboldt, and the very next day was already at work +collating the MSS. of the _Kathaka Upanishad_. I had also to devote +some hours daily to the study of French; for, much as I grudged these +hours, I fully realized that in order to get full advantage from my +stay in Paris, I must first master French. + +Next came the great question, how to make the acquaintance of Burnouf. +I did not know the world. I did not know whether I should write to him +first, in what language, and to what address. I knew Burnouf from his +books, and I felt a desperate respect for him. After a time Gathy +discovered his address for me, and I summoned up courage to call on +him. My French was very poor as yet, but I walked in and found a dear +old gentleman in his _robe de chambre_, surrounded by his books and +his children—four little daughters who were evidently helping him in +collecting and alphabetically arranging a number of slips on which he +had jotted down whatever had struck him as important in his reading +during the day. He received me with great civility, such as I had not +been accustomed to before. He spoke of some little book which I had +published, and inquired warmly after my teachers in Germany, such as +Brockhaus, Bopp, and Lassen. He told me I might attend his lectures in +the Collège de France, and he would always be most happy to give me +advice and help. + +I at once felt perfect trust in the man, and was really _aux cieux_ to +have found such an adviser. He was, indeed, a fine specimen of the +real French savant. He was small, and his face was decidedly German, +with the _tête carrée_ which one sees so often in Germany, only +lighted up by a constant sparkle, which is distinctively French. I +must have seemed very stupid to him when I tried to explain to him +what I really wanted to do in Paris. He told me himself afterwards +that he could not make me out at first. I wanted to study the Veda, +but I had told him at the same time that I thought the Vedic hymns +very stupid, and that I cared chiefly for their philosophy, that is, +the Upanishads. This was really not true, but it came up first in +conversation, and I thought it would show Burnouf that my interest in +the Veda was not simply philological, but philosophical also. No doubt +at first I chiefly copied the Upanishads and their commentaries, but +Burnouf was not pleased. “We know what is in the Upanishads,” he used +to say, “but we want the hymns and their native comments.” I soon came +to understand what he meant; I carefully attended his lectures, which +were on the hymns of the Rig-veda and opened an entirely new world to +my mind. We had the first book of the Rig-veda as published by Rosen, +and Burnouf’s explanations were certainly delightful. He spoke freely +and conversationally in his lectures, and one could almost assist at +the elaboration of his thoughts. His audience was certainly small; +there was nothing like Renan’s eloquence and wit. But Burnouf had ever +so many new facts to communicate to us. He explained to us his own +researches, he showed us new MSS. which he had received from India, in +fact he did all he could to make us fellow workers. Often did he tell +us to look up some passage in the Veda, to compare and copy the +commentaries, and to let him have the result of our researches at the +next lecture. All this was very inspiriting, particularly as Burnouf, +upon examining our work, was very generous in his approval, and quite +ready, if we had failed, to point out to us new sources that should +be examined. He never asserted his own authority, and if ever we had +found out something which he had not known before, he was delighted to +let us have the full credit for it. After all, it was a new and +unknown country, that had to be explored and mapped out, and even a +novice might sometimes find a grain of gold. + +His select class contained some good men. There were Barthélemy St. +Hilaire, the famous translator of Aristotle, and for a time Minister +of Foreign Affairs in France, the Abbé Bardelli, R. Roth, Th. +Goldstücker, and a few more. + +Barthélemy St. Hilaire was a personal friend of Burnouf, and came to +the Collège de France not so much to learn Sanskrit as to hear +Burnouf’s lucid exposition of ancient Indian religion and philosophy. +Bardelli was a regular Italian Abbé, studying Sanskrit at Paris, but +chiefly interested in Coptic. He was, like St. Hilaire, much my +senior, but we became great friends, and he once confided to me what +had certainly puzzled me—his reasons for becoming an ecclesiastic. He +had been deeply in love with a young lady; his love was returned, but +he was too poor to marry, and she was persuaded and almost forced to +marry a rich man. Dear old Abbé, always taking snuff while he told me +his agonies, and then finishing up by saying that he became a priest +so as to put an end for ever to his passion. Who would have suspected +such a background to his jovial face? I don’t know how it was that +people, much my seniors, so often confided to me their secret +sufferings. I may have to mention some other cases, and I feel that +after my friends are gone, and so many years have passed over their +graves, there is no indiscretion in speaking of their confidences. It +may possibly teach us to remember how much often lies buried under a +grave bright with flowers. I saw Bardelli’s own grave many years later +in the famous cemetery at Pisa. R. Roth and Th. Goldstücker were both +strenuous Sanskrit scholars. Both owed much to Burnouf, Roth even more +than Goldstücker, though the latter has perhaps more frequently spoken +of what he owed to Burnouf. Roth was my senior by several years, and +engaged in much the same work as myself. But we never got on well +together. It is curious from what small things and slight impressions +our likes and dislikes are often formed. I have heard men give as a +reason for disliking some one, that he had forgotten to pay half a +cab-fare. So in Roth’s case, I never got over a most ordinary +experience. He and two other young students and myself, having to +celebrate some festal occasion, had ordered a good luncheon at a +restaurant. To me with my limited means this was a great extravagance, +but I could not refuse to join. Roth, to my great surprise and, I may +add, being very fond of oysters, annoyance, took a very unfair share +of that delicacy, and whenever I met him in after life, whether in +person or in writing, this incident would always crop up in my mind; +and when later on he offered to join me in editing the Rig-veda, I +declined, perhaps influenced by that early impression which I could +not get rid of. I blame myself for so foolish a prejudice, but it +shows what creatures of circumstance we are. + +With Goldstücker I was far more intimate. He was some years older than +myself and quite independent as far as money went. He knew how small +my means were, and would gladly have lent me money. But through the +whole of my life I never borrowed from my friends, or in fact from +anybody, though I was forced sometimes when very hard up for ready +money, and when I knew that money was due to me but had not arrived +when I expected it, to apply to some friend for a temporary advance. I +will try and recall the lines in which I once applied to Gathy for +such a loan. + + Versuch’ ich’s wohl, mein herzgeliebter Gathy, + Mit schmeichelndem Sonnet Sie anzupumpen? + Ich bitte nicht um schwere Goldesklumpen, + Ich bitte nur um etliche Ducati. + Auch zahl’ ich wieder ultimo Monati. + Auf Wiedersehn bei Morel und Frascati + Und Nachsicht für den Brief, den allzu plumpen! + Zwar reiche Nabobs sind die braven Inder, + Doch arme Teufel die Indianisten! + Reich sind hienieden schon die Heiden-Kinder, + Doch selig werden nur die armen Christen! + Reimsucher bin ich, doch kein Reimefinder, + Und _sans critique_ sind all die Sanscritisten. + +This kind of negotiating a loan I have to confess to, but the idea of +borrowing money, without knowing when I could repay it, never entered +my mind. Relations who could have helped me I had none, and nothing +remained to me but to work for others. Indeed my want of money soon +began to cause me very serious anxiety in Paris. Little as I spent, my +funds became lower and lower. I did not, like many other scholars, +receive help from my Government. I had mapped out my course for +myself, and instead of taking to teaching on leaving the University, +had settled to come to Paris and continue my Sanskrit studies, and it +was in my own hands whether I should swim or sink. It was, indeed, a +hard struggle, far harder than those who have known me in later life +would believe. All I could do to earn a little money was to copy and +collate MSS. for other people. I might indeed have given private +lessons, but I have always had a strong objection to that form of +drudgery, and would rather sit up a whole night copying than give an +hour to my pupils. My plan was as follows: to sit up the whole of one +night, to take about three hours’ rest the next night, but without +undressing, and then to take a good night’s rest the third night, and +start over again. It was a hard fight, and cannot have been very good +for me physically, but I do not regret it now. + +Often did I go without my dinner, being quite satisfied with boiled +eggs and bread and butter, which I could have at home without toiling +down and toiling up five flights of stairs that led to my room. +Sometimes I went with some of my young friends _hors de la barrière_, +that is, outside Paris, outside the barrier where the _octroi_ has to +be paid on meat, wine, &c. Here the food was certainly better for the +price I could afford to pay, but the society was sometimes peculiar. I +remember once seeing a strange lady sitting not very far from me, who +was the well-known Louve of Eugène Sue’s _Mystères de Paris_. One of +my companions on these expeditions was Karl de Schloezer, who was then +studying Arabic in Paris. He was always cheerful and amusing, and a +delightful companion. He knew much more of the world than I did, and +often surprised me by his diplomatic wisdom. “Let us stand up for each +other,” he said one day; “you say all the good you can of me, I saying +all the good I can of you.” I became very fierce at the time, charging +him with hypocrisy and I do not know what. He, however, took it all in +good part, and we remained friends all the time he was at Paris, and +indeed to the day of his death. He was very fond of music, but I was, +perhaps, the better performer on the pianoforte. He had invited me, a +violin, and violoncello, to play some of Mozart’s and Beethoven’s +Sonatas. Alas! when we found that he murdered his part, I sat down and +played the whole evening, leaving him to listen, not, I fear, in the +best of moods. He took his revenge, however; and the next time he +asked me and the two other musicians to his room, we found indeed +everything ready for us to play, but our host was nowhere to be found. +He maintained that he had been called away; I am certain, however, +that the little trick was played on purpose. + +He afterwards entered the Prussian diplomatic service and was the +protégé of the Princess of Prussia, afterwards the Empress of Germany. +That was enough to make Bismarck dislike him, and when Schloezer +served as Secretary of Legation under Bismarck as Ambassador at St. +Petersburg, he committed the outrage of challenging his chief to a +duel. Bismarck declined, nor would it, according to diplomatic +etiquette, have been possible for him not to decline. Later on, +however, Schloezer was placed _en disponibilité_, that is to say, he +was politely dismissed. He had to pay a kind of farewell visit to +Bismarck, who was then omnipotent. Being asked by Bismarck what he +intended to do, and whether he could be of any service to him, +Schloezer said very quietly, “Yes, your Excellency, I shall take to +writing my Memoirs, and you know that I have seen much in my time +which many people will be interested to learn.” Bismarck was quiet for +a time, looking at some papers, and then remarked quite unconcernedly, +“You would not care to go to the United States as Minister?” “I am +ready to go to-morrow,” replied Schloezer, and having carried his +point, having in fact outwitted Bismarck, he started at once for +Washington. Bismarck knew that Schloezer could wield a sharp pen, and +there was a time when he was sensitive to such pen-pricks. They did +not see much of each other afterwards, but, owing to the protection of +the Empress, Schloezer was later accredited as Prussian envoy to the +Pope, and died too soon for his friends in beautiful Italy. + +One of my oldest friends at Paris was a Baron d’Eckstein, a kind of +diplomatic agent who knew everybody in Paris, and wrote for the +newspapers, French and German. He had, I believe, a pension from the +French Government, and was, as a Roman Catholic, strongly allied with +the Clerical Party. This did not concern me. What concerned me was his +love of Sanskrit and the ancient religion of India. He would sit with +me for hours, or take me to dine with him at a restaurant, discussing +all the time the Vedas and the Upanishad and the Vedanta philosophy. +There are several articles of his written at this time in the _Journal +Asiatique_, and I was especially grateful to him, for he gave me +plenty of work to do, particularly in the way of copying Sanskrit MSS. +for him, and he paid me well and so helped me to keep afloat in Paris. +Knowing as he did everybody, he was very anxious to introduce me to +his friends, such as George Sand, Lamennais, the Comtesse d’Agoult +(Daniel Stern), Lamartine, Victor Hugo, and others; but I much +preferred half an hour with him or with Burnouf to paying formal +visits. I heard afterwards many unkind things about Baron +d’Eckstein’s political and clerical opinions, but though in becoming a +convert to Roman Catholicism he may have shown weakness, and as a +political writer may have been influenced by his near friends and +patrons, I never found him otherwise than kind, tolerant, and +trustworthy. His life was to have been written by Professor +Windischmann, but he too died; and who knows what may have become of +the curious memoirs which he left? At the time of the February +revolution in 1848, he was in the very midst of it. He knew Lamartine, +who was the hero of the day, though of a few days only. He attended +meetings with Lamartine, Odilon, Barrot, and others, and he assured me +that there would be no revolution, because nobody was prepared for it. + +Lamartine who had been asked by his friends, all of them royalists and +friends of order, whether he would, in case of necessity, undertake to +form a ministry under the Duchesse d’Orléans as regent, scouted such +an idea at first, but at last promised to be ready if he were wanted. +The time came sooner than he expected, and the Duchesse d’Orléans +counted on him when she went to the Chamber and her Regency was +proclaimed. Lamartine was then so popular that he might have saved the +situation. But the mob broke into the Chamber, shots were fired, and +there was no Lamartine. The Duchesse d’Orléans had to fly, and +fortunately escaped under the protection of the Duc de Nemours, the +only son of Louis Philippe then in Paris, and the dynasty of the +Orléans was lost—never to return. Baron d’Eckstein lost many of his +influential friends at that time, possibly his pension also, but he +had enough to live upon, and he died at last as a very old man in a +Roman Catholic monastery, a most interesting and charming man, whose +memoirs would certainly have been very valuable. + +But to return to Burnouf, I never can adequately express my debt of +gratitude to him. He was of the greatest assistance to me in clearing +my thoughts and directing them into one channel. “Either one thing or +the other,” he said. “Either study Indian philosophy and begin with +the Upanishads and Sankara’s commentary, or study Indian religion and +keep to the Rig-veda, and copy the hymns and Sâyana’s commentary, and +then you will be our great benefactor.” A great benefactor! that was +too much for me, a mere dwarf in the presence of giants. But Burnouf’s +words confirmed me more and more in my desire to give myself up to the +Veda. + +Burnouf told me not only what Vedic MSS. there were at the +Bibliothèque Royale, he also brought me his own MSS. and lent them to +me to copy, with the condition, however, that I should not smoke while +working at them. He himself did not smoke, and could not bear the +smell of smoke, and he showed me several of his MSS. which had become +quite useless to him, because they smelt of stale tobacco smoke. I +did all I could to guard these sacred treasures against such +profanation. + +Another and even more useful warning came to me from Burnouf. “Don’t +publish extracts from the commentary only,” he said; “if you do, you +will publish what is easy to read, and leave out what is difficult.” I +certainly thought that extracts would be sufficient, but I soon found +out that here also Burnouf was right, though there was always the fear +that I should never find a publisher for so immense a work. This fear +I confided to Burnouf, but he always maintained his hopeful view. “The +commentary must be published, depend upon it, and it will be,” he +said. + +So I stuck to it and went on copying and collating my Sanskrit MSS., +always trusting that a publisher would turn up at the proper time. I +had, of course, to do all the drudgery for myself, and I soon found +out that it was not in human nature, at least not in my nature, to +copy Sanskrit from a MS. even for three or four hours without +mistakes. To my great disappointment I found mistakes whenever I +collated my copy with the original. I found that like the copyists of +classical MSS. my eye had wandered from one line to another where the +same word occurred, that I had left out a word when the next word +ended with the same termination, nay that I had even left out whole +lines. Hence I had either to collate my own copy, which was very +tedious, or invent some new process. This new process I discovered by +using transparent paper, and thus tracing every letter. I had some +excellent _papier végétal_ made for me, and, instead of copying, +traced the whole Sanskrit MS. This had the great advantage that +nothing could be left out, and that when the original was smudged and +doubtful I could carefully trace whatever was clear and visible +through the transparent paper. At first I confess my work was slow, +but soon it went as rapidly as copying, and it was even less fatiguing +to the eyes than the constant looking from the MS. to the copy, and +from the copy to the MS. But the most important advantage was, that I +could thus feel quite certain that nothing was left out, so that even +now, after more than fifty years, these tracings are as useful to me +as the MS. itself. There was room left between the lines or on the +margin to note the various readings of other MSS.; in fact, my +materials grew both in extent and in value. + +Still there remained the question of a publisher. To print the +Rig-veda in six volumes quarto of about a thousand pages each, and to +provide the editor with a living wage during the many years he would +have to devote to his task, required a large capital. I do not know +exactly how much, but what I do know is that, when a second edition of +the text of the Veda in four volumes was printed at the expense of the +Maharajah of Vizianagram, it cost that generous and patriotic prince +four thousand pounds, though I then gave my work gratuitously. + +While I was working at the Bibliothèque Royale, Humboldt had used his +powerful influence with the king of Prussia, Frederick William IV, to +help me in publishing my edition of the Rig-veda in Germany. Nothing, +however, came of that plan; it proved too costly for any private +publisher, even with royal assistance. + +Then came a vague offer from St. Petersburg. Boehtlingk, the great +Sanskrit scholar, as a member of the Imperial Russian Academy, invited +me to come to St. Petersburg and print the Veda there, in +collaboration with himself, and at the expense of the Academy. Burnouf +and Goldstücker both warned me against accepting this offer, but, +hopeless as I was of getting my Veda published elsewhere, I expressed +my willingness to go on condition that some provision should be made +for me before I decided to migrate to Russia, as I possessed +absolutely nothing but what I was able to earn myself. Boehtlingk, I +believe, suggested to the Academy that I should be appointed Assistant +Keeper of the Oriental Museum at St. Petersburg, but his colleagues +did not apparently consider so young a man, and a mere German scholar, +a fit candidate for so responsible a post. Boehtlingk wished me to +send him all my materials, and he would get the MSS. of the Rig-veda +and of Sâyana’s commentary from the Library of the East India Company, +and Paris. No definite proposition, however, came from the Imperial +Academy, but an announcement of Boehtlingk’s appeared in the papers +in January, 1846, to the effect that he was preparing, in +collaboration with Monsieur Max Müller of Paris, a complete edition of +the Rig-veda. + +All this, I confess, began to frighten me. For me, a poor scholar, to +go to St. Petersburg without any official invitation, without any +appointment, seemed reckless, and though I have no doubt that +Boehtlingk would have done his best for me, yet even he could only +suggest private lessons, and that was no cheerful outlook. The Academy +would do nothing for me unless I joined Boehtlingk, but at last +offered to buy my materials, on which I had spent so much labour and +the small fund at my disposal. If the Academy could have got the +necessary MSS. from Paris and London, I should have been perfectly +helpless. Boehtlingk could have done the whole work himself, in some +respects better than I, because he was my senior, and besides, he knew +Pânini, the old Indian grammarian who is constantly referred to in +Sâyana’s Commentary, better than I did. With all these threatening +clouds around me, my decision was by no means easy. + +It was Burnouf’s advice that determined me to remain quietly in Paris. +He warned me repeatedly against trusting to Boehtlingk, and promised, +if I would only stay in Paris, to give me his support with Guizot, who +was then Minister for Foreign Affairs, and very much interested in +Oriental studies. + +Boehtlingk seems never to have forgiven me, and he and several of his +friends were highly displeased at my ultimate success in securing a +publisher for the Rig-veda in England. Their language was most +unbecoming, and they tried, and actually urged other Sanskrit +scholars, to criticize my edition, though I must say to their credit +that they afterwards confessed that it was all that could be desired. + +Many years later, Boehtlingk published a violent attack on me, +entitled _F. Max Müller als Mythendichter_, but I thought it +unnecessary to take up the dispute, and preferred to leave my friends +to judge for themselves between me and this propounder of accusations, +the legitimacy of which he was utterly unable to establish. However, +as I discovered later that he accused me of having acted +discourteously towards the Imperial Academy of St. Petersburg, with +whom I had never had any direct dealings, and stated that he had +prevented that illustrious body from ever making me a corresponding +member, I thought it right to offer an explanation to the Secretary, +and I have in my possession his reply, in which he wrote that there +was no foundation whatever for Professor Boehtlingk’s statements. + +However, the outcome of it was that I did not go to St. Petersburg, +but went on with my work at the Library in Paris, till one day I found +it necessary to run over to London, to copy and collate certain MSS., +and there I found the long-sought-for benefactors, who were to enable +me to carry out the work of my life. + +Of course, during my stay in Paris there was no idea of my going into +society, or of buying tickets for theatres or concerts. I went out to +dinner at some small restaurant, but otherwise I remained at home, and +viewed Paris life from my high windows, looking out on the Chambre des +Députés on one side, the Madeleine close to me on the left, and the +Porte St. Martin far away at the end of the Boulevards. Baron +d’Eckstein, as I have said, was willing to introduce me into society, +but I refused his kind offers. In fact, I was more or less of a bear, +and I now regret having missed meeting many interesting characters, +and having kept aloof from others, because my interests were absorbed +elsewhere. Burnouf asked me sometimes to his house; so did a Monsieur +Troyer, who had been in India and published some Sanskrit texts, and +whose daughter, the Duchesse de Wagram, made much of me, as she was +very fond of music. There were some German families also, some rich, +some poor, who showed me great kindness. + +I was too much oppressed with cares and anxieties about my life and my +literary plans to think much of society and enjoyment. Even of the +students and student life I saw but little, though I was actually +attending lectures with them. I must say, however, that the little I +did see of student life in Paris gave me a very different idea from +what is generally thought of their vagaries and extravagances. A +Frenchman, if he once begins to work, can work and does work very +hard. I remember seeing several instances of this, but it is possible +that I may have seen the pick of the Quartier Latin only. One who was +then a young man, preparing for the Church, but already with an eye to +higher flights, was Renan. At first he still looked upon all young +Germans with suspicion, but this feeling soon disappeared. I remember +him chiefly at the Bibliothèque Royale, where he had a very small +place in the Oriental Department. Hase, the Greek scholar, Reinaud, +the Arabist, and Stanislas Julien, the Sinologue, were librarians +then. Hase, a German by birth, was most obliging, but he was greatly +afraid of speaking German, and insisted on our always speaking French +to him. Often did he call Renan to fetch MSS. for me: “Renan,” he +would call out very loudly, “allez chercher, pour Monsieur Max Müller, +le manuscrit sanscrit, numéro ...,” and then followed a pause, till he +had translated “1637” into French. In later years Renan and I became +great friends, but we German scholars were often puzzled at his great +popularity, which certainly was owing to his style more even than to +his scholarship. Some time later, when I was already established in +England, we had a little controversy, and I printed a rather fierce +attack on his _Grammaire Sémitique_. But we were intimate enough for +me to show him my pamphlet, and when he wrote to me, “Pardonnez-moi, +je n’ai pas compris ce que vous vouliez dire,” I suppressed the +pamphlet, though it was printed, and we remained friends for life. He +translated my first article on Comparative Mythology, and I had a +number of most interesting letters from him. It was his wife who did +the translation, while he revised it. That French pamphlet is very +scarce now; my own pamphlet was entirely suppressed; even I myself can +find no copy of it among the rubbish of my early writings, and what I +regret most, I threw away his letters, not thinking how interesting +they would become in time. + +With all my work, however, I found time to attend some lectures at the +Collège de France, and to make the acquaintance of some distinguished +French _savants_ of the _Institut_. I went there with Burnouf, or +Stanislas Julien, or Reinaud, little dreaming that I should some day +belong to the same august body. Many of my young French friends, who +afterwards became _Membres de l’Institut_, rose to that dignity much +later. I was made not only a corresponding, but a real member of the +Académie des Inscriptions et Belles Lettres in 1869, before my +friends, such as G. Perrot 1874, Michel Bréal 1875, Gaston Paris 1876, +and Jules Oppert 1881, occupied their well-merited academical +_fauteuils_. The struggle when I was elected in 1869 was a serious +one; it was between Mommsen and myself, between classical and Oriental +scholarship, and for once Oriental scholarship carried the day. +Mommsen, however, was elected in 1895, and there can be little doubt +that his strong and outspoken political antipathies had something to +do with the late date of his election. + +I am sorry to say that one result of my seeing so little of French +life was that my French did not make such progress as I expected. +Though I was able to express myself _tant bien que mal_, I have always +felt hampered in a long conversation. Of course, the French themselves +have always been polite enough to say that they could not have +detected that I was a German, but I knew better than that, and never +have I, even in later years, gained a perfect conversational command +of that difficult language. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +ARRIVAL IN ENGLAND + + +While working in Paris I constantly felt the want of some essential +MSS. which were at the Library of the East India Company in London, +and my desire to visit England consequently grew stronger and +stronger; but I had not the wherewithal to pay for the journey, much +less for a stay of even a fortnight in London. At last (June, 1846) I +thought that I had scraped together enough to warrant my starting. At +that time I had never seen the sea, and I was very desirous of doing +so. I well remember my unbounded rapture at my first sight of the +silver stream, and like Xenophon’s Greeks I could have shouted, +θἁλαττα, θἁλαττα. Once on board my rapture soon collapsed and was +succeeded by that well-known feeling of misery which I have so +frequently experienced since then, and I huddled myself up in a corner +of the deck. + +There a young fellow-traveller saw the poor bundle of misery, and +tried to comfort me, and brought me what he thought was good for me, +not, however, without a certain merry twinkle in his eye and a few +kindly jokes at my expense. We landed at the docks in London, a real +drizzly day, rain and mist, and such a crowd rushing on shore that I +missed my cheerful friend and felt quite lost. In addition to all this +a porter had run away with my portmanteau, which contained my books +and MSS., in fact all my worldly goods. At that moment my young friend +reappeared, and seeing the plight I was in, came to my assistance. +“You stay here,” he said, “and I will arrange everything for you;” and +so he did. He fetched a four-wheeler, put my luggage on the top, +bundled me inside, and drove with me through a maze of London streets +to his rooms in the Temple. Then, still knowing nothing about me, he +asked me to spend the night in his rooms, gave me a bed and everything +else I wanted for the night. The next morning he took me out to look +for lodgings, which we found in Essex Street, a small street leading +out of the Strand. + +The room which I took was almost entirely filled by an immense +four-post bed. I had never seen such a structure before, and during +the first night that I slept in it, I was in constant fear that the +top of the bed would fall and smother me as in the German _Märchen_. +When the landlady came in to see me in the morning, after asking how I +had slept, the first thing she said was, “But, sir, don’t you want +another ‘pillar’?” I looked bewildered, and said: “Why, what shall I +do with another pillar? and where will you put it?” She then touched +the pillows under my head and said, “Well, sir, you shall have +another ‘pillar’ to-morrow.” “How shall I ever learn English,” I said +to myself, “if a ‘pillar’ means really a soft pillow?” + +But to return to my unknown friend, he came every day to show me +things which I ought to see in London, and brought me tickets for +theatres and concerts, which he said were sent to him. His name was +William Howard Russell, endeared to so many, high and low, under the +name of “Billy” Russell, the first and most brilliant +war-correspondent of _The Times_ during the Crimean War. He remained +my warm and true friend through life, and even now when we are both +cripples, we delight in meeting and talking over very distant days. + +I had come over to London expecting to stay about a fortnight, but I +had been there working at the Library in Leadenhall Street for nearly +a month, and my work was far from done, when I thought that I ought to +call and pay my respects to the Prussian Minister, Baron Bunsen. I +little thought at the time when I was ushered into his presence that +this acquaintance was to become the turning-point of my life. If I +owed much to Burnouf, how can I tell what I owed to Bunsen? I was +amazed at the kindness with which from the very first he received me. +I had no claim whatever on him, and I had as yet done very little as a +scholar. It is true that he had known my father in Italy, and that +Humboldt, with his usual kindness, had written him a strong letter of +recommendation on my behalf, but that was hardly sufficient reason to +account for the real friendship with which he at once honoured me. + +Baroness Bunsen, in the life of her husband, writes: “The kindred +mind, their sympathy of heart, the unity in highest aspirations, a +congeniality in principles, a fellowship in the pursuit of favourite +objects, which attracted and bound Bunsen to his young friend (i. e. +myself), rendered this connexion one of the happiest of his life.” I +am proud to think it was so. + +At first the chief bond between us was that I was engaged on a work +which as a young man he had proposed to himself as the work of his +life, namely, the _editio princeps_ of the Rig-veda. Often has he told +me how, at the time when he was prosecuting his studies at Göttingen, +the very existence of such a book was unknown as yet in Germany. The +name of Veda had no doubt been known, and there was a halo of mystery +about it, as the oldest book of the world. But what it was and where +it was to be found no one could tell. Mr. Astor, a pupil of Bunsen’s +at Göttingen, had arranged to take Bunsen to India to carry on his +researches there. But Bunsen waited and waited in Italy, till at last, +after maintaining himself by giving private lessons, he went to Rome, +was taken up by Brandes and Niebuhr, the Prussian Ambassador there, +became the friend of the future Frederick William IV, and thus +gradually drifted into diplomacy, giving up all hopes of discovering +or rescuing the Rig-veda. + +People have hardly any idea now, how, in spite of the East India +Company conquering and governing India, India itself remained a _terra +incognita_, unapproachable by the students of England and of Europe. +That there were literary treasures to be discovered in India, that the +Brahmans were the depositaries of ancient wisdom, was known through +the labours of some of the most eminent servants of the East India +Company. It had been known even before, through the interesting +communications of Roman Catholic missionaries in India, that the +manuscripts themselves, at least those of the Veda, were not +forthcoming. Even as late as the times of Sir W. Jones, Colebrooke, +and Professor Wilson, the Brahmans were most unwilling to part with +MSS. of the Veda, except the Upanishads. Professor Wilson told me that +once, when examining the library of a native Râjah, he came across +some MSS. of the Rig-veda, and began turning them over; but “I +observed,” he said, “the ominous and threatening looks of some of the +Brahmans present, and thought it wiser to beat a retreat.” Dr. Mill +had known of a gentleman who had a very sacred hymn of the Veda, the +Gayatri, printed at Calcutta. The Brahmans were furious at this +profanation, and when the gentleman died soon after, they looked upon +his premature death as the vengeance of the offended gods. +Colebrooke, however, was allowed to possess himself of several most +valuable Vedic MSS., and he found Brahmans quite ready to read with +him, not only the classical texts, but also portions of the Veda. +“They do not even,” he writes, “conceal from us the most sacred texts +of the Veda.” His own essays on the Veda appeared in the _Asiatic +Researches_ as early as 1801. But people went on dreaming about the +Veda, instead of reading Colebrooke’s essays. + +It was curious, however, that at the time when I prepared my edition +of the Rig-veda, Vedic scholarship was at a very low ebb in Bengal +itself, and there were few Brahmans there who knew the whole of the +Rig-veda by heart, as they still did in the South of India. +Manuscripts were never considered in India as of very high authority; +they were always over-ruled by the oral traditions of certain schools. +However, such manuscripts, good and bad, but mostly bad, existed, and +after a time some of them reached England, France, and even Germany. +Portions of those in Berlin and Paris I had copied and collated, so +that I could show Bunsen the very book which he had been in search of +in his youth. This opened his heart to me as well as the doors of his +house. “I am glad,” he said, “to have lived to see the Veda. Whatever +you want, let me know; I look upon you as myself grown young again.” +And he did help me, as only a father can help his son. + +Perhaps he expected too much from the Veda, as many other people did +at that time, and before the _verba ipsissima_ were printed. As the +oldest book that ever was composed, the Veda was supposed to give us a +picture of what man was in his most primitive state, with his most +primitive ideas, and his most primitive language. Everybody interested +in the origin and the first development of language, thought, +religion, and social institutions, looked forward to the Veda as a new +revelation. All such dreams, natural enough before the Veda was known, +were dispersed by my laying sacrilegious hands on the Veda itself, and +actually publishing it, making it public property, to the dismay of +the Brahmans in India, and to the delight of all Sanskrit scholars in +Europe. The learned essays of Colebrooke in India, and the extracts +published by Rosen, the Oriental librarian of the British Museum, +might indeed have taught people that the Veda was not a book without +any antecedents, that it would not tell us the secrets of Adam and +Eve, or of Deukalion and Pyrrha. I myself had both said and written +that the Veda, like an old oak tree, shows hundreds and thousands of +circles within circles; and yet I was afterwards held responsible for +having excited the wildest hopes among archaeologists, when I had done +my best, if not to destroy them, at all events to reduce them to their +proper level. Schelling seemed quite disappointed when I showed him +some of the translations of the hymns of the Rig-veda; and Bunsen, +who was still under Schelling’s influence, had evidently expected a +great many more of such philosophical hymns as the famous one +beginning: + +“There was not nought nor was there aught at that time.” + +To the scholar, no doubt, the Veda remained and always will remain the +oldest of real books, that has been preserved to us in an almost +miraculous way. By book, however, as I often explained, I mean a book +divided into chapters and verses, having a beginning and an end, and +handed down to us in an alphabetic form of writing. China may have +possessed older books in a half phonetic, half symbolic writing; Egypt +certainly possessed older hieroglyphic inscriptions and papyri; +Babylon had its cuneiform monuments; and certain portions of the Old +Testament may have existed in a written form at the time of Josiah, +when Hilkiah, the high priest, found the law book in the sanctuary (2 +Kings xxii. 8). But the Veda, with its ten books or _Mandalas_, its +1017 hymns or _Suktas_, with every consonant and vowel and accent +plainly written, was a different thing. It may safely be called a +book. No doubt it existed for a long time, as it does even at present, +in oral tradition, but as it was in tradition, so it was when reduced +to writing, and in either form I doubt whether any other real book can +rival it in antiquity. More important, however, than the purely +chronological antiquity of the book, is the antiquity or primitiveness +of the thoughts which it contains. If the people of the Veda did not +turn out to be quite such savages as was hoped and expected, they +nevertheless disclosed to us a layer of thought which can be explored +nowhere else. The Vedic poets were not ashamed of exposing their fear +that the sun might tumble down from the sky, and there are no other +poets, as far as I know, who still trembled at the same not quite +unnatural thought. Nor do I find even savages who still wonder and +express their surprise that black cows should produce white milk. Is +not that childish enough for any ancient or modern savage? Mere +chronology is here of as little avail as with modern savages, whose +customs and beliefs, though known as but of yesterday, are represented +to us as older than the Veda, older than Babylonian cylinders, older +than anything written. When certain modern savages recognize the +relationship of paternity, maternity, and consanguinity, this is +called very ancient. If they admit traditional restrictions as to +marriage, food, the treatment of the dead, nay, even a life to come, +this too, no doubt, may be very old; but it may be of yesterday also. +There are even quite new gods, whose genesis has been watched by +living missionaries. The great difficulty in all such researches is to +distinguish between what is common to human nature, and what is really +inherited or traditional. All such questions have only as yet been +touched upon, and they must wait for their answer till real scholars +will take up the study of the language of living savages, in the same +scholarlike spirit in which they have taken up the study of Vedic and +Babylonian savages. But we must have patience and learn to wait. It +has been a favourite idea among anthropologists that the savage races +inhabiting parts of India give us a correct idea of what the Aryans of +India were before they were civilized. It may safely be said of this +as of other mere ideas, that it may be true, but that there is no +evidence to show that it is true. At all events it takes much for +granted, and neglects, as it would seem, the very lessons which the +theory of evolution has taught us. It is the nature of evolution to be +continuous, and not to proceed _per saltum_. Therein lies the beauty +of genealogical evolution that we can recognize the fibres which +connect the upper strata with the lower, till we strike the lowest, or +at least that which contains what seem to be the seeds and germs of +early thoughts, words, and acts. We can trace the most modern forms of +language back to Sanskrit, or rather to that postulated linguistic +stratum of which Sanskrit formed the most prominent representative, +just as we can trace the French _Dieu_ back to Latin _Deus_ and +Sanskrit _Devas_, the brilliant beings behind the phenomena of nature; +and again behind them, _Dyaus_, the brilliant sky, the Greek _Zeus_, +the Roman _Iovis_ and _Iuppiter_, the most natural of all the Aryan +gods of nature. This is real evolution, a real causal nexus between +the present and the past. It used to be called history or pragmatic +history, whether we take history in the sense of the description of +evolution, or in that of evolution itself. History has generally to +begin with the present, to go back to the past, and to point out the +palpable steps by which the past became again and again the present. +Evolution, on the contrary, prefers to begin with the distant past, to +postulate formations, even if they have left no traces, and to speak +of those almost imperceptible changes by which the postulated past +became the perceptible present, as not only necessary, but as real. +Perhaps the difference is of no importance, but the historical method +seems certainly the more accurate, and the more satisfactory from a +purely scientific point of view. + +In all such evolutionary researches language has always been the most +useful instrument, and the study of the science of language may truly +be said to have been the first science which was treated according to +evolutionary or historical principles. Here, too, no doubt, +intermediate links which must have existed, are sometimes lost beyond +recovery, and when we arrive at the very roots of language, we feel +that there may have been whole aeons before that radical period. Here +science must recognize her inevitable horizons, but here again no +surviving literary monument could carry us so far as the Veda. Hence +its supreme importance for Aryan philology—for the philology of the +most important languages of historical mankind. Other languages, +whether Babylonian or Accadian, whether Hottentot or Maori, may be, +for all we know, much more ancient or much more primitive; but, as +scientific explorers, we can only speak of what we know, and we must +renounce all conjectures that go beyond facts. + +In all these researches no one took a livelier interest and encouraged +me more than Bunsen. When some of my translations of the Vedic hymns +seemed fairly satisfactory, I used to take them to him, and he was +always delighted at seeing a little more of that ancient Aryan torso, +though at the time he was more specially interested in Egyptian +chronology and archaeology. Often when I was alone with him did we +discuss the chronological and psychological dates of Egyptian and +Aryan antiquity. Kind-hearted as he was, Bunsen could get very +excited, nay, quite violent in arguing, and though these fits soon +passed off, yet it made discussions between His Excellency the +Prussian Minister and a young German scholar somewhat difficult. At +that time much less was known of the earliest Egyptian chronology than +is now. But I was never much impressed by mere dates. If a king was +supposed to have lived 5,000 years before our era, “What is that to +us?” I used to say, “He sits on his throne _in vacuo_, and there is +nothing to fix him by, nothing contemporary which alone gives interest +to history. In India we have no dates; but whatever dates and names of +kings and accounts of battles the Egyptian inscriptions may give us, +as a book there is nothing so old in Egypt as the Veda in India. +Besides, we have in the Veda thoughts; and in the chronology of +thought the Veda seems to me older than even the Book of the Dead.” + +As to the actual date of the Veda, I readily granted that +chronologically it was not so old as the pyramids, but supposing it +had been, would that in any way have increased its value for our +studies? If we were to place it at 5000 B. C., I doubt whether anybody +could refute such a date, while if we go back beyond the Veda, and +come to measure the time required for the formation of Sanskrit and of +the Proto-Aryan language I doubt very much whether even 5,000 years +would suffice for that. There is an unfathomable depth in language, +layer following after layer, long before we arrive at roots, and what +a time and what an effort must have been required for their +elaboration, and for the elaboration of the ideas expressed in them. + +Our battles waxed sometimes very fierce, but we generally ended by +arriving at an understanding. As a young man, Bunsen had clearly +perceived the importance of the Veda for an historical study of +mankind and the growth of the human mind, but he was not discouraged +when he saw that it gave us less than had been expected. “It is a +fortress,” he used to say, “that must be besieged and taken, it cannot +be left in our rear.” But he little knew how much time it would take +to approach it, to surround it, and at last to take it. It has not +been surrendered even now, and will not be in my time. It is true +there are several translations of the whole of the Rig-veda, and their +authors deserve the highest credit for what they have done. People +have wondered why I have not given one of them in my Sacred Books of +the East. I thought it was more honest to give, in co-operation with +Oldenburg, specimens only in vols. xxxii and xlvi of that series, and +let it be seen in the notes how much uncertainty there still is, and +how much more of hard work is required, before we can call ourselves +masters of the old Vedic fortress. + +Bunsen’s interest in my work, however, took a more practical turn than +mere encouragement. It was no good encouraging me to copy and collate +Sanskrit MSS. if they were not to be published. He saw that the East +India Company were the proper body to undertake that work. Bunsen’s +name was a power in England, and his patronage was the very best +introduction that I could have had. It was no easy task to persuade +the Board of Directors—all strictly practical and commercial men—to +authorize so considerable an expenditure, merely to edit and print an +old book that none of them could understand, and many of them had +perhaps never even heard of. Bunsen pointed out what a disgrace it +would be to them, if some other country than England published this +edition of the Sacred Books of the Brahmans. + +Professor Wilson, Librarian of the Company, also gave my project his +support, and at last, not quite a year after my arrival in England, +after a long struggle and many fears of failure, it was settled that +the East India Company were to bear the cost of printing the Veda, and +were meanwhile to enable me to stay in London, and prepare my work for +press. + +I had already been working five years copying and collating, and my +first volume of the Rig-veda was progressing, but it was only when all +was settled that I realized how much there was still to do, and that I +should have very hard work indeed before the printing could begin. I +must enter into some details to show the real difficulties I had to +face. + +I felt convinced that the first thing to do was to publish a correct +text of the Rig-veda. That was not so difficult, though it brought me +the greatest kudos. The MSS. were very correct, and the text could +easily be restored by comparing the Pada and Sanhitâ texts, i. e. the +text in which every word was separated, and the text in which the +words were united according to the rules of Sandhi. Anybody might have +done that, yet this, as I said, was the part of my work for which I +have received the greatest praise. + +When my edition of the Rig-veda containing text and commentary was +nearly finished, another scholar, who had assisted me in my work, and +who had always had the use of my MSS., my Indices, in fact of the +whole of my _apparatus criticus_, published a transcript of the text +in Latin letters, and thus anticipated part of the last volume of my +edition. His friends, who were perhaps not mine, seemed delighted to +call him the first editor of the Rig-veda, though they ceased to do so +when they discovered misprints or mistakes of my own edition repeated +in his. He himself was far above such tactics. He knew, and they knew +perfectly well that, whatever the _vulgus profanum_ may think, my real +work was the critical edition of Sâyana’s commentary on the Rig-veda. +I had determined that this also should be edited according to the +strictest rules of criticism. I knew what an amount of labour that +would involve, but I refused to yield to the pressure of my colleagues +to proceed more quickly but less critically. + +Sâyana quotes a number of Sanskrit works which, at the time when I +began my edition, had not yet been edited. Such were the Nirukta, the +glossary of the Rig-veda; the Aitareya-brâhmana, a very old +explanation of the Vedic sacrifice; the Âsvalâyana Sûtras, on the +ceremonial; and sundry works of the same character. Sâyana generally +alludes very briefly only to these works and presupposes that they are +known to us, so that a short reference would suffice for his purposes. +To find such references and to understand them required, however, not +only that I should copy these works, which I did, but that I should +make indices and thus be able to find the place of the passages to +which he alluded. This I did also, but over and over again was I +stopped by some short enigmatical reference to Pânini’s grammar or +Yaska’s glossary, which I could not identify. All these references are +now added to my edition, and those who will look them up in the +originals, will see what kind of work it was which I had to do before +a single line of my edition could be printed. How often was I in +perfect despair, because there was some allusion in Sâyana which I +could not make out, and which no other Sanskrit scholar, not even +Burnouf or Wilson, could help me to clear up. It often took me whole +days, nay, weeks, before I saw light. A good deal of the commentary +was easy enough. It was like marching on the high road, when suddenly +there rises a fortress that has to be taken before any further advance +is to be thought of. In the purely mechanical part other men could and +did help me. But whenever any real difficulty arose, I had to face it +by myself, though after a time I gladly acknowledged that here, too, +their advice was often valuable to me. In fact I found, and all my +assistants seemed to have found out the same, that if they were +useful to me, the work they did for me was useful to them, and I am +proud to say that nearly all of them have afterwards risen to great +prominence in Sanskrit scholarship. From time to time I also worked at +interpreting and translating some of the Vedic hymns, though I had +always hoped that this part of the work would be taken up by other +scholars. + +Bunsen was also my social sponsor in London, and my first peeps into +English society were at the Prussian Legation. He often invited me to +his breakfast and dinner parties, and when I saw for the first time +the magnificent rooms crowded with ministers, and dukes, and bishops, +and with ladies in their grandest dresses, I was as in a dream, and +felt as if I had been lifted into another world. Men were pointed out +to me such as Sir Robert Peel, the Duke of Wellington, Van der Weyer, +the Belgian Minister, Thirlwall, Bishop of St. David’s and author of +the _History of Greece_, Archdeacon Hare, Frederick Maurice, and many +more whom I did not know then, though I came to know several of them +afterwards. Anybody who had anything of his own to produce was welcome +in Bunsen’s house, and among the men whom I remember meeting at his +breakfast parties, were Rawlinson, Layard, Hodgson, Birch, and many +more. Those breakfast parties were then quite a new institution to me, +and it is curious how entirely they have gone out of fashion, though +Sir Harry Inglis, Member for Oxford, Gladstone, Member for Oxford, +Monckton Milnes (afterwards Lord Houghton), kept them up to the last, +while in Oxford they survived perhaps longer than anywhere else. They +had one great advantage, people came to them quite fresh in the +morning; but they broke too much into the day, particularly when, as +at Oxford, they ended with beer, champagne, and cigars, as was +sometimes the case in undergraduates’ rooms. + +How I was able to swim in that new stream, I can hardly understand +even now. I had been quite unaccustomed to this kind of society, and +was ignorant of its simplest rules. Bunsen, however, was never put out +by my gaucheries, but gave me friendly hints in feeling my way through +what seemed to me a perfect labyrinth. He told me that I had offended +people by not returning their calls, or not leaving a card after +having dined with them, paying the so-called digestion-visit to them. +How should I know? Nobody had ever told me, and I thought it obtrusive +to call. Nor did I know that in England to touch fish with a knife, or +to help yourself to potatoes with a fork, was as fatal as to drop or +put in an _h_. Nor did I ever understand why to cut crisp pastry on +your plate with a knife was worse manners than to divide it with a +fork, often scattering it over your plate and possibly over the +table-cloth. I must confess also that fish-knives always seemed to me +more civilized than forks in dividing fish, but fish-knives did not +exist when I first came to England. The really interesting side of all +this is to watch how customs change—come in and go out—and by what a +slow and imperceptible process they are discarded. Let us hope it is +by the survival of the fittest. When I first went to Oxford everybody +took wine with his neighbours, now it is only at such conservative +colleges as my own—All Souls—that the old custom still survives. But +then we have not even given up wax candles yet, and we look upon gas +as a most objectionable innovation. + +Another great difficulty I had was in writing letters and addressing +my friends properly as Sir, or Mr. Smith, or Smith. I was told that +the rule was very simple and that you addressed everybody exactly as +they addressed you. What was the consequence? When I received an +invitation to dine with the Bishop of Oxford who addressed me as “My +dear Sir,” I wrote back “My dear Sir,” and said that I should be very +happy. How Samuel Wilberforce must have chuckled when he read my +epistle. But how is any stranger to know all the intricacies of social +literature, particularly if he is wrongly informed by the highest +authorities. I must confess that even later in life I have often been +puzzled as to the right way of addressing my friends. There is no +difficulty about intimate friends, but as one grows older one knows +so many people more or less intimately, and according to their +different characters and stations in life, one often does not know +whether one offends by too great or too little familiarity. I was once +writing to a very eminent man in London who had been exceedingly +friendly to me at Oxford, and I addressed him as “My dear Professor +H.” At the end of his answer he wrote, “Don’t call me Professor.” All +depends on the tone in which such words are said. I imagined that +living in fashionable society in London, he did not like the somewhat +scholastic title of Professor which, in London particularly, has +always a by-taste of diluted omniscience and conceit. I accordingly +addressed him in my next letter as “My dear Sir,” and this, I am sorry +to say, produced quite a coldness and stiffness, as my friend +evidently imagined that I declined to be on more intimate terms with +him, the fact being that through life I have always been one of his +most devoted admirers. I did my best to conform to all the British +institutions, as well as I could, though in the beginning I must no +doubt have made fearful blunders, and possibly given offence to the +truly insular Briton. Bunsen seemed to delight in asking me whenever +he had Princes or other grandees to lunch or dine with him. + +One day he took me with him to stay at Hurstmonceux with Archdeacon +Hare, and a delightful time it was. There were books in every room, +on the staircase, and in every corner of the house, and the Archdeacon +knew every one of them, and as soon as a book was mentioned, he went +and fetched it. He generally knew the very place at which the passage +that was being discussed, occurred, and excelled even the famous dog, +which at one of these literary breakfast parties—I believe in +Hallam’s house—was ordered on the spur of the moment to fetch the +fifth volume of Gibbon’s _History_, and at once climbed up the ladder +and brought down from the shelf the very volume in which the disputed +passage occurred. He had been taught this one trick of fetching a +certain volume from the shelves of the library, and the conversation +was turned and turned till it was brought round to a passage in that +very volume. The guests were, no doubt, amazed, but as it was before +the days of Darwin and Lubbock, it led to no more than a good laugh. I +was surprised and delighted at the honesty with which the Archdeacon +admitted the weak points of the Anglican system, and the dangers which +threatened not only the Church, but the religion of England. The real +danger, he evidently thought, came from the clergy, and their +hankering after Rome. “They have forgotten their history,” he said, +“and the sufferings which the sway of a Roman priesthood has inflicted +for centuries on their country.” I think it was he who told me the +story of a young Romanizing curate, who declared that he could never +see what was the use of the laity. + +One day when I called on Bunsen with my books, and I frequently called +when I had something new to show him, he said: “You must come with me +to Oxford to the meeting of the British Association.” This was in +1847. Of course I did not know what sort of thing this British +Association was, but Bunsen said he would explain it all to me, only I +must at once sit down and write a paper. He, Bunsen, was to read a +paper on the “Results of the recent Egyptian Researches in reference +to Asiatic and African Ethnology and the Classification of Languages,” +and he wanted Dr. Karl Meyer and myself to support him, the former +with a paper on Celtic Philology, and myself with a paper on the Aryan +and Aboriginal Languages of India. I assured him that this was quite +beyond me. I had hardly been a year in England, and even if I could +write, I knew but too well that I could not read a paper before a +large audience. However, Bunsen would take no refusal. “We must show +them what we have done in Germany for the history and philosophy of +language,” he said, “and I reckon on your help.” There was no escape, +and to Oxford I had to go. I was fearfully nervous, for, as Prince +Albert was to be present, ever so many distinguished people had +flocked to the meeting, and likewise some not very friendly +ethnologists, such as Dr. Latham, and Mr. Crawford, known by the name +of the Objector General. Our section was presided over by the famous +Dr. Prichard, the author of that classical work, _Researches into the +Physical History of Mankind_, in five volumes, and it was he who +protected me most chivalrously against the somewhat frivolous +objections of certain members, who were not over friendly towards +Prince Albert, Chevalier Bunsen, and all that was called German in +scholarship. All, however, went off well. Bunsen’s speech was most +successful, and it is a pity that it should be buried in the +_Transactions of the British Association for 1847_. At that time it +was considered a great honour that his speech should appear there _in +extenso_. When Bunsen declared that he would not give it, unless Dr. +Meyer’s paper and my own were published in the _Transactions_ at the +same time, there was renewed opposition. I was so little proud of my +own essay, that I should much rather have kept it back for further +improvement, but printed it was in the _Transactions_, and much +canvassed at the time in different journals. + +I have always been doubtful about the advantages of these public +meetings, so far as any scientific results are concerned. Everybody +who pays a guinea may become a member and make himself heard, whether +he knows anything on the subject or not. The most ignorant men often +occupy the largest amount of time. Some people look upon these +congresses simply as a means of advertising themselves, and I have +actually seen quoted among a man’s titles to fame the fact that he had +been a member of certain congresses. Another drawback is that no one, +not even the best of scholars, is quite himself before a mixed +audience. Whereas in a private conversation a man is glad to receive +any new information, no one likes to be told in public that he ought +to have known this or that, or that every schoolboy knows it. Then +follows generally a squabble, and the best pleader is sure to have the +laughter on his side, however ignorant he may be of the subject that +is being discussed. But Dr. Prichard was an excellent president and +moderator, and though he had unruly spirits to deal with, he succeeded +in keeping up a certain decorum among them. Dr. Prichard’s authority +stood very high, and justly so, and his _Researches into the Physical +History of Mankind_ still remain unparalleled in ethnology. His +careful weighing of facts and difficulties went out of fashion when +the theory of evolution became popular, and every change from a flea +to an elephant was explained by imperceptible degrees. He dealt +chiefly with what was perceptible, with well-observed facts, and many +of the facts which he marshalled so well, require even now, in these +post-Darwinian days I should venture to say, renewed consideration. +Like all great men, he was wonderfully humble, and allowed me to +contradict him, who ought to have been proud to listen and to learn +from him. + +But though I cannot say that the result of these meetings and +wranglings was very great or valuable, I spent a few most delightful +days at Oxford, and I could not imagine a more perfect state of +existence than to be an undergraduate, a fellow, or a professor there. +A kind of silent love sprang up in my heart, though I hardly confessed +it to myself, much less to the object of my affections. I knew I had +to go back to be a University tutor or even a master in a public +school in Germany, and that was a hard life compared with the freedom +of Oxford. To be independent and free to work as I liked, that was +everything to me, but how I ever succeeded in realizing my ideal, I +hardly know. At that time I saw nothing but a life of drudgery and +severe struggle before me, but I did not allow myself to dwell on it; +I simply worked on, without looking either right or left, behind or +before. + +While at Oxford on this my first flying visit, I had a room in +University College, the very college in which my son was hereafter to +be an undergraduate. My host was Dr. Plumptre, the Master of the +College, a tall, stiff, and to my mind, very imposing person. He was +then Vice-Chancellor, and I believe I never saw him except in his cap +and gown and with two bedels walking before him, the one with a gold, +the other with a silver poker in his hands. We have no Esquire bedels +any longer! All the professors, too, and even the undergraduates, +dressed in their mediaeval academic costume, looked to me very grand, +and so different from the German students at Leipzig or still more at +Jena, walking about the streets in pink cotton trousers and +dressing-gowns. It seemed to me quite a different world, and I made +new discoveries every day. Being with Bunsen I was invited to all the +official dinners during the meeting of the British Association, and +here, too, the Vice-Chancellor acted his part with becoming dignity. +He never unbent; he never indulged in a joke or joined in the laughter +of his neighbours. When I remarked on his immovable features, I was +told that he slept in starched sheets—and I believed it. At one of +these dinners, Prince Louis Lucien Bonaparte caused a titter during a +speech about the freedom which people enjoyed in England. “In France,” +he said, “with all the declamations about _Liberté_, _Égalité_, +_Fraternité_, there is very little freedom, and, with all the trees of +_liberté_ which are being planted along the boulevards, there is very +little of real liberty to be found there!” “But you in England,” he +finished, “you have your old tree of liberty, which is always +flowering and showering _peas_ on the whole world.” He wanted to say +peace. We tried to look solemn but failed, and a suppressed laugh went +round till it reached the Vice-Chancellor. There it stopped. He was +far too well bred to allow a single muscle of his face to move. “He +throws a cold blanket on everything,” my neighbour said; and my +knowledge of English was still so imperfect that I accepted many of +these metaphorical remarks in their literal sense, and became more and +more puzzled about my host. It was evidently a pleasure to my friends +to see how easily I was taken in. On the walls of the houses at Oxford +I saw the letters F. P. about ten feet from the ground. Of course it +was meant for Fire Plug, but I was told that it marked the height of +the Vice-Chancellor, whose name was Frederick Plumptre. + +My visit to Oxford was over all too soon, and I returned to London to +toil away at my Sanskrit MSS. in the little room that had been +assigned to me in the Old East India House in Leadenhall Street. That +building, too, in which the reins of the mighty Empire of India were +held, mostly by the hands of merchants, has vanished, and the place of +it knoweth it no more. However, I thought little of India, I only +thought of the library at the East India House, a real Eldorado for an +eager Sanskrit student, who had never seen such treasures before. I +saw little else there, I only remember seeing Tippoo Sahib’s tiger +which held an English soldier in his claws, and was regularly wound up +for the benefit of visitors, and then uttered a loud squeak, enough to +disturb even the most absorbed of students. I felt quite dazed by all +the books and manuscripts placed at my disposal, and revelled in them +every day till it became dark, and I had to walk home through Ludgate +Hill, Cheapside, and the Strand, generally carrying ever so many books +and papers under my arms. I knew nobody in the city, and no one knew +me; and what did I care for the world, as long as I had my beloved +manuscripts? + +In March, 1848, I had to go over to Paris to finish up some work +there, and just came in for the revolution. From my windows I had a +fine view of all that was going on. I well remember the pandemonium in +the streets, the aspect of the savage mob, the wanton firing of shots +at quiet spectators, the hoisting of Louis Philippe’s nankeen trousers +on the flag-staff of the Tuileries. When bullets began to come through +my windows, I thought it time to be off while it was still possible. +Then came the question how to get my box full of precious manuscripts, +&c., belonging to the East India Company, to the train. The only +railway open was the line to Havre, which had been broken up close to +the station, but further on was intact, and in order to get there we +had to climb three barricades. I offered my _concierge_ five francs to +carry my box, but his wife would not hear of his risking his life in +the streets; ten francs—the same result; but at the sight of a louis +d’or she changed her mind, and with an “Allez, mon ami, allez +toujours,” dispatched her husband on his perilous expedition. Arrived +in London I went straight to the Prussian Legation, and was the first +to give Bunsen the news of Louis Philippe’s flight from Paris. Bunsen +took me off to see Lord Palmerston, and I was able to show him a +bullet that I had picked up in my room as evidence of the bloody +scenes that had been enacted in Paris. So even a poor scholar had to +play his small part in the events that go to make up history. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +EARLY DAYS AT OXFORD + + +It had been settled that my edition of the Rig-veda should be printed +at the Oxford University Press, and I found that I had often to go +there to superintend the printing. Not that the printers required much +supervision, as I must say that the printing at the University Press +was, and is, excellent—far better than anything I had known in +Germany. In providing copy for a work of six volumes, each of about +1000 pages, it was but natural that _lapsus calami_ should occur from +time to time. What surprised me was that several of these were +corrected in the proof-sheets sent to me. At last I asked whether +there was any Sanskrit scholar at Oxford who revised my proof-sheets +before they were returned. I was told there was not, but that the +queries were made by the printer himself. That printer was an +extraordinary man. His right arm was slightly paralysed, and he had +therefore been put on difficult slow work, such as Sanskrit. There are +more than 300 types which a printer must know in composing Sanskrit. +Many of the letters in Sanskrit are incompatible, i. e. they cannot +follow each other, or if they do, they have to be modified. Every +_d_, for instance, if followed by a _t_, is changed to _t_; every _dh_ +loses its aspiration, becomes likewise _t_, or changes the next _t_ +into _dh_. Thus from _budh_ + _ta_, we have _Buddha_, i. e. awakened. +In writing I had sometimes neglected these modifications, but in the +proof-sheets these cases were always either queried or corrected. When +I asked the printer, who did not of course know a word of Sanskrit, +how he came to make these corrections, he said: “Well, sir, my arm +gets into a regular swing from one compartment of types to another, +and there are certain movements that never occur. So if I suddenly +have to take up types which entail a new movement, I feel it, and I +put a query.” An English printer might possibly be startled in the +same way if in English he had to take up an _s_ immediately following +an _h_. But it was certainly extraordinary that an unusual movement of +the muscles of the paralysed arm should have led to the discovery of a +mistake in writing Sanskrit. In spite of the extreme accuracy of my +printer, however, I saw, that after all it would be better for myself, +and for the Veda, if I were on the spot, and I decided to migrate from +London to Oxford. + +My first visit had filled me with enthusiasm for the beautiful old +town, which I regarded as an ideal home for a student. Besides, I +found that I was getting too gay in London, and in order to be able to +devote my evenings to society, I had to get up and begin work soon +after five. May, therefore, saw me established for the first time in +Oxford, in a small room in Walton Street. The moving of my books and +papers from London did not take long. At that time my library could +still be accommodated in my portmanteau, it had not yet risen to +12,000 volumes, threatening to drive me out of my house. A happy time +it was when I possessed no books which I had not read, and no one sent +books to me which I did not want, and yet had to find a place for in +my rooms, and to thank the author for his kindness. + +I at once found that my work went on more rapidly at Oxford than in +London, though if I had expected to escape from all hospitality I +certainly was not allowed to do that. Accustomed as I was to the +Spartan diet of a German _convictorium_, or a dinner at the Palais +Royal _à deux francs_, the dinners to which I was invited by some of +the Fellows in Hall, or in Common Room, surprised me not a little. The +old plate, the old furniture, and the whole style of living, impressed +me deeply, particularly the after-dinner railway, an ingenious +invention for lightening the trouble of the guests who took wine in +Common Room. There was a small railway fixed before the fireplace, and +on it a wagon containing the bottles went backwards and forwards, +halting before every guest till he had helped himself. That railway, I +am afraid, is gone now; and what is more serious, the pleasant, chatty +evenings spent in Common Room are likewise a thing of the past. +Married Fellows, if they dine in Hall, return home after dinner, and +junior Fellows go to their books or pupils. In my early Oxford days, a +married Fellow would have sounded like a solecism. The story goes that +married Fellows were not entirely unknown, and that you could hold +even a fellowship, if you could hold your tongue. Young people, +however, who did not possess that gift of silence, had often to wait +till they were fifty, before a college living fell vacant, and the +quinquagenarian Fellow became a young husband and a young vicar. + +What impressed me, however, even more than the great hospitality of +Oxford, was the real friendliness shown to an unknown German scholar. +After all, I had done very little as yet, but the kind words which +Bunsen and Dr. Prichard had spoken about me at the meeting of the +British Association, had evidently produced an impression in my favour +far beyond what I deserved. I must have seemed a very strange bird, +such as had never before built his nest at Oxford. I was very young, +but I looked even younger than I was, and my knowledge of the manners +of society, particularly of English society, was really nil. Few +people knew what I was working at. Some had a kind of vague impression +that I had discovered a very old religion, older than the Jewish and +the Christian, which contained the key to many of the mysteries that +had puzzled the ancient, nay, even the modern world. Frequently, when +I was walking through the streets of Oxford, I observed how people +stared at me, and seemed to whisper some information about me. +Tradespeople did not always trust me, though I never owed a penny to +anybody; when I wanted money I could always make it by going on faster +with printing the Rig-veda, for which I received four pounds a sheet. +This seemed to me then a large sum, though many a sheet took me at +first more than a week to get ready, copy, collate, understand, and +finally print. If I was interested in any other subject, my exchequer +suffered accordingly—but I could always retrieve my losses by sitting +up late at night. Poor as I was, I never had any cares about money, +and when I once began to write in English for English journals, I had +really more than I wanted. My first article in the _Edinburgh Review_ +appeared in October, 1851. + +At that time the idea of settling at Oxford, of remaining in this +academic paradise, never entered my head. I was here to print my +Rig-veda and work at the Bodleian; that I should in a few years be an +M.A. of Christ Church, a Fellow of the most exclusive of colleges, +nay, a married Fellow—a being not even invented then—and a professor +of the University, never entered into my wildest dreams. I could only +admire, and admire with all my heart. Everything seemed perfect, the +gardens, the walks in the neighbourhood, the colleges, and most of all +the inhabitants of the colleges, both Fellows and undergraduates. My +ideas were still so purely continental that I could not understand +how the University could do such a thing as incorporate a foreign +scholar—could, in fact, govern itself without a Minister of Education +to appoint professors, without a Royal Commissioner to look after the +undergraduates and their moral and political sentiments. And here at +Oxford I was told that the Government did not know Oxford, nor Oxford +the Government, that the only ruling power consisted in the Statutes +of the University, that professors and tutors were perfectly free so +long as they conformed to these statutes, and that certainly no +minister could ever appoint or dismiss a professor, except the Regius +professors. “If we want a thing done,” my friends used to explain to +me, “we do it ourselves, as long as it does not run counter to the +statutes.” + +But Oxford changes with every generation. It is always growing old, +but it is always growing young again. There was an old Oxford four +hundred years ago, and there was an old Oxford fifty years ago. To a +man who is taking his M.A. degree, Oxford, as it was when he was a +freshman, seems quite a thing of the past. By the public at large no +place is supposed to be so conservative, so unchanging, nay, so +stubborn in resisting new ideas, as Oxford; and yet people who knew it +forty or fifty years ago, like myself, find it now so changed that, +when they look back they can hardly believe it is the same place. Even +architecturally the streets of the University have changed, and here +not always for the better. Architects unfortunately object to mere +imitation of the old Oxford style of building; they want to produce +something entirely their own, which may be very good by itself, but is +not always in harmony with the general tone of the college buildings. +I still remember the outcry against the Taylor Institution, the only +Palladian building at Oxford, and yet everybody has now grown +reconciled to it, and even Ruskin lectured in it, which he would not +have done, if he had disapproved of its architecture. He would never +lecture in the Indian Institute, and wrote me a letter sadly reproving +me for causing Broad Street to be defaced by such a building, when I +had had absolutely nothing to do with it. He was very loud in his +condemnation of other new buildings. He abused even the New Museum, +though he had a great deal to do with it himself. He had hoped that it +would be the architecture of the future, but he confessed after a time +that he was not satisfied with the result. + +In his days we still had the old Magdalen Bridge, the Bodleian +unrestored, and no trams. Ruskin was so offended by the new bridge, by +the restored Bodleian, and by the tram-cars, that he would go ever so +far round to avoid these eyesores, when he had to deliver his +lectures; and that was by no means an easy pilgrimage. There was, of +course, no use in arguing with him. Most people like the new Magdalen +Bridge because it agrees better with the width of High Street; they +consider the Bodleian well restored, particularly now that the new +stone is gradually toning down to the colour of the old walls, and as +to tram-cars, objectionable as they are in many respects, they +certainly offend the eye less than the old dirty and rickety +omnibuses. The new buildings of Merton, in the style of a London +police-station, offended him deeply, and with more justice, +particularly as he had to live next door to them when he had rooms at +Corpus. + +These new buildings could not be helped at Oxford. The stone, with +which most of the old colleges were built, was taken from a quarry +close to Oxford, and began to peel off and to crumble in a very +curious manner. Artists like these chequered walls, and by moonlight +they are certainly picturesque, but the colleges had to think of what +was safe. My own college, All Souls, has ever so many pinnacles, and +we kept an architect on purpose to watch which of them were unsafe and +had to be restored or replaced by new ones. Every one of these +pinnacles cost us about fifty pounds, and at every one of our meetings +we were told that so many pinnacles had been tested, and wanted +repairing or replacing. Many years ago, when I was spending the whole +Long Vacation at Oxford, I could watch from my windows a man who was +supposed to be testing the strength of these pinnacles. He was armed +with a large crowbar, which he ran with all his might against the +unfortunate pinnacle. I doubt whether the walls of any Roman castellum +could have resisted such a ram. I spoke to some of the Fellows, and +when the builder made his next report to us, we rather objected to the +large number of invalids. He was not to be silenced, however, so +easily, but told us with a very grave countenance that he could not +take the responsibility, as a pinnacle might fall any day on our +Warden when he went to chapel. This, he thought, would settle the +matter. But no, it made no impression whatever on the junior Fellows, +and the number of annual cripples was certainly very much reduced in +consequence. + +It is true that Oxford has always loved what is old better than what +is new, and has resisted most innovations to the very last. A +well-known liberal statesman used to say that when any measure of +reform was before Parliament, he always rejoiced to see an Oxford +petition against it, for that measure was sure to be carried very +soon. It should not be forgotten, however, that there always has been +a liberal minority at Oxford. It is still mentioned as something quite +antediluvian, that Oxford, that is the Hebdomadal Council, petitioned +against the Great Western Railway invading its sacred precincts; but +it is equally true that not many years later it petitioned for a +branch line to keep the University in touch with the rest of the +world. + +Many things, of course, have been changed, and are changing every year +before our very eyes; but what can never be changed, in spite of some +recent atrocities in brick and mortar, is the natural beauty of its +gardens, and the historical character of its architecture. Whether +Friar Bacon, as far back as the thirteenth century, admired the +colleges, chapels, and gardens of Oxford, we do not know; and even if +we did, few of them could have been the same as those which we admire +to-day. We must not forget that Greene’s _Honourable History of Friar +Bacon_ does not give us a picture of what Oxford was when seen by that +famous philosopher, who is sometimes claimed as a Fellow of Brasenose +College, probably long before that College existed; but what is said +in that play in praise of the University, may at least be taken as a +recollection of what Greene saw himself, when he took his degree as +Bachelor of Arts in 1578. In his play of the _History of Friar Bacon_, +Greene introduces the Emperor of Germany, Henry II, 1212-50, as paying +a visit to Henry III of England, 1216-73, and he puts into his mouth +the following lines, which, though they cannot compare with Shelley’s +or Mat Arnold’s, are at all events the earliest testimony to the +natural attractions of Oxford. Anyhow, Shelley’s and Mat Arnold’s +lines are well known and are always quoted, so that I venture to quote +Greene’s lines, not for the sake of their beauty, but simply because +they are probably known to very few of my readers: + + “Trust me, Plantagenet, these Oxford schools + Are richly seated near the river-side: + The mountains full of fat and fallow deer, + The battling[10] pastures lade with kine and flocks, + The town gorgeous with high built colleges, + And scholars seemly in their grave attire.” + + [10] Will it be believed that the battels (bills) in College + are connected with this word? + +The mountains round Oxford we must accept as a bold poetical licence, +whether they were meant for Headington Hill or Wytham Woods. The +German traveller, Hentzner, who described Oxford in 1598, is more true +to nature when he speaks of the wooded hills that encompass the plain +in which Oxford lies. + +But while the natural beauty of Oxford has always been admired and +praised by strangers, the doctors and professors of the old University +have not always fared so well at the hands of English and foreign +critics. I shall not quote from Giordano Bruno, who visited England in +1583-5, and calls Oxford “the widow of true science[11],” but Milton +surely cannot be suspected of any prejudice against Oxford. Yet he +writes in 1656 in a letter to Richard Jones: “There is indeed plenty +of amenity and salubrity in the place when you are there. There are +books enough for the needs of a University: if only the amenity of the +spot contributed so much to the genius of the inhabitants as it does +to pleasant living, nothing would seem wanting to the happiness of the +place.” + + [11] _Opere_, ed. Wagner, i. p. 179. + +These ill-natured remarks about the Oxford Dons seem to go on to the +very beginning of our century. The buildings and gardens are praised, +but by way of contrast, it would seem, or from some kind of jealousy, +their inhabitants are always treated with ridicule. Not long ago a +book was published, _Memoirs of a Highland Lady_. Though published in +1898, it should be remembered that the memoirs go back as far as 1809. +Nor should it be forgotten that at that time the authoress was hardly +more than thirteen years of age, and certainly of a very girlish, not +to say frivolous, disposition. She stayed some time with the then +Master of University, Dr. Griffith, and for him, it must be said, she +always shows a certain respect. But no one else at Oxford is spared. +She arrived there at the time of Lord Grenville’s installation as +Chancellor of the University. Though so young, she was taken to the +Theatre, and this is her description of what she saw and heard:—“It +was a shock to me; I had expected to be charmed with a play, instead +of being nearly set to sleep by discourses in Latin from a pulpit. +There were some purple, and some gold, some robes and some wigs, a +great crowd, and some stir at times, while a deal of humdrum speaking +and dumb show was followed by the noisy demonstrations of the +students, as they applauded or condemned the honours bestowed; but in +the main I tired of the heat and the mob, and the worry of these +mornings, and so, depend upon it, did poor Lord Grenville, who sat up +in the chair of state among the dignitaries, like the Grand Lama in +his temple guarded by his priests.” One thing only she was delighted +with, that was the singing of Catalani at one of the concerts. Yet +even here she cannot repress her remark that she sang “Gott safe the +King.” She evidently was a flippant young lady or child, and with her +sister, who afterwards joined her at Oxford, seems to have found +herself quite a fish out of water in the grave society of the +University. + +The room in the Master’s Lodge which appalled her most and seems to +have been used as a kind of schoolroom, was the Library, full of +Divinity books, but without curtains, carpet, or fireplace. Here they +had lessons in music, drawing, arithmetic, history, geography, and +French. “And the Master,” she adds, “opened to us what had been till +then a sealed book, the New Testament, so that this visit to Oxford +proved really one of the fortunate chances of my life.” + +This speaks well for the young lady, who in later life seems to have +occupied a most honoured and influential position in Scotch society. +But Oxford society evidently found no favour in her eyes. + +Her uncle and aunt, as she tells us, were frequently out at dinner +with other Heads of Houses, for there was, of course, no other +society. These dinners seem to have been very sumptuous, though their +own domestic life was certainly very simple. For breakfast they had +tea, and butter on their bread, and at dinner a small glass of ale, +college home-brewed ale. “How fat we got!” she exclaims. The Master +seems to have been a man of refined taste, fond of drawing, and what +was called poker-painting; he was given also to caricaturing, and +writing of squibs. The two young ladies were evidently fond of his +society, but of the other Oxford society she only mentions the +ultra-Tory politics, and the stupidity and frivolity of the Heads of +Houses. “The various Heads,” she writes, “with their respective wives, +were extremely inferior to my uncle and aunt. More than half of the +Doctors of Divinity were of humble origin, the sons of small gentry or +country clergy, or even of a lower grade. Many of these, constant to +the loves of their youth, brought ladies of inferior manners to grace +what appeared to them so dignified a station. It was not a good style; +there was little talent, and less polish, and no sort of knowledge of +the world. And yet the ignorance of this class was less offensive than +the assumption of another, when a lady of high degree had fallen in +love with her brother’s tutor, and got him handsomely provided for in +the Church, that she might excuse herself for marrying him. Of the +lesser clergy, there were young witty ones—odious; young learned +ones—bores; and elderly ones—pompous; all, however, of all grades, +kind and hospitable. But the Christian pastor, humble, gentle, +considerate, and self-sacrificing, had no representative, as far as I +could see, among these dealers in old wines, rich dinners, fine china, +and massive plate.” + +“The religion of Oxford appeared in those days to consist in honouring +the King and his Ministers, and in perpetually popping in and out of +chapel. Chapel was announced by the strokes of a big hammer, beaten on +every staircase half an hour before by a scout. The education was +suited to Divinity. A sort of supervision was said to be kept over the +young, riotous community, and to a certain extent the Proctors of the +University and the Deans of the different colleges did see that no +very open scandal was committed. There were rules that had in a +general way to be obeyed, and lectures that had to be attended, but as +for care to give high aims, provide refining amusements, give a worthy +tone to the character of responsible beings, there was none ever even +thought of. The very meaning of the word ‘education’ did not appear to +be understood. The college was a fit sequel to the school. The young +men herded together; they lived in their rooms, and they lived out of +them, in the neighbouring villages, where many had comfortable +establishments.... All sorts of contrivances were resorted to to +enable the dissipated to remain out all night, to shield a culprit, to +deceive the dignitaries.” This was in 1809, and even later. + +And yet with all this, and while we are told that those who attended +lectures were laughed at, it seems strange that the best divines, and +lawyers, and politicians of the first half of our century, some of +whom we may have known ourselves, must have been formed under that +system. We can hardly believe that it was as bad as here described, +and we must remember that much of the _Memoirs_ of this Scotch lady +can have been written from memory only, and long after the time when +she and her sister lived at University College. Life there, no doubt, +may have been very dull, as there were no other young ladies at +Oxford, and it cannot have been very amusing for these young girls to +dine with sixteen Heads of Houses, all in wide silk cassocks, scarves +and bands, one or two in powdered wigs, so that, as we are told, they +often went home crying. All intercourse with the young men was +strictly forbidden, though it seems to have been not altogether +impossible to communicate, from the garden of the Master’s Lodge, with +the young men bending out of the college windows, or climbing down to +the gardens. + +One of these young men, who was at University College at the same +time, might certainly not have been considered a very desirable +companion for these two Scotch girls. It was no other than Shelley. +What they say of him does not tell us much that is new, yet it +deserves to be repeated. “Mr. Shelley,” we read, “afterwards so +celebrated, was half crazy. He began his career with every kind of +wild prank at Eton. At University he was very insubordinate, always +infringing some rule, the breaking of which he knew could not be +overlooked. He was slovenly in his dress, and when spoken to about +these and other irregularities, he was in the habit of making such +extraordinary gestures, expressive of his humility under reproof, as +to overset first the gravity and then the temper of the lecturing +tutor. When he proceeded so far as to paste up atheistical squibs on +the chapel doors, it was considered necessary to expel him privately, +out of regard to Sir Timothy Shelley, the father, who came up at once. +He and his son left Oxford together.” + +No one would recognize in this picture the University of Oxford, as it +is at present. _Nous avons changé tout cela_ might be said with great +truth by the Heads of Houses, the Professors, and Fellows of the +present day. And yet what the Highland lady, or rather the Highland +girl, describes, refers to times not so long ago but that some of the +men we have known might have lived through it. How this change came +about I cannot tell, though I can bear testimony to a few survivals of +the old state of things. + +The Oxford of 1848 was still the Oxford of the Heads of Houses and of +the Hebdomadal Board. That board consisted almost entirely of Heads of +Houses, and a most important board it was, considering that the whole +administration of the University was really in its hands. The +colleges, on the other hand, were very jealous of their independence; +and even the authority of the Proctors, who represented the University +as such, was often contested within the gates of a college. It is +wonderful that this old system of governing the University through the +Heads of Houses should have gone on so long and so smoothly. Having +been trusted by the Fellows of his own society with considerable power +in the administration of his own college, it was supposed that the +Head would prove equally useful in the administration of the +University. A Head of a House became at once a member of the Council. +And, on the whole, they managed to drive the coach and horses very +well. But often when I had to take foreigners to hear the University +Sermon, and they saw a most extraordinary set of old gentlemen walking +into St. Mary’s in procession, with a most startling combination of +colours, black and red, scarlet and pink, on their heavy gowns and +sleeves, I found it difficult to explain who they were. “Are they your +professors?” I was asked. “Oh, no,” I said, “the professors don’t wear +red gowns, only Doctors of Divinity and of Civil Law, and as every +Head of a House must have something to wear in public, he is +invariably made a Doctor.” I remember one exception only, and at a +much later time, namely, the Master of Balliol, who, like Canning at +the Congress of Vienna, considered it among his most valued +distinctions never to have worn the gown of a D.C.L. or D.D. It is +well known that when Marshal Blücher was made a Doctor at Oxford he +asked, in the innocence of his heart, that General Gneisenau, his +right-hand man, might at least be made a chemist. He certainly had +mixed a most effective powder for the French army under Napoléon. + +“But,” my friend would ask, “have you no _Senatus Academicus_, have +you no faculties of professors such as there are in all other +Christian universities?” “Yes and no,” I said. “We have professors, +but they are not divided into faculties, and they certainly do not +form the _Senatus Academicus_, or the highest authority in the +University.” + +It seems very strange, but it is nevertheless a fact, that as soon as +a good tutor is made a professor, he is considered of no good for the +real teaching work of the colleges. His lectures are generally +deserted; and I could quote the names of certain professors who +afterwards rose to great eminence, but who at Oxford were simply +ignored and their lecture-rooms deserted. The real teaching or +coaching or cramming for examination is left to the tutors and Fellows +of each college, and the examinations also are chiefly in their hands. +Many undergraduates never see a professor, and, as far as the teaching +work of the University is concerned, the professorships might safely +be abolished. And yet, as I could honestly assure my foreign friends, +the best men who take honour degrees at Oxford are quite the equals of +the best men at Paris or Berlin. The professors may not be so +distinguished, but that is due to a certain extent to the small +salaries attached to some of the chairs. England has produced great +names both in science and philosophy and scholarship, but these have +generally drifted to some more attractive or lucrative centres. When I +first came to Oxford one professor received £40 a year, another +£1,500, and no one complained about these inequalities. A certain +amount of land had been left by a king or bishop for endowing a +certain chair, and every holder of the chair received whatever the +endowment yielded. The mode of appointing professors was very curious +at that time. Often the elections resembled parliamentary elections, +far more regard being paid to political or theological partisanship +than to scientific qualifications. Every M.A. had a vote, and these +voters were scattered all over the country. Canvassing was carried on +quite openly. Travelling expenses were freely paid, and lists were +kept in each college of the men who could be depended on to vote for +the liberal or the conservative candidate. Imagine a professor of +medicine or of Greek being elected because he was a liberal! Some +appointments rested with the Prime Minister, or, as it was called, the +Crown; and it was quoted to the honour of the Duke of Wellington, that +he, when Chancellor of the University, once insisted that the electors +should elect the best man, and they had to yield, though there were +electors who would declare their own candidate the best man, whatever +the opinion of really qualified judges might be. All this election +machinery is much improved now, though an infallible system of +electing the best men has not yet been discovered. One single elector, +who is not troubled by too tender a conscience, may even now vitiate a +whole election; to say nothing of the painful position in which an +elector is placed, if he has to vote against a personal friend or a +member of his own college, particularly when the feeling that it is +dishonourable to disclose the vote of each elector is no longer strong +enough to protect the best interests of the University. + +It took me some time before I could gain an insight into all this. The +old system passed away before my very eyes, not without evident +friction between my different friends, and then came the difficulty of +learning to understand the working of the new machinery which had been +devised and sanctioned by Parliament. Reformers arose even among the +Heads of Houses, as, for instance, Dr. Jeune, the Master of Pembroke +College, who was credited with having _rajeuni l’ancienne université_. +But he was by no means the only, or even the chief actor in University +reform. Many of my personal friends, such as Dr. Tait, afterwards +Archbishop of Canterbury, the Rev. H. G. Liddell, afterwards Dean of +Christ Church, Professor Baden-Powell, and the Rev. G. H. S. Johnson, +afterwards Dean of Wells, with Stanley and Goldwin Smith as +Secretaries, did honest service in the various Royal and Parliamentary +Commissions, and spent much of their valuable time in serving the +University and the country. I could do no more than answer the +questions addressed to me by the Commissioners and by my friends, and +this is really all the share I had at that time in the reform of the +University, or what was called Germanizing the English Universities. +At one time such was the unpopularity of these reformers in the +University itself that one of them asked one of the junior professors +to invite him to dinner, because the Heads of Houses would no longer +admit him to their hospitable boards. + +Certainly to have been a member of the much abused Hebdomadal Board, +and a Head of a College in those pre-reform days must have been a +delightful life. Before the days of agricultural distress the income +of the colleges was abundant; the authority of the Heads was +unquestioned in their own colleges; not only undergraduates, but +Fellows also had to be submissive. No junior Fellow would then have +dared to oppose his Head at college meetings. If there was by chance +an obstreperous junior, he was easily silenced or requested to retire. +The days had not yet come when a Master of Trinity ventured to remark +that even a junior Fellow might possibly be mistaken. Colleges seemed +to be the property of the Heads, and in some of them the Fellows were +really chosen by them, and the rest of the Fellows after some kind of +examination. The management of University affairs was likewise +entirely in the hands of the Heads of Colleges, and it was on rare +occasions only that a theological question stirred the interest of +non-resident M.A.s, and brought them to Oxford to record their vote +for or against the constituted authorities. Men like the Dean of +Christ Church, Dr. Gaisford, the Warden of Wadham, Dr. Parsons, and +the Provost of Oriel, Dr. Hawkins, were in their dominions supreme, +till the rebellious spirit began to show itself in such men as Dr. +Jeune, Professor Baden-Powell, A. P. Stanley, Goldwin Smith and +others. + +Nor were there many very flagrant abuses under the old régime. It was +rather the want of life that was complained of. It began to be felt +that Oxford should take its place as an equal by the side of foreign +Universities, not only as a high school, but as a home of what then +was called for the first time “original research.” There can be no +question that as a teaching body, as a high school at the head of all +the public schools in England, Oxford did its duty nobly. A man who at +that time could take a Double First was indeed a strong man, well +fitted for any work in after life. He would not necessarily turn out +an original thinker, a scholar, or a discoverer in physical science, +but he would know what it was to know anything thoroughly. To take +honours at the same time in classics and mathematics required strength +and grasp, and the effort was certainly considerable, as I found out +when occasionally I read a Greek or Latin author with a young +undergraduate friend. What struck me most was the accurate knowledge +a candidate acquired of special authors and special books, but also +the want of that familiarity with the language, Greek or Latin, which +would enable him to read any new author with comparative ease. The +young men whom I knew at the time they went in for their final +examination, were certainly well grounded in classics, and what they +knew they knew thoroughly. + +The personal relations existing between undergraduates and their +tutors were very intimate. A tutor took a pride in his pupils, and +often became their friend for life. The teaching was almost private +teaching, and the idea of reading a written lecture to a class in +college did not exist as yet. It was real teaching with questions and +answers; while lectures, written and read out, were looked down upon +as good enough for professors, but entirely useless for the schools. +The social tone of the University was excellent. Many of the tutors +and of the undergraduates came of good families, and the struggle for +life, or for a college living, or college office, was not, as yet, so +fierce as it became afterwards. College tutors toiled on for life, and +certainly did their work to the last most conscientiously. There was +perhaps little ambition, little scheming or pushing, but the work of +the University, such as the country would have it, was well done. If +the Honour-Lists were small, the number of utter failures also was not +very large. + +For a young scholar, like myself, who came to live at Oxford in those +distant days, the peace and serenity of life were most congenial, +though several of my friends were among the first who began to fret, +and wished for more work to be done and for better use to be made of +the wealth and the opportunities of the University. My impression at +that time was the same as it has been ever since, that a reform of the +Universities was impossible till the public schools had been +thoroughly reformed. The Universities must take what the schools send +them. There is every year a limited number of boys from the best +schools who would do credit to any University. But a large number of +the young men who are sent up to matriculate at Oxford are not up to +an academic standard. Unless the colleges agree to stand empty for a +year or two, they cannot help themselves, but have to keep the +standard of the matriculation examination low, and in fact do, to a +great extent, the work that ought to have been done at school. Think +of boys being sent up to Oxford, who, after having spent on an average +six years at a public school, are yet unable to read a line of Greek +or Latin which they have not seen before. Yet so it was, and so it is, +unless I am very much misinformed. It is easy for some colleges who +keep up a high standard of matriculation to turn out first-class men; +the real burden falls on the colleges and tutors who have to work hard +to bring their pupils up to the standard of a pass degree, and few +people have any idea how little a pass degree may mean. Those tutors +have indeed hard work to do and get little credit for it, though their +devotion to their college and their pupils is highly creditable. Fifty +years ago even a pass degree was more difficult than it is now, +because candidates were not allowed to pass in different subjects at +different times, but the whole examination had to be done all at once, +or not at all. + +I had naturally made it a rule at Oxford to stand aloof from the +conflict of parties, whether academical, theological, or political. I +had my own work to do, and it did not seem to me good taste to obtrude +my opinions, which naturally were different from those prevalent at +Oxford. Most people like to wash their dirty linen among themselves; +and though I gladly talked over such matters with my friends who often +consulted me, I did not feel called upon to join in the fray. I lived +through several severe crises at Oxford, and though I had some +intimate friends on either side, I remained throughout a looker on. + +Seldom has a University passed through such a complete change as +Oxford has since the year 1854. And yet the change was never violent, +and the University has passed through its ordeal really rejuvenated +and reinvigorated. It has been said that our constitution has now +become too democratic, and that a University should be ruled by a +Senatus rather than by a Juventus. This is true to a certain extent. +There has been too much unrest, too constant changes, and a lack of +continuity in the studies and in the government of the University. +Every three years a new wave of young masters came in, carried a +reform in the system of teaching and examining, and then left to make +room for a new wave which brought new ideas, before the old ones had a +fair trial. Senior members of the University, heads of houses and +professors, have no more voting power than the young men who have just +taken their degrees, nay, have in reality less influence than these +young Masters, who always meet together and form a kind of compact +phalanx when votes are to be taken. There was even a Non-placet club, +ready to throw out any measure that seemed to emanate from the +reforming party, or threatened to change any established customs, +whether beneficial or otherwise to the University. The University, as +such, was far less considered than the colleges, and money drawn from +the colleges for University purposes was looked upon as robbery, +though of course the colleges profited by the improvement of the +University, and the interests of the two ought never to have been +divided, as little as the interests of an army can be divided from the +interests of each regiment. + +When I came to Oxford there was still practically no society except +that of the Heads of Houses, and there were no young ladies to grace +their dinners. Each head took his turn in succession, and had twice or +three times during term to feed his colleagues. These dinners were +sumptuous repasts, though they often took place as early as five. To +be invited to them was considered a great distinction, and, though a +very young man, I was allowed now and then to be present, and I highly +appreciated the honour. The company consisted almost entirely of Heads +of Houses, Canons, and Professors; sometimes there was a sprinkling of +distinguished persons from London, and even of ladies of various ages +and degrees. I confess I often sat among them, as we say in German, +_verrathen und verkauft_. After dinner I saw a number of young men +streaming in, and thought the evening would now become more lively. +But far from it. These young men with white ties and in evening dress +stood in their scanty gowns huddled together on one side of the room. +They received a cup of tea, but no one noticed them or spoke to them, +and they hardly dared to speak among themselves. This, as I was told, +was called “doing the perpendicular,” and they must have felt much +relieved when towards ten o’clock they were allowed to depart, and +exchange the perpendicular for a more comfortable position, indulging +in songs and pleasant talk, which I sometimes was invited to join. + +At that time I remember only very few houses outside the circle of +Heads of Houses, where there was a lady and a certain amount of social +life—the houses of Dr. Acland, Dr. Greenhill, Professor Baden-Powell, +Professor Donkin, and Mr. Greswell. In their houses there was less of +the strict academical etiquette, and as they were fond of music, +particularly the Donkins, I spent some really delightful evenings with +them. Nay, as I played on the pianoforte, even the Heads of Houses +began to patronize music at their evening parties, though no gentleman +at that time would have played at Oxford. I being a German, and +Professor Donkin being a confirmed invalid, we were allowed to play, +and we certainly had an appreciative, though not always a silent, +audience. + +In one respect, the old system of Oxford Fellowships was still very +perceptible in the society of the University. No Fellows were allowed +to marry, and the natural consequence was that most of them waited for +a college living, a professorship or librarianship, which generally +came to them when they were no longer young men. Headships of colleges +also had so long to be waited for that most of them were generally +filled by very senior and mostly unmarried men. Besides, headships +were but seldom given for excellence in scholarship, science, or even +divinity, but for the sake of personal popularity, and for business +habits. Some of the Fellows gave pleasant and, as I thought, very +Lucullic dinners in college; and I still remember my surprise when I +was asked to the first dinner in Common Room at Jesus College. My host +was Mr. Ffoulkes, who afterwards became a Roman Catholic, and then an +Anglican clergyman again. The carpets, the curtains, the whole +furniture and the plate quite confounded me, and I became still more +confounded when I was suddenly called upon to make a speech at a time +when I could hardly put two words together in English. + +The City society was completely separated from the University society, +so that even rich bankers and other gentlemen would never have +ventured to ask members of the University to dine. + +Considering the position then held by the Heads of Houses, I feel I +ought to devote some pages to describing some of the most prominent of +them. At my age I may well hold to the maxim _seniores priores_, and +will therefore begin with Dr. Routh, the centenarian President of +Magdalen, as, though, the headship of a house seems to be an excellent +prescription for longevity, there was no one to dispute the venerable +doctor’s claim to precedence in this respect. He was then nearly a +hundred years old, and he died in his hundredth year, and obtained his +wish to have the _C, anno centesimo_, on his gravestone, for, though +tired of life, he often declared, so I was told, that he would not be +outdone in this respect by another very old man, who was a dissenter; +he never liked to see the Church beaten. I might have made his +personal acquaintance, some friends of the old President offering to +present me to him. But I did not avail myself of their offer, because +I knew the old man did not like to be shown as a curiosity. When I saw +him sitting at his window he always wore a wig, and few had seen him +without his wig and without his academic gown. He was certainly an +exceptional man, and I believe he stood alone in the whole history of +literature, as having published books at an interval of seventy years. +His edition of the _Enthymemes_ and _Gorgias of Plato_ was published +in 1784, his papers on the _Ignatian Epistles_ in 1854. His _Reliquia +Sacra_ first appeared in 1814, and they are a work which at that time +would have made the reputation of any scholar and divine. His editions +of historical works, such as Burnet’s _History of his own Time_ and +the _History of the reign of King James_, show his considerable +acquaintance with English history. I have already mentioned how he +used to speak of events long before his time, such as the execution of +Charles I, as if he had been present; nor did he hesitate to declare +that even Bishop Burnet was a great liar. He certainly had seen many +things which connected him with the past. He had seen Samuel Johnson +mounting the steps of the Clarendon building in Broad Street, and +though he had not himself seen Charles I when he held his Parliament +at Oxford, he had known a lady whose mother had seen the king walking +round the Parks at Oxford. + +However, we must not forget that many stories about the old President +were more or less mythical, as indeed many Oxford stories are. I was +told that he actually slept in wig, cap and gown, so that once when +an alarm of fire was raised in the quadrangle of his College, he put +his head out of window in an incredibly short time, fully equipped as +above. Many of these stories or “Common-Roomers” as they were called, +still lived in the Common Rooms in my time, when the Fellows of each +College assembled regularly after dinner, to take wine and dessert, +and to talk on anything but what was called _Shop_, i. e. Greek and +Latin. No one inquired about the truth of these stories, as long as +they were well told. In a place like Oxford there exists a regular +descent, by inheritance, of good stories. I remember stories told of +Dr. Jenkins, as Master of Balliol, and afterwards transferred to his +successor, Mr. Jowett. Bodleian stories descended in like manner from +Dr. Bandinell to Mr. Coxe, and will probably be told of successive +librarians till they become quite incongruous. I am old enough to have +watched the descent of stories at Oxford, just as one recognizes the +same furniture in college rooms occupied by successive generations of +undergraduates. To me they sometimes seem threadbare like the old +Turkish carpets in the college rooms, but I never spoil them by +betraying their age, and, if well told, I can enjoy them as much as if +I had never heard them before. + +Dr. Hawkins, Provost of Oriel, was quite a representative of Old +Oxford, and a well-known character in the University. I had been +introduced to him by Baron Bunsen, and he showed me much hospitality. +I was warned that I should find him very stiff and forbidding. His own +Fellows called him the East-wind. But though he certainly was +condescending, he treated me with great urbanity. He had a very +peculiar habit; when he had to shake hands with people whom he +considered his inferiors, he stretched out two fingers, and if some of +them who knew this peculiarity of his, tendered him two fingers in +return, the shaking of hands became rather awkward. One of the Fellows +of his college told me that, as long as he was only a Fellow, he never +received more than two fingers; when, however, he became Head Master +of a school, he was rewarded with three fingers, or even with the +whole hand, but, as soon as he gave up this place, and returned to +live in college, he was at once reduced to the statutable two fingers. +I don’t recollect exactly how many fingers I was treated to, and I may +have shaken them with my whole hand. Anyhow, I am quite conscious now +of how many times I must have offended against academic etiquette. +How, for instance, is a man to know that people who live at Oxford +during term-time never shake hands except once during term? I doubt, +in fact, whether that etiquette existed when I first came to Oxford, +but it certainly had existed for some time before I discovered it. + +Dr. Jenkins, Master of Balliol, was also the hero of many anecdotes. +It was of him that it was first told how he once found fault with an +undergraduate because, whenever he looked out of window, he +invariably saw the young man loitering about in the quad; to which the +undergraduate replied: “How very curious, for whenever I cross the +quad, I always see you, Sir, looking out of window.” He had a quiet +humour of his own, and delighted in saying things which made others +laugh, but never disturbed a muscle of his own face. One of his +undergraduates was called Wyndham, and he had to say a few sharp words +to him at “handshaking,” that is, at the end of term. After saying all +he wanted, he finished in Latin: “Et nunc valeas Wyndhamme,”—the last +two syllables being pronounced with great emphasis. The Master’s +regard for his own dignity was very great. Once, when returning from a +solitary walk, he slipped and fell. Two undergraduates seeing the +accident ran to assist him, and were just laying hands on him to lift +him up, when he descried a Master of Arts coming. “Stop,” he cried, +“stop, I see a Master of Arts coming down the street.” And he +dismissed the undergraduates with many thanks, and was helped on to +his legs by the M.A. + +Accidents, or slips of the tongue, will happen to everybody, even to a +Head of a House. One of these old gentlemen, Dr. Symons, of Wadham, +when presiding at a missionary meeting, had to introduce Sir Peregrine +Maitland, a most distinguished officer, and a thoroughly good man. +When dilating on the Christian work which Sir Peregrine had done in +India, he called him again and again Sir Peregrine Pickle. The effect +was most ludicrous, for everybody was evidently well acquainted with +_Roderick Random_, and Sir Peregrine had great difficulty in remaining +serious when the Chairman called on Sir Peregrine Pickle once more to +address his somewhat perplexed audience. + +But whatever may be said about the old Heads of Houses, most of them +were certainly gentlemen both by birth and by nature. They are +forgotten now, but they did good in their time, and much of their good +work remains. If I consider who were the Dean and Canons and Students +I met at Christ Church when I first became a member of the House, I +should have to give a very different account from that given by the +Highland lady in her _Memoirs_. The Dean of Christ Church, who +received me, who proposed me for the degree of M.A., and afterwards +allowed me to become a member of the House, was Dr. Gaisford, a real +scholar, though it may be of the old school. He was considered very +rough and rude, but I can only say he showed me more of real courtesy +in those days than anybody else at Oxford. He was, I believe, a little +shy, and easily put out when he suspected anybody, particularly the +young men, of want of consideration. I can quite believe that when an +undergraduate, in addressing him, stepped on the hearthrug on which he +was standing, he may have said: “Get down from my hearthrug,” meaning, +“keep at your proper distance.” I can only say that I never found him +anything but kind and courteous. It so happened that he had been made +a Member of the Bavarian Academy, and I, though very young, had +received the same distinction as a reward for my Sanskrit work, and +the Dean was rather pleased when he heard it. When I asked him whether +he would put my name on the books of the House, he certainly hesitated +a little, and asked me at last to come again next day and dine with +him. I went, but I confess I was rather afraid that the Dean would +raise difficulties. However, he spoke to me very nicely, “I have +looked through the books,” he said, “and I find two precedents of +Germans being members of the House, one of the name of Wernerus, and +another of the name of Nitzschius,” or some such name. “But,” he +continued, smiling, “even if I had not found these names, I should not +have minded making a precedent of your case.” People were amazed at +Oxford when they heard of the Dean’s courtesy, but I can only repeat +that I never found him anything but courteous. + +Most of the Heads of Houses asked me to dine with them by sending me +an invitation. The Dean alone first came and called on me. I was then +living in a small room in Walton Street in which I worked, and dined, +and smoked. My bedroom was close by, and I generally got up early, and +shaved and finished my toilet at about 11 o’clock. I had just gone +into my bedroom to shave, my face was half covered with lather, when +my landlady rushed in and told me the Dean had called, and my dogs +were pulling him about. The fact was I had a Scotch terrier with a +litter of puppies in a basket, and when the Dean entered in full +academical dress, the dogs flew at him, pulling the sleeves of his +gown and barking furiously. Covered with lather as I was, I had to +rush in to quiet the dogs, and in this state I had to receive the Very +Rev. the Dean, and explain to him the nature of the work that brought +me to Oxford. It was certainly awkward, but in spite of the disorder +of my room, in spite also of the tobacco smoke of which the Dean did +not approve, all went off well, though, I confess, I felt somewhat +ashamed. In the same interview the Dean asked me about an Icelandic +Dictionary which had been offered to the press by Cleasby and Dasent. +“Surely it is a small barbarous island,” he said, “and how can they +have any literature?” I tried, as well as I could, to explain to the +Dean the extent and the value of Icelandic literature, and soon after +the press, which was then the Dean, accepted the Dictionary which was +brought out later by Dr. Vigfusson, in a most careful and scholarlike +manner. It might indeed safely be called his Dictionary, considering +how many dictionaries are called, not after the name of the compiler +or compilers, but after that of their editor. + +This Dr. Vigfusson was quite a character. He was perfectly pale and +bloodless, and had but one wish, that of being left alone. He came to +Oxford first to assist Dr. Dasent, to whom Cleasby, when he died, had +handed over his collections; but afterwards he stayed, taking it for +granted that the University would give him the little he wanted. But +even that little was difficult to provide, as there were no funds that +could be used for that purpose, however uselessly other funds might +seem to be squandered. That led to constant grumbling on his part. +Ever so many expedients were tried to satisfy him, but none quite +succeeded. At last he fell ill and died, and when he was a patient at +the Acland Home, where the nurses did all they could for him, he +several times said to me when I sat with him, that he had never been +so happy in his life as in that Home. I sometimes blame myself for not +having seen more of him at Oxford. But he always seemed to me full of +suspicions and very easily offended, and that made any free +intercourse with him difficult and far from pleasant. Perhaps it was +my fault also. He may have felt that he might have claimed a +professorship of Icelandic quite as well as I, and he may have grudged +my settled position in Oxford, my independence and my freedom. +Whenever we did work together, I always found him pleasant at first, +but very soon he would become wayward and sensitive, do what I would, +and I had to let him go his own way, as I went mine. + +I remember dining with the famous Dr. Bull, Canon of Christ Church, +who certainly managed to produce a dinner that would have done credit +to any French chef. He was one of the last pluralists, and many +stories were told about him. One story, which however was perfectly +true, showed at all events his great sagacity. A well-known banker had +been for years the banker of Christ Church. Dr. Bull who was the +College Bursar had to transact all the financial business with him. No +one suspected the banking house which he represented. Dr. Bull, +however, the last time he invited him to dinner, was struck by his +very pious and orthodox remarks, and by the change of tone in his +conversation, such as might suit a Canon of Christ Church, but not a +luxurious banker from London. Without saying a word, Dr. Bull went to +London next day, drew out all the money of the college, took all his +papers from the bank, and the day after, to the dismay of London, the +bank failed, the depositors lost their money, but Christ Church was +unhurt. + +Another of the Canons of Christ Church at that time had spent half a +century in the place, and read the lessons there twice every day. Of +course he knew the prayer-book by heart, and as long as he could see +to read there was no harm in his reading. But when his eyesight failed +him and he had to trust entirely to his memory, he would often go from +some word in the evening prayer to the same word in the marriage +service, and from there to the burial service, with an occasional slip +into baptism. The result of it was that he was no longer allowed to +read the service in Chapel except during Long Vacation when the young +men were away. I frequently stayed at Oxford during vacation, and +thought of course that the evening service would never end, till at +last I was asked to name the child, and then I went home. + +One Sunday I remember going to chapel, and after prayers had begun the +following conversation took place, loud enough to be heard all through +the chapel. Enter old Canon preceded by a beadle. He goes straight to +his stall, and finding it occupied by a well-known D.D. from London, +who is deeply engaged in prayer, he stands and looks at the +interloper, and when that produces no effect, he says to the beadle: +“Tell that man this is my stall; tell him to get out.” + +Beadle: “Dr. A.’s compliments, and whether you would kindly occupy +another stall.” + +D.D.: “Very sorry; I shall change immediately.” + +Old Canon settles in his stall, prayers continue, and after about ten +minutes the Canon shouts: “Beadle, tell that man to dine with me at +five.” + +Beadle: “Dr. A.’s compliments, and whether you would give him the +pleasure of your company at dinner at five.” + +D.D.: “Very sorry, I am engaged.” + +Beadle: “D.D. regrets he is engaged.” + +Old Canon: “Oh, he won’t dine!” + +The cathedral was very empty, and fortunately this conversation was +listened to by a small congregation only. I can, however, vouch for +it, as I was sitting close by and heard it myself. + +Bodley’s Library, too, was full of good stories, though many of them +do not bear repeating. When I first began to work there, Dr. Bandinell +was Bodleian Librarian. Working in the Bodleian was then like working +in one’s private library. One could have as many books and MSS. as one +desired, and the six hours during which the Library was open were a +very fair allowance for such tiring work as copying and collating +Sanskrit MSS. I well remember my delight when I first sat down at my +table near one of the windows looking into the garden of Exeter. It +seemed a perfect paradise for a student. I must confess that I +slightly altered my opinion when I had to sit there every day during a +severe winter without any fire, shivering and shaking, and almost +unable to hold my pen, till kind Mr. Coxe, the sub-librarian, took +compassion on me and brought me a splendid fur that had been sent him +as a present by a Russian scholar, who had witnessed the misery of the +Librarian in this Siberian Library. Now all this is changed. The +Library is so full of students, both male and female, that one has +difficulty in finding a place, certainly in finding a quiet place; and +all sorts of regulations have been introduced which have no doubt +become necessary on account of the large number of readers, but which +have completely changed, or as some would say, improved the character +of the place. As to one improvement, however, there can be no two +opinions. The Library and the reading-room, the so-called Camera, are +now comfortably warmed, and students may in the latter place read for +twelve hours uninterruptedly, and not be turned out as we were by a +warning bell at four o’clock. And woe to you if you failed to obey the +warning. One day an unfortunate reader was so absorbed in his book +that he did not hear the bell, and was locked in. He tried in vain to +attract attention from the windows, for it was no pleasant prospect to +pass a night among so many ghosts. At last he saw a solitary woman, +and shouted to her that he was locked in. “No,” she said, “you are +not. The Library is closed at four.” Whether he spent the night among +the books is not known. Let us hope that he met with a less logical +person to release him from his cold prison. + +Dr. Bandinell ruled supreme in his library, and even the Curators +trembled before him when he told them what had been the invariable +custom of the Library for years, and could not be altered. And, +curiously enough, he had always funds at his disposal, which is not +the case now, and whenever there was a collection of valuable MSS. in +the market he often prided himself on having secured it long before +any other library had the money ready. Now and then, it is true, he +allowed himself to be persuaded by a plausible seller of rare books +or MSS., but generally he was very wary. He was not always very +courteous to visitors, and still less so to his under-librarians. The +Oriental under-librarian Professor Reay, in particular, who was old +and somewhat infirm, had much to suffer from him, and the language in +which he was ordered about was such as would not now be addressed to +any menial. And yet Professor Reay belonged to a very good family, +though Dr. Bandinell would insist on calling him Ray, and declared +that he had no right to the e in his name. In revenge some people +would give him an additional i and call him Dr. Bandinelli, which made +him very angry, because, as he would say to me, “he had never been one +of those dirty foreigners.” Silence was enjoined in the library, but +the librarian’s voice broke through all rules of silence. I remember +once, when Professor Reay had been looking for ever so long to find +his spectacles without which he could not read the Arabic MSS., and +had asked everybody whether they had seen them, a voice came at last +thundering through the library: “You left your spectacles on my chair, +you old ----, and I sat on them!” There was an end of spectacles and +Arabic MSS. after that. There were two men only of whom Dr. Bandinell +and H. O. Coxe also were afraid, Dr. Pusey, who was one of the +Curators, and later on, Jowett, the Master of Balliol. + +There was a vacancy in the Oriental sub-librarianship, and a very +distinguished young Hebrew scholar, William Wright, afterwards +Professor at Cambridge, was certainly by far the best candidate. But +as ill-luck—I mean ill-luck for the Library—would have it, he had +given offence by a lecture at Dublin, in which he declared that the +people of Canaan were Semitic, and not, as stated in Genesis, the +children of Ham. No one doubts this now, and every new inscription has +confirmed it. Still a strong effort was made to represent Dr. Wright +as a most dangerous young man, and thus to prevent his appointment at +Oxford. The appointment was really in the hands of Dr. Bandinell; and +after I had frankly explained to him the motives of this mischievous +agitation against Dr. Wright, and assured him that he was a scholar +and by no means given to what was then called “free-handling of the +Old Testament,” he promised me that he would appoint him and no one +else. However, poor man, he was urged and threatened and frightened, +and to my great surprise the appointment was given to some one else, +who at that time had given hardly any proofs of independent work as a +Semitic scholar, though he afterwards rendered very good and honest +service. I did not disguise my opinion of what had happened; and for +more than a year Dr. Bandinell never spoke to me nor I to him, though +we met almost daily at the library. At last the old man, evidently +feeling that he had been wrong, came to tell me that he was sorry for +what had happened, but that it was not his fault: after this, of +course, all was forgotten. Dr. Wright had a much more brilliant career +opened to him, first at the British Museum, and then as professor at +Cambridge, than he could possibly have had as sub-librarian at Oxford. +He always remained a scholar, and never dabbled in theology. + +Some very heated correspondence passed at the time, and I remember +keeping the letters for a long while. They were curious as showing the +then state of theological opinion at Oxford; but I have evidently put +the correspondence away so carefully that nowhere can I find it now. +Let it be forgotten and forgiven. + +Many, if not all, of the stories that I have written down in this +chapter may be legendary, and they naturally lose or gain as told by +different people. Who has not heard different versions of the story of +a well-known Canon of Christ Church in my early days, who, when rowing +on the river, saw a drowning man laying hold of his boat and nearly +upsetting it. “Providentially,” he explained, “I had brought my +umbrella, and I had presence of mind enough to hit him over the +knuckles. He let go, sank, and never rose again.” Nobody, I imagine, +would have vouched for the truth of this story, but it was so often +repeated that it provided the old gentleman with a nickname, that +stuck to him always. + +I could add more Oxford stories, but it seems almost ill-natured to do +so, and I could only say in most cases _relata refero_. When I first +came here Oxford and Oxford society were to me so strange that I +probably accepted many similar stories as gospel truth. My young +friends hardly treated me quite fairly in this respect. I had many +questions to ask, and my friends evidently thought it great fun to +chaff me and to tell me stories which I naturally believed, for there +were many things which seemed to me very strange, and yet they were +true and I had to believe them. The existence of Fellows who received +from £300 to £800 a year, as a mere sinecure for life, provided they +did not marry, seemed to me at first perfectly incredible. In Germany +education at Public Schools and Universities was so cheap that even +the poorest could manage to get what was wanted for the highest +employments, particularly if they could gain an exhibition or +scholarship. But after a man had passed his examinations, the country +or the government had nothing more to do with him. “Swim or drown” was +the maxim followed everywhere; and it was but natural that the first +years of professional life, whether as lawyers, medical men, or +clergymen, were years of great self-denial. But they were also years +of intense struggle, and the years of hunger are said to have +accounted for a great deal of excellent work in order to force the +doors to better employment. To imagine that after the country had done +its duty by providing schools and universities, it would provide +crutches for men who ought to learn to walk by themselves, was beyond +my comprehension, particularly when I was told how large a sum was +yearly spent by the colleges in paying these fellowships without +requiring any _quid pro quo_. + +Having once come to believe that, and several other to me +unintelligible things at Oxford, I was ready to believe almost +anything my friends told me. There are some famous stone images, for +instance, round the Theatre and the Ashmolean Museum. They are +hideous, for the sandstone of which they are made has crumbled away +again and again, but even when they were restored, the same brittle +stone was used. They are in the form of Hermae, and were planned by no +less an architect than Sir Christopher Wren. When I asked what they +were meant for, I was assured quite seriously that they were images of +former Heads of Houses. I believed it, though I expressed my surprise +that the stone-mason who made new heads, when the old showed hardly +more than two eyes and a nose, and a very wide mouth, should carefully +copy the crumbling faces, because, as I was informed, he had been told +to copy the former gentlemen. + +It was certainly a very common amusement of my young undergraduate +friends to make fun of the Heads of Houses. They did not seem to feel +that shiver of unspeakable awe for them of which Bishop Thorold +speaks; nay, they were anything but respectful in speaking of the +Doctors of Divinity in their red gowns with black velvet sleeves. If +it is difficult for old men always to understand young men, it is +certainly even more difficult for young men to understand old men. +There is a very old saying, “Young men think that old men are fools, +but old men know that young men are.” Though very young myself, I came +to know several of the old Heads of Houses, and though they certainly +had their peculiarities, they did by no means all belong to the age of +the Dodo. They were enjoying their _otium cum dignitate_, as befits +gentlemen, scholars, and divines, and they certainly deserved greater +respect from the undergraduates than they received. + +At the annual _Encaenia_, a great deal of licence was allowed to the +young men; and I know of several strangers, especially foreigners, who +have been scandalized at the riotous behaviour of the undergraduates +in the Theatre, the Oxford _Aula_, when the Vice-Chancellor stood up +to address the assembled audience. My first experience of this was +with Dr. Plumptre, who, as I have said, was very tall and stately; +when his first words were not quite distinct, the undergraduates +shouted, “Speak up, old stick.” When the Warden of Wadham, the Rev. +Dr. Symons, was showing some pretty young ladies to their seats in the +Theatre, he was threatened by the young men, who yelled at the top of +their voices, “I’ll tell Lydia, you wicked old man.” Now Lydia was his +most excellent spouse. At first the remarks of the undergraduates at +the _Encaenia_, or rather _Saturnalia_, were mostly good-natured and +at least witty; but they at last became so rude that distinguished +men, whom the University wished to honour by conferring on them +honorary degrees, felt deeply offended. Sir Arthur Helps declared that +he came to receive an honour, and received an insult. Well do I +remember the Rev. Dr. Salmon, who was asked where he had left his +lobster sauce; Dr. Wendell Holmes was shouted at, whether he had come +across the Atlantic in his “One Hoss Shay”; the Right Hon. W. H. +Smith, First Lord of the Admiralty, was presented with a Pinafore, and +Lord Wolseley with a Black Watch. There was a certain amount of wit in +these allusions, and the best way to take the academic row and riot +was Tennyson’s, who told me on coming out that “he felt all the time +as if standing on the shingle of the sea shore, the storm howling, and +the spray covering him right and left.” After a time, however, these +_Saturnalia_ had to be stopped, and they were stopped in a curious +way, by giving ladies seats among the undergraduates. It speaks well +for them that their regard for the ladies restrained them, and made +them behave like gentlemen. + +The reign of the Heads of Houses, which was in full force when I first +settled in Oxford, began to wane when it was least expected. There +had, however, been grumblings among the Fellows and Tutors at Oxford, +who felt themselves aggrieved by the self-willed interference of the +Heads of Colleges in their tutorial work, and, it may be, resented the +airs assumed by men who, after all, were their equals, and in no sense +their betters, in the University. + +Society distinctly profited when Fellows and Tutors were allowed to +marry, and when several of the newly-elected of the Heads of Houses, +having wives and daughters, opened their houses, and had interesting +people to dine with them from the neighbourhood and from London. + +The Deanery of Christ Church was not only made architecturally into a +new house, but under Dr. Liddell, with his charming wife and +daughters, became a social centre not easily rivalled anywhere else. +There one met not only royalty, the young Prince of Wales, but many +eminent writers, artists, and political men from London, Gladstone, +Disraeli, Richmond, Ruskin, and many others. Another bright house of +the new era was that of the Principal of Brasenose, Dr. Cradock, and +his cheerful and most amusing wife. There one often met such men as +Lord Russell, Sir George C. Lewis, young Harcourt, and many more. She +was the true Dresden china marquise, with her amusing sallies, which +no doubt often gave offence to grave Heads of Houses and sedate +Professors. No one knew her age, she was so young; and yet she had +been maid of honour to some Queen, as I told her once, to Queen Anne. +Having been maid of honour, she never concealed her own peculiar +feelings about people who had not been presented. When she wanted to +be left alone, she would look out of window, and tell visitors who +came to call, “Very sorry, but I am not at home to-day.” Queen’s +College also, under Dr. Thomson, the future Archbishop of York, was a +most hospitable house. Mrs. Thomson presided over it with her peculiar +grace and genuine kindness, and many a pleasant evening I spent there +with musical performances. But here, too, the old leaven of Oxford +burst forth sometimes. Of course, we generally performed the music of +Handel and other classical authors; Mendelssohn’s compositions were +still considered as mere twaddle by some of the old school. At one of +these evenings, the old organist of New College, with his wooden leg, +after sitting through a rehearsal of Mendelssohn’s _Hymn of Praise_, +which I was conducting at the pianoforte, walked up to me, as I +thought, to thank me; but no, he burst out in a torrent of real and +somewhat coarse abuse of me, for venturing to introduce such flimsy +music at Oxford. I did not feel very guilty, and fortunately I +remained silent, whether from actual bewilderment or from a better +cause, I can hardly tell. + + [Illustration: _F. Max Müller Aged 30._] + +Long before Commissions came down on Oxford a new life seemed to be +springing up there, and what was formerly the exception became more +and more the rule among the young Fellows and Tutors. They saw what a +splendid opportunity was theirs, having the very flower of England +to educate, having the future of English society to form. They +certainly made the best of it, helped, I believe, by the so-called +Oxford Movement, which, whatever came of it afterwards, was certainly +in the beginning thoroughly genuine and conscientious. The Tutors saw +a good deal of the young men confided to their care, and the result +was that even what was called the “fast set” thought it a fine thing +to take a good class. I could mention a number of young noblemen and +wealthy undergraduates who, in my early years, read for a first class +and took it; and my experience has certainly been that those who took +a first class came out in later life as eminent and useful members of +society. Not that eminence in political, clerical, literary, and +scientific life was restricted to first classes, far from it. But +first-class men rarely failed to appear again on the surface in later +life. It may be true that a first class did not always mean a +first-class man, but it always seemed to mean a man who had learned +how to work honestly, whether he became Prime Minister or Archbishop, +or spent his days in one of the public offices, or even in a +counting-house or newspaper office. + +I felt it was an excellent mixture if a young man, after taking a good +degree at Oxford, spent a year or two at a German University. He +generally came back with fresh ideas, knew what kind of work still had +to be done in the different branches of study, and did it with a +perseverance that soon produced most excellent results. Of course +there was always the difficulty that young men wished to make their +way in life, that is to make a living. The Church, the bar, and the +hospital, absorbed many of those who in Germany would have looked +forward to a University career. In my own subject more particularly, +my very best pupils did not see their way to gaining even an +independence, unless they gave their time to first securing a curacy, +or a mastership at school; and they usually found that, in order to do +their work conscientiously, they had to give up their favourite +studies in which they would certainly have done excellent work, if +there had been no _dira necessitas_. I often tried to persuade my +friends at Oxford to make the fellowships really useful by +concentrating them and giving studious men a chance of devoting +themselves at the University to non-lucrative studies. But the feeling +of the majority was always against what was called derisively Original +Research, and the fellowship-funds continued to be frittered away, +payment by results being considered a totally mistaken principle, so +that often, as in the case of the new septennial fellowships, there +remained the payment only, but no results. + +Still all this became clear to me at a much later time only. My first +years at Oxford were spent in a perfect bewilderment of joy and +admiration. No one can see that University for the first time, +particularly in spring or autumn, without being enchanted with it. To +me it seemed a perfect paradise, and I could have wished for myself no +better lot than that which the kindness of my friends later secured +for me there. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +EARLY FRIENDS AT OXFORD + + +I was still very young when I came to settle at Oxford, only +twenty-four in fact; and, though occasionally honoured by invitations +from Heads of Houses and Professors, I naturally lived chiefly with +undergraduates and junior Fellows, such as Grant, Sellar, Palgrave, +Morier, and others. Grant, afterwards Sir Alexander Grant and +Principal of the University of Edinburgh, was a delightful companion. +He had always something new in his mind, and discussed with many +flashes of wit and satire. He possessed an aristocratic contempt for +anything commonplace, or self-evident, so that one had to be careful +in conversing with him. But he was generous, and his laugh reconciled +one to some of his sharp sallies. How little one anticipates the +future greatness of one’s friends. They all seem to us no better than +ourselves, when suddenly they emerge. Grant had shown what he could do +by his edition of Aristotle’s _Ethics_. He became one of the +Professors at the new University at Bombay and contributed much to the +first starting of that University, so warmly patronized by Sir Charles +Trevelyan. On returning to this country he was chosen to fill the +distinguished place of Principal of the Edinburgh University. More was +expected of him when he enjoyed this _otium cum dignitate_, but his +health seemed to have suffered in the enervating climate of India, +and, though he enjoyed his return to his friends most fully and +spending his life as a friend among friends, he died comparatively +young, and perhaps without fulfilling all the hopes that were +entertained of him. But he was a thoroughly genial man, and his +handshake and the twinkle of his eye when meeting an old friend will +not easily be forgotten. + +Sellar was another Scotchman whom I knew as an undergraduate at +Balliol. When I first came to know him he was full of anxieties about +his health, and greatly occupied with the usual doubts about religion, +particularly the presence of evil or of anything imperfect in this +world. He was an honest fellow, warmly attached to his friends; and no +one could wish to have a better friend to stand up for him on all +occasions and against all odds. He afterwards became happily married +and a useful Professor of Latin at Edinburgh. I stayed with him later +in life in Scotland and found him always the same, really enjoying his +friends’ society and a talk over old days. He had begun to ail when I +saw him last, but the old boy was always there, even when he was +miserable about his chiefly imaginary miseries. Soon after I had left +him I received his last message and farewell from his deathbed. We +are told that all this is very natural and what we must be prepared +for—but what cold gaps it leaves. My thoughts often return to him, as +if he were still among the living, and then one feels one’s own +loneliness and friendlessness again and again. + +Palgrave roused great expectations among undergraduates at Oxford, but +he kept us waiting for some time. He took early to office life in the +Educational Department, and this seems to have ground him down and +unfitted him for other work. He had a wonderful gift of admiring, his +great hero being Tennyson, and he was more than disappointed if others +did not join in his unqualified panegyrics of the great poet. At last, +somewhat late in life, he was elected Professor of Poetry at Oxford, +and gave some most learned and instructive lectures. His knowledge of +English Literature, particularly poetry, was quite astounding. I +certainly never went to him to ask him a question that he did not +answer at once and with exhaustive fullness. Some of his friends +complained of his great command of language, and even Tennyson, I am +told, found it sometimes too much. All I can say is that to me it was +a pleasure to listen to him. I owe him particular thanks for having, +in the kindest manner, revised my first English compositions. He was +always ready and indefatigable, and I certainly owed a good deal to +his corrections and his unstinted advice. His _Golden Treasury_ has +become a national possession, and certainly speaks well both for his +extensive knowledge and for his good taste. + +Lastly there was Morier, of whom certainly no one expected when he was +at Balliol that he would rise to be British Ambassador at St. +Petersburg. His early education had been somewhat neglected, but when +he came to Balliol he worked hard to pass a creditable examination. He +was a giant in size, very good-looking, and his manners, when he +liked, most charming and attractive. Being the son of a diplomatist +there was something both English and foreign in his manner, and he +certainly was a general favourite at Oxford. His great desire was to +enter the diplomatic service, but when that was impossible, he found +employment for a time in the Education Office. But society in London +was too much for him, he was made for society, and society was +delighted to receive him. But it was difficult for him at the same +time to fulfil his duties at the Education Office, and the result was +that he had to give up his place. Things began to look serious, when +fortunately Lord Aberdeen, a great friend of his father, found him +some diplomatic employment; and that once found, Morier was in his +element. He was often almost reckless; but while several of his +friends came altogether to grief, he managed always to fall on his +feet and keep afloat while others went down. As an undergraduate he +came to me to read Greek with me, and I confess that with such +mistakes in his Greek papers as οἱ πἁθοι instead of τἀ πἁθη, I +trembled for his examinations. However, he did well in the schools, +knowing how to hide his weak points and how to make the best of his +strong ones. I travelled with him in Germany, and when the +Schleswig-Holstein question arose, he wrote a pamphlet which certainly +might have cost him his diplomatic career. He asked me to allow it to +be understood that the pamphlet, which did full justice to the claims +of Holstein and of Germany, had been written by me. I received many +compliments, which I tried to parry as well as I could. Fortunately +Lord John Russell stood by Morier, and his prophecies did certainly +turn out true. “Don’t let the Germans awake from their slumbers and +find a work ready made for them on which they all agree.” But the +signatories of the treaty of London did the very thing against which +Morier had raised his warning voice, as the friend of Germany as it +was, though perhaps not of the Germany that was to be. Schleswig-Holstein +_meer-umschlungen_ became the match, (the Schwefel-hölzchen), that was +to light the fire of German unity, a unity which for a time may not +have been exactly what England could have wished for, but which in the +future will become, we hope, the safety of Europe and the support of +England. + +Morier’s later advance in his diplomatic career was certainly most +successful. He possessed the very important art of gaining the +confidence of the crowned heads and ministers he had to deal with. +Bismarck, it is true, could not bear him, and tried several times to +trip him up. Even while Morier was at Berlin, as a Secretary of +Legation, Bismarck asked for his removal, but Lord Granville simply +declined to remove a young diplomatist who gave him information on all +parties in Germany, and to do so had to mix with people whom Bismarck +did not approve of. Besides, Morier was always a _persona grata_ with +the Crown Prince and the Crown Princess, and that was enough to make +Bismarck dislike him. Later in life Bismarck accused him of having +conveyed private information of the military position of the Germans +to the French Guards, such information being derived from the English +Court. The charge was ridiculous. Morier was throughout the war a +sympathizer with Germany as against France. The English Court had no +military information to convey or to communicate to Morier, and Morier +was too much of a diplomatist and a gentleman, if by accident he had +possessed any such information, to betray such a secret to an enemy in +the field. Bismarck was completely routed, though his son seemed +inclined to fasten a duel on the English diplomatist. Morier rose +higher and higher, and at last became Ambassador at St. Petersburg. +When I laughed and congratulated him he said, “He must be a great fool +who does not reach the top of the diplomatic tree.” That was too much +modesty, and yet modesty was not exactly his fault; but he agreed +with me as to _quam parva sapientia regitur mundus_. + +Nothing could seem more prosperous than my friend Morier’s career; but +few people knew how utterly miserable he really was. He had one son, +in many respects the very image of his father, a giant in stature, +very handsome, and most attractive. In spite of all we said to him he +would not send his son to a public school in England, but kept him +with him at the different embassies, where his only companions were +the young attachés and secretaries. He had a private tutor, and when +that tutor declared that young Morier was fit for the University, his +father managed to get him into Balliol, recommending him to the +special care of the Master. He actually lived in the Master’s house +for a time, but enjoyed the greatest liberty that an undergraduate at +Oxford may enjoy. His father was wrapped up in his boy, but at the +same time tried to frighten him into hard work, or at least into +getting through the examinations. All was in vain; young Morier was so +nervous that he could never pass an examination. What might be +expected followed, and the father had at last to remove him to begin +work as an honorary attaché at his own embassy. I liked the young man +very much, but my own impression is that his nervousness quite +unfitted him for serious work. The end was beyond description sad. He +went to South Africa in the police force, distinguished himself very +much, came back to England, and then on his second voyage to the Cape +died suddenly on board the steamer. I have seldom seen such utter +misery as his father’s. He loved his son and the son loved his father +passionately, but the father expected more than it was physically and +mentally possible for the son to do. Hence arose misunderstandings, +and yet beneath the surface there was this passionate love, like the +love of lovers. When I saw my old friend last, he cried and sobbed +like a child: his heart was really broken. He went on for a few years +more, suffering much from ill health, but really killed at last by his +utter misery. I knew him in the bright morning of his life, at the +meridian of his great success, and last in the dark night when light +and life seems gone, when the moon and all the stars are extinguished, +and nothing remains but patient suffering and the hope of a brighter +morn to come. + +How little one dreamt of all this when we were young, and when an +ambassador, nay, even a professor, seemed to us far beyond the reach +of our ambition. I could go on mentioning many more names of men with +whom I lived at Oxford in the most delightful intimacy, and who +afterwards turned up as bishops, archbishops, judges, ministers, and +all the rest. True, it is quite natural that it should be so with a +man who, as I did, began his English life almost as an undergraduate +among undergraduates. Nearly all Englishmen who receive a liberal +education must pass either through Oxford or through Cambridge, and I +was no doubt lucky in making thus early the acquaintance of a number +of men who later in life became deservedly eminent. The only drawback +was that, knowing my friends very intimately, I did not perhaps later +preserve on all occasions that deference which the dignity of an +ambassador or of an archbishop has a right to demand. + +Thomson was a dear friend of mine when he was still a fellow of +Queen’s College. We worked together, as may be seen by my +contributions to his _Laws of Thought_, and the translation of a Vedic +hymn which he helped me to make. I think he had a kind of anticipation +of what was in store for him. Though for a time he had to be +satisfied, even when he was married, with a very small London living, +he soon rose in the Church, at a time when clergymen of a liberal way +of thinking had not much chance of Crown preferment. But having gone +at the head of a deputation to Lord Palmerston, to inform him that +Gladstone’s next election as member for Oxford was becoming doubtful, +owing to all the bishoprics being given to the Low Church party—the +party of Lord Shaftesbury—Palmerston remembered his stately and +courteous bearing, and when the see of Gloucester fell vacant, gave +him that bishopric to silence Gladstone’s supporters. This was a very +unexpected preferment at Oxford, but Thomson made such good use of his +opportunity that, when the Archbishopric of York became vacant, and +Palmerston found it difficult to make his own or Lord Shaftesbury’s +nominee acceptable to the Queen, he suggested that any one of the +lately elected bishops approved of by the Crown might go to York, and +some one else fill the see thus vacated. It so happened that Thomson’s +name was the first to be mentioned, and he was made Archbishop, +probably one of the youngest Archbishops England has ever known. He +certainly fulfilled all expectations and proved himself the people’s +Archbishop, for he was himself the son of a small tradesman, a fact of +which he was never ashamed, though his enemies did not fail to cast it +in his teeth. I confess I felt at first a little awkward with my old +friend who formerly had discussed every possible religious and +philosophical problem quite freely with me, and was now His Grace the +Lord Archbishop, with a palace to inhabit and an income of about +£10,000 a year. However, though as a German and as a friend of Bunsen +I was looked upon as a kind of heretic, I never made the Archbishop +blush for his old friend, and I always found him the same to the end +of his life, kind, courteous, and ready to help, though it is but fair +to remember that an Archbishop of York is one of the first subjects of +the Queen, and cannot do or say everything that he might like to do or +to say. When I had to ask him to do something for a friend of mine, +who as a clergyman had given great offence by his very liberal +opinions, he did all he could do, though he might have incurred great +obloquy by so doing. + +But when I think of these men, friends and acquaintances of mine, whom +I remember as young men, very able and hard working no doubt, yet not +so entirely different from others who through life remained unknown, +it is as if I had slept through a number of years and dreamt, and had +then suddenly awoke to a new life. Some of my friends, I am glad to +say, I always found the same, whether in ermine or in lawn sleeves; +others, however, I am sorry to say, had _become_ something, the old +boy in them had vanished, and nothing was to be seen except the +bishop, the judge, or the minister. + +It was not for me to remind them of their former self, and to make +them doubt their own identity, but I often felt the truth of Matthew +Arnold’s speeches, who, in social position, never rose beyond that of +inspector of schools, and who often laughed when at great dinners he +found himself surrounded by their Graces, their Excellencies, and my +Lords, recognizing faces that sat below him at school and whose names +in the class lists did not occupy so high a place as his own. Not that +Matthew Arnold was dissatisfied; he knew his worth, but, as he himself +asked for nothing, it is strange that his friends should never have +asked for something for him, which would have shown to the world at +large that he had not been left behind in the race. It strikes one +that while he was at Oxford, few people only detected in Arnold the +poet or the man of remarkable genius. I had many letters from him, but +I never kept them, and I often blame myself now that in his, as in +other cases, I should have thrown away letters as of no importance. +Then suddenly came the time when he returned to Oxford as the poet, as +the Professor of poetry, nay, afterwards as the philosopher also, +placed high by public opinion among the living worthies of England. +What was sometimes against him was his want of seriousness. A laugh +from his hearers or readers seemed to be more valued by him than their +serious opposition, or their convinced assent. He trusted, like +others, to _persiflage_, and the result was that when he tried to be +serious, people could not forget that he might at any time turn round +and smile, and decline to be taken _au grand sérieux_. People do not +know what a dangerous game this French _persiflage_ is, particularly +in England, and how difficult it becomes to exchange it afterwards for +real seriousness. + +Those early Oxford days were bright days for me, and now, when those +young and old faces, whether undergraduates or archbishops, rise up +again before me, I being almost the only one left of that happy +company, I ask again, “Did they also belong to a mere dreamland, they +who gave life to my life, and made England my real home?” When I first +saw them at Oxford, I was really an undergraduate, though I had taken +my Doctor’s degree at Leipzig. I lived, in fact, my happy university +life over again, and it would be difficult to say which academical +years I enjoyed more, those at Leipzig and Berlin, or those at Oxford. +There were intermediate years in Paris, but during my stay there I saw +but little of students and student life. I was too much oppressed with +cares and anxieties about my present and future to think much of +society and enjoyment. At Oxford, these cares had become far less, and +I could by hard work earn as much money as I wanted, and cared to +spend. In Paris, I was already something of a scholar and writer; at +Oxford I became once more the undergraduate. + +This young society into which I was received was certainly most +attractive, though that it contained the germs of future greatness +never struck me at the time. What struck me was the general tone of +the conversation. Of course, as Lord Palmerston said of himself when +he was no longer very young, “boys will be boys,” but there never was +anything rude or vulgar in their conversation, and I hardly ever heard +an offensive remark among them. Most of my friends came from Balliol, +and were serious-minded men, many of them occupied and troubled by +religious, philosophical, and social problems. + +What puzzled me most was the entire absence of duels. Occasionally +there were squabbles and high words, which among German students could +have had one result only—a duel. But at Oxford, either a man +apologized at once or the next morning, and the matter was forgotten, +or, if a man proved himself a cad or a snob, he was simply dropped. I +do not mean to condemn the students’ duels in Germany altogether. +Considering how mixed the society of German universities is, and the +perfect equality that reigns among them—they all called each other +“thou” in my time—the son of a gentleman required some kind of +protection against the son of a butcher or of a day-labourer. Boxing +and fisticuffs were entirely forbidden among students, so that there +remained nothing to a young student who wanted to escape from the +insults of a young ruffian, but to call him out. As soon as a +challenge was given, all abuse ceased at once, and such was the power +of public opinion at the universities that not another word of insult +would be uttered. In this way much mischief is prevented. Besides, +every precaution is taken to guard against fatal accident, and I +believe there are fewer serious accidents on the _mensura_ than in the +hunting-field in England. When I was at Leipzig, where we had at least +four hundred duels during the year, only two fatal accidents happened, +and they were, indeed, accidents, such as will happen even at +football. Of course duels can never be defended, but for keeping up +good manners, also for bringing out a man’s character, these academic +duels seem useful. However small the danger is, it frightens the +coward and restrains the poltroon. For all that, what has taken place +in England may in time take place in Germany also, and men will cease +to think that it is impossible to defend their honour without a piece +of steel or a pistol. The last thing that a German student desires to +do in a duel is to kill his adversary. Hence pistol duels, which are +generally preferred by theological students, because they cannot +easily get a living if their face is scarred all over, are generally +the most harmless, except perhaps for the seconds. + +Before closing this chapter, I should like to say a few words on the +impressions which the theological atmosphere of Oxford in 1848 +produced on me, and which even now fills me with wonder and amazement. + +When I came to Oxford, I was strongly recommended to Stanley on one +side, and to Manuel Johnson on the other,—a curious mixture. Johnson, +the Observer, was extremely kind and hospitable to me. He was a genial +man, full of love, possibly a little weak, but thoroughly honest, nay, +transparently so. I met at his house nearly all the leaders of the +High Church movement, though I never met Newman himself, who had then +already gone to reside at his retreat at Littlemore. On the other +hand, Stanley received me with open arms as a friend of Bunsen, +Frederick Maurice, and Julius Hare, and as I came straight from the +February revolution in 1848, he was full of interest and curiosity to +know from me what I had seen in Paris. + +At first I knew nothing, and understood nothing of the movement, call +it ecclesiastical or theological, that was going on at Oxford at that +time. I dined almost every Sunday at Johnson’s house, and at his +dinners and Sunday afternoon garden parties I met men such as Church, +Mozley, Buckle, Palgrave, Pollen, Rigaud, Burgon, and Chrétian, who +inspired me with great respect, both for their learning and for what I +could catch of their character. Stanley, on the other hand, Froude, +and Jowett, proved themselves true friends to me in making me feel at +home, and initiating me into the secrets of the place. There was, +however, a curious reticence on both sides, and it was by sudden +glimpses only that I came to understand that these two sets were quite +divided, nay, opposed, and had very different ideals before them. + +I had been at a German university, and the historical study of +Christianity was to me as familiar as the study of Roman history. +Professors whom I had looked up to as great authorities, implicitly to +be trusted, such as Lotze and Weisse at Leipzig, Schelling and +Michelet at Berlin, had, after causing in me a certain surprise at +first, left me with the firm conviction that the Old and New Testament +were historical books, and to be treated according to the same +critical principles as any other ancient book, particularly the sacred +books of the East of which so little was then known, and of which I +too knew very little as yet; enough, however, to see that they +contained nothing but what under the circumstances they could +contain, traditions of extreme antiquity collected by men who gathered +all they thought would be useful for the education of the people. +Anything like revelation in the old sense of the word, a belief that +these books had been verbally communicated by the Deity, or that what +seemed miraculous in them was to be accepted as historically real, +simply because it was recorded in these sacred books, was to me a +standpoint long left behind. To me the questions that occupied my +thoughts were to what date these books, such as we have them, could be +assigned, what portions of them were of importance to us, what were +the simple truths they contained, and what had been added to them by +later collectors. Well do I remember when, before going to Oxford, I +spoke to Bunsen of the preface to my Rig-veda, and used the +expression, “the great revelations of the world,” he, perfectly +understanding what I meant, warned me in his loud and warm voice, +“Don’t say that at Oxford.” I could see no harm, nor Bunsen either, +nor his son who was an Oxford man and a clergyman of the Church of +England; but I was told that I should be misunderstood. I knew far too +little to imagine that I had a right to speak of what was fermenting +and growing within me. During my stay at Leipzig and Berlin, and +afterwards in my intercourse with Renan and Burnouf, the principles of +the historical school had become quite familiar to me, but the +application of these principles to the early history of religion was +a different matter. How far the Old and the New Testament would stand +the critical tests enunciated by Niebuhr was a frequent subject of +controversy, during the time I spent at Paris, between young Renan and +myself. Though I did not go with him in his reconstruction of the +history of the Jews and the Jewish religion, and of the early +Christians and the Christian religion, I agreed with him in principle, +objecting only to his too free and too idyllic reconstruction of these +great religious movements. Besides, before all things, I was at that +time given to philosophical studies, chiefly to an inquiry into the +limits of our knowledge in the Kantian sense of the word, the origin +of thought and language, the first faltering and half-mythological +steps of language in the search for causes or divine agents. All this +occupied me far more than the age of the Fourth Gospel and its +position by the side of the Synoptic Gospels. I had talked with +Schelling and Schopenhauer, and little as I appreciated or understood +all their teachings, there were certain aspirations left in my mind +which led me far away beyond the historical foundations of +Christianity. What can we know? was the question which I often opposed +to Renan at the very beginning of our conversations and controversies. +That there were great truths in the teaching and preaching of Christ, +Renan was always ready to admit, but while it interested me how the +truths proclaimed by Christ could have sprung up in His mind and at +that time in the history of the human race, Renan’s eyes were always +directed to the evidence, and to what we could still know of the early +history of Christianity and its Founder. I could not deny that, +historically speaking, we knew very little of the life, the work, and +the teachings of Christ; but for that very reason I doubted our being +justified in giving our interpretation and reconstruction to the +fragments left to us of the real history of the life and teaching of +Christ. To this opinion I remained true through life. I claimed for +each man the liberty of believing in his own Christ, but I objected to +Renan’s idyllic Christ as I objected to Niebuhr’s filling the canvas +of ancient Roman history with the figures of his own imagination. + +Naturally, when I came to Oxford, I thought these things were familiar +to all, however much they might admit of careful correction. Nor have +I any doubt that to some of my friends who were great theologians, +they were better known than to a young Oriental scholar like myself. +But unless engaged in conversation on these subjects, and this was +chiefly the case with my friends of the Stanley party, I did not feel +called upon to preach what, as I thought, every serious student knew +quite as well and probably much better than myself, though he might +for some reason or other prefer to keep silence thereon. + +What was my surprise when I found that most of these excellent and +really learned men were much more deeply interested in purely +ecclesiastical questions, in the validity of Anglican orders, in the +wearing of either gowns or surplices in the pulpit, in the question of +candlesticks and genuflections. “What has all this to do with true +religion?” I once said to dear Johnson. He laughed with his genial +laugh, and blowing the smoke of his cigar away, said, “Oh, you don’t +understand!” But I did understand, and a great deal more than he +expected. Truly religious men, I thought, might please themselves with +incense and candlesticks, provided they gave no offence to their +neighbours. It seemed to me quite natural also that men like Johnson, +with a taste for art, should prefer the Roman ritual to the simple and +sometimes rather bare service of the Anglican Church, but that things +such as incense and censers, surplice and gown, should be taken as +they are, as paraphernalia, the work of human beings, the outcome of +personal and local influences, as church-service, no doubt, but not as +service of God. God has to be served by very different things, and +there is the danger of the formal prevailing over the essential, the +danger of idolatry of symbols as realities, whenever too much +importance is attributed to the external forms of worship and divine +service. + +The validity of Anglican orders was often discussed at the +Observatory, and I no doubt gave great offence by openly declaring in +my imperfect English that I considered Luther a better channel for +the transmission of the Holy Ghost than a Caesar Borgia or even a +Wolsey. Anyhow I could not bring myself to see the importance of such +questions, if only the heart was right and if the whole of our life +was in fact a real and constant life with God and in God. That is what +I called a truly religious and truly Christian life. What struck me +particularly, both on the Newman side, and among those whom I met at +Jowett’s and Froude’s, was a curious want of openness and manliness in +discussing these simple questions, simple, if not complicated by +ecclesiastical theories. When Newman at Iffley was spoken of, it was +in hushed tones, and when rumours of his going over to Rome reached +his friends at Oxford, their consternation seemed to be like that of +people watching the deathbed of a friend. I am sorry I saw nothing of +Newman at that time; when I sat with him afterwards in his study at +Birmingham, he was evidently tired of controversy, and unwilling to +reopen questions which to him were settled once for all, or if not +settled, at all events closed and relinquished. I could never form a +clear idea of the man, much as I admired his sermons; his brother and +his own friends gave such different accounts of him. That even at +Littlemore he was still faithful to his own national Church, anxious +only to bring it nearer to its ancient possibly Roman type, can hardly +be doubted. When he wrote from Littlemore to his friend De Lisle, he +had no reason to economize the truth. De Lisle hoped that Newman would +soon openly join the Church of Rome, but Newman answered: “You must +allow me to be honest with you in adding one thing. A distressing +feeling arises in my mind that such marks of kindness as these on your +part are caused by a belief that I am ever likely to join your +communion ... I must assure you then with great sincerity that I have +not the shadow of an internal movement known to myself towards such a +step. While God is with me where I am, I will not seek Him elsewhere. +I might almost say in the words of Scripture, ‘We have found the +Messias!’...” + +How true this is, and yet the same Newman went over to the unreformed +Church, because the Archbishop of Canterbury had sanctioned Bunsen’s +proposal of an Anglo-German bishopric of Jerusalem, quite forgetful of +the fact that Synesius also had been bishop of Ptolemais. Again I say, +What have such matters to do with true religion, such as we read of in +the New Testament, as an ideal to be realized in our life on earth? +And it so happened that at the same time I knew of families rendered +miserable through Newman’s influence, of young girls, daughters of +narrow-minded Anglicans, hurried over to Rome, of young men at Oxford +with their troubled consciences which under Newman’s direct or +indirect guidance could end only in Rome. Newman’s influence must have +been extraordinary; the tone in which people who wished to free +themselves from him, who had actually left him, spoke of him, seemed +tremulous with awe. I would give anything to have known him at that +time, when I knew him through his disciples only. They were caught in +various ways. I know of one, a brilliant writer, who had been +entrusted by Newman with writing some of the _Lives of the Saints_. He +did it with great industry, but in the course of his researches he +arrived at the conviction that there was hardly anything truly +historical about his Saints and that the miracles ascribed to them +were insipid, and might be the inventions of their friends; such +legends, he felt, would take no root on English soil, at all events +not in the present generation. In consequence he informed Newman that +he could not keep his promise, or that, if he did so, he must speak +the truth, tell people what they might believe about these Saints, and +what was purely fanciful in the accounts of their lives. And what was +Newman’s answer? He did not respect the young man’s scruples, but +encouraged him to go on, because, as he said, people would never +believe more than half of these Lives, and that therefore some of +these unsupported legends also might prove useful, if only as a kind +of ballast. + +“I rejoice to hear of your success,” he writes, August 21, 1843. “As +to St. Grimball, of course we must expect such deficiencies; where +matter is found, it is all gain, and there are plenty of Lives to put +together, as you will see, when you see the whole list. + +“I am rather for _inserting_ (of course discreetly and in way of +selection) the miracles for which you have not good evidence. (1) They +are beautiful, you say, and will tell in the narrative. (2) Next you +can say that the evidence is weak, and this will be bringing credit +for the others where you say the evidence is strong. People will never +go _so far_ as your narrative. Cut it down to what is true, and they +will disbelieve a part of _it_; put in these legends and they will +compound for the true at the sacrifice of what may be true, but is not +well attested.” + +I confess I cannot quite follow. If a man like Newman believed in +these saints and their miracles, his pleading would become +intelligible, but it seems from this very letter that he did not, and +yet he tried to persuade his young friend to go on and not to gather +the tares, “lest haply he might root up the wheat with them. Let both +grow together until the harvest.” I do not like to judge, but I doubt +whether this kind of teaching could have strengthened the healthy +moral fibre of a man’s conscience and have led him to depend entirely +on his sense of truth. And yet this was the man who at one time was +supposed to draw the best spirits of Oxford with him to Rome. This was +the man to whom some of the best spirits at Oxford confessed all they +had to confess, and that could have been very little, and of whom +they spoke with a subdued whisper as the apostle who would restore all +faith, and bring back the Anglican sheep to the Roman fold. + +I saw and heard all that was going on, the hopes deferred, the secret +visits to Littlemore, the rumours and more than rumours of Newman’s +defection. Such was the devotion of some of these disciples that they +expected day by day a great catastrophe or a great victory, for after +the publication of so many letters written at the time by Wiseman, +Manning, De Lisle, and others, there can be little doubt that a great +conversion or perversion of England to the Romish Church was fully +expected. De Lisle writes: “England is now in full career of a great +Religious Revolution, this time back to Catholicism and to the Roman +See as its true centre ... the best friends of Rome in the Anglican +Church are obliged still to be guarded.” Such words admit of one +meaning only, and if Newman had been followed by a large number of his +Oxford friends, the results for England might really have been most +terrible. But here, no doubt, the English national feeling came in. +What England had suffered under Roman ecclesiastical rule had not yet +been entirely forgotten, and the idea that a foreign potentate and a +foreign priesthood should interfere with the highest interests of the +nation, was fortunately as distasteful as ever, not only to a large +party of the clergy, but to a still larger party of the laity also. +It seemed to me very curious that so many of Newman’s followers did +not see the unpatriotic character of their agitation. Either +subjection to Rome or civil war at home was the inevitable outcome of +what they discussed very innocently at the Observatory, and little as +I understood their schemes for the future, I often felt surprised at +what sounded to me like very unpatriotic utterances. + +Another thing that struck me as utterly un-English and has often been +dwelt on by the historians of this movement, was the curiously secret +character of the agitation. What has an Englishman to fear when he +openly protests against what he disapproves of in Church or State? But +Newman’s friends at Oxford behaved really, as has been often said, +like so many naughty schoolboys, or like conspirators, yet they were +neither. A very similar charge, however, was brought against the +liberal party. They also seemed to think that they were out of bounds, +and were doing in secret what they did not dare to do openly. It is +well known that one friend of Newman’s, who afterwards became a Roman +Catholic, had a small chapel set up in his bedroom in college, with +pictures and candles and instruments of flagellation. No one was +allowed to see this room, till one evening when the flagellant had +retired after dinner and fallen asleep, the servants found him lying +before the altar. Nothing remained to him then but to exchange his +comfortable college rooms for the less comfortable cell of a Roman +monastery, and little was done by his new friends to make the evening +of his life serene and free from anxiety. These things were known and +talked about in Oxford, and generally with anything but the +seriousness that the subject seemed to me to require. Again at the +Observatory a point was made of having games in the garden such as +boccia on a Sunday afternoon, thus evading the strict observance of +the Sabbath, without openly trying to restore to it the character +which it had in Roman Catholic countries. + +German theology was talked about as a kind of forbidden fruit, as if +it was not right for them to look at it, to taste it, or to examine +it. Even years later people were afraid to meet Professor Ewald, +Bishop Colenso, and other so-called heretics at my house. They even +fell on poor Ewald at an evening party. Ewald was staying with me and +working hard at some Hebrew MSS. at the Bodleian. He was then already +an old man, but in his appearance a powerful and venerable champion. +He is the only man I remember who, after copying Hebrew MSS. for +twelve hours at the Bodleian with nothing but a sandwich to sustain +him, complained of the short time allowed there for work. He came home +for dinner very tired, and when the conversation or rather the +disputation began between him and some of our young liberal +theologians, he spoke in short pithy sentences only. He considered +himself perfectly orthodox, nay, one of the pillars of religion in +Germany, and laid down the law with unhesitating conviction. As far as +I can remember, he was answering a number of questions about St. Paul, +and what he thought of Christ, of the Kingdom of Christ, and the Life +to come, and being pestered and driven into a corner by his various +questioners, and asked at last how he knew St. Paul’s secret thoughts, +he not knowing how to express himself in fluent English, exclaimed in +a loud voice, “I know it by the Holy Ghost.” Here the conversation +naturally stopped, and poor Ewald was allowed to finish his dinner in +peace. He had been Professor at Bonn, when Pusey came there as a young +man to study Hebrew after he had been appointed Canon of Christ Church +and Professor of Hebrew, and he expressed to me a wish to see Dr. +Pusey. I told him it would not be easy to arrange a meeting, +considering how strongly opposed Dr. Pusey was to Ewald’s opinions. +Personally I always found Pusey tolerant, and his kindness to me was a +surprise to all my young friends. But the fact was, we moved on +different planes, and though he knew my religious opinions well, they +only excited a smile, and he often said with a sigh, “I know you are a +German.” His own idea was that he was placed at Oxford in order to +save the younger generation from seeing the abyss into which he +himself had looked with terror. He had read more heresy, he used to +say, than anybody, and he wished no one to pass through the trials +and agonies through which he had passed, chiefly, I should think, +during his stay at a German university. The historical element was +wanting in him, nay, like Hegel, he sometimes seemed to lay stress on +the unhistorical character of Christianity. My idea, on the contrary, +was that Christianity was a true historical event, prepared by many +events that had gone before and alone made it possible and real. Even +the abyss, if there were such an abyss, was, as it seemed to me, meant +to be there on our passage through life, and was to be faced with a +brave heart. + +But to return to my first experiences of the theological atmosphere of +Oxford, I confess I felt puzzled to see men, whose learning and +character I sincerely admired, absorbed in subjects which to my mind +seemed simply childish. I expected I should hear from them some new +views on the date of the gospels, the meaning of revelation, the +historical value of revelation, or the early history of the Church. +No, of all this not a word. Nothing but discussions on vestments, on +private confession, on candles on the altar, whether they were wanted +or not, on the altar being made of stone or of wood, of consecrated +wine being mixed with water, of the priest turning his back on the +congregation, &c. I could not understand how these men, so high above +the ordinary level of men in all other respects, could put aside the +fundamental questions of Christianity and give their whole mind to +what seemed to me rightly called in the newspapers “mere millinery.” +I sought information from Stanley, but he shrugged his shoulders and +advised me to keep aloof and say nothing. This I was most willing to +do; I cared for none of these things. My mind was occupied with far +more serious problems, such as I had heard explained by men of +profound learning and honest purpose in the great universities of +Germany; these troubles arose from questions which seemed to me to +have no connexion with true religion at all. Even the differences +between the reformed and unreformed churches were to me mere questions +of history, mere questions of human expediency. I did not consider +Roman Catholics as heretics—I had known too many of them of +unblemished character in Germany. I might have regretted the abuses +which called for reform, the excrescences which had disfigured +Christianity like many other religions, but which might be tolerated +as long as they did not lead to toleration for intolerance. Luther +might no longer appear to me in the light of a perfect saint, but that +he was right in suppressing the time-honoured abuses of the Roman +Church admitted with me of no doubt whatsoever. Large numbers always +had that effect on me, and when I saw how many good and excellent men +were satisfied with the unreformed teaching of the Roman Church, I +felt convinced that they must attach a different meaning to certain +doctrines and ecclesiastical practices from what we did. I had +learned to discover what was good and true in all religions, and I +could fully agree with Macaulay when he said, “If people had lived in +a country where very sensible people worshipped the cow, they would +not fall out with people who worship saints.” + +I know that many of my friends on both sides looked upon me as a +latitudinarian, but my conviction has always been that we could not be +broad enough. They looked upon me as wishing to keep on good terms +with high and low and broad, and I made no secret of it, that I +thought I could understand Pusey as well as Stanley, and assign to +each his proper place. Stanley was of course more after my own heart +than Pusey, but Pusey too was a man who interested me very much. I saw +that he might become a great power whether for good or for evil in +England. He was, in fact, a historical character, and these were +always the men who interested me. He was fully aware of his importance +in England, and the great influence which his name exercised. That +influence was not always exercised in the right way, so at least it +seemed to me, particularly when it was directed against such friends +of mine as Kingsley, Froude, or Jowett. Once, I remember, when he had +come to my house, I ventured to tell him that he could not have meant +what he had said in declaring that the God worshipped by Frederic +Maurice was not the same as his God. Curious to say, he relented, and +admitted that he had used too strong language. To me everything that +was said of God seemed imperfect, and never to apply to God Himself +but only to the idea which the human mind had formed of Him. To me +even the Hindu, if he spoke of Brahman or Krishna, seemed to have +aimed at the true God, in spite of the idolatrous epithets which he +used; then how could a man like Frederic Maurice be said to have +worshipped a different God, considering that we all can but feel after +Him in the dark, not being able to do more than exclude all that seems +to us unworthy of Deity? + +A very important element in the ecclesiastical views of some of my +friends was, no doubt, the artistic. If Johnson leant towards Rome, it +was the more ornate and beautiful service that touched and attracted +him. I sat near to him in St. Giles’ Church; he told me what to do and +what not to do during service. In spite of the Prayer-book, it is by +no means so easy as people imagine to do exactly the right thing in +church, and I had of course to learn a number of prayers and responses +by heart. To me the service, as it was in my parish church, seemed +already too ornate, accustomed as I had been to the somewhat bare and +cold service in the Lutheran Church at Dessau. But Johnson constantly +complained about the monotonous and mechanical performances of the +clergy. He had a strong feeling for all that was beautiful and +impressive in art, and he wanted to see the service of God in church +full both of reverence and beauty. + +Johnson’s private collection of artistic treasures was very +considerable, and I learnt much from the Italian engravings and Dutch +etchings which he possessed and delighted in showing. I often spent +happy hours with him examining his portfolios, and wondered how he +could afford to buy such treasures. But he knew when and where to buy, +and I believe when his collection was sold after his death, it brought +a good deal more than it had cost him. Another collection of art was +that of Dr. Wellesley, the Principal of New Inn Hall, who was a friend +of Johnson’s and had collected most valuable antiquities during his +long stay in Italy. He was the son of the Marquis of Wellesley, a +handsome man, with all the refinement and courtesy of the old English +gentleman. Though not perhaps very useful in the work of the +University, he was most pleasant to live with, and full of information +in his own line of study, the history of art, chiefly of Italian art. + +The beautiful services of the Roman Church abroad, and particularly at +Rome, certainly exercised a kind of magic attraction on many of the +friends of Wiseman and Newman, though one wonders that the sunny +grandeur of St. Peter’s at Rome should ever have seemed more +impressive than the sombre sublimity and serene magnificence of +Westminster Abbey. Unfortunately, the introduction of a more ornate +service, even of harmless candlesticks and the often very useful +incense, had always a secret meaning. They were used as symbols of +something of which the people had no conception, whereas in the early +Church they had been really natural and useful. + +In the midst of all this commotion, and chiefly secret commotion, I +felt a perfect stranger; I saw the bright and dark sides, but I +confess I saw little of what I called religion. Though my own +religious struggles lay behind me, still there were many questions +which pressed for a solution, but for which my friends at Oxford +seemed either indifferent or unprepared. My practical religion was +what I had learnt from my mother; that remained unshaken in all +storms, and in its extreme simplicity and childishness answered all +the purposes for which religion is meant. Then followed, in the +Universities of Leipzig and Berlin, the purely historical and +scientific treatment of religion, which, while it explained many +things and destroyed many things, never interfered with my early ideas +of right and wrong, never disturbed my life with God and in God, and +seemed to satisfy all my religious wants. I never was frightened or +shaken by the critical writings of Strauss or Ewald, of Renan or +Colenso. If what they said had an honest ring, I was delighted, for I +felt quite certain that they could never deprive me of the little I +really wanted. That little could never be little enough; it was like a +stronghold with no fortifications, no trenches, and no walls around +it. Suppose it was proved to me that, on geological evidence, the +earth or the world could not have been created in six days, what was +that to me? Suppose it was proved to me that Christ could never have +given leave to the unclean spirits to enter into the swine, what was +that to me? Let Colenso and Bishop Wilberforce, let Huxley and +Gladstone fight about such matters; their turbulent waves could never +disturb me, could never even reach me in my safe harbour. I had little +to carry, no learned impedimenta to safeguard my faith. If a man +possesses this one pearl of great price, he may save himself and his +treasure, but neither the tinselled vestments of a Cardinal, nor the +triple tiara that crowns the Head of the Church, will serve as +life-belts in the gales of doubt and controversy. My friends at Oxford +did not know that, though with my one jewel I seemed outwardly poor, I +was really richer and safer than many a Cardinal and many a Doctor of +Divinity. A confession of faith, like a prayer, may be very long, but +the prayer of the Publican may have been more efficient than that of +the Pharisee. + +After a time I made an even more painful discovery: I found men, who +were considered quite orthodox, but who really were without any +belief. They spoke to me very freely, because they imagined that as a +German I would think as they did, and that I should not be surprised +if they looked on me as not quite sincere. It was not only honest +doubt that disturbed them. They had done with honest doubt, and they +were satisfied with a kind of Voltairian philosophy, which at last +ended in pure agnosticism. But even that, even professed agnosticism, +I could understand, because it often meant no more than a confession +of ignorance with regard to God, which we all confess, and need not +necessarily amount to the denial of the existence of Deity. But that +Voltairian levity which scoffs at everything connected with religion +was certainly something I did not expect to meet with at Oxford, and +which even now perplexes me. Of course, I should never think of +mentioning names, but it seemed to me necessary to mention the fact, +to complete the curious mosaic of theological and religious thought +that existed at Oxford at the time of my arrival. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +A CONFESSION + + +One confession I have to make, and one for which I can hardly hope for +absolution, whether from my friends or from my enemies. I have never +done anything; I have never been a doer, a canvasser, a wirepuller, a +manager, in the ordinary sense of these words. I have also shrunk from +agitation, from clubs and from cliques, even from most respectable +associations and societies. Many people would call me an idle, +useless, and indolent man, and though I have not wasted many hours of +my life, I cannot deny the charge that I have neither fought battles, +nor helped to conquer new countries, nor joined any syndicate to roll +up a fortune. I have been a scholar, a _Stubengelehrter_, and _voilà +tout_! + +Much as I admired Ruskin when I saw him with his spade and +wheelbarrow, encouraging and helping his undergraduate friends to make +a new road from one village to another, I never myself took to +digging, and shovelling, and carting. Nor could I quite agree with +him, happy as I always felt in listening to him, when he said: “What +we think, or what we know, or what we believe, is in the end of +little consequence. The only thing of consequence is what we do.” My +view of life has always been the very opposite! What we do, or what we +build up, has always seemed to me of little consequence. Even Nineveh +is now a mere desert of sand, and Ruskin’s new road also has long +since been worn away. The only thing of consequence, to my mind, is +what we think, what we know, what we believe! To Ruskin’s ears such a +sentiment was downright heresy, and I know quite well that it would be +condemned as extremely dangerous, if not downright wicked, by most +people, particularly in England. My friend, Charles Kingsley, preached +muscular Christianity, that is, he was always up and doing. Another +old friend of mine, Carlyle, preached all his life that “it was no use +talking, if one would not do.” There is an old proverb in German, too, + + “Die nicht mit thaten, + Die nicht mit rathen”; + +actually denying the right of giving advice to those who had not taken +a part in the fight. + +However, though I have not been a doer, a _faiseur_, as the French +would say, I do not wish to represent myself as a mere idle drone +during the long years of my quiet life. Nor did I stand quite alone in +looking on a scholar’s life—even when I was living in a garret _au +cinquième_—as a paradise on earth. Did not Emerson write, “The +scholar is the man of the age”? Did not even Mazzini, who certainly +was constantly up and trying to do, did not even he confess that men +must die, but that the amount of truth they have discovered does not +die with them? And Carlyle? Did he ever try to get into Parliament? +Did he ever accept directorates? Did he join either the Chartists or +the Special Constables in Trafalgar Square? As in a concert you want +listeners as well as performers, so in public life, those who look on +are quite as essential as those who shout and deal heavy blows. + +Nature has not endowed everybody with the requisite muscle to be a +muscular Christian. But it may be said, that even if Carlyle and +Ruskin were absolved from doing muscular work in Trafalgar Square, +what excuse could they plead for not walking in procession to Hyde +Park, climbing up one of the platforms and haranguing the men and +women and children? I suppose they had the feeling which the razor has +when it is used for cutting stones: they would feel that it was not +exactly their _métier_. Arguing when reason meets reason is most +delightful, whether we win or lose; but arguing against unreason, +against anything that is by nature thick, dense, impenetrable, +irrational, has always seemed to me the most disheartening occupation. +Majorities, mere numerical majorities, by which the world is governed +now, strike me as mere brute force, though to argue against them is +no doubt as foolish as arguing against a railway train that is going +to crush you. Gladstone could harangue multitudes; so could Disraeli; +all honour to them for it. But think of Carlyle or Ruskin doing so! +Stroking the shell of a tortoise, or the cupola of St. Paul’s, would +have been no more attractive to them than addressing the discontented, +when in their hundreds and their thousands they descended into the +streets. All I claim is that there must be a division of labour, and +as little as Wayland Smith was useless in his smithy, when he hardened +the iron in the fire for making swords or horse-shoes, was Carlyle a +man that could be spared, while he sat in his study preparing thoughts +that would not bend or break. + +But I cannot even claim to have been a man of action in the sense in +which Carlyle was in England, or Emerson in America. They were men who +in their books were constantly teaching and preaching. “Do this!” they +said; “Do not do that!” The Jewish prophets did much the same, and +they are not considered to have been useless men, though they did not +make bricks, or fight battles like Jehu. But the poor _Stubengelehrte_ +has not even that comfort. Only now and then he gets some unexpected +recognition, as when Lord Derby, then Secretary of State for India, +declared that the scholars who had discovered and proved the close +relationship between Sanskrit and English, had rendered more valuable +service to the Government of India than many a regiment. This may be +called a mere assertion, and it is true that it cannot be proved +mathematically, but what could have induced a man like Lord Derby to +make such a statement, except the sense of its truth produced on his +mind by long experience? + +However, I can only speak for myself, and of my idea of work. I felt +satisfied when my work led me to a new discovery, whether it was the +discovery of a new continent of thought, or of the smallest desert +island in the vast ocean of truth. I would gladly go so far as to try +to convince my friends by a simple statement of facts. Let them follow +the same course and see whether I was right or wrong. But to make +propaganda, to attempt to persuade by bringing pressure to bear, to +canvass and to organize, to found societies, to start new journals, to +call meetings and have them reported in the papers, has always been to +me very much against the grain. If we know some truth, what does it +matter whether a few millions, more or less, see the truth as we see +it? Truth is truth, whether it is accepted now or in millions of +years. Truth is in no hurry, at least it always seemed to me so. When +face to face with a man, or a body of men, who would not be convinced, +I never felt inclined to run my head against a stone wall, or to +become an advocate and use the tricks of a lawyer. I have often been +blamed for it, I have sometimes even regretted my indolence or my +quiet happiness, when I felt that truth was on my side and by my side. +I suppose there is no harm in personal canvassing, but as much as I +disliked being canvassed, did I feel it degrading to canvass others. I +know quite well how often it happened at a meeting when either a +measure or a candidate was to be carried, that the voters had +evidently been spoken to privately beforehand, had in the conscience +of their heart promised their votes. The facts and arguments at the +meeting itself might all be on one side, but the majority was in +favour of the other. Men whose time was of little value had been round +from house to house, a majority had been compacted into an inert +unreasoning mass; and who would feel inclined to use his spade of +reason against so much unreason? Some people, more honest than the +rest, after the mischief was done, would say, “Why did you not call? +why did you not write letters?” I may be quite wrong, but I can only +say that it seemed to me like taking an unfair advantage, unfair to +our opponents, and almost insulting to our friends. Still, from a +worldly point of view, I was no doubt wrong, and it is certainly true +that I was often left in a minority. My friends have told me again and +again that if a good measure or a good man is to be carried, good men +must do some dirty work. If they cannot do that, they are of no use, +and I doubt not that I have often been considered a very useless man +by my political and academic friends, because I trusted to reason +where there was no reason to trust to. I was asked to write letters, +to address and post letters, to promise travelling expenses or even +convivial entertainments at Oxford, to get leaders and leaderettes +inserted in newspapers. I simply loathed it, and at last declined to +do it. If a measure is carried by promise, not by argument, if an +election is carried by personal influence, not by reason, what happens +is very often the same as what happens when fruit is pulled off a tree +before it is ripe. It is expected to ripen by itself, but it never +becomes sweet, and often it rots. A premature measure may be carried +through the House by a minister with a powerful majority, but it does +not acquire vitality and maturity by being carried; it often remains +on the Statute-book a dead letter, till in the end it has to be +abolished with other rubbish. + +However, I have learnt to admire the indefatigable assiduity of men +who have slowly and partially secured their converts and their +recruits, and thus have carried in the end what they thought right and +reasonable. I have seen it particularly at Oxford, where +undergraduates were indoctrinated by their tutors, till they had taken +their degree and could vote with their betters. I take all the blame +and shame upon myself as a useless member of Congregation and +Convocation, and of society at large. I was wrong in supposing that +the walls of Jericho would fall before the blast of reason, and wrong +in abstaining from joining in the braying of rams’ horns and the +shouts of the people. I was fortunate, however, in counting among my +most intimate friends some of the most active and influential +reformers in University, Church, and State, and it is quite possible +that I may often have influenced them in the hours of sweet converse; +nay, that standing in the second rank, I may have helped to load the +guns which they fired off with much effect afterwards. I felt that my +open partnership might even injure them more than it could help them; +for was it not always open to my opponents to say that I was a German, +and therefore could not possibly understand purely English questions? +Besides, there is another peculiarity which I have often observed in +England. People like to do what has to be done by themselves. It +seemed to me sometimes as if I had offended my friends if I did +anything by myself, and without consulting them. Besides, my position, +even after I had been in England for so many years, was always +peculiar; for though I had spent nearly a whole life in the service of +my adopted country, though my political allegiance was due and was +gladly given to England, still I was, and have always remained, a +German. + +And next to Germany, which was young and full of ideals when I was +young, there came India, and Indian thought which exercised their +quieting influence on me. From a very early time I became conscious of +the narrow horizon of this life on earth, and the purely phenomenal +character of the world in which for a few years we have to live and +move and have our being. As students of classical and other Oriental +history we come to admire the great empires with their palaces and +pyramids and temples and capitols. What could have seemed more real, +more grand, more likely to impress the young mind than Babylon and +Nineveh, Thebes and Alexandria, Jerusalem, Athens, and Rome? And now +where are they? The very names of their great rulers and heroes are +known to few people only and have to be learnt by heart, without +telling us much of those who wore them. Many things for which +thousands of human beings were willing to lay down their lives, and +actually did lay them down, are to us mere words and dreams, myths, +fables, and legends. If ever there was a doer, it was Hercules, and +now we are told that he was a mere myth! + +If one reads the description of Babylonian and Egyptian campaigns, as +recorded on cuneiform cylinders and on the walls of ancient Egyptian +temples, the number of people slaughtered seems immense, the issues +overwhelming; and yet what has become of it all? The inroads of the +Huns, the expeditions of Genghis Khan and Timur, so fully described by +historians, shook the whole world to its foundations, and now the sand +of the desert disturbed by their armies lies as smooth as ever. + +What India teaches us is that in a state advancing towards +civilization, there must be always two castes or two classes of men, a +caste of Brahmans or of thinkers, and a caste of Kshatriyas, who are +to fight; possibly other castes also of those who are to work and of +those who are to serve. Great wars went on in India, but they were +left to be fought by the warriors by profession. The peasants in their +villages remained quiet, accepting the consequences, whatever they +might be, and the Brahmans lived on, thinking and dreaming in their +forests, satisfied to rule after the battle was over. + +And what applies to military struggles seems to me to apply to all +struggles—political, religious, social, commercial, and even +literary. Let those who love to fight, fight; but let others who are +fond of quiet work go on undisturbed in their own special callings. +That was, as far as we can see, the old Indian idea, or at all events +the ideal which the Brahmans wished to see realized. I do not stand up +for utter idleness or sloth, not even for drones, though nature does +not seem to condemn even _hoc genus_ altogether. All I plead for, as a +scholar and a thinker, is freedom from canvassing, from letter-reading +and letter-writing, from committees, deputations, meetings, public +dinners, and all the rest. That will sound very selfish to the ears of +practical men, and I understand why they should look upon men like +myself as hardly worth their salt. But what would they say to one of +the greatest fighters in the history of the world? What would they say +to Julius Caesar, when he declares that the triumphs and the laurel +wreaths of Cicero are as far nobler than those of warriors as it is a +greater achievement to extend the boundaries of the Roman intellect +than the domains of the Roman people? + + + + +INDEX + + +Abiturienten, Examination at Zerbst, 106 + +Acland, Dr., 245 + +Admiration, power of, 90 + +Aitareya-brâhmana, 203 + +All Souls’ Fellowship, 23 + -- -- pinnacles, 225, 226 + +Altenstein, Minister of Instruction, 131 + +Anglican system, 209 + -- orders, 291 + +Anhalt-Dessau, Duchy of, 46 + +Antiquities hid in etymologies, 152-154 + +Anti-Semitism, 70, 71 + +Arnim, Count, 110 + +Arnold, Matthew, 282-283 + +Artistic element in the Oxford movement, 303, 304 + +Aryan speakers may differ in blood, 32 + -- and aboriginal languages of India, M. M.’s paper on, 210, 211 + +Aryans of India, 197 + +Aryas, meaning of, 32 + +Asvalâyana Sûtras, 203 + +Atavism, 17, 25, 26, 27, 30 + +Atavistic influences, 27 + +Autobiography, object of M. M. in writing his, vi + +Autos, the, 35 + + +Babies, studying, 86 + +Bach family, 34 + +Baden-Powell, Professor, 238, 245 + +Bandinell, Dr., 259-261 + +Bardelli, Abbé, 170 + +Basedow, von, President, 54 + -- the Pedagogue, 55, 76 + +Bathing, 77 + +Bernays, Professor, 69 + +Bibliothèque Royale, 167 + +Biographies, too lenient, 2 + -- best kind of history, 14 + +Bismarck, 175 + +Blücher, Marshal, 235 + +Blum, Robert, 15 + +Boden Professorship of Sanskrit, vii + +Bodleian Library, 258, 259 + +Boehtlingk, 181, 182, 183 + +Books, scarcity of, 67 + +Bopp, 125, 132, 148, 151, 156 + -- his lectures, 156, 157 + +Brahmo Somaj, service for the, 61 + +Breakfast parties, 205 + +British Association at Oxford, 210, 215 + +Brockhaus, Professor, 147 + +Buckle, 287 + +Bull, Dr., 40, 255, 256 + +Bunsen, Baron, 5, 13, 16 + -- first visit to, 190, 191 + -- his kindness, 193, 199, 221 + +Burgon, 287 + +Burnouf, 167, 169, 178, 179-182, 288 + + +Camerarius, 51 + +Canon of Christ Church, an old, 256-258 + +Canvassing, 312, 313 + +Carlyle, 310, 311 + +Carus, Professor, 98, 109 + +Chartist Deputation, 16 + +Chrétian, 287 + +Christianity, historical teaching of, in Germany, 65, 287, 291 + -- an historical event, 300 + +Church, Dr., 287 + +Church, not for young children, 60 + +Circumstances, influence of, 24 + +Clarke, Sir Andrew, 82, 86 + +Classics, exaggerated praise of the, 101, 102 + -- -- reactions from, 103 + -- nothing takes their place, 103 + +Colebrooke, 192 + +Colenso, 298, 305 + +Collegien-Buch, 121, 123-125 + +Comparative Philology, Professorship of, 12 + +Congregation and Convocation, why M. M. kept away from, 314, 315 + +Conscience, the voice of, 63 + +Coxe, Mr., 258 + +Cradock, Dr. and Mrs., 267 + +Crawford, Mr., the Objector General, 211 + +Curtius, 132, 151 + + +Darwin, 2, 11, 17, 131 + +David, 107, 109 + +Deafness in M. M.’s family, 29 + +De Lisle, 293, 296 + +Dessau, Dukes of, 46 + -- cheapness of life at, 56, 57 + -- Gottesacker at, 57 + -- only two classes at, 73 + -- trade of, 73 + -- public school at, 76 + -- its walls, 89 + -- M. M.’s world, 89 + -- simplicity of life at, 92 + -- -- effect on the character, 92, 96 + -- moral sayings, 96 + +Devas, Θεὁς, 144 + +Dieu, Deus, Devas, 197 + +Donkin, Professor, 246 + +Double First, 240 + +Drobisch, 129, 140, 142, 145 + +Duels at University, 119, 128, 129, 284, 286 + +Dyaus, Zeus, Iovis, 197 + + +Early life, roughing it, 91 + +East India Company, 14 + +East India House, 16, 215 + +Eckart, 107, 109 + +Eckstein, Baron d’, 176, 177 + +“Edinburgh Review,” first article in, 222 + +Egyptian chronology, 199 + +“Elsie Venner,” 31 + +Emerson, 310 + +Encaenia, 265, 266 + -- jokes at, 265 + +English and German Doctors, 84, 85 + +Environment, 17, 18, 25 + +Ernst, 110 + +Eternal, _ewig_, 150, 151 + +Etymologies, 152 + +Evolution, 198 + +Ewald, 298, 299, 305 + + +Fairy tales, influence of, 50-52 + +Fear, the feeling of, 88 + +Feast of Tabernacles, 71 + +Fellowships, old system of, 246, 247, 263 + +Forbiger, 99 + +French master at Dessau, 75 + +French Revolution, 16, 216 + +Friar Bacon, 227 + +Fröge, Professor, 109 + -- his wife and Mendelssohn, 109 + +Froude, J. A., 8, 287 + +Funkhänel, 99 + + +Gaisford, Dr., 240, 252-254 + +Gathy, M., 165, 172 + +German regiments, hymns sung by, 62 + -- students, 213 + +Germany and Germans, prejudice against, 20, 21 + -- religious feeling in, 62 + +Germ-plasm, 19, 28 + +Gewandhaus Concerts, 107 + +Giordano Bruno on Oxford, 228 + +Goethe, not always admired, 93 + +Goldstücker, 170-172 + +Goldwin Smith, 238 + +Gottesacker at Dessau, 57 + +Grabau, M. M.’s concerts with, 110 + +Grandfather of M. M., 79-81 + +Grandmother of M. M., 53 + +Grant, Sir Alexander, 272, 273 + +Greene’s Oxford, 227 + +Greenhill, Dr., 245 + +Grenville, Lord, 229 + +Greswell, Mr., 245 + +Griffith, Dr., Master of University, 229 + +Grimm, 151 + +Gründer, ein, 48 + +Guizot, 182 + + +Habits acquired not hereditable, 33 + +Hagedorn, Baron, 112-114, 162 + -- journey with him, 112 + -- his plan of life for M. M., 113 + +Hahnemann, 82 _et seq._, 86 + +Hallam’s literary dog, 209 + +Hare, Archdeacon, 205, 286 + -- visit to, 208 + +Hase, 185 + +Haupt, his Latin Society, 121, 125 + -- his dislike to modern philology, 155, 156 + +Hawkins, Dr., 240, 249 + +Headaches, suffering from, 81 _et seq._ + -- how cured, 83 + +Heads of Houses, 234, 264 + -- -- their power, 239 + +Hebdomadal Board, 239, 255 + +Hebrew taught at the Nicolai-Schule, 100 + +Hegel, 2 + -- his philosophy, 130-138 + +Hegel’s idea, 133-135 + -- “Philosophy of Nature,” 135, 136 + -- “Philosophy of Religion,” 135, 142 + -- “Metaphysics,” 136 + +Heinroth, 139 + +Helps, Sir Arthur, 266 + +Hentzner, his description of Oxford, 228 + +Herbart, school of, 129, 140, 142 + +Heredity, 17 + +Hermann, Gottfried, 121, 125, 128 + -- welcomed modern philology, 155 + -- his kindness to M. M., 156 + +Hermae round the Theatre, 264 + +Highland lady at Oxford, 229 + +Hiller, 107, 109 + -- his oratorio, 110 + +Historical method, 198 + -- events, their influence transitory, 315, 316 + +Hitopadesa, 51 + +Holmes, Oliver Wendell, 6, 266 + +Hönicke, Dr., 78 + +Horace, “cheekiness” of, 102 + +Human weaknesses, allowance must be made for, 93, 94 + +Humboldt, 181 + + +Imprisonment, M. M.’s, at University, 118, 119 + +Indian thought, influence of, 315, 317 + +Indolence, M. M.’s, 312 + +Inherited and acquired qualities, difference between, 33 + +Inspiration and infallibility, 65, 66 + +Institut de France, 186 + -- M. M. made Member, 186, 187 + + +Jenkins, Dr., Master of Balliol, 250 + +Jerusalem, Bishopric of, 293 + +Jews at Dessau, 68, 70 + -- their privileges in Germany, 70 + +Johnson, Manuel, 286, 303 + -- his art treasures, 303 + +Jowett, Professor, 4, 6, 287 + + +Kaliwoda, 107 + +Kant’s “Kritik,” 138 + +Kaspar Hauser, 18 + +Keshub Chunder Sen, 61 + +Kingsley, Charles, 5 + -- and muscular Christianity, 309 + +Klengel, 147 + +Kuhn, A., 154 + + +Lamartine, 177 + +Language, influence of, 31 + -- differentiation of, 31, 32, 33 + -- science of, 198 + +Lassen, 23 + +Latham, Dr., 210 + +Layard, 11, 205 + +Leipzig, 15 + -- school at, 97 + -- University, 115 + +Lepsius, 159 + +Liberals at University, 117, 118 + +Liddell, Dr., 238 + -- and Mrs., 267 + +Liddell’s Dictionary, 99 + +Liszt, 107-111 + +London, 188 + -- society, peeps into, 205 + -- M. M.’s social difficulties, 206-208 + +Longchamps, 167 + +Lotze, 129, 136, 139, 287 + +Louis Lucien Bonaparte, 214 + +Louis Napoleon, 16 + +Luther, 64 + -- his love of fairy tales, 50, 51 + -- tercentenary, 105 + + +Maitland, Sir Peregrine, 251 + +Mammoth, 18 + +Manning, 296 + +Masters, influence of, in German and English schools, 77 + +Maurice, Frederick, 205, 286 + -- Pusey’s attack on, 302 + +Memory changes, 39 + +Mendelssohn family, 33, 34 + +Mendelssohn, Felix, 107, 110 + -- his death, 110 + -- his concert for Liszt, 110, 111 + +Mendelssohn’s “Hymn of Praise,” 105 + -- music in Oxford, 268 + +Metternich, 72 + -- his system, 117 + +Mezzofanti, 30 + +Michelet, 287 + +Mill, John Stuart, 7, 14 + -- his Autos, 7 + +Mill, Dr., mention of a Vedic hymn printed at Calcutta, 192 + +Milton on Oxford, 228 + +Modern Literature, Professorship of, 12 + +Mommsen, 186, 187 + +Moncalm, “L’origine de la Pensée,” 10 _n._ + +Monk, M. M.’s wish to be a, 24 + +Monument-raising, 47 + +Morier, 275-279 + +Mother, M. M.’s, 57-59 + -- her relations, 54, 55 + +Mozley, 287 + +MSS., copying, 179 + +Mulde, excursion on foot along the, 112 + +Müller, Wilhelm, 47, 48 + -- his poems, 48 + -- his family, 52, 53 + -- his home and society, 55 + -- early death, 56 + -- monument to, 49 +Music, its influence on M. M., 67 + -- wished to make it his career, 111 + +“Mystères de Paris,” 174 + + +Natural Science and Mathematics little taught at Nicolai-Schule, 100 + +Neander, 21, 22 + +Newman, 286, 292-296 + -- want of openness in his friends, 292, 296 + -- his influence, 293 + -- on “Lives of the Saints,” 294, 295 + +Newspapers few in number, 71 + -- influence of modern, 72 + -- old, 74 + +Nicolai-Schule, 99 + -- chiefly for classics, 99-101 + +Niebuhr, 191, 289 + +Niedner, Dr., 127, 137, 140 + +Nirukta, the, 203 + +Nobbe, Dr., 99 + -- his testimonial, 105 + + +Old and young men, 36 + +Oriental languages, 146 + +Orléans, Duchesse d’, 177 + +Oxford, first visit to, 213 + -- settled at, 220 + -- social life at, 220, 221 + -- changes in, 223-226 + -- new buildings, 224, 225 + -- conservative, 226 + -- Greene’s, 227 + -- Hentzner’s description of, 228 + -- Giordano Bruno on, 228 + -- Milton on, 228 + -- society in 1810, 229-231 + -- great changes in, 243, 244 + -- society at, in the forties and fifties, 244, 245 + -- city society of, 245, 246 + -- high tone of talk, 284 + -- theological atmosphere at, 286 + -- trivial questions of ceremony in, 291, 292, 300, 301 + + +Palgrave, 274, 287 + +Palm, Dr., 99 + +Palmerston, Lord, 16, 217 + +Pânini, 182 + -- his grammar, 204 + +Pantschatantra, 51 + +Paper, scarcity of, 67 + +Parental influences, 27 + +Paris, 15, 162 + +Paris, journey to, 163, 164 + -- meals there, 166 + -- hard struggles in, 173, 283 + +Patagonians as types of humanity, 88 + +Peel, Sir Robert, 205 + +Philanthropinum, 54, 76 + +Philology, love of, 121 + +Philosophy, studied by M. M., 129, 137, 146 + +Physical science, revolt of, against Hegel, 135 + +Pillar and pillow, 189 + +“Pitar,” father, 153 + +Pitcairn Islands, 18 + +Plumptre, Dr., 213, 215, 265 + +Poems, M. M.’s, 104, 105 + +Pollen, 287 + +Pott, 151, 160 + +Pranks at University, 119, 120 + +“Presence of mind,” 262 + +Prichard, Dr., 211, 212, 221 + +Professor’s lectures and fees, 121, 122 + +Professors, feeling of German students for their, 127 + +Proto-Aryan language, 200 + +Prowe, Professor, 116, 117 + +Public schools in Germany, 98 + -- -- in England need reforming, 242 + +Pusey, Dr., 261, 299, 302 + + +Race, differentiation of, 35 + +Rawlinson, Sir H., 205 + +Reay, Professor, 260 + +Reinaud, 186 + +Religion, practical, 305, 306 + +Religious feeling in Germany, 68 + -- -- great tolerance in, 70, 71 + -- sentiments must be taught at home, 62 + -- teaching in school, 63 + +Renan, 185, 186, 288, 289, 290, 305 + +Research, fellowships for, 270 + +Revelation, subjective not objective, 66 + -- in the old sense, 288 + +Rigaud, John, 287 + +Rig-veda, how to publish the, 181, 182 + -- printing of, 222 + +Roman Catholic Church, English national feeling opposed to, 296, 297 + +Rose-bush, vision of the, 43, 44 + +Roth, 170, 171 + +Routh, Dr., 247-249 + +Rubens, Levy, 75 + +Ruskin, 224 + +Russell, Sir W., 37, 190 + + +Sadowa, and Sixty-six, 38 + +St. Hilaire, Barthélemy, 170 + +St. Petersburg, idea of going to, 181, 183 + +Salis-Schwabe, Madame, 98 + +Salmon at Dessau, 56, 57 + +“Salve caput cruentatum,” 59 + +Sanskrit Professorship, vii, 12 + -- chair of, at Leipzig, 147 + -- feeling against, 147 + -- unedited works, 204 + +Savigny, Professor, 122 + +Sâyana’s Commentary, 202-204 + +Schelling, 156, 195, 287, 289 + +Schlegel’s “Weisheit der Indier,” 146 + +Schleswig-Holstein question, 276 + +Schloezer, Karl von, 174, 176 + +School teaching, 67, 68 + -- success at, 104, 105 + -- routine of learning, 120 + +Schopenhauer, 289 + +Selbst-Kritik, 6 + +Self, the, 42 + +Sellar, Professor, 273, 274 + +Seminaries and societies at University, 123 + +Senatus Academicus, 236, 237 + +Shelley, 233 + +Simolin, Baron, 55 + +Sister, M. M.’s, 115, 116 + +Spiegel, Professor, 147 + +Sport, M. M.’s dislike of, 80 + +Stanislas Julien, 185 + +Stanley, Dr., 5, 41, 238, 286, 287, 302 + +Steel pens, 67 + +Stories in Oxford, regular descent of, 248 + +Strauss, 21, 305 + +Stubengelehrter, 308, 311 + +Student Clubs, 116 + +Student life in Paris, 184 + +Sunday games at the Observatory, 298 + +Sykes, Colonel, 16 + +Symons, Dr., 239, 240, 251 + +Sympathy in the joys and sufferings of others, 41, 42 + + +Tait, Dr., 238 + +Talents in families, 33-35 + +Taylorian Professorship, 22 + +Telegraphs, old, 72 + +Testimonials, 4 + +Thalberg, 111 + +Thirlwall, 205 + +Thomson, Dr. and Mrs., 267, 268, 280, 281 + +Tippoo Sahib’s tiger, 215 + +Travelling in the thirties, 111 + +Troyer, M., and the Duchesse de Wagram, 184 + +Truth, 312 + +Turanian languages, M. M.’s letter on, 160, 161 + +Tutors and Fellows, 236 + -- -- their influence, 241, 268, 269 + + +University, M. M.’s life at, 115, 116 + -- pranks, 119, 120 + -- duels at, 119, 128-130 + +University Press, 218, 219 + +Upanishads, 169 + + +Van der Weyer, 205 + +Veda, 9, 12-14, 148, 168 + +Veda, a mystery, 191, 194 + -- MSS. of, in India, 192 + -- -- brought to Europe, 193 + -- oldest of real books, 195 + -- primitive thought in the, 195, 197-199 + -- date of, 200 + -- translations of, 201 + -- East India Company and the, 201 + -- forming correct text of the Rig-, 202 + -- enormous work involved, 204 + +Vedic scholarship, 193 + +_Veih_, home, 153 + +_Vernunft_ and _Verstand_, 143 + +Vigfusson, Dr., 254 + +Voltairian philosophy at Oxford, 307 + + +Weismann, 27-30 + +Weisse, 129, 132-135, 139-142, 287 + +Wellesley, Dr., 304 + +Wellington, Duke of, 16, 40, 205 + +Westminster Abbey and St. Peter’s, 304 + +Wilberforce, Samuel, 207, 208 + +Wilson, Professor, 158, 159 + +Wiseman, 296 + +Wolf, F. A., 48 + +Wolseley, Lord, 266 + +Wren, Sir Christopher, 264 + +Wright, Dr., 261, 262 + + +Youth painted by the old, 35, 36 + + +Zerbst, examined at, 106 + -- M. M.’s examiners at, 106 + +Zeus, Dyaus, 148, 149 + + + + +OTHER BOOKS BY MAX MÜLLER + + +Auld Lang Syne + +_First Series._ Illustrated. 8vo, $2.00 + +“This book, the fruit of enforced leisure, as its author tells us, is +a charming mass of gossip about people whom Professor Max Müller has +known during his long career—musicians, literary men, princes, and +beggars. The last class is not, perhaps, the least interesting or +amusing. To our mind, however, the chapter on musicians, with its +delightful pictures of the author’s early life, and the naïve +confessions as to musical tastes, with some of the stories about +celebrated composers, forms the most interesting portion of a work +which has not one dull page.”—_The Spectator._ + +“One of the most charming examples of reminiscent literature that has +recently seen the light.”—New York _Sun_. + + * * * * * + + +Auld Lang Syne + +_Second Series._ =My Indian Friends.= 8vo, $2.00. + +“The professor’s ‘Indian Friends’ are not all of the nineteenth +century. His oldest friends are in the Veda, about which he has always +loved to write. Indeed, he spent the best years of his life over the +text of the Rig Veda, and has a clear right to be heard upon the +classic he has done so much to make familiar.... But the real charm of +his recollections lies rather in their peaceful kindliness, in their +wide and tolerant sympathies, and in their earnest aim, which will +surely be attained in some measure, of bringing what is best in India +closer home to foreigners.”—_Literature._ + + +Science of Language + +Founded on Lectures delivered at the Royal Institution. _New Edition +from New Plates. Largely Re-written._ In 2 vols., crown 8vo, $6.00. + +_CONTENTS:—Vol. I.—The Science of Language one of the Physical +Sciences; The Growth of Language in Contradistinction to the History +of Language; The Empirical Stage in the Science of Language; The +Classificatory Stage in the Science of Language; The Genealogical +Classification of Languages; Comparative Grammar; The Constituent +Elements of Language; The Morphological Classification of Languages; +The Theoretical Stage in the Science of Language—Origin of Language; +Genealogical Tables of Languages._ + +_CONTENTS:—Vol. II.—Introductory Lecture. New Materials for the +Science of Language and New Theories; Language and Reason; The +Physiological Alphabet; Phonetic Change; Grimm’s Law; On the +Principles of Etymology; On the Powers of Roots; Metaphor; The +Mythology of the Greeks; Jupiter, The Supreme Aryan God; Myths of the +Dawn; Modern Mythology._ + +“In practical value to the student of the science of language, the +work stands alone.”—Boston _Transcript_. + + * * * * * + + +Ramakrishna + +=His Life and Sayings.= Crown 8vo, $1.50 _net_. + +“As a whole the little book marks one of the summit points of recent +scientific religious literature. Max Müller’s penetrating insight into +the broad facts of Hindu intellectual history is coupled in this +instance with all the just criticism needed for a true valuation of +Ramakrishna’s personality and teaching.”—_American Historical +Review._ + + +Science of Thought + +_Two Volumes._ Crown 8vo, $4.00. + +“Of the portion of the work in which the author exemplifies and +illustrates his theory—his analysis of the Sanskrit roots, his +chapters on Kant’s philosophy, on the formation of words, on +propositions and syllogisms—it is only necessary to say that while +they contain, along with much that will reward a careful study, not a +little that will arouse controversy, they have, like all the author’s +former productions, the prime merit of being free from the two +greatest of literary faults—obscurity and dulness. A work in which +two of the driest and hardest of studies, analytic philology and +mental philosophy, are made at once lucid and attractive, is an +acquisition for which all students of those mysteries have reason to +be grateful.”—New York _Evening Post_. + + * * * * * + + +Science of Religion + +=Lectures on the Science of Religion=; with Papers on Buddhism, and a +Translation of the Dhammapada, or Path of Virtue. Crown 8vo, $2.00. + +_CONTENTS:—LECTURES ON THE SCIENCE OF RELIGION; BUDDHIST NIHILISM; +BUDDHA’S DHAMMAPADA, OR “PATH OF VIRTUE”; Introduction; The +Twin-Verses; On Reflection; Thought; Flowers; The Fool; The Wise Man; +The Venerable; The Thousands; Evil; Punishment; Old Age; Self; The +World; The Awakened (Buddha); Happiness; Pleasure; Anger; Impurity; +The Just; The Way; Miscellaneous; The Downward Course; The Elephant; +Thirst; The Bhikshu (Mendicant); The Brahmana._ + + +Chips from a German Workshop + +_Five Volumes._ Crown 8vo, $2.00 per vol.; the set, $10.00. + +Vol. I. Essays on the Science of Religion. + +Vol. II. Essays on Mythology, Traditions and Customs. + +Vol. III. Essays on Literature, Biography and Antiquities. + +Vol. IV. Comparative Philology, Mythology, etc. + +Vol. V. Miscellaneous. Later Essays. + + * * * * * + +=Lectures on the Origin and Growth of Religion=, as Illustrated by the +Religions of India. [_Hibbert Lectures for 1878._] Crown 8vo, $1.50 +_net_. + +=Biographical Essays=: Râmmohun Roy—Keshub Chunder Sen—Dayânanda +Sarasvatî—Bunyiu Nanjio—Kenjiu Kasawara—Mohl—Kingsley. Crown 8vo, +$2.00. + +=The German Classics.= From the Fourth to the Nineteenth Century. With +biographical notices, translations into modern German and notes. _A +New Edition, Revised, Enlarged and Adapted to_ SHERER’S “History of +German Literature.” 2 vols, $6.00 _net_. + + +CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS, _Publishers_ + +153-157 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of My Autobiography, by F. Max Müller + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 30269 *** |